Good News is Good News!

Yes, it is a poor revamp of the old saying "No news is good news." Sorry about that, but honestly today the news that all the Chilean miners had been rescued was "news," and it was good news. With all the violence, war, political intrigue, crime, and general misery that is the meat of today's news, the rescue of the miners was, amazingly still newsworthy and such a lift for the day. Normally good news does not "sell" but today it was different. The world was on edge, waiting to hear that every miner was released from their would-be grave. By mid-morning all the men were out and getting treatment at local hospitals. In just a few hours it was all over!

Not really...

The ordeal for these men lasted over sixty days...TWO MONTHS! I had to slow down and really digest the reality of what these men went through. Even the "dramatic rescue" actually involved weeks of painfully slow drilling through bedrock. And be honest, most of us had really put this situation in the back of our minds, maybe occasionally checking the tube to get another update. But think about it. These men, like many of us all over the world, work a business day, or a shift. For miners, of course, the shift is worked underground. I don't know how anyone can voluntarily travel underground for thousands of feet, use tools or even dynamite to make the mine deeper, and yet be calm enough to dig out the ore and transfer the oar back to the surface. At least the miners know that at the end of the shift they will go back to the surface and walk out into the sunshine and fresh air. I admire anyone who can do this. I can barely keep it together long enough to take a walk through Innerspace Cavern, which is well lit and air conditioned. I did it years ago, but only because I did not want my child to think his daddy was a chicken. I was able to conceal my shakes and tears, and maintain my footing as we walked through the cave, because I knew we would be out in less than an hour. I believe I would literally have a nervous breakdown if I were detained in Innerspace Cavern for even a few hours.

But there was some good news for those miners. At least one of the miners had limited medical training or experience. Another man was able to calm everyone and focus them on the only thing that mattered all of the sudden - survival. Of course there was panic and fear in the early hours of the disaster, after all, these men were...well, human. No doubt there was dismay and even hopelessness and desperation. But in the midst of the panic and fear, one or more of the miners established order, calming the men and establishing a plan of survival. It may have been that the only thing the men were actually in control of was their own bodies. That is, all each person could control was his response to the very dire and grave circumstance that they suddenly faced. Calm persons breathe slower and deeper, thus conserving available air. With calm came the ability to clearly assess the situation and decide if there were any immediate steps to be taken while awaiting rescue. While the details of what the men went through and how they survived are as yet unknown, no doubt their stories will be told in news interviews, and eventually in books and movies. Regardless, the men were able to survive in good shape until they were rescued.

I breathed that collective sigh of relief with the rest of the world as we learned that all of the men were finally out. In some small way, the world shared in the miners' fear, and in the hope for their rescue, and finally in the great joy and celebration when the first man finally emerged from the rescue shaft. And the same joy and celebration was extended to the last man out, many hours later. With all the bad and evil that seems to be never-ending in this world of ours, it is still amazing how, for just a little while, all the world comes together in some small way and out pours hope and faith that there will be, against all odds, some Good News, after all.

A True Hero: Rolando Flores Villegas

I extend my sympathy to the family and friends, and the follow officers of this brave man, the Commander of State Police investigators in Tamaulipas. Of course he was well aware of the dangers involved in the mere act of serving as a police officer in Mexico, even more so the increased risk of attempting to arrest murder suspects who were known to be members of the Gulf Cartel. On Tuesday the great risk became all too real. This officer was not merely murdered, as terrible as that is in itself, but he was obviously captured, tortured, and died an agonizing death to horrible to contemplate. As a further taunting insult to police, indeed to the GOVERNMENT OF MEXICO, Commander Flores was beheaded. His body was dumped at one military facility, his head delivered in a suitcase to another military post. This brave officer was killed at the hands of the drug lords, but his bravery must be remembered. At the obvious risk of death, Commander Flores carried out his sworn duty to protect and TO SERVE the people - the Commander died while serving the Hartleys, a family who were not even Mexican citizens.

