NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEA 8 THE MAGICIAN: THE KILLER WHO MADE WOMEN DISAPPEAR

 

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEA 8

THE MAGICIAN:

THE KILLER WHO MADE WOMEN DISAPPEAR

 Robert Porter West compared himself to the actor Lon Chaney; with each new face he took on a new name and a new identity. What he could not change were his fingerprints.

One newspaper reporting on a possible serial killer in the Midwest labeled the killer the Chameleon because he changed his appearance and identity with each new woman who disappeared. Another news outlet called him the Actor because he played different parts. The task force hunting him called him the Magician, because he made women disappear.    

The Department of Justice’s National Missing and Unidentified Persons database reports over 600,000 persons missing each year. A quarter of a million cases involve women and girls often connected to violence by men. Even when there is evidence of foul play, a missing person case takes on less importance until there is a body.

In 2023, a fortune teller in a traveling carnival was reported missing. Investigators found evidence of foul play, but her body was not found. Two days later, a high school teacher, Robert Westport, was listed as missing by his fiancé, Ginny Hagland. According to Miss Hagland, she and Robert had their fortunes told by the missing gypsy.

Fingerprints found in the missing woman’s trailer were sent to the FBI’s National Crime Database; several matches were found in the identity theft section: Robert Porter West, Billy Bob Porter, Wes Roberts, and Bob West. Robert Westport’s name was added to the database’s identity theft list. 

Robert Porter West was fingerprinted in 2011 when his high school girlfriend, Helen Gale, disappeared. Robert was questioned and released.  

Bob West was one of two students attending Western Michigan University who were reported missing in 2013. West worked as a student disc jockey at WMU’s radio station. Twenty-one-year-old Mariam Ingles was a senior in communications. She was a reporter on the school’s newspaper. West and Ingles disappeared on the same day. It was believed that they had run off together.  

In 2016, B.B. Porter disappeared from his job as a photographer and cub reporter with the Bloomington Star, in Bloomington, Illinois. Porter’s disappearance coincided with the disappearance of Constance Blackwell, a publicist and social media specialist working in Normal, Illinois.

Wes Roberts worked as a writer in an Indianapolis public relations firm. He disappeared in 2019, two days after a report was filed for Deana Bailey, a high school teacher who failed to show up for class.    

In photographs Robert Porter West, Bob West, B.B. Porter, Wes Roberts, and Robert Westport looked different. They had unique physical descriptions and backgrounds, with different occupations and skills. What tied them together in the database was that their fingerprints matched.

The fact that the disappearance of a woman or girl was connected to each of these men was not realized until one of Robert Porter West’s “victims” reappeared.  

NANOWRIMO STORY IDEA #7 A LIFE WITH MEANING

 

NANOWRIMO STORY IDEA #7

A LIFE WITH MEANING

Psychologists claim the elements that bring meaning to a person’s life are coherence, purpose, and a sense of worth. In the research interviews that produced these findings, happiness and love were not as significant as factors, even though people who are happy and in a lasting relationship live longer.

Alvin Networth was watching the PBS program “Nature” on the television when he came to realize his life had no meaning. At the time, Albert was sixty-six and living alone in a five-room bungalow in Detroit. Alvin and his deceased wife, Alberta, lived in the same house for thirty-nine years.

Alvin was a retired autoworker. His career at Chrysler began hoisting engines into vehicles. When that job became automated. Alvin drove a forklift. Alvin took an early retirement to care for Alberta. Alberta was the light in Alvin’s life. She was the only woman with whom he had had sex. In his mind, Berta was the only woman who loved and understood him.

Alberta’s death from cancer was both horrible and preventable. Alberta and her OBGYN missed the signs of her breast cancer. Alvin was with her when she died.

At her funeral service, the minister told Alberta’s family and friends that she was in a better place. During the service, Alvin held his head and cried from grief and the massive hangover from a night of mourning and drinking with his son Calvin.

Upon leaving the church, the minister took Alvin aside and offered, “Go with God. She is in heaven doing God's work.” To which Alvin answered, “Bullshit, father. Her body’s in the cold hard ground feeding worms.”

A year later, Calvin had died overseas in an automobile accident while serving in the Army. The letter from the Department of Defense said Calvin had died fighting to keep America safe. Alvin told all who would listen, Cal died for nothing.

 Alvin was halfway through a pint of Bushmills when he turned on “Nature.” The program was about the North American beaver. A rodent the narrator called “Nature’s Builders.” According to the program, a beaver dam provided the rodent with a secure place to breed and raise its young. The beaver’s dam or lodge is built using tree branches, vegetation, rocks and mud. Beavers chew down trees to build a dam and lodge. Beaver dams restrict water flow, forming ponds, and lodges (usually built in ponds) serve as shelters. The infrastructure created by a beaver dam in a wetland makes the beaver a keystone species because of its positive effect on others. The narrator claimed the male beaver’s life is orderly, has purpose, and matters to others in the wetland.

