sidekickharrysez

Al Gore; Internet Pioneer makes good in Hollywood

2007-02-28T07:33:00.000-08:00

What has Al Gore been doing since inventing the Internet? He has invaded Hollywood in an attempt to jump-start his political comeback that’s what. Some say he has been busy inventing global warming in the process.

Many say the science presented in Al Gore’s documentary is flawed. It probably is. The strange little man with the wild eyes (eerily gleeful, actually, on the topic of hydrocarbon levels in Greenland) who appears everywhere this topic is discussed, waving his arms and gesticulating, if I’m not mistaken, is the same strange little man who was gleefully pronouncing global cooling as a major threat not too many years ago. Leave it to Al Gore to trot this character (I think the strange little man is slightly mad) out to further his political aspirations.

But a brief look at Al Gore’s career may be in order. He served in Congress from 1977 until 1993. He then was Vice-President for eight years. I assume through all that time, global warming was either not on the radar screen of politicos, or Al was preoccupied with inventing the Internet.

Now lets see…wasn’t the Mideast oil embargo in 1973? Weren’t long lines at the gas pump, gas rationing, and concern over our dependence on foreign oil major issues before Al entered the Congress, or the Clinton Administration? They were. And what did Al, or anyone else in Washington do about it for all those years. Simply put, nothing. Couldn’t Al have launched a hue and cry for energy independence and alternative fuels through all those years at the public trough? You bet he could have, but he didn’t. Nor did anyone else in Washington.

I remember well in 1961 when President Kennedy called for a national effort to put a man on the moon before the end of the decade of the 60’s. And I remember with pride how in 1969 the Kennedy vision became reality. I remember thinking how our country, if properly led, could accomplish anything. Then in 1973, I waited for the President (the President of Watergate fame), or his successor(s) to sound a similar clarion call for energy independence and alternative fuels development. All it took was leadership and this country would have answered the call with willing hearts and minds. The leadership never came. Not from Al Gore, nor from anyone else.
This current call from Al to deal with this global crisis will also go unheeded in Washington until every drop of Mideast oil has been exploited. And then it won't matter how many caribou, polar bears, walruses, or shrimp colonies in the Gulf at impacted. We will rape and pillage the rest of the natural world that we control with as much wild-eyed glee as the strange little man who follows Al Gore around today. The strategy is painfully obvious.

It doesn't matter how many US soldiers have to die defending Mideast oil until every last penny of profit has been wrung from the current supply chain. Or as President Bush recently said, "sometimes money trumps politics."

Reviews of "Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three"

2007-02-26T09:03:00.000-08:00

I received the following review of my book "Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three" from Mike Ratliff. Thanks to Mike for reviewing my book and offering such wonderful insights:

When I was in High School in the late 1960’s Joseph Heller’s book Catch-22 seemed to be everywhere. I loved the black comedic humor found in his book as well as in Stanley Kubrick’s movies such as Doctor Strangelove. Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse 5 ranked right up there with them. I have yearned for some contemporary author to take up the reigns of this wonderfully entertaining medium. When I agreed to review Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three by Dallas Wilkinson, I had no idea that the author would take me on a ride that rivaled those I loved from Heller and Vonnegut. As I read this wonderful book, I contemplated on how to put into words what I was experiencing. As I finished it, my first words were, “What a ride!”

Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three consists of a multi-layered, dynamic plot revolving around the main character, Harry Bennett. Harry isn’t particularly religious, but he gains the nickname, Sidekick Harry, because he gives God all the credit for his stock picking acumen. As the star employee of a large investment firm, LBJ, his skill at picking winners makes the company the industry leader. However, the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001 and his wife’s mugging cause Harry to succumb to a nervous breakdown. The chapters dealing with his hospitalization, the hallucinations from the drugs they put him on, and the flashbacks to his and his family’s past are highly entertaining. I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

The supporting cast of characters is priceless. Wilkinson’s chapters containing the meetings of the Great Minds (the group of people attempting to create a one-world government) are masterful combinations of horror and hilarity. Even though I was reminded of Heller and Vonnegut as I read, Wilkinson has created his own unique writing style. The interplay during these meetings shows how the Great Minds are very small and silly people who have huge egos but are painfully childish in their emotional development.

Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three presents a world as seen from the viewpoint of a man who listens to God and learns to walk by faith. He sees the extreme left and extreme right political groups as bizarre puppets of the Great Minds. In an attempt to create their one world government, they plot to destroy the monetary system of the United States by pumping counterfeit money into the economy. About the same time, Harry is duped by the Great Minds to run for president. They infiltrate his political campaign with a woman whose grandfather was killed by Harry’s father. She wants to destroy him. They set up the political campaign to destroy and discredit Harry. The hilarity that results from his political campaign with no money is priceless.

