What You Didn't See on 9/11

Not everyone in this country was glued to their TVs on 9/11.  Some foreigners ignored it.  I saw this in person.

I was vacationing in Las Vegas that morning.  My son called and woke me up.  "Dad, turn on the TV."  I left my hotel room and went downstairs to the casino to gauge reaction.  I expected to find everyone crowded around the bars, watching the coverage.

Many -- all from other countries -- ignored it, playing their slot machines.

I asked one player why she wasn't watching the news.  In broken English, she said something like, "Now you Americans know what it's like."  She was from Indonesia.  I sensed no compassion in her.  I asked another player.  "Al Qaeda kills people everywhere," he said.  He said he was from Lebanon.  He shrugged, and again, no compassion.

The next day, in an empty employee parking lot, I spotted an old car right in the middle, parked sideways.  It had been hastily painted red, white, and blue.  Spray painted along the side in big block letters was the sentiment all Americans felt: "Bomb the Fuckers."

I was executive producer at WBT in Charlotte at the time, and missing the biggest story since Pearl Harbor.  In those first hours, I was certain that the terrorists also would strike Sin City.  I filed reports from Las Vegas until commercial air traffic resumed days later and we could leave.  I had a great crew in Charlotte, and they performed masterfully under uniquely trying conditions.

Two images I remember vividly about that weekend are the disinterested foreigners, and that painted car out back of the hotel.

USA, pal.  USA.

Younger and Better Looking

Remember back in school finding out that someone in your class of thirty or so kids had the same birthday?  Even less likely was discovering another kid anywhere in your school with the same name as yours.

The first time it happened to me was in 6th grade, and it was a shock: There were two of me!  The other kid, however, was younger and better looking.  As an adult, I found a guy in my city with the same name.  He was younger, better looking, and made more money.  Years later in another city there was a black guy with my name.  He was younger, better looking, and made more money.

All of these fellows had different middle initials, different middle names.

Today, I live in a small town.  What are the odds?  One hundred percent, apparently.  There's a guy here with the same first name, same middle initial, AND the same last name.  He's younger, better looking and probably makes more money.

Our surname goes 'way back to at least the Middle Ages, mostly in what is now the U.K.  Over the centuries, we've had our share of lawyers, artists, horse thieves and rascals.

All of whom, no doubt, were younger and better looking.

Flight School Part Two

Awhile back I wrote of the bird flight school in our back yard.  We have since opened a restaurant for the young pilots and their families.  A bird feeder hangs off the main deck at the rear of our house.  It's about 25-30 feet above grade, which allows for a perfect view of the birds' approach patterns through the trees.

Proper procedure seems to be thus: a bird will fly to a particular tree on the edge of the property, then to another that's a little closer, and so forth.  When the tower (wherever that is) has cleared him to land, here he comes, dead centerline right up to the gate, and it's chow time!

Naturally, there are jet jockeys who butt in line.  One that I call Loudmouth flies straight in, regardless of who's lined up ahead of him.  He announces himself good and loud at the outer marker, then rushes in.  He aims for some occupied gate, frightening away the smaller bird already feeding there.  I watched a big male cardinal swoop in once and run him off.  Maybe the cardinal was with the Avian FAA. 

I have no idea what species these little birds are.  A Peterson's Field Guide suggests that they are wrens, nuthatches, and I forget what all.  There are little bitty blue birds, and dusky reds.  Some are bright yellow, and some have black wing stripes that bring to mind a '68 Camaro.

I have no intention of becoming an expert in such matters -- only to enjoy this part of retirem... Oh, look! There's a hummingbird!

Police Shootings

I've had enough of the increasing media assault on police officers.  More to the point, I'm fed up with the secular press increasingly focusing on the "victim."

(Full disclosure: I've known many police officers in many cities during my career, and I've seen what they deal with professionally and personally.)

The most recent fatal police encounter (as of this writing) occurred at an auto dealership in Arlington, Texas.  If that thug had not been there, trespassing and destroying property, he would not have been shot by a police officer, rookie or otherwise.  

