Kannard's Random Thoughts

Was John Steinbeck a CIA Spy?

2013-10-04T09:53:00.002-05:00

The Steinbeck Now website was kind enough to post a guest article about my latest book, Steinbeck Citizen Spy. Here's the piece in it's entirety.

My discovery of John Steinbeck’s connection to the CIA could be described as payback for a youthful The Grapes of Wrath in high school, I skipped the “turtle” and other chapters that seemed to me superfluous to the plot line of the Joads’ journey west. The punishment for my teenage sin of omission came years later, when it first occurred to me that John Steinbeck was a CIA spy. The insane-sounding proposition grew from incongruities in Steinbeck’s life that—unlike Tom Joads’ turtle—I found I couldn’t ignore.

Why was Steinbeck never called before the House Select Committee on Un-American Activities, despite his alleged ties to Communist organizations? Why did the CIA admit to the Church Committee in 1975 that Steinbeck had been a subject of the illegal CIA mail-opening program known as HTLINGUAL? Did Steinbeck’s connections to known CIA front organizations, such as the Congress of Cultural Freedom and the Ford Foundation, amount to more than mere coincidence? Did the synchronicity continue when Steinbeck did freelance writing for the Louisville Courier-Journal and New York Herald Tribune? Both newspapers were linked to MOCKINGBIRD, another CIA operation, in Carl Bernstein’s 1977 Rolling Stone article “The CIA and the Media.” Why did the CIA redact portions of Steinbeck’s FBI files before they were released under the 1966 Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), the law that permits full or partial disclosure by government agencies of previously classified documents on request?

There was only one source—the CIA itself—that could definitively answer my questions and confirm or disprove my developing conclusions. I submitted my FOIA request to the CIA in January 2012. With characteristic bureaucratic speed, the CIA responded after eight months, in August 2012, sending me copies of two letters written in 1952. In the first, penned on personal stationery in his own handwriting, Steinbeck offers to work for the CIA. In the second, then-CIA Director Walter Bedell Smith accepts Steinbeck’s offer. The text of these letters and others can be found in my book, Steinbeck: Citizen Spy, at my website or in the FOIA Electronic Reading Room.

The CIA Director Accepts the Author’s Offer of Help

Jan 28, 1952

Dear General Smith:

Toward the end of February I am going to the Mediterranean area and afterwards to all of the countries of Europe not out of bounds. I am commissioned by Collier’s Magazine to do a series of articles—subjects and areas to be chosen by myself. I shall move slowly going only where interest draws. The trip will take six to eight months.

If during this period I can be of any service whatever to yourself or to the Agency you direct, I shall be only too glad.

I saw Herbert Bayard Swope recently and he told me that your health had improved. I hope this is so.

Also I wear the “Lou for 52” button concealed under the lapel as that shy candidate suggests.

Again—I shall be pleased to be of service. The pace and method of my junket together with my intention of talking with great numbers of people of all classes may offer peculiar advantages.

Yours sincerely,
John Steinbeck

ER 2-5603
6 February 1952
Mr. John Steinbeck
206 East 72nd Street
New York 21, New York

Dear Mr. Steinbeck:

I greatly appreciate the offer of assistance made in your note of January 28th.

You can, indeed, be of help to us by keeping your eyes and ears open on any political developments in the areas through which you travel, and, in addition, on any other matters which seem to you of significance, particularly those which might be overlooked in routine reports.

It would be helpful, too, if you could come down to Washington for a talk with us before you leave. We might then discuss any special matters on which you may feel that you can assist us.

Since I am certain that you will have some very interesting things to say, I trust, also, that you will be able to reserve some time for us on your return.

Sincerely,
Walter B. Smith
Director

O/DCI:REL:leb
Rewritten: LEBecker:mlk
Distribution:
Orig – Addressee
2 – DCI (Reading Official) [“w/Basic” has been handwritten beside this line and scratched out]
1 – DD/P [a check mark and w/Basic handwritten in]
1 – Admin [This has been scratched out] handwritten is “w/Basic”

Did Steinbeck’s CIA Connection Start in Russia?