I believe Dallas Wilkinson is destined to become a truly remarkable author. Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three was both entertaining and thought provoking with its very precise and relevant social commentary. The author who can create a story that combines wonderful humor and a call for social reform is bound for greatness. I believe Dallas Wilkinson has shown in this book that he is the one.

Mike Ratliff

Author – Walking the Walk by Faith

Our "booming" economy...Oh really!

2006-06-09T15:48:00.000-07:00

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.’s first novel (1952) entitled “Player Piano” envisioned a world where automation had entirely replaced factory workers. Vonnegut’s world consisted of a very small wealthy elite class; an equally small and elite (5 Ph.D.’s were minimum requirements) technical expert class; and everyone else in a permanently obsolete worker class.

In Vonnegut’s view, the worker class was content with a monthly government stipend, with being housed in government-provided “cookie-cutter” houses, and with finding enjoyment in the mundane entertainments of a purposeless existence.

I first read “Player Piano” thirty years ago and at that time I didn’t believe American workers were docile enough to go willingly into the black night of permanent obsolescence. Today, I’m not so sure. My big question is whether they are going docilely, or being pushed.

According to the Economic Policy Institute (EPI, “The state of jobs and wages” by Lee Price and Jared Bernstein, 2006), real income for working class people fell last year (2005) by 1 to 2 percent. They further state that the “unprecedented 26-month decline in jobs followed by sluggish job growth ever since has caused many people to simply withdraw from the labor force.” Yet government spokesmen and stock market analysts tout our current economy as “booming” with high profit growth and low unemployment.

Yet, according to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, some 15.3 million Americans are under-employed. All of this at a time when good US jobs are being exported via outsourcing and the de-industrialization of America. The economy is strong for those who have money invested in the stock market. For less advantaged Americans, it is deplorable.

Here in heartland America, just a few examples from my circle of friends bear witness to this fact:

· Elaine; 51-years-old, 20+-year employment as a pharmacy technician earning over $10/hour; unemployed due to outsourcing and now working part-time for $7/hour at a retail store.
· Monica; age 46, 20+year employment in the insurance industry earning over $10/hour; unemployed due to downsizing and now working two part-time jobs at just above minimum wage. She’s a single mother of two teen-agers.
· Joanne; age 55, 20+-year history in social work; currently unemployed due to cutbacks in her local school district and finding only part-time work opportunities at very minimal pay.
· Ana; 46, 20+-year history as a translator and manager; currently unemployed due to outsourcing. She is a single mother with a ten-year-old daughter.

Is it really true that our economy needs the flood of illegal aliens continually pouring into this country? Are they merely pawns in a much larger game? The game of lower wages for working-class Americans is the one being played…especially if they are both middle-class and middle-aged.

God's Plan

2006-04-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

God had a different plan. The world’s plan was for Pam to have an abortion. The plan thought best by the caring staff at CPC was adoption. But God had a different plan.

A victim of early childhood abuse in her biological family…adopted by Christian parents as a result…adoption seemed a perfectly reasonable and loving plan for Pam’s own unplanned pregnancy. That’s what Pam’s adoptive mother thought was best. But God had a different plan.

The lingering trauma of childhood abuse was not the only dilemma facing Pam. This trauma resulted in Pam being emotionally immature for her years. Her housing arrangements did not allow children. She would be homeless if she brought this baby into the world and did not choose adoption. The relationship which produced this baby was irreparably broken with no hope of support for the baby or mother likely. Also, Pam was bi-polar. The rapid cycling between elation and depression was controlled with psychiatric “medicine” but these drugs could not be taken during pregnancy. Pam would have to face the normal fears of an expectant mother without these medications. And Pam’s system would need time to cleanse itself of these medicines. Pam was carrying her unborn child during this cleansing period and the doctors warned of possible birth defects as a result.

Donna was assigned as Pam’s “mommy mentor”. Donna’s only qualifications for this assignment were that she too had been adopted as a child, that she too was a mother, and that she was a Christian. At their initial meeting, Pam’s desire to keep this baby and to raise it herself was stated without hesitation. That unquenchable desire to be a “mommy” was all that equipped her for the road ahead. Donna was overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation. She prayed that God would “make a way where there was no way” and help her and Pam through what promised to be a very trying time.

Weeks passed. Donna and Pam spent long hours viewing instructional videos, talking about the day-to-day trials as well as the unspeakable joys of motherhood, spending time in prayer…and becoming close friends. Donna was introduced to Pam’s immediate family, participated in Pam’s baby shower, and was with Pam on the day of her delivery. Their only plan was to trust in the Lord with the simple faith of a child.

