North Brunswick Magazine Q. C. Reynolds: 88-Year-Old Artist on the Rise By Verne Strickland Quimby Cassius Reynolds has broken the sound barrier. Almost totally deaf since childhood, the 88-year-old Wilmington resident has found his own way to a happy, fulfilling life. He brings an unyielding yet jovial spirit to the task. His children, who know the real man inside that silent world, have helped to ground him. His successful auto body repair business has been another diversion and source of pride. But his art — he is a talented if unsung painter — is his consuming passion. In these things you may find the keys that make this energetic, engaging man a success not only at art, but also at the art of living. Despite a childhood splintered by the early death of his mother, the long absences of a dispirited alcoholic father, the ravages of the American Depression, the poverty and hunger he knew in his youth, and the puzzling hush that came upon him at the age of seven, when rheumatic fever eclipsed his hearing, he has persevered and even prospered. His early years offered a mending of sorts, as he was taken in by his grandparents, who lived in Clinton. They raised him in their comfortable home and gave him some of the love and security he had missed, but they did not give him any special breaks because of his hearing loss. When he moved out on his own, Reynolds roamed the East Coast from New York to Florida, finally settling in Wilmington. He had discovered a talent for painting — automobiles in this instance — and opened his own body shop in Wilmington in 1960. His customers regard him as a master of sheet metal and gleaming lacquer, with the ability to match factory paint with unerring accuracy, or create custom finishes that evoke admiration. He never saw a dented, scraped or crushed fender, door or hood he couldn't return to its original pristine condition. He fixes, restores and beautifies, and his customers return. Reynolds’ youngest daughter, Robin, has served as bookkeeper and office manager for 25 years. An added role is facilitating communications between customers and her father. Now 43, Robin holds a psychology degree from UNCW. Her loyalty is not lost on her father, who is quick to acknowledge her value and the special place she occupies in his business and in his life. “Robin was almost raised in the shop,” he says. “She fills in where I can't. I couldn't make it work without her. We're a real good team.” Twice divorced, Reynolds has two other daughters in addition to Robin — Phyllis, 63, and Jackie, 53. His second marriage ended in 2000. It proved to be a turning point in his life in more ways than one. He moved into a small neat home on Second Street, where he has since lived alone. “After this divorce, I saw his interest in art really spike,” says Phyllis. “We all knew that his painting was important to him, but it seemed to take on a deeper meaning at this time.” With her father’s encouragement, Phyllis at an early age gained a serious interest in art, commencing with drawing but soon graduating to oil painting and collage. She is now an established artist in her own right. Her granddaughter, Jennie, also reveals artistic inclinations. Reynolds has left his indelible brand elsewhere in the family. His daughter Jackie is an interior designer. A penchant for art is showing up in Robin's 12-year-old son, Marshall, a bright youngster who draws incessantly and shows much talent. Phyllis is convinced that her father immersed himself in his painting out of a need to rid himself of some of his personal demons and to replace his growing frustrations and restlessness with a hobby that could fill a growing gap in his life — this time a creative gap. Golf hadn't worked for him. He couldn't get engrossed in the game. It was only recreation. Fishing bored him. And maybe he didn't catch much anyway. It was painting that beckoned him. He was always comfortable with it and could drench the painting surface with an outpouring of emotion — joy, frustration, expectation — whatever he had inside. I interviewed him about his art. "What is your painting technique?" "What technique? I clean the cardboard before I paint on it. I use different sized paintbrushes to get the look I want. I use the paints from my auto body repair jobs, whatever is left over. I paint what I am feeling." "Where do you get your inspiration?" "I just go along with whatever I want to paint." "Where do you paint?" "In my garage. That has always been my studio." "Why do you paint?" "Because I like to paint." "What does your art mean to you?" "I like my pictures." His answers might appear terse, evasive, even impertinent. This is not the case. He cannot hear questions, or any other vocalization. The queries put to him are in writing, and this is the case with all dialogue in which he engages. He responds verbally, but is not always given to elaboration, especially on private, personal matters. His art fits into this category. His enunciation is characteristic of the deaf, as he can barely hear the sound of his own voice, even with the hearing aid he wears. He does not sign or read lips. These he avoided in his youth, in the hope that he would not draw attention to his problem. It doubtless has often had the unwanted effect. It is difficult to express these things without making Reynolds sound like a handicapped person. He is not. His face radiates warmth. He is eminently cheerful and friendly, positive, outgoing. He even jokes about his hearing deficit. "Being deaf isn't all bad," he says, with a chuckle. "You don't have to answer the telephone or listen to people who might talk too much." One would describe him as small in stature – slight, lean and agile. The temptation is to say that "for his age" he seems constantly energetic and full of life. But his age seems irrelevant somehow. He has a full head of white hair, eyes that shine with energy and mischief, and he is almost constantly smiling when interacting with others. He enjoys people. "Dad is an amazing man," says Robin. "His health is excellent. He doesn't smoke or drink. He loves Southern fried food, but has low cholesterol and low blood pressure. I don't think he has been seriously ill since he was a child." To this, Phyllis adds, "Dad insists on being well. It's his mindset." Though he is shut into a silent world, Reynolds is not mute. Far from it. He has learned to speak through his paint brush. And he speaks with authority. His language of colors and shapes is eloquent, and for the most part melodious and calming. Rarely does the voice reprimand, agitate, insult, shock or complain. While Reynolds is almost always jocular in public, one expects that his demeanor becomes serious when he is in his garage studio. But this is only speculation, for he always works in solitude. No one is allowed to be around him as he creates. These are private moments, affording him escape, release, inspiration. He will only show completed paintings. Reynolds first worked in a literal or "representational" style, but later discovered the freedom afforded by abstract painting. His raw creativity took flight. Over the past 20 years he has turned out an estimated 300 paintings. They cannot be called "canvases" because Reynolds has mostly used the materials at hand – cardboard for the painting surfaces. Along the way, he has had no tutor or mentor to guide or encourage him. He has learned to paint by painting, and though he appears to have all the makings of an artist of note, he is known by but a few for his talents and vision. Pete Paterson, a leading influence in the Wilmington arts community, hopes to change that. Retired from a successful career in corporate advertising, marketing and design, Paterson has taken an interest in Quimby Cassius Reynolds and is preparing to help the Wilmington artist show and market his work. "What makes his art compelling to me is that it seems very personal, expressive and fresh," says Paterson. "I think this springs from the fact that he grew as an artist without formal training. Actually this has been a plus for Mr. Reynolds. There's no filter between the artist and his creation. What he does comes straight from the gut." Paterson invests much of his own life in art — promoting it, encouraging artists and creating art as well. He has sold more than 80 of his own oils to collectors around the United States. He is associated with the Wilmington Art Association Gallery on Castle Street and teaches art at the NewHanoverCountySeniorCenter. Paterson has plans to find a prominent venue to introduce Reynolds' paintings and create a market for them. From his prodigious production, Reynolds has selected 40 or 50 that he is ready to present to the public. "This selection is outstanding," ventures Paterson. "His technique combines color and design in a thought process that probably forms as he paints, and results in shapes, textures and color that work together. There's a purity in his work that really speaks to the viewer. He has a lot to say, and says it with conviction." Paterson theorizes that Reynolds' remarkable visual skills have been enhanced by a world largely devoid of sound. "He is very comfortable with that trade-off, I think. He has made his limitations work for him. At 88, I believe he is just getting started," Paterson concludes.

