#as her husband declares his love for him on national television

[eusuntgratie]

anna likes to make sid cry confirmed (x)

[collapsedsquid]

First lady Hillary Rodham Clinton yesterday launched a vigorous counterattack on behalf of her husband's beleaguered presidency, declaring that the president is the victim of a "politically motivated" prosecutor allied with a "vast right-wing conspiracy."

Using a nationally televised interview as her forum, she assumed a familiar and crucial role as Bill Clinton's first defender. She said she knew him better than anyone in the world, still loved him, and fully believed his denial of allegations that he had entered into a sexual relationship with a White House intern and had urged the young woman to lie about it.

[...]

The argument that most of Bill Clinton's troubles arise from the conspiracies of his enemies is one that Hillary Clinton has been making for several years. In "The Agenda," Bob Woodward's book on the first two years of the Clinton presidency, she claimed that the Whitewater investigation had its roots in a longstanding Republican plan to diminish his power.

"She connected the current troubles to a call that she remembered Bill telling her about in the summer of 1991, just as he was deciding to run for president," Woodward wrote. "She recalled that he reported a direct threat from someone in the Bush White House, warning that if he ran, the Republicans would go after him. 'We will do everything we can to destroy you personally,' she recalled that the Bush White House man had said.' "

The validity of that threat could never be established, but it served as the rallying point within the Clinton camp throughout the 1992 campaign. Many of Clinton's longtime advisers were aware of the Arkansas roots of that strategy. Since his first political campaign, when he was running for Congress in northwest Arkansas in 1974, Clinton had been dealing with rumors about his sex life, and also with conservative adversaries who acknowledged that they were intent on cutting short his political career.

In several of his races for governor, especially his final one, in 1990, against Republican Sheffield Nelson, Clinton had effectively been able to dismiss all sexual allegations against him by claiming they were part of a reckless conspiracy launched by desperate opponents.

That’s right folks it was the Deep State, noted enemies of the Clintons

[coll2mitts]

#77 Grease (1978)

Slick your hair back and grab your team jacket, we’re hand-jiving our way through Grease, a movie about bunch of hot, self-motivated ladies with their whole futures ahead of them settling for a bunch of schmucks.

Grease is a strange experience to relive as an adult, because it was (as I suspect with a lot of people) ever-present in my childhood, and I didn’t understand the great majority of references then.  This movie was intended as an 8th birthday present from my mother; I came home from school one day and the VHS was sitting on our kitchen countertop unwrapped.  I didn’t recognize it, so when I asked my mom what it was, she feigned confusion for about 10 seconds before she gave up and said, “I bought it for your birthday, I guess you get it early now.”  She promised me I’d like it when I popped it into the VHS player, and she wasn’t wrong.  I hadn’t watched this movie in over a decade and I still could recite the majority of the dialogue.

While this movie is a toned down significantly from the stage show, it is still fairly raunchy in parts.  What is kind of hilarious to me is Grease’s gradual shift in categorization over time as a “kids musical”.  In 5th grade, my sister played Sandy in her elementary school’s production of it.  I asked if she remembered any of the lines they changed to keep things “appropriate” (the Kidz Bopification, if you will) and she responded, “No, I just thought it was weird I had to go out and buy a sexy outfit.”  Conversely, my 5th grade play was about the history of America and I dressed up like Martha Washington.  I’ll never forget the 50 Nifty United States from 13 original colonies... SHOUT ‘em, SCOUT ‘em, TELL all about 'em, ONE BY ONE till we’ve given a day to every state in the U-S-A.  AL-A-bama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, CON-NE-TI-CUT...

Anyway, do I think it’s weird that a movie about a bunch of horny teenagers has become Baby’s First Adult Musical?  Sorta.  Not really.  I mean, the dudes act like children for the majority of this, so I’m not surprised, at least.  It had, for sure, turned me off from wanting to date high school dudes when I was in high school.  The high school girls, however... we’ll get there.

It’s the first day of school, and the oldest high school seniors I’ve ever seen are poised to take on their last year at Rydell High.  The “T” Birds and their very uncool matching jackets are reunited after a summer apart and their super-senior leader Kenickie, played by the late Jeff Conaway, regales the tale of lugging boxes to earn money for a sweet ride, which you could feasibly do back in the 1950s.  Danny, played by John Travolta, spent his summer getting action at the beach, which he eloquently describes as “flippin’”.  

Frenchy and her new neighbor Sandy rendezvous with the Pink Ladies, who have very cool matching jackets and the unabashed confidence to go with them.  Stockard Channing, who plays Rizzo, is turned off by Sandy’s pure, seemingly holier-than-thou persona, and is dismayed when Sandy starts to describe her sickly sweet summer romance.  Her interest is only piqued when Sandy mentions her hunky date was notorious playboy and Rizzo’s ex, Danny Zuko.  

Sidenote: When I was a child, I thought Sonny asked if her “jugs were bigger than her nets”.  I asked my mother what “nets” were, since I surmised that jugs meant breasts, and she didn’t know, which I thought was weird.  It wasn’t until THIS MOMENT that I realized he was asking if her jugs were bigger than Annette’s.  Who the fuck is Annette?  Like the Mickey Mouseketeer Annette?!  Rizzo sings about her later and I’m just like.. this revelation has lead to more questions than answers.

Rizzo hatches a plan to call Danny out on his shit and reunite Sandy with Danny at the school pep rally, as they know her boyfriend is an asshat.  He predictably reacts maturely; Not wanting to admit his previous story of getting fresh with some cute Australian girl down in the sand was somewhat hyperbolic, he plays it off like he doesn’t give a shit about her, reducing Sandy to tears.  Frenchy comforts Sandy like the supportive queen that she is and invites her to join the Pink Ladies at a sleepover.

Honestly, a Pink Ladies sleepover looks lit as fuck.  As a kid (and now, tbh) I was Jan, I wanted to be Marty, I wanted to fuck Rizzo, and I wanted Frenchy as my best friend.  I would totally be down to drink champagne, eat Twinkies and mutilate our body parts with needles.  Sandy is a bit of a late bloomer and reacts to these series of events by puking.  Rizzo decides to be a bit of a slag and make fun of Sandy for being an inexperienced virgin before shimming down a drainpipe to get laid by some jerk with a shitty car and a 6-year-old condom.

Sandy, whose night has done nothing to alleviate her heartbreak, sings a song about being in love with a coward.  Part of the deal Oliva Newton-John signed to be cast in this movie specified she have her own solo number, so “Hopelessly Devoted” was written and filmed after the rest of the movie had been completed.  This feel pretty obvious, since it gives off a very strong 1970s pop Best Original Song vibe.  When I was a kid, I used this song as a break to use the bathroom or grab a snack, but as an adult I find myself humming it every so often.

Speaking of contract-obligated solos, we’re treated to a Travolta-led “Greased Lightning”, which I always thought was weird, cause like, who is going to sing a song about their friend getting tit in their sweet car?  Jeff Conaway played Danny on Broadway, he deserved better...  Also, I’m CONVINCED this song got the Pop-Up Video treatment, but couldn’t find it online anywhere.  Otherwise, how the hell else would the fact that they thought John Travolta putting the saran wrap on his crotch was too racy live rent free in my head for like 20 years?

After encountering Sandy on a date with a jock, Danny decides he’s going to join a sports team to prove to her he can be a motivated team player.  Instead, he just physically assaults several members of his school, but it’s fine because he’s wearing a uniform when he does it.  This is enough to impress Sandy, as she accepts Danny’s invitation to the school dance.

The other gang members are going through their own drama, as Rizzo is sick of giving it up to Kenickie without receiving a modicum of respect.  

“A hickey from Kenickie is like a Hallmark card.  When you care enough to send the very best.”

Danny regresses and continues to act like a shithead to Sandy in front of her friends.

“I don’t like tea.” “You don’t have to drink tea!” “Well, I don’t like parents.”

Jan and Putzie begin an innocent and adorable romance, which proves it’s possible to start off a relationship with mutual respect, even if your friends make fun of you for it.

“I also think there’s more to you than just fat.” “...Thanks.”

I love this scene, there’s so many good lines.

Frenchy, who had dropped out of Rydell to pursue a career in cosmetology, is also in crisis as her stint in beauty school went very poorly.  After hours, she somehow hallucinates Frankie Avalon advising her to get her high school degree.

As a child, I was so proud of myself when I realized all these women played other roles in the movie, as if facial recognition was an important skill.

The day of the big dance finally arrives, as National Bandstand comes to Rydell High with roofie-wielding predator and television host Vince Fontaine.  Rizzo arrives with the leader of the rival gang, while Kenickie has his best girl, Cha Cha, as his date, because they are both very well-adjusted teenagers that know how to work through conflict by communicating and not using desperate attempts to make each other jealous.  Danny and Sandy are cutting up a rug until Sonny attempts to physically assault Sandy, and Danny just lets it happen because another one of his exes, Cha Cha, starts to dance with him while Sandy is rebuffing Sonny’s advances.  Cha Cha and Danny subsequently win the contest.  Honestly, this is so fucked up, I would have dropped Danny after this lapse of good judgement.

But no, Sandy still allows him to take her on a date to the drive-in, and it’s not until he elbows her in the boob and then tries to cop a feel in front of everybody that she finally blows him off.  Then he has the absolute gall to act emo about it because he’s afraid people will think he’s a loser.  Jesus Christ.

Kenickie is also hurting, as he discovers that Rizzo is pregnant and she doesn’t want anything to do with him, regardless of what being an unwed mother will do to her reputation.  He decides to process these emotions by racing Greased Lighting for pink slips, as he likes to live his life a quarter mile at a time.  Unfortunately, Danny steals Kenickie’s thunder (road) yet again, as he’s forced to take his place in the race because of a car door-related closed head injury.  Sandy is impressed by Danny’s driving skillz and decides to sex herself up for an unreliable and emotionally manipulative teenager.  Danny has a similar inclination and decides to put on a nice sweater to win Sandy back, which is something, I guess.  They declare they’re the one each other needs, oh yes indeed.

The school year ends, and all the boys end up paired with the girls.  Rizzo finds out she’s not pregnant and reunites with Kenickie?!  Marty ends up with Sonny even though he’s a handsy creep.  Danny and Sandy are just an mess with incompatible expectations of each other.  But at least Jan and Putzie and Frenchy and Doodie are fairly inoffensive.  The end.

This movie is great, even all these years later.  The entire cast is fantastic, even those with smaller bit parts.  I was *living* for the school staff, Principal McGee and Coach Calhoun especially.  Grease also jump started my lifelong love for Stockard Channing.  She’s great in The West Wing, but her part as Sister Husband in Where the Heart Is may be my favorite performance of hers.  I’ve watched that movie so many times I can’t even call it a guilty pleasure, I love it so much.

Olivia Newton-John wasn’t even sure she wanted to be in this movie and requested a screen test so she could see if she was good at acting.  John Travolta was enamored with her and helped convince Olivia she was perfect for the part, and he wasn’t wrong.  She gives such a strong performance as Sandy; I bought her transformation from clean-cut cinnamon roll to sexpot completely.  John Travolta was also unbelievably charming as Danny, and I found myself giggling at his line deliveries constantly.

The songs are also unbelievably catchy (albeit somewhat annoying after you’ve heard them 700 times).  Barry Gibb, my favorite Pras-adjacent composer, wrote the theme for the movie and it just bops so hard.  As a well-documented detractor of Doo Wop music, there’s not a whole lot else here for me, but that’s not going to blind me to the excellence of this soundtrack.  There is a reason this movie is revered as much as it is.  10/10, fun for the whole family, as long as the kids don’t understand the references.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 6.12

910 – Battle of Augsburg: The Hungarians defeat the East Frankish army under King Louis the Child, using the famous feigned retreat tactic of the nomadic warriors. 1240 – At the instigation of Louis IX of France, an inter-faith debate, known as the Disputation of Paris, starts between a Christian monk and four rabbis. 1381 – Peasants' Revolt: In England, rebels assemble at Blackheath, just outside London. 1418 – Armagnac–Burgundian Civil War: Parisians slaughter sympathizers of Bernard VII, Count of Armagnac, along with all prisoners, foreign bankers, and students and faculty of the College of Navarre. 1429 – Hundred Years' War: On the second day of the Battle of Jargeau, Joan of Arc leads the French army in their capture of the city and the English commander, William de la Pole, 1st Duke of Suffolk. 1550 – The city of Helsinki, Finland (belonging to Sweden at the time) is founded by King Gustav I of Sweden. 1653 – First Anglo-Dutch War: The Battle of the Gabbard begins, lasting until the following day. 1665 – Thomas Willett is appointed the first mayor of New York City. 1758 – French and Indian War: Siege of Louisbourg: James Wolfe's attack at Louisbourg, Nova Scotia, commences. 1772 – French explorer Marc-Joseph Marion du Fresne and 25 of his men killed by Māori in New Zealand. 1775 – American War of Independence: British general Thomas Gage declares martial law in Massachusetts. The British offer a pardon to all colonists who lay down their arms. There would be only two exceptions to the amnesty: Samuel Adams and John Hancock, if captured, were to be hanged. 1776 – The Virginia Declaration of Rights is adopted. 1798 – Irish Rebellion of 1798: Battle of Ballynahinch. 1817 – The earliest form of bicycle, the dandy horse, is driven by Karl von Drais. 1821 – Badi VII, king of Sennar, surrenders his throne and realm to Isma'il Pasha, general of the Ottoman Empire, ending the existence of that Sudanese kingdom. 1830 – Beginning of the Invasion of Algiers: Thiry-four thousand French soldiers land 27 kilometers west of Algiers, at Sidi Ferruch. 1864 – American Civil War, Overland Campaign: Battle of Cold Harbor: Ulysses S. Grant gives the Confederate forces under Robert E. Lee a victory when he pulls his Union troops from their position at Cold Harbor, Virginia and moves south. 1898 – Philippine Declaration of Independence: General Emilio Aguinaldo declares the Philippines' independence from Spain. 1899 – New Richmond tornado: The eighth deadliest tornado in U.S. history kills 117 people and injures around 200. 1914 – Massacre of Phocaea: Turkish irregulars slaughter 50 to 100 Greeks and expel thousands of others in an ethnic cleansing operation in the Ottoman Empire. 1921 – Mikhail Tukhachevsky orders the use of chemical weapons against the Tambov Rebellion, bringing an end to the peasant uprising. 1935 – A ceasefire is negotiated between Bolivia and Paraguay, ending the Chaco War. 1938 – The Helsinki Olympic Stadium was inaugurated in Töölö, Helsinki, Finland. 1939 – Shooting begins on Paramount Pictures' Dr. Cyclops, the first horror film photographed in three-strip Technicolor. 1939 – The Baseball Hall of Fame opens in Cooperstown, New York. 1940 – World War II: Thirteen thousand British and French troops surrender to Major General Erwin Rommel at Saint-Valery-en-Caux. 1942 – Anne Frank receives a diary for her thirteenth birthday. 1943 – The Holocaust: Germany liquidates the Jewish Ghetto in Brzeżany, Poland (now Berezhany, Ukraine). Around 1,180 Jews are led to the city's old Jewish graveyard and shot. 1944 – World War II: Operation Overlord: American paratroopers of the 101st Airborne Division secure the town of Carentan, Normandy, France. 1954 – Pope Pius XII canonises Dominic Savio, who was 14 years old at the time of his death, as a saint, making him at the time the youngest unmartyred saint in the Roman Catholic Church. In 2017, Francisco and Jacinta Marto, aged ten and nine at the time of their deaths, are declared saints. 1963 – NAACP field secretary Medgar Evers is murdered in front of his home in Jackson, Mississippi by Ku Klux Klan member Byron De La Beckwith during the civil rights movement. 1964 – Anti-apartheid activist and ANC leader Nelson Mandela is sentenced to life in prison for sabotage in South Africa. 1967 – The United States Supreme Court in Loving v. Virginia declares all U.S. state laws which prohibit interracial marriage to be unconstitutional. 1975 – India, Judge Jagmohanlal Sinha of the city of Allahabad ruled that India's Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had used corrupt practices to win her seat in the Indian Parliament, and that she should be banned from holding any public office. Mrs. Gandhi sent word that she refused to resign. 1979 – Bryan Allen wins the second Kremer prize for a man powered flight across the English Channel in the Gossamer Albatross. 1987 – The Central African Republic's former emperor Jean-Bédel Bokassa is sentenced to death for crimes he had committed during his 13-year rule. 1987 – Cold War: At the Brandenburg Gate, U.S. President Ronald Reagan publicly challenges Mikhail Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall. 1988 – Austral Líneas Aéreas Flight 46, a McDonnell Douglas MD-81, crashes short of the runway at Libertador General José de San Martín Airport, killing all 22 people on board. 1990 – Russia Day: The parliament of the Russian Federation formally declares its sovereignty. 1991 – Russians first democratically elected Boris Yeltsin as the President of Russia. 1991 – Kokkadichcholai massacre: The Sri Lankan Army massacres 152 minority Tamil civilians in the village of Kokkadichcholai near the eastern province town of Batticaloa. 1993 – An election takes place in Nigeria and is won by Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola. Its results are later annulled by the military Government of Ibrahim Babangida. 1994 – Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman are murdered outside Simpson's home in Los Angeles. Her estranged husband, O.J. Simpson is later charged with the murders, but is acquitted by a jury. 1997 – Queen Elizabeth II reopens the Globe Theatre in London. 1999 – Kosovo War: Operation Joint Guardian begins when a NATO-led United Nations peacekeeping force (KFor) enters the province of Kosovo in Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. 2009 – Analog television stations (excluding low-powered stations) switch to digital television following the DTV Delay Act. 2009 – A disputed presidential election in Iran leads to wide-ranging local and international protests. 2016 – Forty-nine civilians are killed and 58 others injured in an attack on a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida; the gunman, Omar Mateen, is killed in a gunfight with police. 2017 – American student Otto Warmbier returns home in a coma after spending 17 months in a North Korean prison and dies a week later. 2018 – United States President Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un of North Korea held the first meeting between leaders of their two countries in Singapore.

