Saturday side-trip to Ethiopia

I don't often recommend restaurants. That may be because I don't often go to restaurants. I eat at home most of the time. I cook, which helps keep down expenses. Lately I've been making killer salads from my garden's greens and herbs. Soon we will have broccoli and beans and peas and tomatoes and peppers and all the rest. One must be patient to garden in this high-altitude climate.

Four of us travelled I-25 Street to Nyala Ethiopian Cuisine Saturday evening. I-25 is the longest connector street in the Cheyenne-Fort Collins Metroplex. It carries a flurry of sojourners seeking jobs, education, good food and craft beer. When foodies in Cheyenne eat out, they go to the Morris House Bistro in downtown Cheyenne or any number of places in Fort Collins. We have other places to eat in Cheyenne, but most are chains with predictable fare.

Nyala is located in a nondescript shopette just off South College Avenue, one of the busiest streets in Colorado. It shares a building with an Indian restaurant. If we could teleport this building to Cheyenne, our fair city would double its number of international restaurants with homemade offerings (that doesn't include the ubiquitous Tex-Mex and Americanized Chinese restaurants).

Until teleportation arrives, we have to transport ourselves via Ford to Fort Collins.

The nyala is an Ethiopian ibex. A photo of one hangs in the restaurant entryway. The walls are festooned with fabric hangings representing aspects of Ethiopian culture, such as the coffee ceremony and half-size versions of musical instruments such as the krar, which is cousin to the sitar and guitar. 

We chose traditional seating over the regular American-style tables. We sat in cushioned, bench-like seats, the four of us arrayed around a low-slung circular table. Our food came on a large platter. We used Injera bread for utensils. "No forks" John told us. Annie thought he was kidding, until the food arrived but no forks. We scooped up the lentils and gomen and lamb wot and beef tibs with swipes of our Injera.

Food brings people together. It also provides a glimpse into other cultures. We spoke at length with proprietor and chef Etage Asrat. She moved to Fort Collins in 1991. After taking time out to raise her three daughters and finish her education, she opened her restaurant in 2004. Her daughters now are global citizens like their mom. These days, she's an American (and a Coloradan) with roots and family in Addis Ababa. She will visit her home country this winter. Her family back home helps prepare ingredients for Nyala's cuisine. They are mostly traditional and classic Ethiopian dishes Asrat grew up with.

John is an old Ethiopian hand. He served two tours with the Peace Corps in Ethiopia, first in Jima and then in Addis Ababa. "Tours" is usually a military term, but people seem to forget that JFK created the Peace Corps as a civilian counterpart to the Green Berets, which he also authorized. Congressman Richard Nixon, JFK's opponent in the 1960 presidential elections, criticized the program as a "cult of escapism" and "a haven for draft dodgers."

Chris's father, Jack Schweiger, was a U.S. Army supply officer who was tasked with getting goods into the country and to the troops. He often worked with civilian authorities and their supply needs. After all, His Imperial Majesty Halie Selassie, had an understanding with the U.S. He was happy to supply the U.S. with an outpost on the Horn of Africa to blunt the Soviet influence in nearby states. Jack did two tours in Ethiopia (1967-70). He then sent the family back to the states as he was sent to another U.S, client-state, Vietnam. Both Ethiopia and Vietnam would be out of the U.S. orbit by 1975. And Haile Salassie would be dead.

So it goes.

Nyala is part restaurant and part museum. It's worth a visit. It's much closer than Addis Ababa.

Back by popular demand: "Cotton Patch Gospel"

A troupe of local musicians and actors resurrected the "Cotton Patch Gospel" last fall for a series of SRO performances at the Vineyard Church downtown. The book was written by Tom Key and Russell Treyz, with music and lyrics by Harry Chapin. Read my post about the play's origins here. 

The "Gospel" returns July 12-13 and 19-20, 7 p.m., at Cheyenne First Baptist Church, 1800 E. Pershing Blvd. Admission is $10 for adults and $5 for children. You can buy tix at the door. All proceeds benefit Convoy of Hope Christian Outreach.

The cast features "The Cotton Swabs" made up of Kevin Guille, Brad Eddy, Randy Oestman, Jerry Gallegos, Kevin Uhrich and Bob Fontaine.

FMI: 307-638-8700

Leader of Fremont County Dems and Rep. Tim Stubson to spar over Vacation Theft Act

This bit of news comes from the Fremont County Democrats:

Monday at 8 AMish, Fremont County Democratic Party Chair, Bruce Palmer, will be on radio KVOW AM 1450 talking with John Vincent about the Enrolled Act 37, the Vacation Theft Act. Also scheduled to appear is the bill's sponsor, Representative Tim Stubson.

It should be interesting hearing Rep. Stubson explain why taking a workers earned, accrued vacation is actually positive for the worker.

Don't think we can get KVOW in Southeast Wyo. Try this Internet link.

For some background from a Dem POV, read Pete Gosar's "An Unprovoked Attack on Wyoming Workers" in today's Star-Trib. 

Cardiac Chronicles, continued

I get my implantable cardioverter-defibrillator (ICD) on Monday. It's an ingenious little gadget, weighing only 70 grams and 12.9 mm thick. Your average chicken egg weighs 70 grams. The belt holding up my pants is about 12.9 mm thick.

The docs will cut a slit just beneath my left collarbone, slip some leads through the vein to my heart, connect the leads to the gadget, jump-start the ICD (they told me to bring my jumper cables), sew me up and send me away, a new man. Partially new, anyway.

The ICD will correct dangerous arrhythmias and prevent sudden cardiac death. I'm at risk for these because my heart muscles sustained some damage when I had my Christmas holiday heart attack. Sudden cardiac death is what people mean when they say "He dropped dead from a heart attack. Boom -- just like that!"  

Boom -- just like that.

Not me, thanks. Not now.

Got a lot of living left to do.

Hitchhiker's Guide to the West

As of July 1, hitchhiking is legal in Wyoming.

And just in time for the summer travel season.

This new law came out of a need for skiers and kayakers and backpackers to hitch rides back to the place they've left their vehicles. This is especially true in Teton County where people are recreating all over the place. Skiers often park their Subarus at the top of Teton Pass and, when they reach the bottom, hitch a ride back to the pass.They then drive down to Jackson and spend good money shoring up the Wyoming economy.

Rep. Keith Gingery of Teton County was behind the bill. He told the Casper Star-Tribune:

“That was a fun bill because so many people do it and now it’s legal,” he said. “A kayaker is just trying to get back to their kayak.”

Not sure exactly what Rep. Gingery means by this. If a kayaker is trying to get back to his kayak, that means he got to the end of the run without it. Now he's in trouble, and no amount of ticket-free hitchhiking is going to find his kayak for him.

My hitchhiking days were in the 1970s. I did a fair amount of hitchhiking as a backpacker, although a usually planned a long loop into the wilderness and then back along the trail to my car.  It was easier that way.

Most of my hitching was to get from Point A to Point B. I hitchhiked to work. I hitched rides to college classes. I hitched to the beach and to the mountains. I hitched rides from Daytona Beach, Fla., to Storrs, Conn. I hitched from Houston to Denver. I hitched from San Francisco to Boston. I hitched all over the West in the glory days of the hitchhiker, the late '60s into the 1970s.

It was a young person's pursuit. It was a necessity, as often I didn't have my own car. It was also an adventure.

This takes us back to Colorado. In the summer of 1972, everyone seemed bound for the Centennial State. The mountains beckoned. The Rainbow Gathering was on in Granby. It was the home of Coors which, for some mysterious reason, had attained mythic status on the coasts. It wasn't unusual for a friend to make a pot run from Florida to Boulder just to snag a couple cases of Coors. Even more puzzling is the fact that there was always some pretty amazing marijuana on hand in Florida. And cold beer.

I was on the road that summer along with about a million of my closest friends. This was before I started keeping a journal so I have only my imperfect memory to remember it. I don't have any slides but, if I did, I could bore the heck out of you with a series of scenes.

Instead, I'll do it with words...

--To be continued--

1972 Colorado: A flashback without the nostalgia

A few days ago, I mourned the loss of poet and poetry promoter Kurt Brown. His latest book was a look back at Aspen in its heyday, “Lost Sheep: Aspen’s Counterculture in the 1970s” (Conundrum Press, 2012).

All of us who lived here -- or travelled through -- in the late 1960s or early 1970s have vivid memories of Aspen and other Rocky Mountain hotspots such as Jackson, Boulder, Missoula and fabled Taos. Denver acted as a kind of way-station for coastal travellers, much as it did for miners after placer gold was discovered at the confluence of Cherry Creek and the South Platte. Much as it did for Jack Kerouac and Alan Ginsberg and other Beats as they made their mad motorized dashes between New York and San Francisco and back again.

