Rape Theology

The Missouri Senate went after the legislature’s favorite annual punching bag the other day—Planned Parenthood.  It argued about a bill that would keep the organization from collecting Medicaid reimbursements for dispensing family planning and other women’s health services including cancer screenings.

Planned Parenthood hasn’t provided abortions for a couple of years in Missouri.  But that’s not enough for the PP-haters who don’t want the folks working for the organization to even say the word. And suggesting someone who has thought through the issue and still wants an abortion to places in other states, well, that is calamitous.

One Senator wants to make it a crime for a woman to seek an abortion—although she’d have to leave the state to have it.  He also would have rapists castrated or shot.

Apparently the Senator is not familiar with Article 1, section 8, Clause 3 of the United States Constitution that gives Congress exclusive power over trade among the states. It also limits state powers to limit interstate commerce. And abortions ARE interstate commerce. But ignoring the U. S. Constitution has not been a problem in the legislature on the hot issue du jour for some time.

Another Senator says rapists should get the death penalty and suggested forcing the victim to carry the fetus to term created by the rapist who should be executed “may even be the greatest healing agent you need in which to recover from such an atrocity.”

Still another suggested that rape might be “mentally taxing…(but) it doesn’t justify an abortion.”

Missouri Independent reports she continued, “God does not make mistakes. And for some reason he allows that to happen. Bad things happen. I’m not gonna be able to support the amendment because I am very pro-life.”

I have often remarked that nothing screws up faith more than religion, or as one of my favorite cartoonists expressed it a few years ago:

To describe rape as “mentally taxing” is completely inappropriate.  So is the idea that executing the rapist would be a great healing agent. An African-American member of the senate attributed her existence to the rape of her great-grandmother, a slave, who by her white master.  The event was “mentally taxing” enough that the victim killed herself.

Several years ago, a similar argument against putting rape and incest exemptions into the abortion was pushed by a woman state representative who argued that it is God’s will that  something beautiful (the birth of a child) could result from something so bad as rape or incest.

I wrote in the old Missourinet Blog that, that kind of reasoning argues against rape being a crime. If God intended something beautiful, a baby, to result from something so ugly as a rape or incest, then God must have intended for the rape and incest to happen—especially since God is perfect.  And if that’s the case, rape should be considered an Act of God, not a crime.  After all, God does not make mistakes.

This is why we have, presumably, a separation of church and state.  Religious Dogma should not replace a law of humanity.  But it does and there are many who want to erase that separating line entirely. To do so would thus make one religion more free than others. And that would mess up the idea that this is a nation that practices religious freedom.

My theocracy is better than your theocracy. My God is better than your God. That’s what it all boils down to.

The major flaw in the “God does not make mistakes” argument is that God created people who make mistakes because God gave people free will.

So we live in an imperfect world and reconciling the imperfections in a way that makes living more humane is a never-ending argument. Killing others in the name of God has only produced never-ending wars.

Killing the rapist raises questions about the entire right to life philosophy. Would it be a “healing agent” to kill the rapist of a pregnant ten-year old girl who will likely not understand why she is left to bear what some consider God’s Gift? And if the product of a rape is a gift from God, how can killing the bearer of that gift be considered correct policy?

It is not our intention here to argue whether there should be abortions. But there are two innocent lives involved, not one.  And to try to make rape a theological issue is a political Gordian knot.

If we accept that God is perfect then we must accept that it was God’s will that we mortals are imperfect. And as imperfect creatures we make imperfect decisions. The challenge is in determining the fairness of the way we deal with those imperfections.

Maybe some issues are beyond the law and ongoing gyrations trying to make them fit within a law that carries equal rights and compassion for everyone the law touches is beyond human capabilities.  In those instances, the decision should rest with the individual, their doctor, and God.

Turn to faith, not religion, for the ultimate guidance.

Notes From a Quiet Street (Injured Curmudgeon Edition)

(being an irregular voyage through some mental flotsam and jetsam that isn’t worth full blogness)

There is so much to writr about these days but unfortunately your constant observer has become a one-fingr typist because was not observant when he went to the mailbox Thursday night and tripped over a little sidewalk wall and found himself in aencounter with a garage door.  The door is fine but the left shoulder of your observer became removed from its socket, said left arm now tightly strapped down.

But I do want anyone in the area to know that on tuesda morning thru Wednesday afternoon I have attanged evhibits from the Steamboat Arabia Museum in KC and National TransportationMuseum in Kirkwood to be in the capitol rotunda to promote legislation to help veterans, provide financial aid to struggling local historical museums, krrp the Arabia in Missouri and help the NMOT achieve its dreams for expansion and protection for and restoration of its collection.

Now onto the original great observations about our times—-

Anybody else getting tired of emails or telephone calls from people wanting to know if your experience with your doctor, your mechanic, your financial advisor, your car salesman, your—-you name it—was a pleasant one?

