What's probably going to happen
By Sam Richardson

    Joe Biden is going to be elected President in November. Hopefully the Democrats will maintain the majority in the House and gain the majority in the Senate. Then when the Democratic congress starts to deal with the monumental problems they will have inherited because of the pandemic and because of the incompetency of the Trump administration, the Republicans will fall back, regroup and begin trying to sabotage everything the Dems will attempt to accomplish.
    It'll be like "reconstruction" after the Civil War. Even though the South was part of the United States again in 1866, and Blacks were free and should have had the right to vote, the KKK and other white terrorist groups began to intimidate and murder Blacks and work around efforts of state governments to construct a civilized society. Not reconstruct but to construct representational government and a truly democratic society. There was nothing humane or tolerant to reconstruct because the South, a nation of slave owners, had not been what could be termed a civilized society.
    The Republicans will be like the KKK and work assiduously to sabotage Democratic programs and impede progress. Mitch McConnell, Kevin McCarthy, Lindsay Graham, Rand Paul and others of their persuasion will become guerilla warriors in the cause of conservative disruption of progress—assuming McConnell and Graham get reelected. 
    And we'll remain a nation divided by partisanship and hate.
    What it's going to take to unite us is not Democratic leadership, because the Republicans will fight that, it'll take an enlightened Republican leader who has the guts to stand up to the neanderthals in the party, a leader who can reach across the aisle and inspire other Republicans to join in, then maybe we'll see the two parties begin to quit hating each other and look for common ground they can work from. 
    I hate to say it, and I may be wrong, but the Republicans, whether they're in majority or the minority, may hold the key to healing and a healthier political climate. Then the hope will be that somewhere buried deep in the GOP consciousness will be a vocabulary of democracy, compromise, teamwork and respect that can be used to represent the best interests of the nation, not the individual interests of two warring parties.

Hatred 
by Sam Richardson
    Issues aren't what divides Democrats and Republicans. Hate is what divides us. There is no question that Donald J. Trump is the most hated President in our history, at least by more than half the voters, like around 51 per cent, the majority who voted against him. But that other 49 per cent, the people who voted for him, haven't changed their view of him, nor will they. Impeachment didn't change their view, his childish tweets and his mishandling of just about every problem he's dealt with didn't change it. Their main motivation is not ideology, it comes down to hatred. 
     They hate Nancy Pelosi, and Chuck Shumer, and Adam Shipp, and Joe Biden, and, boy, will they develop a hated for Kamala Harris, especially since she's black. Which brings up racism. The Republicans never accepted Barrack Obama because he was black. They continue to hammer congresswomen Ihan Omar and Rashida Tlaib because they're Muslim, and Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez because she's Hispanic, and Ayanna Pressly because she's black. Race, gender, religion. Add to that their fear of the "L" word, liberal, which they spell "s-o-c-i-a-l-i-s-m." Most Trump supporters couldn't tell you the difference between the Democratic platform and Republican platform. A lot of Democratic voters probably couldn't either, because they're focused on their hatred of Republicans.
    So we remain a nation divided, not by philosophy or what we have in common, but by our hatreds and prejudices. Maybe this pandemic will finally take us deeper into the abyss, bring us to our knees, and force us to think about what's really important. One thing's for damn sure—the world will never be the same. We just hope that what it becomes is better than what we have now or had before and that we quit hating.

El Chapo and Trump: parallels

A recent article in "The Guardian," covered the marriage of drug lord El Chapo's daughter in a Culiacan cathedral to the son of another prominent drug cartel figure. It reminded me of a scene in "Godfather Two," where Michael Corleone is standing as Godfather at the baptism of his nephew and reciting vows, one of which is "I renounce the devil," while at the same moment his henchmen are mowing down his opposition in the underworld.

Mafia figures in that novel had the acceptance of many elements of society and of the Catholic church. To seasoned Mexico observers the Chapo wedding offered an uncomfortable reminder of organized crime’s influence in many pockets of that country, its ability to ingratiate itself into society at large, and its relationship with the Catholic church.

Mexico's Amlo says El Chapo 'had the same power' as past presidents

 

Read more

“It is a reminder of how deeply embedded and powerful the Guzmán family remains in Sinaloa’s society. They are effectively part of the elite,” said Falko Ernst, senior Mexico analyst for the International Crisis Group. “They are treated as such by other members of the elite, including parts of the church.” Mexico has accepted its drug cartels as members of society, in other words.

