On encountering a clueless Trump supporter at the grocery store

I wasn't going to let one nasty Trump supporter ruin my day with my daughter Annie.

Annie had wandered over to the King Soopers service counter searching for a bus pass. We were trying to get her situated on her first day in Denver or, I should say, Aurora. When I lived in Denver in the 1980s, Denverites were always clear about the demarcation between their city and Aurora, which is not exactly a city and not exactly a suburb. It's crowded, just the same.

I waited in the check-out line behind two gray-haired white women. They were nattering about the election. I wasn't aware that they were Trumpies until one of them plucked one of the weekly rags from the news rack and pointed at the cover story labeling Hillary a liar and a racist.  Then they started to talk to the cashier about the election and the cashier was trying to shake her head and nod at their comments while still doing her job. This has been a common sight the past couple months. People trying to get on with their jobs while customers fling their political opinions at them. I was in the Cheyenne King Soopers a few weeks back and the cashier flung his Trumpisms at me and I vowed never to go to that cashier again.

These two women finished up their order and made way for me. I exchanged pleasantries with the cashier as she scanned my order. One of the gray-haired women returned and told the cashier she had forgotten her cash. The cashier said she'd have to wait until she was finished with my order and she seemed pleasant enough. While I bagged a few of Annie's groceries, the Trump supporter again started talking to the cashier about the election. The cashier said, "I don't know," and I looked over at me and said, "What do you think?"

"About what?"

The customer said, "Is that woman going to win the election?"

"You mean Hillary?"

She nodded.

"Hell yes."

The customer shook her head and said one of the usual tired Trumpisms about how Hillary should be in jail.

I replied that we can't have someone like Trump at the wheel, we need someone with experience like Hillary.

The woman sputtered and fumed. Or maybe she fumed and sputtered, Not sure which. Looking back, I know one thing -- we all get comfortable with our opinions when sharing with like-minded folks. Then we sputter and fume when someone has a dissenting opinion.

The woman got upset. "I'm surprised someone hasn't shot her."

I told her that was a horrible thing to say and she should be ashamed of herself. Assassination is an abomination.

"I didn't mean..."

"I know what you mean. I've heard that before from Trump people."

"Well we are military and that woman..."

"I don't care. Trump will send your sons and grandsons and granddaughters off to fight a stupid war. He's a nutball."

The adjacent cashier turned to me and raised her hand. "Here's a high five."

I returned the remote high five. I could see that my cashier was flustered. Why did I have to ask this old guy from Wyoming about the election? Wasn't this old lady bad enough? She got busy bagging the groceries and the woman customer sputtered and steam poured out of my ears. Other customers looked at us with a mixture of revulsion and perplexity. It was time to wrap this up. I paid my bill and the woman got her cash and scurried away.

"That's the last time I bring up the election," the cashier said, handing me the receipt.

Just make sure you don't ask me, I thought. What I said was, "Tuesday will be here soon enough."

She grinned, sort of, and moved on to the next customer. I moved on with my daughter's groceries. Annie joined me at the door. I told her what had just happened.

"I missed the drama," she said.

I wanted to say that she was plenty good about stirring up her own drama but I let it go. I wanted to be in the moment and away from Trump people whom I have vowed not to call crazy because it demeans people who struggle with mental illness, people like Annie. Besides, the Nov. 4 air was warm and the sun was out. It was Friday afternoon. Everyone we dealt with on this day in Denver/Aurora had been friendly and helpful. Everyone except the Trump supporter. She'll have plenty of time to be miserable once the results come in on Tuesday.

Lincoln Court: From old-fashioned motor court to "intentional urban community"

This 1939 auto window decal for Lincoln Court conjures the city's rodeo and Marlboro Man traditions.

Cheyenne native Alan O'Hashi is always cooking up something interesting. 

He's a fine filmmaker. His documentary short "Aging Gratefully: The Power of Community" recently was named one of the International Award of Excellence winners at the International Film Festival for Spirituality, Religion and Visionary. He now lives in Boulder, Colo., which is but 99 highway miles from Denver but light-years away in attitude. 

Alan has come up with a plan for an "intentional urban community" for Cheyenne. Here's a description:

The LINCOLN COURT is an ambitious mixed use intentional urban community. The project is a collaboration among Wyoming Community Media, Caddis Architects, Wonderland Hills Development and Dozzer LLC.

In addition to the innovative mixed uses, including affordable and universally-accessible housing and cohousing is a higher purpose around creativity -- creative aging, nurturing artistic entrepreneurs, cultural exhibits and performances in residence.

Lincoln Court once was a motor court that was part of the legendary Hitching Post Inn. Alan worked at the Hitch as a teen, as did so many Cheyennites who now find themselves in the "creative aging" category. Find out more at https://www.facebook.com/LincolnCourtCheyenne/about/

My brother Tom has accused me of promoting Agenda 21 with this project. In case you don't know the term, it's a United Nations effort to get countries to adopt smart growth development that encourages walkable communities that will reduce carbon use and possibly slow global warming. This effort has caused conservatives, especially those in energy-producing states, to misconstrue this as a plan to take away our cars and trucks and make us live in Hobbit homes instead of sprawling McMansions. At 6-foot-2, I am as unsuited as Gandalf to a Hobbit home, although my tiny wife and cat probably would fit quite nicely in Frodo's house. Lincoln Court, alas, will not feature Middle Earth dwellings but those more suitable to our high and dry western climate and landscape. It also will feature live-work spaces for artists, retail stores (coffee shop is a must) and offices. Alan has a rough plan for the property that will be anchored by the new multipurpose sports facility that's on next year's Sixth Penny Tax ballot and adjacent to the old site of Lincoln Court off of Lincolnway,

I like this project for several reasons. For one, it has a story. I am a storyteller. Maybe I will end up as Lincoln Court's resident storyteller, spinning tales from past and present. There already is an excellent book about the Hitching Post Inn by my state gov colleague Sue Castaneda. You can find "The Hitching Post Inn -- Wyoming's Second Capitol" at local bookstores, including the State Museum store, and probably the library too.  

But there are always more stories to tell. 

The first organizational meeting for Lincoln Court will be held Dec. 6 in Cheyenne. Details to follow. Or keep track on the Facebook page (see link above).  

What do the Wyoming Election Statutes have to say about behavior at the polls?

I just finished eating all of the leftover Halloween candy so had the energy to read the Wyoming Election Code, all 343 pages. Actually I skipped over most of it to get to the meaty parts about behavior on election day, a follow-up on my 10/31 post about possible voter intimidation. I bring some experience to this, a life-long voter who has served as both a poll watcher and election judge in Laramie County. I am reprinting applicable parts of the code here, for your convenience. I was struck by how much time and effort went into crafting 343 pages of election guidelines. As a professional writer and editor, I have composed more business-oriented documents than I care to think about.  I know how much work it takes.

A few years back, I rewrote the bylaws of the Laramie County Democratic Party. I researched the state by-laws and those of other county parties. Republican Party by-laws also have to be rewritten every so often. It's a volunteer or a committee who does the work because they believe in the goals of their party. Volunteers do most of the hard work in politics, especially in a sparsely-populated-and-few-electoral-votes state such as Wyoming, where national political parties tend to be stingy with their money. 

I look at these statutes and think about my Irish grandfather, how he was so proud to vote the first time as an American citizen. I think about all the immigrants voting as citizens in 2016 for the first time. They're from Syria, El Salvador, Egypt, Ukraine, Mongolia, elsewhere. I think about all of the times I voted and worked at the polls, doing my duty as a citizen. And I think about all of the people who don't bother to vote, which is almost beyond comprehension.

Here are the applicable sections of the statute. For your reading enjoyment, you may download these and any other Wyoming statute at http://legisweb.state.wy.us/LSOWEB/StatutesDownload.aspx. For elections, scroll down to Title 22. 

CHAPTER 13
POLLING PLACE REGULATIONS DURING VOTING HOURS
22‑13‑103.  Preservation of order; privacy of voting booths and machines.
(a)  Judges of election have the duty and authority to preserve order at the polls by any necessary and suitable means.
(b)  To protect the privacy of the voter, voting booths and voting machines shall be kept clear of all persons except voters marking ballots, election officials discharging their duties and challengers acting under legal authority.