Feedback Mania has taken hold.

It seems as if every time I go someplace I get an email request almost before I’m out the door wondering if I had a pleasant experience, if the office staff was friendly, or if I would recommend this to others.

Did you enjoy your colonoscopy?  Was the admissions staff chipper enough?  How was the taste of the gallon of stuff you drank?  Was your experience with the drug administered before insertion pleasant?

I’m thinking of saving all of these surveys until I can fill them out while I’m on hold after an impersonal, recorded voice tells me that my call is important.

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I had a dream the other night that I opened my closet door and the only things inside were hangers with t-shirts proclaiming that I had saved a shivering dog or an elephant, that I had helped a school kid get a meal, another kid get healed from a disease (I slept under about three adorable blankets during the night)—you know.

I had bankrupted myself at the rate of $19.95 a month for so many different wonderful causes. In my dream, I decided to go on TV and promise viewers that I would give them a t-shirt that said, “I saved Bob” if they just sent me $19.95 a month.  The t-shirt would cost me 75 cents from the sweatshop in China. I needed the money because I placed a telephone call to see if a Medicare plan was available for me in my zip code and I needed to enroll.

Then I woke up and felt badly because each of these charities is only trying to do good in its small part of the human experience.  All except for the Medicare guy.

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Speaking of insurance:  Can you imagine if Flo and Doug had a child?

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Here is something that is spooky as all get-out:

A few days ago my friend Steve Mays, who was our webmaster at the Missourinet for many years and did great and creative things while some of us sluggards refused to quit living in our  internet caves, was explaining ChatGPT to me.  As I understand it, it’s an artificial intelligence program that lets people feed some information in and the program spits out a theme, a letter, an article, or whatever in whatever format or language or length the user wants.  People talk to it on their cell phones.

Later that day he asked Chat GPT:

Do you have any information about reporting by a man named Bob Priddy?

ChatGPT

Bob Priddy, a renowned journalist in Missouri, retired after a notable 40-year career. He was known for his dedication to government transparency and his critical view on the state of statehouse reporting, especially concerning the decline in media presence and the increasing influence of lobbyists. Priddy also played a significant role in advocating for open government, such as pushing for cameras in judicial chambers. However, he expressed concerns about the worsening state of government transparency in Missouri. His career has been a testament to committed journalism, focusing on impactful stories and the importance of government accountability​​.

As complimentary as it was, I was, and am, a little bit chilled that some lights and wires in a box can churn out something like this about me.

I looked up ChatGPT on Wikipedia.  I wonder who—or what—wrote the article.

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Saw a discussion a few days ago about whether Iowa Hawkeyes’ greatest basketball player should go pro or stay in college. One of the questions is whether Caitlin Clark would take a financial cut if she did.  One sports site, Firstsportz, estimates her net worth already is three-million dollars because of the endorsements of various products and services while in college.

At least Clark has stayed at one school throughout her career instead of being a jock gypsy, as so many athletes have become.

Are we alone in thinking there’s something basically wrong with college sports today?  I doubt it.

Gaining Face 

Well, I’ve finally gone and done it.

For many years, Nancy has been on  Facebook.  When people have asked me if I am, too, my answer has been, “No, I have a life.”

But as of December 12, 2023, I have joined the 21st Century. Or at least stuck my toe in 21st Century waters. Nancy helped me put together a Facebook page.  I wudn’ta done it except she had just discovered a thing called Diabetes 101, which has a lot of information about, well, you can see the name.

We were in Kansas City to record some podcasts for the Missouri Bar (called Is it Legal to…?  They’re programs that explain the law in language you and I can understand, people who didn’t to go law school to learn all of the clever Latin words that are used to refer to something that can just as easily be explained in English but using Latin emphasizes that the speaker or writer is learn-ed.  You might check them out. I think they’re interesting.).  We had had some really mediocre barbecue at the place in Crown Center that is not Arthur Bryants’ or Gates’ for dinner on September 14 and I woke up the next morning very thirsty.  Breakfast included two glasses of orange juice and a glass of water and I consumed water all day like a camel and got rid of it like a race horse. Blood draws on two days the next week showed very high blood sugar rates and a loss of thirteen pounds in three weeks and I was told to get a finger-punching kit and a prescription for insulin filled.  Right now. I don’t know the exact hour but I do know the exact date that I became a Diabetic.

Since then I’ve met scads of people who have been dealing with this thing for decades.  I’ve learned from them and from personal experience it’s not bad.  But it does change one’s lifestyle.

For instance—-the Girl Scouts have just lost a significant customer.  I used to buy Thin Mints by the case and keep them under my desk at the Missourinet, breaking out a box to celebrate a good day or a great story or just to pep up the staff.  Goodbye Thin Mints.  And Oreos. And big cups  of Black Walnut ice cream at Central Dairy.