In the 1970s, it seemed as it everyone knew someone with a rundown apartment or house in Denver's Capitol Hill. Those were heady pre-gentrification days, when you could live ten to a house and still have room left for hitchhikers from Florida. And a steady supply of pot, although other illicit drugs, some with nasty side-effects, were seeping into the mix. By legalizing pot, Colorado now is closing the circle on its Wild West Reefer Roots. Not a bad name for a roots band, eh?

The year 1972 was a heady one for Colorado. An iconoclastic Dem legislator, Dick Lamm, was pushing a bill to defund the 1976 Winter Olympics. It passed, causing apoplectic fits among the gasbags at the International Olympic Committee. Avant garde artist Christo was building the "Valley Curtain" in a canyon near Rifle, which caused fits among conservative gasbags on the Western Slope. Hunter S. Thompson was running for sheriff of Pitkin County on a platform to legalize marijuana.

Excitement was building for the first Rainbow Gathering in Granby. Here's how it's described on the Woodstock Museum's web site:

The Woodstock Festival of '69 inspired the 1st Rainbow Gathering, attracting tens of thousands to celebrate their connection to the earth and to each other. This historic, hippie gathering of 1972 was prophecied by Hopi, Sioux, Muskokee-Cree and other American Indian tribes. And they were there! Rainbow Gatherings continue today, all over the world. Always free!

The prophecy says that the great-great grandchildren of the white conqueror would grow their hair long and rebel against society, travel east and west, gather in the mountains under the symbol of the White Buffalo. They would dance, sing and chant in many tongues. Their symbol would be the dove. They would be Brothers and sisters to the Hopi, people of peace. They would come and go, yet be a sign to the Indian that the spirit is returning.

I'm always a bit dubious when hippies and New Agers declare an affinity with Native American spirituality. The Indians I know feel the same way. Just another aspect of their culture being ripped off.

But the Rainbow Family Gathering was a big deal. You have to remember that Colorado was not some sort of hippie paradise. The Front Range was made up of working cities and towns. Denver's growth had been fueled by an influx of World War II veterans who lived in suburbia and made a living in aerospace, real estate and assorted industries. Some of those veterans' children were growing up and hanging out in Capitol Hill and Boulder. The parents were pissed. At the same time, some of those Boomer kids were content to attend CU or DU or CSU, join a frat or sorority, and start looking for their own place in the society of suburbia. As is the case with most generations, we are not all cut from the same swatch of tie-dyed cloth.

Thousands worked at Colorado Ironworks in Pueblo. The same could be said for the big Samsonite and Gates Rubber Company plants in Denver. Colorado Springs was solidly a military town, seeds being planted for the born-again conservative insurgency yet to arrive from the coasts. Fort Collins was an Aggie town, living up to the whitewashed "A" emblazoned on the mountain above town. Greeley was a beef-packing town, with its sprawling Monfort plant and acres of corrals holding cattle destined for slaughter.

Boulder was a long way from becoming The People's Republic of Boulder. Businesses on The Hill posted signs prohibiting junkies from their premises. While all longhairs may have looked like junkies to some business owners, the town was experiencing an upsurge in heroin abuse and abuse of dumb-ass drugs like Quaaludes and speed. Acid trippers added another element. Most people dropped acid at concerts or at home or up in Gold Hill while communing with nature. But a number of burnt-out cases roamed Boulder and Aspen, as recounted in Kurt's book. They were byproducts of a counterculture that took prisoners in the form of druggies who never made it to the other side. I knew a few myself.

I wasn't one. I hitchhiked through the West that summer with my Boston girlfriend, Sharon. She wanted to be a nurse. I wanted to be a writer. Now free of any military commitment, I was out to see the world, or at least the USA. It was as crazy and free and fun and dangerous as The Beats said.

--To be continued--

Sending a thanks to Scott Myers, who writes the Go Into the Story blog for The Black List web site. His column about Kurt Brown included a link to my remembrance of Kurt. If you're a budding screenwriter, or even one that's in flower and has a backlog of scripts, TBL is the resource for you.

Have fun at the Celtic Festival, but don't barf on my boots

My people are in town for a party.

My people are the Celts, descendants of a loose band of European tribes who eventually settled Ireland, Scotland and Wales. Some of them made their way to the Western Wildlands of America where they built the railroads, mined coal, opened bars and played the bagpipes at funerals.

The party is the Cheyenne Celtic Musical Arts Festival, held this last weekend in June at the Historic Depot downtown. It features concerts, vendors, a gathering of clans, a parade, Irish step-dancers and a fiddle contest. Beer and food, too. There are Scottish-Americans in kilts walking around with flasks disguised as cell phones and pens. A clever lot, those Scots. We Irish-Americans just walk around openly with a pint of Guinness or a black-and-tan, preferably one in each hand.

"The drink" has not been kind to the Irish. I drink, but the drink has never laid claim to my soul as it has to so many of my brethren and sistren. Without it we wouldn't be the Irish, I suppose, but with it.... It may lead to good stories and music, but it's laid waste to a lot of us.

Enough with the teetotaling talk. It's a downer at festival time.

One of the key elements of any Celtic fest is the Scottish-Irish-Welsh heritage. There are whole counties in Appalachia populated by Scots-Irish. They gave us bluegrass, folk and country music traditions, and a feisty attitude. Unions, too, as the Scots-Irish miners rose up against their Scots-Irish millionaire overlords. We've always been good at pummelling our own kind.

Last night, after the torch-lit march of the clans (my wife Chris was in there with the Cumming clan), there was much talk about the 2014 vote on Scottish independence. Some are for it, some against it. "The Staggers" blog at The New Statesman says that if the vote on the "devolution settlement" were held today, Scotland would remain in the U.K. First of all, doesn't "the staggers" refer to a state of staggering drunkenness? Secondly, I though that the devolution issue was settled once and for all in the 1970s with Mark Mothersbaugh and Devo.

In the so-called British Isles, history binds and history divides.

And gets increasing confusing to us colonials.

All of the Celtic or Scots-Irish festivals I've attended have been fun. There's even a Celtic band in Cheyenne called Gobs O'Phun. That's what it should be about, after all.

So, get out to the plaza this evening to enjoy Molly's Revenge and Ceili Rain, which lit up the stage last night. Enjoy a draught or two of Guinness. But I warn you, if you throw up on my boots, I'll apply my shillelagh to your noggin. That tradition is Irish and Western.

Let's help "The Equality State" live up to its name

Wyoming Equality issued a press release as soon as the Supreme Court rulings hit the news today. While Wyoming, "The Equality State," the big square state with the most lopsided legislature in the USA, may be one of the last to legislate in favor of marriage equality, there are all sorts of possible strategies to move the process along. WE Chairman Jeran Artery did a good job of outlining some of those in today's press release. I particularly liked his summation:

Today’s victory adds momentum to the work to win marriage equality in Wyoming, which will continue through legislative action and litigation, where necessary. We will continue to work with national organizations such as Freedom to Marry, HRC, National Center for Lesbian Rights, PFLAG, Gill Action and others until Wyoming lives up to her name as “The Equality State.”

Repeat after me: "The Equality State." Let's make that moniker a reality.

In Memoriam: Kurt Brown, poet

It was sad to read about the death in California of Kurt Brown, poet, editor and tireless poetry promoter. Kurt founded Colorado's Aspen Writers Conference in 1976 and, on a shoestring budget, brought writers to Aspen by putting them up at the homes of locals and talking restaurants into free meals. The Aspen conference is now called Summer Words and is one of the best in the nation.

As a writer and arts administrator, I worked with Kurt on a number of projects to support writers. Ideas are easy, as we like to say, but Kurt had ideas and he followed through on them -- a rare trait. We first met at a national literary conference in 1991 at the Sundance Institute in Utah. Kurt was supposed to be my roommate. He had other plans, but we did have a chance to be part of a larger conversation about supporting creative writing on the national, regional, state and local levels.

Robert Sheldon was there. Robert was the Leon Russell look-alike who directed the literary programs at the Western State Arts Federation (WESTAF) in Santa Fe (now in Denver). NEA Director Joe David Bellamy was on hand, as was G. Barnes, the hard-traveling lit guy at the Utah Arts Council whose motto was "we don't care how you do it in New York." During a break in the meetings, I ran into Michelle Sullivan of Jackson's now-defunct Snake River Institute and then-Utah writer Chris Merrill on a trail above Sundance. I met Carolyn Forche for the first time. She was the author of one of my favorite poems, the one about the Salvadoran Death Squad colonel who liked to tease young idealistic poets from America.