CHAPTER 15
CHALLENGING
22‑15‑101.  Right to vote may be challenged.
Registration is evidence of a person's right to vote at any election, but this right may be challenged at the polls in the manner prescribed by law.
22‑15‑102.  Repealed By Laws 1998, ch. 100, § 5.
22‑15‑103.  Repealed By Laws 1998, ch. 100, § 5.
22‑15‑104.  Grounds for challenge.
(a)  A person offering to vote may be challenged for the following reasons:
(i)  Not a qualified elector;
(ii)  Not entitled to vote in the precinct;
(iii)  Name does not appear on poll list and the person cannot meet the requirements to register at the polls;
(iv)  Not the person he represents himself to be;
(v)  Has already voted.
22‑15‑105.  Challenged person may vote; generally.
(a)  If a person offering to vote is challenged, and the challenge is not resolved in accordance with W.S. 22‑15‑106, an election judge shall offer the voter a ballot clearly marked "provisional" and which cannot be automatically tabulated.
(b)  A person challenged on any ground may vote by provisional ballot, if he subscribes this oath in writing before a judge of election:
"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I am the person I represent myself to be and that I am a qualified elector entitled to vote in this precinct at this election and that this is the only ballot I have or will vote in this election.".
.............................
Signature of voter
.............................
Signature of judge
.............................
Precinct and District No.
(c)  The oath required by this section shall be printed on the provisional ballot envelope.
(d)  A challenged voter may present information and documentation of his eligibility to register at the election or to vote to the county clerk until the close of business on the day following the election. Any information presented shall be considered by the canvassing board in determining the voter's eligibility to register at the election or to vote and whether to open and count his provisional ballot. The provisional ballot shall be counted only after the voter has, by presenting documentation required under this code to the county clerk, established he had previously registered and is a qualified elector or he was eligible to register at the election and is a qualified elector.
22‑15‑106.  Where name not on poll list.
A person challenged on the ground that his name does not appear on the poll list may vote if a judge of election obtains verification from the county clerk that the person is entitled to vote in that election within that county.
22‑15‑107.  Repealed by Laws 2002, Ch. 18 § 3.
22‑15‑108.  Duty of judges to challenge.
It is the duty of the judges to challenge electors whenever existence of legal grounds for doing so is known or apparent to the judges.
22‑15‑109.  Poll watchers; certification; qualification; authority; removal.
(a)  The county chairman of each political party may certify poll watchers prior to the day of the election to serve in each polling place.  Not more than one (1) poll watcher from each political party may serve simultaneously unless the chief judge determines that one (1) additional poll watcher from each political party may be accommodated in the polling place without disrupting the polling process.
(b)  A poll watcher shall belong to the political party he represents and shall be a registered elector residing in the county.  A poll watcher shall serve only at the polling place designated on the certificate.  A poll watcher is authorized to observe voter turn out and registration and may make written memoranda but shall not challenge voters, conduct electioneering activities or disrupt the polling process.
(c)  The chief judge may remove a poll watcher from the polling place for disturbing the polling place, or for any other violation of the Election Code.

Orange you glad the Wyoming Republicans are on the job?

I ran into my friend Pat at the grocery store. She sported an "I Voted" sticker, said that she stood in a long line in the Laramie County Building Atrium. Last count had 8,000 people in the county voting early. Pretty good numbers.

Only 8 days until the election, if you count today. We all eagerly await Nov. 8 not only because, on Nov. 9, Donald Trump will no longer be the lead on the nightly news. Or maybe he will, as we've grown accustomed to his face and his banter filling the airwaves.

Our local elections could yield some nasty surprises. They already have. The Wyoming Republican Party has sent out flyers denouncing Minority Leader Mary Throne, a Democrat. Mary, you see, wants to take away your guns -- she only gets a C rating from the NRA. Her A-rated opponent, Jared Olsen, is shown on the flyer with a rifle and a steely gaze, as if he were looking off into the canebrake for a trophy elk.

I was shown the flyer and asked, "What's wrong with the picture?"
I said: "Jared Olsen is in it?"
"No," the inquisitor replied. "He's wearing red."
"So he's a commie?"
"Maybe. But that's not the point. As any hunter knows, you wear orange out in the field. It's called hunter's orange for a reason."
"Oh," I said. "I'm not a hunter. I may be the only unarmed male-type person in the state."
"I wouldn't advertise that fact."

Linda Burt is running in my district (No. 8) to unseat incumbent Bob Nicholas. If all of the registered Dems in the district showed up to vote, and disgruntled Republicans stayed home because of The Donald, Linda could win. We need more Dems in the legislature. We need more women. Linda Burt would be a terrific rep. This district has been represented by a Dem woman before, in the person of Lori Millin, who was terrific. She followed up with a run for the Senate and lost. We've had Nicholas ever since. He often votes with the Republican crackpot bloc. His district includes many state employees and retirees, such as me. This is something he should keep in mind, whatever happens in the election. I will vote for Linda Burt on Nov. 8.

Speaking of Nov. 8... The Donald's camp has mumbled about showing up to the polls to intimidate voters, mainly those of color. That kind of thing happens often in tinpot dictatorships struggling to establish democracy. This is why the U.N. sends in election monitors. Our elections haven't seen intimidation like this since the 1960s in the Jim Crow South, when angry whites tried to keep blacks from the polls. I've served as a volunteer pollwatcher at my precinct. Part of my job is to make sure . rules are followed and some shitkicker with a rifle and a grudge doesn't try to keep Hispanics and African-Americans and East Indians from voting. What do you do if you see voter intimidation? That's a good question. You could call Democratic Party HQ. But you may not get an answer. The County Clerk? Secretary of State's office? The police? I'm going to find out and get back to you in time for the election.

As the election nears, remember America's broken mental health care system

The mental health of veterans is tied to the mental health of civilians.

I am not a veteran.  I am a civilian with mental health issues. Depression is in my DNA. I can't help it. I can, however, do something about it. A conscious choice that can only be made when I am not in the grip of a depressive episode. That's how tricky it is.

I'm always on the lookout for Catch-22 analogies.

"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.  

"That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed. 

"It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka agreed.”  

With depression, it works like this. When you are depressed, you need help. You have to ask for it as nobody else knows you are depressed because you look normal although you may not act normal, whatever that is. If you ask for help, that is a sign that you are coming out of depression. Have some pills, the doc says and sends you on your way to recovery.

It gets worse before it gets better. It takes time for the medications to kick in. With the pills comes talk therapy with a psychiatrist or a therapist or both. This also takes time to bear results. Meanwhile, you have to get on with your life. There's work to do, soldiering to get done, families to raise, bills to pay. None of this waits on your mental health. If your job and family permits it, as mine did a few years ago, you can take a month off of work to allay your latest depressive episode. Some people would rather work through it, take their mind off the problem. But what happens if you can't?

There's a TV ad for Trintellix, a new depression medication. It shows a man trying to get involved in gardening with his wife. A thought balloon perches over his head. Inside is a jumble of colorful spaghetti strands that seem to represent the tangled web depression causes. If you take Trintellix, the word "me" magically emerges from the spaghetti. It's not magic, really, but pharmacological. Antidepressants now can be targeted to the brain's synapses a lot better than when I took my first dose of Prozac 25 years ago. I'm not sure of the science but I'm going to look it up. I'm always looking it up.

My Catch-22 analogy isn't perfect. But it does illustrate the quandary of a person with clinical depression, or with any kind of mental illness. You find yourself in an illogical, Catch-22 universe. It makes no sense. It makes perfect sense.

On my growing stack of books to read is Bruce Springsteen's biography, Born to Run. One of the best-known performers in the world has struggled with depression. Interesting, isn't it, that the man who known for rousing anthems and hour-long encores, can also be battered into submission by the blues. The real blues. The kind that's as physical as a heart attack or leukemia.

Chris and I saw Springsteen in concert during his "Born in the U.S.A." tour in Denver in the mid-1980s. It was September and it snowed at Mile High Stadium. We didn't mind. Springsteen and the band didn't seem to mind. Maybe they minded but it didn't stop them. That's kind of how depression feels. You mind that it's there but you play on. The show must go on, as theatre people say.

Springsteen might have been depressed that day. I was, until I went to the concert. I then was uplifted.

The song, "Born in the U.S.A.," focuses on the Vietnam War and the problems veterans had when they returned home. Not a whitewashed Lee Greenwood or Charlie Daniels vision of wartime trauma. War can transform you, just as childhood traumas can. Some psychiatrists say that childhood trauma can exacerbate PTSD sparked by combat. We also know that people who have been no closer to combat than Donald Trump or Dick Cheney can struggle with PTSD. It's all in your head, man! Last time I checked, my head was attached to rest of me.

It's real. That's why it's so difficult to hear someone like Trump belittle the problems of veterans. After Oct. 9's "debate," Jon Soltz sent out an e-mail call for donations. Here's his pitch:

I am filled with profound sadness after watching Donald Trump's behavior before tonight's debate.  

I started VoteVets after returning from Iraq because veterans, military family members, and those who support them need elected representation that recognizes the cost of war continues long after the last service member returns home.  

This is a presidential election. We deserve a debate on these issues. Every veteran who has ever served deserves better than what Donald Trump has done to the process of deciding our next Commander in Chief.

