"REFORGER 1"

I've advised you before that I was rescued from the Army's basic training requirement back in 1966 and sent to Intelligence, instead.  And please, no jokes about Army Intelligence.  Not since I was sent there, anyway.

I was sent to Fort Belvoir, Virginia and trained to be a "spook."  A spy.  No, not the James Bond type of spy, with a license to kill and all that, but more like an analyst.  A guy whose job it was to try and do it to the Russkies before they did it to us.  For this was back in the late 1960's and I was a soldier.  During the Cold War.  Stationed in West Germany.

You may not know it but the Fulda River divides Germany East from West.  And it runs through a deep gorge called the "Fulda Gap."  Everything back then on the east of this River valley was called "East Germany."  And everything west of this River was called "West Germany."  It seems simple, but that's the way it was.  

The Soviets had their T-150 tanks lined up cheek by jowl, from north to south, all pointed across the Fulda Gap at us.  And we had our old Sherman and much newer Abrams tanks lined up cheek by jowl, north to south, all pointed at them.  This was in the Grafenwoer region, where little towns dotted the map.  This was one of the worst places to be stationed.  It was mud up to your knees next to the River.  Cold, gray, misty, rainy, nasty, and crappy.  Our soldiers were miserable.  Serving as our first line of defense against a Soviet attack was hard, thankless work.  

A nice little war would have been a welcome relief to these soldiers.

Now, my team wasn't there.  Our soldiers were.  They lived in their tents.  These soldiers would get a weekend off once a month and head into the nearest town.  Their tanks would roll into town and the natives would hide under their beds.  Our guys would get drunk and get in fights and wind up in jail.  Massive grief.  You didn't want any part of it.  I certainly didn't, and thankfully never had to deal with it personally.  I was located in a HQ operation about 70 miles away.  And one day was asked to find an answer to a nagging question.  

For purposes of background, if you've been following the news lately, you know that Prez. Trump has theatened to punish NATO for their incalcitrance by moving some of our 32,000 troops out of Gemany.  We had some 63,000 soldiers in West Germany when I was there.  They were costing us Big Bucks, each and every month, as our troops are now.  For their pay, food, clothing, housing, safety and operations.  

Our arrangement with the Germans was then as it is now.  We were there as a liberating, but victorious force, having kicked their ass durng WW2.  Stationed as a backstop in the event the Soviets decided to launch an attack.  But Army Intelligence was tasked with somehow reducing the number of troops there, even while facing down our enemy.  

The Army had even come up with an answer of sorts with "REFORGER."  That stood for "RE(turn) of FOR (forces) to GER(Germany)."  We'd been doing it for a couple of years, filling up smallish C-141 Starlifter cargo planes with combat ready troops.  We even declared we'd return 5,000 troops over a weekend in 1968 to show those Russkies we were ready for them.  And we did.  What a joke!  Several Starlifter flights, from Fort Riley, Kansas, each with 70 troops, flew into Frankfurt and Furstenfeldbruek (Munich) over a 72 hour period.  To be united with our forces in Grafenwoer, as a part of "Operation Carbide Ice."  The troops we flew in, for that weekend, plus the ones already there.  It worked.  We had a bunch of troops there.  Everyone celebrated with a brass band.  Literally. 

Whoopie!

I don't want to demean that accomplishment, but it was sort of meaningless, given we'd declared our goal of reducing our troop footprint in Germany.  From 63,000 to more like 32,000, or what it is now.  And we needed a more meaty display of our capabilities to show those pesky Russians.  After all, it's not like they weren't watching all this unfold.  They could read the newspapers, too.  And the Powers That Be decided to develop that answer.

The Army gave the job to Army Intelligence.  Each higher-up gave this hot potato to a junior officer.  And each continued handing it down the line.  Until it came to me.  "Here, Cassity, make this happen!"   For whatever reason they decided I could do it.

So I did.

I'd actually been paying attention to this matter for some time.  I was stationed at Germersheim Army Depot (GAD), just outside Heidelberg, where all the wheeled vehicles were stored, so I could guage our capability to wage war once we got all the soldiers on the ground.  But how to get them here?  See if you like my suggested solution.

We had some 31 C-5A Galaxy air frieghters in our inventory back then (1969) (many more today).  Each of these giant planes* could easily hold 273 combat-ready soldiers in the main body of the aircraft down below, and another 76 in the area up above.  For a total of 349 soliders fully loaded.  And if we were willing to make them uncomfortable, we could stretch the payload to 400.  And they could travel at 570 mph all day and all night.  

And we had hundreds of thousands of active duty soldiers and National Guardsmen stationed in the United States.  Many of whom were located at or within 100 miles of three main forts:  Fort Riley, Kansas, in the center, Fort Dix, New Jersey, in the East, and Fort Lewis, Washington out West.  So I asked myself, self?  How quickly could our fighting men and women get themselves to each of these forts after receiving orders to do so?  After kissing their significant others goodbye, how quickly could they be at the nearest fort, ready to fly?  

And my answer to myself was 12 hours.

So if we provided orders to soldiers to make it to these Army forts, how quickly could we move 100,000 soldiers to Stuttgart, West Germany, to replace those we were contemplating moving back home?  How quickly could we be at full wartime readiness after moving thousands of troops back to the German theater of operations from which they'd just been removed?  

The Fort located nearest to Stuttgart was (GAD), the location of all the Army's rolling stock and where I was stationed.  Its tanks, tank retrievers, Duece-and-a-halfs (2 and 1/2 ton trucks), jeeps and other wheeled vehicles were oiled up and gassed up and ready.  Maintained for just such an occasion.  Alongside millions of gallons of fuel.  These war machines were stored at GAD only 70 miles from Stuttgart, and waiting to be needed.  All the stuff for an Army to be ready to defend Germany and Europe.  The troops would fly into Stuttgart, then travel to GAD for their tanks and trucks, then go kick Russia's ass.  And the answer?

If we had those C-5's "hot-lapping," or the 7 to 11 hour flights on a quick turnaround status, (fly, fuel up, return, load up, and fly again), and the planes were all full of soldiers, we could transport the 100,000 to Stuttgart, move them to GAD, and have them battle-ready in less than 4 days.  Or, a long weeked.  

My Readiness Plan Analysis was accepted by the generals as offered.  It was used as the answer to the Department of the Army's challenge.  And we started reducing our "footprint" in W. Germany soon thereafter.  From the 63,000 down to only about 40,000 even back then.  And, as I have said, since the Soviet Union fell, a total of only 32,000 today.  And President Trump just ordered a further 5,000 reduction recently.  Although those troops may be ordered to either Poland or perhaps Serbia.  But removed from Germany, nonetheless.  

The Germans are pissed about this.  Just imagine how much of a positive impact on their economy 5,000 soldiers' paychecks have every month?  They've been taking advantage of us for decades, asking us to protect them at our expense, while they've used the savings from not spending on war readiness and defense on other social programs.  And its time to finally force them to pay for their own defense.

(You can verify all of this by Googleing the "Stars and Stripes" newspaper of January, 1969, under "Operation Carbide Ice" and "REFORGER 1").  The Good News is that we won the Cold War and were able to reduce the tensions over the Fulda Gap without resorting to my Readiness Plan.  Thereafter, W. and E. Germany were reunited, the Soviet wall came down in '89, and now it's just called "Germany."  But the Russians continue to represent a threat, forcing us to maintain troop levels, even though the Soviet Union was disbanded.)

This Plan was considered Top Secret for more than 50 years.   I don't know why, but it was.  It's not like the Russians were unaware.  It isn't now.  But interestingly, it was actually used by our civilian air transport executives at all the major airlines as the basis for their "Hub and Spoke" air movements used starting in the 1980's.  Previous to which, planes to and from smaller regional airports, like Springfield, Missouri, to Springfield, Ohio, would go to and from these cities, back and forth, several times a day.  Whether the planes had passengers to fly or not.  Representing a significant cost and loss of revenue. 

