Category Archives: history

July 4th came on July 3rd this year  

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Cartoonist Walt Kelly years ago had a popular cartoon strip called “Pogo,” about a possum and his animal friends who lived in a Georgia swamp.  Every now and then, one of them would proclaim, “Friday the 13th came on Wednesday this month!” or whatever day was appropriate.

So today we celebrate Independence Day. We can’t say we’re celebrating the fourth of July because that’s not util tomorrow.  And actually, there are several dates we can observe because the Declaration was a work in progress for almot a month before Congress adopted it.

John Adams thought July 2nd would be the day to be remembered. He wrote to wife Abigail 247 years ago today, “The second day of July 1776 will be the most memorable Epocha, in the history of America…It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires, and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forever more.”

Why July 2ns?

Let’s go back to June 7th when delegate Richard Henry Lee of Virginia proposed a resolution “that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved.”

Four days later a committee of five—Adams, Roger Sherman, Benjamin Franklin, Robert Livingston, and Thomas Jefferson—was appointed to write a document expressing those views. Congress recessed until July 1 while the document was written.

Jefferson reluctantly took the job of writing the first draft.  But he alone did not write the Declaration.  Adams and Franklin were his chief editors.  His first draft contained about 1850 words.

The five-member committee made about four dozen changes. Other committees of the Continental Congress made 39 more. Jefferson made five.  In the end of the document was reduced by about 25 percent, to 1,337 words.

One immediate change was made by Benjamin Franklin in the most-cited part of the document—“all men are created equal”

The idea is not Jefferson’s alone.  He borrowed the sentiment from fellow Virginian George Mason, the author of the Virginia Declaration of Rights that had been adopted a month earlier, saying, “all men are by nature equally free and independent, and have certain inherent rights, of which, when they enter into a state of society, they cannot, by any compact, deprive or divest their posterity; namely the enjoyment of life and liberty, with the means of acquiring and possessing property, and pursuing and obtaining happiness and safety.”

Jefferson re-wrote that idea:

“We hold these truths to be sacred & undeniable; that all men are created equal & independent, that from that equal creation they derive rights inherent & inalienable, among which are the preservation of life, & liberty,& the pursuit of happiness; that to secure these ends, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government shall become destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, & to institute new government, laying it’s foundation on such principles & organizing it’s powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety & happiness.”

Jefferson took an already wordy sentiment and made it even more wordy.

And this is where Franklin made a significant change.  He immediately removed “sacred and undeniable” and inserted “self evident.”  Franklin biographer Walter Isaacson says Franklin argued that the new nation was to be one in which rights come from rational thinking and the consent of the governed, not from the dictates or dogmas of religion.

The document mentions God or substitute names for God several times but it does so in neutral phrasing.  This is not a Catholic God.  This is not a Christian God—in those days there were plenty of people who believed Catholics weren’t Christians and Protestant belief organizations were actively splintering into different denominations with differing interpretations of God and the Scriptures.

The God in the Declaration is nature’s God, not a denominational God for a reason.

In Jefferson’s state of Virginia, between 1768 and 1774, about half of the Baptist ministers were jailed for preaching.  In Northampton, Massachusetts—Adams’ state—eighteen Baptist ministers were jailed in one year for refusing to pay taxes to support the Congregational minister in the town.

The sentiment about God had been voiced in the very first sentence of the Declaration that asserted that the colonies are separate from England and as a unified entity assume “among the powers of the earth and the separate and equal stations to which “the laws of nature and nature’s God entitle them.”

The Congress resumed its session on July 2 and the Lee Resolution was adopted and debate on the Declaration began immediately.  For the next two days, Congress made changes—the most significant one being the removal of a section that attacked slavery.

It was late in the morning of July 4 when the Continental Congress adopted the Declaration and the handwritten original with all of its changes was given to printer John Dunlap.  But until August 2, the only signature on the document was that of convention president John Hancock.

The document was not signed July 4th—the famous painting by John Trumbull showing the five-man committee turning in the document with other members seated behind them.

Most members of the Continental Congress did not sign the Declaration until August 27.  And there were stragglers: Richard Henry Lee, Elbridge Gerry (of gerrymander infamy), and Oliver Walcott did not sign until November 19.  And it was not until 1781 that Thomas McKean added his signature.

McKean had left Congress a few days after adoption of the Declaration to become a colonel in the Pennsylvania Association, a military unit despite its name created by Franklin.

They promised their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor when they signed the document.  Several, tragically, kept that promise.

Five of them were captured by the British, branded as traitors, and died after being tortured. A dozen saw their homes burned.  The sons of two of them were killed in the war. Nine of them fought in the war and died of their wounds or the hardships of the war.

Lives, fortunes, and sacred honor.  Those words and the passionate commitments behind them meant something in 1776.

As we honor them today, we should be haunted by those words and wonder what place they have in our political world today.

Could we survive yesterday?