Contribute to VoteVets here: https://secure.actblue.com/contribute/page/defeat-trump?refcode=em161009

I am not a veteran. I state this as a matter of fact. I approach this issue not from personal experience as a warrior but as a civilian. It's academic and personal. My kids both struggle with mental health issues. So do I.

My weapons are words.

Donald Trump has no mental health plan in his platform. Hillary Clinton does.

As Jon Soltz says, we deserve a debate on these issues. We still haven't had one. All of us struggling with mental illness deserve better.

Hurricane Matthew, "Our Town," and Florida memories

Over my second cup of coffee on this beautiful Wyoming Saturday, I wondered why I still had the Weather Channel blaring from my Smart TV.

Hurricane Matthew. Matt, to his friends, which are few after he pounded the U.S, coast and the Caribbean this past week.

I do like the drama of a hurricane compounded by the melodrama of media coverage.

It gets more real when you're there. Many family members and friends were in the path of Matthew. All are fine although much clean-up to do. My brother Tom in Palm Bay has trees down in his yard -- but not on his house.

One of my first experiences as a 13-year-old Florida resident was with Hurricane Cleo in 1964. On my first full day on Ormond Beach, the waves broke big and the current was strong. Our parents warned us kids not to go out too far or we'd be sucked out to sea. My brother Dan and I listened (sort of) and waded into the surf, keeping an eye on (sort of) our younger brothers and sisters, who were many. The sun beat down and we body-surfed, or tried to. We were from Colorado and had never been in the ocean before.

The next day, Cleo brushed the coast, leaving us inside to watch the rain fall and the wind blow around the big palms. The next day, Dan and I were back on the beach and rarely left it for the next five years. By the following summer, we were surfing. Hodads, gremmies -- wannabe surfers. We moved south to Daytona and surfed with the big boys at Hartford Avenue, a group later known as the Hartford Heavies and included my brothers Pat, Tom and Tim. Hell-raisers and good short-board surfers. They ripped the waves, ditched school for good surf.

Hurricane Dora targeted Daytona in the fall of '64. The illustration on the front of the morning paper showed a swirling storm. On its landward side, an arrow pointed right at me. Our father picked us up at Our Lady of Lourdes Grade School and whisked us off in the Ford Falcon station wagon to a motel on the mainland. Ten of us jammed into two tiny rooms. We watched the rain fall and the palms sway, listened to storm reports on the radio. Dora swerved and hit St. Augustine instead, giving us a glancing blow, a little less severe than the one Matt just delivered.

I lived in Florida for most of 14 years. Those are the only hurricanes I remember. 1964 was an active season, with three of the six named hurricanes hitting Florida. Isbell was the third, cutting across south Florida on its way to North Carolina. Cleo, Dora and Isbell were all retired from the official hurricane naming list, which featured only names of the female persuasion back then.

In the ninth grade, Father Lopez High School put on Thornton Wilder's Our Town. Our director was a woman with Broadway experience. She thought Our Town was just right for a small Catholic school with no theatre budget and no theatre but a serviceable gym. This was the minimalist version, with no stage design, except for a pair of stepladders and a few chairs. And no complicated costumes. I auditioned because I had time on my hands that fall after not making the cut for junior varsity basketball. This particularly irked me after my successful season with the OLL Falcons, runner-up in the 1965 parochial league tournament. I channeled my anger into an unforgettable role as Second Dead Man in the poignant cemetery scene. It was the closest I got to the gym floor all year.

After her funeral, the dead Emily appears at the cemetery.

EMILY: "Does anyone ever realize life while they live it...every, every minute?"
STAGE MANAGER: "No. Saints and poets maybe...they do some.”

They do some. It's pleasant to think so, that poets and writers actually live life and notice it at the same time.

Maybe it helps if you're a saint.

I was dressed in an old suit and pretended to be a dead guy from Grover's Corners. The apex of my acting career. Our Town could be seen as a nostalgic look at life in a quaint New England village. What it does is rip your heart out.

I didn't know that as 15-year-old  Second Dead Man.

I do now.

Lest you deny Wilder's seriousness in this play, he often noted that it was rarely performed correctly and that it "should be performed without sentimentality or ponderousness--simply, dryly, and sincerely."

And this from Wikipedia:

"In 1946, the Soviet Union prevented a production of Our Town in the Russian sector of occupied Berlin on the grounds that the drama is too depressing and could inspire a German suicide wave."

Post-war Germans didn't need yet another reason to end it all.

Today in Cheyenne, the sun is shining, Matthew is on his way to open ocean and Trump will not be president.

A good day to be alive and noticing it.

One presidential candidate has a mental health care plan, and one does not

"I believe that together we can make sure that the next generation gets quality mental health care—without shame, without stigma, without barriers. And that we can do so much more to help people right here and now." 

Two weeks ago, with that statement, Hillary Clinton released her comprehensive mental health care agenda. She's not kidding -- it's comprehensive. If you don't believe me, go read it. Short version here. Fact sheet here. I read both. They include many of the elements that I have experienced while seeking care for our mentally ill daughter.

Does Donald Trump have a plan to help the mentally ill? Here's all that I found on his web site under "health care reform:"

Finally, we need to reform our mental health programs and institutions in this country. Families, without the ability to get the information needed to help those who are ailing, are too often not given the tools to help their loved ones. There are promising reforms being developed in Congress that should receive bi-partisan support.

It's something, right? I agree with former Rep. Patrick Kennedy that we all should stop calling Trump crazy as it demeans the mentally ill and furthers the stigma they bear. You won't see me referring to Trump as crazy on these pages.

This comes from the Oct. 3 Huffington Post:

Trump spoke at a veterans’ rally in Virginia on Monday, during which he addressed the high rates of veteran PTSD and suicide.  

“They see things that maybe a lot of the folks in this room have seen many times over and you’re strong and you can handle it, but a lot of people can’t handle it,” he says in the video above. 

Trump’s comments were part of a call for more focus and resources on veteran mental health. It’s a worthy call, of course, but his statement betrayed a fundamental misunderstanding about mental health. 

In other words, if you are a veteran with PTSD or one who commits suicide, you are not mentally ill -- you are weak. At least according to Mr. Trump. He's down at the Budweiser Event Center in northern Colorado this evening. Take a ride down there and ask him about this.

How to sum up the so-called mental health system in the U.S.? Inadequate, to be kind. Abysmal, the be more accurate. Chris and I have a decade of experience trying to get help for our daughter Annie, now 23. Annie has been treated in her home state of Wyoming as well as facilities in four other states: California, Colorado, Utah and Illinois. These are fine states, all with their own benefits and problems. But why, you may ask, did you have to send your offspring to the sunny shores of southern California and the bustling metropolis of Chi-town to get help?

She couldn't get the correct treatment in Wyoming. She tried, and we tried to help her. A 10-year odyssey, one that continues much to her pain and our chagrin and pain. One of its more frightening aspects is that Annie does better when institutionalized than when free to make her own decisions. That's opposite of the goal of mental health treatment, which is to de-institutionalize the mentally ill and instead rely on our own communities for treatment. It's often pointed out that we've failed miserably at this. Mental health treatment in rural areas does not exist. Wyoming features treatment centers in all of its 23 counties with emphasis on population centers, such as they are. Laramie County, the largest county in the state and home of its capital, is the site of CRMC Behavioral Health and Peak Wellness. CRMC BH used to feature inpatient treatment for adolescents. That no longer exists. The CRMC ER has four psychiatric crisis rooms and is usually at capacity as patients wait for beds locally, regionally or at the State Hospital in Evanston. Many mentally ill in crisis end up in jail, which has become a holding tank for the mentally ill without means.

Is this any way to run a railroad?

In fact, if we ran a railroad like this, one train in twenty would jump the tracks and two in ten would run late or not at all.

Other political candidates have talked about mental health reform. This time it's Hillary Clinton and she actually has a plan. Go read it and decide if it's for you and those you love. Then go vote for hope and change.

The Wyoming Association of Mental Health and Substance Abuse Centers features a list of its members with contact info. Go here.

Autumn a good time of year for Wyoming literary events

Did you know that Wyoming has a variety of gatherings devoted to writing and the book?

Maybe you did. In case you did not, here is some illuminating info.