BUT one day last week I had two (2) Sausage-Egg McMuffins at McDonald’s—just without the muffin.  Early on, my spirits were lifted when I learned I could have chili and popcorn. I’ve been to Wendy’s a few times since and I’ve developed a tremendous desire to go see a movie but the offerings at our local theatre at this time of year have been ghastly. The closing of our favorite drug store cut off my main supply of daytime popcorn. We’ve been binge-watching a TV show about a public hospital in New York, New Amsterdam (until the next season of Grey’s Anatomy is released) and streaming programs on ACORN such as Martin Clunes’ (of Doc Martin fame) called “Man and Beast” instead of going to the movies.  But the experience is popcornless. Roku is a wonderful invention.

I’m doing fine.  Nancy has bought me several pairs of pants that will stay up (I’ve kept losing weight, 30 or 35 pounds or so).  And I’m about to become acquainted with some additional doctors of new specialties previously unencountered.  I’ve learned a lot of other people are in the same sugar-free boat I’m in and they’ve been rowing it for many, many years.  So that’s comforting.  And I don’t feel badly.  But creating a whole new diet that involves things I like to taste is an ongoing adventure.  I haven’t had real milk since September; that’s what I miss the most.  We got through Thanksgiving just fine and I wasn’t bothered too much watching other people eat dressing and mashed potatoes with gravy, and cranberry stuff out of a can.  Nancy made a pumpkin pie I could eat, as long as I didn’t eat the crust.

Peanut Butter, crunchy, has become a major part of my life.

So where was I?   Oh.  Facebook.

Well anyway, I’m there.  I’ll probably use it to tell people what’s on the blog next week and I’ll probably be a regular viewer of Diabetes 101.  Friend me if you’d like but we are not going to spend our days exchanging selfies or passing along cute cartoons or the latest editions of Wal-Martians.

I’m just showing folks a new Face. I’ll be friendly. But I have my own life and I’m going to keep living it for a good long time.

OMG!!!

While our Congress has been acting like children who should be spanked and sent to bed without dinner—

While the Israel and Hamas are blowing each other up===

While Ukraine is hoping to hold on somehow to its own survival—

While hurricanes are growing more severe, water shortages are getting more serious, millions of people are still starving in Africa, China is building islands in the South Pacific to extend its reach, gas prices are as difficult to understand as airline fares, and Covid is on the rise again—

It is news that baseball great Alex Rodriguez has

Ta-dah!!!!

Gum disease!

Oh, the horror.

“I just recently went to see my dentist and not thinking anything about any gum disease and the dentist tells me the news, and then I come to find out over 65 million Americans have this gum disease.”

He made the heart-stopping announcement on the “CBS Mornings show a few days ago.

But it’s only early-stage gum disease.

Whew…..we were really concerned until we learned it’s been caught early and is treatable.

As sometimes happens when big star people contract some dreaded disease, A-Rod, as he’s called, is becoming a mouthpiece for a cause.  He has “partnered” with OraPharma, a  health products company to increase public knowledge about this ailment.

(We wonder if he knew he had gum disease before OraPharma contacted his agent.)

His advice:

See your dentist for regular checks.  And take care of your teeth.

You bet, A-Rod.  I’ve already made my next dental appointment. It will be in December.

But there are other major ailments that require celebrity spokespeople with courage enough to go public with their problem so the public will be more aware and seek proper medical attention.

Hangnails.

Ingrown toenails

Dandruff

Think of the possibilities for TV commercials with your favorite sports stars or has-been sports stars elbowing their way between insurance, patent medicine, and medicare commercials.  We need the variety.  Flo and Doug and their associates are getting so monotonous.

In A-Rod’s case, be watching for him telling you that Arestin and Ossix are essential fighters for good oral health.

But until that happens, we hope you’ll send your thoughts and prayers to A-Rod as he enters a long fight against his early stage gum disease.

 

Notes from a Quiet Street (Cranky, colorful edition)

(Notes from a Quiet Street consists of observations that aren’t worth all the words for a full-fledged blog post.  On the other hand, some blog posts don’t merit all those words, either.)

In these chaotic times dominated by demagogues, I suggest all of us learn to play bridge, or learn to play it better.  For in playing bridge we may find relief from current controversies and fears because Bridge is a land of no-trump.

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Wife Nancy got a new car the other day.  If I drive it, it recognizes my face and moves the seat and mirrors where I like to have them.  And then it puts them back in her positions when she gets back in.

It’s white, the most visible color except in a blizzard, and it doesn’t show dirt as much as darker cars do.

The quick guide to it is 150 pages.  The full owner’s manual runs to 537 pages. We’ll probably finish reading about all the bells,whistles, and foghorns sometime in February. We might learn the rudiments of the touch screen by Thanksgiving.