I am so full of stuff that if I don’t get it out right now I am going to bust. Yes – bust! Busting is a lot worse and more violent than bursting. And is considerably more destructive than popping. But if any of these things happen due to an overload of clear and present irritation toward Obama and his minions, then I will totally explode and spread Verne all over the Internet. I promise you, it will be ugly. So rest easy while I divest myself of some serious irritation and disillusionment over our leaders “on the other side of the aisle,” as they say. I think that’s what they say. It’s real close. Obama has apparently forgotten all about the campaign and the things he said and promised in order to get elected. Many liberals have given him a pass on this, excusing it as “campaign rhetoric”. What? How do promises on the election hustings qualify as anything other than promises? He said these things. It is the only way we knew him or anything about him. It is why and how he got elected. He might just as well have promised that he would spend trillions to prop up banks that don’t deserve it, and auto companies that failed on their own but now want to succeed at the taxpayer’s expense. Also, maybe he might have admitted that he would raise personal and corporate income taxes, cut and run in Iraq and Afghanistan, stifle freedom of speech on the air, and stuff the “Spendulus” package with about 9,000 earmarks Congress hasn’t even discovered yet. Honestly, folks, this guy is an artful dodger, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, an elitist dressed and coiffed as an elitist, an enemy of our ally Great Britain, a flack who hates Rush, and a flat-out liar. Oh, yeah. And I have just begun to fight. The most aggravating thing about which I must complain vociferously is the anger I feel over Obama’s permissive -- even dismissive – action on the scourge of abortion. I don’t think the president flat swore that he would reopen the tap for international funding of abortion again. But as if it shamed him to do so, he furtively lifted the ban on U.S. dollars for certain international “health” outfits that perform abortions and promote legalization of the practice. According to the Washington Post, “The . . . order was signed late in the day . . . without any reporters, news photographers or television cameras present, in marked contrast to elaborate ceremonies highlighting orders Obama signed earlier in the week.” The artful dodger. Curve-ball pitcher. Deceitful leader. The ultimate Obamacrat. Are you ready to resume sending your own hard-earned taxpayer dollars overseas to murder unborn babies? What is at work here? Is this some insidious form of national or ethnic discrimination suggesting that those innocents far away can be fodder for the surgeon’s death warrant? And that the doctor (if indeed it is a doctor who performs the deadly ritual) is paid by U.S. funds? How can we stop this? Let’s all of us – here in our TH neighborhood – turn to prayer and ask the Lord Jesus Christ to guide us, strengthen us, and exercise His divine will in this holocaust of the womb. I’m feeling a little better. Maybe a case of Tagamet will calm my innards. But I think I should get a tire pressure gauge to see if I am less likely to bust. I fervently desire to spare you my TH friends such a spectacle. Anyway, with the sun setting on the lovely square-rigged tall ship “Peacemaker” tied to the dock near my little house, I say good night from historic Wilmington, NC, where the Azalea Festival will be held the first weekend in April. It's coming up, so come on down.You can all stay with us. And now God bless you each and every one.