First, you still have some time to see the book that gave us Shakespeare -- the First Folio at the State Museum in Cheyenne. Wyoming is on the tour of the book from the Folger Shakespeare Library in D.C. It's exhibited under glass on the museum's second floor where you can read passages written in Early Middle Englifh [sic]. "To be or not to be..." Etc. On exhibit through Friday, Sept. 30. Get more info: 307-777-7021. For more on Shakespeare in Cheyenne, see my earlier blog at http://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/2016/09/the-broncos-vs-bard.html

On Saturday, Oct. 1, the Literary Connection returns to Laramie County Community College. A local book club launched the conference more than 10 years ago after attending the excellent Literary Sojourn put on by the public library in Steamboat Springs. I have attended some amazing presentations at LitConn. Talks and readings by Tim O'Brien ("The Things They Carried"); Annie Proulx, whose stunning short fiction collection "Close Range" gave us "Brokeback Mountain;" mystery writer and WYO native C.J. Box; Poe Ballantine, whose true-crime book "Love and Terror on the Howling Plains of Nowhere" explores a mysterious death in Chadron, Neb.; and Pam ("Cowboys are My Weakness") Houston. This weekend, you can hear from Alexandra Fuller and Craig Childs. Not sure if Alexandra still lives in Jackson Hole but she is a fine writer, author of a chilling nonfiction account about her time in the bush during the civil war in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). Craig lives in western Colorado off the grid and writes about human interaction with the landscape. His latest book is "Apocalyptic Planet." A $30 admission buys you presentations from the authors, lunch and a book-signing. FMI: Lisa Trimble, LCCC, 307-778-1285, or go to https://www.lccc.wy.edu/about/foundation/LiteraryConnection.aspx

I just returned from the 30th annual Casper College Literary Conference. I am especially fond of this conference because I've been attending on-and-off for 25 years as the literary arts coordinator for the Wyoming Arts Council. That time, Terry Tempest Williams stunned the crowd with a reading from her masterpiece "Refuge." Terry's reading addressed the incidences of cancer in her Utah family that was caused by fallout from nuclear tests. This year, another westerner, Doug Peacock, talked about his experiences with grizzly bears in Montana and Wyoming. Doug sought healing from tours in Vietnam as a Green Beret medic by venturing alone into the wilderness. "I needed something more dangerous that fishing and camping," he said during a Friday talk at Casper College. He found it. Read about it in "Grizzly Years."

I picked up two of his books at the conference: "Walking it Off: A Veteran's Chronicle of War and Wilderness" and "In the Shadow of the Sabertooth." Doug has intriguing things to say about "war sickness" (a.k.a. PTSD) and left us by noting that "a recovering vet in the wilderness" isn't looking for data but for stories. It's great to know the causes and possible cures for PTSD. It's the stories that heal.

Thanks to Casper College for featuring so many stories by Peacock and Linda Hogan and Mark Spragg. It takes a village to put on one of these events. In this village are Terry Rasmussen, Joseph Campbell, Julia Whyde and others at CC and Carolyn Deuel of ARTCORE, Casper's very active arts council. As a retired government arts worker, I know how much work this takes. As a an elder of the clan, I urge all of you to support your local arts council through time or money or through messages of support to your local legislator. It all helps.

One complaint ("you kids get off my lawn!"). I miss the Equality State Book Festival, which used to be held in tandem with the literary conference during even years. The bookfest began in 2004, planned by the same committee that put together the conference (plus me down in Cheyenne). It was our only statewide bookfest where we once had two, the other one in Cheyenne during odd years through 2007. It's possible that the events have outlived their usefulness in the age of e-books and self-publishing and mega-bestsellers by celebs. But I was in the Black Hills earlier in the week and saw ads for the South Dakota Book Festival, held at three sites -- Sioux Falls, Brookings and Rapid City. And Montana has at least two bookfests. I admit that I did no volunteering for the cause during my first year as a retiree. Perhaps that will change once I get a handle on this novel. My focus now is on my own community. Perhaps the bookfest can return to Cheyenne, site of the first statewide version in October 2001. Attendance could have been better. It followed on the heels of 9/11 and the anthrax attacks and Cheyenne's first casualty in Afghanistan. But a replay is not out of the question.

The Jackson Hole Writers' Conference is held each June in Jackson. It's one of the best of its kind in the U.S. The JHWC features prize-winning authors from all over the world and an impressive roster of agents and editors. Local faculty includes comic novelist Tim Sandlin, who also runs the conference with assistant Connie Weineke, who just won a poetry fellowship from the Wyoming Arts Council and read her work in Casper. Tim is a dogged organizer. He shows the same inventiveness finding event funding as he did surviving as an aspiring writer in one of the West's most expensive resorts. He washed a lot of dishes while conjuring cool characters and fantastical plots. Get more info about JHWC by going to http://jacksonholewritersconference.com/

Wyoming Writers, Inc., has been putting on annual conferences since Hector was a pup. I've attended many, most of them for the Arts Council. Last year's conference at the Wind River Casino in Riverton was my first as a civilian writer. The only gambling I did was during pitch sessions to an editor and an agent ("we don't do short stories!"). I'm a member in good standing and will be at the gathering in Gillette in June 2017. More info at http://www.wyowriters.org/

Other writing events take place all over the state. Writing critique groups aren't for everyone, but most larger communities have one or several. Look to your local library and community college! UW, too.

The Broncos vs. The Bard

A writer, dead for 400 years, caused me to miss the first half of the Denver Broncos season opener.

I know, where are my priorities? William Shakespeare vs. two NFL teams that battled it out in Super Bowl 50?  Denver, our southern neighbor, was at a fever pitch for weeks leading up to the game. My Colorado hometown may no longer be a cow town but it still bleeds orange and blue every fall. Three Super Bowl championships, multiple Super Bowl appearances (we don't talk much about the first three or the one in February 2014), many league championships and wins over the dreaded Raiders. I was a jock in high school and a sports reporter as a young man. Sports are in my blood.

But so is Shakespeare. My accountant father's library still had his college Shakespeare texts but nothing on finance and economics. I was more interested in reading first-hand accounts of World War II. Dad seemed happy that his eldest child loved reading and books. I think he was a frustrated academic, one who would have been more comfortable surrounded by books than IRS rules and regs. Not a teacher but /probably a researcher, as he wasn't all that good with people.

Shakespeare's First Folio is touring the U.S., courtesy of the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C. Actually, six of the first folios are touring and one landed at the State Museum in Cheyenne. Published in 1623, it is kept under lock and key in a climate-controlled glass case watched over by a security guard. The pages are open to Hamlet's famous "To be or not to be" speech. The text is small and difficult to read, not only because of its size but because the language -- Early Modern English -- is arcane to us. Here's a sample:

A bad quarto was basically a bootlegged copy of the script, written hurriedly by an audience member or recalled later by actors. Think of a bootlegged copy of, say, a Grateful Dead concert in the 1970s. The good quarto was a copy of the play taken from the source. The first folio is the 1623 version that featured 36 plays, 18 of which had never before appeared in print.

I didn't have to read the fine print to know the value of what I saw. The first folio saved 16 of Shakespeare's plays from oblivion. They include Macbeth, The Tempest, Henry VIII and Twelfth Night. Forsooth, what would Hollywood have done without the three witches or Prospero's island? I would never had been treated to a nude version of Macbeth's witches at Gainesville's original Hippodrome Theatre. My life would be leff without it. 

If you want to talk monetary value, a first folio was sold at auction in 2001 for $6.1 million. I'll take two! When it was hot off the presses, a first folio went for about a pound. In today's money, that's somewhere between $150-$250.

But it's not the money really now is it? As the State Museum exhibit points out, Shakespeare and his plays have given us phrases that we use every day and countless hours of entertainment at the movies. I believe that I first heard lines from Romeo and Juliet in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Every state boasts a Shakespeare company, usually one that tours performances every summer. In Wyoming, that's the Wyoming Shakespeare Company out of Lander. I recall a memorable version of King Lear on the Cheyenne Botanic Gardens lawn. Nature provided its own thunder and lightning for the famous storm scene with King Lear and The Fool. Here's Lear: 

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!
You sulfurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' th' world,
Crack nature’s molds, all germens spill at once
That make ingrateful man!

Now that's a storm. 

Last night was rounded out with a presentation by UW Prof Peter Parolin: "From the Fringes to the Folio: Crossing Borders with Shakespeare in Life, on Stage, and in the Globalized World." Fascinating talk, and I was surprised on how many stayed after the food and wine and entertainment to hear an academic speak. I had not thought about "migration as one of Shakespeare's principal themes." But Parolin has, at length. He accompanied it with  a PowerPoint presentation, his first, which acted as a helpful assistant to the talk. 

I had not thought of migration and immigration as big Shakespeare topics. But crossing borders happens a lot. The Merchant of Venice and Othello are good examples, with their "foreigners" as key characters. Parolin even quoted a brief snippet from Shylock's speech: "In Aleppo once..." The Syrian city has been in the news lately as it suffers the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune -- and the forgetfulness of presidential candidates. 

Thanks to everyone at Wyoming Cultural Resources for bringing the folio to Cheyenne and staging the event. The First Folio will be in town through the end of September. 