Now?  They transport passengers in smaller planes to larger area airports, like Chicago's O'Hare and Ohio's Cleveland or Cinncinnati, then on in larger planes to their destinations from those airports.  Even if they had to fly back over their home city to reach their final location (example:  You would fly from Jefferson City, Missouri, east to St. Louis, Missouri, and hop onto a larger plane to your destination flying west to Kansas City, Missouri.  Flying back over Jefferson City on the way).   Saving the airlines $Millions every year.  Many of us don't even realize we're being forced to use that plan, as it's been in place for nearly 40 years.  Or if they do, they don't know who to blame.  So blame me, if you wish.  Although it's represented Billions in savings from a reduced troop footprint in Gemany, as well as from reduced ticket prices. 

It's amazing how much authority and responsibility the Army will give a young man just because it thinks he can handle it (and because they don't want it).  And it's amazing the things you can accomplish once you put your mind to it.  And it was enjoyable to have the freedom and flexibility to put it all together.**

BTW, I received an Army Commendation Medal for my efforts on this exercize.  This ARCOM is not freely given, especially to a one-term draftee soldier, so I'm proud of its receipt.  I'll be happy to show it off the next time you visit me here at Fort Chuckmeister.

*     The C5-A (now "M") has a fully loaded take-off weight of 790,000 pounds.  More, even, than the A-380, which can carry up to 700 people.  It makes a 747 look tiny.  It's wingspan is 270 feet, almost as big as a football field and longer than the Wright Brothers' original flight.  Its landing gear has 10 tires, each 10 feet tall.  You can stand by a tire and not be able to reach the top of it.  It makes our fleet of C-17 cargo planes, the replacement for the Starlifters, look like Piper Cubs by comarison.  They have more than 4,000 sq. ft. of useful interior space.  They are gigantic and I love them.  Check them out and you will too.

**    Want to grow your kids up real fast?  This is my primary reason for recommending you send your kids off to the military before you send them off to college.  They'll be older, wiser, smarter, and better able to deal with the challenges of life when they get back home.  It worked for me.  It might actually work for you and your kids, too...

What We're Really Good At.

It seems to me that what we humans are really good at is killing one another.

If you'll recall the first two brothers, Cain and Abel, resulted in a murder.  Cain slew Able, leaving the Earth's population down by one-half.  Or so the Bible tells us.  In one swell foop.    

And since then we've killed each other over and over.  Over food, and sex, and land, and race, and crime, and just because we could, I'm thinking.  There could be other stuff too, like religion.  Especially religion.  It's been said that more people have been killed in the name of God than for any other reason.  ("You'll worship my way or we'll have to kill 'ya!").  You could ask the Israelis if you have some doubt about that.  

In fact, looking at the United States, while we were celebrating our formation in 1798, we were at war with pirates.  Alexander Hamilton, our very first Secretary of the Treasury, formally declared military action against them while we were still partying.  And also with those folks who would choose to try and get in the way of our whiskey business.  We tarrifed them, but they didn't seem to get the idea.  The Canadians were causing trouble all the way back then, so what they're up to now shouldn't be a surprise to anyone.

BTW, did you know there are more lawyers in Orange Country, California then in all of Canada?  Maybe 'cause they're such nice people, eh?  Maybe they'll need a few extra lawyers before this whole economic war is over.  But that's just me. 

BTW, depending upon how you define the word "War," we Americans have been involved in between 229 and 459 "wars" since our founding.  Some have placed the number as high as 500, so you can tell we've been busy shooting at Bad Guys.  And often at each other.  And we've done so without regard for race, creed, religion, national origin or color ever since our Founding.  In fact, the farther away you are, the more likely we'll declare war on you.  Just look at that Viet Nam thing if you doubt me!  In short, if you get on our Bad Side, we're comin' fer 'ya!

In fact, I'd say what we're really the best at is fighting and shooting and killing our enemies.  And dayumm, there's been a whole lot of enemies!  

And did you know we won all those military actions?  Remember Panama?  Just dropped right in and grabbed the Bad Guy.  Same thing with Venezuela.  The LameStreamMedia might disagree, but hey!  They'd lie when the truth would sound better!

Did you know there were upwards of 23 other hominins in our family tree at one time?  Including Homo Heidelbergensis, and Homo Forensiensis, and Homo Neanderthalensis, and Homo Naledi, and Homo Nabilis, and Homo Australopithocus, and Homo Denisovans, to name just a few.  And even though they were all bigger and tougher than us, we were smarter, and sneaked up behind them and finally killed them all off.  And finally, after 300,000 years, placed us Homo Sapien Sapiens on top of The Heap.

We've only declared 5 actual wars since we declared ourselves a Union, including 11 police actions.  The War of 1812 (those pesky Brits!), The Mexican-American War (why wasn't it the American-Mexican War?), the Spanish-American War (the Spanish have been causing us trouble for more than 200 years!), and World Wars 1 and 2.  It might be just me, but I'm thinking if we'd done a better job during WW1, you know, by killing every single Bad Guy at the time, we wouldn't have had to do that whole WW2 thing, right?

The Police Actions we've engaged in include The Civil War (killing 605,000 Americans, all fighting to eliminate slavery.  When do we get reparations?), the Korean War, (36,574 died so we could buy Hyundais and Kias) the VietNam War (58,220 of our soldiers and sailors died in the dumbest war in  U.S. history), plus the Gulf Wars, the Iraq War, the Afghanistan War, and the current Iran War (one of the longest sentences I've ever written).  You don't want to get between me and a keyboard!  

More than 8,000 additional deaths occured during these last military actions.  Proving our soldiers and sailors lives are cheap to the suits who keep declaring these stupid wars.  All sitting around a conference table, drinking coffee, and sending our kids around the world to die.  One day they'll learn their lesson, I'm thinking.

Did you know we've only experienced 22 years of total peace since we declared the U.S. as a Nation?  22 years without military action anywhere in the world?  238 years of shooting at Bad Guys and 22 years of sitting on the porch, sipping moonshine!  And we've gotten pretty good at it, doncha' think?

Have you ever considered that only those with something to steal, like America, get forced into a war?  Costa Rica has never had a war!  Belieze has never had a war!  Iceland never had a war!  Lichtenstein has never had a war!  Switzerland has never had a war (those mountains all around might have something to do with that).  Maybe those countries don't have anything worth stealing.  But because America has such a bounty of riches, we've had to beat back all sorts of folks trying to take our stuff!  

The sunzabitches!

We have more than 1,000,000 men and women in the uniform of our military, right now, as this is written.  And we've had 1,000,000 of our men and women die while making and keeping America Great!  The Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, the Coast Guard, plus the members of our Space Force, are standing Guard, ready to pummel any dufus trying to push us off our pedestal as the Very Best Country on Earth.  

As is our official Country motto, "They Don't Know Who They're Messing With!"

Perhaps it's just me, a veteran of the U. S. Army, but I'd say anyone without a clear-cut desire to pursue a specific career, should consider joining one of these branches of our military.  They offer their members a terrific career and future, and a nice bunch of benefits.  Including a retirement package and paid-for schooling.  Plus, you get to shoot Bad Guys whenever and wherever they pop up their evil heads.  All around the world! 

And just between you and me, being a human and all, shooting Bad Guys, legally, is the very best part of the whole damn deal...

   

Oh (NO!) Canada!

Those who don't know what to think about the current trade war between the U. S. and Canada, and are open to considering the facts, need to review some of these statistics:

Just so you know, we exported $354.4 Billion Dollars of goods to Canada in 2023, while importing $416.4 Billion Dollars in the same period.  Resulting in a trade deficit to the U.S. of $63.3 Billion Dollars.

And in 2024, we exported $349.4 Billion Dollars to Canada, while importing $412.7 Billion Dollars.  Resulting in a trade deficit to the U.S. of $63.3 Billion Dollars.

So we've supported Canada to the tune of more than $120 Billion Dollars over the past 2 years.  We might as well have given it to them, no repayment required.

20% of Canada's Gross Domestic Product depends upon exports to the U.S.  Only 1.4% of the U.S. Gross Domestic Product depends upon exports to Canada.  In other words, they're a flyspeck on our financial system.

Canada's Premier Mark Carney's recent cozying up to China's Dictator Xi is a result of his known hatred of Trump.  The trade from China to Canada is up 14.5% over the past quarter.  Canada's past 20 years' financial growth has been 2.1%.  An average of 0.02% per year.  Only.  