[enthusiasticsobrietyabuse]

Bob Meehan - Times Advocate: Sunday, August 26, 1984

The story of a con man who helps kids kick drugs

Robert Meehan describes himself as a hippie, a rebel, a former heroin addict and a con man. There is no one better qualified, in his mind, to help teenagers get off drugs.

Meehan is the director of a Valley Center drug-rehabilitation program for young drug abusers called SLIC - Sober Live-In Center - Ranch. The former director of a major Houston-based drug rehabilitation program, Meehan has won high praise from clients and their parents, who have included comedians Carol Burnett and Tim Conway.

Despite that praise, however, Meehan's methods have attracted considerable controversy. He left the Houston Palmer Drug program in 1980, after television reports questioned the accuracy of the program's vaunted success rate and Meehan's possible conflict of interest in receiving a lucrative hospital consulting fee.

Meehan's problems did not end when he left Houston, however.

The county has declared SLIC Ranch to be in violation of zoning ordinances, and the state has threatened to close it down unless Meehan gets proper license to run a drug-treatment program. The county has also questioned SLIC's ties to a burgeoning self-help drug program called Freeway that has a satellite programs throughout San Diego County.

SLIC, which charges $4,000 a month and caters mainly to children of affluent parents, has also prompted concerns among drug-counseling professionals. Some worry that the cost of the program is excessive and that it relies heavily on non-professional counselors to provide treatment. They also express concern that Meehan could exert undue influence over his impressionable young charges.

Meehan established SLIC Ranch in 1981 as a privately-funded live-in center for young drug abusers requiring daily counseling to overcome their habits. Between 10 and 16 young people live in a rambling ranch-style house, supervised by Meehan and recovered drug-abusers who have gone through the SLIC program themselves.

While two professional psychologists are associated with the program, the emphasis is on former drug addicts and recovered alcoholics whose counseling approach is: "I've been there before." Meehan himself is a former heroin addict and recovered alcoholic.

Meehan, who wears his hair shoulder-length and sports tight designer jeans and a gold chain necklace, both dresses and acts hip - partly, he says, to gain the trust of his young clients.

"They say, 'Wow, look at this crazy old hippie,'" said Meehan, who does not care to modernize his image.

"I'm still a rebel. I'm still a hippie. I don't know how to change. I love the cause. I feel like I've got as righteous a cause as the Vietnam War."

Meehan said he can understand how parents bringing their kids to SLIC might be leery of him, given his appearance.

"I don't know if I'd trust me," he said, laughing. "But beneath this hair is a red neck. I'm a Republican. Voted for Reagan."

But when he talks about drugs, Meehan speaks in a voice that teenagers can understand.

"It's the Cheech-and-Chong generation," Meehan is fond of saying to his clients. "They're committing suicide on the installment plan."

Meehan often harps on the comedy team of Cheech and Chong, whose trademark is overindulgence in marijuana. In sharp contrast to some health professionals, Meehan regards marijuana as one of the most dangerous drugs used by teenagers.

"Marijuana is the most insidious chemical in society today," because it affects the mind, Meehan said. "I'd rather the kids were shooting heroin."

Meehan's message and his style often prompt adulation from the young people in his care.

"He has the answer to everything," said 16-year-old girl from La Jolla who said she was having trouble getting along with her mother, who had recently remarried. "He has love. It's like one big family. We work together and play together, and it's fun. And Bob's our big daddy."

Meehan, 41, the son of an Irish policeman, grew up in Baltimore. He said he started taking drugs at age 12.

He became an alcoholic and a heroin addict, spending four years in state and federal prisons for drug convictions. While in a Texas jail, Meehan was befriended by an Episcopalian priest. Upon his release he became the janitor for the Palmer Memorial Episcopal Church in Houston.

The priest urged Meehan to stay off drugs by counseling some of the local kids with drug problems of their own. Meehan said that at the time he was "a crazy kid with a 'hellatious' ego and visions of grandeur" and too flattered to turn down the offer.

The informal, self-help group began in 1972 with six members. It grew to become the Palmer Drug Abuse Program, which, according to Meehan, has had 30,000 participants. Meehan described it as "the most powerful drug program in the world."

It was closely modeled after the Alcoholics Anonymous program, with recovered abusers helping their peers.

Palmer garnered national publicity in the late 1970s, when actress Carol Burnett sent her daughter, Carrie Hamilton, there for treatment. Burnett was so impressed with her daughter's improvement that she and her husband accompanied Meehan on the "Phil Donahue Show" and other television shows to tout the program's success.

But Meehan's claims that his program had a cure rate of 75 percent to 80 percent attracted some sharp scrutiny.

In January 1980, CBS' "60 Minutes" TV program broadcast a piece on Palmer. According to a transcript of the broadcast, Meehan conceded under repeated questioning by Dan Rather that he did not have documentation to support his alleged success rate.

Rather also questioned Meehan's $50,000 annual consulting fee from a Houston hospital to which Palmer routinely sent young drug addicts for costly medical treatment. Meehan said during the interview that he saw no conflict of interest.

Meehan was also asked about his power to "persuade" some of the program's vulnerable young clients.

"I have that power," Meehan said. "I certainly do. I've been a con all my life. Just now I'm using it in a good way, see."

Following the "60 Minutes" piece, Meehan was asked to leave Palmer. In retrospect, Meehan now says, he could have prevented his firing by paying more attention to program details.

"I wasn't doing a damn thing wrong," he said. "I didn't mind the store. I was naive."

Meehan came to San Diego to work for Contemporary Health Inc., which was consulting with Center City Hospital, now Harborview Hospital, to establish a drug-abuse program. But his work for the hospital was short-lived.

"My methods are very unorthodox," Meehan said. "I was always fighting the staff."

While working for the hospital, however, Meehan helped establish a self-help counseling program called Freeway. It was modeled directly after Palmer and named after a rock music group formed at Palmer to entertain the kids in the program.

Freeway was started in 1982 by Jac Coupe, a former Palmer counselor, and by other Palmer employees who has left Texas after Meehan's departure. It now has centers in Coronado, Point Loma, Solana Beach and the newest one in Fallbrook.

The program, whose services are free, is funded in each community by local civic groups and churches. It is open to people 13 to 25 seeking help for drug and alcohol problems.

Participants are encouraged to attend weekly group-counseling sessions and to follow a 12-step program to achieve sobriety. Those who are severely addicted are referred for hospital treatment. In some cases, however, Freeway counselors conclude that a young person needs more intensive counseling - at SLIC Ranch.

Those who go to SLIC for a typical one-month stay range in age from 13 to 24, with the average age about 16. Most are psychologically - not physically - addicted to drugs. They have come to get free of dependence on marijuana, alcohol, speed and LSD.

Pat, a 19-year-old Rancho Santa Fe youth, realized he needed help when he mugged a woman to get money for his $600-a-week cocaine habit. John, a 21-year-old alcoholic from Clairemont, had tried a variety of alcohol treatment programs with no success.

SLIC participants live in a spacious ranch house, set among the oaks and hills of Valley Center, with a garden and pond-shaped swimming pool. They share bedrooms dormitory-style, with three or four to a room.

The participants are required to prepare their own meals to their own tastes, and there are no planned menus. Cereal and hot dogs are staples.

The rules prohibit drugs, alcohol, sex and violence. However, smoking, which is allowed, is prevalent.

"We don't care about cigarettes, diets and vitamin intake," Meehan said.

Participants spend most of their days in counseling. During their free time they are allowed to lounge by the pool and play rock music, much to the dismay of the neighbors. Occasional field trips are taken to Disneyland and other amusement centers.

SLIC residents are supervised by a staff of six, most former SLIC residents themselves. At least one staff person is on duty 24 hours a day.

One of the supervisors, Jackie Moors, 26 got off drugs a year ago after going through the SLIC program. Moors, who started doing drugs at age 10 and progressed until she was shooting up crystal methamphetamine, credits SLIC with turning her life around.

"The next stop would have been either jail or death" without SLIC, she said. The program worked, she said, because "people really cared about me." Her young son stays with her at the ranch.

Meehan said one goal of the center is to show residents "how to have more fun sober" than on drugs or alcohol.

Every weekday SLIC residents are transported by van to a rented house in Escondido, where they spend six hours in therapy and discussion.

The sessions are directed by Meehan and by Peter Sterman, a psychological assistant, who cannot practice without supervision of a licensed psychologist. His supervisor is Dr. Carl E. Morgan of San Diego.

In the evenings and on weekends, the residents are often taken to meetings of Freeway or Alcoholics Anonymous.

Last month the state notified Meehan that the center was operating without a license and threatened to close it down unless the center meets state standards required for a so-called residential-care license.

SLIC has been operating without a license because Meehan has successfully dodged the requirements, according to Tom Hersant, director of the San Diego office of the state's Community Care Licensing Division.

He told state officials that the ranch was operating not as a residential-care center providing therapy to live-in clients, but as a "boarding house," with the boarders receiving their counseling off the ranch in an Escondido house.

Meehan told the Times-Advocate that he attempted to avoid licensing to keep costs down.

Last month state investigators who has been suspicious of the arrangement finally confront SLIC officials.

"They told us, 'All right, already. We do provide therapy,'" Hersant said. "Suddenly now they're 'fessing up that they offer therapy."

State officials informed Meehan that a license would be needed.

To obtain a license the center would have to meet fire safety standards, provide a medical checkup for new clients to insure they are getting the appropriate treatment, and keep records evaluating the clients' progress. SLIC would no longer be allowed, as it does now, to mix clients younger than 18 with those older than 18.

Please see Ranch, page B2

Meehan has insisted that the licensing requirements are minor. He said he would comply, though he feels that the regulations would bring too much formality to the relaxed way he runs the program.

Not only must the ranch be licensed, but the counseling program run at the Escondido house must obtain a separate license to offer drug counseling. Once a facility is licensed, the state inspects it once a year to insure that standards are met.

Hersant said SLIC has agreed to apply for the two licenses. The licensing approval usually takes 90 days. If no licenses are obtained, he said, the state will move to shut SLIC down.

Meehan said he plans to meet the state requirements, but he dislikes the paperwork.

"I will comply to whatever extent I have to, to help young people," he said. "At the same time, I just want to do my thing."

Meehan said his problems with the state occurred because of negative publicity generated by the ranch's landlord, Clayton Blehm, an Escondido accountant. Blehm was sentenced in June to one year in jail for zoning violations at the Valley Center property that included adding illegal structures around the ranch. He is out on bail awaiting an appeal.

Blehm has also been cited by county zoning officials for allowing SLIC to move in without getting a major use permit - required to run a treatment center in a rural-residential area. The zoning investigations were prompted by complaints from neighbors, some of whom said that a drug treatment center did not belong in their quiet neighborhood and that they were repeatedly disturbed by loud music.

Last year SLIC and Freeway were the subject of an "informal investigation" by the county Division of Drug Programs. The investigation was prompted partly by complaints from a San Diego city schools official concerned that Freeway encouraged some young persons to stay away from school for one to three months to avoid their drug-using friends.

The report concluded that the complaint was the result of lack of communication between the school district and Freeway and that the two should work out an understanding.

The county investigation was also prompted by concerns about SLIC's relationship with Freeway.

"On the surface," the report said, "one might question the referral relationship, since both program directors hold a personal acquaintance that foes back to the Palmer Drug Abuse Program in Houston. However, DDP has no documentation information to suggest there is any impropriety or conflict of interest in the referral process."

Meehan said he has no break-down on where SLIC clients come from, but that many are referred by Freeway. He said SLIC and Freeway have no financial arrangements, because that would be unethical.

"There can't be," he said. "There's absolutely no financial arrangement either way."

Meehan urges all SLIC residents to attend Freeway counseling sessions after they leave the ranch. That is critical to staying sober, according to Meehan.

"If we can't hook a kid into Freeway," he said, "his chances are less than 60 percent of making it."

Some who go through the SLIC program are advised to live with "Freeway families" for several months, rather than with their own families. Meehan defended the practice for some clients, contending they would fall back into bad habits at home.

Asked whether continued reliance on Freeway would hurt a client's chances of becoming independent, Meehan said, "It's a very safe group of friends to have. I don't know if it's an unhealthy dependency."