I, for one, would like to honor Commander Rolando Flores Villegas with the full measure of respect and reverence due any police officer in Texas. As a former police officer, I know myself well enough to know that I would not have had the fortitude to continue as a peace officer given the obstacles and the sheer danger that Mexican police officers, at all levels, face on a daily basis. Beyond that, the officers there also must come to terms with the daily possibility that their families face the same fears and dangers. Unlike the loved ones of officers here in the United States, the families of Mexican police officers are in direct and imminent danger at all times. In spite of all this, officers such as Commander Flores continue to do their jobs, and unfortunately, to die all too often in the performance of those duties. For Commander Flores, and the other fallen officers, I say Rest In Peace. Commander Flores, you are a true Texas hero!

There Is A Real War Here and Now!

There was a good deal of shock and outrage yesterday when Commander Rolando Flores, of the Tamaulipas State Police, was assassinated while he was investigating the death of David Hartley, an American citizen. David Hartley and his wife, Tiffany, were jet-skiing on the Mexican side of Lake Falcon, when they were attacked by Hispanic men in three speedboats. The men fired several shot at the two Americans. One of the bullets struck Mr. Hartley in the head. When Tiffany Hartley circled back and tried to help her wounded husband, the men continued shooting. Mrs. Hartley was forced to flee to the Texas side of the lake in Zapata County.

After some pressure from Texas and United States officials, the Mexican government, via Federal and State Police,began an investigation and had apparently developed some suspects. The state of Tamaulipas is, of course, in true state of war. The Gulf Cartel is fighting the Zetas, former military men turned hitmen and enforcers, for "turf" in the always ongoing drug wars. Both of these groups are fighting the Federal and State police, as well as killing anyone who dares stand up to them. And true to form, as soon as Commander Flores began closing in on specific suspects, he was killed. Mayors, judges, policemen, reporters, and anyone else who in any way opposes these people are immediately killed. The killing of Mr. Hartley may have only been "collateral" in nature; that is to say that these groups also make money and promote terror by attacking both Americans and Mexicans who venture into the "wrong" areas of Lake Falcon.

I now openly ask, request, and DEMAND that our Federal Government protect our citizens by recognizing that there is a state of war in Mexico, and by immediately manning our southern borders with United States soldiers. Stop asking the police (Border Patrol) to carryout a function of the military. Is there any doubt that our southern border is Under Siege?!

I DEMAND that we pull our troops out of all the useless and never-ending conflicts around the world. For one thing, years after Clinton and both Bushes have intervened, and after Obama has blindly continued these engagements, it is obvious that the United States cannot "make" democracies out of nations who have never known democracy and DO NOT WANT Democracy at the moment. I demand that these soldiers be deployed along our borders and that OUR borders be secured. Let Pakistan and Afghanistan worry about their own nation. Let Iran take care of itself; after all, they have had nine years of US attention, and look where we are. There is a civil war that will be fought there, it is inevitable. Get US out of there and let our troops come home. If our own borders are not worth fighting for, then I certainly do not want to see our soldiers dying in foreign lands that do not want our help in the first place.

Our troops CAN secure our borders. This is not 1910, when Pancho Villa could simply vanish on his horse in the desert. I demand that we bring to bear full military security on our borders. And I hope that we have finally learned from Afghanistan and Iran what we did not learn from Viet Nam, that we cannot defeat militants who have the civilian population behind them. That means that we cannot save Mexico from itself, that is up to the Mexicans. But in the meantime, Americans in Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, California, to name a few locations, are not safe as long as these Mexican criminals can possibly raid into the United States, commit murder and other acts of terrorism, then flee to safety south of the border.

What we CAN DO, Mr. Obama, YES WE CAN, is SECURE OUR BORDERS NOW!

SOMETHING Prowls the Island!

I placed the garbage out last night in the temporary holding place on our front porch. This is on the second floor. This morning, it turns out that something got into the garbage. This is somewhat mysterious to me since there are no known stray dogs on the Island. So I had to turn my speculative powers toward other canivoric possibilities. For instance, could it have been a fox, a skunk, or even a coyote? Something else?