Since 2018, Canada has imposed tariffs upon American cheese, eggs, milk, and dairy products of from 277% to 343%.  Even to cross-border suppliers in Washington, Idaho, Montana, Minnesota, Michigan, and New York.  Who could simply walk across the street and sell them.  The U.S. depends upon exportation of 29% of its dairy products, preventing a domestic oversupply.  Their tariffs were done to protect Canada's own dairy product suppliers in violation of USMCA requirements.  We know it.  They know it.  But we've done nothing about it.  Until now.

There are 41,417,000 people in Canada.  It's estimated that the imposition of $22 Billion in tariffs on the U.S. by them will cost the average Canadian family $1,600 a year.  It's estimated to cost the average U.S. family no more than $1,200 a year, mainly because steel and aluminum imports (25% tariff) make up such a large part of automobiles.  Those not buying autos should see little or no change in their financial status.  

The recent refusal by Canadians to travel to the U.S., most particularly to Las Vegas (down 8.9%) and Florida (down 10.9%), has resulted in a reduction in an overall 22% downturn in visits over the past two years.  It's resulted in $4.5 Billion in reduced spending during this period.  U.S. travel to Canada has declined by only 4.5% during this same period.  Mainly because, unless you're there to fish or hunt, there's little to see in Canada.  Sorry, it's the truth.  

The recent announcement of the oil trade agreement between the U.S. and Venezuela will significantly reduce Canada's exports to the U.S. over the coming years.  Canada's heavy crude, which our refineries are built to handle, will no longer be needed because of this agreement, as Venezuela's heavy crude will supplant its importation.  This could reduce Canada's GDP by as much as 8%.  Quite possibly causing a  Canadian economic depression. 

Renaming Lake Ontario to Lake America is another poke in the eye by Trump to Canada's Premier Mark Carney.  Who's been very public in his hatred of Trump.  I personally think it's funny.  It's done to piss off the Canadians, who are pretty easy to piss off, it seems.  A trade war between the U.S. and Canada is very much like them playing checkers while Trump plays chess.  This fly will be swatted.  Canada will either relent, or be forced to suffer an economic downturn effecting every single Canadian.  

I suspect they will do so, and soon.  Otherwise, they just might be forced to become our 51'st State.  Sort of like Illinois.  Or Minnessota.  They've been acting like it for years, even to allowing (forcing!) us to pay for their defense.  Like a son who graduates from a college we paid for, then moves into the basement.  While bitching about taking out the trash.  With apologies to Yoda, up with Canada I'm now completely fed.  

How about you?

How About a Color Blind Society?

America is supposed to be this giant melting pot, right?  Like the Statue says, "Send me your tired, your hungry..." etc.

A place where people of all nationalities and all religions and all colors can get together and start new lives.  Lives where what they are and what they believe makes no difference.  It's their performance that counts.  All for one, and one for all.  Right?

In fact, there are no "Black" people.  Or "Red" people.  Or "Yellow" or "White" people.  They are each a lighter shade of those colors.  Like me.  I'm sort of a pinkish.  I get a smooth tan in the summer, but never White.    Not White.  Never White.  I'll only be White when I'm dead.  

So why are there so many organizations and societies of "Black-centric" people?  Why do they intentionally gather together as Blacks instead of joining in with the rest of us?  Why is there a "Black Undertakers of America?"  Do they not bury White folks?  And "Black Rodeo Cowboys Association?"  The bulls don't care, BTW.  And "The National Association of Black Journalists?"  They all shade the truth, right?  It seems they missed the melting pot email!

And let's not forget the "United Negro College Fund."  I thought they no longer wished to be called "Negros."  That's what they wished to be known as when I was coming up.  But not now.  Why don't they change their name?

And on that same note, how about the NAACP, the  "National Association of Colored People."  They let us know they did not wished to be called "Colored" about 50 years ago.  Are they too cheap to change their stationery?  Should we begin calling them "Colored" again?

Why don't they wish to assimilate?  Example:  There's this cable program named "Black Entertainment Television."  And if that weren't enough, they also feature another cable program they own called "Black Her."  For the Black women in America, they say.  Maybe they should start "Black Kid."  

Now, this media empire was started back in 1980 by one Robert Johnson, a Black entrepreneur.  Who subsequently sold it, for $3 Billion Dollars, to the Paramount Skydance Network, run by David Ellison.  A White billionaire.  Making Johnson America's first Black $Billionaire.  I wonder if the Black folks who watch these cable programs each day know they're owned by a White conglomerate?  Would they stop watching if they knew?

And I wonder if they chased down Johnson and forced him to pay his "Fair Share."

So I've got this question.  Why do we have a Black TV cable program?  Aren't we sufficiently melded together as a society by now to not need one?  And if we aren't, why is there no "White Entertainment Television" cable programming?   Is there no White $Billionaire willing to jump on this business opportunity?  There are probably enough White racists to warrant their own cable channel, I'm thinking.

There's even the Black Congressional Caucus.  Which are the Black congressmen who all get together to use their combined voting heft to try and exert power over legislation.   And we talk about that crazed Left-wing bloc run by Alexandria Occasional Cortez!  Maybe they should start the "White Congressional Caucus" to ace out those pesky Black legislators.

There's the "Historically Black Colleges and Universities" in America (HBCU).  An organization of more than 100 Black colleges.  Why don't we have a (HWCU)'s in America?  And why don't we have a "White Undertakers of America?"  That only White people would use when they finally croak?  And "White Rodeo Cowboys of America?"  Roping only white cattle and horses.  And "White Journalists of America?"  All reporting the same crap as their Black brethren.  At least they got together on something, it seems. 

BTW, I looked hard for the "Black Medieval Lesbian Transgender Poets Society" but could not find it.  I'm sure there are a bunch of them, but they've yet to form an organization.  I'll keep looking and keep you posted.

And a better question, since there are more Latinos in America than Blacks, why don't we have a "Brown Entertainment TV?"  Or a "Brown Congressional Caucus?"  Or perhaps a "Red Rodeo Cowboys of America?"  There were more American Indian (Indiginous Personages) cowboys than any other kind at one time, right?  They were riding and roping on the range long before any other race got here.  Or even a "Yellow Accountants of America?"  The Asians are good with numbers, right?  Maybe they should look into this!  If it's good enough for the Black folks, it should be good enough for everyone else, right?

Or maybe we should send them a text and axx them to close down all these Black-focused outfits and try and assimilate for a change, right?  Instead of them against us, or actually against everybody, how about we're all in this together for a change?  Do we have to pay them reparations to get them to join the American Club?  I think that's a really good idea, how about you?

In fact, I think we should institute a change in our society.  I think we should never, from this day forward, mention a person's race in any context forevermore.  Except if there's a crook and the police are chasing them and identifying their race would help the cops catch them.  We can't get rid of them, nor they us.  We're sort of bound together at the hip, right?  Sort of like that 1958 film "The Defiant Ones with Sidney Potier and Tony Curtis.  They were handcuffed together.  And as much as they hated it, they were forced to work togther to break out of jail.  Let's do that on a much larger scale.  Let's try and eliminate race as a defining modifier from now on.  

In fact, Black is Beautiful, and so is Red, and Yellow, and even White.  And if "Black Lives Matter," so do White ones, and Red and Yellow ones.  Let's all get together and have a BBQ on the White House Lawn and bury the hatchet.  But not into each other for a change, okay? 

I'm betting Big Orange would be all for it.  

Sound like a good idea?       

What Caused Our Technological Explosion?

The very fastest airplane in our military inventory in 1947 was the F-86 Sabre Jet

(One of my all time favorites, BTW!)

Its statistics were impressive.  It had a maximum airspeed of 650 miles per hour in level flight.  Not quite the speed of sound, but dayumm close.  Much faster than any of our other planes.  Its first flight was on November 2, 1947.  Just a few months after the Roswell Incident.  You know what that was, right?

I provide this information because only 22 years later our astronauts landed on the moon.  22 years.  That should cause' us to ask one very important question: how did our technical mastery improve so markedly in such a short period of time?  I think I know the answer.  And you might also after you read this.

You might recall that a UFO (UAP now, ferGod'ssake!) crash landed in the desert outside Roswell, New Mexico on July 20, 1947.  There were two of them that crashed, we're told, but the other one was able to gather itself up and continue on.  And according to sources at least one of the occupants of the disabled craft may have been taken alive.  And then helped us to reverse engineer their craft in order to upgrade our techinical capability.