Today, Pam and Malachi are doing wonderfully well. Pam attends church regularly and is thrilled with motherhood. Malachi is calm, peaceful, healthy and happy. There will be trials. There will be hardship. There will also be the undying mother’s love for her child. And…that…was God’s plan.

How often do we allow inconvenience, embarrassment, economics, pride, or even political gain to thwart God’s plan? How often does that God-given desire in a woman to give life to that which is in her body, fall by the wayside, a victim to human judgment and frailty? How many wandering souls must appear at Heaven’s Gate to be loved, accepted and wanted only by Him; the One who knew them first in their mother’s womb?

2006-03-21T15:17:00.000-08:00

So…you want to write a novel? Or more specifically, you want to get a novel published? Or, even more specifically, you want someone to actually read your novel? If you write and no one reads, isn’t that akin to the proverbial tree falling in the forest where no one hears its crash? But writing is only part of the journey. You have to get published to be heard. And here, as my late father used to say with equal parts backwoods humor and rural wisdom, is “where the cheese gets bindin’.”

Urban myth has it that you merely write a manuscript, carefully prepare your manuscript for a publisher’s review, find a publisher (or even more idealistically, an agent), have loads of help from that publisher in the editing and promotion of your future best-seller, then reap the rewards of fame and fortune once your book is on the shelves at Borders, Waldenbooks, and the like. That myth apparently lurks in the minds of a large majority of people who discover that I have a book published. I believe that the majority of people have the notion that they “always wanted to write a book” and that they can not only do so, but apparently believe the world is anxiously awaiting the arrival of said book. It’s a nice myth. You merely put pen to paper and…presto…fame and fortune await.

But unless you are already established like John Grisham, Tom Clancy, Stephen King, or J.K. Rowling, your writing and publishing experience will likely be much different. True, lightning does strike, lotteries are won, unknown rich uncles do leave distant relatives in their wills, and an occasional publishing phenomenon like “The Celestine Prophecy” or “Harry Potter” does occur. As an aspiring and yet unknown author, you have approximately the same chances of experiencing any of these eventualities. As long as you realize this, then by all means, write to your hearts content. Perhaps my experience in the publishing maelstrom may prove of some value in preparing you for what to expect on the second half of that journey…getting published!

I began writing my first novel almost as a hobby. I was a full-time Information Technology (IT) professional and viewed myself as, at least, a part-time writer, and hopefully, soon-to-be professional writer. When I completed my first novel entitled “A Silence in Heaven”, I was quite proud of my accomplishment. I then entered into my true part-time avocation…that of a professional manuscript submitter, or perhaps more accurately, a submissions junkie.

In this capacity, my duties included (but certainly not limited to) becoming a word processing whiz (the better to respond to the myriad publisher demands for specific formatting of submissions)…becoming expert on the intricacies of mailing bulky manuscripts…and developing relationships with local printers which verged on intimacy, the better to secure decent rates on the volume of printing required to support my submissions habit.

Years passed and I showed steady progress on my submission skills. I went from frequent non-response to my submissions, to form letters with the REJECTED box checked, to nice, encouraging hand-written rejections from editors and agents. This provided an endless stream of “fixes” for my habit. The pinnacle of my success as a professional manuscript submitter came when my unsolicited manuscript passed the initial screen and was elevated to FULL-READ status with an exclusive publishing house, before receiving the anticipated REJECTED notification via e-mail four months later. I was thrilled.

Not only had I achieved a lofty plateau in my submissions career, FULL-READ status, I had done it all electronically. Electronic submissions were unheard of in the publishing industry when I innocently entered into my chosen profession of manuscript submitter. This rejection opened up bold new vistas for my aspirations. All I had to do was find publishers who accepted electronic manuscripts and I could achieve even greater heights of submission/rejection success and feed my habit in a much more cost-effective manner.

Then a life-threatening illness nearly cut short my submissions career. The doctors thought it was due to a diet too high in fat or the fast-paced high-stress thirty years I had spent working in the IT profession. Both contributed to my severe heart-disease. But I knew the truth. It was my submissions habit that nearly forced me to premature extinction. The sleepless nights preparing manuscripts, the financial burden of submitting them, and the anxious months of waiting for the emotional release of my REJECTED notices…these were the things that were killing me softly.

I had to do something. I had to break this vile habit. In near desperation, I turned to Publish America (PA). I had no “rose-colored” glasses in considering PA. I had researched them. From what I gleaned off the Internet, I considered them basically a vanity publisher with a twist. They didn’t charge for their services. What I found with them was quite different.
I found a wealth of resources on all aspects of publishing. I found a helpful staff of people all motivated to help me as an author. I found a strong and supportive community of authors. My book is as well covered as I would expect any trade-paperback to be from any publisher and all of this cost me…not one penny!