According to Meehan, 90 percent of those who have gone through the SLIC program in the past 18 months have remained sober or off drugs after they left. He said that figure comes from undocumented reports from Freeway officials. "I hate statistics," he said.

Despite its concerns, the County Division of Drug programs concluded that there was "no documentable evidence" to prevent the county from recommending SLIC and Freeway as treatment centers.

At the time of the investigation, Meehan was serving the first year of a three-year term on the county's Advisory Committee on Drug Abuse. The 11-member volunteer committee helps county officials select drug-treatment programs to receive county money.

Freeway centers, which are privately funded, are generally located in affluent regions of the county.

"They're in the ones that can pay for it," Meehan said. "They have raised the money."

Parents in those communities can also afford to send their children to SLIC. The $4,000-a-month cost of attending SLIC has raised eyebrows among professional drug counselors.

By comparison, the county-funded McAllister Institute of Training and Education in El Cajon charges about $720 a month to treat women with drug problems.

Jessica Lewis, program director for Community Resources and Self-Help Inc., which has a county contract to treat drug abusers in San Diego, said the program has never referred anyone to SLIC. Lewis said her program's clients cannot afford Meehan's program.

"His target audience is kids from families that are financially successful," she said. "He's earning big bucks. More power to him. He has a mindset of big business and the heartset of helping people. I don't question his sincerity."

During his "60 Minutes" interview four years ago, Meehan said he was worth more than the $100,000 he was then making. He would not say in a recent interview how much he makes running SLIC.

Meehan, who lives in Rancho Bernardo, said that despite the $4,000-a-month per-person SLIC Ranch fee, he is not getting rich.

"Where that profit is, I haven't seen it yet," he said. "I make enough to pay my bills and save $100 a month."

Some health professionals were reluctant to speak candidly about Meehan's program. One noted that Meehan, because he sits on the county advisory committee, wields influence over the finances of many local treatment programs.

Nevertheless, some drug-treatment experts expressed reluctance to refer clients to SLIC because of its reliance on non-professional counselors. After sitting on a panel discussion with Meehan, Greg Baer, head nurse of the substance-abuse unit at Southwood Psychiatric Hospital in Chula Vista, he said he would not recommend Meehan's program for anyone.

"I just question his ability to be therapeutic," said Baer, whose program also treats adolescents for as much as $10,200 a month. "The people we deal with need a therapeutic approach from people who are knowledgeable... you need to have knowledge of what you're doing and not just go with a gut feeling."

Baer criticized SLIC's exclusion of the families of young drug abusers from its treatment program.

"If Johnny is going to return home, you have to discuss how this is going to be done... Otherwise you are doomed for failure," he said.

Some professional counselors said they worry about Meehan's influence over young people. Lewis said it is important for an organization such as SLIC, which treats emotionally-dependent people, to be accountable to a licensing or watchdog agency. Otherwise, she said, clients can be exploited.

"It's a pain in the neck," she said, "but I'm prepared to answer to those (licensing) people. There are enough people looking over our shoulder to make sure our clients are safe."

John Adam, a licensed psychologist in Coronado who has monitored SLIC Ranch and Freeway for more than a year, said he is concerned about the unorthodox nature of the counseling. Adam said the adulation that SLIC participants feel toward Meehan resembles hero worship.

"Any time you depend on the charisma of a leader, you fear that results will fade with time or distance from the guru," he said.

Meehan said he knows that he has tremendous influence on this young charges, but he tries to use that to good purposes.

"I'd like to think I'd become one of their local heroes instead of Cheech and Chong," he said.

But he acknowledged that his relationship with the clients could lead to problems.

"Yeah, it scares me," he said. "You get into a real guru (situation). This is where cults can begin."

"I have an advantage, though, because they're here only 30 days. I cut them loose emotionally when they leave here."

[olehistorian]

PHYLLIS Logan is only minutes back from New York where the actress has been promoting the new Downton Abbey movie. The national station PBS has been beaming out interviews across the nation, given the series about toffs and toff-servers has been such an success in the classless land of the free.

Logan’s voice is soft and a little subdued. She speaks in thumbnails, not given to flourishes at all. I factor in that the expansive, often dramatic language of hyperbole was spoken by very few in Renfrewshire in the 1950s and 1960s (yet actors tend to be more effusive). And I factor in jetlag of course.

But then again, perhaps there’s a little more of her laconic head housekeeper character Mrs Hughes in Phyllis Logan than we’d suspected? “Well, I can be a bit snippy, a bit terse,” she offers, smiling. “But only to my nearest and dearest.” Would Kevin (actor husband Kevin McNally) agree with that? “Probably,” she says, dryly.

Logan’s thoughts on the Mrs Hughes comparison continues: “She was written down in the script, of course, but I like to think I gave her the legs to run. But when you play a character there are always elements of you in that person. You can’t completely step away from yourself.”

Downton is a phenomenal television success story. The series, which began eight years ago featuring the Crawley family and their legion of servants, began with the Titanic going down, and has covered plague, rape, murder, interwoven with romance, often crossing the class barriers.

Logan’s character was voted No 1 Ever in a 2014 Radio Times poll; no mean feat given the subdued nature of Mrs H, a woman to whom flashes of excitement are to be discouraged as much as relations with those upstairs.

Yet, the original script described Elsie Hughes as a Yorkshire woman. Logan reveals it was only when the casting directors heard the Scot’s natural voice that they asked her to read in her own accent. “I was happy when she was cast as a Scot. She had that Scottish bluntness and I felt right because I have known women like her.”

During the six series of Downton, Mrs Hughes negotiated Branson the chauffeur’s assassination attempt, Carson’s Spanish flu and helped Ethel with her illegitimate Upstairs son, Charlie. The psychologist with an apron also sorted out Thomas’s homosexuality. And although she fell for Mr Carson, (or at least lurched slightly in his direction) it took a bit of persuasion before she agreed to a “full” marriage, where he would make occasional visits downstairs.

“We all know those types,” grins Logan. “But what’s nice about her is she does have a sense of humour. And she’s quite forward thinking. She’s a republican, and has a socialist bent to her for sure.”

Does Logan have left-wing sympathies, considering her late father, an engineer, was a trade unionist? She deflects by referring to Mrs Hughes. “She was of a different type. She knew people were thrown into a caste system but had to make the best of it.”

Yes, but what about you, Phyllis? Did you feel working class containment in Johnstone, where most people’s horizons didn't stretch beyond Rootes car plant or the local carpet factory (where John Byrne took inspiration for The Slab Boys – Logan appeared in the sequel, Cuttin’ A Rug)?

“You just accepted the way things were,” she says, sounding ever so Mrs Hughes. “I never thought I’d break out and become posh. But I did think it would be nice to spread my wings a little.”

Just a little? She smiles and adds: “But I didn’t audition for some of the big London drama schools. I thought that was a step too far for me at the time so I went to Glasgow.”

Not a risk taker. Not a wild child. But very, very good at what she does. Despite her careers teacher declaring the teenager was wasting her time with acting, Logan picked up the James Bridie Gold Medal at the RSAMD. On leaving she landed work at Dundee Rep and worked continuously throughout the 1970s and 1980s with the likes of Borderline Theatre. Real talent was revealed. Yet few would have expected her to land the role of Britain’s most popular posh totty in dodgy antiques dealer series Lovejoy.

Aged 30 in 1986, Logan walked into an audition room as Lady Felsham. Logan’s Lady had a cut-glass accent, spoke authoritatively of renaissance art and invoked a world of stately homes and castles. But in reality, Logan’s only castle connection was her housing scheme, Johnstone Castle, where the recognised art on living room walls was a classic Sara Moon picture. This new cut-glass accent had somehow emerged from a world where ginger bottles were a form of currency.

Logan’s clever deception (aided by being forced to speak RP at drama college) revealed that you don’t have to be a loud extrovert to be emboldened enough to convince you are actually blue blooded: you just need to be talented. “I can’t believe looking back now that 20 million were watching us on Sunday nights. The show was so huge.”

Many other drama successes followed such as Mike Leigh’s Secrets and Lies. But did she feel Downton would be the massive success it became? “I read the scripts and loved them. And when I heard Maggie Smith and Hugh (Bonneville) and Penelope (Wilton) were on board it looked good. Then we signed an option for three series but there was always the chance it could have gone down the pan after one.” Her voice lifts. “And then six came along.”

Did this kill the fear, the insecurity that comes with being an actor waiting to be hired? She answers indirectly. “It used to be that you always knew that when one job was finishing another would be on its way. But that seems to be far less the case these days. That’s why it was great having that guarantee of six months' work each year. And each time it was like going back to school after the summer holidays and seeing your friends.”

Logan seems the worrying type, so why volunteer for a life of insecurity? “And rejection,” she adds in soft voice. “And I’ve had a certain amount of that.” She thinks for a second and makes a dramatic statement that seems out of character. “You know, I wanted this part in Downton so badly I think I might have given up [acting] had I not got it. I don’t often feel that. Usually I have a what’s-for-you-will-not-go-by-you outlook.”

She laughs and allows herself a little flightiness: “Somehow I felt, ‘This is mine! It’s meant to be.'" She then contains herself and becomes more Mrs Hughes. “No, I felt I’d like to give it a bash.”

Logan certainly didn’t get into acting for the glory. She doesn’t seem to be consumed by ambition or the fripperies of acting success. She had genuinely forgotten she’d won a Bridie Gold Medal, and mention of her Bafta for Another Time, Another Place, (the 1983 Scotswoman falls for Italian POW tragic romance) doesn’t swell her head in the slightest. What she does want, however, is to act. All the time. In all the best roles.

“I just wanted to be the best I could. To find the truth in every role. You don’t think about awards. Acting has been the only thing that remotely interested me since I played Mary in the Nativity play at primary school. Then at Johnstone High I’d join every club that had anything to do with acting and take trips to the Citizens'. I’d be in any play going, starting in the chorus and working my way up to playing Polly in the Boyfriend.”

But, of course, there have been set backs. “My dad [David] didn’t live to see me graduate, [he died, aged 59] and that was a real shame but my mum would come and see all my shows.”

Logan’s voice becomes more upbeat as she tells of how her mum and aunt landed roles in one of her films, when the actress appeared in a drama set in Spain, The Legendary Life of Ernest Hemingway (1989). “My mum Betty and my auntie Margaret came on set to have a look around, and they were asked if they wanted to be extras. They loved the idea of this, and were dressed up as posh ladies with big frocks and they had all the make-up done.

“But it was a night shoot, and the second night as they should have been getting picked up they declared, ‘Oh, pet, we don’t think we’ll bother tonight.’ I thought ‘Have you never heard of continuity? Do you know what this means? I had to tell the director they’d both eaten something dodgy.”

Betty and Margaret clearly weren’t captivated by the acting world. Logan herself once claimed she wasn’t captivated by actors. She said she wouldn’t have one in the house, that they were vain people. But then she met McNally while filming the 1993 miniseries Love and Reason and they fell in love and married.

“What I meant was I’d never get together with one,” she backtracks, grinning. “But in a way it makes real sense. We know the business. And we can help each other. Recently, Kevin was doing three episodes of the missing Dad’s Army scripts (playing Captain Mainwaring) and I read lines with him every night. It meant I got to play every other character in the cast.” McNally must have found it a delight, given his wife’s talent. (She slips into a remarkable Clive Dunn/Corporal Jones voice. “Don’t panic, don’t panic Mr Mannering.”

But if all that sounds a little perfunctory, Logan, who lives in west London, once declared: “There’s an excitement in discovering that you can still fall in love when you’re an ancient old trout.”

There’s little doubt the relationship really works. But the Mrs Hughes cross voice emerges when I ask if Pirates of the Caribbean star McNally, who has appeared in Downton in the past, playing Horace Bryant, has a role this time around? “No, he does not,” she says emphatically, (subtext: he’s had his shot and should be thankful, a sentiment which sits neatly against her husband’s quote of the time: “Phyllis said it was like take-your-husband-to-work day.”

Was she a bit territorial? “Yes,” she smiles. “I was thinking: ‘You don’t get me a part as Johnny Depp’s mother and take me to the Caribbean. So why are you here?’”

What of the Downton film, set in 1927, two years after the end of the series? It transpires tiaras and silver will be polished until they sparkle. “We get a visit from the King and Queen (George V and Queen Mary) and there’s a bit of friction between the Downton team and the Royal household staff. Mr Carson (now on gardening duty) is begged by Lady Mary to help out. The cavalry ride into town!”

And, of course, there will be lashings of scandal, romance and intrigue “that will leave the future of Downton hanging in the balance,” says the official movie site.

But what of the future for Phyllis Logan? Despite running up continuous film and TV series, success, from Taggarts to Rab C Nesbitt, from the more recent The Good Karma Hospital to Girlfriends – and attracting great crits for her West End role earlier this year as Patricia Highsmith in Switzerland – she certainly has Elsie Hughes’ worry gene.

Logan’s run, she feels, could end at any minute.

“It’s a snakes and ladders life,” she says in Mrs Hughes' tones. “Your career can be going really well and suddenly the snake appears. But I guess I’ve been lucky because I persevered.”

Nonsense, Phyllis. Talent kicked in. You don’t get Bridies and Baftas and almost continuous work for perseverance. “It’s lovely of you to say so, but I’m not sure that’s really the case.”