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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.

 

Expungement  

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We’ve written about this before. This is an unfortunate update

Eddie Gaedel presented major league baseball with a peculiar problem in 1951 when St. Louis Browns owner Bill Veeck sent him to bat in a game against the Detroit Tigers.

You’re probably familiar with the story. Gaedel, who was described by Veeck as “by golly, the best darn midget who ever played big-league ball.”

Eddie was three feet, seven inches tall.  He weighed sixty pounds. His uniform number was 1/8.  Actually it was the uniform of the Browns’ nine-year old batboy, William DeWitt Jr., now the Chairman of the Cardinals.  Detroit pitcher Bob Cain walked him on four straight pitches. Gadel scampered to first base where he was quickly replaced by Jim Delsing.

American League President Will Harridge was not impressed by the stunt. He accused Veeck of making a mockery of baseball. He voided Gaedel’s contract and ordered Gaedel’s appearance from the baseball records.

Veeck argued that striking Gaedel from the record book would have to mean the game was never played because Gaedel had been the leadoff hitter and if there was no leadoff hitter there could be no other hitters either.  Harridge finally allowed Gaedel to have his place in the record books a year later.

The story of Eddie Gaedel comes to mind with word that some mental midgets in Washington want to expunge from the records of the House of Representatives the two impeachments of Donald Trump. Speaker Kevin McCarthy, who has to please people such as Marjorie Taylor Greene and Elise Stefanik (she’s the Republican Conference Chair) because they granted him his tenuous hold on the Speakership, will let their resolution be heard by a House committee that can decide whether to send it to the floor for debate.

Such is the looney world into which our Congress has sunk.

Eddie Gaedel did lead off a major league baseball game regardless of Veeck’s motives (he was quite a promoter in his day and was known for his stunts).  Donald Trump was impeached twice by the House.  Erasing the record does not erase the facts whether you’re three-feet-seven or  you’re six feet-two, whether you’re a paid performer in a major league uniform or whether you’re a (well, we’ll let you form  your own thoughts about the equivalency of Eddie Gaedel and Donald Trump).

The official score cards of that day in 1951 list Gaedel on the Browns’ roster and somewhere in attic trunks might be the unofficial score cards kept by some fans who were witnesses to that day’s events.  The scorecards don’t lie. The news accounts don’t lie.  Will Harridge finally admitted the official records of baseball couldn’t lie, either.

Thousands of pages of the Congressional record have been printed and circulated recording those events although the idea that members can “revise and extend their remarks” for that record make it less officially accurate than baseballs statistics. It is, nonetheless, on printed pages that cannot be recalled from those that have them.

Expunging the impeachments from the House records would mean the Senate was playing some kind of a weird game on February 5, 2020 when it acquitted him of a charge that will not exist (somehow) in the House record, if this airheaded movement is approved by the full House.

The second impeachment has always been questionable.  It happened after Trump had taken his boxes of shirts and shoes and pants and documents to Mar-a-Lago.  The Senate on February 13, 2021, thirteen months after Trump and his boxes went south, voted 57-43 to convict him.  But a two-thirds majority was needed, so Trump was acquitted—allowing him to crow loudly that he had been completely cleared of any wrongdoing in the events of the previous January 6.

And once again, the Senate spent a day dealing with something that the great thinkers in the House now want to declare never officially happened.

One of singer Paul Simon’s greatest songs is “The Boxer.”

It doesn’t refer to our ex-President but the title comes to mind as we have thought of him in this discussion, as does the chorus:

Lie-la-lie
Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie
Lie-la-lie
Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie-lie
Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie
Lie-la-lie
Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Expungement would be a lie-lie-lie-lie-lie.

Eddie Gaedel is still in the baseball record books.  Donald Trump deserves the same honor in the Congressional Records.

 

Notes From a Quiet—

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Road.

Your traveling correspondent has been on the road for a month, from Cincinnati and Indianapolis to Illinois to Colorado and Texas.

He has not been to Auxvasse.

Auxvasse is the home to 1,001 people.  At least it was in the most recent census.  It has a total area of three-quarters of a square mile.  It’s a few miles north of Kingdom City, the crossroads of Missouri.  You might catch a glimpse of its former small business district as you flash past it on Highway 54.  The town tavern has survived.

It originally was called Clinton City when it was platted in 1873 but changed its name to honor a nearby creek because the postal service was easily confused by the presence of another town in Missouri named Clinton, with no “city” on the end. It has had a post office since 1874. It is the largest populated area in Jackson Township of Callaway County.

Blogger Tom Dryden, who might be the most famous person to come from Auxvasse—because of his blog—notes that the town website refers to the community as “the third largest fourth class city” in the county.  He says I have been pronouncing its name incorrectly, Oh-vawz.  No, it’s “Of auze.”

Dryden wrote a loving tribute to his hometown in his October 23, 2016 entry. I suggest you check him out at TOMDRYDEN.COM.  He has written some other things about the town and its people, too.