The good thing was that whatever got into the garbage was a very neat scavenger. There were two bags of garbage but our guest chose to sample only one. Further, the unknown gourmet also kept the "mess" in about a two-square foot area, so much the easier for cleanup. If I knew which critter to thank, I would certainly express my gratitude.

But what if this garbage-carving stranger is something worse? I mean, it is getting closer to Halloween. Suppose this was not the average residential scavenger. What if it was, for instance, a wayward Chupacabra? Yes...that could be it. Since there was no blood supply readily available (I keep two locks in operation at all times) the poor (mythical?) creature had to resort to the next best thing...my wife's two day old cooking. And the thing could not have gotten our neighbor's blood due to the cannabis fumes and smoke enveloping his residence.

Whatever the beast, my next step is to identify the creature and then I will...

Oh, wait, my wife just knocked me back into reality. After I apply heat to my aching head, I will make a resolution never to leave garbage outside the garbage dumpster again!

Brit Bailey Still Cantankerous

I like to collect ghost stories when the "haunting" happens in Texas. For instance, near my home-town, there is a small community known as Leon Junction. According to a story I heard many times as a child (and always with the appropriate swearing that it was fact) a young woman was said to walk up and down the old railroad in search of her child. The child, unfortunately, was ran over by a passing train. For years I heard people recount stories of their own or others' experiences. They reported seeing a ghostly light, resembling an old kerosene lantern, floating just above the ground along the old railway. I never witnessed this myself, and in recent years I have not heard reports of anyone seeing it.

One of my favorite true ghost stories is the famous San Antonio railroad haunting. I am sure most of you are familiar with this story. In the early part of the twentieth century, as the story goes, a school bus stalled on the railroad crossing as the bus was on its daily round dropping off students. A train almost immediately struck the bus. Depending on which account one reads, thirteen or more children were killed. Since that terrible accident, there have been many reports over the years of stalled cars being pushed of the railroad crossing by an unseen force. Sometimes childrens' voices and laughter were heard. In the early '90s a former police officer parked his vehicle on the railroad crossing in question. He placed a layer of talcum powder on the trunk and bumper of his vehicle. Then...he waited. Sure enough, the vehicle was pushed off the railroad grade and out of danger. Upon examination, the officer found palm prints, several pairs of them, on the rear of his vehicle. A camera crew was there as well. They recorded the event, and took pictures of the palm prints. Very eerie.

Near Angleton is a small community, once a town, known as Bailey's Prairie. This community was named for its illustrious founder, Brit Bailey, who was actually one of the famous "Old Three Hundred," the pioneers who moved to Texas with Stephen Austin. Brit was a cantankerous old man, and was one of the few people who managed to make enemies of Stephen Austin. One story about Brit has him entertaining a circuit preacher for supper. After supper, Brit demanded that the preacher dance for him, and used his shotgun for motivation. The preacher in fact danced for the old man. He left, a humiliated man of the cloth, but nonetheless happy to be alive. But Brit was cantankerous to his dying day. As Brit lay dying, his last request to his wife was that she bury him standing, because he had never laid down before any man when he was alive. He also asked his wife to bury a jug of whiskey and his dog with him. He did not want to run out of whiskey, and he did not want to be without the companionship of his dog. It turned out that his wife fulfilled all his requests except one: she refused to bury the whiskey. She said she had had enough of his drinking, so he could just be thirsty in Kingdom Come as far as she cared. After Brit had been dead several years, the property changed hands. The new owner began to report seeing a strange "ball of fire" that rolled along or floated just above the ground. This ball of fire seemed to appear near the burial site and the the location of the old Bailey home (long since torn down). This ball of fire has been seen periodically over the years, scaring passing motorists. One man was nearly (literally) scared to death when the ball of fire he had seen floating beside the road suddenly materialized inside his car. Other motorists have reported that a strange ball of fire followed their vehicle along Texas Highway 35 in Bailey's Prairie.

Brit Bailey is as cantankerous as ever. I say this because I have made numerous trips to the site of these hauntings, and never once has Brit (or his fireball) entered my vehicle, followed me, or even had the good manners to materialize in my view. Some say it must be at night, all though some of the past sightings were in the daytime. Others have said that the ghost only appears every seven years. Some say on Halloween. I say that Britt Bailey is just a cantankerous old man...er, ghost. In spite of my best efforts and hospitality, Britt refuses to even acknowledge me. I even drive slow, so he won't have to run. Well Brit, I'm waiting.