I made it back to my Smart TV to watch the second half, in which the Broncos staged a comeback. With 9 seconds left, the Carolina Panthers kicker nailed a field goal but it was negated by a Broncos timeout. The second kick went wide to the left. That kicker was feeling some slings and arrows last night on Twitter. In Denver, they were partying like Falstaff and Prince Hal in 1402. 

"George Running Poles" finds a home in new Wyoming anthology

I've been working on a novel since the spring. I got tired of agents and editors asking me, a short-story writer, if I had a novel. This longer piece grew out of a short story that wanted to go long. So now it is. I won't say what it's about because it's supposed to be bad luck. I will say that it's set in Colorado in 1919-1920. An intriguing era, this post-war period. The Great War altered how people viewed the world. Women got the vote and Prohibition became law which led to lawlessness, even in rural Colorado. The Klan was on the rise, attacking Irish- and Italian-Catholics -- and Hispanics -- when they couldn't find any black people to torment (the alt-Right is nothing new). Americans were spooked by the Russian Revolution (the U.S. had 8,000 troops in Russia in 1918-1920 fighting the Bolsheviks) and blamed commie troublemakers for everything from labor unrest to avant-garde art. That gives me a few subjects to use for conflict in my story. Then there's the usual problems caused by the human heart in conflict with itself.

On the short story front, I heard two weeks ago that my story "George Running Poles" has been accepted for the new book, Blood, Wind, Water, and Stone: An Anthology of Wyoming Writers. It will be published in the fall by Sastrugi Press of Jackson. Lori Howe, a fine poet, is the editor. Look for it at an indie near you. Support your Wyoming writers! Just to whet your appetite, here is the story's opening paragraph:

Two teen boys walk along the asphalt bikeway in Riverton, Wyoming. George Jumping Bull pushes a shopping cart he found abandoned in the winter-brown grass. He’s wearing black sweatpants bunched over white running shoes and a red bandanna tied around his close-cropped hair. Jimmy Jones wears his black Oakland Raiders cap sideways, its bill pointing east. He milks a pint bottle of vodka as he walks. George reaches for it.

Lynn Carlson has asked me to write a short piece for the blog she co-authors/edits with Susan Mark. The blog, Writing Wyoming: Words, wind and everything else Wyoming, features great posts about writing and marketing your work. I've pulled a number of publishing leads off of this blog. Lynn's latest post on Aug. 16 is about the Storycatcher Workshop she attended in Fort Robinson, Nebraska. Go read it. Lynn asked me to write a composite post by Sept. 9 on the subject of reading your work at open mic sessions. I readily agreed, as it took me awhile to read my work in public, period. I was 39 or 40 the first time I read in public as a late-blooming grad student at CSU in Fort Collins. Since then, I have embarrassed myself many times in public, from Denver to Cheyenne to Washington, D.C. What experiences do you have as a writer in a public forum? Let me know so I have something to blog about in September. Here's the topic: "A good noise: in praise of the open mic." Lynn took the title from a John Gorka song:

'Cause if you cannot make yourself a good noise
tell me what you're doing here.

My daughter Annie now lives in Chicago. Her northside neighborhood was once Polish and then Hispanic and now, I'm afraid, is in danger of gentrification. A brewpub has opened next to the wig store and funky murals are replacing graffiti. Hipsters have been sighted. She wants us to come visit so is arranging interesting sites to see and tours to go on. The Chicago Mafia Tour sounds intriguing. I may prefer the Chicago Literary Tour which includes stops at sites occupied by such fine writers as Gwendolyn Brooks, Ernest Hemingway, Lorraine Hansberry and Carl Sandburg, and the office of the woman who first published James Joyce in the U.S. Writers with Chicago roots continue to compose great works. I'm talking about you, Larry Heinemann, Dave Eggers and Walter Mosley.

In which I come up short in my race for precinct committeeman

Tuesday's primary election yielded some surprises.

First, and most disappointing, is that I was upset in my pursuit of precinct 2-7 committeeman. As is true with most Laramie County precincts, 2-7 gets to elect a committeeman and woman. Big deal, you might say. Many precincts had no Democrats running. The power and glory attached to these positions consist of voting for county officers in the spring. Every precinct person gets a vote. County officers are charged with running the party, conducting meetings, staging the county convention and basically setting the agenda. During non-presidential election cycles, a county chair may not have much to do. But presidential election years up the ante, especially this time out with Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders vying for the nomination. It was a bit contentious at times, especially during the county caucus when the Bernie supporters were being a bit frisky. Laramie County also held the state convention, which is a big responsibility.

Where was I? Oh yeah, committeeman. I lost in a tight race to Ed Waddell, my neighbor who also ran  the local Sanders campaign. He also is running for city council, a good job for an urban planner. Ed beat me fair and square, earning eight more votes than I did. On the distaff side, my wife Christine earned 127 votes, swamping the two write-in candidates. So Christine and Ed will serve our precinct during the coming year.

I must mention that there was only one other contested precinct race. In that one, Heather Muth lost to Mary Throne. Credit name recognition, as Mary is the House Minority Leader and gets mentioned in the newspapers and TV quite a lot. Heather is my colleague on the Laramie County Democrats Grassroots Coalition events committee which plans all of the fund-raisers, most of which involve food and, occasionally, alcoholic beverages. We raised $15,000 for legislative candidates during this cycle.

In big cities, precinct spots are always fought over. You are in charge of getting out the vote for your area. That includes knocking on doors, holding potlucks, distributing flyers and signs, and generally making a nuisance of yourself. Grassroots stuff. We are just not used to that around here, Democrats especially. We are outgunned and outnumbered. Disappointed and disgruntled.

But an infusion of new blood to the most populous county in the state had energized us. I also have to give credit to the Bernie surge. Some of those folks have decided to get involved with the party. Not easy to do for some, who viewed Hillary and the party as inseparable, Clinton was seen as the establishment candidate, while Bernie was the outrider -- and an Independent. Independents don't exist on Wyoming ballots. You are either a D or R or U -- Unaffiliated.

It didn't help that caucus-goers voted 56% for Bernie but received the same number of delegates (not counting Superdelegates) to the state convention. Ill will still exists over this. I'm no genius, but 56% is more than 44%.

So some Berniecrats, such as Ed Waddell, have chosen to be more involved or to stay involved. I wish them the best as they work to GOTV. The numbers are on the side of the Republicans. But we have some fine candidates running. In our HD8, Linda Burt is running against Bob Nicholas, the Repub. She is an active Dem and once headed up the Wyoming ACLU. We all will be working hard to get her elected. The Republican majority in the Legislature is bad for the state. Short-sighted and selfish. The Know Nothing Right-Wing Fringe gained two more candidates in primary upsets. We must get rid of those people. When I saw get rid of, I mean to vote against them, not the other thing, the one that Trump means when he sends out coded messages about the second amendment.

Meanwhile, I wish my precinct leaders the best. When looking for volunteers, you know where to find me.

U.S. going to hell in a handbasket: an update

I can "pass" as a Trump supporter.

I am a gray-haired retiree living in the very red state of Wyoming. I check "white" or "Caucasian" on surveys and government documents. Sometimes I write in "Celtic" or "Irish-American" due to my roots and my freckled exterior and general wise-ass attitude. I have been married for eighty gazillion years (give or take) and have 2.0 children who no longer live in Wyoming. I own my own house and keep the lawn green and cut, for the most part. I pay my taxes and, like the majority of Americans, no longer go to church on a regular basis yet I still call myself a Christian.

For those reasons alone, I would be welcomed with open arms at a Trump rally. However, should the Trump capos dig deeper into my background, they would find that I am hopelessly progressive and should be interned on the second day of the Trump presidency. On the first day, Trump will be busy building his wall.

Progressive, as you probably know, is another word for Liberal or Democrat. According to evangelist Franklin Graham, who visited our fair city yesterday for a fundie hootenanny on the Wyoming Supreme Court lawn for 2,400 true believers, progressive is "just a code word for being an atheist." And as he went on to say, according to today's WTE, "there's no difference between secularism and communism -- they're both godless."

The now-gray-haired offspring of the Rev. Billy Graham, Tricky Dick's bff, looks and sounds like Trump when he says that there is too darned much political correctness (PC) in the USA. Trump loves that term and drags it out every time he wants to criticize those who are criticizing his racism and sexism. Doggone it, if I want to use that term for black people that my grandpappy did, it's my God-given right to do so. God told me that. To not do his bidding would be a sin. So to hell with you PC people.

Political correctness has been a favorite right-wing catchphrase for several decades now, ever since White America has sensed that they are being overtaken by the ethnic tribes of Africa, Asia and Latin America. Those fears are borne out by simple demographics. Numbers of foreign-born and ethnic populations have increased. However, the U.S. is still majority white at 77% or 62 percent if you remove those who call themselves both Hispanic and white. But that's just not white enough for some who feel that the U.S. began to go to hell in a handbasket beginning in the sixties and culminating in the presidency of that black guy who was probably born in Kenya.