Alvin set his drink aside and announced, “If a fucking beaver can live a meaningful life, so can I.”

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEA # 6 STATION 3 MARS

 

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEA # 6

STATION 3 MARS

 In 2125, the population of humans on Earth reached 31 billion souls along with 3,031 scientists and colonists, men, women, children, and a few pets living on the Moon and Mars. The colonies were self-sufficient when it came to power, water, food, and air. The monthly supply ship to the moon made life tolerable for the 2,713 residents. Station 3 was a different story. They had all the life systems working, but the 318 residents still depended on the Moon’s quarterly supply ships for expanding their footprint.  

The scientists on Station 3 Mars were the first to detect a massive meteor heading toward Earth. The World Space Agency Command Center on Earth projected that the meteor would pass by the Moon. However, the safety of the Earth was in question.

WSA scientists on Earth determined the meteor’s present course would bring it close to the Earth’s North Pole but not hit the Earth. Astronomers in New Zealand and China disagreed. Their calculations had the object hitting in a barren region above Norway.  

All scientists agreed that the meteor, now called M3 was a significant threat to life on Earth. The director of the WSA and the commander of the Meteor Defense Network met in private with the US president. They assured the president that by working together, WSA and the MDN would to divert the meteor from its path and protect life on Earth.

The US President, spoke on a world feed in which she recommended that the people of the world not panic but take the precaution of stocking up on emergency supplies and where possible, identify potential shelters where they could go if the need arose. As a precaution, the WSA scheduled additional ships to send supplies to EC2 and to S3M. 

In the weeks that followed, as grocery stores’ shelves emptied and the cost of building materials for Bomb shelters skyrocketed, wealthy travelers started booking accommodations in cities above the Arctic Circle in order to have a front-row seat to view M3 as it passed closest to the Pole on December 14.

On November 27, when the Meteor Defense Systems failed to divert the meteor off its course, there wasn’t adequate time to implement a second defense, because there wasn’t another defense. Rather, weeks later when the meteor hit Earth, the majority of humans died watching their TVs.

The few who survived were below ground in shelters that were unaffected by the mile-high tsunamis that swept around the world for weeks. Months later when they emerged, they found a lifeless, barren world that would take centuries to recover, if it ever did.

Violence, starvation and suicide were the primary causes of death among the surviving humans on Earth. The fate of humanity fell to the 3031 colonists on Mars and the Moon.

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS IDEA # 5 SHOTGUN KATE NOLAN Wells Fargo Express Agent

 

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS

IDEA # 5

SHOTGUN KATE NOLAN

Wells Fargo Express Agent

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEA # 4 - THE ROMANTIC ARMS A Senior Living Facility With Benefits

 

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS

THE ROMANTIC ARMS

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS

THE ROMANTIC ARMS

A Senior Living Facility With Benefits

 Calvin Leonard’s children, Henry and Linda convinced Cal that he could no longer live on his own. With Love in their hearts and a strained bank account, they found their dad a low-rent single in a subsidized apartment for seniors on the wrong side of nowhere, on Detroit’s east side.

The Roman Arms, built in the go-go 1980s was designed for those wealthier senior Italian Americans, primarily men, living on Detroit’s eastside. In its heyday, the Knights of Columbus held monthly meetings in the Arms cafeteria. Reliving stories of the old days over a lunch of antipasti, lasagna, pizza, and wine. After, the old men played cards in the game room and talked about women and sex in a mixture of second generation Italian and a crude version of blue class Detroiter.

Over the decades, as the neighborhood lost its shine, the facility opened its arms and welcomed Poles, Iranians, and even African Americans; people who polite Detroiters (read, bigots with a conscience) called Negros or Blacks.

In 2020, when Henry and Linda deposited Calvin at the Roman Arms, the facility had lost all its luster and most of its male residents. Calvin was one of only a handful of men living among three floors of aging widows and single women with cats.

Calvin stayed in his room for the first few days, watching TV and eating cold cuts and frozen dinners. The apartment had a stove that Cal was permitted to use. His “Life Plan” paid for two meals a day along with an evening snack.  

At breakfast, from 6:30 to 9:00 the seating was open. At lunch, the residents ate in shifts and at assigned seats. Lunch was the main meal for most residents. For dinner, they could eat on their own or go out to dinner. The evening snack included a sandwich and a dessert. Residents were allowed to take a tray from lunch or a snack back to their rooms.   

Cal attended his first lunch on his third day at the Arms. At seventy, he was the youngest man at his assigned table. The men ate in silence. Two required some assistance cutting their meat. Halfway through lunch, Cal asked for a to-go tray. In the elevator, Calvin cried, imagining his life was over.