How odd that in these days of concern about distracted driving, new cars have touch screens that the driver has to look at to do everything but serve hot coffee and so many buttons on the steering wheel that the driver has to look down to make sure their finger is touching the right one. No wonder the thing has systems to keep the car in the right lane and to keep it from shortening the car ahead.

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My first car had three on the tree, the headlight dimmer button on the floor for the left foot to work, an AM radio, and hand-wound windows.  I turned a key to start it, turned a key to lock and unlock it, had bumpers, a bumper jack in case of a flat tire (and tires that did go flat), and a full-sized spare that had to be checked for its air levels from time to time.  It alsos had a steel dashboard, real glass windows that were deadly to go through, no seat belts to keep you from hitting your head on the metal dashboard or going through the glass window in a crash, a rigid steering column that would be deadly, and an odometer that was all zeroes after 100,000 miles.

Air conditioning was the wind coming through the window that evaporated the sweat on hot days.

And the car didn’t recognize my face.

No, it did not have a crank to start it.

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The baseball playoffs are underway. I have no idea who is playing.  Sometimes I wish I cared.  Not often, though. I’m probably not alone.  It’s football season, after all.  I remember a lot of years when the World Series was over by now—back in the days when television didn’t run the sport.

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That first car was dark green on top and light green on the body.  Cars came in white, black, blue, green, or red.  Nowadays they’re pearlescent snow white, metallic Mediterranean blue, mocha, Sequoia Green, Arrow Gray, Purple Sector,  Thundernight Metallic—

How much do the geniuses get paid to come up with these names?

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Speaking of colors:

Did you know that Crayola makes an Ultimate Crayola Collection that includes 152 colors?  Among the more recent are crayellow, timber wolf, cool mint, oatmeal, jazzberry jam, purple mountains’ majesty, manatee, outer space, aspa

ragus, and Granny Smith Apple.

That would be a great question:  “Where will you find—?”  A Crayola box.

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And finally, a story that fell out of the blue—

We want to pay tribute to Dorothy Hoffner who died last Monday at the age of 104. Only a week earlier she had set a new record by being the oldest parachutist in the world. Guiness hasn’t certified the record yet, but she did it.

The Chicago newspapers reported she left her walker on the ground so she could walk away from her landing site.

It wasn’t her first time.  When she was only 100, she was strapped to the back of a professional jumper and had to be pushed out of the plane. This time she insisted on being the jump leader, strapped to the front of a certified parachute instructor. She jumped from 13,500 feet and floated to earth seven minutes later. “Delightful, wonderful, couldn’t have been better,” she said.

She died before her next great adventure could be accomplished.

She wanted to go up in a hot air balloon.

Some people live a life. Other people devour it.

 

JUST DESSERTS

When I’m in Indianapolis, I stay with my friends, Rick and Karen, who have a condo downtown, a few blocks from Monument Circle.  They know all of the fine downtown restaurants—I think, in fact, that Rick has a couple of places that have tables for him whenever he goes in—and, worse, they know all of the dessert places.

The most recent visit involved three excellent dinners and three visits to dessert places none of us had any business going into.  The last night we went to something called The Sugar Factory.

I should have turned and run as fast as I could the other way.

Of all the items on the menu, I thought the Strawberry Cheesecake Milk Shake sounded the most tasty and probably the simplest of the desserts.  Boy, was I ever wrong.

There was the milk shake in a sugar-topped glass and a straw.  But the straw was there mainly to hold the other elements together. Whipped cream and candy strawberries topped the shake itself, topped by the cheesecake and more whipped cream, a real strawberry, and then a strawberry/chocolate cupcake topped by more whipped cream.

God help me!  I ate and drank it all.  The cupcake was nothing to write a blog about but the cheesecake was pretty good and the strawberry milkshake was just the right thickness and flavor.

The eight-block walk back to the condo was done at a fairly leisurely pace.

I had planned to spend a fourth night, after the race, but I decided to stick around only long enough to take the pictures I wanted and then head home early, listening to the rest of the race on the radio (it is, after all, about a 400-mile drive).  I told Rick I was leaving early because I didn’t think I could survive another dessert.

If my doctors were to look closely at my blood samples, I am sure they would find I don’t have white blood cells.  I have vanilla blood cells.

Once a week Nancy and I get together with a couple friends for game night—dominoes, Rummikub, Five Crown, Swoop, stuff like that.  Halfway through the evening, or when we change games, is dessert time.  No matter what the basic treat is—brownies, cobblers, cake, whatever—ice cream is the vital ingredient.  Always too much ice cream.

On our refrigerator, amidst the numerous pictures of grandchildren, cartoons, the next shopping list and assorted refrigerator magnets, is an advertisement I found in a 1916 Jefferson City newspaper. I look at it the way some people consider their bumper stickers, “He said it. I believe it. So it’s true.”