That, and the fact that President Dwight D. Eisenhower, while vacationing in Palm Springs in January, 1953, had a dental emergency, we were told.  He was taken to Las Vegas to a dentist's office for services, we've been told.  Except there's no evidence he actually visited a dentist while in Vegas.  There IS evidence, however, that he's reported to have been taken to Area 51 to meet, and sign an agreement with, certain visitors from, ummm, outer space.  

Aliens, doncha' know.  Not illegal ones, the OTHER kind.  The ones from, ummm, you know, "out there."

Apparently he met with these visitors to arrange a deal.  The arrangement was for us to allow these visitors to kidnap a few of our citizens each year in exchange for technical information we could use to vault our military capability over the Russians.  The information would include data on propulsion, science and electronics.  

Didn't know this, didja?

By "kidnap," it's reported these aliens could gather information from our citizens they could use to aid their research into our reproduction.  Apparently they were so advanced they were having problems with such things.  They could take sperm from men, and eggs from our women.  They were required to report to our Gubmint info about the few citizens they took.  This sounds feasible, considering all the reports we've heard over the ensuing years about people beamed aboard space craft to undergo reproductive investigation.  Such as Betty and Barney Hill back in 1958.  They were reportedly taken aboard a spacecraft and forced to offer up sperm and eggs to those who said they were from a planet 35 light years away.  And then suffered a "lost time" event.  They underwent regressive hypnosis to relive the occasion.  They each gave corroborating info and later passed lie detector tests.  

There are few who doubt their veracity.  They're in fact considered the poster children for such extraterrestrial visitations.  You could Google their story should you be interested in learning more about their activities.  

The "Grays" apparently took far more people than agreed upon over the years, it's been reported, thus violating the agreement.  Maybe they learned from the Iranians.  

For those who scoff at this, just think of myriad technological advancements we witnessed between 1947 and 1969, the year we landed on the Moon (yes, we DID land on the moon).  There were transistors, thermistors, printed circuits, integrated circuits, lasers, CT scanners and such.  Remember our first mainframe computer?  It took up an entire floor in the science building at UCLA.  And required hours to produce an answer to a simple math question.  And just a few years later, we had a computer on every desk.  And even laptops.  

These advancements came so fast it took our breath away.  And just remember that POTUS John F. Kennedy promised us in 1960 that we'd land on the Moon before the end of the decade.  It seems he had inside information, wouldn't you agree?

Think about the technological advancements we didn't see during World War 2, even though it consumed more than 55% of our Gross National Product!  One can compare those advancements to the decade that followed.  And reasonably believe that we had some help, right?

I don't know whether or not Eisenhower actually had a parlais with the Greys.  But we sure did have a technological explosion in just a few short years.  It actually makes  more sense that we did than didn't.  So I'm going to believe that it happened.  That's the romanticist in me.  How about you?  

Now that our Federal Gubmint has admitted there are UAP's, and that it has no idea what they are, or where they're from, or who's piloting them, don't you want to follow that admission up with the belief they're from another planet?  Seems reasonable to me we should just all swallow hard and admit we weren't the first society on this Planet, nor are we likely to be the last.  And if you doubt me, with all our technical mastery, we could not reproduce the Great Pyramid of Giza.  We're not the master of all that we see.  And it seems like we should finally try and prepare ourselves for the day we learn we're not the Top Dog on the Food Chain.  

That day is coming.  Are we ready?   

"Time, Effort, Energy, and Money"

"Boy, I ain't never sold nuthin' to nobody."

Or so said my Father, Leland E. Cassity.  Known as "Lee" to his friends.  He always started every bit of life advice with "Boy," so I knew to pay attention.  Dad was one of the very best salesmen who ever lived.  He kept his family in nice houses, good food and fine cars for my entire life.  And even though he was a salesman, he always said he was one without ever selling anybody anything.  He just made sure. he said, he was around when they decided to buy...  

He always said,"People only buy from those who show them how to save time, effort, energy, and money.  And sometimes grief."  To show them how.  To facilitate.  To arrange.  To broker.  To mediate.  To lead them by the hand.  To offer, and then to aid in making it all happen." 

He always said if a prospective client knows you're a salesman,  and he agrees to an appointment with you, then he's ready to buy what you're selling.  He's just looking for you to give him a reason not to.  

You just don't want to give him that reason. 

Dad said he'd do his best to get that client to see him as an expert in the area in which he was selling.  Someone who knew everything there is to know about the subject so his customer didn't have to.  And then he'd give them advice as that expert.

"Just like it's called fishing and not catching," Dad would say, "it it shouldn't be called selling.  Rather, it should be called 'buying."  

Sometimes, he said, his advice to the customer was to purchase what he was selling.  To buy some of it, or all of it.  And sometimes it wasn't.  He told me that many times he advised his propective clients not to buy what he was there to sell.  After doing a full interview of that client, he'd tell them to keep their money in their jeans.  And then he said he'd see them again sometime in the future.  And that by so doing he'd made a friend for life.  One who'd rely on his future advice on anything.  For no salesman ever intentionally advised their clients not to buy, right?  

Nobody.  Except my Dad. 

Friends, he said, are better than gold.  Friends will vouch for you to their friends.  They will recommend you and stand behind you.  They'll be other deals and other days, Dad would say.  "Never spill your candy in the lobby," he would say.  "There's a movie to see.  Take time to see it."  You never have enough friends, he would always say.  And I believed him.

Just think about that.  If you made it your business to know pretty much everything there is to know about a product or service, and make it a point to be known among the community as such, and you offered up your advice on that product or service, your client would be a certified fool not to take it.  But that requires you to actually KNOW everything.  But it takes a lot of time and study to become that expert.  A lot of time spent studying the marketplace into which that product or service is bought and sold.  And used.  Not very many people who call themselves salesmen will ever take the time to do that.  To become that expert.  Because it takes work.  A lot of work.  But Dad took that time.

And I have as well.

All I ever wanted to do was be a salesman.  Not a lawyer.  Not a doctor.  And not an Indian chief.  Their lives are way too structured.  Too programmed.  Too full of rules and regulations governing their activities.  I wanted to be a salesman.  An expert salesman, just like my Dad.  Someone who grew to know everything about my product or service, how to use it, when, why and how often.  How much it cost.  And how much its competitors' products and services cost.  And why mine was better.  Or made the lives of those who might use it better, quicker, easier and/or perhaps cheaper.  

Otherwise, Dad said, he wouldn't sell it.  And people grew to know that.    

"But the bottom line," as Dad would say, "was to save them Time.  Time can be saved, it can be used, or it can be wasted.  Or Effort.  Like time, Effort can be saved by the customer, or the effort can be wasted.  Or Energy.  Either from the electric company or their backside.  Or Grief.  How much Grief can you save the client by him buying your product or service?  And finally Money.  Either initially, or over time.  Money's almost never the most important reason to buy, regardless of what the customer tells you," Dad would say, "but Money's always on the list."

His clients would invite him to go deer or quail or duck hunting.  They'd invite him and us to BBQ's.  They'd send us a turkey at Thanksgiving.  Who do you know whose customers treat a salesman like a member of the family?  Only those salesmen who aren't seen as salesmen.  Rather, as experts who advise, and whose advice is taken and valued.

My Dad told me that one of his preferred sales methods was to advise his clients he'd be providing them, as an expert, with enough information via his presentation to make an intelligent buying decision.  And then, at the end of his presentation, he'd ask, "Have I?"  And if the client would say anything other than "Yes,"  he'd say, "Oh, I'm sorry, what did I fail to cover?"  Thus accepting the responsibility and blame for failing to fully advise.  And giving the client the chance to tell him exactly what more information (selling) he needed.  This gave Dad the opportunity to hone in on the one (or more) thing(s) the customer felt most important.  Thus bypassing all their built-in sales resistance.  And would not have have been mentioned by the customer via any other approach.  

The result of this sales method was almost always a sale.

Another thing my Dad would state is that you need to let the customer talk.  He'll tell you how he feels and what he wants if you just let him.  Most salesmen, he would say, spend all their time talking, from a prepared pitch, and never let the customer talk.  Even while the customer is making buying indications ("No wait, I'm not finished selling you yet!").  That's why they're salesmen and not expert advisors, Dad would say. 