China. 1979. I walked across the Beijing airport’s dusty tarmac in the Autumn dusk, my heart pounding with excitement. It had taken me two years to get here. Not because I had taken the trip on foot, but because the Chinese Communist government did not trust me – because I was a foreigner, because I was an American, because I was a Western journalist, and possibly because of my close ties to U.S Senator Jesse Helms. The implacable conservative from North Carolina was hated with a vengeance by communists everywhere, and equally by U.S. liberals, who called him “Senator No” for his refusal to go along with every piece of legislation they held dear. Their fury and frustration were palpable. Jesse Helms’ influence was considerable. With Republicans in the majority in Washington, Helms had ascended to the post of Chairman of the Senate Agriculture Committee, and later to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee (his main goal all along.) In earlier years, I had been hired by Helms to ghost write some of his conservative editorials aired as “Viewpoint”on WRAL-TV in Raleigh, and to report agricultural news, a post which at the time dealt largely with North Carolina’s tobacco-rich heritage. There were delays, excuses, rebuffs, letters of inquiry, mostly through the Chinese consulate in Canada. The U.S. at the time had no diplomatic relations with the Peoples Republic of China. This made it tougher, but heightened the appeal and challenge for me, a North Carolina television journalist. If agriculture seems a tame beat, it wasn’t in my case. I was able to satiate my yearning for travel, visiting over 30 countries during my fifteen-year tenure at the Raleigh station. But, for me, the plum was always China. Mysterious, forbidding, elusive China. I sought help wherever it was available, creating friendships with many old China hands who were quick to encourage me. One was Herbert Hitch, now deceased, who as a U.S. Navy second lieutenant, became one of America’s key links to the Communist forces, befriending Mao Tse Tung along the way. Hitch, also a U.S. intelligence agent, was entrusted by Mao to deliver a letter to the U.S. Joint Chiefs in Washington, asking for American support to defeat both the Japanese and Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist armies. When the Joint Chiefs refused to help Mao, the gritty old warrior determined to never seek U.S. cooperation again, and China skidded inexorably into Communist hands. Introduced to Hitch in Charlotte, I told him about my plan – perhaps better described as a slim hope – suggesting that he try to return to China, and meet again with his old pal Mao, who was still alive at the time. “If you can get in, I want you to take me along,” I pleaded. “If you can see Mao, I will be on hand to report the story. It will be a great coup for you as well as for me.” Hitch had contacts. Good ones. He went to Juanita Kreps, former Duke University vice president who was then U.S. Secretary of Commerce. Kreps agreed to intercede with the PRC bigwigs in Herbert’s behalf. He also took his case to Mrs. Seymour Topping, wife of the managing editor of The New York Times, who had her own circle of friends within the Communist hierarchy. She knew Hitch and was impressed with his idea. Things were looking promising. But finally, the Chinese dashed Herbert Hitch’s hopes, as well as mine. “They won’t let me in,” he said, “presumably because I was in foreign intelligence. They still see me as an American agent.” What a story that would have been. I hated to see the opportunity slip by. The months dragged on. A friend with the U.S. Foreign Agricultural Service tipped me off that the PRC rarely allowed entrance by individuals, but were more receptive to “educational” groups with the right agenda. I saw an opening. North Carolina had been a leading exporter of U.S flue-cured tobacco to China, but the trade had dropped precipitously in the wake of the Communist takeover and a growing distrust of America. I started anew, appointing a tobacco trade “committee” from among my farm and university friends, and pitching this possibility to the PRC through their consulate in Canada. Things warmed up, then stalled again. Finally, I was on a plane with Gov. Jim Hunt and a North Carolina export group in Europe. Seated alone with the Governor for a few minutes away from the rest of the group, I unveiled my hopes and as well as my frustration.. “I don’t have the clout to bring this off on my own,” I said. “Will you pick up the initiative, contact the Chinese as Governor of the leading U.S. tobacco-producing state, and ask to bring my group with you? If you can get the invitation, I’d like you take over as head of the mission, and we all get in.” A politician with a keen eye for publicity and promotion, Hunt agreed to give it a try. He would be the first North Carolina governor in history to visit China, with the prospect of reopening what once was a lucrative tobacco export business. Within a couple of months, we were on our way. Our group spent three weeks in China, entering at Beijing, then heading south to Shanghai, a city which displayed striking Western influences from its days as a haven for British and American businessmen. Shanghai had become gray and drab under the austere influence of the Chinese Communist Party, but it still had the feel of a thoroughbred straining against the reins to break into a run. The 2008 Olympics could not have been imagined in that era. The morning that we were scheduled to leave Shanghai to head into the interior, I was awakened by the sound of music blaring from loudspeakers across the city. I pushed open the old leaded window to listen more closely. Below me, on the roof of every building in sight, hundreds of people moved through the slow, graceful choreography of a Tai Chi workout. It was thrilling to see. But my greatest surprise came as I recognized the strains of “On Top of Old Smoky” rolling across this Chinese city on the other side of the world. The tune is a traditional folk song about life and love in the North Carolina mountains. I chuckled aloud, realizing that the music director surely had no idea of the capitalist origins of his selection. In Beijing and Shanghai, our white faces at times seemed to shock people on the street. They were curious, but never hostile. Communist fervor rarely infects the dominated masses. We rode a steam train deep into the Eastern provinces to visit China’s tobacco production and manufacturing centers. There the U.S. tobacco mission made the trade contacts it had sought. But for me, perhaps the most memorable and touching moment came in a port city whose bay opened onto the South China Sea. As I walked alone on the sand near our hotel, a young man approached. As we closed to within a few feet of one another, he stopped, and asked, “Are you English?” “American,” I replied. He looked at me almost with relief. “One day I hope to go there,” he said. He was an English teacher in the local schools. This accounted for the ease with which he spoke the language. After we talked for a few moments, he asked if I had any U.S. newspapers or magazines that he could read. “Back in the hotel,” I answered. He begged me to share some with him, as he never saw English news publications, and desperately wanted this chance to read them. I agreed to bring a magazine to him. Then, speaking almost fearfully, he said he would hide by a small boathouse on the beach until I returned. Furtively, I brought back a “Time” magazine. He was still there, almost beside himself with excitement as he flipped through the pages. “America,” he said, smiling while tears welled in his eyes, “the land of the free.” This moment was my China trip. I saw America then through different eyes. My country. Blessed by God. Taken for granted by many of us so fortunate to live there. I prayed that my Chinese friend would someday realize his dream.