Downton Abbey is out on September 13

[antoine-roquentin]

Public distrust of the CWP [Communist Workers Party] mobilized sympathy for the white power gunmen. Furthermore, CWP members repeatedly undermined their chance at what justice the court could offer. Several of the women widowed on November 3 confounded the Greensboro community when, instead of weeping or grieving, they stood with their fists raised and declared to the television cameras that they would seek communist revolution.61 Days after the shooting, an article appeared in the Greensboro Record that was titled “Slain CWP Man Talked of Martyrdom” and implied that the CWP had foreknowledge of the shooting and that some planned to die for the cause. This damaged what little public sympathy remained. In language typical of mainstream coverage, the story described the CWP as “far-out zealots infiltrat[ing] a peaceful neighborhood.” Even two years later, when the widows visited the Greensboro cemetery and found their husbands’ headstone vandalized with red paint meant to symbolize blood, they would not be able to effectively mobilize public sympathy.62 Community wariness of the CWP’s militant stance only increased after the CWP held a public funeral for their fallen comrades and marched through town with rifles and shotguns. The fact that the weapons were not loaded hardly mattered: photographs of the widows holding weapons at the ready appeared in local and national newspapers. In the public imagination, these images inverted the real events of November 3, when a heavily armed white power paramilitary squad confronted a minimally armed group of protestors. The defendants, depicted as respectable men wearing suits in front of the Vietnam War memorial, stood in stark contrast to the gun-toting widows.63 National and local CWP members took up a campaign of hostile protest of the trial itself. The day before testimony began, the CWP burned a large swastika into the lawn of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms director, and hung an effigy on his property with a red dot meant to convey a bullet wound. In the trial itself, CWP members refused to testify, even to identify the bodies of their fallen comrades. CWP widows who shouted that the trial was “a sham” and emptied a vial of skunk oil in the courtroom were held in contempt of court. Although the actions of the widows may have “shocked the court and freaked out the judge,” as the CWP newspaper Workers Viewpoint proudly reported, the widows’ “bravery” didn’t translate as such to the Greensboro community.64 Even those who may have sympathized with the CWP after seeing the graphic footage of the shooting soon found that feeling complicated by the group’s contempt for the justice system, however problematic that system was. With the CWP widows refusing to tell their stories, attorneys for the defendants built a self-defense case by deploying two widely used white power narratives: one of honorable and wronged Vietnam veterans, and the other of the defense of white womanhood. The defense depended on the claim that CWP members carrying sticks had threatened Renee Hartsoe, the seventeen-year-old wife of Klansman Terry Hartsoe, as she rode in a car near the front of the caravan. Terry Hartsoe testified that he could see the communist protestors throwing rocks at the car and trying to open the door. Such a statement can be seen as alluding to the threat of rape of white women by nonwhite men, a constant theme throughout the various iterations of the Klan since the end of the Civil War.65 White supremacy has long deployed violence by claiming to protect vulnerable white women.... After many years of ineffective, smaller prosecutions, the Fort Smith trial marked the first serious attempt by the federal government to recognize the unification of seemingly disparate Klan, neo-Nazi, and white separatist groups in a cohesive white power movement, and to prosecute the movement’s leaders in light of this understanding. Affidavits documented nearly a decade of control by Beam, Butler, and Miles, and also named Miles’s home as the command center for the Order.66 “They preached war, prayed for war and dreamed of war,” said Justice Department prosecutor Martin Carlson. “And when war came, they willingly accepted war.”67 The indictments presented a serious enough threat to white power leaders that Beam decided to flee the country, setting off a series of events that would shape the outcome of the trial. Before Beam fled he married a woman whose martyrdom would later rally the movement and appeal to the mainstream. After the fishermen’s dispute, Louis Beam had led a chaotic personal life. He separated from his third wife in 1981, and an ugly custody battle followed the split. Beam took his young daughter to Costa Rica for two years. After his return to Texas in late 1984, he moved permanently to the Aryan Nations compound. He didn’t break his Texas ties, however, and took long trips there frequently.68 Sheila Toohey was a pretty, blond twenty-year-old Sunday school teacher at the Gospel Temple, a Christian Identity congregation in Pasadena, Texas. Beam’s young daughter was one of her students. Perhaps Beam met the Toohey family during the fishermen’s dispute: his Texas Knights of the Ku Klux Klan had run a bookstore in Pasadena. Toohey came from a family that lived in a trailer in nearby Santa Fe, Texas—the site of the Klan rally where Beam had burned a boat painted “U.S.S. Viet Cong” during the fishermen conflict in 1981.69 “Louis fell in love with Sheila immediately,” wrote J. B. Campbell, a white power movement activist who also claimed mercenary service in Rhodesia.70 Campbell’s laudatory essay later appeared on Beam’s personal website under the heading “Love” and framed with images of roses: [Beam had] been visiting her father, talking politics, and couldn’t believe his friend could have such a beautiful, sweet and unaffected daughter as Sheila, who lived at home with her parents and brothers in Santa Fe, Texas. Sheila taught Sunday school. She’d had to wear a back brace from a recent car accident and was in constant pain, although she would never burden anyone by mentioning it. In the following weeks Sheila noticed that Louis was coming over for dinner quite frequently and that he was talking with her more than with her father. He actually likes me, she realized. Within a few months Louis asked Sheila to marry him.71 The passage focused on Toohey as a vulnerable white woman—in constant pain but never mentioning it—and subservient to the man who “actually like[d]” her. Her position as a Sunday school teacher confirmed her innocence, presumed virginity, fitness for motherhood, and, since she taught children at a Christian Identity church, subscription to a white power political theology. That she lived surrounded, and presumably cared for, by her father and brothers emphasized her movement from one set of male guardians to another. It also highlighted the twenty-year age difference of the newlyweds. Toohey was Beam’s fourth wife; the first three had each been around sixteen years old when they married and around twenty years old when they divorced.72 Beam and Toohey married at a Christian Identity church in Pennsylvania in April 1987.73 After the wedding, with seditious conspiracy charges issued, Louis and Sheila Beam traveled to Mexico to avoid trial, taking his seven-year-old daughter with them, though without the proper documents. They settled in Chapala, near Guadalajara, in a community of white American expatriates. Beam spent four months on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list before authorities caught up with him in November 1987.74 One night the Beams returned home after grocery shopping. While the couple was unloading the food from the car and his daughter was still sitting in the vehicle, authorities apprehended Louis Beam. Sheila Beam “glanced out the kitchen window down at the car and was appalled to see Louis bent over the hood with a gun to his head,” according to Campbell’s narrative. Sheila Beam would later say that the officers never identified themselves as policemen and she assumed the attack was a robbery or kidnapping. Purportedly defending herself, she grabbed her husband’s weapon and shot a Mexican federal officer three times, wounding him. Authorities detained her in Mexico for ten days while they extradited Louis Beam to the United States, where he spent the next five months in prison during the sedition trial. A Mexican judge found Sheila Beam not guilty for reasons of self-defense in November 1987, and she was released and deported back to the United States. The officer she shot in the chest and abdomen remained hospitalized.75 To white power activists, this story was about endangered white women, but it was also about government betrayal. Rumors flew that federal agents had used phony drug charges as a pretense for the arrest, in order to extradite Louis Beam to the United States. This narrative placed innocent Sheila Beam in the crosshairs of a renegade state.76 However, Beam would most likely have been subject to extradition in any case, with or without drug charges.77 In an affidavit, Beam presented herself as an innocent white woman in need of the protection of white men. She said that she sustained an abdominal injury when the arresting officers threw her over a chair, and was then taken to jail and kept handcuffed for five days. She also said that the chief of police threatened her with torture, and that she was forced to sign documents in Spanish that she couldn’t read. She testified: While I was in the Guadalajara jail, I was physically and psychologically mistreated. I was kept with my wrists handcuffed behind my back for five days; my wrists were so swollen that my hands were turning colors and my watch was cutting off the circulation. I was hand-fed by a little Mexican boy with his dirty fingers. Officers would come into my cell and leer at me and caress their weapons. I was chained to the bed, which had a filthy, rotten mattress, and when I would try to sleep, they would kick the bed to jar me awake and keep me from sleeping. I was refused water for extended periods and medication for my back injury or my back brace. I was denied medical attention for my abdominal injuries and suffered from vaginal bleeding for several days afterward.78 Her testimony positioned her as endangered. It placed her in peril and in the presence of male racial others—the “Mexican boy” feeding her with “his dirty fingers,” and the officers. It presented men of color “caress[ing] their weapons” as they “leer[ed]” at her, invoking masturbation.79 It also placed her in a violated bedroom space, “chained to the bed, which had a filthy, rotten mattress.” Within the broader frame of pro-natalism, this language positioned Sheila Beam’s body as vulnerable to attack by men of color, and emphasized it as a site of combat where battles might be won or lost through the birth or absence of white children. The vaginal bleeding she said she suffered after her imprisonment hinted at both rape and miscarriage of a white child, and would have signified a double martyrdom. Jailed at the moment when the state had finally turned to the prosecution of the white power movement, Sheila Beam acted the martyr in a way that further united activists and appealed to people beyond the movement. Her wounded body served as a constant symbolic reminder of state failure and betrayal. Metzger lobbied for her release; Kirk Lyons, who represented Beam in the sedition trial and would become the go-to attorney of the white power movement over the next decade, sent an associate, Dave Holloway, to help the Toohey family advocate for her return. Back home, the Tooheys answered the phone with the entreaty, “Save Our Sheila.”80 After her release Lyons told one reporter, “It made a Christian out of me again. Her being freed was a miracle to me.”81 In the mainstream press, too, Sheila Beam became a sympathetic figure in local newspapers and major publications alike. A series of articles in the Galveston Daily News focused on her injuries, stating as fact that she had been “severely beaten” and raising the possibility that she “may have been sexually assaulted.” The same reporter uncritically repeated white power claims that FBI agents had refused to arrange her release to the United States, and described “physical and psychological coercion” during her ten-day imprisonment.82 Other articles linked her faith in God to her hopes for the acquittal of all the trial’s defendants,83 and mentioned her pain and injuries with no mention of the reasons for Louis Beam’s arrest or Sheila Beam’s actions in shooting and wounding the officer.84 The Houston Chronicle reported that she returned to the United States sobbing and limping, escorted by her father and an associate of Lyons, and was met by her mother and three brothers at the airport. The article emphasized that Sheila Beam had a swollen abdomen and walked with such a pronounced limp that two people had to support her.85 A photograph of Sheila’s return in the Miami News featured a flattering photograph of her leaning against her brother’s chest, holding flowers and flanked by a pretty, smiling, female friend. The caption referred to her “break[ing] out in tears” upon her return, and to her being “charged with shooting a Mexican federal police officer during the arrest of her husband at their … home.” It elided any reference to Christian Identity or participation in the white power movement, either by Sheila Beam or by her husband. It didn’t even name Louis Beam, much less discuss his pending seditious conspiracy charges or his stint on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. Nevertheless, it made clear that Sheila Beam shot the officer at her home, emphasizing domestic defense beneath a photograph that portrayed her as vulnerable, small, and feminine.86 For her own part, Sheila Beam delivered a political performance of martyrdom both in comments to the press and in her actions. After her release, she flew directly to Fort Smith, where Louis Beam had been transferred to a federal prison hospital following a weeklong hunger strike. White power leaders praised her selfless devotion. “Despite her severe internal injuries and equally severe psychological damage,” Campbell wrote, “Sheila postponed her required emergency surgery and flew to Ft. Smith to reassure her husband.”87 Sheila Beam went to her husband’s side despite her severe pain, the story had it, illustrating the sacrifice of the white female body to the needs of the movement. During the trial, the presence of Sheila Beam’s wounded and wronged body entered the official record in several ways. Lyons invoked her injuries regularly, interrupting testimony about her arrest to ask the pursuing FBI agent what had happened to her back brace and conspicuously leaving court to pick her up at the airport. Sheila Beam continued to speak about her injuries and abuse to the press, and claimed her husband’s innocence with the simple position that since he had quit the Klan in 1981, he couldn’t now be guilty of sedition. In truth, he had quit the Klan to join Aryan Nations and lead the white power movement on a larger scale. She also reminded newspapers that her husband held the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Army Commendation Medal, and the Air Medal for Heroism, staking out his moral authority as a hero of the Vietnam War.88 It is difficult to gauge the impact of such performative acts on the outcome of a jury trial, but Sheila Beam’s symbolic work toward acquittal should not be discounted. Even in the pages of academic accounts that have argued that white power paramilitarism partially or wholly excluded them, women nevertheless appear as historical actors who impact events. In Rafael Ezekiel’s widely cited ethnographic study, for instance, which includes his observation of the Fort Smith trial, he notes that “a sister appears for a young fellow who is already serving a long term for involvement in The Order’s robbery of an armored car … entering the court, she touched her brother’s arm, quietly, as she passed him.”89 With these actions, the “sister”—no name given, as she did not qualify as an activist in this study, but perhaps it was Brenna or Laura Beth Tate, sisters of David Tate—conferred humanity upon her brother, appealed to the jury, and neutralized the racism of the movement.90 Similarly, Ezekiel recounts the presence of Louis Beam’s “young new wife,” Sheila Beam, although she isn’t named in his account.91 Ezekiel describes how the couple make frequent eye contact across the room. She had been the Sunday school teacher of Beam’s daughter. A reporter ungraciously described her to me as “a Yahweh freak.” Here in court she wears a frilled white blouse; during Beam’s arrest in Mexico, she shot an armed Federale who had failed to identify himself.92 In other words, Sheila Beam played her part as a movement activist by creating and embodying a particular narrative of her innocence, the arrest, the justified shooting of the Mexican officer, and her husband’s wrongful detention—one persuasive enough to be accepted uncritically by journalists and academic observers.93

Katherine Belew, Bring the War Home

[balkinbuddies]

We’re celebrating July 4th with  the ALAN Review article entitled “Where Are They Now? Remembering Our Most Popular Young Adult Authors.”

     An article written by Don Gallo appeared recently in the Summer 2019 issue of The ALAN Review entitled “Where Are They Now? Remembering Our Most Popular Young Adult Authors.” Among those remembered were four authors with whom I worked very closely during my years at HarperCollins and, with Don Gallo's and the ALAN Review's permission, I'm including those remembrances on the Balkin Buddies blog:

     Here they are in  the order they appeared in the article:

Paul Zindel [Tied for first place with S.E. Hinton in 1988]*

    Paul Zindel's death in March 2003 ended the brilliant career of a unique individual. Not only did he win a Pulitzer Prize for Drama and an Obie Award for Best American Play in 1970 for The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds (1965), but he was also one of the earliest writers in the field of contemporary literature for young adults. The Pigman, published in 1968, is still one of the most well-known and widely taught novels in the genre. He followed The Pigman with My Darling, My Hamburger (1969); Pardon Me, You're Stepping on My Eyeball (1976), The Undertaker's Gone Bananas (1978); Harry and Hortense at Hormone High (1984); and other novels with attention-getting titles. His writing revealed how well he understood teenagers, believing that “adolescence is a time for problem-solving – for dealing with the awesome questions of self-identity, responsibility,  authority, sex, love, God, and death” (Gallo, 1990, p. 228).

     In addition to Gamma Rays, this versatile author wrote a number of other plays, including And Miss Reardon Drinks a Little (1971) and Ladies at the Alamo (1975), as well as a number of movies and television scripts that include Up the Sandbox (1972), starring Barbara Streisand; Mame (1974), starring Lucille Ball; Runaway Train (1985), starring Jon Voigt; Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-glass (1985), with a cast of 50 stars that included Red Buttons, Ringo Starr, Scott Baio, and Shelley Winters; Babes in Toyland (1986), starring Drew Barrymore and Keanu Reeves; and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1989), starring Keshia Knight Pullman. During those years working in Hollywood, Zindel associated with numerous movie and television actors and became good friends with Walter Matthau who lived in the house next door.

     In his later years, Zindel, always knowing what would appeal to teen readers, turned from realistic fiction to monster/horror books, such as The Doom Stone (1996), Rats (1999), and Night of the Bat (2001) – all of them filled with suspense and action and all selected as Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers.

     Zindel reveals a lot about himself in his 1987 autobiographical novel, The Amazing and Death-Defying Diary of Eugene Dingman, except that the fictional Eugene grows up in Bayone, New Jersey, while Paul grew up on Staten Island, New York. Of his teen years, Paul says bluntly: “I was an awkward freak.” More about Zindel's early life, family, and adventures can be found in his autobiography, The Pigman and Me (1992), which was named one of the 100 Best of the Best Books published for teenagers during the last part of the twentieth century.  In 2002, the American Library Association bestowed upon Paul Zindel the Margaret A. Edwards Award for lifetime achievement, and later that same year, he was presented with the ALAN Award for his contributions to young adult literature.