Dad would say that salesmen and disc jockeys and guys on the radio hate dead air.  They'll talk up a storm when silence would sound better.  They're afraid, he'd say, that staying quiet will cost them the sale.  Let your client speak, he'd say.  Stay silent and learn what your client is thinking.  You have two ears and only one mouth, he'd say.  So listen twice as much as you speak and you'll be successful. 

I once interviewed a dozen solar panel salesmen to find the best deal.  One of them walked in with a package under his arm filled with recently caught sockeye salmon he'd just fished from Alaska.  He said, "Give me the sale and I'll give you the salmon."  Thinking, presumably, that doing so would secure the deal.  That guy wasn't selling solar panels, he was selling salmon.  Selling is that bad in America today.

As Woody Allen once said, "90% of life is just showing up."  I agree.  And showing up no later than 15 minutes early.  Never, ever be late.  I can truly say that I've never been late for an appointment in my entire life.  Thousands of appointments and I've never been late.  It's my Number One focus.  The customer's time is always more important than mine.  To have him see you as protective of his time is one of the very best things a salesman can do, and Number One on a good salesman's list.  And if the customer doesn't notice it, it sure doesn't hurt to mention it.

Another thing Dad would do is spend the first few minutes getting to know his customer.  Where and how he lived, what he did for a living, was he married, how many kids, their ages and sexes, etc.  And why he might need what he was selling.  No need, no sale.  But if there was a need, he'd try and prepare his sales presentation, on the fly, around it.  The customer by this time was at ease.  Not defensive.  Ready to listen, and to participate.  Disarm your client, he'd say.  Take away his natural sales resistance and become a friend.  And expert.  

My Dad sold life insurance for much of his life.  Nobody every WANTED to buy life insurance, he would say, but everybody always knew they NEEDED life insurance.  Buying life insurance made the client focus on his or her mortality, he'd say.  Nobody wants that.  Nobody wants to think about dying.  So Dad would focus on how much better it would be for their family to have financial matters covered when they pass.  Their not having to worry about money at such a painful time.  Dad said helping the customer make the buying decision of a product he knew he needed but didn't want to buy was a true art.  And Dad was an artist at doing so.

Dad would sat he'd try and paint pictures in the air with words and sell you the pictures.  Oh, and then throw in the product or service.  

Dad then gravitated to real estate.  Why this house or farm, versus that one.  And why folks should list with him versus another R.E. guy.  And once again, if you're going to pay some dude 6% of the sales price, you're going to want to opt for the guy who's an expert in the subject, he would say.  Somebody you feel will get the job done, and have your best interests at heart.  He would always tell the client, "Under all is the land.  The only thing that's real.  That's why," he'd say, "they call it REAL estate."  Another thing he'd say is, "You can never pay too much for real estate.  You can only pay it too quick."  Thus taking away the focus on price alone.  

Just like wanting the best lawyer or the best doctor, people choose the one they view as an expert.  "You don't pick a doctor 'cause they're cheaper, or a bargain basement lawyer when you're in legal  trouble.  You pick an expert," he would say, "regardless of price."  

"Once again," he would say, "be that expert."

Companies whose products or services are complicated, or difficult to understand, will hire professional salesmen/women to represent their efforts.  If they're good they're worth their salt.  They'll help you make an intelligent buying decision.  They'll save you time, effort, energy, money, and sometimes grief in the process.  It's a great profession.  I always loved it.  Be happy they're around.    

If you're going to be buying anytime soon, especially something expensive, like a house or car or a racehorse or a yacht, look for the sales professional who's an expert in his or her field.  Somebody who not only knows all the answers, but one who knows all the questions, too.  They're around.  

They're just harder to find.  

Names Are Much Better

I've been accused of knowing everything there is to know about cars.

That's not true.  I don't know everything.  I know a whole bunch, but not everything.

I used to know everything, but that was back when cars were fun.  Back before the 1990's.  Back when they were all redesigned each year.  Back when they all looked different.  From each other and from last year's model.  Back when you could tell them apart from 50' away.  Back when every 10th car was a convertible and every 5th car was a station wagoon.  Back before there were "SUV's" (pickup trucks with sedan bodies), and back before pickup trucks were bought by folks as pavement princesses.  Back when Detroit owned 92% of new car sales.  As opposed to today's 44%. 

There's an old Arab saying:  "Never let a camel get his nose under your tent.  Pretty soon you'll have a camel in your tent."  Detroit has a camel in its tent.

Detroit should be ashamed of itself.  Their executives sat back, collected $Millions, and watched the Germans and the Japanese and the Koreans and the Italians and the English eat our lunch.  

And they're on their second desert. 

Back when cars had names like Impala (Chevy).  And Bonneville (Pontiac).  And Belvedere (Plymouth).  And Galaxie (Ford).  And Saratoga (Chrysler).   And Azure (Bentley) and Golden Hawk (Studebaker) and Starfire (Oldsmobile).  And not numbers.  Ahhh, numbers!  Maybe their marketing departments have run out of creativity.  They're no longer able to come up with neat names.  I'm so bummed!  This number thing really sucks, and I'll bet you agree with me!

I'm addicted to cars.  Some people are addicted to cocaine, or heroin, or alcohol, or crack.  Or porn, even.  I'm addicted, on the other hand, to cars.  I've owned 127 of them.  From 409 Chevy's to 911 Porsches.  From  Rolls-Royces, to Volkswagen Beatles.  From Cad Eldorado Biaritzes to Corvettes.  From Monte Carlos to Mercedes-Benz's.  From Bentleys to Oldsmobiles. And I loved every one of them.  And I wish I had all of them back again.

I even owned 5 of them at one time while I was in in the Army in Germany.  It only provided me with 2 license plates and I had to keep juggling them between the cars to keep the politzei from towing them.  Ahhh, the problems of owning so many cars.

I have memorized everyone of Detroit's "Big Three" car models and engine cubic inches, torque and horsepower ratings from 1955 to 1990.  And if that's not enough, I have every paint color of every one of the "Big Three" from 1955 to 1990 all memorized.  And their interior color options, too.  Why?  Why not?  As I said, I was addicted.  Example:  It's okay to have a strange hobby, right?  My 1962 Chevy Impala Super Sport 409 cubic inch, 409 horsepower Impala was painted a beautiful Honduras Maroon with black bucket seat interor.  Oh, and a 3:70:1 "Posi-Trac" rear end gear ratio.  

I owned it while the Beach Boys' record was on the charts, BTW.  "Giddy Up, Giddy Up 409!"    

As I said, I would still own them, except I had no place to store them.  I owned 11 of them at one time back in the '90's.  Four car garage, four car driveway, and 3 on the street out front.  And they were all beautiful, even the 2 slow ones.  Some of them are true collectors items today.  The 427 Corvette with all 4 off-road options is worth a cool $250,000 today.  The 409 Chevy is worth at least $100,000.  The '53 Mercedes-Benz 300D Cabriolet ganster wagon I owned in Germany is worth at least $200,000.*  The '54 Bentley is worth at least $60,000.  The '66 Porsche 911 is worth at least $50,000.

I'd be a multi- multi-millionaire if I still owned them.  I have ongoing nightmares over having to sell them.  Oh, to have owned a warehouse to store them!  And enough $Cash to hire a mechanic to look after them.  While I moved all about the country and raised a family and grew my career and businesses.  And that's exactly why I had to sell them.  So I don't hate myself too much for letting them go.  A little bit, but not too much.   

I'll provide this unassuming little blog with a full listing of all the cars I've owned in a future posting.  But for today, I'll just provide my opinion as to why I think cars have ceased to be fun.  And "fun" is a major part of why people buy cars.  Or at least they used to.  And realizing they're not fun anymore is why fewer are bought.  Example:  Detroit sold 22 million cars in 1966.  It will sell fewer than 11 million this year.  

It has to do with them being called by "numbers" instead of "names."  Numbers, I believe, have no soul.  No heartbeat.  Unless they have to do with the size of the motor or the horsepower rating.  They don't elicit excitement.  They don't cause you to break out in a cold sweat when you hear their names or think about how they look. They used to.  And here's my proof.