Reread A Russian Journal with the possibility that Steinbeck was working for the CIA prior to 1952 in mind. When Steinbeck traveled to the USSR with Robert Capa in 1947—the second of three trips the author made to the Communist state during his lifetime—Walter Bedell Smith happened to be the U.S. Ambassador to Russia. Steinbeck notes in his account of his and Capa’s Russian journey that they dined with Smith during their stay.

This experience helps explain the personal tone of familiarity expressed in Steinbeck’s 1952 letter to Smith offering to help the CIA. It also suggests the possibility that Steinbeck used his access while in the USSR to gather intelligence for the U.S. government from the Russian interior. While visiting a factory in Stalingrad, Steinbeck observes that the Russians are still melting down hulls from German tanks to make tractors fully two years after the end of World War II, lamenting his frustration at not being able to get current production figures for the facility. Such information would have been particularly important to the U.S. government in 1947, as the Cold War became hotter and American travel behind the Iron Curtain more difficult.
While visiting a factory in Stalingrad, Steinbeck observes that the Russians are still melting down hulls from German tanks to make tractors fully two years after the end of World War II, lamenting his frustration at not being able to get current production figures for the facility.

The 1952 exchange between the author of The Grapes of Wrath and the Director of the CIA provides a new set of parameters for understanding John Steinbeck’s life. In my book I carefully examine each of the letters resulting from my FOIA request to the CIA, the writer’s heavily CIA-redacted FBI files, Thomas Steinbeck’s thoughts on the matter, and likely avenues through which the elder Steinbeck could have served his government covertly both before and after 1952. Viewing the author’s life in terms of possible links to the CIA opens vistas for better comprehending certain works, such as The Short Reign of Pippin IV, that his literary agent, editor, and others discouraged him from writing. In recommending my book to a Steinbeck blogger, a noted Steinbeck scholar described the possible CIA-Steinbeck connection detailed in Steinbeck: Citizen Spy as “a potential game-changer.”

Time will tell.

Middle Tennessee Boy Scouts Uphold Ban on Homosexuality

2013-05-09T01:27:00.000-05:00

This evening I found out from the On My Honor blog the Middle Tennessee Boy Scout Council has upheld the dubious "don't ask don't tell" policy of Scouting. As an Eagle Scout, I can't go along with the Council's decision. Discrimination on any level should not be fostered by an organization whose members take the following oath:

On my honor I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, and morally straight.

I've heard the argument time and time again that homosexuality compromises the "morally straight" portion of this oath and therefore is incompatible with Scouting. Should we go as far to insure the moral straightness of our Scouts and Scout Masters as to poke around in their behind closed door affairs? Do we assume that if a Scout Master has been divorced, had premarital sex, or takes a drink when none of his Troop is around he is not "morally straight" and therefore not worthy of being involved with Scouts? Following that train, the BSA would turn into an adolescent boy's version of the Taliban. Maybe that's what Scouting wants. Certainly the Middle Tennessee Council isn't the most forward thinking group of individuals. Segregated Scout troops existed until 1974 within the Middle Tennessee Council because the council left that decision up to individual districts. Back then having African-Americans in Troops wasn't consistent with the values of Scouting either.

I would prefer Scouting to remember the "to help other people at all times" potion of the oath. No matter what one's race, color, creed, or sexual orientation Scouting helps boys become good men. The oath does not state "To help other people (except homosexuals or minorities) at all times". Shouldn't helping our brothers be a part of Scouting come before judging them? In the idealistic version of Boy Scouts I hold in my mind it should.

But... what happens when a homosexual Scout goes to camp with his straight counterparts? I would assume that the parents of homosexual Scouts teach what proper behavior is just like the parents of heterosexual Scouts do. Improper behavior is improper behavior no matter what one's sexual orientation. When at summer camp one year I remember a Girl Scout Troop was in a neighboring campsite. Under no uncertain terms we were told that trying to sneak over would result in a quick trip home. Why? Because trying to peek at the girl's shower stalls was inappropriate behavior that had a consequence. Just as it would be inappropriate for a homosexual Scout to make advances towards another boy. Neither behavior has a place in the context of Scouting and should be dealt with the wisdom of parents and Scout leaders.