Dryden admits the town is so insignificant he cannot convince his car’s GPS system that it exists, which led him to concede in his May 14, 2012 blog entry, “When you’re from Auxvasse, you can’t go home again.”

I can appreciate his love for his town because I grew up in a couple of small towns in Illinois—one of about 1,500 people (Mt. Pulaski) and the other of about 3,300 when we moved there (Sullivan), probably considered big cities when Tom was a kid.

Now I live in a REALLY big city. Jefferson City (43,228 people in the most recent census).  And Auxvasse has been irritating me for decades.

(By the way, we made an interesting discovery on our way back from Albuquerque last weekend.  We drove through Wichita, which has a listed population of 397,552 in the 2020 census.  St. Louis claims 301,578.  Wichita, Kansas is bigger than St. Louis!!.  Sedgewick County can’t hold a candle to St. Louis County, though, so St. Louis is still a bigger metro area)

Tom Dryden’s GPS doesn’t know where Auxvasse is. But he’s wrong. He CAN go home again. The Missouri Department of Transportation makes sure of that. Interstate 70 exit 148 has a big green sign—

Maybe it’s a conversation piece designed to keep drivers bored by hundreds of miles of billboard-ugly, mostly straight, highway alert by trying to figure out (a) how to pronounce that top word and (b) why it is important enough to be on the highway sign.

“Hey, Maude, get out yer Triple-A guidebook and look up Ox-Vassy and see what’s there.”

“It’s not listed, Claude.”

“They why do you suppose Missouri wants you to go there?”

Well, why does it?

Why doesn’t the sign say “Jefferson City?”  It’s only the state capital, you know.  It’s only the place where the department has its headquarters.

Heck, with Kingdom City’s development into almost-Effingham West, why isn’t Kingdom City on the sign?

We are left to ponder whether Auxvasse has the distinction of being the smallest town in Missouri, or in America, to be listed on an Interstate Highway exit ramp sign.

But it just irritates the sock off me that Jefferson City apparently is less important to the department than Auxvasse is.   I will confess, however, that there have been some times when I’m just one more tired and semi-dangerous driver on the road late at night, that seeing that sign has kicked up the mental processes just enough to make it the last 30 miles or so home safely.  That and the Coke I get at the Kingdom City McDonald’s drive-through window.

Congratulations to Auxvasse, though.  Every day, tens of thousands of people go past a sign that says it is more significant than the capital city of the state. If I lived in Auxvasse, I’d be proud of that.

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Remembering the Shade Tree Mechanic

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You have to own a really old car these days to do your own significant repairs.

Back when I was in college, there was a day when I helped someone replace a head gasket on their car’s engine.  We did it in the yard, under a shade tree, on a warm July day.

Changing the oil, changing the spark plugs, replacing burned out bulbs in the tail lights—-simple enough work; putting on a new head gasket was a little more complicated, but it would be done.

When I bought my car  nine years ago (gasp!), I popped open the hood about the second or third time I got gas so I could check the oil.  I spent several minutes trying to find the dipstick.

Heck, I couldn’t even find the engine!  It was, and is, under some big plastic cover. The only things readily visible were the radiator overflow tank, the windshield washer fluid reservoir, and access to one pole on the battery.

I got frustrated and resorted to reading the owner’s manual.

My car does not have a dipstick.

If I want to check the oil I have to turn on the car, turn a knob that brings up the correct maintenance category on the screen, scroll down until I get to “oil,” and it tells me how much I have left and how many miles I can go before I need to add more.

I have had my car now for more than nine years.  I bet I haven’t opened the hood more than ten times for anything other than cleaning dead leaves out of the windshield wiper resting areas and pouring stuff into the windshield washer fluid reservoir.

A few days ago I got a warning on my dashboard that my right turn signal wasn’t working correctly.  A few days later my dashboard told me my right brake light wasn’t working correctly either.

Understand that I am no more mechanically oriented that my cat is capable of typing Hamlet on my computer.  So I took the car to the dealership in Columbia where, after it was plugged into a shop computer, the dealership learned that indeed, my turn signal and tail light weren’t working.  The cost of this computer diagnosis was $99.

In the old days I would have had Nancy go stand at the right rear corner of the car and I would ask her to tell me if the lights were working.

Then the service manager told me they couldn’t fix the car that day because they had to order a new taillight assembly.   So I’m headed back to Columbia Wednesday, the seventh day after paying $99 dollars to have a computer tell me something Nancy would have told me for free.

And replacing a light bulb is out of the question.  I need a whole new “assembly.”   I don’t know how much the assembly will cost or how much the labor will be to install it.

Probably a whole lot more than I would have spent at the local auto parts store for two light bulbs in the old days.

The genetic pull

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No, not the genetic pool.  The pull.