In 1916 the ad assured buyers that Weber’s ice cream was safe to eat, produced in sanitary surroundings, and was not the impure foods of the time found in grocery stores, themeat sometimes hanging openly in the windows.   Eat our ice cream and you’ll be alive tomorrow to eat more.  That kind of message.

But in today’s FDA-regulated food environment, I am comfortable reading it another way—that ice cream is an essential food group.

I think it is a genetic flaw.

While doing some family research a few years ago, looking for references to my great-grandfather, a Union (with Sherman) Civil War veteran, I uncovered a family secret

A longer article in the Decatur (Ill.) Evening Bulletin from July 6,1896 telling me that Robert Thomas Priddy and his partner, A. A. Cooper, both experienced dairymen, had bought “the milk depot and ice cream business “in the basement of Fay’s meat market on the west side of Lincoln Square.”

A year later:

I inherited my addiction to ice cream from an ancestor who was with Sherman at Vicksburg and later helped capture Little Rock.

He died in 1925.

In the old family photographs, he’s thin. It’s clear he didn’t dip into the inventory as often as he could have.

I wonder what he would have thought of that Strawberry Cheesecake Milkshake at The Sugar Factory.

 

 

 

Taking the Initiative (Away)

Ohio residents voted a few days ago on a proposition that would make it harder for citizens to enact laws if the legislature refuses to do so.  Or to correct a legislative enactment many think based on something other than the general public welfare.

Ohio voters approved initiative and referendum in 1912, about the time Missourians approved it.  In the recent statewide Ohio vote, 57% of the voters rejected an effort largely led by those who do not want to see a pro-abortion amendment added to the Ohio Constitution.

In Missouri, constitutional amendments proposed by the people need only a simple majority to be approved.  This year, the Missouri House voted almost two-to-one (Republicans control the House by about the same ratio) to require 57% approval for any amendment proposed by the people.  Only another end-of-session mud fight in the Senate kept the proposal from a vote there sending the issue to the ballot.

Abortion was (is) the principle issue behind the failed legislative effort in Missouri. One major House supporter of the increase went on record during the session admitting the increased threshold was intended to keep a petition allowing abortions from being sent to the voters for their approval. The people, in turn, sent a message back to the legislature.

One of the key arguments for the supermajority threshold is that the change is needed to keep the state constitution from being further cluttered by amendments that should be only statutes.

The concern is legitimate. The proposed means of answering that concern, though, are questionable—and the legislature largely is to blame for the situation to begin with.

Some amendments have been added to the Missouri Constitution because the legislature has refused to pass a statute to address an issue.  The legislature has at times rewritten a statute approved in an election, a perceived rebuke to the will of the people who then can petition for an amendment to the constitution that is harder for the legislature to alter. The legislature cannot, on its own, rewrite a provision in the constitution. It can, however, suggest a replacement amendment that takes the place of the citizen-adopted language inserted into the constitution.

Government can be a little dizzying sometimes but at least the governed and the government are on the same level playing field. A national movement has materialized to tilt the field, however.

The initiative process does need some changing.  But making it harder for the people to propose and pass a law or an amendment on an issue the legislature has ignored, fumbled, or is not favored by the majority (or supermajority) party is not the proper approach.

There is a hypocrisy in this proposed change of the political process. Members of the legislature elected by a simple majority can pass a proposed law or amendment with a simple majority, even a proposal to require the people to get a supermajority to propose or pass a measure the legislature has ignored or bungled.

This is a philosophical problem that is often lost in the different worlds of politics versus popular sovereignty.  Benjamin Franklin defined popular sovereignty when he wrote, “In free governments, the rulers are the servants and the people their superiors and sovereigns.”  Or as the Declaration of Independence reminds us, “Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”

A simple majority governs.  A super majority dictates within the political system.

There are two kinds of supermajorities.  The human first one is a legislative majority capable of enacting laws with no regard to the presumed political equality of a minority. The second is an  entity on paper that keeps a simple majority from speaking or acting.

Supermajorities in their different forms are dangerous because they can ignore the unalienable mutual right to, in particular, liberty.

In this case, the Missouri legislature has a supermajority that wants to ban abortions with a fifty-percent-plus-one vote while requiring those who oppose the ban to get 57% support.  Changing the constitution to tilt the table against the minority is a tilt away from democracy.

There is an argument that the proposal likely to be back in the legislature next year will infringe on the right of citizens “to petition the Government for redress of grievances.”  That’s a basic right in the U. S. Constitution.  Although the document does not specifically address what it takes to petition government, our history has established the simple majority as the rule.  Making  it harder to petition for a redress of grievances hardly seems to keep faith with the founders.

The process needs improvement.  But limiting access of the people to an original right in our national charter is not the best way to handle the issue.