I see sickening parallels to what's happening in Mexico to what's happening in the United States. Quoting "The Guardian" about the Trump administration, ... "democracy, civility, truth" are threatened ... This US administration is establishing new norms of behavior. Anger and cruelty disfigure public discourse and lying is commonplace. Truth is being chased away."

In the United States, we've accepted the rudeness, incivility, and lies of Donald Trump and the Republican  party as part of every day life. The Presidency, once considered a moral office, has now become just a platform for a foul-mouthed, condescending, and insulting bad actor. Rampant disinformation, partisan news sources, and social media's tsunami of fictionalized news are making things worse.

The GOP is thumbing their noses at the rule of law as it applies to the White House and to the need for Congress to work together for the common good. What's even worse is the fact that Donald Trump is just the organ grinder's monkey. It's the organ grinder that we should be worried about, the politicians who support him and the people who voted for them. They walk among us. They are us, for as that great philosopher Pogo once said, "We have met the enemy and he is us."

If Americans don't elect a new President in 2020, maintain Democratic control of the House of Representatives, and get control of the Senate, the First Amendment may soon be on its way out.

The Burro Lady and Molly Ivins

By Sam Richardson

We used to see her along Big Bend highways in far west Texas. Mounted on a little burro, she sat erect in the saddle amidst a pile of blankets and tarps that she used for each night’s makeshift campsite. Down the road she’d go, eyes forward, never acknowledging the curiosity of thousands of travelers who passed her by each day.

Some hollered, some honked, some like myself would occasionally stop for a photo. But she continued to move forward, never making eye contact, never looking back.

I used to see her camped by the roadside in south Brewster County, down around Terlingua. It’s a place close to the Mexican border. Sometimes she’d stay in the same spot for days. We’d see her curled up under her blankets and tarps, sleeping late of a morning. She never pitched a tent, just crawled under those tarps. Then, later in the day, she would be sitting there, thinking. Next night, she’d be back under her pile of covers for another long nap. After a good rest of a few days, she’d saddle up and move along.

We never knew much about her. She was shy and didn’t enjoy conversation so most people left her to her private world.

Now she’s gone. They found her by the roadside up near Sierra Blanca. Funeral was a few days later in Terlingua. Big turnout. A fitting tribute to a lady so many knew and respected but knew so little about.

A few days before that, we’d heard that Molly Ivins had crossed over, too. After a long fight with cancer the nationally known columnist took another road, leaving us worse off for her departure.

Unlike the Burro Lady we knew a lot about Molly. Texas Observer, New York Times, Dallas Times Herald, syndicated columnist. Her columns, “drenched in good humor and fighting spirit,” according to writer John Nichols, appeared in 400 papers at one time. She called us to the battlements no matter where we stood. And people who didn’t have a position on some issues frequently assumed one after they read one of her broadsides.

In one of her last pieces she wrote, “And when you get through kickin' ass and celebratin' the sheer joy of a good fight, be sure to tell those who come after how much fun it was.”

I wonder if the burro lady might have wanted to say something along those same lines, even though in her case it had nothing to do with politics. It had to do with total freedom, more than any of us ever had. Imagine, owning nothing but a burro and some blankets, being owned by nobody and nothing, not even one little part of you. “Tell those who came after how much fun it was,” she might have said. I’d like to think she would have said something like that.

Then again, maybe not. It must have miserable, at least by most people’s standards, out there sleeping on the ground in all kinds of weather. But she’d obviously made her concessions and adjustments and just kept plodding along.

Her only debt was to her maker who finally called her home, leaving one grieving burro and thousands of friends whose names she didn’t know, passersby who at times may have felt sorry for her but who knew that they were seeing freedom in a burro saddle and the last of an era as she treaded wearily along our highways.

The Burro Lady and Molly Ivins, gone within a month of each other. They were both part of a world I knew and took for granted would be the same forever.

Seeing them go all at once, so close together, makes me feel ten years older.

  

The time I met Corporal Klinger

by Sam Richardson

When I was promotion director at KTBC-TV in Austin, CBS, our mother network, would give us the opportunity prior to the fall season to bring in stars from their lineup to promote their shows. Promo directors would put together some sort of itinerary and propose it to the network, kind of like a bid.