Fall Is Here, and Boys Sometimes Wear Shorts

The "Island" has been wrested from tourists for the year, and now we "natives" have our town and beaches back. As you may know, I have been a native for over six months. The beaches are nearly empty each day, except for the weekends. Hurricane season is just about over, and the bird species are changing, as the northern birds are starting to arrive for the coming winter. We have not been crabbing lately. The water is still warm but not as warm as in July and August. The crabs seem to bite somewhat slower lately. And lots of boys are still running around in shorts.

That reminds me of another boy who wore shorts. He was ten years old so I suppose he should have known better than to wear shorts to the Whitehouse...yes THE Whitehouse. No doubt his adult relatives should have known better than to dress this boy in shorts on such a special day. Nonetheless, when this family, the surviving relatives of a recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor, arrived at the Whitehouse, they were turned away because the boy was wearing shorts...oh, and a t-shirt. Not just any t-shirt, mind you, but a t-shirt bearing a picture of the very hero that was to be honored on this special day. The hero was this young boy's grandfather. Not only that, but the hero had been denied his well-deserved medal for over SIXTY years. So the family was finally at the Whitehouse to take the tour of West Wing in honor of the late grandfather national hero.

Remember, this man had been denied this honor while he was living, and his memory had been denied the honor for another couple of decades. And NOW...the honor was to be denied because the grandson was wearing shorts...and a t-shirt. Now I am not criticizing the President. In fact, I doubt that he was witness to these proceedings. No doubt a zealous hall monitor was performing his or her duties to the best of that person's abilities. And once again, this American Hero was denied his day of honor. Thank goodness for zealous hall monitors who protect the sanctity of the Whitehouse. But I wonder how much longer the family will have to wait for their next visit to the Whitehouse. More importantly, I wonder what lesson this child learned from the experience.

I am afraid that what he learned was this: After a genuine American hero has been denied his just reward and recognition for over sixty years, the "powers that be" will withhold the honor another day...if someone dares to wear shorts to the Whitehouse. Dress codes for children are much more important than honor for the veteran.

Bailey Black on the Road to the Press

It seems like no matter how many times I edited and re-edited my manuscript, there were always little changes to be made. Two other people also read the manuscript and changes were made on suggestions. I suppose I could read anew everyday and still find something to change. At that point the story may become "stiff" and lose some of the excitement and adventure that I personally felt as I was writing this, the only written record that Bailey Black ever existed. Oh yeah, there are the wanted posters, but they were torn down as soon as word of Bailey's demise spread across the desert. I wonder who will get his ranch in Colorado. Will they find Bailey's hidden wealth. What will happen to that money in the bank in Waco. Oh, it is easy to forget, this is just a story made up, and Bailey Black is just a figment of my imagination. True? Maybe.

I appreciate those of you who may be following me as I experience the joy of being a published, if not widely read, author. It was such fun writing the book. I felt like I was there with Bailey Black as the Sheriff followed him into the desert. I felt somehow transported to Tom Belger's side as he and Dub Giles tracked Bailey Black. I know the hair on my neck stood up when Giles told us, I mean Tom, that somehow Bailey Black had faked the trail and could even now be pointing a rifle our way! Then I was back again, in my writing chair. I hope readers will feel transported to Dora, and to the sand dunes beyond, as they turn the pages in my book. Even though the love affair was brief, I hope the reader can look into the deep pools of Hattie's eyes, down to her soul, as she falls hopelessly for Tom Belger. And surely the reader will share the mixed feelings of both satisfaction that Bailey Black paid his dues, and sadness at his demise while he saved Hattie and the girls from the ravages of the Dalton Brothers. Above all, I hope the reader feels the wonder and awe, the beauty and brilliance, as the Sheriff and Bailey Black walk away into that bright and perfect Light waiting for them in the Beyond.

Thanks again for staying with me.