There's really two reasons this ban is being held onto by the BSA. First and foremost, there is the misguided belief that homosexuality and child molestation are linked. Given the black-eye the BSA took in October of 2012 about covering up cases of molestation, I have no doubt that the upper echelon of the BSA believes that keeping homosexuals out of Scouting will curb this problem. Secondly, I don't think most heterosexual Scout Masters really want to deal with homosexual Scouts because homosexuality isn't in their frame of reference. I don't understand why my Jewish friends keep Kosher, because I do love bacon, but I respect their right to do so and would make every effort to be sensitive to their dietary needs when planning camp-out meals. We consider that religion is a personal choice, even if we don't agree with someone's dogma, but differing sexual preference is somehow anathema.

If we think that by keeping homosexuals out of Scouting will somehow protect our children, you're right. It will protect them from understanding some folks are just wired that way. It will protect them from learning that you can accept someone who doesn't think the same way you do. Dealing with a diverse group of personalities and beliefs is one greatest early lessons of Scouting. Shouldn't we offer that lesson, and all the other wonderful lessons of Scouting, to any boy? Doesn't our world need a foundation for all boys to grow up into honorable men? As an Eagle Scout I think Scouting should give that chance to as many boys as possible... no matter what.

Thoughts on Zero Dark Thirty

2013-01-10T12:01:00.000-06:00

I went to a screening of Zero Dark Thirty last night and was surprised by the presentation. There is nothing about this film that one would expect out of a hunt for bin Laden movie. There are no montages of SEALs training over-laced with an Aerosmith song. Nor do the SEALs high-five each other after killing bin Laden. The CIA intelligence officers are largely portrayed as desk jockies sifting thought reams of documents rather than becoming involved in epic car chases. What's wrong with Kathryn Bigelow and Mark Boal? Didn't the focus groups tell them that to be commercially successful you've got to glam up the story some?

If the focus groups did give Zero Dark Thirty's director and screenwriter that advice, I'm glad they didn't listen. The portrayal of the hunt for bin Laden is a slow and ponderous affair that imparts tone of the decade long operation. The characters in the film are not the epic heroes that legends come from. They are simply performing a duty outlined by the desires of the American people to spill Osama bin Laden's blood to avenge the horrors of September 11, 2001. Without the kick ass feel of Hollywood's standard offerings, one gets a chance to examine the implications of the "War on Terror". From the audience's reaction to the film, I would say the filmmakers hit their mark. There were no applause at the end or when bin Laden was killed. No Hillary Clinton fist pumps or cat calls of "Yea we got him" were to be seen or heard.

That is also as it should be. No matter how one feels about the role of bin Laden in the September 11th attacks, the fact remains that the American people called for his head on a pike. To that end we allowed prisoners to be tortured for information and violated the sovereignty of Pakistan to achieve that end. Imagine what the reaction would be if the Canadians illegally flew 24 servicemen into Minnesota for the purpose of bringing a serial killer to the Pearly Gates. As much as we would like to think asymmetrical warfare is as clear cut a proposition as notions about the Second World War were, they're not. Enemies that do not "play by the rules" create problems with a nation who truly wants to pride itself on proportional and moral actions in warfare. The dourness of Zero Dark Thirty allows viewers to focus on the Rubicon we've crossed as a nation and if the price for vengeance was/is worth it.

To be honest, I'm still not sure about the answers to those questions. Am I grateful to the men and women who have shielded me from harm since September 11th? Yes. Am I deluded enough to believe that my personal safety doesn't come with unpleasant consequences for those that would do harm? No. The largest problem I have with any of the subsequent events to September 11th is that I do not have enough solid information to justify the wetwork that's been done in my name as an American citizen. While I do not believe in the grand conspiracy theories about September 11th being an "inside job", I do feel that the truth about the attacks has never been fully presented to the American people. Without that assurance, I can never fully sanction the death sentence we have passed on bin Laden. Conversely if someone had showed me evidence of Nazi Concentration Camps in 1939, I would have clamored for the same death sentence to be passed on Hitler. The lack of trust I have in what I'm being told gives me pause to question our national motives in the War on Terror.