Some of the few who read these profound thoughts will understand when I ask if  you’ve ever felt drawn to a place or to an event because its in your genes—-because something was planted in your DNA early in your life and your life isn’t complete if you can’t see or do something?  Because there are instinctual longings that drive you to do, to be, or to go—-just as instinct drives the gees south in the fall and north in the spring, as the Wildebeest is driven in constant migration following the good grass from north to south to north to south, despite the lions, leopards, jaguars, and cheetahs, or big crocs in the streams.

A few years ago we were in the middle of it, on the Masai Mara in Kenya (in a balloon over it, in fact, one morning), and in the Serengetti National Park and the Ngorongoro Conservation area of Tanzania.  In the lower right corner is the Ngoroongoro Crater, where even an elephant is overpowered by the magnificence of the surroundings.

Go there if you ever get the chance.  We’ve been.  And right now our next big trip will be across Kansas, where there used to be gigantic fish-things whose bones have turned to rock—and you can stop in Hays and see them.

Many folks hate to drive across Kansas.  Not us.  In fact we feel it whenever we go to something in Kansas City. There is a faint whisper in our genes that says, “Don’t stop here.”

We think it’s because her mother’s family was from the Larned area and my ancestors, on both sides, moved to north-central Kansas’ Mitchell County not long after the last Indian raid.  We have a Kansas Gene.

The Flint Hills and the Tall Grass Prairie, the rolling prairies that stretch before us as the sky grows larger as we head beyond Salina.  Not until Hays, the home of the Sternberg Museum’s fish things and the remains of other fascinating beings, is the rising flatness something we notice. But the sky is all around us (as are big trucks) and the sky is open and uplifting.

The Garden of Eden is out there, you know.  We’ll let you look it up.  But it’s worth a jaunt a little to the north to break up the trip.

As we cross the Colorado line, we confess, we have to remind ourselves we’re still at least two hours from seeing the first faint outlines of mountains. But we’re done with the quiet stateliness of Kansas.  Let’s get to the dramatic stuff now.

The problem is—there’s too much Kansas in Colorado.

The other problem is that it’s I-70.  We understand why people get bored crossing Kansas on I-70 but we wish they appreciated the fact that it’s the road, not the landscape or the places along the way, that is boring.  It’s I-70 on the land beyond the windmills and before the sighting of the mountains that becomes tedious, even for us.

We are going to answer the call of our genes in a few days.  Time to visit the granddaughters at the foot of the Rockies in Longmont.  That means a day and a half on the road, most of it enjoying Kansas in warm weather.

But before than I have a personal gene pull that has to be satisfied.  I’m off later this week to the east, to the City of Indianapolis—a prototype for a big city that wants to reclaim itself—and to the Greatest Spectacle in Racing.

There are those who are surprised that an educated and literate person can also like to watch noisy very fast cars going so fast that it’s impossible to read a sponsor’s message  on the side of the car.  This corrupted gene was planted almost (Oh, Lord!  Just saying this give me chills) seventy years ago.  Something about the unique climate of the event, as well as the event itself, is a magnet.

In my working days, the trip to Indianapolis was a step toward freedom after being cooped up for four and a half months inside the pressure cooker that is the Missouri Capitol in the closing days of the legislative session.

And I’m going to watch 33 people hurl themselves around a 2.5-mile squared oval at 230 mph-plus, turns included. I have tried to think of something else that is so frightening yet so remarkable and the closest I can come is Olympic downhill skiing.

Why go?  Because it’s the Indianapolis 500.  It is part of my genetic programming. My parents took me there for the first two or three times. I have taken my self there for as long as I have had a driver’s license.

I do not know if the those I will watch ever think about Theodore Roosevelt’s famous remarks about “the man in the arena,”  those who “strive valiantly; who know the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spend themselves in a worthy cause; who at best know the triumph of high achievement and who, at worst, if they fail, fail while daring greatly, so that their place shall never been with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.”

Some people like to watch birds. Some like to chase little white balls around well-manicured courses. Let me admire the courage and the remarkable precision of 33 cars going 230 mph and turning left, perfectly putting wheels where they must, running within inches of one another. In my genetic makeup, that beats the tar out of watching a little white ball slowly curl its way into a hole.

So, pick the adventure your genes call on you to take. If it’s genetic, it can’t be wrong.  And don’t pay attention to those who think you are odd.

Greatness is not achieved by those who think those who push the envelope are odd.

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The Mistake

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The Mistake

The man St. Louis Cardinals fans have loved to hate for almost forty years died last week. Don Denkinger was 86.  Cardinals fans have been whining about his missed call at first base during game six of the 1985 World Series, claiming Denkinger cost them the series championship.

He didn’t.  The St. Louis Cardinals cost the St. Louis Cardinals the championship that year. The Kansas City Royals took opportunities to beat them.  Denkinger’s call was one of those opportunities.