My efforts produced two star junkets: one with Adrienne Barbeau, who played the daughter on “Maude”; and, two, Jamie Farr, who played Klinger on “M.A.S.H.” The events I scheduled were to get as much publicity as possible for the shows in our market.

Adrienne’s visit was for the most part uneventful, except that her appearance on our noon talk show didn’t sit that well with the hostess. Adrienne was pro-choice and mentioned her efforts in a West Coast clinic to assist young women who wanted an abortion. Not the best thing to be talking about when promoting a network sitcom and with a very conservative talk show hostess. But it was an interesting interview, anyway, and Adrienne was beautiful and charming throughout the rest of the day.

Jamie’s visit was less than remarkable. He was a great guy, fun to work with, but my itinerary fell short of his expectations, I think. I arranged to have him meet with some drama students at the University of Texas, where he sat up on a stage and a student audience asked him questions. He seemed to like being on stage. Then he appeared on the TV station’s noon talk show, and later we had lunch with an entertainment editor for the Austin daily newspaper.

The talk show didn’t go well. Jamie, who had considerable star power on network TV, was on with three other people, none of whom were entertainment professionals, and all of whom were talking about different topics. It was a scattered presentation, and Jamie only got in a little time to talk about M.A.S.H. and didn’t enjoy having limited time. I couldn’t blame him.

After the lunch interview with the entertainment writer, I took Jamie and his aide to the airport. Unfortunately, the only company vehicle available was a beat-up, cramped Subaru that the news department had worn out. And it was uncomfortable, just a tightly engineered little Japanese car with no A/C.

On the T.V. interview, Jamie had mentioned that the cast and crew of M.A.S.H. was going to Korea to film some new episodes. During our brief conversation on the way to the airport, I said something to him like, “Well, this fall and winter, when you’re freezing in Korea, you might wish you were back in Austin.”

“Not really, man,” said Jamie. “Not really.”

Touché and end of conversation. At the airport Jamie and his aide politely thanked me for my efforts and were off. I still watch M.A.S.H. in reruns and think it is the best comedy show in television history. And corporal Klinger is one of the best ever characters. I still laugh at Klinger’s antics and still laugh when I think of Jamie’s parting comment about our publicity junket in Austin.

“Not really, man … not really.”

I might have hit a few home runs as promotion director at the station, but for the most part was unhappy in that job. I was eventually relieved of those duties and settled into the role of art director. Later I went out on my own as a free-lance artist, writer, ad hack, teacher, and publicist. Some of the off-the-wall events I publicized, or helped publicize, were The Great World’s Fair at Luckenbach, the World’s Largest Pot of Chili, the Cowboy Country Club, and Headliners East. I was much better at promoting events like that than network T.V. shows.

In the latter case, Headliners was the ultimate neighborhood bar, and we were always doing promotions. Our regular clients ranged from members of the State Legislature to local media people. If we had brought Jamie in to be roasted as our Big Shot of the Month at Headliners he would probably have had a much better time in Austin.

At least he could have had a few drinks and met some Austin beauties, things he could have remembered fondly when cast and crew were shivering in Korea.

Cousin Minnie Pearl
by Sam Richardson

Her humor was strictly corn. People who didn’t appreciate her genre might have called her “campy” (look it up), but she was good at what she did, and she was genuine.

During my disc jockey days down on the Texas coast I emceed a big country package show at the Moody Center in Galveston one time. In those days, promoters put together shows with half a dozen-or-so (or more) name artists on them, and we staged them like the Grand Ol’ Opry.

This show had Willie Nelson, Charlie Pride, Del Reeves, Porter Waggoner, some lesser known artists and Cousin Minnie Pearl. This was during Willie Nelson’s coat and tie period. Wearing coats and ties or turtle necks, with short hair, he was an emerging genius who always looked different than everybody else in Nashville. The other stars on that show were wearing glittering rhinestone suits and sequined cowboy boots and all the bling that was the rage in those days. Later Willie abandoned Nashville, moved to Austin and emerged as himself, but you all know that story.

Back to Cousin Minnie. I was impressed with her professionalism. She came in backstage wearing discreet traveling clothes, looking very business-like, and she had a suitcase with her stage costume in it. I showed her to a dressing room, and she came out a few minutes later dressed as Minnie, walked over to the side of the stage where the performers entered, pulled up a folding chair, got out a pocket novel she was reading, and said, “Let me know when I’m on.”