Here are some things—top of the head thinking so take it for what it’s worth—that could be done to improve the process. You might have others or prefer others:

—Limit the number of proposed propositions by one organizaiton to one.  Too often, petition campaign organizers file multiple versions of a proposal that vary only slightly, a process that places an unnecessary burden on the Secretary of State’s staff that has to review each proposal.

—Require clear reporting of the source of funding for the petition, identifying by name the donors and any organizations through which the financing is delivered. If someone wants to buy a part of the constititon or a state statute, voters need to know who it is and why.

—Require pre-filing public hearings in x-number of locations throughout the state so the people have chances to hear the specifics of the proposal and to criticize it within an audience of their peers, giving an early public airing of the issue which otherwise might go to the ballot with a well-financed and heavily one-sided campaign.

—-Require a hearing by a joint committee of the legislature before circulation begins. Neither the House nor the Senate could change the proposal but the hearings could explore shortcomings in a process that could be made by petition sponsors.  One of the major—and justified—criticism process is that petitions lack the refining process that legislative review offers for issues recommended for the ballot by the General Assembly.

The petition process is a right that is to be reserved and preserved for the citizens.  To limit citizens’ right by forcing on them an obligation not forced upon the people who purportedly represent them is to repudiate Franklin’s idea of a republic in which “the rulers are the servants and the people their superiors and sovereigns.”

We hope Missourians are as cognizant of their rights and responsibilities as citizens as the good people of Ohio are—regardless of any measure the Missouri General Assembly might try to enact that makes citizens lesser participants in their own governance.

 

Knocking off the big guys and racing in the rain: last week in sports

By Bob Priddy, Missourinet Contributing Editor.

(BASEBALL)—Cardinals vs. Yankees; Royals vs. Dodgers.  Didn’t happen the way the experts thought it should have.  At the end of the week, both teams had split their last ten games, which means they’ve been playing well above their season’s average.

(CARDINALS)—The Cardinals took two out of three against the Yankees with Jordan Montgomery turning back his old team for the rubber game.  Montgomery outpitched Yankee ace Geritt Cole to lift his team to 35-48.  They are 10½ games out of a wild card slot for the post-season and they’ll have to play at a .582 clip to finish the year at .500.

They have shown incremental progress since the Giants swept them in three-game set in mid-June, going 8-6 since, a .570 clip.

The Yankees are 46-38 but they have had a losing record since losing Aaron Judge with a toe injury.

The Cardinals made a roster move to start the week by calling up Luken Baker, who had a cup of coffee earlier this year when he came up and hit .286 in four games before being send down to the Memphis Redbirds, where he racked up 22 home runs in 64 games. The Cardinals have designated outfielder Oscar Mercado for assignment to make room on the roster for Baker.

(ROYALS)—The Kansas City Royals surprised the Los Angeles Dodgers by taking two out of three  from them to win their first series since mid-May. They still have the second-worst record in the American League at 25-59.  They started this week 21 games out of a playoff spot but team officials seem bullish on a much-better team within the next two years as the youngsters gain experience.

The Royals have only 15 players born before 1995 (Zack Greinke was born in ’83).  On their 40-man roster.

(ALL-STARS)—An indication of the lousy baseball seasons our Missouri teams are having can be found in the rosters for the July 11 All-Star game.  The only Cardinal picked is third baseman Nolan Arenado. He’ll be a starter.  The only other player from either of our teams is Salvatore Perez of the Royals, as a backup catcher.  Of some note is that another American League reserve is former Royals Second Baseman Whit Merrifield, reserve from the Blue Jays.

Before we go racing:

(FOOTBALL)—Vice Tobin, once a standout defensive player for the Missouri Tigers and later the head coach of the Arizona Cardinals who led the franchise to its first post-season victory in fifty years, has died. He was 79.

Tobin and his brother, Bill, were natives of Burlington Junction who played his high school ball in Maryville.  He was defensive back and later a coach for Dan Devine’s Missouri Tigers in the early sixties and mid-70s when the Tigers went 21-7-3 and were nationally ranked all three years.  He had six interceptions, returned punts, and played some halfback on offense—his first play as a halfback was a touchdown pass to Johnny Roland at California in 1962.

He was a defensive ends coach from 1967-70, including the strong seasons of 1968 and ’69 when the Tigers finished with top-ran rankings.  He called defensive plays under Al Onofrio during some of Onofrio’s most memorable wins against Notre Dame, USC, Ohio State, Alabama, and Nebraska and over Aubrn in the Sun Bowl. He coached in the DCFL with the British Columbia Lions before starting a 16-year career as an NFL coach.  He headed the Cardinals 1996-2000 and led them to a win over the Dallas cowboys in the first round of the 1998 playoffs. He later was a defensive coordinator with the Chicago Bears, Indianapolis Colds and Detroit Lions.