I think I’d like to become an anonymous source. These guys are quoted all the time, you know? But they never get into trouble for running their mouths. They got it made. I'm not sure how you get hired to be an anonymous source, but it sounds like a good racket. It’s not really clear what kind of training you need. It's not obvious if it makes any difference where you're from, or how much education is needed. Or if gender, race, percentage of body fat, political affiliation, prison record, religion, sexual preference or your opinion of grits are considered. I know one thing. When it comes to being an anonymous source, I'm already halfway there. I'm about as anonymous as you can be. My guess is that might be the easiest part. The other part – the source thing -- is what baffles me. There were lots of anonymous sources during the years when President Bush My Man was in office. These secret gossip and scandal purveyors were everywhere. The competition to get into the business and prosper must have been really squishing. You couldn't tell if they were men or women, black or white, non-Asian or non-entity, if they had foot fetishes or smoked bongs or smoked salmon, or if they were from Winona, Minnesota. But my guess is that most of them were liberal Democrats, or wanted to be, because they were constantly getting quoted for saying mean, hateful, hurtful things about President Bush My Man. Being anonymous, you have to wonder how the news people -- who often masquerade as reporters at scandal sheets like the Washington Post, ABC News, or maybe Pravda, ever got to know who the anonymous sources actually were. They couldn’t just walk up to somebody famous and feared like Katie Couric, Deep Throat, Bluff Witzler or maybe even Roseo Donnell, introduce themselves as anonymous sources, and start talking. How would anyone in that circumstance know that you were a bona fide anonymous source? It’s like a friend of mine who told me, “I never met a stranger. I just prefer to hang with people I already know.” Later I found out this dude wasn’t a friend of mine at all, but the quote is still pretty good. And if I don’t tell you who he was, he’s just an anonymous source. But let’s get serious. Being an anonymous source is actually a pretty scurrilous way to make a living. You can snipe at the Republican, Christian or conservative opposition under the cover of stupidity or liberality, whichever comes first, and not have to identify yourself or footnote your garbage. Pretty good racket. President Obama doesn’t usually quote anonymous sources. He just seems to know who they are. His Chief of Staff and right hand pit bull Rham Emanuel apparently thinks Rush Limbaugh is an anonymous source. This can’t be true because Rush already has a full-time job as GOP godfather and antagonist to most liberals and back-up quarterback Michael Steele – he of the marvelous smile and spunky competitive spirit. Anyway, forget Rush as being an anonymous source, because if there’s anyone who won’t brook no anonymity, it’s Mr. Limbaugh. Also, Rush has been quoted as saying something like he sure hopes Barocco Bomber doesn’t do real good at ruining the United States. That’s okay. If Rush hadn’t said it, I know a lot of people who would. I’m one or more of them. I’ve wasted most of my allotted space here, as I usually do, so I must race to say some things which may actually be worthwhile before the Townhall.com bouncers throw me out. So, in just a few words, here are some key thoughts I’d like to leave with you: 1. I think President Obama is on track to ruin America and I hope he fails. 2. I think Rush Limbaugh hopes Obama fails, and I agree with Rush. 3. I did not vote for Mr. Obama, and, if I ever have another opportunity, I won’t again. 4. I like John McCain and his wife Cindy, plus Sarah Palin and her husband Mr. Sarah. 5. Also, Mike Huckabee, Sean Hannity, and Duke roundball coach Mike Krzyzewski. 6. And Michael Steele. 7. And any anonymous source that tells the true truth about how Baracco Bomber will probably surpass Herbert Hoover at making America go bust. Good night from the frigid beaches close by Wilmington, NC, where the Azalea Festival is coming up right soon. Please write down that date and be here.