I'm dropping names. They were creative people gathered together on an August weekend to talk about ways to support literary programs in the WESTAF region. We knew that the West was a distinct region with wide open spaces and lots of creativity. Kurt Brown wasn't a mountain guy by birth but knew how to parlay its values of grit and passion into something really good.

I first read about Kurt's passing on the Conundrum Press blog. Kurt helped mentor the founders of Conundrum as he did with so many presses. He was one of a group of hard-working visionaries who invigorated the West's writing scene. He helped spur the rise of many summer conferences and writers' residencies. Wyoming is home to the Jackson Hole Writers Conference, founded a good decade after the Aspen event. Our state is also home to three artists/writers residencies in Jentel, Ucross and Brush Creek, all launched in the past 20 years. Wyoming Writers, Inc., our statewide writers organization, celebrates 40 years of summer conference in June 2014 in Sheridan. This makes it another event with roots in the very creative 1970s here in the Rockies.

A new program was born at that 1991 Sundance gathering: "Tumblewords: Writers Rolling Around the West." A stylized tumbleweed was our logo. G. Barnes and Diane Peavey of Idaho and me in Wyoming formed the core of the Tumblewords program. Later, the torch was passed to Mark Preiss in Utah and Cort Conley took over in Idaho and Guy Lebeda in Wyoming during a two-year stint I had at the NEA in D.C. Corby Sklinner, the man who organizes everything in Billings, came on board for Montana. Colorado and New Mexico joined in.

In 1995, Bill Fox at WESTAF put together an anthology, Tumblewords: Writers Reading the West, published by University of Nevada Press. It included a fantastic group of writers: David Lee, Dianne Nelson, B.J. Buckley, Ken Brewer, C.J. Rawlins, Bill Studebaker, Holly Skinner, Katie Coles, Rick Kempa and many others.

State arts agencies worked with libraries, arts councils and schools to bring writers and poets to communities across a half-million square miles of the Rocky Mountain West.

And Kurt helped show us the way.

Thank you, Kurt. R.I.P.

Updated 6/30/13

TLC BLue -- tender loving care mixed with a quick kick in the pants

Laramie County Democrats during a lull at Super Day Saturday in Cheyenne's Lions Park. We think the guy on the left is an NSA spy. Does he look familiar to you?

Turn Laramie County Blue?

That's the motto of the new fund-raising/visibilty program by the Laramie County Democratic Party. TLC Blue -- I like the looks of that. Could be translated as Tender Loving Care Blue. You know, TLC like Mom used to administer. My Mom was a nurse, so she was pretty good at TLC. But as a mother and a nurse, she sometimes had to administer a quick kick in the pants when the gentle approach just wasn't working.

Democrats have been pretty good at the gentle approach. We are reasonable people, right? We expect our opposition to be reasonable too.

LOL. I don't use that term very often but it's appropriate in this case. As we have seen, our opposition is often impervious to our rational approach. As Dems, we are outnumbered by Repubs. Some of them are moderates, but increasingly they are trumped by Tea Partiers and Hopelessly Fundamentalist Christians, although my blogging pal Rodger McDaniel reefers to the latter group as "Radical Christians" (for a definition, read his blog post from Saturday). 

We have had some success in forming coalitions with moderate Republicans. Witness the vote in last year's Legislature over civil unions. It didn't pass, but there were a number of "R" votes that hadn't been there before.

Some of our Blue lobbyists urge us to take it easy on moderates such as Cale Case, Sue Wallis and Dan Zwonitzer. So we do. Problem is, they often turn around the next day and vote for anti-worker legislation, or laws that strengthen the stranglehold that energy corporations have over environmental policy in Wyoming. In the end, it would be much better to have a bloc of Dems in the House and the Senate that could administer some TLC and a quick kick in the pants when that didn't work.

But we don't.

And moderate Republicans, especially those in rural enclaves, can be vulnerable to attacks by Tea Partiers and Radical Christians. Hank Coe of Cody could never be labeled a Liberal, but his role as power broker in the "Hill Bill" makes him a target of Park County ultra-rightists.

There are 11,215 Democrats in Laramie County, which makes it the county with the most Dems in the state, We keep adding to those numbers, although we're still outnumbered by Republicans. We're the most urban of the state's counties, with one-sixth of the population. This drives rural Republicans crazy, as the more urban a place becomes, the more Democrats there are. Maybe that's why they refer to Cheyenne as North Denver or a suburb of Fort Collins. I'm a Denver native who went to grad school in Fort Collins, so I know that Cheyenne is neither of those places. It has its own personality and its own destiny. 

But enough of my rambling. Let's hear from the chairman of the Laramie County Democrats, Vincent Rousseau. Vince was a plumber but has returned to college to retool for a new career in civil engineering. Here's some content from his recent letter about TLC Blue:

With my election to Chair of the Laramie County Democratic Party, I have accepted the critical challenge of increasing the number of Democrats holding office in our county. I am sure you understand, that the majority of positions held by the opposition party, all but guarantees that our values as Democrats, our ideals, our compassion for workers and those who struggle to make ends meet are not being represented by our state and local government. Changing this lack of representation is why we work so hard!

The recurring donation program "Turn Laramie County Blue" will raise vital funds for the Laramie County Democratic Party. TLC Blue will provide support to candidates and Democratic incumbents need to attain and hold public office, the kind of support that the hard work we all do, can't alone provide. Your donation of $10, $20, or $30 a month gives the Laramie County Democratic Party the opportunity to provide help with volunteer recruitment and training, mailings, printing, any number of the million tasks that are necessary for a successful campaign.

We have a large fundraising goal, for "TLC Blue". I have set myself a personal fundraising target of $15,000 by  December of 2014. I need your help in reaching this target. Your donation of $10 a month, will not only help with monthly operating expenses, but can help to mail 250 postcards or 75 letters for a campaign. Your donation of $20 a month will help buy yard-signs, and $30 a month goes a long ways towards radio and billboard spots.

There's more, but you get the picture. I will be spending the day pondering how much money and time I can give to the cause. Take time out to do some of your own pondering. For more info, call the Laramie County Democrats at 307-509-0504. We have some interesting conversations over on Facebook. Also check out the Laramie County Democrats Grassroots Coalition.

Wyoming coal dust a pollutant -- or not? Ask a bride...

On Saturday, I posted about Seattle and the fact that urbanites in that green bastion might have to drink their lattes with a spritz of coal dust if Wyoming and Montana and Peabody Energy get their way and send swarms of coal trains to West Coast ports. Most of the coal will be bound for energy-hungry China.

One reader told me that Powder River Basin coal companies are now spraying the tops of their coal cars with "surfactants" that adhere to the coal and prevent the dust from flying every which way. Burlington Northern Santa Fe officials said that "spraying cuts dust by 85 percent," according to a story in the Portland Oregonian.

I also found out from the same article that coal companies now load coal in a "bread loaf shape that reduces dust." Not sure how that works, but I'm willing to accept the fact that changing the aerodynamics of a train load can have a positive effect.

A war is being waged here between energy-producing red-staters and bluish greenies on the coast. Some of my fellow union members in the Pacific Northwest are in favor of the coal train shipments as it could mean up to 15,000 jobs at the ports and the railyards. Some of my fellow red-state Dems in the northern Rockies are against the coal shipments and the coal burning that will lead to more global warming. The mayor of Missoula, for instance. But you know how Missoula is. 

Yesterday the Army Corps of Engineers announced that it will not do an in-depth study of the possible pollution caused by a flurry of coal shipments to West Coast ports. The coal people saw this as a victory while the anti-coal people did not. As we all know, only part of this struggle is about scientific fact; the rest is about emotion and political clout. Repubs will shout about jobs and the free market. Dems will shout about pollution and global warming. 

But what will the brides be shouting about?

The in-laws, probably, especially the groom's drunken uncle. But they won't be complaining about coal dust ruining their dresses if they're getting married outdoors in Gillette "Coal City" Wyoming.  

I caught a short status update on Facebook today that addressed the issue. It was by Joe Lunne, PIO of the City of Gillette.  I work as a PIO when I'm not blogging, so I know that Joe is just trying to do his job in the face of overwhelming attacks from environmentalists and The Liberal Media Monolith. Coal pays the piper in Gillette and throughout the state. I thought his approach to this issue was touchingly personal, which is really what most political fights come down to. Take a look at the accompanying photo and then read the status update:

"This picture shows a stretch of the walking path around Cam-Plex park. The park is only 75 feet from Highway 14/16 and about 175 feet from the railroad tracks that carry millions of tons of coal out of the Powder River Basin every day. 