M. E. Kerr [Tied for fourth place with Robert Cormier and Katherine Paterson in 1988]*

     Writing under the pseudonym of M. E. Kerr, Marijane Meaker was one of the earliest authors to gain notoriety in the YA publishing world with Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack!, published in 1972. Among her 20 popular novels are Is That You, Miss Blue? (1975), I'll Love You When You're More Like Me (1977), Gentlehands (1978), Him She Loves? (1984), Night Kites (1986), the Fell series (1987, 1989, 1991), and Deliver Us from Evie (1990). Kerr has always chosen to write about differences in people, “understanding them....trying to make sense of it all, never losing sight of the power love lends.”

     In an interview published in Teenreads, she explains her motives: “I was very much formed by books when I was young....I was a bookworm and a poetry lover. When I think of myself and what I would have liked to have found in books those many years ago, I remember being depressed by all the neatly tied-up, happy-ending stories, the abundance of winners, the themes of winning, solving,  finding – when around me it didn't seem that easy. So I write with a different feeling when I write for young adults. I guess I write for myself at that age” (“M. E. Kerr).

     Marijane Meaker began her career in publishing after she was unable to sell any of her stories to magazines. She presented herself as Ms. Meaker, a literary agent with six clients, and sent out her own work under various pseudonyms, male as well as female. One was a middle-aged female teacher writing true confessions (at $300 a story); another was a young college woman selling to magazines, such as Redbook and Ladies Home Journal; a third “author” told a story, titled “I Lost My Baby at a Pot Party,” about her child wandering from a house where a saleslady was pitching Teflon pots. Along the way, a Gold Medal Books editor convinced her to write a novel about sorority life, for which she earned $4,000 a book at a penny a word. This very resourceful writer also published two or three adult mysteries a year under the name of Vin Packer, and other novels were penned as Ann Aldrich and Laura Winston. Her books for children are published under the name Mary James. “A lot of my stories,” she says, “sold well enough for me to enjoy trips to Europe, an apartment off  Fifth Avenue in New York City in the 90s, and a Fiat convertible.”

     M.E. Kerr's novels for teens have won multiple awards, including a Christopher Award in 1978, a Golden Kite Award from the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators in 1981, a California Young Readers Medal in 1992, the Margaret A. Edwards Award from the American Library Association in 1993 for her lifetime contribution to young adult literature, the Knickerbocker Award for Juvenile and Young Adult Literature in 1991, the ALAN Award in 2000, and the Golden Crown Literary Society Award for her groundbreaking works in the field of lesbian literature in 2013. In 1996, Long Island University awarded her an honorary doctorate.

     A collection of her short stories for teens – dealing with dating, love, race, bigotry, homosexuality, self-love, and  acceptance – titled Edge,  was published in 2015. And Highsmith: A Romance of the 1950s, a memoir recounting Meaker's relationship with famous mystery writer Patricia Highsmith, was published in 2003. Still writing at the age of 91, Meaker recently completed a novel about gay life in New York City during the 1940s and how she became a literary agent for her own work. It's titled Remind Me, based on the lyrics of an old song from that time written by Jerome  Kern and Dorothy Fields (1940): “Remind me / Not to find you so attractive / Remind me that the world is full of men.

Katherine Paterson [Tied for fourth place with Robert Cormier and M. E. Kerr in 1988]*

     Born in Qing Jiang, China, in 1932, the middle daughter of missionary parents, Katherine Paterson has lived in a variety of places, from Tennessee, Virginia, Maryland, and New York City to China and Japan, where she was a Presbyterian missionary. She now lives in Montpelier, Vermont.

     Her highly regarded novels include The Sign of the Chrysanthemum (1973), Of Nightingales That Weep (1974), Master Puppeteer (1975), and Rebels of the Heavenly Kingdom (1983), but she is known best for Bridge to Terabithia (1977), which won the Newbery Medal in 1978; The Great Gilly Hopkins (1978), which won the National Book Award in 1979; Jacob Have I Loved (1980), which won the Newbery Medal in 1981; and Park's Quest (1988), which made The Horn Book Fanfare Honor List in 1988. Published in 1996, Jip, His Story won the Parents' Choice Story Book Award and the Scott O'Dell Award for Historical Fiction in 1997. In 2006, Bread and Roses, Too won the Christopher Award and was a Bank Street Best Children's Book of the Year, a Notable Social Studies Trade Book for Young People, a Parents' Choice Gold Medal historical fiction book, and one of Voice of Youth Advocate's Top Fiction for Middle School Readers.

     Paterson has also authored several autobiographical books about her writing, including Stories of My Life (2014), and is a coauthor of Consider the Lilies (Paterson & Paterson, 1986), a nonfiction book about various plants of the Bible that she wrote with her husband, John.

     Over her long writing career, Paterson has also received a long list of awards for her body of work. Among them are the Kerlan Award from the University of Minnesota (1983), the ALAN Award (1987), the Hans Christian Andersen Medal for Writing (1998), the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award (2006), the Laura Ingalls Wilder Award (2013), and the Massachusetts Reading Association Lifetime Award, along with writing awards from Germany, France, and Sweden. In 2000, she was declared A Living Legend by the Library of Congress, and for 2010-2011, Paterson was the US Ambassador for Young People's Literature. She is also the recipient of more than a dozen honorary degrees, including ones from Vermont College of Fine Arts, the University of Maryland, Hope College, and Washington and Lee University.

     Paterson's latest novel is My Brigadista Year (2017), set in Cuba in 1961 during the literacy campaign that made Cuba a fully literate nation in  one year.

Robert Lipsyte

     The author of The Contender (1967) turned 80 years old this spring, as his ground-breaking novel passed the 50-year mark in print. Lipsyte is also the author of One Fat Summer (1977), Summer Rules (1981), The Brave (1991), The Chemo Kid (1992), The Chief (1993), and Raiders Night (2006) for teens, and for young readers, The Twinning Project (2012). Lipsyte's list of publications for teenagers isn't especially lengthy when compared to those of some authors who have been writing for the same length of time, but that's because writing books for and about teenagers is only one kind of work he has done especially well. He has also published a number of short stories, essays about sports issues, and biographies of several sports celebrities, such as Muhammad Ali, Jim Thorpe, and Michael Jordan, as well as several nonfiction books for adults, including Nigger, with Dick Gregory (1964), the African American satirist; Sportsworld (1975/2018); and Idols of the Game (1995). As the author of The Contender, one of the very first realistic novels about contemporary teenagers, Robert Lipsyte was honored with the Margaret A. Edwards Award by the American Library Association in 2001.

     And that's not all. Among other things, Robert Lipsyte has been a highly respected columnist and prize-winning sports reporter for The New York Times, a correspondent for the CBS television program Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt; the host of his own award-winning television interview program, The Eleventh Hour, on New York City's public television station, WNET Channel 13; author of a television documentary series about sports; and the Life (Part 2) series for PBS-TV on subjects of interest to older people. He is also the author of an entertaining memoir, titled Accidental Sportswriter (2011).

     In addition to speaking at a lot of high schools, Lipsyte recently has been flying to North Carolina for a week at a time to teach at Wake Forest University, which he says he enjoys very much. He continues to write a monthly column, mostly on local politics, for his hometown weekly, The Shelter Island Reporter, which he says “gives me as much pleasure as the old Times' column.” He also occasionally writes about sports and politics for a site called Tomdispatch, which distributes to a batch of leftish publications like The Nation and The Guardian. If that's not enough, after his cameo on the O.J.: Made in America documentary film (Edelman, 2016) that won an Oscar, he gets called often to pontificate on various TV documentaries, most recently on one about Sonny Liston, three on  Muhammad Ali (including one by Ken Burns), and another on that “hard year” 1968.

     Meanwhile, this very busy author has been promoting the film, Measure of a Man (Scearce, 2018), starring Donald Sutherland, based on One Fat Summer, Lipsyte's 1977 novel about a bullied teen. View the trailer at https://trailers.apple.com/trailers/independent/measure-of-a-man/. “I have toyed with a new YA novel,” he claims, but where will he find the time?

     *Based on the list of 169 authors' names Mr. Gallo sent to 41 present and past officers of ALAN in 1988, asking them “to identify the most important and popular YA fiction writers of the time and to add other names of writers they felt were as important.” Due to space limitations, he “limited this investigation to the top 30 authors included on that 1988 list.”

     The ALAN Review   Summer 2019

     Reprinted with permission from the ALAN Review and Don Gallo.

     I hope you enjoyed this excerpt and get to read the entire article. Personally, I feel honored to have worked with such incredibly talented authors as well as with all the amazing people at ALAN.

     For information on Balkin Buddies, be sure to visit our website or blog.

Catherine Balkin, Balkin Buddies

[brokertonki]

Nicole wallace dating 2021

Nicole wallace dating 2021 update#

Nicole wallace dating 2021 professional#

So how much is Michael Schmidt’s net worth and earnings as of 2021?Īpparently, as per reports, Michael Schmidt has a net worth estimation of over $2 million dollars as of 2021. The United States: Inside the Struggle to Stop a President. After earning a bachelor’s degree in communications from the University of California-Berkeley and a master’s degree in journalism from Northwestern University, she became the. Nicolle is turning 51 years old in she was born on Febru. He is also an author of the book titled, Donald Trump v. Born in Orange County, California, USA, Nicolle Wallace is best known for being a novelist. He covers national security and federal law enforcement and is a national security contributor for MSNBC and NBC News. Michael Schmidt is an American journalist, author, and reporter for The New York Times. How Much Is Michael Schmidt Net Worth 2021 Unfortunately, in 2019, the pair chose to part ways. They married in 2005 and welcomed their first child, a son, Liam in 2012. Mark was the general counsel for President Bush’s campaign in Florida at the time. In 2000, Nicolle met Mark Wallace while working as the Florida recount coordinator for the presidential election. Nicolle was previously married to her ex-husband Mark Wallace, an American financial specialist, previous negotiator, and legal advisor. Nicolle Wallace (left) and Michael Schmidt (Right)

Nicole wallace dating 2021 update#

Anyway, we will update more on Michael’s relationship and love life as soon as the information gets available. He insisted that the couple only attended a breakfast together.

Nicole wallace dating 2021 professional#

However, Michale himself denied the claims and said Nicole is one of the most professional people he knows. The pair were first seen together at the SXSW festival in Austin, Texas, in March 2019. Michael Schmidt is rumored to be dating Nicolle Wallace, a television host, and author. Is Michael Schmidt Married? Who Is Michael Schmidt Wife? However, his rumored girlfriend, Nicole Wallace runs her Instagram account under the name, As of 2021, she has 98.5k followers on her official Instagram account. Schmidt was first interviewed about the book on The Rachel Maddow Show, examining unanswered inquiries from the Mueller examination about Trump’s Russian connections.It seems Michael Schmidt is not active on Instagram. The United States: Inside the Struggle to Stop a President”, delivered by Penguin Random House on Sept. In late August 2020, the media reported reviews of Schmidt’s book, “Donald Trump v. The auditor general for the State Department said in May 2016 that Clinton’s utilization of the account had abused State Department’s record-keeping approaches. In the wake of breaking the Clinton email story, Media Matters’ originator and executive, David Brock, composed an open letter to The New York Times about the story, requesting an “unmistakable correction at the earliest opportunity”. Protectors of Hillary Clinton have said that Schmidt’s coverage of her was not reasonable and he has been regularly condemned by the gathering Media Matters and different nonconformists. In the wake of breaking the story, he was the lead reporter covering the Hillary Clinton email controversy. Clinton declared that she would deliver every last bit of her business-related messages from her time in office. The story said that Clinton “may have disregarded government prerequisites that authorities’ correspondence is held as a component of the organization’s record.” in light of the story, Mrs. In March 2015, Schmidt broke the story that Hillary Clinton had solely utilized an individual email account when she was secretary of state. Comey had asked the Justice Department to freely disprove Trump’s cases that President Obama had him wired tapped during the 2016 mission. On March 5, 2017, Schmidt broke the story that the F.B.I. Schmidt has been one of the Times’ leads reporters on the government and Congressional examinations concerning connections between Donald Trump’s partners and the Russians. The New York Times’ open supervisor called for “foundational changes” after these articles by Schmidt and his coauthors (the two of which had depended on mysterious government sources). The head of the FBI excused the reporting as “jumble” and it worked out that instead of having “talked transparently via online media about her perspectives on vicious jihad” as expressed in the NYT article, she had referenced these in private communications. In December 2015, a New York Times story by Schmidt and Matt Apuzzo (composed along with Julia Preston) scrutinized the US government for missing urgent proof during the visa screening measure for Tashfeen Malik, who might later become one of the shooters in the 2015 San Bernardino assault. Michael as The New York Times columnist and national security contributor for MSNBC and NBC News earns an average annual salary of $355,000.

[veale2006-blog]

THIS DAY IN HISTORY

NOVEMBER 22

President John F. Kennedy is assassinated

John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th president of the United States, is assassinated while traveling through Dallas, Texas, in an open-top convertible.

First lady Jacqueline Kennedy rarely accompanied her husband on political outings, but she was beside him, along with Texas Governor John Connally and his wife, for a 10-mile motorcade through the streets of downtown Dallas on November 22. Sitting in a Lincoln convertible, the Kennedys and Connally's waved at the large and enthusiastic crowds gathered along the parade route. As their vehicle passed the Texas School Book Depository Building at 12:30 p.m., Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly fired three shots from the sixth floor, fatally wounding President Kennedy and seriously injuring Governor Connally. Kennedy was pronounced dead 30 minutes later at Dallas’ Parkland Hospital. He was 46.

Vice President Lyndon Johnson, who was three cars behind President Kennedy in the motorcade, was sworn in as the 36th president of the United States at 2:39 p.m. He took the presidential oath of office aboard Air Force One as it sat on the runway at Dallas Love Field airport. The swearing in was witnessed by some 30 people, including Jacqueline Kennedy, who was still wearing clothes stained with her husband’s blood. Seven minutes later, the presidential jet took off for Washington.

The next day, November 23, President Johnson issued his first proclamation, declaring November 25 to be a day of national mourning for the slain president. On that Monday, hundreds of thousands of people lined the streets of Washington to watch a horse-drawn caisson bear Kennedy’s body from the Capitol Rotunda to St. Matthew’s Catholic Cathedral for a requiem Mass. The solemn procession then continued on to Arlington National Cemetery, where leaders of 99 nations gathered for the state funeral. Kennedy was buried with full military honors on a slope below Arlington House, where an eternal flame was lit by his widow to forever mark the grave.

Lee Harvey Oswald, born in New Orleans in 1939, joined the U.S. Marines in 1956. He was discharged in 1959 and nine days later left for the Soviet Union, where he tried unsuccessfully to become a citizen. He worked in Minsk and married a Soviet woman and in 1962 was allowed to return to the United States with his wife and infant daughter. In early 1963, he bought a .38 revolver and rifle with a telescopic sight by mail order, and on April 10 in Dallas he shot at and missed former U.S. Army general Edwin Walker, a figure known for his extreme right-wing views. Later that month, Oswald went to New Orleans and founded a branch of the Fair Play for Cuba Committee, a pro-Castro organization. In September 1963, he went to Mexico City, where investigators allege that he attempted to secure a visa to travel to Cuba or return to the USSR. In October, he returned to Dallas and took a job at the Texas School Book Depository Building.