There are 19 separate models in the Mercedes-Benz lineup, as an example.  Expensive German cars.  Known to everyone as the pinnacle of the car market.  On everybody's list to buy when they win the lottery or graduate from medical school.  Yet, nobody knows anything about them.  Especially what they're called.  I'm about to change that.  You just won the lottery, let's say.  You call your M-B dealer and ask him to tell you about his new car inventory.  He says, "Sure!"  And proceeds to do so.  He provides a complete run-down, from least to most expensive, along with their prices.  So as not to bore you, here's a partial listing of them, along with their base pricing: 

     -  GLA         $45,825

     -  GKV         $49,235

     -   "C"          $52,850

     -  CLA          $53,475

     -  EQB          $61,467   

     -    "E"         $67,040

     -  EQS          $88,973

     -  EQE          $91,230

     -   "SL"       $118,520

     -    "S"        $135,180

     -    "G"        $216,460 

Back in the good old days you would call your brother-in-law and tell him you just bought a new Pontiac Catalina convertible.  "Mahogany" brown with the Saddle bucket seats and matching color top.  Optioned with the 4-speed transmission and Posi-traction.  With the top-of-the-line 389 cubic inch motor and 3 x 2 barrel curburetors.  348 horsepower to get your heart started.  And your brother-in-law would be drooling over it.  And be asking you when he'd get to drive it.  

Today?  You call you brother-in-law and tell him you hit the lottery and just bought a new, top-of-the-line Mercedes-Benz EQS.  $90,000 worth of M-B luxury.  And he'd say, "What's an EQS?"  

Exactly...

*          One of the cars I owned in Germany at the same time was a 300D Mercedes-Benz Cabriolet.  A 19' long 4 door convertible.  Near perfect condition.  Collectors item.  I also owned a 1965 Porsche 911, a  1969 Volkswagen Beetle, a 1955 Volkswagen Beetle, and a 1967 Alfa Romeo Guilia Spyder.  A good friend and fellow G.I. really liked the 300D and wanted to buy it.  I was shipping the Porsche and the '69 VW.  As he was getting out sooner than I was, I offered to sell it to him if he'd pick up my Porsche in Bayonne, N.J. and drive it to my home in Missouri.  He agreed.  Even though it was worth a lot, I sold him the 300D for $100.  I signed over the Porsche, gave him the keys, he picked it up in N.J. and drove it to my MO home.  Some 1,200 miles away.  He handed the keys over to my Dad.  It was there when I got home.  And I never saw or talked to him again.  That's what's called trust.  And honor...

We're Doing it all Wrong.

We're born, we go to school, we graduate.  Then go to work for more than half our lives.  At a job or career we may dislike.  Then presumably play golf at the Villages for a decade, living off our retirement.  Then we die.  Is that it?  Is that to be our lives?  I'd say we're going it all wrong.  Let's see if you agree with me..

My Dad was a modern day Will Rogers.  He offered up sage advice on a recurring basis.  He once said, "Boy, you got to do a lotta' stuff in this life if you want to be successful.  That which works, keep on doing.  That which don't, stop."

 I've been thinking that it's wholly unrealistic of us to expect a kid in his late teens to choose a career path and then stick to it for his whole life.  

Just because you enjoyed the Indiana Jones movies doesn't mean you should be an archeologist.  Maybe you won't enjoy endless hours digging in the dirt.  In the heat.  Sweating like a Turk.  But you won't know until you try.  But by then, you've got that expensive degree and a gigondo student debt.  Too late to change careers.

Most of us need a job when we get out of high school.  To pay for the rent and the Mustang.  The Post Office is hiring.  They offer you a job.  And you start delivering somebody else's mail.  For 30 or 40 or 50 years.  Day in and day out.  Driving that uncomfortable little car.  Putting mail in peoples' mailboxes.  You hate it but can't quit.  It's no surprise to me that some folks wind up shooting up a pizza parlor.

And it's the same for Iowa farmers.  And Detroit automakers.  And Mississippi furniture builders.  And pharmacists.  And police.  And doctors.  Who are, BTW, our Number One group to commit suicide.  It seems being a doctor isn't quite as wonderful as it sounded when our kids went to medical school.  I've known 10,000 doctors and I can tell you for sure this is true.

I'd say we're doing it all wrong.  I'd say we should have our yout (what's a yout?) go to college only after a stint in the military.  And then a job or two after getting out.  Maybe don't go to school until they're in their mid- to late 20's.  I'd say doing that would help our young people have a better idea of what they want to do with their lives after growing up a little.  Seeing the world.  Having a few different jobs.  They'd do better in college, and be laser focused on what job they want, and happier in their lives.  

I did.  And still decided to become a salesman.  After a tour in the Army and visiting 37 countries.  My best friend worked with me in sales for several years before deciding to become a lawyer.  And he never looked back.  Happier than a clam. 

Not everybody is Josh Gates.  He decided to become an Indiana Jones lookalike and has made a fabulous career doing so.  Maybe you'd do the same.  But I'm advocating for America doing what 33 other countries do: have our youth spend at least 2 years in the military.  Or at least in Americorp.  Or working with the blood bank.  Or painting yellow stripes down the center of the roads.  Giving something back to the Country that birthed and protected them.  But not heading off to an expensive college or university to become a ___ without knowing, for sure, that this is what they want to be.

Our society is set up on what's called "Golden Handcuffs."  You become that mail carrier and you're lashed to the Post Office by your 401(k).  Forever.  That retirement is not portable so you'd lose it by quitting.  The same with being a teacher.  Every career job is the same.  They don't want to keep recruiting all the time so they make it desirable for their employees to stay where they are and painful for them to leave.  Garbage men, included.  

Don't let your children get caught by those "Golden Handcuffs."  Don't let them hate their lives because they weren't smart enough to make an informed choice when they were 19.  Their marriages might suffer, their job performance might suffer, their mental health might suffer.  And you're in a position to stop it.  

My Dad also once said, 

"You work 8 hours a day to pay for the 8 hours you're not working.  Then sleep for 8 to get ready to go back to work.  For decades.  Don't settle for a job or a career you hate so much it gives you insomnia..."  

Escalade!

While you and I weren't watching, Cadillac started putting eeeenormous prices on their Escalade window stickers.  And their dealers started selling them like crack.

As in, $91,439 for the base, unloaded, no luxury model, to $93,332 for the base with the luxury package.  Up 30% in just the past 5 years.    

I didn't stutter.  For what is today's station wagon, Cadillac thinks it's a good idea to sell Escalade's for near $100,000.  Except they do.  Next step up is the Escalade with the high-zoot luxury package at $120,455.  And if you want the super desirable "V" model, with the 620 horsepower Corvette motor, the window is...ready for it?...$172,223.  That's the price of a house in Salina, Kansas.  Where I used to live.  Or in 40 of the other 50 states.  

Oh but wait!  Since there's "only" 556 of those "V's" nationwide, the Cadillac dealers are routinely putting a "market adjustment" on top of the Manufacturer's Suggested Retail Pricing," or MSRP.  And the average of all "market adjustments" nationwide is now $25,000!  It goes from a paltry $10,000 for the lesser models, to upwards of $50,000 for the "V" model.  So, for a "V," with the average $4,000 of dealer add-ons, for window tint, interior treatment, paint protection, door edge guards and nitrogen in the tires, et-friggin'-cetra, we're talking $200,000 for an SUV.  That immediately loses an average of $50,000 in depreciation the very instant you drive it off the dealers lot.

(Note:  The average price of a 5-year old Escalade nationwide is $25,000.  Much less if its a "miley."  As in, more than say 50,000 miles.  And as little as $15,000 if its a bit rough.

And oh by the way, the dealers will tell you that since these add-on items like window tint and alarm and door edge guards are already installed in every car they have, they say, they cannot be removed (!).  So you have to buy them.  Too bad, so sad.  Of course, you can negotiate them out of those items, but you have to work at it.  And it's painful to do so.  That's why people hate dealers so very much.

(Note:  There's a company called "Deliverd" that will negotiate a deal for you for an all-inclusive price of $1,000.  They'll find the car, get the best price, arrange the trade-in and handle the documents and shipping, if necessary, at no extra price.  Flat fee.  That's all they do.  Keeping you from having to do business with these miserable slimy deaers.  Sounds like a deal to me!)