"Around a hundred weddings take place in the park each year, and that would not happen if coal were as dirty as its critics say it is. The park is clean...and so are the wedding dresses. The brides wouldn't have it any other way!"

I don't think that Joe will be called to testify at any Congressional hearings. Or any of the hundred brides that get married this year down by the railroad tracks. But who knows? Weirder things have happened. 

Gregory Hinton's "Waiting for a Chinook" explores small-town newspapers of the West

"Six Against the Blaze," 1960. Photo by G.C. "Kip" Hinton

Talked to my colleague Gregory Hinton in L.A. last week. He'll be in Laramie in July for the debut of his play, Waiting for a Chinook: A New Play About Old Newspapers.  It runs July 9-13 at the Fine Arts Studio Theatre at the University of Wyoming. Tickets are $7-$10 and available at the UW Fine Arts Box Office. Here's a short description of the play:

Waiting for a Chinook follows Vince, a disillusioned city reporter, who returns to his boyhood Western town to search for place and meaning in the writings of his late father, Cliff, a Wyoming country editor.

Greg's father, G.C. "Kip" Hinton, was the editor of small town papers, including the legendary Cody Enterprise, established by Buffalo Bill and once owned and edited by the indomitable Caroline Lockhart. Editors such as Greg's father knew every part of the business -- reporting, photography, advertising, layout, typesetting, distribution -- because they had to. Most of these papers were one-person operations, or employed just a few people. Greg's father started his career at 15 as a printer's devil and moved up from there.

Greg lives in the big city these days but he was born on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation in Montana and grew up in Wyoming and Colorado. He has a fondness for small-town western life that, frankly, I don't share. I like the West all right -- I've lived here most of my life -- but I prefer cities as do most contemporary Westerners. Wyoming has two cities, as defined by a metropolitan statistical area: Cheyenne (pop. 61,000-plus) and Casper (pop. 57,000-plus). If you're feeling generous, you might throw in the state's micropolitan statistical areas: Sheridan, Gillette, Riverton, Evanston, Laramie, Jackson and Rock Springs.

When Greg began his research, he discovered that community newspapers have been able to weather the storm that has closed their big-city rivals. You know the story. Technology and the 2008 economic downturn closed a slew of newspapers and caused others to move entirely online, with mixed results. At least one daily -- the Chicago Tribune -- fired all of their photographers and told their reporters to use smart phones for photos to accompany their stories. Now they will all get the chance to experience life as a small-town reporter.

Another problem -- bloggers like me think they know everything and readers listen to us even when they should be turning to real news reports. I was trained as a journalist and I've worked as a newspaper reporter and editor. But Hummingbirdminds ain't no newspaper and doesn't pretend to be.

I try to be accurate. But actual newspapers have to report what happens at the city council meeting and at the Friday night high school football game. It has to spell correctly the head of the local Rotary and the garden club. It has to support itself with ads from Joe's Garage and Jean's Bake Shop. Sometimes editors write columns blasting a county commissioner. They know that soon they will run into that commissioner at the bank or on the street corner. It's a small town, after all. 

Back in the 1950s and 60s, Cody was smaller than it is now. Greg's father was called away from family events to report on car crashes and storms and fires. He shot a famous photo (see attached) of a tanker explosion. Not only was he covering the fire, he was putting out the fire as a member of the volunteer fire department. When the fire exploded, he was almost enveloped by the flames. As one of his fellow fire fighters recounted years later, he thought that Kip Hinton was a goner.

But he wasn't. He lived to report on other fires and natural disaster, rodeos and ball games, boring meetings galore.

Take some time and go over to UW July 9-13 to see Waiting for a Chinook. You'll get some insight into what makes these small-town editors tick, why they do the job they do. You will also experience the creative talent bred in the West's small towns. Some of our most talented writers, artists and musicians may be "Big City" now, but the influences of rural childhoods are still in their blood.

To read the UW press release about Waiting for a Chinook, go here. 

Juneteenth on a summer Saturday in the park

At the Juneteenth celebration in Cheyenne: Wyoming Democratic Party Reps (left to right) Lee Filer, Mary Throne and Jim Byrd. Photo from the Laramie County Democrats' Facebook page.

Wyoming is one of 42 U.S. states and the District of Columbia that have recognized Juneteenth as either a state holiday or special day of observance. In Wyoming, it's a special day of observance with nobody getting the day off. It's traditionally celebrated on the Saturday before the official date, which this year was yesterday, the ides of June.

Cheyenne has observed Juneteenth in Martin Luther King, Jr., Park for the past ten years. Situated on the stage is a monumental bust of MLK by Cheyenne artist Guadalupe "Lupe" Barajas. I dropped by to hang out with my wife Chris, who has been head of the celebration's planning committee for ten years. She just stepped down, as a decade is the most that anyone should be in charge of an event. 

I dined on a catfish, spicy baked beans, cole slaw and apple cobbler made by the good people at Beautiful Zion Church. I visited with my Democratic colleagues, including Wyoming Rep. Jim Byrd, Rep. Mary Throne, Rep. Lee Filer, Laramie County Democratic Party Chair Vince Rousseau, my retired WAC co-worker, Marirose Morris and her husband Bob, the Rev. Rodney McDowell, Deacon James Robinson, Dr. Jason Bloomberg and his wife Phyllis, and a whole bunch of others. It's a congenial gathering, punctuated by tunes by DJ Troy Burrell, a group of young rappers, folklorico group Flores De Colores and a martial arts demo by Jerry Davis and his crew.

What's not to like about a sunny June day outside in the land of high altitude, brisk winds and cold temps? In late afternoon, a roiling bank of dark clouds and a severe thunderstorm warning led to some worry, but the storm passed by and the day wrapped up without any mishaps. 

As a freckle-faced Irish-American, I may have a hard time making a claim to an African-American holiday. Am I not content with getting fluthered on St. Patrick's Day? That's not the point, is it? Juneteenth is as much a community happening as Fourth of July, Cheyenne Day, Veterans Day, New Year's Eve, Cinco de Mayo, Thanksgiving and Martin Luther King, Jr., Day. In Wyoming, this latter holiday is known as MLK/Wyoming Equality Day. Many of us get the day off, although the conservative legislature insists on being in session.

Juneteenth is in my community and celebrates members of our community.

Happy Juneteenth!

If you want to read about the holiday's history, go here. 

The future was now at the 1962 Seattle World's Fair

Michael McGinn, the mayor of Seattle, was interviewed on NPR's "Science Friday" today. He rides his bike to work and wants to make his city the greenest in the nation. During his remarks, he mentioned that the city was celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Seattle World's Fair and was looking ahead to city's next fifty years, which includes significant threats from climate change. 

I was a bit shocked to realize that the world's fair, subtitled the "Century 21 Exposition," was 50 years ago. In the summer of 1962 (that's actually 51 years ago, but Seattle likes long parties), my father and mother bundled their six kids into a Ford Falcon station wagon and drove us from Moses Lake in eastern Washington to Seattle. We were taking the long way to a new home in Wichita, Kansas. Dad was a builder of ICBM missile silos and apparently Washington was full up with missiles so we were now moving on to the wheat fields of southeastern Kansas. We needed more nukes lest a missile gap develop with the Soviets which would threaten our American way of life, our precious bodily fluids, and so on.

In Seattle, we rented an apartment a few miles away from the fair. If I had only forecast how hip Seattle was going to become, I would have stayed right there. Alas, we were only in residence for a few days, long enough to go up in the Space Needle, ride the monorail and eat some Swedish food that made me sick.

I'm not sure what possessed me to eat Swedish food when there was all sorts of good American grub around every corner. My parents may have wanted to give me a taste of a foreign country, expand my horizons. That way, when I turned 18, I would feel the urge to flee my homestead for foreign lands, thus opening up another place at the dinner table for the three additional siblings that soon would join us.

I got sick. It wasn't food poisoning, I don't think. It just didn't agree with me. I had recovered sufficiently the next day to eat a burger and fries at the American pavilion which was located a long way from where the Swedes were hatching plots against Americans.

It was a fun trip. We left Seattle via a ferry that took us by the Bremerton Navy Yards where we viewed hundreds of mothballed World War II ships. We cruised the Olympic Peninsula and ended up at a beach where I got my first glimpse of an ocean. As we ran barefoot into the cold Pacific, little did I know that in a few years I would be living by another (much warmer) beach, this one in Central Florida, while my father worked for NASA to get some guys on the moon.