And she sat there reading her book, oblivious to the show that was roaring on the stage just a few feet away. When it was her turn, I looked at her, nodded, she got up, put her book away, looked back at me and smiled, and I gave her a big introduction. Of course the next thing that happened was she took the stage in a flurry, looked out at the audience and gave them a big “howdeee,” and, of course, got a big round of applause.

“Love them and they’ll love you back,” was her motto. And they loved her. Then when her show was finished, she went back to her dressing room, changed, and headed for the airport. Another day at the office for a country legend, and another memory from my peripatetic career … or careers.

Dear Cousin Minnie. She was highly educated, had a theatrical background but hid all that well, and when she landed on the character of Cousin Minnie that’s who she became, and she made a great career of it.

Presidential humor

"My choice in early life was either to be a piano player in a whorehouse or a politician. And to tell the truth, there is hardly any difference." – Harry Truman

"From Truman to Ike to LBJ:

The wit and wisdom of the American presidency," 
a presentation by Sam Richardson.

Some past speaking engagements in Taos: Daughters of the American Revolution meeting; Lions Club; Rotary Club; fundraiser for the UNM-Taos Library; Seekers, an adult discussion group; open mic, SOMOS (Society of the Muse of the Southwest)

Run time: 20 to 30 minutes

Events I’ve emceed: The Texas Folklife Festival (San Antonio), The Great World's Fair at Luckenbach; Headliners East celebrity roasts (Austin); The Annual Word Off (Terlingua); various sports and Chamber of Commerce banquets, and a number of fundraisers and auctions.
In Taos:  “The Friends of D.H. Lawrence: A Festival of New Mexico Writers”; “Read it to the Mountain,” the annual reading by the UNM-Taos English faculty.

Available for groups and organizations as a lunch or meeting speaker, as a after-dinner talk, or for any occasion.

Now booking 
 575/770-9227

Sam Richardson, aka SAM•U•L, is a Taos-based artist, writer, storyteller and emcee. He has taught journalism at The University of New Mexico-Taos and taught art at Austin Community College. His art is displayed in a number of venues and he is a free-lance feature writer for publications in New Mexico and Texas.

www.samuls.blogspot.com

"And who is the American President?" asked Ambrose Bierce, the old gringo. “The greased pig in the field game of American politics."

"And what is an editor but one who flings about him the sturdy thunders and lightning of admonition until he resembles a bunch of firecrackers petulantly uttering its mind at the tail of a dog.”

—Ambrose Bierce, the old Gringo

"With local coverage dwindling, the next 10 to 15 years are going to be a halcyon era for crooked politicians."
– Journalist David Simon,
quoted in The Chronicle of Higher Education

"What we want in a media system is
ostensible diversity that conceals actual conformity."
– Joseph Goebels, 1938

“Young people drawn to journalism increasingly see no
distinction between disinterested reporting and hit-jobbery.”
–Mark Bowden

Hit-jobbery: propaganda fed by special interests.

In a special report on the media, “The Story Behind the Story,” (Atlantic, Oct. 2009), Mark Bowden points to a malignancy that’s driving the state of journalism down – hit-jobbery.

“Ideologues have stepped forward to provide the ‘reporting’ that feeds the 24-hour news cycle. The collapse of journalism means that the quest for information have been superseded by the quest for ammunition,” he says.

As ammunition he cites events surrounding the confirmation of Justice Sonia Sotomayor where hit-jobbers, "researchers" with an agenda, dug up snippets from a speech Sotomayor had made at Berkeley Law School in 2001.

The clips, taken out of context, portrayed her as a Latina who thought her judgment was superior to that of a white male and as a judge who saw the court’s role as not to just interpret the law but to “make policy” and perform an end run around the other two branches of government.

Within 24 hours of Sotomayor’s nomination, all three major television networks had the story complete with video clips.

Was this good reporting by investigative journalists or the work of political hit men with an agenda who fed the clips to the networks?

“This process – political activists supplying material for TV news broadcasts – is not new, of course. (But) It has largely replaced the work of on-the-scene reporters during a political campaigns...” writes Bowden.

Bowden concludes his article by saying, “The honest disinterested voice of a true journalist carries an authority that no self-branded liberal of conservative can have.

“Journalism, done right, is enormously powerful precisely because it does not seek power. It seeks truth. Those who forsake it to shill for a produce of a candidate or a party or an ideology diminish their own power.”