Hello, neighbors. In a way this is a test, because I have had some problems with appearance of my posts. One recent one showed black letters over dark gray field. Not recommended. So our nursery director, Bobbie Kelley, who has been nothing short of an angel, handed me off to CKHustler (Byron) for some tips. Whatever the outcome, I hope this works, and CKH seemed to think it would. Thanks, CK! I have waxed rhapsodic about the fun I have had corresponding with conservative Christians in the 'hood. (Don't you just hate that slang?) With the television networks and many cable channels locked into a liberal mindset, we as a group have not had many mass media outlets friendly enough to give us a break. This started back before there were any cables to view, and I was working as an information director for the N.C. Farm Bureau Federation in Raleigh, NC. They got me in touch with conservative philosophy and ideals, and that led to a job with the legendary Jesse A. Helms at WRAL-TV in the same city. He remained a friend, mentor and hero to me ever since. It was only recently that he passed away. I was able to pay him back in some sense, because I resigned from the station in 1982 to sign on with the Congressional Club, which managed his political campaigns. My role was as a media consultant, to write advertising and news copy, produce radio and television commercials and documentaries, and deal with the media. I was part of a team of dedicated conservatives engaged in the campaign -- a bareknuckled brawl against popular North Carolina Decratic Governor James B. Hunt which was to be settled in the 1984 election. We took a licking from the big Raleigh-based liberal daily, and didn't get any favors from the broadcast outlets. But the Congressional Club's strategy was to counter this with hard-hitting advertisements. So while we were treated as outcasts by most of the news staffs in North Carolina, we had expected that, and didn't care much because Jesse's fund-raising team was very successful at rallying conservatives from around the country to support his campaign. That paid for enough advertising to define the differences between our candidate and the liberal Hunt. Strategic polling by some brilliant conservative activists identified the hot buttons that would settle the victory for Senator Helms. After the campaign, I went into business as an advertising and public relations consultant dealing primarily with agricultural companies, farmer organizations and government agencies. But while I was not daily involved in political issues, I was on board with my kind of people -- conservative Christian Republicans. That has never changed. It has taken me a bit of room to warm up to my subject -- Townhall.com. After retiring to the N.C. coast with my wife of 49 years, I found myself wandering the Web looking for a home. As I have always been a news and public affairs junkie, I read dozens of online newspapers, magazines and broadcast outlets. I began to focus in on sites which had the spin I liked and supported, such as Drudge Report, FoxNews, BlogTalk Radio, National Review, NewsMax, Conservative Battleline, AboutChrisianity.com, Back to the Bible, and others. They are great, and each fulfills an important and useful role in keeping citizens of the conservative Christian persuasion posted, informed and challenged. I got more and more involved in writing letters to the editor and conservative opinions challenging the barrage of liberal idiocy, of whichd there is a surplus, in the "mainstream media". But I had planted an anchor until perhaps four or five weeks ago until I found Townhall.com. I'm really not certain how I found it. I think God led me to it, to tell the truth. In a very short while, I was "adopted" as a native son by the great people who, like me, feel at home with intelligent, patriotic, Christian people of high character, who know how to fight, but fight fairly and with honor, and defend their faith and political belief fiercely and effectively. I will be 72 in just a couple of weeks, and I find that many of the people with whom I correspond are seniors like myself. Not only does Townhall.com attract prolific, creative, feisty bloggers, but it also plugs us in to the zenith of political thought and Christian views. Today, for example, I was like a kid in a candy store when Townhall.com flagged me to view streaming activities on the exciting CPAC conference. I will recommend Townhall.com and the wonderful people one finds there to anyone who is convervative or wants to be grounded in conservative thought. The only things it doesn't provide are a swimming pool and golf cart. But maybe that's in plans for the future. I don't see why these little baubles shouldn't be funded in Mr. Obama's Spendulis masterpiece. Hey, I'm a bit weary after cranking out this wandering epistle, so I am going to hang it up for now. God bless you, great friends. Let's talk again. And, while we use and enjoy Townhall.com, a red, white and blue institution, I'll bet the guys and gals at the front office would really appreciate a kind word or two about the great service and the opportunities for expression that it provides. God bless you, TH afficienados, and good night! P.S. Thanks, CKHustler, for coming to the rescue. It seems the problem I was dealing with has been solved. I'm very pleased and gratified.