I visited Seattle in 1972, ten years after I was almost poisoned at the world's fair. I was 21, hitchhiking cross country with Sharon, my 21-year-old girlfriend from Massachusetts. We were both college dropouts, footloose and fancy free. The Selective Service System lads had sent me a nice note earlier that year. Three years as draft bait was long enough and they were moving on to younger targets.

We stayed in a hostel near the university. We went to the world's fair site, rode the monorail and went up in the Space Needle. No Swedish food for me this time, thank you. I probably couldn't have found it if I wanted it. Seattle was still working on becoming a hipster enclave. Now it's probably lousy with Swedish food and Turkish food and Peruvian food and all the rest, although the portions are probably smaller.

I send my best wishes to Seattle. Global warming and rising sea levels are not going to be kind to this storm-tossed outpost on the Pacific Rim. Your air may also be fouled by coal dust from the myriad coal trains Wyoming soon plans to send to the West Coast. The coal is destined to shipping to China which will burn it, adding to the CO2 levels which in turn will fuel global warming which will send waves crashing into the base of the Space Needle. I live in Wyoming, by the way. But don't blame me. I'm on your side, Seattle. In case you have to flee the raging seas, there's plenty of room out here in the Wide Open Spaces under The Big Sky. Just be sure to bring along your blue politics (we few Wyoming Dems crave company) and some of those funky food trucks --Big Boys Filipino Food Truck, Kaosamai Thai Cook Truck or Tuk Tuk Mobile Feast. And don't forget the seafood, although the salmon may be swimming a lot closer to Cheyenne in fifty years.

Surf's up!

Cheyenne and Laramie will be part of the Front Range Megaregion by 2050

Word comes from south of the border that a group of Colorado counties wants to secede. The effort is being led by commissioners in Weld County, which butts up against Laramie County in Wyoming, home of the capital city, Cheyenne, wherein I dwell.

No word yet on the new state's name. But fellow blogger Michael Bowman (Colorado Pols) labeled it The Silly State of Dumphuckistan, which seems appropriate.

I'm pleased that the is happening in my home state of Colorado instead of my adopted state of Wyoming. It's usually Republican legislators from Casper or the Big Horn Basin who are proposing dumb stuff in public, such as labeling wolves terrorists or buying an aircraft carrier for our mythical land-based navy. Sometimes its our new county commissioners of the Tea Party persuasion, the "Agenda 21 wants to take away my guns and make me live in a Hobbit home" crowd. So it's refreshing that this particular bit of nonsense comes from Colorado.

What's got these people fired up?

Liberals making laws. First of all, Liberals should not control both legislative bodies and the governor's seat. Second, they should not be making laws for the entire state. Third of all, they should not be making laws that could possibly curtail fracking, limit gun ownership and promote alternative energy. There's probably a bunch of other things but that should do it for now.

I don't blame the rural, conservative residents of this proposed new state for being angry. I live in the most populated city in the most populated county in the least populated state. As a Democrat, I have to put up with stupid laws by the rural conservative majority that abrogate workers' rights, demonize gays, feed the egos and pocketbooks of the energy companies, prohibit Obamacare, OK silencers for hunting rifles, and so on. I would secede from the State of Wyoming if I thought that I could work up the liberal minority enough to pull it off.

If I had my druthers, I would advocate for a state that placed Cheyenne and Laramie across the border into Colorado. For the most part, these two southeast Wyoming cities have more in common with Greeley and Fort Collins that they do with Lusk, Worland and Afton. Rural Wyomingites already call Cheyenne north Denver or a suburb of Fort Collins. Thing is, we already are part of one of the "emerging megaregions" that will control American politics by 2050. I will be gone by then, but my offspring will live in a reliably blue part of Wyoming. Look at this map:

The Front Range Megaregion with stretch from Laramie and Cheyenne in Wyoming to Albuquerque in New Mexico. It will vote reliably blue and will control politics in three big Rocky Mountain states. That's already happening in CO and NM. Wyoming has some catching up to do. Laramie County with its 90,000-plus population already has one-sixth of the state's population. If that keeps up and we get to, say, a million people in Wyoming in 2050, Laramie County will have a population of 167,000 with most of them in the city of Cheyenne. Since it's tough to find a city of more than 100,000 that votes Republican, Cheyenne should be reliably Democratic. As the article in The Atlantic said, "it's not people that make cities blue, it's cities that make people blue." That's because city dwellers live with within a rainbow of other cultures and sexual persuasions.When you live and work with Latinos and African-Americans and Asians and gays and lesbians and tattooed young people and cranky old folks it's hard to discriminate against them.

Democrats only hope in SeWy (Southeast Wyoming) is to keep up the drumbeat of economic development, continue to beef up our infrastructure, refurbish our downtown to make it friendly for brewpubs, cafes and boutique hotels, improve our educational system and ban the Fox Network's blowhards from our TVs and radios.

Then you can color us blue for the long haul.

This struggling stick figure artist is impressed with local talent

I am continually amazed by the artistic talents of my fellow human beings. Writers can string words and phrases together to create something intelligible that might be fun and/or informative to read. But when it comes to creating a physical object, I am inept. That probably describes a lot of us, although it shouldn't prevent us from trying. It didn't seem to phase my son and daughter that their father's stick figures were terrible. They just liked it that I spent hours drawing with them on snowy days.

Art Design & Dine is on the schedule this Thursday, June 13, 5-8 p.m. A few years ago, local artist Georgia Rowswell got the ball rolling for "Cheyenne's in-town art tour." It's still going strong and always boasts something new and interesting. This time, Georgia's Artful Hand Gallery is featuring the work of her husband Dave, an artist and arts educator. His rawhide jewelry will be on display (and for sale) at Artful Hand for one night only (see image).

You can also view Georgia's mixed-media landscape art. Her work is also part of the Governor's Capitol Art Exhibition on the ground floor of the Barrett Building which also houses the Wyoming State Museum. Reception for the GCAE will be on June 21 starting at 5 p.m. Come on our for art and music and refreshments. I've seen the exhibit twice now, and I could go back for more -- and will.

All of this work is offered for sale. Support your local artists! They are crucial to a healthy cultureshed.

Does it make sense that only 40 percent of people with mental illness get treatment?

Sure, you've heard statistics about mental illness many times. But this time it comes from the President at the National Conference on Mental Health he convened at the White House earlier this week:

The truth is, in any given year, one in five adults experience a mental illness -- one in five.  Forty-five million Americans suffer from things like depression or anxiety, schizophrenia or PTSD.  Young people are affected at a similar rate.  So we all know somebody -- a family member, a friend, a neighbor -- who has struggled or will struggle with mental health issues at some point in their lives.  Michelle and I have both known people who have battled severe depression over the years, people we love.  And oftentimes, those who seek treatment go on to lead happy, healthy, productive lives.

One in five adults experience a mental illness in any given year. Last year was my year for severe depression. This year was my year for a heart attack. When my wife called 911 on Jan. 2, she gave them my symptoms, the EMTs arrived within minutes and the I was zooming off to the ER and was taken care of immediately. Heart disease gets attention.

The year before, when I was having sever depression in the gloomy month of March, I had to call around to get a psychiatrist since my old one had moved away. I found one, a good one, who could see me fairly quickly (I have insurance) and during the course of the next few months found the right combination of meds for me. Trial and error. It's often like that with mental illness. We have a slew of medications foe depression but what works for you may not work for me. The brain and the central nervous system are complicated. People are complicated. One day we may get drugs that are targeted in the way of some cancer meds. 

There's more:

First, we’ve got to do a better job recognizing mental health issues in our children, and making it easier for Americans of all ages to seek help.  Today, less than 40 percent of people with mental illness receive treatment -- less than 40 percent.  Even though three-quarters of mental illnesses emerge by the end of -- by the age of 24, only about half of children with mental health problems receive treatment.  Now think about it:  We wouldn’t accept it if only 40 percent of Americans with cancers got treatment.  We wouldn’t accept it if only half of young people with diabetes got help.  Why should we accept it when it comes to mental health?  It doesn't make any sense.

I'm in good shape for 62. I've been getting help for depression since I was in college. Before my heart attack, I had lost 40 pounds and was swimming every other day at the YMCA. I've patterned my own diet after my diabetic wife's. I have insurance.

Only 40 percent of my us with mental illness get treatment. Sixty percent of us do not. The President is right when he says that it doesn't make any sense.