More importantly, I found a company single-handedly attempting to revolutionize a tightly-controlled, elitist industry…one that is badly in need of re-engineering. In my IT career, I had been on both the receiving and the giving end of many industry revolutions and could recognize one right away. Much of the negativity which abounds on the Internet concerning PA is a direct result of PA’s progress in that very revolution. PA has done the hard part in this revolution. They have suffered the “slings and arrows” from the vested interests who are feeling the heat of their presence. It is up to the PA authors to take things from here through to a true Internet based re-engineering of the publishing industry. And there are enough of us to truly make the sting of our presence felt in the marketplace.

Subsidy and vanity presses are taking a beating. Why would anyone use them when PA will provide the same services at zero cost and with no less a burden on self-promotion by the authors? For that matter, why would you ever bother to submit to a “traditional” publisher when as an unknown author you’re going to receive roughly the same support from PA as you would from Random House?

So if you need to break a life-threatening submissions habit…if you are not afraid of participating in a little revolution…or if you just appreciate a good American underdog story…then discount much of what you’ve read and strongly consider joining the PA army of authors. We are legion, we have good products, and we are making in-roads into the last bastion of resistance…the book distribution and retail outlets.

2006-03-21T11:24:00.000-08:00

The answers to the age-old question, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” made the Internet rounds last election. The first Bush and Kerry answers were from that e-blast. The rest are mine.

George W. Bush - “The chicken crossed the road because he realized he was either with us or against us and wanted to be on our side.”

John Kerry – “I originally supported the chicken crossing the road, but once he crossed I realized he had made a grave error.”

Pat Buchanan – “Look…it doesn’t matter why the chicken crossed the road…we’ve got to deal with the fact that he HAS crossed the road.”

Pat Robertson – “The chicken crossed the road in repentance for allowing his eggs to be scrambled into omelet’s all those years. He is now a decidedly Pro-Life chicken.”

John Kerry (again) – “Let me clarify…I originally supported the idea of the chicken crossing the road but then realized he had made a grave error. I now know that while the original intent for crossing the road was good, and that is why I supported the notion, there are many gray areas…..(more from him later).

Ted Kennedy – “Ossifer, the chicken (hiccup) crossed the ro-oooaad (hiccup) to get to the o-o-ther (hiccup) si-i-i-i-de.”

Hillary Clinton – “There’s no proof the chicken crossed the road. I believe she stayed right in the middle-of-the-road and she’s not budging.”

Ross Perot – “My charts clearly indicate he could buy a new hen-house for every chicken in Arkansas by crossing the road.”

Dick Cheney – “The chicken crossed the road to receive a no-bid contract on behalf of Halliburton.”

John Kerry (again) – “I’ll explain further. I originally supported the idea of the chicken crossing the road but that was when I thought there would be a whole flock of chickens crossing the road with him. A chicken should never cross the road by itself. And that is why I no longer support the idea of the chicken ever having crossed the road….(ahem).

2006-03-21T09:56:00.001-08:00

I write limericks when the mood strikes me. These are inspired by political news of October 2005. I warm up with Teddy, Hillary, and Kerry while, though the topics may be as stale as their politics, I consider them always limerick-friendly.

Once was a lad named Teddy
Who drove in a way most unsteady
Off the bridge he did go
And his actions did show
Her life wasn’t worth one Kopeckne

Once was a lass named Hillary
Whose husband escaped the pillary
For the White House she longs
She thinks she belongs
And says so in a manner most shrill-ery

Once was a lad named Kerry
Whose dreams are really quite scary
He used and abused
His cause just a ruse
The vets they dislike him very

Once was a lad named Rove
To out an agent he strove
But alas poor Libby
Told a whopping big fibbie
And crazy the White House he drove

Once was a lad named Earle
Who decided Tom’s toes he would curl
“For crimes all must pay.”
Most especially Delay
So the law he did twist and did twirl

Once was a lad named Rather
Who loved to dither and dather
Undaunted by facts
He continued attacks
Til to pasture his wool he doth gather

Once was a lass named Plame
Her only agenda to blame
Her husband, the lefty
His task was too hefty
To follow the yellowcake road

Once was a lad named Frist
For insiders he gave a new twist
“I knew nothing” he claims
Of the upcoming gains
“I blindly trust” is the gist

2006-03-08T13:45:00.000-08:00

An open letter to Steven Wohlberg, author "End Times Delusions:

I recently read your book “End Times Delusions” and enjoyed it immensely. I have strongly believed (for the past fifteen years) that the Pre-Tribulation Rapture teaching is a false doctrine. The insights I gained from your book have further strengthened my beliefs. Thank you.