That brings up another point about Zero Dark Thirty that marks this film as a must see. The film will cements the official narrative of the hunt and death of Osama bin Laden in our collective history. I have no real means of verifying that the account portrayed in Zero Dark Thirty is anything close to historically accurate. The narrative of the operation against bin Laden could be a Liberty Bell story that fits neatly into our history, but only faintly echoes the truth of the situation. As Americans we don't seem to correct the mistakes of our own historical accounts. If we did, we would recount the Battle of Breed's Hill and not the fallacy that lion's share of the action took place on Bunker Hill. The example might seem to be minor, but follows with the line of thought. Abigail Adams had misidentified the battle on June 17, 1775, as being on Bunker Hill in a letter to her husband John. In turn John referred to the conflict happening at Bunker Hill to the Continental Congress and the narrative was set in American history incorrectly placed.

While Abigail Adams had no malice in her mistake, do we trust that those shaping the story of bin Laden do not have their own agenda? I hope not, but I cannot being myself to making that leap of faith just yet...

10 Seconds Before a Hangover Hits

2013-01-01T17:47:00.001-06:00

My poor personal blog has been neglected over the last couple of years. Quitting a corporate job, opening Grave Distractions Publications, and writing two books will put a damper on writing for fun. However this morning I awoke with an old familiar friend that needed to be written about. Given the title of this posting one might think I had a rip roaring time last night. Nothing could be further from the truth. Laura and I spend a rather sedate evening having dinner with some friends and returning home at 8:30 for a sedate rest of the night. Midnight came and left without a drop of anything drank stronger than the Turkish coffee that capped off our meal.

Bedtime came and the next morning I was visited by the ghosts of New Year's Day past. I affectionately like to think of my mid-20's as the "Lost Years" and days like New Year's came with the price carousing until closing time comes with. The residual imprint of those alcohol soaked days must have stayed with me, because most New Years' mornings I awaken with the beginnings of a hangover.

There is a space of roughly ten seconds that elapses between the time one wakes up and the point in which one remembers what happened the night before. The first two seconds are blissfully devoid of complex cognition. One simply recognizes that Morpheus has been dispelled for the rigors of the waking world. The three second mark is where one realizes this morning’s wake up is markedly different than most normal mornings and a self-diagnostic is called for. The fourth second is spent channeling every ounce of energy into the opening of one’s eyes. You don’t recall having your human eyes being replaced with a reptile’s, but that is the only logical explanation since your field of vision is restricted to tiny slits. Seconds five and six are reserved for feeling about your body to insure no other Kafkaesque changes have occurred while you slept. If one is truly lucky there are no contusions or lacerations to impede one’s introspection, but something is not quite right. Seven seconds in you meet the thousand tiny men wearing golf shoes and Pickelhauben are break dancing in your cranium. By the eighth second you have gained enough control over your brand new iguana eyes to take visual stock of your surroundings. Fortune favors those who are in their own bed and frowns upon those who are someplace else. Reservations have been made for the, “What did I do last night” question during second number nine and precisely at the stroke of ten one’s mind fires up an unsavory Powerpoint presentation.

Thankfully the panic was only the imprint past cocktails have left on my DNA. I wondered how many people woke up this morning with the "10 seconds before the hangover hits" if their actions last night were worth the price of admission. My misadventures rarely were and I'm glad something of my inner psyche gives me a periodic taste of how good the boring life actually can be...

Ventriloquist Choir

2011-01-04T15:26:00.000-06:00

I see this and keep having thoughts of the old Anthony Hopkins movie Magic. This is not for the fenint of heart or those who have a doll phobia.

Last of the Full Grown Men

2010-05-30T18:10:00.001-05:00

It's a quarter past the 90's and the true start of summer is about to happen. The measure of the change from spring to summer came not with Memorial Day or an equinox, but with seeking out the idol of idle youth. One could set their seasonal watches by the first Webb Wilder show of the season at 328 Performance Hall. There was never a set date for the beginning of summer. It always happened in that magical time when the weather broke enough to wear shorts and before the humidity became so oppressive one had to swim from one's car to the club's entrance.