 

Obama Talks Big, But Where's the Beef? (It's All Pork!)

Posted by Verne Strickland on Wednesday, February 25, 2009 10:33:41 PM

Tags: Obama: porky oratory  Email It | Print It | Comments (2) | Trackbacks (0) | Flag as Offensive

 

I’ve been quiet recently. Probably not quiet enough to suit the two hide-bound liberals who follow my occasional blogs. Throw in the three Townhall faithful who stick with me because they are bored with watching replays of old LBJ press conferences and you got my entire audience. We could hold a class reunion in a broom closet. Anyway, I am getting really spooked over some of the lofty political goings-on, and it has brought me out of hiding. A President Obama’s séance before a gathering of the nation’s elite (except for Stuart Smalley, who was pouting in his bunker near Winona, Minnesota). As I watched this spectacle on teevee, I could hardly concentrate on what the Great One was enunciating because of head cheerleader Nancy Pelosi, who bounded out of her seat with the regularity of a hyped-up cuckoo clock, prodding the rabid fans into one standing ovulation after another. It was a bizarre pork parade bristling with earmark “faves”, which one report put at 9,000, with Democrats reportedly being joined by some Republicans to raid the trough and get their “share”. I’m not really proud of that. Rumor has it that U.S. hog farmers are getting peeved with the Congress for generating more pork than our livestock producers. Senator Lindsay Graham, South Carolina Republican, is a guy I like, as he is courageous, plain-spoken, and patriotic. I think he is destined for a greater things. On a Fox News Show that was fair and balanced, Graham said Obama talked platitudes, such as promising energy independence with no mention of the offshore drilling and nuclear power which would be required to pull it off. To my way of thinking, this is becoming a typical Obama ploy. The man is full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, (KJV). Senator John McCain reportedly said that, as a Senator, the Barackmeister had a history of talking a good game but folding before the objective was realized. This likely is a harbinger of more excitement to come. Well, friends, the drama is beginning to play out before our very eyes, and we will probably be stunned and amazed as the wrapping is pulled off of the gift package we have been presented. Believe me, it won’t seem like a “gift”, as we are going to pay for it out of our own pockets and purses, whichever comes first. Just remember, your buddies here on Townhall told you so. And now, good night to all y’all from my home in historic Wilmington, NC, where the sun always shines sometimes.    

         