This is not rocket science, people: never, ever argue with or disobey a policeman's commands, and for God's sake, never EVER make a move against him.  Doesn't matter who you are, do not resist.  If he's out of line, go after him later in court or through other legal means.  

You may or may not win, but you will be alive.

The Show

The press has been having some fun with Donald Trump, but in my opinion, the "controversy" is shameful.  I like to hold politicians' feet to the fire.  They should be queried, and hard, but this Trump thing is crap.  Fox's little show in early August was just that: a show.  Fox's storyboard for that show was,  "Watch us 'get' Trump."

Trump is an egoist and a narcissist, among other things.  (Oh, yeah: in case you haven't heard, he's also bombastic.). He is a multi-billionaire who knows how to get things done in the rarified air of the movers and shakers in his sphere.  He does what he wants, he does it his way, and screw anyone who takes offense.  "I don't have time for political correctness," he says.  "And neither does this country."

You've heard the Trump quote about Megyn Kelly.  For overly sensitive women and those who claim to speak for them, he implied that Kelly was being bitchy because she was on her period.  He didn't say that, and he claims that he didn't mean that.

"Who would say that?" Trump told CNN the following Sunday.  "Do you think I'd make a statement like that? Who would make a statement like that? Only a sick person would even think about that."  

His denials, however, are being buried so that the story line continues to morph.  As a result, the press continues to pound its fist over a non-existent slight.

True, Trump's candidacy may eventually implode.  His political adviser, Roger Stone, either was sacked or quit the campaign after the GOP presidential debate.  He claims that he quit.  

If Trump's campaign eventually implodes, I hope that it's because of Trump, not some manufactured controversy.  It's a show, people, performed for your entertainment, and the news media's ratings.  Oh, wait: did I just imply that Fox News practices journalism?

Attention Dot-Coms

Hey, webmasters -- What is up with these overloaded Web sites?  You go to a known, reliable Internet source, and the page twitches and spazzes while dozens of goofball ads load on the page.  The result?  The customer (that would be me, in this case) must wait until the gyrations cease before reading the article that now occupies less than half the screen.

If I have to wait 45 seconds for a page to load, that's too long, people.  Aren't you all about speed, and customer satisfaction, and click-throughs and stuff?

And no, the problem is not with my tablet.  I have the fastest, baddest they make, so don't say that I'm just not fast enough.  And my Internet connection is blinding fast.

I'm all for successful monetization and Internet success, but figure it out, guys*.  I'm willing to wait, but not for long.

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* Can refer to males or females.

The Tip

I was well into my teens before I heard about tipping.  At first, the idea seemed ludicrous: why should I pay a waitress extra for doing her job?

I finally asked a girl about this.  Once she stopped chuckling at my naïveté she explained that waitresses don't get paid more than a couple of bucks an hour, so they depend on tips.  (Can you say Performance-based Compensation?)

Then there was the matter of how much to tip.  Ten percent of the bill?  Fifteen during the day, I was told; twenty for supper.  What if the food was subpar, or the meal came late or the service was lousy?

There are guidelines.  Here is one:

http://money.cnn.com/pf/features/lists/tipping/

I've never waited tables and wouldn't want to; I've witnessed far too many pain-in-the-ass customers.  For that reason alone, appropriate (nay, generous) tipping is warranted.

What do you think?

One

One of my best friends died unexpectedly.  We both had been in radio for more than forty years.  I retired in November, and he in December.  He died the following March.

Someone asked me to define "one of my best friends."

I like people, but few I consider friends.  He was one of my best.  Another was a doctor, who died by his own hand in his forties.  Another I had known since high school died of a heart attack, also in his forties.

Terry and I would go months without talking to each other, but that didn't matter to us.  We had a bond that withstood time.

He and I had been in radio for more than forty years.  The last 33 were in the Dallas market.  He became one of the nation's most celebrated country music DJs.  In the 80s, I was his news guy.  Then the competition across town hired him away.

I guess a best friend is a friend who knows all about you -- everything -- and still likes you.  In his case, I just plain loved Terry.  And while I pray that God will comfort Claudia and the family, I also ask Him to tell Terry for me, "Hi, Dorsey!"