(NASCAR)—The streets of Chicago were nothing if not entertaining Sunday.  NASCAR ran its first street race in the modern era after a heavy downpour soaked the track—

(Michael Reaves, Getty Images/NASCAR)

Chicago got a record amount of rain for a July 2nd.  And a driver who had never competed in a NASCAR Cup race beat everybody to the finish line.

The rain gauges at O’Hare International Airport had almost 2.3 inches of rain in them by noon, breaking a record dating back forty-one years.  It was too much water for the NASCAR Cup cars to take to the track even with their rain tires.

The race finally got underway ninety minutes late with some water still standing on the track, leading to cars sliding into walls or into tire barriers several times. The track, however, was dry by the time the race ended with New Zealander Shane van Gisbergen 1.3 seconds ahead of Justin Haley and Chase Elliott.

Kyle Larson and Kyle Busch rounded out the top five—a considerable accomplishment for Busch, who buried the nose of his car in a tire barrier on the fourth lap and had to be retried by a NASCAR safety truck.

Van Gisbergen is the first driver in NASCAR history to win a points-awarding race in his first race.  Until Sunday, only Joplin’s Jamie McMurray and Trevor Bayne held the record for quickest to win a Cup race. Both won in their second ones.  No driver has won a Cup race in his first start since Johnny Rutherford won a non-points qualifying race at Daytona in 1963.  (Jared C. Tilton, Getty Images/NASCAR)

Van Gisbergen, however, is no rookie in stock car racing. He has won the Bathurst 1000, a 621-mile road race back home in Australia three times.  He is a three-time champion of the V8 Supercars Championship—Australia’s NASCAR.

This is the Camaro that runs in that series:

(carscoops.com)

Van Gisbergen is hinting that he might join NASCAR fulltime in 2025 after doing “one more year in OZ.” He is only the sixth foreign-born driver to win a NASCAR Cup race.  Mario Andretti, born in Italy, was the first, in 1967.  Canada’s Earl Ross won in 1974.  Juan Pablo Montoya, born in Colombia, won his first Cup race in 2000. Australia’s Marcus Ambrose was a winner in 2011, followed by Daniel Suarez last year and Giesberger on Sunday in Chicago.

(FORMULA 1)—Max Verstappen, this time, as Spa-Francorchamps, Belgium.  But zealous race stewards penalized eight drivers various amounts of time for cars going outside the racing surface to improve or to defend their positions that it took some time after the race to decide who finished where.  In the end Charles Leclerc was second and Sergio Perez got the other podium spot.

Could we survive yesterday?

Someone asked me the other day, “If you could go back 150 years, what would be the first things you would notice?”

It took me about two seconds to come up with an answer—because I’ve sometimes thought it would be interesting to be able to go back as an invisible observer of the past.

“Color,” I said. “And smells.”

“And the water would kill us.”

The images with which we are most familiar are all one-dimensional and black and white.  Take that picture of great-great-grandfather and grandmother and imagine what a shock it would be to meet them on the street, in three dimensions, their flesh the same color as yours, eyes (perhaps) the same color as yours, hair—-well it might be the same color but it also might be pretty greasy with the men and not particularly clean with the women.

And they likely would have an odor about them, especially if you met them at this time of year.  Stale sweat for one.  Showers were unknown in most homes (indoor plumbing of any kind). Bathtubs were not as well-used as our tubs and showers are now.  Underarm deodorant was nonexistent.  Mum was the first underarm deodorant, and it didn’t come along until 1888, a paste applied under the arms, by hand.  Deodorant, not anti-perspirant.

Underwear probably went a few days before changing.

In those days, if everybody stank, nobody stank.

Last year, I was on the town square in Springfield, Illinois and I noticed a sign on one of the historic buildings denoting it as the former home of the Corneau and Diller Drug Store. The sign said the store had been opened in 1849 by Roland W. Diller and Charles S. Corneau, who installed a big wood stove circled by chairs, making the pace a popular place for mento gather and swap stories or discuss events of the day including politics, a subject that was appealing to Abraham Lincoln, whose law office was a short walk away.

Wife Mary purchased toiletries there “such as bear’s oil, ox, marrow, ‘French Chalk’ for her complexion, a patent hairdressing called ‘Zylobalsam,’ and ‘Mrs. Allen’s Restorative.”

It continues: “Because daily bathing was not yet customary, the Lincolns—like most other people—bought cologne by the quart!”

Visitors to the Steamboat Arabia Museum in Kansas City can purchase 1856 French Perfume.  It’s not the real stuff that was found when the boat was excavated but it is a reproduction.  The museum sent a bottle of some of the real stuff to a laboratory in New York that did a chemical analysis and reproduced the perfume.