I am hearing mucho jabber, clatter and fuss discouraging Americans (us) from criticizing President Obama. Well, hey, how come? There seems to be some sort of threshold on really speaking one's (or two's or more) mind about President Obama as he weighs in on his homework for USA 101. I do feel that the negatives can be burdensome. And that a rookie in any league can feel sort of insecure. But, people, here's the guy who glibly said, "Bring it on. I'm the man. That's the job. Put us together and we'll make magic." Prove it. I mean, if you can't back up your big talk on the playground, shut up or some big bully, or several big bullies, will pick up all the marbles, kick dust in your face, and go tell the teacher you're a meanie. No big deal. Mr. Obama is simply entering into Oval Office Hazing, Part I. He is going to get his pants pulled down and will just have to grin and bear it. No, wait a minute, that was President Clinton, who I expect is still grinning and bearing it at every opportunity, though in settings probably not as opulent, rare and historic as that area right back of the big ol' desk. Just tonight on the teevee an entertainer who I suspect is a decent guy urged Mike Huckabee to ease up on Number One. Mike shrugged it off, then went to a commercial. Who called for a let-up on the two Presidents Bush during their struggles to do right and please the electorate? Nobody on that dreaded "other side of the aisle" where demons lurk and Republicans who enter in have never been seen again. Nope. Not them. So, call me merciless. Call me cruel. Or just call me Verne. But if President Obama nominates one unqualified dude or dudess after another for a rareified position, and it turns out that these individuals have not paid their taxes or committed some other malfeasance, then I say rap the president sternly on the knuckles and see that he owns up to a failure of the vetting process. And if the President runs up a tab in the federal budget that cannot NO WAY be paid back while we are still here to observe the fall-out, then I say give 'im heck Newt. And if he calls for bipartisanship, whatever that is, and doesn't give any of it to the Republicans, whilst figuring that he should be given some of that stuff anyway, then I say that ain't fair and it ain't right and quit it. I'm getting tired now. I'm 72 years of age, it's going on toward midnight here in my little home on the North Carolina coast, and I've had a hard day surfing the breakers. But don't let your guard down, and remind the President Obama that I'll be back after I have a real good nap, and I'll have updates on his report card in hand. You see, I don't forget. I may be old, but I still have a wonderful memory. It's not very long, it's just wonderful. So good night, you all.

 

02:02:30pm 02/21/2009

VerneStrickland

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Mere weeks have passed since we witnessed the election of America's first black President. But already the rhetoric is ratcheting up. And some leaders who ought to know better are acting as if they don't know better. House Majority Whip James Clyburn, D-SC, bitterly states that black citizens will be unfairly targeted if the Governors of four states refuse to accept their states' shares of the $747 billion stimulus pay-out. Clyburn claims the motive of the governors is racial. The governors respond that their stand is based on the belief that the huge federal bonanza is not a "stimulus" package but merely a "spending" spree. If the Senator truly feels that he is right, and I suspect he does, he might have phrased his objections in more delicate terms. In a similar brouhaha, Eric Holder, the nation's first black attorney general, went off the rails by complaining that, while Americans mix racially in the workplace, they appear to shun one another in their private lives. To this, he added, we are a "nation of cowards" where race is concerned. The fact is that, while the tart-tongued Attorney General might have some sway over integration of the business world, it is none of his business how we choose to spend our free time, and with whom we spend it. Sensitivity seems to be boiling over just when the nation is feeling a measure of pride over the historic significance of the national election. Ill-chosen words and hot tempers won't make this victory any sweeter. Quite the contrary. Why can't we all just get along?

 

The communists of Russia have left their trash all over. All over history, all over much of the world, and now all over space. Once again, they foul up the Earth and the space around it. The collision of a spent Russian military satellite and a working U.S. commercial satellite symbolically sums up the tragic legacy of communism. A Russian "military satellite"? Who knows what this thing did, and what its mission was? It hangs like a ghost in orbit. Just another corpse piled on top of the millions of Russians assassinated during the Stalin purges and World War II, when surviving Soviet soldiers who survived Hitler's war machine returned home to be slaughtered by their own leader, one of the world's most paranoid monsters. Is my reasoning a stretch? And my detestations of communism extreme? I don't think so. This unfortunate "incident" just strikes a nerve. Those Russian bullies -- including muscle man Putin, former KGB tough guy -- still lurk around every corner, waiting to deal harm to the Free World. It's their way. Not our way. That's why I feel so strongly about the godless treachery of communism. Cold and calculating. As empty as outer space.

 

“I'm good enough (I wrote ugly stuff about Rush and made money on it), I'm smart enough (I have lifetime Franken privileges) and doggone it, I like me.”

Well, Stuart Smalley, you phony fat-mouth, you are an embarrassment -- to America in general and liberal Democrats in particular. You should run for the U.S. Senate race as a space-headed left-wing radical bozo who had surgery on his mouth so he would look like Mick Jagger (one of my favorite rockers, get outta here.)

An alias like "Al Franken" might work for you. But who would believe that? You get everything backwards. You were weird on SNL, and you are a laughingstock in politics.  You should try being weird in politics and a laughingstock on the TV. No, forget I said that. It might work for you.

 Old pal (and I lose the term usely), get under a snowdrift somewhere in Minnesota and leave decent Americans alone. Okay? We are already sick of you, and the U.S. Senate doesn't need anymore Democratic freaks who are bent on making America a socialist country.

Get original! We have enough of that already -- Russia, Cuba, Venezuela, China, Pluto, Dumbo and Boston. Gimme a break, okay?