Anecdotal evidence abides. My Irish-American parents spawned nine children. To keep up traditions, all of us should have bred nine children each and they all should be busy breeding too, allowing the freckled white race to forever thrive in these United States. Fortunately for the planet, my siblings and I produced no more than 0-3 children each, which opened the door for swarthy immigrants and Donald Trump.

Blame us.

My children and nieces and nephews all seem too busy making a living and hanging out at brewpubs to procreate. I salute their choices. We may be doomed, but at least they all get to appreciate a good IPA along the way.

One more thing... I received a mailing from Judicial Watch this week. I don't know how Phyllis Schlafly got my address but there she was, glowering at me from the gray foolscap. The first paragraph of her missive said it all:

Dear Fellow American:

Obama's illegal EXECUTIVE AMNESTY for untold millions of illegal aliens who have invaded America in an audacious scheme for winning future elections for the Left.

That's the beginning, but you know what's coming. These millions of illegal aliens will vote "in large numbers, for liberal politicians" and will receive "generous welfare benefits" such as food stamps, Medicaid, Social Security benefits and "Obamaphones." Obamaphones? I Googled that term as I had never heard of it. Turns out, needy Americans can get help with free cell phones and free minutes by applying on obamaphone.com. In case you're curious about the name, this info from the web site should help:

To clear up any possible confusion, it is important to state up front that the Obama Phone is the popular, unofficial name of the Lifeline Assistance program. It matters little, however, what the official name is, because the Obama Phone is the name people know, what they talk about, what they remember. 

Now I shall remember it too.

Ms. Schlafly is right to be alarmed. The first thing those millions of illegal aliens (known to PC progressives as undocumented immigrants) will do when they get their cell phone is get online and donate their millions in disposable income to The Left. You might have thought that these people would be wiring their millions to their impoverished villages in Mexico or Syria. But you'd be wrong. Phyllis says so.

Anyway, if you want to send a Nastygram to Judicial Watch, find them here. If you want to send a Candygram to Ms. Schlafly, go to the Eagle Forum web site.

Dems garden party on Aug. 28 features Keith Blaney in concert

As a member of the event planning committee for the Laramie County Democrats Grassroots Coalition in Cheyenne, I share this bit of news (and an appropriate video from the way-back machine) with music-loving liberals:

The Laramie County Democratic Grassroots Coalition (LCDGC) is sponsoring a Garden Concert Fundraiser featuring singer/artist Keith "Boxcar" Blaney on Sunday, August 28. The Garden Party will be from 2-5 p.m. at 3626 Dover Road where Keith will entertain with his acoustic guitar. Suggested donation is $15.00 at the door. There will be appetizers and a 50/50 card sale. Please BYOB, a lawn chair and an appetizer to share. Come enjoy an afternoon in a beautiful garden with awesome music and great conversation with like minded individuals. For further information, contact Kathleen at 421-4496.

On Donald Trump's five draft deferments

Men of a certain age should read this in Monday's New York Times article: "Donald Trump's Draft Deferments: Four for College, One for Bad Feet."

Spoiler Alert: Trump didn't get drafted during Vietnam. A shame, really, since he could have advised Gen. Westmoreland and his brain trust on the proper way to conduct and win a war. Of course, the "best and the brightest" were already advising Lyndon Johnson and later, the dynamic duo of Nixon/Kissinger on "How the world's number one superpower can defeat tiny pajama-clad guys hiding in holes in the jungle." The addition of another brainiac from the Ivy League (Wharton School) might have tipped the balance in our favor.

But Trump took his 1-Y deferment (bone spurs in his feet) into the real estate business and made a bundle, facing many sacrifices along the way. The bone spurs eventually cleared up, allowing The Donald to jump up on stages and cut the fool from Flint to Fort Lauderdale.

Full disclosure: I also had five draft deferments. Two for education, one for ROTC, one the coveted 1-A and, finally, I was told by Selective Service that my presence wouldn't be needed except in times of national emergency. That day never arrived.

Trump didn't go to Vietnam. Neither did I. He had bone spurs and a high draft number. My number from the December 1969 Selective Service Lottery was 128. In 1970, the Selective Service called eligible men with numbers all of the way up to 300.

The difference is, I'm not running for president. I am not boasting that I will send young people to war against Radical Islamic Extremists. I am not buds with Russian oligarchs and Vladimir "Big V" Putin. I do not belittle sacrifices made by Gold Star families.

Trump feels "a little guilty" for not serving. So do I. I guess we have that in common too.

Some politicians float proposals about a return to the draft. Or at least a national service program for 18-25 year olds. Republicans don't like this idea as it would put the educated class in harm's way, the same way it does now for enlistees from Meeteetsee, Wyoming, and Itta Bena, Mississippi. Sacrifices would be made.

The draft wasn't fair. Random in its ways, never more so as when the lottery was in operation.

Trump has his story. I have mine. I will post it in installments over the next month.

Paging Dr. Gonzo

I shouldn't be reading Hunter Thompson this week.

I should be reading something hopeful. Last week, during the Republican National Convention, I read "The Soul of an Octopus" by Sy Montgomery. During a four-day stretch in Cleveland that cast doubt on the future of the human race, I felt lifted up by Montgomery's book. Not so much for humanity but for the Octopoda. Humans may not be smart enough to grok octopus intelligence. Octopus may be sending secret signals to each other, laughing at the coming destruction of the human species and rejoicing about the advent of WaterWorld, when octopus will rule and they will ponder humans on display in undersea terrariums. "I wonder what that human will do if we poke it with a stick?" And the human recoils in pain. "Ouch," says one of my descendants, living his life in a plastic bubble, ogled all day by members of the master race.

See what I mean? Off I go in a dark Thompson-like tangent. Can't seem to stay on task. Unlike Dr. Gonzo, I'm as sober as an American can be. My drug of choice is craft beer, made by Millennials in breweries that look like old Nazi ball-bearing factories. They gradually ratchet up the ABV in brews such as Wyoming's own Melvin 2x4 DIPA (9.9%) to render Baby Boomers docile as lambs and to take over the world or at least parts of the Rocky Mountain West.

If you add to my regimen a slew of heart medications and a few for depression and an ICD that beams my every move to Master Control, you can see that I am a fully compromised human being. A liberal automaton. A Hillbot.

Only writing allows me to occasionally come out of my crustacean-like shell.

Hunter Thompson caused me to look at the world differently. I cannot explain it.

I can duplicate Gonzo but it's not the same as Thompson's. He had a brand. I bet he would hate me saying that. Having a brand these days is all the rage. Hunter's was capital G Gonzo. His brand was so strong that he could become a character in the comics and everybody knew who it was. You can try to duplicate one of the author's famous rants but it wouldn't be the same.

But I do want to point out that Thompson had a gift. I can't explain it. You have to read it. And it was best to read it "as it happened" on the pages of Rolling Stone. You had to be there, as the saying goes. Thompson could put you on the scene. Hell's Angels. Vegas. Caribbean shark hunt, Kentucky Derby, Aspen politics. The spectacle -- marked by wretched excess at every turn -- of American life. As the sixties unfolded, so did a new writing style. He was in the middle of it.

You can detect some of Thompson's dark humor in the writing of Matt Taibbi in RS. Bloggers get into the act but snarky isn't gonzo.

On that note, check out some of my columns from the 2008 DNC by going here and here and even here. It was a grand experiment, embedding bloggers with their DNC delegations in Denver. Not certain how many of my fellow bloggers are still at it. I am haphazard at best, spending as much blogging time with personal issues as I do on politics. I covered politics consistently in '08, including time at the DNC, and won a scholarship to Netroots Nation in Minneapolis in 2011. I was a sporadic contributor to Daily Kos. At the same time, I had a full-time writing/editing job and another passion writing short fiction. And a family. To do it correctly, you need to devote time and energy to the pursuit. Might have been my heart attack of 2012/2013, a jolt to the widowmaker so severe that it spanned two calendar years. Changed my brain-paths and priorities.

And I'm still here.

Flashbacks: Denver 2008 and Fear & Loathing 1972

It's not Flashback Friday or Throwback Thursday, but we are venturing back eight years to the Democratic National Convention in Denver. What was happening eight years ago? Well, the convention hadn't started yet as it was late in August, bumping up against football season, which is feverish in the Mile High City during any year but high expectations should be keen this year for the Super Bowl champs as they decide who will fill Manning's XXXL shoes and ego.

To read about first-day happenings at Denver DNC, go here. Other posts are in the archives for August 2008.