However, there is one aspect of your book which I believe is in and of itself an end-times delusion. You stated, “Many believed the infamous Y2k computer glitch would spark a global economic meltdown as the world’s clocks ticked over to 2000 A.D., yet January 1 arrived with hardly a hiccup.” Perhaps some background information on Y2k would be helpful to you.

I am a now retired, thirty year Information Technology (IT) professional. In 1995, I was Director of IT for a multi-national pharmaceutical and chemical company. That year (1995), IBM announced it would not provide an operating system “fix” to the Y2k dilemma. That same year, IBM further announced they were placing a new emphasis on “consulting” services as a revenue source. “Consulting services” are a euphemism for fixing their technical glitches for a fee rather than as an included part of their operating system maintenance agreements. “Fixes” to all such glitches had been included in the fees paid for maintenance agreements historically. Though we howled loudly about this to IBM it was of no avail. They were adamant. Obviously, they had a strong profit motive. It is important to point out that by the year 2000, IBM’s revenues from “consulting services” had grown from about 5% in 1995 to over 25%. A huge profit was obviously foreseen. Y2k was the cleverest bit of “planned product obsolescence” and “engineered profits” ever forced upon the world.

This left “application developers” such as myself (Those who use IBM’s technology to develop transaction processing systems for government and industry) with a huge problem. We were facing an approaching storm of monumental, world-wide proportion all alone. And worse, we were the ones whom everyone would blame if we couldn’t pull off a solution. Our response was to “scare the pants” off everyone so we could get the priority and the funding to fix this problem on our own. We obviously succeeded. But if we hadn’t, it would have been millennial midnight for certain. And it was all necessitated because IBM wanted to make a lot of money from a flaw in their operating system..

The “hardly a hiccup” mindset related to Y2k is a dangerous end-times delusion. The technologists themselves will never again be able to martial the resources to respond to an impending world-wide technical crisis, such as the “mark of the beast”, because everyone will think back to Y2k and say that we’re “crying wolf”…again.

The end-times delusion of Y2k is not one of “actuality”…but one of “motive”. And whose motives do you think were being served?

Dallas Wilkinson
Author – “Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three”; www.sidekickharry.com

The solution!

2006-01-25T10:26:00.000-08:00

This will be my last post on the riddle of 3’s in my life. Not because I’m tired of the subject. But you may be.

I have three close male family members who died in motor vehicle crashes. My Uncles Percy Shaw and Johnny Wilkinson. And my brother-in-law Sonny McKenney.

I have three daughters.

I have three family members who are pastors. Uncle Paul Lynn, and cousins Clyde Shaw and Terry Turner.

At a point in time, that’s how I perceive the numeric symbolism of the power and presence of an Almighty God in my life.

I wish I still had the math skills to build a matrix of all these three’s and use ‘simplex linear programming’ technique to solve for the identity matrix, or optimum solution. My objective constraints would be; (a) = Optimum love; (b) = Optimum forgiveness; (c) = Optimum acceptance.

But I realize a very powerful computer would be needed because where my life matrix ends another’s begins…and where there are gaps in the pattern in my matrix…someone else’s picks up…and on and on throughout human recorded history all the way back to Adam and Eve.

I don’t have to do the math. I know the Optimum Solution. I know the identity matrix solution. I know the architect of my life and the author of my destiny i-s-s-s-s…(drumroll please)…God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.

I accept this with the ‘simple faith of a child’. A child who once accepted it that way, then got educated and began questioning, then laid all those burdens down and came back to Christ with the ‘simple’ faith of a lifelong pursuit of understanding. All the collected human intelligence down through the ages, everyone from Einstein to Hawking, and all in between and before and since, cannot even begin to comprehend the Majesty of God. “For a fool in his heart hath said, there is no God.” Well… my mama didn’t raise no fools, and she suffers none either.

More Three stuff

2006-01-18T12:02:00.000-08:00

In 1954 my two sisters, mother, and I were riding with my Uncle John Shaw and his wife Margie to visit another uncle. I was four years old. Margie was ‘heavy with child’. It was night. We were trying to make a left turn off the highway onto the road which led to my uncle’s house. We were rear-ended by a speeding car.

I was thrown from the wreck upon impact. My Uncle John found me but I wasn’t breathing. He stood me up but I slumped to the ground, still lifeless. He stood me up again, and I fell to the ground again. The third time he stood me up, my breath came to me in a rush. He then hurried to get everyone else out of the car, which by now, was engulfed in flames.

My mother received severe burns on her legs, but my month-old sister, Carla was unhurt. My older sister, Betty Ann, was trapped beneath the back seat, but he got her out. Later, we discovered she had a broken collar-bone but was otherwise okay.