Sometimes car manufacturer's will make and sell cars that are instant collector's items.  Cars that hold their value, or even increase over time.  Cars like the original 1960's Ford Mustang or the newer "Dark Horse."  Or the Corvette "ZR-1."  Or the Toyota 1990's Supra.  Or the Ford Bronco.  Or the Toyota Land Cruiser.  But you almost never know which new car will attain that status until time passes.  

For those that don't know, an "SUV" is nothing but a pickup truck with a Givenchy suit of clothes.  A station wagon body on the back of a pickup truck.  Folks like me who've been around for awhile know that pickup trucks used to sell for $20,00 or so.  And then somebody in their marketing department said, "You know what, if we put a high-zoot interior in them, and a special sound system, and a big-ass motor, we might be able to get another $20,000 on top of the usual price."  And so it began.  From $20,000 to $200,000 in a very short time.  

That's why I spent my career in marketing.  Where the rubber meets the road.

So I'd suggest if you really, REALLY want an Escalade, for whatever reason, buy or lease one used.  The depreciation will have already done its dirty deed, the "dealer add-ons" and "dealer market adjustments" will have been lost in the wash, and the usual updates and new car whoopsies will have been handled.  And you can then buy one with a few thousand miles for $50,000 or $60,000 or $70,000 off MSRP.  

And again, much more off if you don't have to pay the "market adjustment."  

Excuse me, my fingers wouldn't type those numbers without a lot of work.  I had to try several times in order to get them down on paper without throwing up.  But I did.  Don't thank me.  That's why God put me here.

It never ceases to amaze me that folks will buy the second most expensive item in their lives like they'd buy a cup of ice cream at Baskin-Robbins.  They drive into the dealer with a smile on their faces and a fat wallet, not knowing they're going to get taken for an expensive ride.  The dealer knows every trick in the book to remove the maximum amount of bucks from their wallets, yet they still buy.  So they can turn heads as they drive home.  So they can look over their shoulders at their shiny new trophy as they walk into their homes.  Without knowing they've been screwed to the wall by the professionals whose job it is to do that.  And it's all legal.  Legal theft.  What I would call a scam, but that's just me.

You're an idiot if you go for this.  If you buy one of these expensive toys when a Chevy Tahoe, or a GMC would do just as well, as they're on the same truck platform, you're the guy the car salesmen are trained to skin like a beaver.

And they do it.  Every. Single. Day.

  

A Quick Drive Down Memory Lane...

I just got back from the discount gas station.  I filled up my car for a nice, round $92.00.  Or, roughly twice as much as my previous record for a fill-up.  And not in a muscle car.  Making California the place where people go broke who don't wish to walk.

And while there, I stuck a credit card in the pump, took out the nozzle, put it in my car, pumped it full, and then took the nozzle out and returned it.  Oh, and checked my own oil and washed my own windows.  Mine was the labor that served me that day.  Making me wistful for the "Good Ol' Days."  And giving me cause to write this blog posting.  So sit back, grab an adult beverage, and take a quick drive with me down Memory Lane to learn what it was like in my storied yout ("What's a yout?")

I hate those people who start their blog postings with, "Back in the good old days."  But I'm going to start this posting with, "Back in the good old days," because the days were good back then.  And simple. And enjoyable.  And inexpensive.  And fun.  Unlike my visit to the local gas station I recalled above.  Which was expensive, noisy, smelly, and required of me to work for myself without pay.  In other words, awful.  

When I was young and dumb and a little bit crazy, I lived in a little Midwestern town where the only source of fun with our pants on was driving our muscle cars up and down the 4-lane highway.  We had two fat cops in 6-cylinder Plymouths, and one State Trooper named Dick Defreece in a light blue Dodge.  And when things got dull we'd do a burnout in front of one of them where they could see us, they'd chase us, and then we'd outrun them.  

Just for fun.

The 4-lane in our town was about 6 miles long.  And we'd go from one end to the other, flashing our lights at our friends, and maybe giving them a little beep from our horns.  And God help us if we failed to flash or honk.  They'd think we didn't like them anymore, and it could end in a fistfight.  We'd then turn around, rev our engines, dump our clutches and lay a yuuuge strip of rubber as we ran up through the gears.  Getting some scratch each time we power shifted. And then we'd do it all over.  

And when we ran out of gas, we'd pull into the local Phillips 66 station or Citgo station or Sunoco station or Mobil station to get some more.  Push juice.  Motion lotion.  And it was a pleasure.

Because back in those days, there was an old guy in a denim jumpsuit who'd come out to serve us when he heard that ding-a-ling from the hose.  The one that occurred when you ran over the ring thingie.  He'd ask how he could help us.  We say, "Fill 'er up!"  He'd then start the gas flowing.  Alway Hi-Test, 93 octane to be sure.  (Which is no longer available, BTW).  He'd then check our oil and the air pressure in our tires, and wash our windows.  All around.  By then he'd be finished pumping gas.  We'd give him our credit card  or tell him to charge it to our account, and then make our way back on to the 4-lane to do it all over again.  

Happily.

Because back then there was a "GAS WAR."  The various gas companies were in competition with each other for market share.  Mobil was trying to undercut Sinclair, and Shell was trying to undercut Phillips.  The essence of capitalism.  So they'd each keep on lowering their prices to capture our business.  They'd keep doing so, a penny at a time, until they reached Rock Bottom.  I recall the least I ever paid when that bottom was reached.  Are you ready?

            $19 CENTS A GALLON! 

Imagine filling up a 409 Chevy or a 427 Ford or a 426 Plymouth for, ummm, $4.00?  We did it.  And thought nothing of it.  I'm so sorry those days are behind me.  Be advised "change for the sake of change" is not necessarily a good thing.  No, not at all.  Not when you're filling up for $90.00.

Sometimes we'd fill up two or even three times a night.  Our driving only broken up by an occasional trip to the Dairy Queen.  Where we'd back into a parking space next to one of our friends in some other delicious car, and then open our hoods so everyone could see our massive motors.  All dressed up with a cromed this and a chromed that.  Boy, were we proud of ourselves! 

I remember we had a farmer named Terry Smith.  He had a 1963 1/2 Ford Galaxie Lightweight.  Its fenders and hood and trunk lid were all fiberglass and its windows were so thin they were barely there.  This was all done to make it so light he could win drag races against the hated Chevy 427's.  He'd drive into the DQ with his car on a trailer and then park it so all could drool.  I wish I knew then what I know now as that car is now worth a cool $250,000 on the collector market.  

But then again, my 409/409 Chevy Impala Super Sport, 4-speed, posi-trac, honduras maroon with black buckets, would bring a nice $100,000, too. 

We'd get ourselves an order of tater tots and a cherry coke which cost $0.25 cents.  And by the time we were finished somebody had arranged a drag race.  To be held at the "Old Highway."  The highway in Bear Lake Bottoms.  And then all the cars would peel out and head to the drags.

BTW, I had a friend who worked at a printing company.  We printed up a bunch of "BLBTA" stickers and sold them for a nickle so we could put them on our bumpers.  It stood for the "Bear Lake Bottoms Timing Association."  Or some said, "Better Leave Betty's Tits Alone."  I liked both.

The New Highway 36 had left the old one unused and growing grass between the cracks in its concrete.  But it was good enough for 30 or 40 of us to head that way nearly every night and proceed to race a little bit.  We even had radios for the designated spotters to wait at each end so the highway patrol couldn't snag us.  Our spotters would let us know if Dick Defreece* was on the way so we could all jump into our cars and make like a bananna and split.  Otherwise, we'd race for at least an hour or two.  Bonfire raging, beer guzzling, tires burning, the smell of burnt oil hanging blue smoke in the air.  Winter or summer, no matter.  Drags almost every night.  Was it dangerous?  Sure.  Did anyone ever get hurt?  No.

And then we'd go fill up again, get our oil checked and air pressure checked, windows washed, and another $4.00 worth of gas to get burned up.  Sweet 93 octane out the tailpipes.  Yummm!

Just for a change of pace we might go to the Highway 65 Drive-In and watch a movie or two.  And then go park out in the weeds with our girlfriends.  Then go home for some much needed Zzzzz's to get ready for tomorrow night.

Then we'd do it all over again.  And it was amazing!  I might mention we had 11 American Hot Rod Association record holders in our town of less than 10,000.  The fastest cars in every class.  Everyone was smitten with speed!  We loved it!  I still love it! 