It’s strong stuff.  But for hundreds of years, perfume often was not the olfactory decoration and attraction that it is today; it was a masking agent sometimes poured on and sometimes used to soak kerchiefs that were kept up the sleeves and used to waft away some personal unpleasantness of a companion.

So color and odor would be the first things to jolt us if we went back 150 years.

But the smells would not be confined to the people you meet on the streets.  The streets themselves would be pretty rank.

The New York Almanack published an article a couple of years ago observing that the city had 150,000 to 200,000 horses, each of which produced “up to 30 pounds of manure per day and a quart of urine…over 100,000 tons a year (not to mention around 10 million gallons of urine.”

“By the end of the 19th century, vacant lots around New York City housed manure piles that reached 40 or 60 feet high. It was estimated that in a few decades, every street would have manure piled up to third story levels.”

Jefferson City’s streets didn’t produce that much manure and urine.  But New  York’s problems were the problems of every city in the country, including the capital city.

The manure on the dirt streets (such as High Street in Jefferson City) attracted flies by the thousands, millions.  New York once estimated that three-billion flies were hatched from street poop every day.  They were disease carriers. The dust from the streets and the dried manure mingled in the air, was inhaled and worn on the clothing.

And when it rained in the summer or when the show thawed in the winter, the streets turned into a gluey muck that was tracked into every business and home in town—except for the ones that required footwear to be removed before or upon entering—at which point socks that weren’t changed daily added their own atmosphere to life.

These conditions led to the rise in some communities of a new institution—the country club.  People needed a place in the country where they could breathe clean air, at least for a day or two.  Golf courses and horse-racing tracks developed outside of towns.

Missouri Governor Herbert Hadley, who suffered from a lung disease—pleurisy—bought a farm west of town and several prominent residents gathered one weekend for a big barn raising and cabin-building.  Later, a nine-hole golf course was created and thus was born the Jefferson City Country Club.

Sanitary sewer systems were rare. Homes had outhouses, often not far from the well that provided the house with water.

If we went back 150 years and took a drink of the water of the day, we probably would choke on the taste and if we dank a little too much, we might just die of a water-borne disease.  Even with natural immunity that residents of those times developed, the average life expectancy in the United States in 1880 was 40, a good part of it because of high infant mortality and primitive obstetrics that led to high mortality rates for women giving birth.

We forget how tough, how strong, our ancestors had to be to survive in such an environment.  The Missouri State Penitentiary kept a log of every Confederate prisoner it took in.  The average prisoner was 5-feet-7 and weighed 140 pounds.  Women prisoners averaged 4-feet-11.

Imagine wearing a wool uniform, marching ten or 20 miles a day carrying a heavy rifle and a 50-pound backpack, eating unrefrigerated rations and drinking whatever water you could find, even if it was downstream from a cattle farm.

The good old days weren’t very good.  The problem with going back to them is that we might not live long enough to return.

 

Us vs. It—part XIII, Empathetic edition 

We began this series in the early days of the pandemic. It’s been a long time since the twelfth chapter that likened what we have been going through, or went through, and yesterday.

An odd thing sometimes happens to the historical researcher.  Names and addresses become more than words and numbers on a printed page.  Something empathetic happens sometimes.  I like to say that ghosts live in those boxes of letters and journals or in the stories on the pages of microfilmed newspapers that make yesterday immediate.

Maybe it’s because the address is a place the researcher has driven past many times without a thought.  But now, knowing something that happened at that address produces a peculiar personal tie to the place. These are some of the Jefferson City Sites of Sadness during the great Spanish Flu expidemic of 1918.

1022 West McCarty

1029 West Main

1303 Monroe Street

708 East Miller Street

804 Broadway

Particularly, in this case, is this note in the newspaper from December 10, 1918:

Mrs. Fred Landwehr died at her home east of the city.

The house was east of the city in 1918. It’s well within the city in 2022.  I used to drive past this house almost every time I went to my home on Landwehr Hills Road where we lived for twenty years.  Mrs. Landwehr was one of the victims of the Spanish Influenza pandemic.  One of her descendants is a former Mayor of my town.

In most instances, the people who now live at the addresses above where part of that terrible history happened in 1918-19 have no knowledge of the small but enormously tragic event that enveloped their home so many years ago. They don’t know that the living room of their home might have held the coffin of a loved one who died in that pandemic—funerals often were held in homes in those pre-funeral home days.

We don’t know if such information would be particularly meaningful to the way the current inhabitants live their lives.  But these houses remain memorials to the citizens whose name mean little or nothing to most of us but who were part of the fear and the sadness that was there in that awful historic time.

And in the past three-plus years some modern addresses have been added that were the homes of victims of the worst pandemic since the Spanish Flu of 1918-19.

History is more immediate and more valuable than you might think if you know you are in a place where life and death happened or if you know as you drive past what circumstance of life was played out behind those windows.