Aunt Margie, and her unborn child, perished the next day from the severity of her burns. My Uncle John received severe burns to his face (especially his ears), arms and hands. He and my mother carried their scars for many years.

The drunk driver who rear-ended us was unhurt. He walked away from the crash. Four adults and four children involved in a crash. Three adults survived, one perished. Three children survived, one perished. It has a certain symmetry I suppose.

I don’t know if Uncle John ever received any medals during his Army career, but to my mind, he deserves one for that night. He certainly earned one, at the cost of a wife and child. He certainly earned one.

Three years later, in 1957, my parents, two sisters and I went on a family vacation to visit friends at a mission post on an Indian reservation outside Ponca City, Oklahoma. It was our first family vacation. We were all very excited.

I was fresh off a critically acclaimed (primarily, my mother) performance as the Little Bear in my school’s spring production of “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”. That’s probably why she had me sing at the service in the little mission church. I’m sure I sang that song with all the gusto my seven-year-old body could muster, though I’m not sure how much comprehension of the lyric I truly possessed. The song was “The Old Rugged Cross”. I still remember most of the words. But today they have much more meaning.

On a hill far away (Is it really so far?)
Stood an Old Rugged Cross (It still stands for me…all three of those crosses)
The emblem of suffering and shame (My shame…His suffering)
Still I love that old Cross (More dearly…More clearly…every day!)
Where the dearest and best (Poetic…but doesn’t do Him justice)
For a world of lost sinners was slain (But I take it personally!)
So I’ll cherish the Old Rugged Cross (with every fiber of my being)
Til my trophies at last I lay down (however great or small they may be)
I will cling to the Old Rugged Cross (with every breath I take)
And exchange it some day for a crown (a used-up body for a new one…
Topped with a shiny new crown….priceless!)

The Walk

2006-01-16T18:57:00.000-08:00

Last night, my friend Elaine and I were driving back from a weekend visit with my kids and their families in Iowa. About a mile from my house, two deer bolted in front of my car and we struck and killed them both. My first thought, after reporting the accident, was to get on my knees and give thanks to the Lord for keeping us from harm. My old chevy is beyond repair, but we were both unhurt and I still have my old pick-up truck, so I’m not totally afoot.

This morning, in the brilliant sunlight, I could see just how miraculous our deliverance indeed was. The snub-nose and aerodynamic design of Elaine’s Honda would have brought at least one of those deer straight through its windshield. Had that happened, I doubt either of us would have survived, and we definitely wouldn’t have walked away from the accident.

I had just had a lot of mechanical work done on my old chevy and was proud of the way it looked and drove. I wanted to drive it to Iowa, rather than taking the Honda even though it has more amenities and gets much better gas mileage. I wanted to show it off to my kids. I was very proud of it, and now it’s a total financial loss. Its only value was sentimental, and that was far greater than the dollars spent to renew it.

A week ago, I would have still gotten down on my knees and given thanks to God for our deliverance. But I would have grieved my loss. The financial loss is a severe one to my fragile purse, but the sentimental one is far greater. That old chevy was the last new car my Dad bought before he went to be with the Lord.

A week ago, I would have asked, “Why me Lord?” You see, ten years ago I quit my job of many years and ‘stepped out in faith’, armed only with a small savings account and my faith in God. I had survived a years-long struggle with mental illness and flourished in my career despite this major problem. God brought me through that. I thought I was tempered steel and could withstand any amount of trial and tribulation. I was ready to do something for the Lord. Something to which I knew He would lead me. Something which didn’t require psychotropic drugs, which were a condition of my continued employment. I didn’t realize what trial and tribulation was. I wasn’t tempered steel. I was only a Baby-Christian, still with much to learn.

Since I stepped out in faith, my life has been one calamity after another. Financial, career, and health. My struggle with mental illness has been replaced by a struggle with a severe, inoperable heart condition. A week ago, after this accident, I would have sunk a little further into depression, a little further into wondering when would I be delivered, when would I find whatever He is leading me to? I was beginning to feel like Job. That was a week ago.

Today, I realize the Lord is just pruning me. I marvel at the lives of my children. They are blossoming in every way. They are living their lives and fulfilling their dreams, and this was never clearer to me than this weekend. And I marvel at even this latest calamity to befall their old Dad. And I thank the Lord for yet one more object lesson of His mighty grace.

You see, last week I began reading “Walk the Walk by Faith”, a wonderful new book by Mike Ratliff. And I understand these things a little better today, thanks to this “spirit inspired” book.