Major League Basebll didn’t have instant replay in 1985. In fact, MLB was the last of the fourmajor sports in North America to allow it.  And that didn’t happen until 23 years after that World Series. Had it been in effect then, the play would have been overturned.

Let’s look closely at that play because there’s a lot that had happened before it, a whole lot that went on during it, and a lot that came afterwards.

The series opened in Kansas City and the Cardinals won the first two games. In the first game, John Tudor and reliever Todd Worrell held the Royals to just one run and the Cardinals won 3-1.  The Cardinals also won game two.  Royals pitcher Charlie Liebrandt shut down the Redbirds through eight innings but manager Dick Howser decided to let him finish the game instead of bringing in ace reliever Dan Quisenberry. Liebrandt was one out away from tying the series at a game a apiece but allowed four runs before Quisenberry came in for the final out.  The Cardinals won 4-2 and headed back to St. Louis two games up and headed for their home field. That inning was the only inning during the entire series that the Cardinals scored more than one run.

Governor Ashcroft booked a special World Series Special train that carried St. Louis and Kansas City fans to St. Louis and I was one of the media persons on board.  Recalling that the Royals had fallen behind Toronto in the American League Championshp Series and then rallied to winthe series, I visited the Cardinals fans car and asked one of the red-capped celebrants, “Do the Royals have the Cardinals right where they want them?”  I was assured that wasn’t the case.

But they did.

Brett Saberhagen beat the Cardinals and Joaquin Andujr in game three 6-1.

Tudor was back for game four and threw a complete game five-hit shutout.  The Cardinals were up three games to one and could win the Series at home the next day.  Only four times in baseball history had a team down three games to one rallied to win the World Series.

Danny Jackson held the Cardinals to just five hits and one run in game five with the Royals winning 6-1,  Jackson pitched an immaculate 7th inning—three strikeouts on nine itches—and to this day is the only pitcher to do that in a World Series. The Royals headed back to Kansas City and that famous sixth game down three games to two.

Game Six:  Most fans forget that Denkinger’s missed call was not the only missed call in the game.  The Royals’ Frank White appeared to have stolen second in the fourth inning but was called out.  Two pitchers later, Pat Sheridan singled to right, a hit that likely would have scored Whie from second and put the Royals up 1-0

Danny Cox and Charlie Liebrandt held their opponents scoreless through seven innings before the Cardinals Brian Harper got the first hit of the game with a runner in scoring position and gave the Cardinals a 1-0 lead. Worrell came in to protect that lead. Pinch-hitter Jorge Orta hit a ball toward the hole between first and second but Jack Clark was able to get to it and flipped the ball to Worrell, who tagged the bag.  But Denkinger called Orta safe.

Let’s look more closely at the dynamics of the play. Remember, all of this happened in about four seconds or less. :

Worrell throws his pitch to the left-handed swinging Orta who hits the ball to the right of the mound.  As Orta completes his swing and starts to run, Worrell stops his pitching motion, sees the ball is past him, and breaks toward first. It’s a foot race to the bag between the pitcher and the runner. The ball is a slow roller that Jack clark ranges to his right to pick up right at the line where infield turf changes to dirt.

Worrell is sprinting to firt and Ora is at full speed and closing. Denkinger is moving to the bag, too, to make the call.  Clark has to focus on the bag and not be distracted by the three other people running towards it.  In a play such as this, the order is to throw to the base and the pitcher should be there in time to catch it.

Worrell’s momentum carries him to the bag but Clark’s throw is slightly behind him, forcing Worrell to rech backward. Orta is in his final leaping strike to first base. It appears the throw beats him by a quarter or half a step. It is a bang-bang play.

Denkinger is in foul territory as Orta flashes past and as Worrell closes his glove around the throw. Orta hits the bag and falls forward. Worrell hangs onto the ball and turns around to see Denkinger calling Orta safe.

The argument with Cardinals manager Whitey Herzog, Clark, Worrell, and Denkinger is brief and the call stands.  Denkinger was in a good position for the call. But Worrell was six feet-five and the throw was high. “I couldn’t watch his glove and his feet at the same time. It was a soft toss, and there was so much crowd noise, I couldn’t hear the ball hit the glove,”

So the Royals have a base runner. Nobody is out. But Todd Worell, one of the best closers in baseball, can shut things down. Next up is power-hitter teve Balboni who lifts a foul ball toward the first-base dugout.  Clark, who was still transitioning from being an outfielder to being a first baseman, lost track of the ball as he tried to avoid falling into the dugout and the ball fell on the dugout’s first step.  Balboni then singled, advancing Orta to second.

Onix Concepcion pinch runs for Balboni and Royals catcher Jim Sundberg tries to lay down a sacrifice bunt to move the runners over.  But Worrell goes to third with the throw and forces Orta.  That brings up pinch-hitter Hal McRae, a .259 hitter in the regular season. Herzog orders an intentional walk to set up a potential double play.