Less than an hour after Kennedy was shot, Oswald killed a policeman who questioned him on the street near his rooming house in Dallas. Thirty minutes later, Oswald was arrested in a movie theater by police responding to reports of a suspect. He was formally arraigned on November 23 for the murders of President Kennedy and Officer J.D. Tippit.

On November 24, Oswald was brought to the basement of the Dallas police headquarters on his way to a more secure county jail. A crowd of police and press with live television cameras rolling gathered to witness his departure. As Oswald came into the room, Jack Ruby emerged from the crowd and fatally wounded him with a single shot from a concealed .38 revolver. Ruby, who was immediately detained, claimed that rage at Kennedy’s murder was the motive for his action. Some called him a hero, but he was nonetheless charged with first-degree murder.

Jack Ruby, originally known as Jacob Rubenstein, operated strip joints and dance halls in Dallas and had minor connections to organized crime. He features prominently in Kennedy-assassination theories, and many believe he killed Oswald to keep him from revealing a larger conspiracy. In his trial, Ruby denied the allegation and pleaded innocent on the grounds that his great grief over Kennedy’s murder had caused him to suffer “psychomotor epilepsy” and shoot Oswald unconsciously. The jury found Ruby guilty of “murder with malice” and sentenced him to die.

In October 1966, the Texas Court of Appeals reversed the decision on the grounds of improper admission of testimony and the fact that Ruby could not have received a fair trial in Dallas at the time. In January 1967, while awaiting a new trial, to be held in Wichita Falls, Ruby died of lung cancer in a Dallas hospital.

The official Warren Commission report of 1964 concluded that neither Oswald nor Ruby were part of a larger conspiracy, either domestic or international, to assassinate President Kennedy. Despite its firm conclusions, the report failed to silence conspiracy theories surrounding the event, and in 1978 the House Select Committee on Assassinations concluded in a preliminary report that Kennedy was “probably assassinated as a result of a conspiracy” that may have involved multiple shooters and organized crime. The committee’s findings, as with those of the Warren Commission, continue to be disputed by some.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 6.12

910 – Battle of Augsburg: The Hungarians defeat the East Frankish army under King Louis the Child, using the famous feigned retreat tactic of the nomadic warriors. 1240 – At the instigation of Louis IX of France, an inter-faith debate, known as the Disputation of Paris, starts between a Christian monk and four rabbis. 1381 – Peasants' Revolt: In England, rebels arrive at Blackheath. 1418 – Armagnac–Burgundian Civil War: Parisians slaughter Bernard VII, Count of Armagnac and his suspected sympathizers, along with all prisoners, foreign bankers, and students and faculty of the College of Navarre. 1429 – Hundred Years' War: On the second day of the Battle of Jargeau, Joan of Arc leads the French army in their capture of the city and the English commander, William de la Pole, 1st Duke of Suffolk. 1550 – The city of Helsinki, Finland (belonging to Sweden at the time) is founded by King Gustav I of Sweden. 1653 – First Anglo-Dutch War: The Battle of the Gabbard begins and lasts until June 13. 1665 – Thomas Willett is appointed the first mayor of New York City. 1758 – French and Indian War: Siege of Louisbourg: James Wolfe's attack at Louisbourg, Nova Scotia commences. 1772 – French explorer Marc-Joseph Marion du Fresne and 25 of his men killed by Māori in New Zealand. 1775 – American Revolution: British general Thomas Gage declares martial law in Massachusetts. The British offer a pardon to all colonists who lay down their arms. There would be only two exceptions to the amnesty: Samuel Adams and John Hancock, if captured, were to be hanged. 1776 – The Virginia Declaration of Rights is adopted. 1798 – Irish Rebellion of 1798: Battle of Ballynahinch. 1817 – The earliest form of bicycle, the dandy horse, is driven by Karl von Drais. 1821 – Badi VII, king of Sennar, surrenders his throne and realm to Isma'il Pasha, general of the Ottoman Empire, ending the existence of that Sudanese kingdom. 1830 – Beginning of the Invasion of Algiers: Thiry-four thousand French soldiers land 27 kilometers west of Algiers, at Sidi Ferruch. 1864 – American Civil War, Overland Campaign: Battle of Cold Harbor: Ulysses S. Grant gives the Confederate forces under Robert E. Lee a victory when he pulls his Union troops from their position at Cold Harbor, Virginia and moves south. 1898 – Philippine Declaration of Independence: General Emilio Aguinaldo declares the Philippines' independence from Spain. 1899 – New Richmond tornado: The eighth deadliest tornado in U.S. history kills 117 people and injures around 200. 1914 – Massacre of Phocaea: Turkish irregulars slaughter 50 to 100 Greeks and expel thousands of others in an ethnic cleansing operation in the Ottoman Empire. 1921 – Mikhail Tukhachevsky orders the use of chemical weapons against the Tambov Rebellion, bringing an end to the peasant uprising. 1935 – A ceasefire is negotiated between Bolivia and Paraguay, ending the Chaco War. 1939 – Shooting begins on Paramount Pictures' Dr. Cyclops, the first horror film photographed in three-strip Technicolor. 1939 – The Baseball Hall of Fame opens in Cooperstown, New York. 1940 – World War II: Thirteen thousand British and French troops surrender to Major General Erwin Rommel at Saint-Valery-en-Caux. 1942 – Anne Frank receives a diary for her thirteenth birthday. 1943 – The Holocaust: Germany liquidates the Jewish Ghetto in Brzeżany, Poland (now Berezhany, Ukraine). Around 1,180 Jews are led to the city's old Jewish graveyard and shot. 1944 – World War II: Operation Overlord: American paratroopers of the 101st Airborne Division secure the town of Carentan, Normandy, France. 1954 – Pope Pius XII canonises Dominic Savio, who was 14 years old at the time of his death, as a saint, making him at the time the youngest unmartyred saint in the Roman Catholic Church. In 2017 Jacinta and Francisco Marto, aged ten and nine at the time of their deaths, are declared saints. 1963 – NAACP field secretary Medgar Evers is murdered in front of his home in Jackson, Mississippi by Ku Klux Klan member Byron De La Beckwith during the civil rights movement. 1964 – Anti-apartheid activist and ANC leader Nelson Mandela is sentenced to life in prison for sabotage in South Africa. 1967 – The United States Supreme Court in Loving v. Virginia declares all U.S. state laws which prohibit interracial marriage to be unconstitutional. 1975 – India, Judge Jagmohanlal Sinha of the city of Allahabad ruled that India's Prime Minister Indira Gandhi had used corrupt practices to win her seat in the Indian Parliament, and that she should be banned from holding any public office. Mrs. Gandhi sent word that she refused to resign. 1979 – Bryan Allen wins the second Kremer prize for a man powered flight across the English Channel in the Gossamer Albatross. 1987 – The Central African Republic's former emperor Jean-Bédel Bokassa is sentenced to death for crimes he had committed during his 13-year rule. 1987 – Cold War: At the Brandenburg Gate, U.S. President Ronald Reagan publicly challenges Mikhail Gorbachev to tear down the Berlin Wall. 1988 – Austral Líneas Aéreas Flight 46, a McDonnell Douglas MD-81, crashes short of the runway at Libertador General José de San Martín Airport, killing all 22 people on board. 1990 – Russia Day: The parliament of the Russian Federation formally declares its sovereignty. 1991 – Russians first democratically elected Boris Yeltsin as the President of Russia. 1991 – Kokkadichcholai massacre: The Sri Lankan Army massacres 152 minority Tamil civilians in the village of Kokkadichcholai near the eastern province town of Batticaloa. 1993 – An election takes place in Nigeria and is won by Moshood Kashimawo Olawale Abiola. Its results are later annulled by the military Government of Ibrahim Babangida. 1994 – Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman are murdered outside Simpson's home in Los Angeles. Her estranged husband, O.J. Simpson is later charged with the murders, but is acquitted by a jury. 1997 – Queen Elizabeth II reopens the Globe Theatre in London. 1999 – Kosovo War: Operation Joint Guardian begins when a NATO-led United Nations peacekeeping force (KFor) enters the province of Kosovo in Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. 2009 – Analog television stations (excluding low-powered stations) switch to digital television following the DTV Delay Act. 2009 – A disputed presidential election in Iran leads to wide-ranging local and international protests. 2016 – Forty-nine civilians are killed and 58 others injured in an attack on a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida; the gunman, Omar Mateen, is killed in a gunfight with police. 2017 – American student Otto Warmbier returns home in a coma after spending 17 months in a North Korean prison and dies a week later. 2018 – United States President Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un of North Korea held the first meeting between leaders of their two countries in Singapore.

[calvinjohaanson]

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[cwnerd12]

Mercy (10) sleeps in a big, fancy bed in a big, fancy room. The door opens, and Vesper comes in. Gently, he shakes Mercy awake, “Mercy, sweetie.” Mercy groans and stirs, “Hm?” Vesper, “Mercy, sweetie, you have to get up. We’re leaving.” Mercy, “What?” Vesper, “You have to help Isolda and Amada get ready. Come on.” Cut to: a lone highway at night, Vesper drives a van with a once again pregnant Esperanza in the passenger seat. Mercy and Amada (2) sit in the middle row, Elías (7) and Isabel (4) in the back. Mercy tries to stop Amada’s crying. Vesper talks angrily to Esperanza (everyone is speaking Spanish), “This is no nation go God. I wanted to build a government that protects its most vulnerable citizens, not forces them to get married!” Esperanza, nervous, “Where are we going?” Vesper, “There's a place in Carmel. I have a plan, I’ll tell you when we get there.” Mercy speaks up from the back seat, “What about Grace and Wayne? Are we gonna be allowed to see them again?” Vesper, “Pray that we do.”

The Abbadons are all dressed for a formal royal family portrait. They’re in a makeshift compound, but they sit in front of a backdrop that makes them look fancy. Esperanza wears the sunburst tiara along with fine jewels and a beautiful dress. She holds a newborn Gabriel in a fancy bundle in her lap. Esperanza speaks to Vesper in Spanish, “I don’t know if this is necessary.” Vesper, “If Carmel is going to be an independent nation, we have to project ourselves at its royal family. I can’t just declare myself king, I have to act the part.” Mercy says to Esperanza, “You look beautiful, Mama.” Esperanza smiles down at her, “Thank you, sweetie.”

Vesper and Warner scream incomprehensibly at Royal Council. Kings Lawrence, George (Aram), and Harold (Samaria), along with Gerald all listen intently and try to make sense of the back and forth. Silas and King Norris (Moab) exchange eye-rolls of extreme boredom. Warner, “You couldn’t build your own army, so you set a camp full of war criminals free!” Vesper, “When I vowed to build a kingdom of God, I vowed to build one in which its people would be free, not further oppressed!” Warner, “Carmel is a part of Ammon, it has always been a part of Ammon, and you cannot just declare yourself independent!” Vesper, “You can’t just declare yourself king.” With the Judds, Mae is once again pregnant, and she now has at her side Grace, Wayne, Bonnie, Mackynzie, and Hank. A translator translates for Grace. Across the massive ballroom, Esperanza sits with Mercy, Elías, Isolda, Amada, and baby Gabriel in her lap. Mercy and Grace catch each other’s eyes across the room. Mercy sadly waves at Grace, and Grace waves back.

Vesper paces in a run-down situation room at the compound, surrounded by formerly Royal generals who still wear the old uniforms they wore under King Allen. General, “We have the resources to defend ourselves for a short time. Our best hope is that if Warner declares war on us, we can get foreign aid and hold him off. Invading the rest of Ammon is out of the question. Vesper, “Not if the people rise up against Warner!” Aide, “I don’t know if that’s going to happen. He out front during the war, being a hero while you just made speeches.” Vesper, “It will happen! It has to happen!”

The Abbadon children huddle in a dark closet. Mercy holds a wailing Gabriel in her arms and tries to hush his crying. Outside the door, the sound of Esperanza yelling, “Not the children, Vesper! Not the children! I won’t let you!” A long, horrifying scream. Mercy sobs and cuddles Gabriel close to her. The sound of a commotion, men yelling, “Put your hands up, now! Put the knife down! PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!” Elías positions himself between the door and his sisters. The sound of softened voices. Slowly, the door creaks open.Mercy braces for the worst. Silas stands on the other side, staring down at them with a mixture of horror and pity.

On a TV screen with closed captioning, a news anchor reads, “Vesper Abbadon was executed today for crimes against humanity.” Warner turns the TV off. Grace and Wayne both sit on a sofa, watching the TV with him. Warner turns to both of them and signs as he speaks, “You need to pray for Vesper’s should tonight. Mercy signs, “What happened to Mercy?” Warner, “I don’t know. If I could, I’d have them all here, and I’d raise them as your brothers and sisters. I asked King Silas himself, and he won’t say anything.” Wayne, “Are they dead?” Warner sighs and shakes his head, “They might be.” Grace sobs. Warner kneels down and hugs her tightly.

Mercy sits on a sofa in a suburban living room. Her new adoptive parents, Joe and Marcia, speak to her. Marcia, “Your name is Elizabeth Garcia now. It’s going to take some getting used to, but it’s the best way to keep you safe.” Mercy, “I want to see my brothers and sisters.” Joe, “You know we can’t do that, sweetie. Keeping you safe means nobody can know who you are.” Mercy, “This isn’t fair! You’re not my parents!” Marcia kneels down and puts a hand on Mercy’s shoulder, “Yes, we are.”

At the Rabbath Academy for the Deaf, teenage Grace and her female classmates receive sex ed from an Aunt Lydia-looking instructor, “Sex is a holy act that God created to be experienced between a husband and wife in the creation of new life. It is a beautiful expression of love and devotion. As women, we must protect our virtue, our special gifts intended only or our husbands. Virtuous women are modest in every way, through dress, expression, and action.”

“I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE” pounds over the speakers of the private room of a fancy strip club while teenage Wayne, Jack, Quentin, and all the other princes chug bottles of champagne and enjoy the debauchery of Prince Club. Wayne throws a wad of cash at a stripper’s twerking ass.

Joe and Marcia sit in a classroom with a teacher. Teacher, “I’m aware of Elizabeth’s story.” Marcia, “She lost her family in the war.” Teacher, “Yes, I have other refugee students, some of whom also lost their families. Elizabeth is a very bright student, and I’ve never seen any behavior problems from her, which is why I was so disturbed when she claimed to be Mercy Abbadon… I mean… there’s no truth to it, is there?” Joe an dMarcia look at each other. Softly, Marcia says, “She… She has this delusion. She believes that she’s Mercy Abbadon. She uses it to cope with losing her siblings… She says they’re still alive, just living with other families. Just call King Warner, she’ll be with her best friend, Princess Grace, again. It’s a coping mechanism. She clings to it. We’ve been taking her to doctors. I don’t know how much good it’s doing.” Out in the hallway, teenage Mercy fight back tears of rage, and uses a bent paperclip to gouge a long, shallow cut into her arm.