So, though my body may be as dented and dinged, as bruised and battered as my old Chevy. I’m not living on “borrowed time”, the way the doctors suggest. I’m living on Purchased Time. Blood-bought time given me by my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and through my acceptance of His “Yoke”. And doctors, there’s nothing wrong with my heart. It’s solid gold. Made perfect by His sacrifice. For my burden truly has been light.

Unions

2006-01-04T19:10:00.000-08:00

Today 12 miners were found dead after a mining accident. A relative of one victim told newsmen that the mine was a non-union operation and he was sure there were corners cut in the safety arena as a result. That wouldn't surprise me at all.

I was reminded of a "financial guru" that I heard pontificating on a news show just a couple of weeks ago who said unions were dead. She was pretty and looked far too young to be expert at much of anything. Her main contention was that with all the high wages, health benefits, and associated costs of labor brought about by labor unions, American labor could no longer compete with foreign labor and manufacturing jobs go overseas as a result.

I originally thought her an idiot. Now, I just think of her as naive, self-absorbed, ambitious and the perfect example of why we still need labor unions in this country. So many money types think only of dollars and cents. I guess it has never occurred to Little Miss Pretty Pundit, that perhaps the labor movement should go worldwide. Then there'd be no slave wages in India, China, Latin America. And no advantage to sending manufacturing jobs there.

Yes, I grew up in a union household. But I spent thirty years working in management. So I know both worlds well.

My Dad was laid off from his factory (union) job when I was in the sixth grade. To survive during the layoff, he went to work for a local farmer running a corn picker. The machine got clogged, he tried to free the mechanism but his glove got caught. He was alone in the field. Before he could free his hand nearly an hour later, the corn picker had mangled it severely. He drove himself ten miles to the nearest hospital, but three of his fingers couldn't be saved. Gangrene set in and they had to be removed. He fought infection and bone chips for over a year after this accident. The pain was incredible and always there during that period of recovery.

But due to the union rules of seniority, he was called back to his factory job well before the healing was done. He had to be cleared by the company doctor before he could return to work.
The doctor was skeptical that my Dad could do his old job with three fingers missing on his right hand. During the examination, he pressed my Dad's throbbing hand onto a sheet of paper and traced its outline. The pain must have been excruciating. The doctor thought my Dad would flinch, cry out in pain, yell for him to stop. He didn't know Curt Wilkinson. Dad sat there and never moved a muscle. He waited until he was back in the parking lot, with his work release in hand, before vomiting and nearly passing out from the pain.

Dad worked another twenty years at that factory. But if not for the union, and their support of him, he would have never returned from that injury, and my childhood would have been much more spartan than it otherwise was.

Dad was a union steward most of the remainder of his working life. I often heard him say that it takes labor, management, and the government, all with equal power to keep the stability of a factory, or a nation.

I also often heard him say..."It ain't the size of the dog in the fight that matters...it's the size of the fight in the dog." No...Little Miss Pretty Pundit...unions are here to stay!

...and yet more!

2006-01-03T21:51:00.000-08:00

Ana mailed me to point out that her brother's passing was the third in her family during 2005 (Coco, a niece, and an aunt). Which of course got me thinking...

I've had three friends who drank themselves to death, Greg, Charlie, and Johnny. All died in their forties.
I've had three friends who committed suicide, Kenny, Stan, and Larry...all used shotguns.
My first programming job was on an IBM System/3.
Stan (one of the suicides) hired me on my second programming job because of my skills with RPG III (3).
Larry (one of the suicides) was my boss on my third job. I joined a team of three developers. We developed distributed systems on the IBM System/3X platform.
Larry got promoted and I took over leading the three-person team. I was the third leader in that team's existence. Howard first, then Larry, then me.
The last software system I developed was named the M3 (by some marketing types, not I). It was the de facto industry standard "software of choice" for addiction treatment clinics after the EU, Republic of Ireland, and New York State selected it for use in all clinics.

Jerry Fry chose his own phone number. He wanted one that was easy to remember. I won't publish that number but by adding 2 to one number in the prefix, then adding two numbers in the last four, then dividing all by 2 (the third operation)...you get 333333-333333.

I'm not exactly sure on this one but...I think Jerry got that number almost exactly 3 decades ago.

We've gone to the birds!

2005-12-29T10:06:00.000-08:00

We have two birds. A cockatoo named Bailey, and a quaker parrot named Lucky, a.k.a. "Little Buddy." I sometimes feel we should hang a sign saying, "This house is operated solely for the convenience of Bailey and Lucky."
Bailey is loud, looney, and lovable. His antics are a guaranteed daily chuckle. Lucky is content to observe the goings-on and offer commentary, criticism, commands, and even limited conversation from his lofty perch (eg. he says 'you're welcome', to which you respond 'thank you'...he'll get it straightened out some day). Our morning routine consists of feeding the birds, cleaning the cages and allowing the birds a couple of hours of free time outside of their cages, or as I'm sure they often think of it...their jail!