Howser sends Dane Iorg up as a pinch-hitter. Iorg, who had won a Series with the Cardinals in 1982, bloops a single over the infield, driving in the only two runs the Royals score that night.

The Series was tied at three games apiece.

The Cardinals gave the ball to Tudor, already a two-time winner, to close out the Series.  Howser picked Saberhagen, who shut down the Cardinals on five hits.. The Royals pounded them 11-0 to win their first World Series championship.

None of the games lasted three hours.  Six of the seven were played between 2:44 and 2:59.  Game four, the Cardinals’ 3-0 shutout of the Royals, lasted only 2:19.  It ws the first series with all games at night.

The Cardinals were up two games to none, then three games to one. Denkinger’s call was in the sixth, not the seventh game so the Cardinals still had a big chance to win.  But they blew it—-although many of those who blame Denkinger for the Cardinal defeat don’t recall how badly the Cardinals played in game seven and don’t recall the bad call was in game six.

Don Denkinger spent three decades as a major league umpire. The World Series call did not seem to affect his career.  He umpired his fourth world series in 1991. He umpired three All-Star games, including calling balls and sgtrikes in 1987. He took part in a half=dozen American League Championships, two of them after the ’85 World Series. At his death he was one of seven umpires to have worked two perfect games (Len Barker, May 15, 1991 and Kenny Rogers, June 29, 1994). When Nolan Ryan threw his sixth no-hitter, Don Denkinger was behind the plate.

He had a distinguished career, a good life.  But he’s remembered for something that happened in a split second.

But in looking into that split second we learned about his other contributions to The Game.

There’s a lesson here for all of us, I suppose.  A decision we make in a split second can change our lives forever.   And the lives of others. We often don’t have time to worry about that when action is required.  And in most instances it’s not worth worrying about. And worrying about a mistake shouldn’t be part of what we become.

Blood Right

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Ten years ago, I threatened to break a new law within thirty seconds of when it went into effect.   I think of that circumstance from time to time and it has come to my mind more than once of late as the number of mass shootings piles up.  And as one shooting in particular has touched me.

I was still a reporter in the Senate in 2013 when Governor Nixon vetoed a bill that would have exempted Missouri from recognizing any federal gun laws  that “infringe on the people’s right to keep and bear arms.”  Any federal official who tried to enforce such a law could be arrested and charged with a misdemeanor.  AND if made it illegal to make public the names of gun owners.

That meant that I could not publish the names of the legislators who carried guns into the House and Senate Chambers and voted for the bill.  Yes, some did carry guns in the chambers. And to be truthful, there were times when debate got overheated that I did not feel entirely secure.

I don’t know if we have lawmakers packing today. I’m not down amongst them anymore. But a sign on the entrance door to the building indicates they’re allowed to have guns inside.

The Missouri legislature from time to time has tried to say it has the power to declare particular federal laws are not effective here, the United States Constitution notwithstanding. The legislature has at times protected the Second Amendment the way a Doberman would protect his raw steak.

That might be justifiable if all federal constitutional rights are absolute. The Second Amendment is to its most ardent defenders a Doberman Amendment. Touch it and I’ll bite off your arm.

As we’ve noted before, declared rights do not erase personal responsibility.  Free speech still allows lawsuits for libel and slander.  Freedom of Religion does not allow the state to insist that any of us must follow a particular faith to live and prosper.  The right to assemble does not grant a right to smash windows and doors at the United States Capitol and interfere with a mandated role of Congress.

So it is with the Second Amendment. It assumes those with guns will use them to protect the nation’s security (in some interpretations), and that those with guns will be responsible citizens.

As with any right, or any privilege, irresponsibility has its penalties.  The responsible citizen suffers because the irresponsible citizen is allowed free reign (as others might interpret the situation).  In today’s culture, the issue is whether responsible citizens are defending the irresponsible ones to the detriment of the citizenry as a whole.

The mass shooting last weekend in Allen, Texas again raises the question that passionate Second Amendment defenders brush off.  But once again we are told that the answer to mass shootings is the same solution Archie Bunker had in the days when airline hijackings were regular things—issue every passenger  a gun. So it is in these incidents that one answer is to have more people with guns.

Or—instead of limiting access to guns originally designed with one purpose—to kill an enemy on the battlefield using a large magazine of bullets—we are told the answer is better mental health treatment.

The problem seems to be that this corner of our political universe also is one that seems to vehemently oppose providing funding that will pay for those services—-or any of the services the “advocates” say need to be improved.

One of the cable networks covering the shooting in Allen took special note that the shooter might have worn body armor and asked program commentators if there should be limits placed on the sale of body armor, making it available only to law enforcement officers and other first responders.

As this is written, there has been no howl that such a proposal infringes on somebody’s right to shoot and not be shot back.  But it is a serious issue.  The idea that our children should go off to school every morning in their cleaned and pressed body armor, or that the dress code of teachers and administrator requires coat, tie, and bulletproof vest—and a Dirty Harry pistol in the holster that’s in plain view—is absurd.

