Seems awfully strange that the investigation takes just long enough for Barry to get the home run record and finish the season. Then, like magic, all the evidence just comes together and we have an indictment.
I wonder if the investigators are baseball fans, Barry Bonds fans or just playing politics with their timing.
Had my first thought of the day even if it was after lunch.
In 40 years, the politics in this country has gone in a complete circle. During the 60s, it was the Democratic hawks who wanted to keep escalating the war in Viet Nam, ie, Kennedy and Johnson. It took a Republican President, Nixon, to say enough, this war cannot be won. And he brought our military folks home.
Now, 40 years later, it is a Republican hawk, Bush, who wants to continue fighting an unpopular war. I just wonder if some Democrat will be the one to say enough.
Perhaps I have missed something in the Siegelman case. From what I have been able to determine, he has been convicted of accepting a campaign contribution in return for appointing Scrushy to a health board.
If this is the case and there are not other charges, how will this affect future gubernatorial appointments? Will Governor Riley say to his biggest contributor, I wanted you for this job because you are the best qualified, but I cannot appoint a campaign contributor?
So who will that leave for governors to appoint to positions? Either members of the other party or people too poor to make contributions.
If that is the case, I am available for any appointment the governor wants to make. I have never contributed to his campaign.
It was Saturday, April 10, 2004 in Milan, Italy.
I had just finished working the midnight
to eight AM shift. I walked the three blocks to the Pasteur station
where I caught the Metro to head back to the Marriott for some sleep. At the
next stop, Loreto, an elderly Italian man, along with several family members,
got on board. As he sat down beside me, he nodded his head and said,”Buon Giorno”. In my best Alabama Italian, I replied, “Buon Giorno”. He looked rather intently at me and said,
“American?” When I replied yes, he began a rapid stream of Italian until I got
him stopped. He looked so strangely disappointed when he realized that I didn’t
speak Italian. Apparently, none of the other family members spoke English, so
we all just sat there staring. A young man, late teens, early twenties, sitting
across from me, got up and offered to interpret. His English wasn’t very good,
but it was a whole lot better than my Italian. The end result was him asking me
if I would take some time and listen to the old man’s story. When I said okay,
the family and interpreter rode with me to the Wagner station where we all got
off the subway. Sitting on the marble bench in the Wagner station, we spent
about 30 minutes with the young man going back and forth between the two of us,
relaying the story.
Now here is the story as I
heard it from my interpreter:
In 1944, the Nazis were
pulling out of the old man’s village. They were killing every male in the
village that they could find. The old man, then a teenager, along with three of
his friends, was running from some German soldiers when they rounded a corner
right into the arms of another German squad. The officer pushed them up against
a wall and told another soldier to shoot them. As he prepared his gun, the
Americans came into sight. One of the first shots killed the German soldier
that was preparing to kill the teenagers. The German officer and the rest of
his squad ran away.
The old man then explained
that he had been waiting 59 years to thank an American for saving his life.
After his next sentence, the interpreter hesitated about translating it. There
were also some murmurs in the crowd, apparently agreeing with the old man.
Finally, I was told that the old man said he had tried to thank Americans before,
but they are always too busy and hurry, hurry, hurry. When the crowd was
agreeing about Americans always rushing about, the old man began waving his
arms and saying, No No No. His next sentence had everyone laughing, and our
interpreter had a big smile. The old man said, No No No, it is good the
Americans always hurry. Had they been 15 seconds later in 1944, neither he nor
any of his family would be there in the Wagner station today.
He then had to give me the
European hug and kisses on both cheeks. Every family member had to shake my
hand or hug me, as well as the 15 or 20 other people who had stopped to listen.
And we all left, feeling pretty good about what had just happened. He had
fulfilled a lifelong dream of thanking an American for his life. I left feeling
prouder than ever to be an American.
My only regret is that I was
so taken by the moment, that I did not get his name or the village that he was
from. I only thought later how much more it would mean if I could find out a
little more about that day, but by then everyone had gone their separate ways.
I also thought how ironic it was that we met at the Loreto station, just
beneath the
Piazzale Loreto where Mussolini was hung
after his execution.
I thought it was interesting that a representative from the Birmingham Association of Black Journalists was on Good Day Alabama this morning. It raised two thoughts for me. Do they allow white members? How many people would be demonstrating in the streets if there were a Birmingham Association of White Journalists?
Just thinking curious thoughts this morning.
Does anyone really buy a car from a dealership that screams the loudest commercial?
Personally, I dislike being someone yelling at me. Why is it the car dealers believe we listen more to their commercials if they scream the loudest.
Beats me.
The whole season has been a bust. If this is the best they can come up with, the show should be phased out. I don't plan on watching another show this season.