Both of my children have received treatment for mental illness and substance abuse. Half of their peers never get help. We hope that the Affordable Care Act will help. But what about those red states such as Wyoming that are fighting a pitched battle over the ACA, Medicaid expansion, and any other health program that makes sense. Wyoming doesn't have a single child psychiatrist for the thousands of children who need one. Cities and towns have mental health professionals but the rural areas that make up most of Wyoming do not.

Thanks, President Obama, for convening a mental health summit. Much has been done but much more needs to be done. It's a long and winding road...

Sunday wrap-up: How does your blog, story or garden grow?

Sunday weekend wrap-up...

My fellow WYO prog-blogger and author Rodger McDaniel will be a guest on MSNBC's morning show tomorrow. He'll be talking about his new book, Dying for Joe McCarthy's Sins The Suicide of Wyoming Senator Lester Hunt. As he said on Facebook earlier today:

Hope you get up early in the morning to watch me on Chuck Todd's show between 7 and 8 a.m. Wyoming time.

We'll be up and watching, Rodger. And congrats.

I spent my weekend at the Wyoming Writers, Inc., conference in Laramie. It was great seeing old friends and hearing good writing and publishing advice from novelist Margaret Coel and agents Katherine Sands and Sandra Bond. My state government colleague Chris Madson gave an inspiring opening speech. Pat Frolander of Sundance delivered a Sunday morning farewell speech from our poet laureate. This eminence gris conducted a workshop about online publishing and was pleased to see a packed house. I served as emcee for the Saturday night open mic reading and had the pleasure of serving as the spirit of Ernest Hemingway in a poem by Sheridan's Rose Hill. I'm beginning to look a bit like Papa in his Old Man and the Sea era. 

This is a supportive group of writers and poets. The org has attracted 73 new members in the last year and still growing. Go to the web site and join, and attend the 40th anniversary conference in Sheridan the first weekend in June 2014. 

My veggie garden leapt forward in my absence. The greens are greening, the beans and cukes are poking out of the sod and I have some blossoms on the squash and at least one of my tomato plants. I'm happy to be back in the Mr. Greenjeans biz. Wish me luck for a warm and hail-free summer. Photos coming soon...

Speaking of gardening, the Tuesday Farmers' Market returns to Cheyenne on Tuesday (of course), June 11, but at a new location located in the parking lot just west of Sears at Frontier Mall. This is the third location of the TFM since its founding in 2004. But don't let that throw you. It's a great mix of vendors offering grass-fed beef, handmade breads, BBQ, and arts and crafts. Later on, it will have lots of local veggies and fruits. Eat Locally!

Promoting righteous justice -- and Rage Against the Machine

Chris Hendrichsen ran for Congress as a Democrat in 2012. In Wyoming, that takes chutzpah and a dash of foolhardiness. A gallant effort, but he lost. I've posted often about Wyoming's overwhelming Republican majority. I've also posted often about Democratic candidates tilting at windmills. They do win sometimes. I've witnessed two Democratic governors and quite a few legislators, most of them from Laramie, Albany, Teton and -- until recently -- Sweetwater counties. Democrats allegedly have been sighted in Natrona County but voters there tend to elect wackos to the legislature. Nice city, Casper, but Dems don't get elected there.

Chris is from Casper. I think he's moving out-of-state soon. He writes a good blog and blogs under "Approaching Justice" on Patheos: "Hosting the conversation on faith."

Chris describes himself this way:

I am a political philosopher and a political scientist. I am a devout Mormon as well as a committed egalitarian liberal. These two categories might appear to be a paradox. That paradox is me.

On Facebook, Chris referred to a post about righteous anger (May 5) which I read and really liked. It also featured a topical Rage Against the Machine video. He refers to Rage's Zack De La Rocha as a prophet, and this Christian agrees. Tom Morello is pretty righteous on that guitar of his too. The post also got some interesting comments on Patheos, most disagreeing with Chris. Read it and the comments.

Chris, we'll miss you here in Deep Red Wyo, but keep on posting.

Who are those guys? Bolivians!

Sundance: Who are those guys?

Butch: Bolivians. From La Paz, I think. Or maybe Cochabamba.

Sundance: Jump!

That really didn't happen in the movie. Butch and Sundance did jump into the river but it was Joe Lefors and his railroad goons who were trailing them.

As the legend goes, Butch and Sundance left Wyoming for Bolivia where they may have been gunned down and buried in an unmarked grave. The most recent of the Butch Cassidy books, Butch Cassidy, My Uncle: A Family Portrait, is by Bill Betenson and published by High Plains Press in Glendo. He asks -- and tries to answer -- the big question: Did Butch die in Bolivia or return to the U.S. to visit family and friends and write a book? Betenson will be speaking this Saturday in Montrose, Colo., at the annual "Tribute to Western Movies" event.

We do know that Butch served a stretch in the Territorial Prison in Laramie. Now it's a state historic site. It will celebrate the Butch Cassidy Festival on June 29, 9 a.m.-5 p.m. It features outdoor activities for kids, such as a baseball toss, bubbleology, shooting gallery, a “prisoner” escape, money scramble, petting zoo and more. And for the whole family: horse-drawn Stagecoach rides, trick ropers’ performance, tractor rides and a display of vintage cars. Mac Blewer and Gary Puls will discuss "Outlaws and Lawmen of Wyoming.”

Also, Bolivian dancers from South America.

“Butch Cassidy Festival is a community event that is about bringing the family together, sharing the outdoors and just having a great time,” says Deborah Amend, site superintendent. “This year’s activities and entertainment will engage all ages. Through Bolivian music and dancing learn about Bolivia, where Butch and the Sundance Kid allegedly had their last stand."

Tickets to the festival are $5 Adults; $2.50 ages 12-17, free for children 11 and younger.

The Wyoming Territorial Prison State Historic Site is located at 975 Snowy Range Rd, in Laramie and is open daily May through October, 8 a.m.–7 p.m.


P.S. Bolivia is really a fascinating country. Did you know that it's officially known as the Plurinational State of Bolivia, which recognizes the country's diverse make-up. And that it's not quite a foodie destination like Peru, but that could change. This comes from UK's The Guardian: 

Claus Meyer, the Danish co-founder of Noma – three times voted the best restaurant in the world – is opening his second eatery in Bolivia's de facto capital, La Paz. Gustu will champion the little-known cuisine of South America's poorest nation, blending Meyer's avant-garde cooking methods with local ingredients including llama steak and giant runner beans.

The project aims to create more than just a destination for globetrotting foodies: the $1.4m restaurant includes a cookery school to train a new generation of young chefs and restaurant professionals from poor backgrounds, and all the earnings will be ploughed into a non-profit foundation.

Some very cool things happening in this country once best-known for its drug trade. It's still the world's third-largest coca producer, but a lot of that is licensed for "traditional" use by locals. It's helped to reduce the coca crop, which is a good thing. Evo Morales, Bolivia's president, make his first foray into politics as an activist for coca producers.

That's enough. Sometimes the Internet can be a curse and keep you up all night. 

Chris Cillizza's The Fix taps Gregory Nickerson of Wyofile as the "best political reporter in Wyoming"

Chris Cillizza of the Washington Post's "The Fix" political blog likes to make lists. In August 2011, hummingbirdminds was named one of the best state-based political blogs. He was looking at blogs on the left, right and in-between. He apparently thought it was intriguing that Wyoming had some liberal bloggers.

This week, Cillizza listed "the best political reporters in 50 states." The lone choice for Wyoming was Gregory Nickerson of Wyofile. You're not surprised if you've been reading Greg's articles. They're now getting syndicated. The Wyoming Tribune-Eagle featured one on this morning's cover. "Wyoming independent? Not really" explores our ruggedly independent state's reliance on federal funding. There's this:

Wyoming is significantly dependent on federal money. Wyofile's calculations show that the state relied on federal money for 41 percent of its spending for the 2011-12 biennium.

And this:

Other states may get more dollars, but because Wyoming's spending and population are small, few states are more dependent on federal funds.

One of many interesting facts:

Government employment is an important sector in Wyoming's economy -- the largest workforce in the state, in fact.

Here I have to divulge that I'm one of those government workers. Nickerson goes on to write that if you add up those employed in federal and state government along with those in the public school, college and hospital sectors, you get 64,000 souls which is 20 percent of the state's workforce.

I have lots of company. As columnist Paul Krza (a Rock Springs native) pointed out years ago, the state would be more fairly represented by a worker carrying a briefcase than it is by its iconic bucking bronco symbol.