At 8:30 that evening, Calvin was a little surprised when he found himself standing in the doorway of the second-floor game room where six of the twelve men living at the Roman Arms were playing poker.

“Excuse me, it’s late,” said Cal.

            “No worries. We have the room until 10:00. You’re the new guy, ain’t ya? What’s your name?” asked the only African American in the room. “I’m Bill Jefferson.”

            “Calvin … Cal. Can I join you?” Calvin asked.

“Grab a chair, brother,” said a bald man with rosy cheeks, a massive betty, and a laughing voice. “I’m Constantine, but folks call me Connie. Welcome to the Jury. Twelve men and true. You've already met Jeff. Our fellow jurors are Sam, Jefferson, Charles, Karol with a K, and Lev. Tonight the game is poker. How’s your memory?”

“Pretty good, I guess, why?”

“On Tuesdays we play for money. Penny ante with raises limited to a nickel or dime. On Thursdays, the boys with memory issues play cards for chips. No money, it would be fair. Monday and Wednesday, the room is reserved for the ladies. Cookies, gossip, and cards. No drinking and no men allowed.”

“What about Friday and Saturday?” Cal asked.

“How’s your plumbing?” Lev asked.

“Plumbing?”

“You know your stuff.”

“I …”

“It’s okay, brother,” said an extra-large black man with short white hair, a winning smile, and two-day old stubble. “Lev tends to talk in code. He’s asking if your dick works. Can you still get it up?”

“If not, Sam there,” said Lev pointing, “has a supply of those little blue pills.”

“It’s been awhile,” said Cal. “My wife died three years ago. I haven’t…”

“All that’s going to change,” said Charles, with a grin.

“Can I ask why you call your group the Jurors?”

“Cal, when a new man moves in here, he’s sort of on trial. We are on trial.”

“There ain’t no lawyers,” said Jefferson, looking hard at Lev.

“You have to defend yourself. We are the jury,” said Connie.

“Is there a judge?” Cal asked.

“The women,” said Charles, again with an even larger grin. “Welcome to the Romantic Arms. Or as I like to say, ‘Senior Living with Benefits.’”

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS STORY IDEA # 3 STUMBLE AND FALL

 NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS

STORY IDEA # 3

STUMBLE AND FALL

The poem “Persevere” (1876) by Thomas Dunn English has this verse:

“Failed, you tell me, for all of your striving,
Failed, in spite of your utmost care,
Failed, with indolent people thriving–
Why should it breed in the mind despair?
Although your vanity may be humbled,
Your energy back to its place recall;
Your feet have tripped, you have merely stumbled.
You learn that a stumble is not a fall.”

 Avery Nankin has what most people described as the perfect life. I loving wife, three great kids, and a tenured professor position at a major university; Avery is a pleasant, attractive middle-aged man in good health, with a dog who loves him. Colleagues at his university say Avery is a go-getter, a man on the move, a rising star in his department. At church, he is thought to be a decent, principled man. 

What no one anticipated, not even Avery, was that he was about to stumble. The question to be answered is whether Avery will learn from his mistakes and recover or fall.    

NOVEMBER NOVEL MONTH STORY IDEA # 2 Returning to Dust

 NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS

STORY IDEA # 2

Returning to Dust

In the Bible, God told Adam, “… you were made from dust to dust you will return.” (Genesis 3:19)

Growing up in Utah, Marcus Killeen learned to hunt and track his prey. His father emphasized that a kill needed to be quick and clean lest the animal suffer, and the meat be tainted in death.

Working as an EMT in Park City, Marcus accepted that returning to dust is a natural part of life. He had witnessed firsthand those ready to return who welcomed death. What Marcus could not understand was why God would strike a person down before he or she was ready.

In time, Marcus came to believe it was his job to prepare those chosen to return by giving them a message: “To dust you will soon return. Prepare.” He hoped this would give them time to get their personal and business affairs in order before returning to dust.

Marcus could not explain why his messages went to so many wealthy men and women. Nor could he understand why the first three ignored his warning. When he helped them return, he discovered they were still unprepared even though his message had been clear.

His fourth message went to a wealthy widow living in Canyonland. Just to be sure, he sent her a second message. Rather than ignore his warnings to prepare, she went to the police, who assured her they would keep her safe and find the madman who wrote her letters. Unfortunately, they did neither.

Delmar Johnson, a retired congressman who had lost his reelection when his appetite for escorts and prostitutes was revealed by the press received Marcus' next message. Johnson, being a sensible man, went to the police, hired a bodyguard, and contacted the press. 

Unfortunately, Johnson’s response to a second message was to hire another bodyguard. Again, none of these precautions proved adequate. The two hired guardians were asleep when Johnson left early from his escort’s apartment and met Marcus. 