Strange as it seems, Hillary Clinton figured prominently in Denver. She relinquished the stage to Barack Obama in '08 but has no intention of giving up the prime spot in Philly. Tim Kaine as Veep? Not my first choice. Elizabeth Warren would have been a dazzling pick. Even craft brewer and Colorado governor John Hickenlooper held more appeal, although he did oppose marijuana legalization. If he had prevailed on this issue, Denver's hipster invasion may have been avoided. I liked the idea of Newark's Cory Booker on the ticket, or Julian or Joaquin Castro of San Antonio. It may be too soon to have Clinton/Castro on lawn signs in Miami or even in Cheyenne. Wait a few decades, when a dead-and-buried Fidel is as ubiquitous on T-shirts as Che, and Havana is a hotspot for Sandalistas in search of quaint bistros, brewpubs and boutique hotels.

Speaking of flashbacks... I'm reading "Fear and Loathing at Rolling Stone: The Essential Writings of Hunter S. Thompson." I was searching the library for "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72," but found this newer volume instead. I skipped through Thompson's report of running for Aspen sheriff on the Freak Power ticket and his run-in with the Hell's Angels. This may be hard to believe, children of the West, but in the early 1970s, the Roaring Fork Valley was much more like present-day Wyoming than the Colorado of today. Longhairs were not welcome in Aspen or Denver ("get out of Denver, baby, go!) or even Boulder. Hitchhikers were more likely to get a finger-o-gram than a ride. The stoned, half-naked hippies of the Rainbow Tribe were not welcomed to Colorado in the summer of '72. And wild-man Hunter Thompson was not elected sheriff of Aspen in 1970 with his promise of free drugs for all.

Here's Thompson's description of Aspen in 1969, when registered GOPers outnumbered Dems 2-1 -- and both were outnumbered by independents:

"They are a jangled mix of Left/Crazies and Birchers: cheap bigots, dope dealers, Nazi ski instructors, and spaced-out "psychedelic farmers" with no politics at all beyond self-preservation."=

DNC 1968 host Mayor Richard Daley unleashed the city's cops on hippies and Yippies on the streets of Chicago. In 1972 in Miami, activists remembered and were having nothing of Hubert Humphrey. Youngsters and disillusioned older Dems selected South Dakota anti-war war hero George McGovern as their standard-bearer against Nixon. It was a "doomed campaign" from the start, says Thompson. He preferred McGovern over "party hacks" Humphrey and Muskie and "Scoop" Jackson. But he knew that McGovern didn't have a chance against Tricky Dick's tactics. That included the now-infamous Southern Strategy which transformed the Dems of the South into fire-breathing Republicans who were deathly afraid (and resentful) of hippies, women's libbers, school integration, the threat of Ho's legions invading Memphis and Atlanta, and modern life in general. Sound familiar? Trump's people are stoking similar sentiments, especially angst about present and future America.

Here's a strange little quote from Thompson about his experiences in Aspen's 1969 mayoral race and his own race for sheriff in '70. See if it has any bearing on Trump's run this year:

"This is what some people call 'the Aspen technique' in politics: neither opting out of the system, nor working within it... but calling its bluff, by using its strength to turn it back on itself... and by always assuming that the people in power are not smart."

I have noticed everyone from former hippies to right-wing doomsdayers coming out for Trump. They all want to say "fuck you" to the establishment, as Michael Moore pointed out so well in his recent "Five Reasons Why Trump Will Win" article. Maybe Trump has resurrected the Aspen technique for the 21st century? Freak Power, Trump style. Unknown Colorado state rep (later Gov) Dick Lamm used a similar tactic when he urged Coloradans to say "fuck you" to the International Olympic Committee. And they did. The IOC told themselves that nobody ever votes against the Olympics. Lamm and his minions assumed that the IOC didn't know what the hell is what doing -- and they were correct. Behold the Brazil and Russia olympiads.

It is also possible that the people in power in the Democratic Party are not as smart as they think they are. Hunter Thompson and the ancient philosophers knew that hubris can be an Achilles' Heel. Cliches, too -- they knew all about those.

Flashback: Blogging the 2008 DNC

Eight years after...

In August 2008, I spent a week as an embedded blogger at the Democratic National Convention in Denver.  We we all so much older then, I'm younger than that now. I am retired, treating life like a kid who's just discovered summer vacation.

I was one of 55 progressive bloggers embedded with state and territorial delegations. We all received press credentials and a seat with our delegation at the Pepsi Center. Expenses were tight, as my wife worked for a non-profit and I worked for the State of Wyoming. Our daughter was still in high school, so we had the usual teen expenses: cellphone, computer, Internet access, food, fashion, car repairs, bail money. etc. I stayed in my Republican uncle's basement and avoided downtown parking by taking the light rail. We bloggers were selected and sponsored by Howard Dean's Democracy for America organization. I was one of Wyoming's few prog-bloggers at the time, so I was chosen to represent The Equality State at the DNC. I could blog from the bloggers' aerie located above the floor. I could circulate anywhere that Bill O'Reilly could, if I really wanted to.

I blogged with a 2006 laptop and a digital camera. I had a flip phone that took so-so photos. I had ethernet access on the floor but the Pepsi Center had no wireless access due to "security concerns." Not sure what that meant. We now live in an era when smartphones are much smarter than their operators and wireless is available at your neighborhood McDonald's (as is "breakfast all day!").

If I didn't blog from the floor of the convention or the pressroom, I had to find a public computer at the local library or a joint that offered free wireless. Starbuck's was not one of those, BTW. It's hard to believe that we survived such trying times.

So I convened and blogged Aug. 24-28. Leading up to the convention, I did my best to profile all of the state's 18 delegates. Some I interviewed and wrote about at the convention. I wandered downtown on Sunday to cover competing demonstrations. Ron Kovic and Cindy Sheehan spoke on the Capitol steps for the antiwar crowd and the pro-war folks stood across the street from Civic Center Park, glowering at the old hippies and young hipsters. Massed squads of police were there to ensure that tensions did not progress past the glowering stage.

I kick myself for missing the big ani-war march later in the week. Rage Against the Machine performed at the Stockyards Arena and then led a march to the Pepsi Center. According to news reports, tensions flared briefly when the police notified Tom Morello and company that they didn't have a parade permit. Police must have sensed something in the air (not pot -- this was pre-legalization). They decided to escort the peaceniks downtown. Peace and love prevailed. No alleged RATM-inspired riot ensued, as happened in Los Angeles eight years earlier. You can see video of the ruckus on YouTube. It may have fed off some of the anarchist-caused violence during the Battle in Seattle the previous winter. Rage on Stage did not lead to tear gas a rubber bullets in Denver. Interesting to note that the new RATM -- Prophets of Rage -- performed in Cleveland at the RNC. And they headline the Rock Against the TPP concert tonight at Denver's Summit Music Hall. While peace reigned in Cleveland, will it be the same in Philly for the DNC? You might find out more by reading your favorite prog-blogger than the MSM.

I will revisit some of my posts from 2008 in the coming week. Look up August 2008 in the Hummingbirdminds archives (scroll down the right sidebar). It's been instructive to see where I was, both in thoughts and deeds, eight years ago. I've always liked this Flannery O'Connor quote: “I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say.”

Political convention season in Cleveland and Philadelphia

Once again, we find ourselves in the midst of political convention season.

Republicans gather in Cleveland this week -- they will wrap it up Thursday night. Democrats convene in Philadelphia next week.

Local news has interviewed some familiar faces. My Cheyenne city councilperson, Dicky Shanor, is a delegate in Cleveland. A member of the Micheli clan was interviewed last weekend on NPR. Sen./Dr. John Barrasso has been interviewed about the ultra-conservative, regressive platform that he's shepherded through the long approval process. I'm certain that network cameras have captured other delegates, especially those wearing cowboy hats or other unique garb. I would have details if I was actually watching the convention instead of conducting other important business, such as enjoying Wyoming's summer evenings. I marvel at lightning unleashed in massive storm clouds. I listen to the birds. Chat with Chris. Mess with my garden. Drink a beer. All preferable to watching Repubs spew their hate and paranoia on national TV. I plan to read the lowlights of the party's platform. All you need to know about Republicans is in that document.

How can you possibly write about a convention that you are not watching?

Good question. The answer is simple: I have a blog and I live in the U.S.A.

Besides, I'm harmless, a 65-year-old retiree located deep in the middle of flyover country. My biggest decision of the day is what to have for lunch.

I like Cleveland even though I've never been there. It's home to the trail-blazing Cleveland Clinic and an excellent poetry series at Cleveland State University. It's the home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. When I was a lad, the Cleveland Indians were one of my favorite teams. As an adult, I delighted in John Elway's rally against the Browns during "The Drive." I was a delegate for former Cleveland Boy-Mayor Dennis Kucinich at the 2004 Wyoming state convention. He wasn't the nominee that year but the Dems got thrashed by Dubya just the same.