Speaking about symbols of the Old West.... We like to play up the cowboy myth but the reality is far different. As Sam Western wrote in The Economist back in 1998:

"In real life, the famous Wyoming cowboy was an itinerant, landless, poverty-stricken soul, dependent upon the rancher for bread and shelter."

Sam is from Sheridan County, which is also Greg's home county. They breed some iconoclastic scribes up in the north country. Greg is also a product of the county's Young Writers Camp, once held every summer near story but being resurrected this summer at the Spear-O-Wigwam Mountain Campus in the Bighorns. I met Greg and other campers when I delivered my son to YWC back when he was in high school. A lot of talented, feisty kids came though YWC and now are making their mark as adults. It's especially gratifying to see them survive and thrive in Wyoming's tough labor market. Yes, our unemployment rate is low, but if you're not in the energy or tourism industries, it's hard to find a job. It's always gratifying to see young creatives making a difference.

Congrats to you, Greg. We eagerly anticipate your next article.

The Cardiac Chronicles: Every patient tells a story

I said farewell yesterday to my pals at Cardiac Rehab. This is my third and final stage of rehab. 

R has had multiple stents and an open heart surgery. Two weeks ago, just after getting home from a camping trip in Poudre Canyon, he went to the hospital with chest pain. Coronary embolism, said the docs, and kept him overnight for observation.

R has disabilities from Vietnam where he "zigged when he should have zagged." He's taking a new med that provides some interesting hallucinations. Yesterday he was playing cards with Mickey, Goofy and Donald Duck.

Everyone has a story.

D's heart has stents and she is now equipped with an Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator or ICD. It's never fired, which is good because it means she hasn't been hit with a catastrophic heart attack. Should that happen, she'll get buzzed back to life. As one hospital web site put it:

The ICD is working for you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It is like having the paramedics with you at all times.

Looks as if I'll have lots of company once I get my ICD in July. Better alert my wife to expect guests. 

D told us a story as we warmed up. A friend had trouble breathing a few weeks ago. She went to the doctor. He conducted a few tests and diagnosed an advanced case of lung cancer. The woman died three days later. She was only in her fifties.

F was a Marine and is a diehard Denver Broncos fan. He wears a Marine cap to one session and an Orange Crush cap to the next. He was born in Mexico and grew up in the American Southwest. He joined the Marines to earn his citizenship. F recently moved to Cheyenne to be near family. Colorado Springs was getting too violent, he said. He carries around an oxygen canister from a lifetime of cigarettes.

M is like everybody's joke-telling uncle. He always wears a Harley or Sturgis T-shirt. J is recuperating from a stroke and arrives at exercise class pushing a wheeled walker. While he's in our class, his wife works out in the main gym.

I'm a lucky man and I know it.

Next week I go back to working out at the YMCA. I will be unsupervised by nurses and exercise physiologists for the first time in four months. The trick now will be finding the will to continue exercising when nobody will be checking me off on a list. Thing is, I have to exercise and keep exercising as if my life depended on it. In the year leading up to my heart attack, I swam every other day at the Y. I'd lost 40 pounds and was in great shape. That might have kept me from dying but it didn't prevent heart damage. Once I've recovered from my ICD surgery, I'll be back in the pool.

Today in Houston, my brother Dan is receiving his final dose of the atomic bomb of chemotherapy. It's designed to wipe out the remaining marrow cells so that on Wednesday, he can receive new marrow that will banish leukemia forever. When I talked to him on Thursday, he'd been very sick with the first treatment, sicker than he's been since treatment began last December. My sister Molly donated the marrow and she was sitting up with my sister Mary who had just had a third of a lung removed due to carcinoid cancer. They are all at the MD Anderson Hospital in Houston, the best cancer treatment center in the country. They are lucky too. They are getting the best treatment available. My brother has even volunteered as a test subject due to a wayward gene in his make-up.

I feel heartsick that my brother and sister have cancer and are in pain. I know what it means to have a sick heart. That said, I'm a lucky man.

This writer wants to know: Have you ever read a short story on a smartphone or tablet?

As a presenter at the annual Wyoming Writers, Inc., conference June 7-9 in Laramie, I see that the schedule has me concurrent with two heavy hitters: Novelist and mystery writer Margaret Coel and nonfiction author Tom Rea. Margaret writes the very cool Wind River mysteries and Tom has written about the famous "Bone Wars" that were fought partially in Wyoming and a great book about the religious kerfuffle that erupted over Wyoming's Devil's Gate site. Tom's also an award-winning poet and one-time small press publisher.

I do have kind of a cool topic for my presentation: "Short Stories on Small Screens." Here's a description:

Mike will discuss the latest markets for short stories –- smart phones and tablets. Learn writing techniques that will enliven your stories to make them more marketable to outlets such as Kindle Singles and Byliner.

Read the full conference schedule here. 

I might try to boost attendance by staging a giveaway. Win an iPad! Win an e-book by Tom Rea! Go to dinner with Margaret Coel!

I'm not above stooping to such tactics. Problem is, I'm not sure if Apple or Tom or Margaret will donate to the cause. That means I'll have to fork over some dough for prizes and I'll be broke and probably have to hock my laptop.

I'll just have to take my chances. Meanwhile, you're invited to take a short poll (see right sidebar).

Kristen Lamb's Blog: "Why writers blogging about writing is bad"

I am a writer who sometimes blogs about writing who is posting about a blog post by a writer who says that blogging about writing is bad.

Kristen Lamb is her name and she blogs at "Kristen Lamb's Blog." She has written two books about writing that have been on the best-seller lists. One is We Are Not Alone: The Writer's Guide to Social Media. She advises writers to put their name on their blog. You will notice that I did that. Thanks, Kristen. Go read her blog. It's helpful and very funny.

That's the extent of my writing advice for today.

In a blog post from 06/07/2011, Kristen examined five reasons why writing blogs are bad.

1. Writing blogs limit our following.
2. Writing blogs limit content and can create burnout
3. Writing blogs will collapse if we change content.
4. Writing blogs increase the competition for book sales.
5. Writing blogs are not creative.

I looked up "writing" in my blog's search box. It came up with 32 entries. I've been blogging for eight years. During that time, I've written an average of four blogs annually about writing. I average about 200 posts a year so, on average, about 2 percent of my posts are about writing. What are my other topics? Heck if I know. My main topic, as you can see from my log-line, is progressive politics. Not so rare unless you live in conservative Wyoming. I can count my fellow Wyoming prog-bloggers on one hand, the ones who live in the southeast quadrant, anyway.

I began this blog with a simple idea. I was writing a nonfiction book about our family's experience with our ADHD son. I thought that the book would be instructive and a best-seller. But I quit halfway through as it was making me depressed. Our son was taking detour after detour, as often happens with those with hummingbird minds. So I went back to my short stories. I've published one volume of those stories thus far and have another one that needs publishing.

I found that blogging about ADHD has its limits. Substitute "ADHD" for "writing in Kristen's five points and you see the problem. Writing about any one topic is limiting.

Your next question might be: "But Mr. Shay, I was told that blogging about one topic was the key to success."

Good point. I know some fabulous one-topic blogs.Many are political. Others are by quilters, St. Louis Cardinal fans, high-altitude gardeners, bakers, dog owners, cat fanciers, model railroaders, Trekkers, etc. They have loyal followings. As Kristen explains it:

Want to know the formula for a hit blog?

Topics you are excited about + topics readers are excited about = hit blog.

Kristen urges us to have "flexible and dynamic content" because "we are humans and not robots."

But that is the point, isn't it. If you are a rabid Denver Broncos fan and you blog on that topic, you are asking for trouble. Just kidding. You should blog about the Broncos. You will get the most interesting responses, especially if you write anything bad about John Elway's management style or Peyton Manning's throwing style. If you're still writing about Tebow, you're hopeless. Your Broncos blog will get lots of readers and you might even find a way to make some dough with it, although don't go messing with that official NFL brand -- they'll sue your ass!

Good writers have always been flexible. Think of your favorite newspaper and magazine columnists. Did Mike Royko write about one thing? Molly Ivins? Erma Bombeck? Does Carl Hiaasen write about one thing? Rick Reilly? David Sedaris?  They have their specialties, but within those specialties they have lots of leeway.

If you've read my blog, you might be able to tell that my writing heroes are flexible and dynamic.They include those about and humor writers such as S.J. Perelman, Woody Allen, Steve Martin, Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley. Ring Lardner, P.J. O'Rourke, Bruce McCall, Alan Coren, all of the Monty Pythons, the Irish, and a whole bunch of others whose names I can't remember right now.