Now?  We all drive 5 mph under the speed limit 'cause we cannot afford BoyGuv's 87 octane "summer blend" gas.  And also because there's jillions of cops on the road just lusting to take us to the slammer.  The Gray Bar Hotel.  And tow our cars.  And steal our money. The money we worked hard for.  The road pirates we hire with our tax money to rob us blind!  

We can afford the gas in Oklahoma, BTW, and Texas, and Kansas, and Tennessee, and Arkansas, and all the other states not named Taxifornia.  Where it's $4.00 a gallon.  But here we can't.  Too bad, so sad.  Gas is like a precious comodity, to be priced like gold.  It should be sold to us by the c.c. insted of the gallon.  Only those who've been born and raised here, and know no better, are immune to bitching about it.  They think this is normal.  Like the Uyghurs in China who are held as captives.  Robbed of their organs and made to work as slaves.  The rest of us know we're being taken for a ride, and not in a good way.  

I sure do hope you feel better having read this.  As for me, conjuring up all these memories from "way back when," I feel worse.  Mucho Worso.  That's Spanish, I think.  Please just forget you read it and I'll forget that I wrote it.  And then like the guy with a feather up his ass, we'll both be tickled... 

*     Dick Defreece was our one and only resident Missouri State Trooper.  He'd arrested me so often for traffic crimes he had my driver's license number memorized.  Including twice on my 19th birthday.  It seems driving 140 mph in my brand new 1962 409 Chevy Impala Super Sport was not acceptable.  It was a birthday present to myself and I thought opening it up just a bit seemed reasonable.  I'd gotten a total of 23 speeding and careless and reckless tickets in the preceding year, so I was expecting to get the notice from the State my driving priveledges were suspended.  Except, Kelsey Reeter, the Sheriff, had failed to send the State its copy of my tickets (and everybody else's, too!).  Thus causing the statute of limitations to run out on them.  So oopsie!  Tickets all cancelled.  

It seems Kelsey was too busy romancing his Black hooker girlfriend to do his day job.  And we know it's true, 'cause the State inspectors who'd come to check on him found her bare footprints on the inside of his patrol car.  I wonder how that happened?  Another big oopsie, I'd say...

"First, Kill All the Lawyers,"

We all remember this quote from Dick the Butcher, now don't we? (Henry VI, Part 2).

It occurs in Act IV, Scene 2.  It is meant as a tribute to attorneys by Shakespeare, noting that the character who spoke this line wished to cause chaos, and to do so he first had to eliminate all the lawyers.  They serve as the "glue" that holds a society together, Shakespeare believed, and Dick also thought, and only by eradicating them can true chaos occur.  And true chaos was the his goal.  

Flash forward to America today.  Did you know we have 1,366,000 lawyers in America?  That compares to the same number in India, which has one billion more people.  And 300,000 in China, which has one billion more people.  I'd guess you need permission from the State to sue in China, BTW.  And only 144,000 in all of Canada, with 44,000,000 people.  Those Canadians are super nice people, doncha' know.  Eh?  

In short, we've got one serious bunch of lawyers.

I often wondered back when I was in business when we'd reach the tipping point.  That point where there were so many lawyers they'd have to sue each other to make their rent.

Did you know the average salary of a lawyer today is $155,000?  The lawyers I know work hard for every penny they earn, so I'd say they're underpaid.   And they went to school for 7 years to get that license to practice.  Did you know that UPS pays their truck drivers $176,000 a year?  And a college degree is not required?  And Amazon starts their long-haul truckers at $16Ok a year?  Again, no college degree necessary.  And ferriers (horse shoers) earn about $250,000 a year, playing with horses and breathing the fresh air all day long?  Just thought you'd like to know.  

Did you know that 48 of the 100 Senators in our Congress are lawyers?  And 35% of all the Congressweenies in the House of Representatives are lawyers?  I sort of feel sorry for all our legislators who AREN'T lawyers.  I'm guessing the lawyers all sit at the same tables in the cafeteria, making non-lawyers feel like second class citizens.  Members of the same club, doncha' know.  Kinda' like it was back in high school.  The jocks all palled around together and the braniacs were personna non grata.  That last bit is Latin, doncha' know.

I'd like you to think about this:  We elect legislators to go to Washington to do what?  Make new laws!  We don't need no more stinkin' laws!!!  We've got so many we can't even comprehend them!  And the lawyers we send to Congress to make new laws generally don't know squat about business.  All they know is the law!  So they write laws that may in fact be in conflict with the best interests of business.  And the public.  Which is what keeps the turnstyle turning!  Please tell me you know this makes no sense at all!

Did you know that the only colors that look good on lawyers are black and tan (the colors of doberman pinchers)?

Do you know why sharks never attack lawyers?  (Professional courtesy.)

Did you know what they call 100 lawyers lashed together and marched into the sea?  A good start...

A good divorce lawyer charges about $800 or $900 an hour.  Or even more.  In fact, were God to give me the chance to do it all over, I'd actually study in school the 2nd time around and become a divorce lawyer in Hollywood.  The current divorce rate is 50%, and the average marriage lasts but 7 years (same as my first one), plus all those actors are rich.  Imagine snagging a JLo and Ben!  So I'd just get a nice office, hang out my shingle, buy a billboard on Hollywood Boulevard, and wait. 

Or perhaps a criminal defense attorney.  You can charge an arm and a leg, or at least a leg.  And if you don't get the perp off, he goes to the slammer, and can't hurt you.  Better even than a plastic surgeon.  They charge more, but you might have to perform do-overs.  Or deal with their husbands.

Did you know Taxifornia has 366,000 laws on its books?  66,000 more even than the Federal Gubmint.  Twice as many as New York State, and three times as many as Illinoway.  You'd think they'd take a law off the books each time they wrote a new one, wouldn't you?  Except they don't.  They just leave them active, festering, awaiting some crafty lawyer to dig them up so they can beat the crap out of a city or a prosecuting attorney for their client.  

Even though beauticians must go to school for two years, cops only go to school for 28 weeks to get certified.  And much of it isn't even on the law.  They're only trained on the laws that bring in the major bucks.  Like DUI's and speeding and such.  Does that make sense to you?  Not to me!  

So lawyers are necessary to know the laws the cops don't, and neither do we.  The lawyers know that but the cops don't.  The cop arrests you for a non-violation, or violates your civil rights, and the lawyer gets you off.  All's then great in the Land, except you're out the $5,000 for the lawyer.  And the cop doesn't even get his hand slapped (indemnity, doncha' know). 

BTW, my best friend is a lawyer, so I don't paint them all with the same brush.  He's a great guy and I don't think less of him for choosing this profession.  Don't hold it against him at all.  I forgave him a long time ago.  In fact, I learned from him to be afraid, very afraid, because anyone with a law degree can sue anyone else at anytime for just the $125 filing fee.  And they do.  Often.  

I'd suggest you make sure at least one of the girls in your family marries a lawyer so you get a discount on your legal fees.  I'd say to try and get the help for free, except lawyers don't do that.  A plumber or electrician just might, but never a lawyer...

Through my lawyer buddy I learned a bunch about business law, and actually managed to practice it for my own company for 40 years.  During this time I sued 13 hospitals in small claims court and won them all.  Hospitals do not as a rule pay their bills on time, or sometimes at all.  They believe Net Payment - 30 Days means Net Payment - Never (their Chief Financial Officer's are chosen from among the top used car salesmen, where honesty is considered a personal failing), so they need a good suing every now and again.  They need slapping around a bit.  And not enough folks do it.   

I personally suggest that everyone go to law school because our society is so litigious.  Or perhaps an associates degree from the local junior college.  Everyone threatens to sue everybody else these days, and some do.  So if you intend to do business, and unless you have the means to hire lawyers (or have one in your family), it's best to know all about the law.  Or have an Only-Fans girlfriend to provide you with the cash to keep an attorney on retainer.

On the way out the digital door, my advice is to try and avoid cops to the maximum extent possible.  Keep your head down and don't make eye contact.  The same as gazelles tiptoeing among the lions on the Serengheti.  But when one of them gets you in his crosshairs, it's a great idea to have an attorney on speedial.  One who'll rush right out and save your butt.  Only by so doing can average citizens like you expect to keep your money in your pocket, your ass out of jail, and lead a happy, uneventful life...