 

President Obama hails the stimulus package as a "major milestone". How about a "major millstone"? There is still stuff in this albatross that even those who wrote it haven't read. Strangely, that includes many in Congress, who raced with such hysteria to rush it through that they didn't have a clue what they were voting on. Then the president apparently couldn’t find it for two or three days to sign the darn thing. I admire the Republicans who voted against it. Reports indicate that included all GOP members of the House, and all but three Republican U.S. Senators (may they rest in political purgatory). Echoes of President Obama’s “I won!” are still echoing through the hallowed halls. But did he? Or will his folly dog him for the rest of his days? Whatever history decides for him, it’s clear that the rest of us lost. The wrapping seems to be falling off this gift package. What other surprises will we find inside?

 

Is Roland Burris black? I can’t tell from the pictures. So I do not want to be called “racist” or “bigoted” or “white”. Okay? And I don’t want to be called “non-white” or “non-U.S. Indian” or “non-Hispanic-Asian-Eskimo”. Okay? Am I being sarcastic? Why, hell, yes! But, look, we’ve all (I include everybody who wants to be included) been weirded out by all the politically freaked-out radically-sensitive efforts to refrain from offending anyone who is anybody else. But I want to get back to Roland. This guy is an embarrassment to anyone who is “black”, “non-white”, “non-U.S. Indian” or “non-entity”. You know that I mean. What has happened to America, people? If you have some issue with Baracko Bomber, are you against blacks (which his father is) or whites (which his mama and grandmamma is) or Asian . . . how can I keep up with all these offended racial (racist?) people? Anyway, to the issue: Roland Burris is ducking, dodging, twisting, turning, and wriggling to impress upon us the allegation that he has not: (a) lied, (b) not told the truth, or (c) none of the above, (d) about his apparently scurrilous relationship with the totally scurrilous Blagojevich feller. (Did I spell it right?) If I did, I am not Polish, Russian, or Tasmanian, whichever comes first. And may I hasten to add that I respect all of these nationalities. Where am I going with all of this? Well, who’s in charge? Me? Hey, I declined the nomination. I just want to go home and have a hot dog, and watch “Fair and Balanced” Fox News, all washed down with a Tagamet. Look, Roland (on the river) Burris is copping out. I hope he gets scorched by some committee that isn’t overloaded with pinko Democrats. I still like Illinois, always loved Chicago, but the people who have wielded the power there (Hoffa, Gekko, Daley, Weekly, and Burris) have got me worried. Call your next case.

Look, I'm not having any fun heaping saracasm on President Obama. Not at the moment, at least. Maybe I've softened up a bit. I don't know. Actually I'm a little embarrassed to have become such a wimp. Where did my conservative Republican take-no-prisoners instinct go? Look, I have to admit I'm beginning to like the guy. Great smile. Warm personality. Beautiful family. Oh, my gosh! I've been a Republican ever since Jimmy Carter took that humble hike to the White House. This was before peanuts were found to have killed some people and sickened others because of salmonella poisoning. Well, to round out my confession, I learned to lob live philosophical rounds into the liberal camp by my old pal (now deceased) Jesse Helms. I miss him. He was a fighter. A patriot. A champion of conservative American causes. Jesse wouldn't be ashamed of me. He loved the Senate and his fellow Senators. He would tangle with the best liberals in Washington -- fiercely, tenaciously -- but when the tussle was over, he was their friend. I experience the same split personality where President Obama is concerned. He is practicing OJT. In the U.S. Army this meant "on the job training". With our new President, it might stand for "Obama's Just Testing". This would bother me less if he hadn't assured everyone during the campaign that he would be the one candidate who could hit the ground running, and take that celebrated 3:00 a.m. phone call confidently, without a pause or a whimper. But when the call came, there was nobody home. His team in the White House explained that it was all just "campaign rhetoric". Maybe so, but to me it was bordering on false bravado. Misleading. Bombastic boasting. It got him elected. Now where is he? He's not failing miserably. Former President Clinton says he is doing a good job. But Billy Bob is the guy who wondered what the meaning of  "is is"? 'Membah that? Then Mr. Obama looked like he was nominating and appointing complete strangers to some of the most sensitive and strategic positions in the U.S. government. Not impressive, my friends. The President didn't seem to understand what "vetting" means, and it's strange that his pet bulldog Rahm Emanuel had not explained it to him. President Reagan, the great delegator, was mocked by his liberal detractors for being "disconnected" from the daily realities of his job at theWhite House. But President Reagan had his agenda, and he stayed on target. And -- this is important -- he recruited good people, then trusted them to do their jobs. They deserved the trust, and Ronald Reagan posted many impressive accomplishments while in office. But I digress, or egress, or ingress, or whatever. I started out apologizing for liking Mr. Obama for being a regular guy. Well, I do like him. But that's not enough. America needs leaders who "git-er-done". And it takes more than a pleasant personality and a smooth delivery at the podium and well-tailored suits to make that happen. We'll give him time, okay? If hope we have it.