It was at this point that the Governor requested the DOJ, FBI, and Utah State Police to form a special task force to hunt down and stop the serial killer a local newspaper had labeled “The Dustman.”

NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS Story # 1 Devil’s Night

 NOVEMBER NOVEL STORY IDEAS

Story # 1

 

Devil’s Night

In 1994, Donald Ouellette died in a senseless car accident caused by a Devil’s Night prank gone bad. For Detroiters, Devil’s Night once known for pranks by neighborhood kids had changed by the 1990s to vandalism and arson committed by adults. Donald was driving home to his new bride, Madeline, when he hit a telephone pole placed across the street by teenage vandals. Losing control of his car, he hit a tree; killing him. Neighbors reported seeing older kids running from the scene of the accident; the police determined the telephone pole was left by AT&T repairmen unable to complete their job by nightfall.

In 1995, Detroit’s mayor and city officials created Angels’ Night. A program in which volunteers patrolled neighborhoods at night from October 29 to October 31. The program reduced crime and vandalism, but it didn’t bring to justice the kids whose prank killed Donald or ease the pain Madeline experienced every year on Devil’s Night.

Madeline awoke from a troubled, nightmare-filled sleep to a man’s voice telling her to wake up. Madeline sat up imagining she was still dreaming. The old man shaking her shoulder resembled what gray-haired Donald had he lived to be sixty-four, as Madeline had.

            “Come on, honey, wake up. We have to get a move on. We have to get the porch decorations out and buy candy before Beth and the kids arrive.”

            “What’s going on? Who are you?” Madeline cried.

            “It’s Ok Mad. You’re just having one of those senior moments.”

             “Who are you?” Madeline shouted.

            “Donald, your husband.” The old man took her hands and tried to calm her.  

            “You are dead. You died on Devil’s Night.”

            “You’ve had that dream again. I’ll get you some coffee and juice. You don’t want Beth to see you like this. She’s worried enough about us living in this neighborhood. I wish she weren’t coming. Not with the kids, anyway. You know how I feel about Devil’s Night.”

            Madeline did not know how this man felt about anything. For her, Devil’s Night was a nightmare, and this one was starting out to be the worst.  

Car image modified from 

https://stock.adobe.com/images/car-accident-with-Deserted-Vehicle-After-Crash%2C-Broken-Street-Light/776976651as_content=tineye_match&clickref=1110lwDHiik&mv=affiliate&mv2=pz&as_camptype=domain&as_channel=affiliate&as_source=partnerize&as_campaign=tineye

           

             

 

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MISSING PARSON - NEW BOOK BY ROGER C. LUBECK ON AMAZON

MISSING PARSON

NEW BOOK BY 

ROGER C. LUBECK

MISSING PARSON ON AMAZON

Seamus Clarke, an ex-priest turned private investigator, is hired by the Episcopal church to find a missing parson, the beautiful and enigmatic Reverend Joy Knight. The search plunges Seamus into Joy's past life as a Las Vegas showgirl, revealing a dangerous world of high-stakes gambling, blackmail, and a deadly debt owed by her brother. As Seamus follows Joy's desperate flight, he must confront criminals, his own lapsed faith, and a fatal attraction that will change him forever.

 

Roger's new book of poetry - Moments Between

MOMENTS BETWEEN on AMAZON

Roger's new book of poetry

Roger's books on Amazon

Roger C. Lubeck's books on Amazon

 

Missing Parson - a new novel

Missing Parson - a new crime novel

 Seamus Clarke, an ex-priest turned private investigator, is hired by the Episcopal church to find a missing parson, the beautiful and enigmatic Reverend Joy Knight. The search plunges Seamus into Joy's past life as a Las Vegas showgirl, revealing a dangerous world of high-stakes gambling, blackmail, and a deadly debt owed by her brother. As Seamus follows Joy's desperate flight, he must confront criminals, his own lapsed faith, and a fatal attraction that will change him forever.

PEACE NEVER HAD A CHANCE - a poem

 

PEACE NEVER HAD A CHANCE

 “The war to end all wars.”

A “lasting peace,” resulting in

Economic collapse

“Peace for our time.”

Chamberlin’s pledge

The precursor to war

 

“Korea is the place,”

Our fight to stop communism

7/27/53—stalemate

 

“America First,”

Kicked off the arms race

Mutual assured destruction

 

“Peace with Honor,” 

3/29/73 we say farewell

4/30/75 Saigon fell

 

“Axis of Evil” and “WMDs,”

Forces of Freedom - Liberating the people

Making the oil safe

 

We thought to change the world

With our slogans, money, and force of arms

Did it change, or did we?

FOOTPRINTS

 

Footprints.

 

The path we take leaves footprints that fade with time.

Heavy or light matters not.