In those days, going to a Webb show was a youthful ritual pilgrimage. Summer might not happen at all if the trials of 328 were not met. Securing a free and non-towable parking space... Slinking through the side streets leading to 328 without getting mugged or running into someone headed to the Jungle down the street... Cutting a hole through the thick coating of clove cigarette smoke and second hand patchouli that lingered around the club's entrance... Hoping the bartender had the foresight to stock an extra case of Guinness... Trying to start a conversation with the out-of-your-league Vandy girl who would never give the time of day to a guy who drove a Rabbit convertible... Waiting out the Gun Bunnies or some equally horrible band for Webb to take stage... The ritual had to be maintained for the sake of summer after all...

It wasn't that Webb Wilder held some Phish-like sway over the audience, but the shows were always fun. You were never sure where the shtick ended and the truth began for the rock-n-roll private eye. That coupled with the honky tonk inspired tunes made for one hell of an evening. And sometime around quarter till 2000, the summer ritual ended. It must have been around the time Nashville Scene sold out to Village Voice and In Review went under. I moved on and my idle college and mid 20's years drew to a close too.

I hadn't thought of that ritual until my wife sent me an email about Webb playing at Dragon Park today. Perhaps Webb had a mystical revelation that Nashville hadn't been the same since a quarter past the 90's and decided to appease the ghosts of the old Nashville Scene. No matter the reason for the reemergence of the Webb-summertime link, I had to find out for myself. Packing up the family, I set out to see for myself.

We got to the park a little late, but in time to hear Human Cannonball as we found a spot to get our groove on. As we walked around, I looked at the crowd and most everyone mirrored myself. We had taken the family out to seek out the beginning of summer and introduce our idle youth to the wonders of a Webb Wilder show. I noticed that all the kids, like my own, weren't into the show at all. The acrid smell of clove cigarettes and patchouli was conspicuously missing. The strongest thing to drink was my own Mapco Diet Coke. All the while, parents were chased their idle youth around Dragon Park. As quickly as the show had started, Webb's performance was cut short due to a thunderstorm. Somehow I thought it was for the best because I realized that Webb Wilder wasn't the last of the full grown men. He was just the first...

Tonight on the Miserable Men's Sirius Radio Show.. Me?

2010-05-09T12:55:00.000-05:00

Tonight should be a pretty interesting night for me. At 9:00PM CST, I'll be appearing on the the Miserable Men Show on Howard Stern's SIRIUS Channel 10. I'll be discussing Skullduggery: 45 True Tales of Disturbing the Dead. You might want to put the kids to bed before tuning in. The program is uncensored and while I promises to behave, I can't say the same for the show's hosts....

It's been a pretty interesting ride promoting the book these last few months. I've had 15 or so different appearances on podcasts and national/big market radio shows trying to live up to my own maxim of being able to tell the best stories in any given setting. We'll see if my true tales of creepy things that happen to the dead hold up bounced off a satellite.

I guess I should never have doubted the great Webb Wilder, you really are never too small to hit the big time. Thanks for everyone's support, and tune in tonight if you get the chance.

Nashville 2010 Flooding; The Day After

2010-05-05T03:59:00.000-05:00

After the long dark weekend of the monsoon Nashville suffered, Monday brought about blue skies dotted with friendly cotton ball puff clouds. The sun had been replaced by the stinging rains of the weekend and all was right once again with the world. My home, christened years ago by an unremembered friend as "Fort Donelson", had done an admirable job of sheltering my family from a very pissed off Mother Nature for the last two days. Thirteen inches of rain and Fort Donelson took on a thimble full of water around the door to our utility room. Even after the rains stopped Sunday night, there was a large puddle at the end of our driveway and three small limbs downed in the front yard.

My home rests less than half a mile from the intersection of Mill Creek and the Cumberland River, but all weekend I wasn't concerned for the safety of my family. Fort Donelson sits approximately 100 feet above the banks of the Cumberland. I had even once brushed off an insurance salesman hawking flood insurance to me with,"If my house gets flooded there won't be a Nashville left." Now with a large tracts of Davidson Country underwater, I left to go to lunch.