I did a little research a found that Cleveland, the former industrial powerhouse whose polluted river once infamously burst into flames, is now undergoing a renaissance. Millennials and Boomer empty-nesters are moving into the city's core. Both populations seek a more urban lifestyle that includes small apartments/condos and closeness to arts, culture, bistros and brewpubs. They are lying low this week, due to swarms of outlander Repubs in funny hats invading their territory. But they will be able to return to their hip urban lifestyles next week.

Cheyenne's Jason Bloomberg, a Hillary Clinton delegate, departs Friday for the cross-country trek to Philly in the Trumpbusters' Tesla. 

On Monday, the Democrats launch their confab in Philly.  Eighteen of my fellow Wyoming Democrats will be on hand for the proceedings. Two of the delegates will drive to Cleveland in Jason Bloomberg's Tesla, stopping at charging stations along the way. Jason, a Hillary delegate, is traveling with a Bernie delegate. They will have many enlightening discussions along the way. The convention will be a bit of deja vu for Dr. Bloomberg, who was a committed Hillary delegate to the 2008 county, state and national conventions. He remembers what happened in 2008 and tells me that he is excited, at last, to be able to cast his vote for Ms. Clinton as our party's candidate for prez. In Denver in 2008, Hillary bowed out gracefully when it was certain that Barack Obama had the votes. I witnessed that convention as an embedded blogger from Wyoming. I will revisit some of my convention posts during the next week, a bit of a flashback to those heady days in Denver. Be forewarned...

For more on Bloomberg's Trumpbusters' campaign, go here. To read about his experiences as a 2016 delegate, go here.

Reunion time Down South

Traveled to Florida for Chris's high school reunion. Not exactly her reunion but her sister Ellen's, who was just one year behind Chris as a member in good standing of the Seabreeze High School Fighting Sandcrabs. Sandcrabs can be particularly feisty when males fight each other during mating season and when attacked by predators. Humans feel the crab's pinch when they step on gnarly crustaceans while strolling through the surf.

We met mostly congenial Crabs at the reunion at the Hilton, the convention hotel directly across from the Daytona Beach Ocean Center. The convention center and hotel are new additions since these 18-year-olds graduated in 1976. Their name badges featured their photo in the bicentennial annual. The guys were longhairs, many of them surfers. Seabreeze sits a half block from the beach. If the surf was up, well, attendance was down. The school district built a fence to pen in surfing youth, especially since a McDonald's was en route to salt water. Fences are made to be climbed or, on occasion, dismantled. Coaches served as border guards. One of Ellen's classmates told us how he and his pals handcuffed an unsuspecting football coach to the fence. They had to run laps the rest of the year, but the surf was worth it.

At reunions, people tell stories. Almost all are true, although they get reimagined over the years. While the classmates shared, I listened. Some of the guys knew my brother Pat, surfer and football player, class of '74. My sister Eileen was in the '76 class. And many of Chris's friends. They partied together in high school and shared a beachside house while attending the local community college. Even though Chris attended school with a bunch of heathens, she sang in Daybreak, a Catholic singing group. Her questionable singing skills led her to a spot in the back row jangling on the tambourine. 

Seems funny, but they were of a different generation. I was class of '69 at Father Lopez Catholic High School six miles from the beach. School named after the priest who accompanied Ponce De Leon to Florida. Our mascot -- the Fighting Green Waves. I wore a uniform to school. Green Wave coat and tie. Attended weekly mass. You skipped school at your peril. Sister Bernandita would be in your face the next day. Not your face, really, as she was four-foot-ten and barely reached my chest. She roared like a lion, Punishment could be severe. The nuns hit and punched us. The priests took out the paddles. Just a look from Sister Norbert could freeze a linebacker in his tracks. 

The Crabs had a different experience. Principal a drunk. Teachers lackadaisical -- and some dated students. Every night a party night. Students allegedly engaged in s-e-x, unlike their Catholic brethren and sistren.  

As the current Pope might say: Who am I to judge? Chris's sister and friends are amazing. Remember how confusing it was to be 16? Remember how important friends were? High school can be the best of times and/or the worst of times. The first half of the 1970s meant sex and drugs and rock 'n' roll. In the South, it also meant integration. The school had a riot, or at least va major disturbance. Blacks and whites treated each other with suspicion. Until the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (and slightly thereafter) Daytona was a sundowner town. African-Americans weren't allowed on the beachside after sundown without a work permit. To be there otherwise, you risked arrest or a beating or worse. Blacks lived on the other side of the bridge in the Second Avenue neighborhood adjacent to Bethune-Cookman College, a traditional African-American college founded by noted educator Mary McLeod Bethune.

Daytona has a lively history. The baseball stadium on City Island is called Jackie Robinson Ballpark or "The Jack." In 1946, Daytona Beach defied segregation laws and was the first Florida city to allow Robinson to play in public with his Brooklyn Dodgers farm team. Noted African-American author Zora Neale Hurston from nearby Eatonville wrote on her houseboat in Daytona. Stephen Crane spent a night in Daytona after he was shipwrecked while on his way to cover the Cuban dust-up in 1897. This was the genesis for Crane's much-anthologized story "The Open Boat." The now unknown Robert Wilder (only one of his books still in print) wrote a Hemingwayesque book about Daytona's early days entitled "God Has a Long Face." Walter M. Miller, Jr., the tormented and reclusive World War II veteran and author of "A Canticle for Leibowitz," committed suicide in Daytona. He announced his death in advance with a call to the police, telling them that there was a dead man in his front yard (thanks to Denny Bowden and his excellent blog Volusia History for this info). Fireball Roberts (see comments) and Dale Earnhardt both died in wrecks at Daytona International Speedway. NASCAR started with races on the hard-packed sand of the beach. Early stock-car racers refined their skills by outrunning "revenooers" in the Appalachian hills.

It's all about stories and relationships. Can't have one without the other.

Stymie stereotypes! Attend a Democratic Party event today!!

Welcome to July.

Fourth of July fireworks. Camping in the Rockies. Lazing around thinking about what to write.

It's also primary season. Absentee voting begins today for the Aug. 16 primary. Half the population of Laramie County is running for office. Or so it seems. This is a good thing, as it shows civic engagement. It also shows stamina for candidates walking neighborhoods and chatting with the electorate. It's doubly difficult for Democrats, as first you have to tell people what a Democrat is. A foreign term in this Republican-dominated state. Most Fox News viewers think that Democrats are free-spending, gun-hating, LGBT-loving wastrels. MSNBC-watching Democrats, on the other hand, believe that Republicans are stingy, gun-loving, LGBT-hating rednecks.

We're both wrong.

Most of us, except Ted Nugent, defy stereotypes. If you're a Democrat, don't you like to astonish argumentative types by admitting you're a hunter and can quote Bible passages like the most diehard Baptist? If you're a conservative, isn't it fun to flummox flaming liberals by admitting that you are a gay military veteran who is also a union member who supports a living wage? Surprise!

Some interesting conversation can come from these encounters. We all learn something, mainly tolerance for each other's POV. A little, anyway.

Where can I meet some of these people called Democrats? They may be right next door or in your own family. But if you truly want to talk to a Dem in a friendly setting, check out one of the following events. Most are fund-raisers, so you risk giving your hard-earned pay to a liberal. But that means you can donate more to your candidate of choice as you have plenty of money (favorite bumper sticker: "Republicans -- we work so you don't have to"). Info is incomplete as of this writing. Put your questions in the comments and I will try to answer them for you. It may take awhile -- you know how shiftless we Dems are.

Here's the schedule:

Saturday, July 16: Wine & cheese fund-raiser for county delegates going to Dems convention in Philly. Lori Millin's house. Not sure of time or cost. 

Sunday, July 17, 2-5 p.m.: Dems garden party and cake walk, Joe Corrigan's house. Bring a cake and/or win someone else's cake. Admission: $15. Family friendly. 

Sunday, Aug. 7, (time TBA), Laramie Co. Dems barbecue and fund-raiser, AB Camping & BBQ on College Drive -- we've had it there several times. Family friendly. 

Sunday, Aug. 28, 2-5 p.m., garden concert at Joe Corrigan's house. Adults.

Sunday, Sept. 18, 11 a.m.-1 p.m., tailgate brunch before Denver Broncos game with Indianapolis Colts, Joe Corrigan's house, $15, lots of goodies to eat including quiches, casseroles, breakfast burritos, fruit, etc. Mimosas to imbibe. Wear team colors, even if you're a Raiders fan. Family friendly.

There are a couple of candidate fund-raisers I know about. Lee Filer is having one on July 9 at AB Camping & BBQ and Joe Corrigan is hosting fund-raiser for U.S. House candidate Ryan Greene on Aug. 21. There obviously will be others. Stay tuned...