Do I have a successful blog? It's not commercially successful, but that's not my goal. Does it have its own brand? Probably. Is it me? Definitely. I write about topics that I'm excited about. Some of those topics are ones my readers are excited about.

Still, it makes me happy. That's what really counts. I can say this because I am not a robot, although next month my heart will be outfitted with electronic parts. The major part of my mechanism will remain flesh and blood.

And I have one question for Kristen: When can you travel to Wyoming to talk to us writers in the High, Wide and Lonesome?

In Wyoming, "we've never been so stupid as we've been now"

What's that Forrest Gump quote?

Like my momma said, "Stupid is as stupid does."

That may not be the exact quote but you get the gist. A bit ironic coming from Forrest as everyone thought he was stupid but he had more success than many of those bright boys who made fun of him.

Seems as if Wyoming has been behaving rather stupidly of late. Here's a great quote from historian Phil Roberts from a recent Wyofile column by Kerry Drake that appeared in this morning's Wyoming Tribune-Eagle under the headline "Wyoming GOP's hatred for Obama costing us millions:"

"Other than those times, we've never been so stupid as we've been now."

"Those times" Roberts was referring to were at the beginning of the New Deal, when Democratic Governor Leslie Miller threatened to turn down any money associated with FDR's New Deal, and in the 1950s, when Wyoming threatened to reject the 95 percent federal subsidy to build the interstate system. Why turn down this transportation largess? Legislators balked at painting white stripes on the highway instead of the traditional yellow stripes.

"Cooler and saner heads prevailed, however, and we now have interstates through Wyoming."

Imagine travelling through the state without I-80, I-25 and I-90. Imagine all the lost revenue now generated by truck stops, restaurants and various tourist traps. Imagine how long it would take for your average resident of Wheaterville to get to the Super Wal-Mart in Cheyenne.

At the root of all of this current stupidity is the Republicans rabid hatred of President Barack Hussein Obama. Just his name is enough to make a Tea Party Patriot wobble like a bobble-head. 

Reliably progressive Alternet puts it this way:

How's Obamacare turning out? Great if you live in a blue state but screw you if you have a Republican governor.

Wyoming has a Republican governor. Moderates elected him because he seemed to be one of the cooler heads, especially when compared to some of the loonies that were with him on the Republican primary ballot.

Marguerite Herman posted earlier this week about the Wyoming Legislature's tendency to send messages with their bills instead of actually passing bills that matter. (Marguerite -- post more often on Wyoming Posts, will ya!). She begins with a classic quote from an earlier legislator who said that if you want to send a message use a letter -- and here's an envelope and a stamp. These days, messages can be sent easier and cheaper via e-mail or texts.

A few years ago, the legislature wanted to send a message about Wyoming independence. We should have our own militia -- and a navy, too, with our own aircraft carrier. That bill didn't pass, although it did lead to a fair amount of international embarrassment. Lately the Republicans in the legislature have passed bills designed to embarrass the president and his allies. Alas, they just end up with egg on their own faces.

Stupid is as stupid does.

What does stupidity costs Wyoming? Millions of dollars, of course. But bonehead legislators don't seem to understand that we live in an age of universal and instantaneous communication.We look dumb all over the planet, and maybe on other planets too.

Superman goes to kindergarten

Parents are told: "No more Superhero play!"

Geekosystem carried a story about a Philadelphia preschool that recently sent a letter home to parents about a ban on "Superhero Play." The kids at the school were acting out their favorite superheroes and as quick as you can say "Biff! Bam! Zowie!" kids were getting hurt.

Superheroes have been around for a long time. They are, after all, SUPERHEROES and are timeless. Back in the 1950s, my father instituted a ban on comic books. He insisted that they were trash and substituted our Superman and Batman comics with Illustrated Classics versions of "Treasure Island" and "The Tale of Two Cities." You know, the books he read as a lad. Nevermind that the former was about bloodthirsty pirates who raped and pillaged their way across the bounding main. And that the latter featured a bloody execution device that I never encountered in a Man of Steel adventure. So I read the classics and grew up to be a writer of obscure literary works instead of a well-paid teller-of-illustrated-tales at Marvel or DC Comics.

To ban something is to say to children: "I dare you to outfox my aging brain that rests inside this graying old head." Exactly -- the kids will find a way. Not sure what the kids are doing at this unnamed PA preschool, but I know they will find a way to engage in surreptitious superhero play.

My son Kevin is 28 now. When he was five and attending kindergarten in Fort Collins, Colo., he decided that he would attend school as Superman. He had a nifty Superman Halloween costume. He wore it to school for the Halloween party and then that evening for our traditional night of trick-or-treating in the snow. We have photos of him sitting on our picnic table surrounded by snow drifts and jack-o-lanterns. He clutches a big bag of candy. Chocolate smears his happy face.

The next morning, he came downstairs dressed as Superman.

I told him that Halloween was over. His mother told him to go upstairs and change.

Kevin insisted on remaining a superhero.

We both shrugged and sent him off to school as Superman.

The school called an hour later. "Your son is dressed as Superman," the school said.

Good Grief! Is that my son going to school dressed as Superman again?

Chris replied that she knew.

"He can't be Superman," the school said. "Halloween is over."

"Can't he just be Superman for one more day?"

The school pondered this. "Just for today."

The next morning, Kevin came downstairs dressed as Superman.

"You can't be Superman today," Chris said.

"I'm Superman," Kevin said.

"He says he's Superman," I said.

Chris explained to Kevin that Halloween was over and he could be Superman next year. He could even be Superman after school and on weekends.

"I'm Superman," he said.

We shrugged and sent him off to school. The school called an hour later. Nobody was home. Kevin came home with a note. The note read: "Your son cannot come to school dressed as Superman. It's against the dress code."

"What dress code?" I asked Chris. This was a public school kindergarten. Kids wore shorts. Kids wore ratty jeans. Kids wore Superman and Ghostbusters and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirts.

I knew all about dress codes because I went to Catholic school. Most of us were keen to observe the dress codes lest we be paddled or smacked with a ruler.

When we inquired about the dress code, we were told only that no costumes were allowed.

"No costumes are allowed," we told Kevin.

"I'm Superman," he said.

"He's Superman," I replied.

"He's Superman," Chris answered.

You have to understand that Kevin was diagnosed with ADHD before kindergarten started. He was taking Ritalin to help control his hyperactivity and impulsivity. It was working, to a certain extent. He still got in trouble on the playground for pushing kids on the swings and down the slide who didn't want to be pushed. He treated every sport as a contact sport. Maybe taking on the guise of Superman will help him in other ways?

It didn't hurt. That's how we approached it with his teacher, a very nice woman we'll call Lois Lane.

"The other kids will want to dress up," Lois said.

"What's wrong with that?" I asked.

Lois shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. But parents might complain."

"Have they?" I asked.

"No," said Lois.

Since there was no hue and cry over children's costuming, the issue eventually settled down. At Thanksgiving, Kevin appeared in the pilgrim drama as a pilgrim who underneath really was Superman. Imagine Superman at Plymouth Rock. He might have zoomed over to Europe and delivered foodstuffs to the pilgrims and the Indians. He might have prevented the eventual slaughter of the Indians. As Clark Kent, he might have worked for the New World's first newspaper, answering to an irascible Perry White. "Kent! Where's that story about the first Thanksgiving?"

"Miss Lane said she was going to do it."

"Great Caesar's ghost, Kent. Don't you know that pilgrim women can be burned at the stake for taking a job as a reporter. Now get me that story."

"Sure thing, Chief."

"And don't call me Chief!"

Thanksgiving moved into Christmas. Kevin/Superman appeared on stage with the rest of the class. They sang their hearts out with "Jingle Bells" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." He was the only one dressed as Superman. I wished that he could use his super powers to make the ordeal go faster, but he was content to sing. I considered the fact that Christmas had a superhero in Jesus and another one in Santa Claus. Jesus rose from the dead and Santa popped down a million chimneys in a single night delivering multitudes of dolls and action figures. He always stopped to eat cookies and drink milk. That was some feat. And his reindeer could fly!

Winter melted into spring and the Superman outfit was unraveling. Chris managed to sew a few holes but one day, the outfit came apart at the seams.

"There's nothing I can do," Chris said.

Kevin shrugged and went to school in a Ghostbusters T-shirt and jeans with a hole in the knee. In his heart, he was still Superman.

If I had any advice for that uptight Pennsylvania preschool, it would be this: Don't sweat it. The kids will be all right.