It is said that money is the life-blood of politics. It has been said that a society is measured by how well it protects its most vulnerable.  One question asked during coverage of the Allen incident is, “Is there anyplace any more where we aren’t vulnerable?”

Political life-blood.  Innocents’ life-blood.  A decision about which is more valuable seems beyond expectation. Death awaits us all but in today’s America, we face uncertainty about whether we shall die in bed surrounded by our loved ones or die on the floor of a mall or a church or a school surrounded by a growing pool of blood.

Getting back to the veto override.   After Governor Nixon vetoed that particular Missouri Secession effort, the legislature had a chance to override it.   And the House did. 109-49, exactly the number needed. It was a stunning event to many, including the person sitting in my chair at the Senate press table.

The bill came over to the Senate and it was 22-10, needing one of the two remaining Senators to vote for the override for that bill to become law.  President Pro Tem Tom Dempsey and Majority Floor Leader Ron Richard had not voted. If one of them voted “yes,” the override would be complete.

I am not taking credit for what happened next. I don’t know if they were aware of what I had told some of my colleagues at the press table. I already had written a piece for the Missourinet blog about that bill.  I had three photographs I was going to use. One was of me, standing in front of an American Flag proudly holding my Daisy BB gun.  Another showed Governor Nixon with Wayne LaPierre, the President of the NRA, and the owner of the Midway Exchange west of Columbia. They were cutting the ribbon on a new gun shop at that complex.

The third picture showed the daughter of Missourinet reporter Jessica Machetta posing with her grandfather. They were with the deer that Macy had shot with her grandfather’s gun. It was her first deer.

Dempsey and Richard both voted “no.”  The override failed by one vote.  I never got to publish that entry on that blog. I really wanted to publish it.  And then tell the legislature, “Come and get me.”

Jessica lives in the Denver area now.  A few days ago, Macy was murdered by her boyfriend, who then shot himself to death.

One dead. Two dead.  Twenty dead.

Say what you want. Make sure you sound sincere.  But don’t do anything to really look for a solution to gun violence.  Don’t mess with the Doberman.

The Fido Tax

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Every now and then somebody comes upon a law that is old, forgotten, and outdated.

Part of a bill in the Missouri legislature this year calls for discarding one such tax, approved more than eighty years ago. It was introduced in the Senate by Mike Moon.  It has two weeks to get passed.  But things are complicated by some possible political gamesmanship that might doom this and other tax reduction efforts. That’s for another day.

Most cities and counties require Fido, Spot, Lassie, etc., to have tags.  But the kind of enforcement envisioned when the law was new never has happened.

The first part of the law went into effect in the 1930s—or maybe in the 20s— and other provisions were added through several more legislative sessions.

The language is pretty clear:

273.050. Dog tax, when due. — No dog shall be permitted to be and remain within the limits of the state unless the owner thereof, or someone for said owner, shall have caused such dog to be listed and the tax imposed by sections 273.040 to 273.180 to be paid on or before the first day of February of each year hereafter.

 273.060.  Amount of tax. — The tax on each male dog and each spayed female dog, of which the certificate of a veterinarian or the affidavit of the owner is produced, in this state shall be one dollar per year, and the tax on all other dogs in this state shall be three dollars per year, payable to the county clerk of the county in which the owner resides; provided, that any person or persons operating a licensed kennel of more than ten dogs in which all dogs kept by him or them are confined and not allowed to roam, shall pay a tax of ten dollars, which amount shall be the full amount of tax on all dogs kept by said person or persons as described above.

The fact that the tax is only a dollar, or three, is an indication that this is a really old law.

The law is still on the books.

The other sections of statute referred to in that paragraph give counties the right to vote on whether to require the licenses.

The fees would go into a fund to reimburse owners of livestock or poultry for losses incurred because of dogs—although it the dogs were theirs, they would get no money.

The town marshall was responsible for catching the delinquent pooches and holding them for a week. After that, the law required him to kill them. Humanely.  Owners could get their pets back

The assessor had to make a “diligient inquiry” of property owners about the number of dogs they had and if, upon checking the courthouse records and finding no licenses issued to that address, would have to tell owners they needed to get right with the law.

Voters had to approve the tax at the local level. If they reconsidered later, a petition signed by 100 people could order a re-vote.

The Missouri Fox Hunters Association and the Missouri Field Trial Association objected strongly.

The law did not go over well in other places either.  The Jefferson City Daily Capital News observed in its February 2, 1939 edition that “Eighteen counties north of the river voted the dog tax. Not a county south of the river voted for it. The north Missouri counties are strong for sheep. South of the river counties are partial to canines.”  Twelve days later the newspaper reported, “Monroe County has between two and three thousand dogs but only 150 of them have an owner who thnks enough of them to pay the dog tax to save their scalps.”