“The worst of it is that each newspaper disappearing below the horizon carries with it, if not a point of view, a potential emplacement for one. A city with one newspaper, or with a morning and an evening paper under one ownership, is like a man with one eye, and the eye is glass.”
– AJ Liebling

We could use a man like
Crazy Carl today
A reminescence

Crazy Carl Hickerson, a flower child and flower vendor on Austin’s Sixth Street, ran for mayor of the city, once, back in the ‘80s.

Sixth Street was the closest thing Texas had to Bourbon Street: good food, good music, good drink, good times. Respectable bars and restaurants prospered and an interesting street scene grew up around them.

Crazy Carl was a regular at the corner of Sixth and Trinity, appearing there most evenings during good weather, where he sold flowers.

One year, Carl decided to run for Mayor. He qualified, paid his fees, and was even invited to join in a televised mayoral debate. It was great fun.

Said Carl: “If I win, I’ll demand a recount.”
“I’ll try it if you will but a lot of people think I’ll never sit on the council. I hope
they’re right.”
“People will vote just to vote against me.”
“To a lot of you, I’m just another pretty face.”
“Austin is just an imaginary city.”

Carl got a few votes and went back to selling flowers but his candidacy triggered a little spike in the bumper sticker market when stickers saying “I’M CRAZY, TOO, CARL!” appeared all over Austin.

Illustration by the editor

You know you live in Taos if:
1. You either own a business or make minimum wage working for someone who does but, either way, you can’t afford to buy a house

2. Your neighbor on one side lives in a half-million-dollar adobe renovation. Your neighbor on the other side lives in trailer with tires on the roof which have more tread on them than the ones on his truck.

3. Your child's 3rd-grade teacher has purple hair and a nose ring and has an organic name like Sage or Blossom.

4. You can't remember if pot is illegal or not.

5. Young moms bring their babies to class, to board meetings and to all public events and nurse them while addressing the teacher or the podium.

6. Young dads are nowhere to be seen.

7. Gas costs at least .20 cents a gallon more than anywhere else in the U.S.

8. Young people don’t talk to each other face-to-face. They sit across the room or the plaza and call each other up on a cell phone.

9. It's barely sprinkling rain outside and the public schools declare a snow day and close down.

10. When the first touch of snow is sighted on the Sangre de Christos, the public schools declare a snow day and close down. All other schools and colleges follow suit and faculty and staff go skiing.

11. If you drive illegally, they take your driver's license. If you're here illegally, they give you one.

12. Many of your neighbors are grandparents at age 30.

13. Your coworker has eight body piercings not all of which are visible but he or she enjoys describing them to you in detail.

14. You hear something and hope it's "The Hum" because if it's not you have tinnitus.

15. When you compare Taos to Albuquerque, Taos is organic and ABQ is plastic. When you compare Taos to Santa Fe, Taos is blue-collar Southwestern and Santa Fe is wine and cheese counterfeit. When you’re in Red River and Angel Fire the phrase “East Texas Bible Belt with snow" comes to mind. When you’re in Española, you keep your eyes to yourself and hope for a lot of green lights and a quick passage through town.

The State of the State:

by Sam Richardson

The state mammal of New Mexico: The Harley-Davidson.

State bird: The ’55 Chevy lowrider which, like the DoDo, bounces along but never takes flight.
State Motto: “Hey, bro!”
State Dish: Green chile stew.
State flower: Sensimilla.
State gem: Roadside beer can
State tree: 100-year old uprooted cottonwood.
State dinosaur: White-haired hippie.
State fish: Submerged beer can.
State pet: The barking yard dog.
"A good arrangement in Northern New Mexico is if your neighbor doesn't shoot your dog."
-Art critic, Dave Hickey

Things New Mexicans can cook: posole, green chile stew
Things New Mexicans cannot cook: Barbecue, cole slaw and beans.

Beans, we say, BEANS! Most restaurants have become lazy and use the canned variety.

Beans are to be soaked overnight, then cooked for at least two hours with onion, garlic, a bay leaf and a smoked pork hock or some salt pork or bacon. The addition of a cup of a good cajun roux per two cups of beans adds even more character. For those too lazy too fix a roux, a couple of tablespoons of white flour or masa flour can add a little texture.

Beans! Get off your butt and give them the preparation they deserve.