Making my way down the street, no one could tell that anything was even wrong in Nashville. A woman leisurely swept her porch and a man at another house was even cutting his grass. In my neighborhood, the day after brought just another sunny day. The realities of Nashville the day after were just down my savior of a hill. The basin next to Mill Creek had turned into a lake. The Donelson marina, that failed due to capital investments, had secured funding from the rain gods. Large rolls of hay that were in that basin were bobbing through the brown water like corks in a science experiment. The homes on the opposite side of Mill Creek were underwater. For a good half a mile from the usual western banks of Mill Creek, families had lost everything. Their homes invaded by water and their existences forever shewed, and I had left to go to lunch.

I was faced with a feeling that I had never had before. With 37 years behind me, I simply thought there was nothing new left to feel. It must have be something akin to survivor's guilt. Why was my home, my family, my life spared in the worst tragedy since the Battle of Nashville in 1864? I can't even begin to guess at the motives on high for this passover. The only thing I was certain of, is that once the waters begin to recede there's quite a bit of volunteering in my future.

The Owls Are Not What They Seem: A Review of The Fourth Kind

2009-10-23T00:55:00.005-05:00

I have to admit that I was somewhat taken in by tonight's screening of The Fourth Kind. The film starts out with a very impassioned Milla Jovovich telling that audience that what they are about to see is a dramatization of real events mixed with actual footage. Jovovich tells us that she is portraying psychologist Dr. Abigail Tyler of Nome, Alaska during events that took place in first few days of October, 2000. The audience was reminded that in the end, "It's up to you to decide" on the validity what is presented in the movie.

The film presents a picture of a broken woman whose husband Will was murdered a few months previously. As she comes to grips with her husband's death, she continues to see a group of patients that have similar sleep disorders. Around 3:30 AM, each of three different patients remembers seeing a white owl coming into their bedroom and nothing else. Eventually, Dr. Tyler hypnotizes one of the patients and realizes that the group is being abducted by aliens.

Without giving any more of the plot away, let's discuss the film itself. The story that is presented is compelling and cinematically shot quite well. The director uses different story panels on the same screen to intersperse the "actual" footage with the dramatization. The effect could be tiring if your focus was not constantly drawn to the panels with the archived footage. The experience is unnerving at best, thinking that what you are viewing is real...

There comes the rub. A little back checking turns out that either Dr. Abigail Tyler is an internet ghost, or the CIA has erased any electronic records of her. Doing a quick Google search will yield some authentic looking web results for Dr. Tyler listed below:

A Bio for Abigail Tyler from the Medical Journal Archive
A 1997 Article about Abigail's work with sleep disorders
An article about Will Tyler's 2000 suicide

The problem is that when doing a Whois domain name search comes up with all these sites being created after August of this year.

If one does a Google News Search for Dr. Tyler, you get zilch. There are no news sources that would indicate that a Dr. Abigail Tyler existed. The final piece of damning evidence comes from a handout given at the screening. It says that, "In October 2004, filmmaker Olatunde Osunsanmi had wrapped principle photography of his thriller The Cavern and traveled to North Carolina for post-production. While there, a chance dinner conversation sparked an interest that would be the genesis of The Fourth Kind." That's a tad problematic since there is "actual" footage in the film with the real Abigail Tyler and Olatunde Osunsanmi dated 2002.

The film does what it has set out to do, get people talking about it. While I appreciate the P.T. Barnum like chutzpah of the filmmaker and marketing team, go see it for entertainment. If you're looking for evidence of UFOs, listen to Coast to Coast AM.

Dungeons and Dragons Sodas

2009-10-21T13:05:00.001-05:00

The folks from Jones Soda have showed that their true nerd colors in producing a new line of sodas inspired by Dungeons and Dragons. Now when your 14th level Chaotic Good, Dwarf Fighter/Thief/Magic User gets ambushed by a patrol of kobolds; pop a top on a tall boy can of Potion of Healing to replenish those lost Hit Points. The limited edition sodas include: Potion of Healing, Dwarven Draught, Eldrich Blast, Sneak Attack, and Bigby's Crushing Thirst Destroyer. All sodas can be opened by your +2 bottle opener...

It is doubtful that these lads had the protection of these new Jones Sodas before bringing out the D20's.