Our actions shape how we are remembered.

When no longer seen―only felt,

Our deeds shout loudest.

Let love and caring be your remembrance,

Before it is too late.

Reading E-mail - a poem

 

Reading E-mail

 

I sort through screens of e-mails.

Deleting what I can. Scanning parts of the rest.

The header. Is it addressed to me? The number of people on the e-mail. The first line.

A compliment. An advertisement. A come-on. A problem.

 

I have taken to not reading e-mails until noon. Or later.

The rest of the day will be filled with solving small problems.

Not problems I created, but issues that a president can address.

Not fix, perhaps, at least answer.

 

I ask myself, why start the day with problems?

Instead, I start with coffee, a little Danish, and the NYT games. Puzzles I can solve.

Or, I drive into the hills to photograph wildlife and nature. Brief respites from the mundane  

In between, I might write or edit. Or paint.

 

Where to start? The page and the canvas are empty and white.      

I don’t remember the last time I read a book. Or took a walk.

Arthritis and the pain keep me from what I once was.

Or is that an excuse?

 

Like not reading e-mail.

Pages torn out of a diary - a poem

 

pages torn out of a diary

 

My memory is like pages torn out of a diary.

Pages without dates. Unnumbered.

The events are there. The people.

Only the date is missing.

Like the day I asked by girlfriend to marry me.

It was a Saturday in May. We were at a wedding.

I remember it as Derby day. May 5.

In my tuxedo, I watched the race on the bed while she dressed.

The year Secretariat won the triple crown.

Or was it May 20, and I watched the Preakness?  

How can I know?

The wedding couple are divorced.

The girl and I broke it off before it was too late.

Now, we don’t talk.

No one cares, except me.

I guess it doesn’t matter.

A partial memory is better than none.

At least, I know the year, 1973.

Wait. I forgot about Google and Ancestry.

The wedding announcement in Newspapers.com says, May 12.

Now I have the date right. The page is numbered.

However, there was no race to watch.

Have pages have become faded. The writing, in parts, ineligible.

Knowing the truth, should I continue to tell the story as remembered?

Why not, diaries are like that.  

Halls of My Memory - a poem

 

Halls of My Memory

I roam the empty rooms and dusty halls of my memory

Trying to remember a name

A brief glimpse of a face

A naked body

I long to immerse myself in my past

Relive the scents and tastes

The touching and exploring

That private moment when two are one

Passion unbridled

The joy

Even laughter and the secret conversations after

Once so vivid

So alive

Now gone

Forgotten

Lost

AT PEACE - a poem

 AT PEACE

The water is still

Gray like the sky

Mist hovers over the lake

Early anglers drift along

Osprey make the only ripples

A raven calls out

An unkindness takes to the wing  

For a short time

This is my world

Enjoying the quiet

The still silence

The sweet sounds of birds

I am at peace

TO RAMBLE a thought poem

TO RAMBLE
1.      To move about aimlessly
2.      To talk or write in a confused way
3.      To wander around in a leisurely manner
4.      To lead the life of a vagabond
 
Once I strode with certainty,
Alive with energy and joy―focused
Clear blue eyes that sparkled
Sweet, kissable lips
A compelling smile filled with humor

A voice that inspired
A word smith

In love with words, and

On hearing my own voice

Expert in movies and books
I lectured on psychology
I advised on business and life
I was a friend and lover
I felt loved
 
Now I ramble
In talk and walk
Bent over I’m prone to stumble
I see without that sparkle
My lips are dry
I frown more than I smile
I am a know-it-all, but
No one listens
 
Friends say get over it
This is what happens
Aches and pains
You are old, and
Getting older by the day

People say,
Be grateful you are alive
You have friends who care
You are loved
 
All this is true
They are right,
Yet
 
 

THE ESTATES IN THE US

THE ESTATES IN THE US

 My father proudly worked for the Fourth Estate (Press). He made us understand the importance of a free and honest press. What he didn't explain was the history. Edmond Burke identified three estates as it related to the parliament in 1771. The Lord's Spiritual (clergy), the Lord's temporal (nobles), and the commons. The press is the fourth estate. In the 1960s, some argued there is a fifth estate, the alternative press. What we now call bloggers, social media, and influencers. 

Today, the most reliable (honest /unbiased) news platforms or outlets are: Associated Press, Reuters, BBC News, The Wall Street Journal, Bloomberg, The New York Times, C-SPAN, NPR. MSNBC and Fox are further down the list because both are biased. Fox news has been the #1 rated news channel for 22 years. Fox covers the news. However, its personalities lie, promote disinformation, and peddle propaganda. In terms of the Fifth Estate, Facebook is the #1 social media platform. X is #12. Neither block lies and falsehoods.  