It was a dull, dreary day today. They slept extra long as a result. It was nearly ten o'clock before they began demanding breakfast. Bailey hadn't been out five minutes until he started attacking his free-standing perch as if he were a miniature Paul Bunyan and the perch a giant redwood which needed to be felled. He was chased away repeatedly, until Elaine had enough, and put him in jail. Lucky made it a couple of minutes longer until he chomped down on Elaine's chin when she thought he was going to cuddle. That did it for him. I think he will receive an extra long sentence for that one.

Elaine's leaving shortly to visit friends, and I'll retreat to my room soon thereafter. Bailey and Lucky can ponder the absence of their two hand-servants from jail...and reflect. Maybe tomorrow will be a brighter day.

More oddities

2005-12-28T10:26:00.000-08:00

Please see my previous post entitled Odd.

More oddities have struck me...

Jerry passed away three years to the day after his own father passed away.
Jerry passed away three hours before my granddaughter's birth.
Jerry passed away in the third month of the year.
Jerry was survived by three members of his immediate family...a wife and two children.
Jerry was survived by a mother and two siblings.
I came up with the title for a book I would write "someday" in 1971. I began writing that book three decades later in 2001. The book was accepted for publication by the third publisher submitted.
In 1971 my religious beliefs were, at best, agnostic. I came back to a belief in Christ thanks largely to another friend, Gary Edwards, who himself passed away three years before I began writing my book.
The book is about one man's journey of faith. It is entitled "Sidekick Harry and the Remarkable Three."

Odd

2005-12-26T19:14:00.000-08:00

I learned today that my ex-wife's sole surviving brother (three other brothers preceded him in death) passed away Christmas morning. How odd a feeling that must be for Ana and my daughter Casey, and for Ana's mother, the three remaining members of the family. A day of joy and expectation being tarnished with the loss of a loved one. It's a peculiar feeling. One I have come to know well this year.

On a cool spring day this year I learned that my first grandbaby had been born. What joy! Later that same day I learned that my lifelong best friend from first grade onward, Jerry Fry, had passed away. What sorrow!

Earlier that same week, I had received the first printed copy of my first published book (my third significant event that week). In reviewing the 'author copy' prior to the book's release, I noticed an oddity. One which I hadn't planned in the writing of the story. Nor one which I had any conscious awareness of until that day. All of the characters in the story were grouped in three's. Three central women, three war veterans, etc. Even the symbols in key parts of the story were grouped in three's (a concrete cow, a bent trumpet, and a school desk from the fifties). For some reason, I interpreted this as symbolic of the power and presence of God in our lives. I told my daughter about this and she said it demonstrates the need to listen to our 'inner voice' in writing. She was absolutely right. She teaches writing to some lucky high school students.

Later this same year, another friend from high school, Ron Snyder, passed away. He, Jerry, and I published an underground newspaper in high school under the pseudonym Eugene Albert Hal, our three middle names. That means that only Eugene is left now.

But Eugene faces the future assured of the power and presence of an Almighty God in his life. For He hath already told me so.

Home

2005-12-25T08:31:00.000-08:00

At Christmas, more than any other time of year we are overwhelmed with thoughts of home and warmth...of people and places, some lost to us, some only shrouded in the mists of ever more distant memory...yet a time when here and now...love, friendship, and warmth are clear and distinct as a brightly burning beacon. More than any other time of year, Christmas crystallizes our emotions into one distinct and unique feeling. That blend of love, anticipation, expectation, joy and, especially as we grow older, poignancy that is Christmas.

My favorite Christmas memory is of coming home to spend Christmas with my family my first year in the military. It was 1969. I was a 19 year old country boy. Never away from home for more than a few days until that year. Never on a plane until Ft. Wood was full and a jet took me far away to Ft. Ord, Ca. for basic training. Coming home, and Christmas, had never before meant as much to me as in 1969. And my heart had never felt as heavy as when I had to leave and return to Ft. Gordon and an uncertain future the first day of 1970.

And this Christmas, my heart is heavy with thoughts of the thousands of young men and women who are away from home now serving in our military around the world. I know how they must feel. I wish they could all be home. I wish there wasn't any need for them to be in harm's way, yet I know that all of us are in harm's way without them. And my heart goes out to them and I wish them safety, and pride in the honor that they do all of us with their sacrifice.

Have a safe and Merry Christmas and lets pray...next year...Home!

Merry Christmas

2005-12-24T12:10:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas from Sidekick Harry!