The Moberly Monitor Index reported on February 3 that ten Monroe County farmers had filed claims for damages to their sheep. But since only four dog owners had paid the tax, it was unlikely the tax would produce enough money to pay the damages.

The Sikeston Daily Standard on March 10 called the tax “a joke” because the city had collected only seventeen dollars from the dog tax.

The Brookfield Argus noted on March 16, “There’s gloomy days ahead for ‘poor old Rover’” because the voter-approve tax had gone into effect. But only two of the probable 3,000 dogs in the county had been licensed  and they belonged to Marceline Police Chief Rich Freeman and County Extension Agent Robert J. Hall. The tax, said the newspaper, “applies to all dogs, whether they are of the county variety or the sophisticated city type. Old Shep, Fidol Fluff, or Trixie all must wear the 1939 style of necllace or join that somber parade to the burial ground for dogs.” It does not appear much of such a parade was ever assembled.

Eventually, all of this resentment simmered down.  We are expected to get new dog tags for our versions of Jim the Wonder Dog or Old Drum each year.  We’ve never heard of a farmer getting dog tag money for replacement of dog-induced poultry or livestock death.

But we’re still supposed to get a tag and a collar for our best friend.  Senator Mike Moon doesn’t think it’s a state issue.  Or sholdn’t be.

Just thought you might find it interesting to learn how all of that started.  Our dogs went without tags and dog owners went without pooch taxes for the better part of 120 years before state government decided our dogs couldn’t live in Missouri without tags and collars.

But then, big government stuck its nose into our dog houses.

Sports Trivia Questions

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Former St. Louis Cardinals catcher Hobie Landrith played only briefly with the team, but he participated in a historic game that the Cardinals played many years ago.

What did he do?

He also was part of a long-forgotten trade that led to a second transaction that changed baseball history, especially for his former team in St. Louis.

Can you figure that one out?

(We pause for you to cogitate. No fair Googling.)

Longtime baseball fans might hear a faint bell in their minds at the mention of his name but only a few have the kind of encyclopedic memory to recall his significance.

Hobie Landrith died April 6, just short of 61 years since his historic game.  He was 93.

His 14 years of major league baseball didn’t produce memorable stats—a .233 batting average, 34 home runs, 203 home runs. In his two years with the Cardinals he was a backup catcher for Hal Smith.

The answer to the first question is:

Hobie Landrith was the New York Mets’ first player.  He was picked in the expansion draft of 1961 and was the starting catcher on April 11, 1962—against the St. Louis Cardinals.

The Cardinals won 11-4. Larry Jackson got the win.  Roger Craig took the loss, the first of his 24 losses that year (and the first of 110 losses for the Mets). Landrith went oh for four. He was credited with one of the three Mets’ errors.  The Cardinals had 16 hits, four by Julian Javier.  Stan Musial went three for three.

The top three Mets pitchers that year, by the way, were Craig at 10-24. Al Jackson went  8-20, and Jay Hook was 8-19.  Their fourth pitcher, Bob Miller, was 1-12.

The Cardinals went 84-78-1. They finished sixth. Jackson finished 16-11, one win more than Bob Gibson, 15-13 despite a 2.86 ERA.

We’re about to fall into the statistical pit of baseball, which is awfully easy to do.  So let’s get back to Hobie Landrith.

Landrith was an important first choice for the Metropolitans (their real name) because, as manager Casey Stengel remarked, “You gotta have a catcher or you’d have a lot of passed balls.”

One of these days we’re going to have to remember Casey, a Kansas City native who once thought about becoming a dentist, and some of the things he said.  We didn’t have a master of the misstatement and the malaprop like Casey until Mike Shannon and his Shannonisms (“The outfield is deep and playing him straight-away and the infield is the same except first, second, third, and short are playing him to pull.”

Landrith played only one season with the lovable losers, as they were called. They lost the first ten games they ever played and lost 120 overall.

He was out of baseball in the third season after that.

Landrith also played a role in what arguably is the greatest trade in Cardinals history.  After two years in St. Louis, he was traded in October, 1958 to the San Francisco Giants along with Billy Muffett and Benny Valenzuela for Marv Grissom and—

Ernie Broglio.

In June of ’64, the Cardinals  sent Broglio, Bobby Schantz, and Doug Clemens to the Cubs for Jack Spring, Paul Toth and—

Lou Brock.

Broglio was out of baseball a couple years later. Brock is in the Hall of Fame.

The trade became infamous almost immediately and is remembered by the Emil Verban Society (a Washington, D. C. group of Cubs fans  who are in a club named for an obscure second baseman). Each year they give a Brock-for-Broglio Judgment award to recognize bad decision-making.  One recipient a few years ago was Saddam Hussein who was honored for his invasion of Kuwait in 1990.

Funny, sometimes, how a story starts out going one way and before it’s done, it is someplace else, entirely, from a backup forgotten catcher to an all-time great.

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