In the US, we redefined the estates. The courts now stand in for the Clergy. The legislative and the executive continue to act like nobles. The fourth estate exists however, the fifth estate seems to take over the role played by a free press. According to the constitution, the people are supposed to come first. "We the People..." But do they? Are they even third? 

There are 195 countries in the world. Dictators rule 59 countries. Some argue that more countries, including the US, are moving to dictatorship. 

One in which the executive is the first estate. The government reports to the executive and executes executive orders. The alternative press is the propaganda arm of the executive. Neither is a separate estate. The second estate becomes the Leading CEOs and oligarchs. The third estate, the people, have no voice or representation. Their taxes and a rubber stamp vote every four years keep the First Estate in power. There is no fourth estate. 

    

COUNTER-REVOLUTION

 COUNTER- REVOLUTION

At Woodstock in 1969, the Jefferson Airplane (starship) sang 

“Volunteers of America” telling the crowd “We got a revolution.” 

I entered college in 1968. In sixty-nine, I had a mustache. By 1972 a beard. In 1977, I got my first teaching job at Saint Cloud State University. I had been teaching college classes at WMU and USU since 1972. I was an instructor at USU. At Saint Cloud I was an Assistant Professor. Until St. Cloud, I had not cut my hair or beard.

I cut my hair and trimmed my beard for the interview in St. Cloud. When friends asked me why I cut my hair. My glib answer was “We Lost the Revolution.” Of course, being clean cut and wearing a suit helped me get that first teaching job.  

I don’t regret cutting my hair, and I still have a beard. What I regret is our peaceful, albeit naïve, attempt to change the culture failed. To create change, most of us blended in, followed the rules, and played the game. We went to work, got married, had families, and started saving for retirement. Our philosophy was “Go along to get along.” Even in radical academia, where I spent half my life, this was true.  

In 2020, we witnessed an attempted coup. A violent revolution that failed. With its failure, many cheered, believing that democracy and reason, the rule of law had won. In the near term it had, but we were forgetting about history.

In November 1923, the Beer Hall Putsch was a failed coup d’état by Nazi Party leader Adolf Hitler. The putsch was inspired by Benito Mussolini’s successful March on Rome in October, 1922. Whether successful or failed, these violent revolutions ultimately resulted in a country without laws ruled by a fascist dictator. Hitler won the country because of his inspiring speeches and a propaganda machine. Mussolini by propaganda, brown shirts, and brutality.

Right now, there is a revolution going on. So far, it is peaceful. Using propaganda, ignoring laws, and playing the system to get their desired result.

The fact nearly half of America are “okay” with what is happening doesn’t make it right.

Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat history.

WINE GLASSES Acrylic with a Palate Knife 2 10 2025

WINE GLASSES

Acrylic with a Palate Knife

 

IS THE SKY FALLING

 The sun is out.

There is no tornado in the wind.

My roof isn’t burning.

So why do I feel like there is a chicken in my yard yelling

The sky is falling.

The Sky is falling.  

Perhaps we need to consider the story of Chicken Little.

Taken from Wikipedia and IMDB

The Chicken Little story was told by Just Mathias Thiele (1795-1874). In America it was popularized by John Green Chandler, with Sarah Josepha Hale (1788-1879), who wrote the rhyme ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ The moral messages in the story are

1.      1.   don’t form incorrect conclusions from insufficient data;

2.      2.   don’t stoke fear in others without good cause to do so; and

3.      3.   don’t take other people’s word for things, especially when those other people are making extraordinary claims

Disney produced a short film in 1943 warning about mass hysteria, with specific reference to the Nazis. Produced as a propaganda short during WWII, warning audiences not to believe anti-American propaganda. Originally the film was to have had more direct references to the war: Foxy Loxy would have read from "Mein Kampf"; and the chicken's graves would have been marked by swastikas. But Walt Disney decided to keep the film generic so that it would not become dated after the war.

The 2005 Disney adaptation completely changed the plot (by adding aliens, whose spaceship, or parts of it, really do fall from the sky), in the 2005 version, Chicken Little is right to spread mass fear among the townsfolk and is thus vindicated.

To decide if the sky is falling read the piece by Corran Anderson

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=977872010912428

RED-SHOULDERED HAWKS - VIDEO

RED-SHOULDERED HAWKS

in Cloverdale, CA

Red Shouldered Hawks Video -

Nostrovia! Here’s to you and here's to me. A thought on the last 17 days.

 

Nostrovia! 

At parties, my friend Chris Hanson used to toast,

“Here’s to you, and here’s to me.

Sometimes we may disagree, but here’s to you, and here’s to me.

After which he’d shout “Nostrovia!” meaning “To your Health.”

Followed by a joyous “F..king A,” as we tossed back champagne.

Chris left us in 2015. I wonder what he’d think of the last 10 years.