Back at home, Marcia screams at Mercy, “If you don’t stop it, we’re going to have to move again! Do you want to be sent to another school?” Mercy, distraught, “Why?! Why can’t I tell people who I am?!” Marcia, “Your father murdered thousands of innocent people! Millions of people want revenge on him, and they’ll settle for you!” Mercy, “King Silas just uses me to antagonize Warner!” Marcia, “It’s King Warner, and King Silas is keeping you and your siblings safe!” Mercy, “You don’t even know where my siblings are, how can you know if they’re safe?!” Marcia, “They’re safe because no one knows who you are!” Mercy sobs, “You don’t know that they’re safe!” Marcia, “The bottom line is if you don’t keep your mouth shut, you’ll end up like your father.”

Mercy, pale and drawn, wakes up in a hospital bed. She peers through a gap in the curtains surrounding her, and sees Marcia talking to a doctor. Marcia, “She has this delusion. When she wakes up, she’s going to claim that she’s Mercy Abbadon…” Mercy tries to raise her arms, but she’s held down with restraints. She has bandages on her wrists. Marcia looks over and sees her. She enters the curtained area, “Elizabeth! You scared us!” Mercy sobs helplessly, “Why didn’t you let me die?” Marcia, “No, please, sweetie, don’t talk like that.” Mercy, “Why didn’t you let me die?!”

Mercy sits hunched over miserably in a psychiatrist’s office. Psychiatrist, “When did you start claiming to be Mercy Abbadon?” Mercy looks at him, “My name is Elizabeth Garcia. Mercy Abbadon is dead.”

Late night, Wayne lays in bed, staring at an old photograph: the royal Abbadon family. Mercy, as Wayne knew her, vibrant, beautiful, and dignified. Wayne sticks his hand down his pants and begins to pleasure himself.

Adult Mercy works her coffee shop job with a name tag that reads ELIZABETH. She hands a customer cup, “That’ll be $4.75.” The customer pays and steps away. Mercy glances up at the small TV that’s set up for waiting television. Warner gives a press conference. A second customer approaches Mercy, “Yeah, I’d like a caramel latte…” Mercy ignores her, “Hold on, I want to hear this.” Mercy’s POV on the TV. Warner, “For fifteen years, King Silas Benjamin lied to the world. He said that Vesper Abbadon was killed in the conquest of Carmel, but that is not true. Abbadon is alive and well, and he has been held in the palace of Gilboa.” The scene quickly fades to black. Suddenly, Mercy is on the floor of the supply room, screaming and clutching her head. Her co-workers gather around her, “Liz! Liz!” The male co-worker, Brendan, looks at the female co-worker, Ashley, “Do we call 911 or something?” Ashley, “I don’t know! LIZ!” Mercy gasps and wails. Brent catches her as she leans over, and tries to comfort her, “Hey, Liz, are you okay?” Ashley, “Fuck. I mean, she said she was from Carmel.” Brendan, “Yeah, I’m from Carmel. Leave me alone with her, I’ll get her to calm down, okay?” Ashley looks at him uneasily for a moment, and then says, “Okay. Get me if you need me.” She leaves. Brendan gently strokes Mercy’s hair, “Hey, it’s okay.” Mercy moves away from him, calming down somewhat. Brendan, “I… I didn’t lose my parents or siblings, but I still lost like half my family. Why the fuck did Silas keep Abbadon alive?” Mercy shakes her head, “You don’t know… You don’t know.”

Vesper sits alone in a jail cell. The door opens, and Warner enters. He sits down across from Vesper, and they stare at each other for a moment. Warner, “Do you have anything to say?” Vesper, “I’ve had fifteen years to say everything that I need to say. I kept journals, wrote very long letters to my children. I think I got it all out. Do you have anything to say?” Warner, "I have plenty to say.” He thinks for a long moment, then laughs a little bit, and shakes his head, “I just can’t seem to think of any of it right now. When I look at you, I get filled with this rage, this howl of betrayal. I want you to feel what you put me through.” Vesper, “Many people do.” Warner, “Do you know what happened to your children?” Vesper, “They were separated, raised by Gilboan families. I got to meet them briefly before coming here. They… I know they’ve been hurt, and it would take me much more time than I have available to even begin to comprehend the extent of that hurt. But they survive, carry on. I want nothing but peace and happiness for them. If that involves my execution, so be it. I gladly accept what I deserve.” He looks Warner in the eye, “We fucked it all up, Warner.” Warner, outraged, “We?!” Vesper, “Yes, we. I didn’t know what I was doing, I though my moral righteousness would build a nation for me, but I put too much faith in my own ego. You, you knew how to lead, how to build, you just did it without love.” Warner, “Ammon is a nation of God!” Vesper, “It is a nation of purity without love! If I have not love, I am but a resounding gong-” Warner, “Don’t you dare quote scripture at me!” Vesper, “I’m a professor of linguistics and theology, all I have is scripture! I listen to it! I ask questions and search for answers! All you’ve ever done is recite, never question!” Warner, “Where was your scripture when you ordered those troops to kill civilians?!” Vesper, “I never claimed I wasn’t a sinner. I’m a monster, a beast. But you can’t see the plank in your eye. You have failed your people failed God, and failed your children.” Warner, “My children have nothing to do with this!” Vesper, “Where there are prophesies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. When I was a child, I thought as a child, I reasoned as a child. When I became a man, I put childish things behind me. And now three things remain: hope, faith and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Warner shakes his head, “Are you ready to meet God, Vesper?” Vesper, “I am.”

Warner stands beside Wayne in an execution chamber. Vesper stands at the gallows, the noose around his neck. Warner stares at him, and he gives one last smirk as the executioner puts a hood over his head. Wayne murmurs to Warner, “Send him straight to hell.” Warner looks at Wayne, “Pray for him.” The executioner pulls the lever, and Vesper falls. Warner looks back at the gallows, but he’s missed it.

The Abbadon siblings gather around the dinner table in Mercy’s small apartment. Mercy spoons out portions of chicken mole. A smiling picture of Esperanza is up on the wall. Mercy, “I remember Mama making this. I tried to make it like she did, but I don’t have her recipe.” She sits down. Elías tears into a wing, “Oh my god, this is so good!” Mercy, “Like Mama made it?” Elías, “Not quite, but close!” Gabriel tentatively pokes at his piece with a fork, “I’ve never had this before?” Mercy, “Really?” Gabriel, “Yeah. My parents- we, ugh… we don’t eat much Mexican food.” Mercy, “There’s plenty of time to try new things.” Gabriel takes a bite, and smiles, “It’s really good.” Mercy, “I’m glad.” Gabriel, “I used to think that I would never know anything about my parents. It’s so weird to think about my mom, to give her a face and a name, and eat her food.” Mercy, “She loved us all very much.”

At Grace’s wedding, Mercy, the maid of honor, reads and signs, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” Grace beams as Mercy reads. Warner looks up at her with a curious expression, pained and loving at the same time.

Grace and Gus dance at their reception. The song ends and Gus finishes with a romantic kiss. At the sidelines, Mercy smiles and applauds. Warner approaches Grace and takes her for a dance. Wayne approaches Mercy, “Would you care to dance?” Mercy, uneasily, “Wouldn’t you rather dance with Hattie?” Wayne holds out his hands, “She won’t mind.” Nervously, Mercy takes his hand, and he leads her out to the dance floor. They once awkwardly for a little bit. Grace looks uneasily over at Mercy, but Mercy gives her a reassuring smile. Wayne, softly, “You know, I always thought I’d marry you.” Mercy, “It’s kind of late for that, isn’t it?” Wayne, “I suppose.” He leans in close and sniffs her hair, “You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Mercy sees Hattie giving her a dirty look, “Wayne, Hattie can see you.” Wayne pulls his head back, “It’s truly a miracle that you’ve been brought back to us.” Mercy, “I've always been here. Just hidden.” Wayne, “Miracles happen. I just have to keep my faith.” Mercy smiles uneasily.

Warner sits at a dinner table with his family. Everyone is there: Wayne, Hattie, Gus Grace, Bonnie, and her husband. Grace signs, “I’m so happy to be teaching at my old school. I’m really grateful that I was able to have deaf teachers. They’re so important for deaf kids to have.” Warner is sweaty and somewhat uncomfortable-looking. He takes another sip from his whiskey glass, and winces. Mae glances at him, “Are you all right, Warner?” Warner, “I’m fine, just��� Ugh, I think I might have picked up a bug somewhere.” He tries to stand up, but collapses to the floor. The women scream and rush to him. but Wayne stays calmly in his seat, enjoying his meal.

Mercy sits in the council chamber with David, Jack, Abby, Asher, Joel, Shay, and his other generals. David, “He can’t just fucking declare war because he wants to!” Abby, “David, by now you should know that Wayne is going to do whatever the hell he wants.” David, “Yeah, but why is he doing this shit now, instead of waiting for something to happen so he at least has a bullshit excuse?” Shay, “If he wants to attack, let him attack. We’re fortified, in position, and ready for anything he can throw at us.” David, “I’m not sacrificing lives so Wayne can go on some bullshit ego trip! We can’t be out of diplomatic options!” Abby, “And we’re not, but we’re running out of them. I think we need to face reality: if Wayne is determined to do this he’s going to do it.” Mercy, “Let me talk to him.” David, “What?” Mercy, “Let me talk to Wayne. I… I think I can make some sort of deal with him.”

Mercy sits in a small room with Wayne on a screen. Wayne, “Tell David that the only thing he can do is hand over Carmel. It's a part of Ammon, and I’m not letting him keep it.” Mercy, “I know this, and David's going to defend it.” Wayne, “Then war it is!” Mercy, “Wayne, wait.” Wayne, “What?” Mercy sits for a moment, thinking, and then says, “Is there anything I can do? Anything I can give you, that will make you call this off?” Wayne stares at her, considering all the implications of this question. Finally, he says, “Marry me.” Mercy, “You’re already married!” Wayne, “A king can have multiple wives! I married Hattie because I thought I’d never see you again. I love her, I won’t divorce her and leave her alone, but I know what I want, and what I’m entitled to. I have spent years loving you, not knowing if you were even alive. Now that I know, I can’t be happy unless I know you’re mine. If you marry me, Mercy, I’ll call off this war. Please.”

David talks to Grace and her interpreter in a hallway. A door opens, and Mercy steps out. They both look at her. Quietly she says, “I… I got Wayne to agree to call off the war.” David, “What? How?” Mercy, “Can I talk to Grace in private?”

(“Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea” MISSIO) Mercy sits in a white dress while people do her makeup and brush her hair. She shuts her eyes as someone places the sunburst tiara on her head, and then pulls a veil over it. Cut to: Elías walks Mercy down the aisle. The pews are empty, except for immediate family members. Isolda, Amada, and Gabriel sit in the bride’s side of the chapel, all of the Judd’s on the other. Grace can’t help herself from crying. Hattie stands beside Wayne, stony-faced, her rage and sorrow buried deep within her. Wayne is blissfully oblivious of all this. He take’s Mercy’s hand as she approaches him, and then removes the veil from her face. They stand and watch as a pastor recites, “Wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the savior of the body. Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing.” Mercy faces Wayne. Pastor, “Do you, Mercy take Wayne to be your husband?” Mercy, “I do.” Pastor, “Do you, Wayne, take Mercy to be your wife?” Wayne, delighted, “I do!” Pastor, “I hereby pronounce you husband and wife.” Wayne embraces Mercy and kisses her passionately.

After the ceremony, the Abbadons stand grouped in a circle, a tight group hug. Mercy,  “Os quiero tantísimo a todos. No te preocupes por mi, ¿de acuerdo?” Everyone nods glumly, “Si.”

Mercy sits in a fancy bathroom, wearing a silky pink dressing gown. She stares down at the ground. Outside the door Wayne’s voice, “Mercy, are you ready?” Mercy takes a deep, shaking breath, “Yeah, just… just give me a moment.” She breathes out, her breath still shaking. She presses her hands against her face, still breathing deeply. She composes herself, and then takes a bottle of lube from the counter top. She squeezes some onto her fingers, reaches between her legs, and puts it on herself. She wipes her fingers off. She takes one final moment to herself, and then stands. She opens the door, and Wayne stands on the other side, in the master suite of the royal yacht. He’s naked, his overwhelming maleness is on full display. He stares at her, his eyes taking in every inch. Nervously, she approaches her. Wayne, "This is what God wants. He wanted our families united. She takes her robe off. Wayne steps forward and kisses her passionately. She turns her face to the side, “Just be gentle with me, okay? I’ve never done this before.” Cut to: Wayne moans ecstatically as he makes love to her, “Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of this.” Mercy stares off and doesn’t say anything. Wayne, “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I love you so much.” He cries out in pleasure. She tighten her arms around him. He pants as he nears climax, “Mercy, Mercy…” She makes a tiny gasp, “Wayne.” He cries out again as he finishes, and then falls limp against her, “Oh, Mercy…” He strokes his hair, contemplating, determined. It's done. She’s in control now.

[whoacanada]

NHL!Bitty, Part XII -  ‘A Stanley Cup Wedding’

The Schooners win game seven and dethrone the defending champion Falconers to claim Seattle’s first national title. 

Eric was definitely not expecting Jack to propose immediately after losing.

(A rework of the ‘Game 7 PVD vs SEA’ prompt that totally retcons some NHL!Bitty stuff, so timeline-wise: the Falconers took the cup Eric’s second year with the Schooners. The Schooners win the following season.)

NHL!Bitty Masterpost

Game Seven. Third period. Eric’s running on adrenaline, blue Gatorade, and rage.

Jack and the rest of the Falconers first line are racing to catch up, but Eric is ‘criminally fast’ (thank you ESPN for the lovely descriptor), and it’s almost too easy to whip the puck to Carter and wait for the siren.

Snowy can’t stop it. The Schooners will win in regulation. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, Eric sees Morin’s breakaway as the death knell of his relationship. He has flashes of Freshman year and he thinks ‘Jack is going to hate me’.

Eric closes his eyes and waits.

The siren blares and someone slams into his side, but he only has a moment to rally before he’s hit by a wall of sound that vibrates the ice beneath his skates and reverbs in his chest. The whole arena must be shaking because he’s never heard anything like this before.

Except that’s not quite true, because he was there last year in Providence, it’s just that the sound wasn’t directed at him.

It’s Seattle’s first championship.

Eric forces open his eyes and can’t see much beyond the mob of teammates that have surrounded him, but there’s someone else. A body in Falconer’s blue that’s mushed up against Eric and screaming as loudly as any of his teammates.

“Mon Petit Lapin est un Champion!” Jack shouts, right in his ear, before pressing a sloppy kiss against Eric’s cheek, the affectionate gesture hidden in the safety of the huddle.

So much for Jack being upset.

When the mob starts to break down Cricket notices Jack among their ranks and grabs his jersey to pull him away from Eric. 

“Zimmermann! Get back to your own team!” 

“Mon dieu, t'es beau,” Jack continues talking, refusing to break eye contact even as Bay shoves him back to wrap Eric in a hug of his own.

“Ouais, il est,” Bitty says back, though Jack can’t hear him, skating back to console the Falconers after the loss. “I am. Oh, my god, I am. We won.”

“We won!” Cricket echoes, and the team roars. 

They line up to shake hands and when Jack reaches Eric he says, “I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you.”

Eric doesn’t have time to respond before he’s being coaxed along and Tater slaps his hand so hard Eric thinks he might have broken something.