As a consultant, I’ve learned to not talk politics with my republican clients. However, as a lifelong democrat, I was always honest about my liberal and progressive views.

When I believe I am right. I will fight for my point of view.

However, when I am wrong. I will admit it.

I’ve learned what a mistake it is to be brutally honest or to burn your bridges.

My philosophy has been, to try to respect you and your way of life, even when we disagree.  

That way, I could still like and certainly enjoy my friends' company.

However, what we disagree on is expanding as what we can agree on seems to be shrinking.

When did lies and opinions become an alternative facts and scientific truths?

Was it in 2015 when Trump came down the escalator?

Or, did it start before Trump?

In the 1990s McConnell defeated campaign-finance reform and the floodgates opened.

How about in 2010 when McConnell declared, “one and done,” meaning the senate wouldn’t pass any of Obama’s bills, and denied a hearing let alone a vote on Obama’s supreme court nominee.

What about in 2020 when McConnell vowed to block all Democratic legislative efforts, saying, “Even if I feel it’s a good bill. They shall have no victories.”

After all of that, I hoped the world was slowly returning to sanity.

Then came the election in November.

And now the chaos and farce of the last 17 days.

It feels like the country has gone insane.

It is true you can’t erase history, however signs of our history can be covered or removed like portraits in the Pentagon and CIA. Books can be burned and history can be rewritten.

A riot becomes a rally. A traitor becomes a patriot.

Ask yourself, how similar is the intended outcome of the 2025 plan to Orwell’s 1984.

Can the courts really stop a leader who doesn’t care?

A leader who demands that networks, reporters, and ordinary citizens be investigated for their truth telling and opposition to the leader's lawlessness, corruption, and overt power grab. 

I doubt Trump ever read 1984, so perhaps we will be spared the “Thought Police.”

Still, perhaps, all this is better left unsaid or at least unwritten.

I hope at least among friends I can still toast, “Nostrovia! To Your Health.”

Because the alternative is “Here’s to you and here’s to me, and if we disagree, F..k you.”

WINTER in NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

 

 WINTER

A word that meant water and wet or cold and wet.

In German the word is wintar.

In Danish and Swedish, vinter, or vetr, “the wet season.”

Old Norse Vetrardag, first day of winter, was the Saturday that fell between Oct. 10 and 16.

No doubt in the Norse lands Vintar arrives early.

 

In New England, winter means snow and rain.

In the south, winter is a time for tourists.

In the Midwest, winter means snow. Wet cold snow.

In the Mountain West, winter is deep show. Powder.

Winter along the Pacific coast means rain.

Cold rain. Endless rain. Bleak depressing rain.

I think we Californians living on or near the northern coast.

Need a new name for our type of winter.

A Season we could call Coldrain. 

Perhaps, “Wetcoldrain,” or simply.

"Calrain"

 

Old English winter (plural wintru), “the fourth and coldest season of the year, winter,” from Proto-Germanic *wintruz “winter” (source also of Old Frisian, Dutch winter, Old Saxon, Old High German wintar, German winter, Danish and Swedish vinter, Gothic wintrus, Old Norse vetr “winter”), probably literally “the wet season,” from PIE *wend-, nasalized form of root *wed- (1) “water; wet”). On another old guess, cognate with Gaulish vindo-, Old Irish find “white.” The usual PIE word is *gheim-.

As an adjective in Old English. The Anglo-Saxons counted years in “winters,” as in Old English anwintre “one-year-old. yearling;” and wintercearig, which might mean either “winter-sad” or “sad with years.”

SHINING A LIGHT ON MY ATTITUDE

SHINING A LIGHT ON MY ATTITUDE

I watch at least 4 hours of national news each day.
I keep pledging to stop watching the news.
I know I need to do something different to change my attitude
because drinking hasn’t worked.
In the Band Wagon (my favorite musical), Fred Astaire sang:
When you feel as low
As the bottom of a well

And can't get out of the mood
Do something to perk yourself up
And change your attitude
Put a crease in your pants
But if you really want to feel fine
Give your shoes a shine
There's a melody in your heart
With a singable happy feeling
A wonderful way to start
To face the world every day…
It doesn't matter where you get it
It'll do a lot of good if you let it
A little bit of polish will abolish what's bothering you
Give a tug to your tie
When there's a shine on your shoes

I know I have polish and brushes somewhere,
However, I have a couple of technical questions
What if I sing out of key?
What if I’m are wearing shorts and a T-shirt?
Can you polish Crocs?
Would a haircut do the same?
How about a taking a shower or putting on new underwear?
I’m open to any suggestions.

Advice Welcome.

.

 

 .

On Poetry and Behavioral Psychology

 

Writing this article began when I decided to write a poem about my frustration over today’s pollical events.

Somehow, this turned into my thinking about one’s life being undetermined, determined, or predetermined. 

To start, my only online reference was a simple definition of determination and free will. 

This article went through a series of drafts; editing, rewording, rewriting, reorganizing, grammar checking, reading aloud and formatting. Somehow in the process it turned into an analysis of the limitations of the Behavioral Psychology I was taught 50 years ago.     

As a behavioral scientist, I was taught the following principles.  

1.      Human behavior: reactions, thoughts, emotions, and overt actions are affected (determined) by the person’s genetics, in some instances reflexes, biology, current health, learning history, stimulus conditions, and the immediate environment.

2.      Specific antecedent conditions (recent or present) establish the probability of a person’s thoughts, emotions (verbal labels for physiological reactions), and overt actions.

3.      The consequences of one’s overt actions influence the probability of that action or similar actions in the future.

4.      Complex behavior can be acquired / learned by observation, antecedent and consequence relations involving deprivation, punishment or reinforcement.

5.      Learned behavior can be shaped (changed from one form to another) and behavior can be generalized. Meaning a behavior may be emitted under stimulus conditions which are similar to the original learning conditions.

6.      A person has choice to the extent his/her overt actions may be caused or affected by prior thoughts. Therefore my thoughts or cognitive behavior may influence my behavior or a choice to behave.

7.      This level of free will does not suggest behavior is random or completely uncontrolled, i.e., undetermined. Given these assumptions, I believe in determination as expressed and I reject the idea of complete free will.

Also, I do not believe in predetermination. Meaning that a person’s actions are completely controlled or determined by an outside agency.

That being said, I do not believe that the deprivation, antecedent, response and consequence model of learning and behavior is adequate to explain complex behaviors, nor do the explanatory concepts like establishing operations, schedules of reinforcement, rule governed behavior, and stimulus control.

These external models while useful at one level, ignore genetics and biology and they don’t take into account cognition, and a modern understanding of neurology and our understanding of the brain.  

To say that writing this article was the result of the environment, my prior learning, and my history of reinforcement with respect to writing is too simple.

For example, many of the phrases and sentences written in these 710 words, were learned more than 50 years ago and used in teaching across 15 years, some 25 years ago.

In behavioral terms, one might say my writing today was affected and controlled by prior stimulus conditions and setting events that affected my memory, cognitive behavior, overt behavior (with choice). As to reinforcement, if you want, go ahead and throw in reinforcement history and a little self-reinforcement.   

I would say my memory of these words and phrases combined with thinking them and saying them privately influenced what I subsequently wrote.

Skinner might call such sequences inter-verbal. A label I once used, but I fear has little or no explanatory value for me, these days.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved Jack Michael’s VB class, I was a TA, and I taught VB for several years.

However, remember that Skinner’s undergraduate major was English, and he didn’t do well in biology. In Science and Human Behavior, Skinner said our understanding of behavior would change with our study of the brain and neurology.

The problem is few of us have added brain science, neurology, genetics, and functional assessment into our accounts and ad hoc explanations.

Okay – explain this. I started out to write a poem expressing my emotions and frustrations over current politics. Instead I write a piece on my emotional frustration with the constructs I learned 50 years ago.

Freud might call this some type of literary transference, I think.

It might be a type of avoidance. When I write, I ignore my e-mails.

I spent an hour and a half writing and editing 700+ words. Clearly, I was behaving; thinking (talking to myself) writing, and then editing.

This is a thing I do every day and have done for some 70 years.

In my opinion, language and the behavior of writing is more complex than I understand, and I’d argue not as simple as I was once taught.

Now I still have a poem to write.    

   

 

FAT MAN

FAT MAN

Jethro Tull Fat Man (link to a YouTube)

Lyrics by Jethro Tull - Ian Anderson

This once was my favorite Tull song because I identified with the lyrics. At five I weighed 100 pounds. In college I gained 30 lbs. and got out of the draft and going to Vietnam (230 lbs.). However, in Utah I started riding a bike 20 miles every day and lost 70 lbs. Subsequently I found a woman who would love me in the morning and all the nighttime too. In 2007 when the market crashed and my clients stopped hiring, I slowly went from 200 to 300 lbs. In the last 3-4 years I have lost 50lbs., but being unable to walk on a treadmill or ride a bike and drinking wine has made it difficult to see the other side of being thin.

FAT MAN

Don't want to be a fat man, 

people would think that I was just good fun.

Would rather be a thin man, 

I am so glad to go on being one.

Too much to carry around with you,

no chance of finding a woman who

will love you in the morning and all the night time too.

Don't want to be a fat man, 

have not the patience to ignore all that.

Hate to admit to myself 

half of my problems came from being fat.

won't waste my time feeling sorry for him, 

I seen the other side to being thin.

Roll us both down a mountain and I'm sure 

the fat man would win