The next few minutes are a blur of screaming, sweaty hugs, candid photos, posed photos, interviews, and distantly he can see his parents with the Zimmermanns behind the glass, waving and waiting to be escorted to the ice. Behind them, Eric can just make out the small hoard of Samwell alums dressed in custom red ‘Bittlemann’ and ‘Zimbits’ jerseys, though Shitty appears to have shed most of his clothing at this point. 

Eric slips away from another reporter and, overwhelmed, can’t quite figure out what to do now. He wants his parents. He wants Jack. He wants to lift the fucking Stanley Cup.

They’re rolling out the carpet for the cup presentation and someone is tugging at his arm. Someone that stinks a lot like --

“Jack!” He spins and hugs his boyfriend before remembering there are cameras and pushing away quickly.

“It’s okay,” Jack assures him, pulling him back into a tight hold. “I’m gonna propose,” he huffs against Eric’s sweaty hair, “right here.”

“What? Now?” Eric asks, not sure if its the exhaustion or just generic shock. “I mean, are you going to come out?”

“Right now,” Jack nods, pulling back with a goofy grin. “But only if you want to.”

The music is deafening and out of the corner of his eye, Eric can see Cricket grinning like a loon before a swarm of reporters and several cameras. They’re bringing out the cup, and Eric doesn’t exactly care because Jack’s going to come out. And he just proposed that he is planning to propose?

Maybe he has a concussion. Maybe he’s not thinking clearly because is what universe does Jack lose the Stanley Cup, come out, and propose to Eric at the same time?

“But you lost,” Eric says gently, afraid Jack’s about to realize he’s made a mistake. 

“And you won,” Jack counters, just as gently, cupping Bitty’s face. “And you have no idea how proud I am. Six years ago you’d pass out if you got hit. Tonight you ran me into the boards twice!”

“Cause you were being an asshole, Sweetpea,” Eric defends, fighting the warmth rising in his cheeks.

“And it was great, but you know who helped you through that? I did,” Jack grins. “Checked you so many times you forgot you hated me. So, it’s a bit like I won too, you know? I got to see the man I love, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, fearless.”

Oh. That’s. 

Eric grabs a handful of Jack’s jersey and pulls him down into a kiss, heedless of the flashing lights and screaming spectators. When they separate Jack’s expression is dazed.

“So you’ll marry me?” Jack cradles Eric’s sweaty face and peppers kisses across his cheek. “Please say yes. Make it official.”

Eric grins and tucks his face against Jack’s neck, “Yes, I will marry you.”

They’d discussed it before, in the same half-measures and what-ifs that always circled conversations about their relationship and Jack’s eventual coming out. 

Somewhere between the playoffs and this moment, Jack must have made peace with his demons because he’s here now, declaring his love on the biggest stage he could possibly find. It’s only by the grace of the hockey gods that no reporters have managed to stick a microphone between them yet. 

Then Eric blinks, noticing Sorenson’s blond head in the crowd, and he has a bold, terrible, horrible, wonderful idea.

“Sorenson is ordained,” Eric says, just loud enough for Jack to hear. “Our family and friends are here. What about right now?” 

“Right now?” Jack stares at Eric and grins like he hasn’t just lost Game 7 of the finals. Like Eric isn’t about to hoist the cup. Like they didn’t just out themselves on national television.

“That’s crazy,” he breathes, pulling Eric into another kiss. “Let’s do it.”

Something bubbles up in Eric’s stomach. Butterflies? Adrenaline? Sheer joy? Perhaps all of the above?

Carter swings by with a stack of hats and shoves one on Eric’s head so the brim knocks against Jack’s nose. “Stop macking on your man and come lift the fucking cup!”

Jack laughs and shoves the cap out of his face. “Carter, we’re getting married. Right now. Grab Sorenson.”

Morin freezes. “No shit? Can I be his best man?”

“Sure, just get Andrew before it’s too late. We have to kiss when Bits lifts the cup.”

Morin retreats and Jack takes Eric’s face in his hands again. 

“You sure this is what you want, Bits?” Jack asks, brow furrowed slightly. “I’m all for it, but if we wait for everyone to get over here we’ll be swarmed. We have to do this right now.”

Eric pulls Jack’s hands down into his own and smiles up at his fiancé (fiancé!). “I’m okay with that if you are.”

Sorenson skates over with Bay and Morin, interrupting the moment. “What’s this about you getting married?”

“You’re still ordained, right? We want you to marry us.” Eric explains. “Like right now.”

Sorenson looks at Morin. “Is this legit?”

“Why would we lie about this?” Bay shoves Sorenson’s shoulder. “C’mon, you in or out?”

“What, now? I mean, yeah, I can, but shit, Bittle, you’re putting me on the spot, you have vows? Rings?” Eric shakes his head and Jack must mirror the action because Andrew just groans and rips off his hat. “Fuck guys, fine. I’ve never done a gay wedding, but okay.”

He motions for them to scoot closer. “Uh, dearly beloved --”

Eric sees an NBC reporter hovering nearby and snaps his fingers to interrupt. “No time, skip to the end.”

“Bridezilla over here -- do you, Eric Bittle, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold in sickness and in health yadda yadda yadda?”

“I do,” Eric says, taking Jack’s hand and squeezing tight.

“And do you, Jack Zimmermann, take Eric Bittle to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Definitely,” Jack breathes, smiling so hard Eric thinks his chapped lips might split. 

“Then by the power vested in me by the Universal Life Church, you fuckers are married.” Andrew waves his arms half-heartedly. “But not totally. You still need paperwork, and Morin and Bay are your witnesses.”

“Sick!” Bay high-fives Morin.

Eric tugs the sleeve of Jack’s jersey. “Hey, we still need to kiss.”

“Not yet,” Jack warns. “We should both be touching the cup when we share our first kiss as a married couple.”

A few short years ago, Eric would have laughed outright at Jack’s superstitions. But now? 

“Lord Stanley will bless the union, and the league will fear our power,” Eric jokes, only half-kidding when Jack’s smile turns just a little self-indulgent. 

“Bittle!” Someone yells, and Jack shoos him away.

“Go be with your team!”

“I think I’d rather be with my husband,” Eric says, and Jack flushes pink before Eric looses sight again, Carter dragging him bodily back to the reporters and the cup. He blinks and he’s standing beside his captain while the world narrows to the trophy held above his head.

“Congratulations, kid,” Cricket grins, handing the cup to Eric. “You’ve earned this.”

Eric grips the metal tight and feels the weight of it for the first time. Not just the 35 pounds of silver and nickel, but the weight of a legacy far bigger than any one player. 

He stops fighting the urge to be presentable, lifts the cup high and screams, forcing every painful moment in his entire life out into one throat-shredding cry. 

For every church lady who looked down her nose at him and talked to Mama about ‘camps’, for every relative who described his love of figure skating as ‘faggy’, for the classmates who wouldn’t sit next to him and the junior varsity football players that actually tried to kill him . . .

For every person that every tried to make him think he was less than. 

Fuck you.

His cheeks are wet, the crowd is going nuts, and his parents are crying. 

Bob has an arm around his father’s shoulder and Coach is crying.

He needs to pass the cup on, but he’s not ready yet. He scans quickly for Jack’s name from the previous year, and when he finds it he brings the cup to his lips, pressing firmly enough he’s sure ‘ZIMMERMANN’ can be read plain-as-day on his lips.

‘Thank you for giving me this,�� Eric thinks, blocking out everything else for just a moment. ‘And thank you for giving us Jack.’ 

He blinks against the lights and finds Jack in the crowd, beaming beside his parents. 

It’s time. 

Eric makes a b-line to his family (His family!) and stops short of Jack. 

“Hey,” he says, suddenly hoarse with the realization that this is his husband. He’s married (kinda), he’s holding the Stanley Cup in front of everyone he’s ever cared about, and Jack Zimmermann’s ass will forever belong to Eric Richard Bittle.

“Hey, Bits,” Jack replies, barely audibly over Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster chanting ‘Bittle, Bittle, Bittle.’ Eric motions up with his chin and Jack reaches up to cover Eric’s fingers with his own until the cup’s weight is split between them. 

By now word has spread and every camera in the arena is trained on them, but he tunes out the crowd, his teammates, the reporters, his friends, his parents and his in-laws, and he leans in to capture Jack’s lips.

It’s not their first kiss, but it might as well be.

[dhrupad]

Sumana Roy on Mahanagar, The Big City (1963) in her essay “City”.

My father, like many first time visitors, came to the city by train.

It was the only time, he tells me, that his dream had come true. He meant this literally – the long journey, squatting in the passage near the door, the smell of yawns and the sticky matted hair at the end of the journey, even the faces of his co-passengers and the ticket collector, he had seen them all in his dream, night after night. He hadn’t seen it in a film, not yet, only read about it in a few novels that had found their way into the village school library.

His first journey to the city was, he likes to romanticise, the opposite of Satyajit Ray’s journey to Nischindipur, the village where his film Pather Panchali is set. A stale joke about their common surname later, he tells us how, when he watched the film for the first time, he had repeatedly looked at the projector light in an old cinema hall to see whether that beam of light which contained in it the journey from the city to the village, could also hold its opposite – the story about a journey to the city.

My first visit to the city was through a film: Satyajit Ray’s Mahanagar (“The Big City”). I was, I must emphasise, forced to watch this film. At that age, black and white films signified boredom to me: they made my mother weep and my father garrulous. It was my father, with his eccentric ideas about a child’s education (he had once made my brother and me stand outside in the dark, moonless night for four hours to overcome our fear of darkness!), who made us watch the film. He asked us, my brother and myself, to “swallow” the film. He used that word often in Bangla, especially when he made us memorise the names of all the plateaus in Asia, or eat bitter gourd on Sundays, or watch Ray and Ritwik Ghatak....

The lead actress in the film (the only word for actress in our vocabulary then was “heroine”) was Madhabi Mukherjee. An aquiline nose, perfect lips, loose half-formed ringlets of hair falling near her ears – she was an emblem of natural sophistication, the city woman-in-becoming. My father, while watching the film with his friends, discovered his love for the woman who would be my mother. He found a resemblance between the two women, which no one since then seems to have noticed. Madhabi Mukherjee, in his arriviste’s eyes, became the woman he needed to possess; only a woman like her would make the city, with its tortures of repetition and trials of entrance tests, bearable. And so he wooed the woman with the only thing he had: his imagination. He wooed her with things he thought would mark him less as an outsider, for when everyone slept at night, he pulled himself out of the hostel and saw it as one would see it from the sky. It looked like a jail to him when he first arrived, and then, with time, he began thinking of the building as a living thing, as a fish with its stomach full of eggs. Those eggs were young men like him, his hostel-mates, and just when he was on the verge of falling asleep, this half-imagined dream flew out of his mind and became independent. It gave him cold sweat and delayed his sleep further. In that dream he saw a very big fish, bigger than a whale, taken out of water; its stomach full of eggs, the fish was taken to a hospital and, there, declared dead on arrival, its body was sent for post-mortem to the morgue. There, with the stomach ripped open, the eggs, thousands of tiny round islands, start floating on a large tray. He could never see the end of the dream. He couldn’t exert his imagination enough to tell him what became of the eggs. He, a rationalist who showed his lately-found modernity by criticizing astrologers and palmists, was troubled by guilt, by the fact that he could give a dream such importance. And yet, he knew that he wanted to know what would become of people like him.

Some dreams travel to places only to disappear. When my father moved to the Chicken’s Neck, a fledgling small town in which to put up his tent, the dream about the city-fish just disappeared. He searched for it in vain. When he tells us to not allow our dreams to vanish, I sometimes wonder whether he means it literally.

He finds it strange that my mother, a sentimentalist on leash, does not remember a single dream about the city. Perhaps he doesn’t realize that the city was never an object for her. Though she grew up in Tagore’s Santiniketan, she travelled with her parents to the city almost every weekend. My grandmother, a British woman who grew up in London, would not have been able to survive in India otherwise. She followed my grandfather to India to experience the Gandhian ideal of “simple living, high thinking”, and strangely, like most fans of that cult, decided that such a life was possible only in a village. So, she became a villager with a vengeance: living in a clay house, keeping a tiny poultry farm, growing her vegetables and even keeping a horse and two cows. But after the long week that she and her husband spent in treating the unfamiliar diseases of the villagers of Bolpur (for Bolpur was then a village and not the pretentious university town it is today), she longed for the Englishness of Calcutta. It was all there in the words: Park Street, Grand Hotel, Flury’s, Nahoums, Trincas. They, with their music and lights and fresh-from-the-oven smells, made cityness available to her. They, and the secondhand booksellers on the pavements in Esplanade – from them she bought all that was available and, after two afternoons of reading them, following Miss Marple (whom she described, in her doctor’s idiom, as “libido-anaemic”) and Hercule Poirot (an example, she used to teach my mother, of the silent “t”) on their expeditions, all this while keeping an eye on Calcutta as it moved without questions outside her window in the Grand Hotel.

“A city must have a village in it to be a city,” was her oxymoronic prescription, and perhaps her daughter took it seriously when she fell in love with my father, a man who had, not too long ago, not known a proper bathroom.

In Mahanagar, the Majumdar family of the 1950’s Calcutta could have been from a village, followers of the first part of my grandmother’s favoured doctrine of “simple living”. They dress simply, talk in a language that was being fashioned by the middle-class, simultaneously in life and in art, but their problems are urban. To borrow an old Shavian dictum: No city, no conflict. Ray lets the city become a microcosm of the newly-independent nation coming to terms with the dissatisfaction of unemployment (whose climax his colleague and contemporary Mrinal Sen would show us in Calcutta 71, a decade later) and, yet, his city is a real city. I remember one scene in the film where I was tempted to get up and wipe the sweat off the black and white television.

It was the first time in my life that I saw so many people on a ‘real’ street. It would be the first impulse that would trigger my anthropological curiosity about crowds, and I can actually recall asking my father how different the men and women in the Republic Day Parade (till then my measure of multitude) were from the crowds in Ray’s city. Ray’s film ends with a shot of the crowd, and then a movement of the camera tugged gently upwards to show a streetlight. When I had first watched the film, my father, in trying to explain the world to his children, had told us that it was a symbol of hope for the citizens. Since then, every time I have watched the film, I have found myself in disagreement with him. For me, this is Ray’s Tagorean gaze into the distant and, at the same time, it is also a space where Ray will leave us with binaries but will not break them for us: man-machine, many-one, crowd-individual, sympathy-empathy.

Sometimes I am nostalgic for my first interpretation of the film – I had thought it was a story about lipstick. The man was angry with his wife because she had worn lipstick. If she wore no lipstick, they would live happily ever after. I didn’t like the film because, at seven, like most girls, all I wanted to do, if allowed, was to wear lipstick at all times of the day, even while bathing or sleeping. I was also a bit angry because it was a black and white film and I couldn’t make out the colour of the heroine’s lipstick.

Many years later, when I learnt that an “imported” maroon lipstick was the first gift my father had given my mother, a precious amount spent from his meagre university scholarship, I began to understand, even if only partly, how cleverly Ray had fused a semiotic of the ‘foreign’ woman with the awkward and adolescent consciousness of a growing city.

http://pratilipi.in/city-sumana-roy/