Funny - Funny Videos

The Magic of Simple Pleasures

2008-12-29T09:54:00.002-06:00

A cardinal rule of my life has been to look to the simple pleasures to create pockets of happiness in a seemingly chaotic world. A cigar, a haircut, a simple adventure on a day off... Things like this can provide me with the stability I need to fend off the general weirdness that encroaches on otherwise normal days. Perhaps these simple pleasures are a talisman that wards off such things.

The universe stops running on greased grooves when the ever pressing weirdness encroaches upon the orbit of simple pleasures. . The blasphemy of a simple pleasure being tainted with the radiation of real world concerns is the backdrop of the events of last night.

One ritual Laura and I have taken up is going to a Mapco and getting a fountain Diet Coke. We have turned the trip to Mapco into a warding talismans with a complex ritual to make the magic stick. Like the alchemists of old, we even have named our hunting grounds for our raw materials. There's the "sketchy Mapco" on Spence and Lebanon Road; "our Mapco" at McGavock and Lebanon; and the "redneck Mapco" in Hermitage. Each fountain and location brings its unique twist on the Diet Coke experience.

Last night, after dropping my son Robert off, we found ourselves by the "sketchy Mapco". After a full day of work my head was not quite clear and I almost forgot the solace of the fountain drink. Nearly missing the turn in, I whipped Jane into the sketchy parking lot. Laura and I dismounted my CR-V with the deft precision of an Air Assault trooper unassing a Blackhawk towards our goal.

Before the clerk knew we were in the store, we had cups in hand siphoning off the life giving liquid from the fountain. The first press of the fountain's button told me that something was different. The flow of soda was not uniform and I had to hold the cup close to the nozzle. Thinking there was some CO² malfunction in the unit, Laura as me greedily "Is it ok?".

Taking a sip I discovered whatever the unique properties the sketchy Mapco's fountain has taken on this evening had delivered the best mix of Diet Coke I had ever tasted. The last time I remember a mix like this was in '91 at a Thorton's in Henderson, Kentucky. I gave my cup to Laura for validation. The only words she could summon up was, "Tasty..", as her eyes rolled slightly back into her head.

The magic of the ritual and the treasure trove was split by the coarse voice of the clerk. "You can't use that. I've broken it down and that will go all over the place."

My cup was full and my shirt was dry. There was no problem here. But the rage of a man denied gave way to pouring my cup out. I would be hanged if I was going to support such poor service. A silent agreement passed between my wife and I. The bewitching liquid was poured down the drain and we slinked out of the store.

Our closest option to satisfy our need for carbonated beverages was the newly refurbished Shell station across the street. Mounting up in Jane we crossed the street. From the parking lot we could see that their fountains didn't have stickers on the individual heads. This was a problem we had run into before when breaking with the Mapco tradition. Like some Old Testament Judge smiting an idolatrous nation, we realized the folly of supporting foreign soda fountains.

By this point we were wondering if we should give up the hunt. We had been stymied at two turns and maybe this was a sign from above that we should pack it in. About that time, another sing passed by us on Lebanon Road. An old, half rusted limo pulling a pop-up camper whizzed past us. Surly this was a sign enough of the apocalypse that we should turn back.

The words "never give up and never surrender" itched in the back of my head. Onward we pressed to "our Mapco". Just past the Briley Parkway overpass, the Heisenberg uncertainty principle set against me. While talking about something that had happened at work that day, a freshly lit cigarette flew from my fingertips. Being the ever agile fellow I am, it had to be some breach in the laws of Physics that caused the malfunction.

Landing in the floor board at my feet, I began to freak out a tad. The duress was not only from the impending combustion of random flammable materials that collect in the floorboard of a car, but the sheer weight of symbolic pressure keeping us from a Diet Coke.

Once again I whipped Jane into the nearest parking lot. Images of WWI pilots burning alive in their cockpits filled my subconscious. The Red Baron did not have his day in the sun with me last night. The burning ember was found and quickly extinguished without the least bit of trouble. The only causality was the debilitating laughter coming from Laura that paralyzed her momentarily.

Forging onward, we arrived at "our Mapco" and got a Diet Coke. No incident, so midgets in clown suits robbing the joint. A simple pour, pay and leave.

What you were thinking there would have been something grand at the end of the road? No, just validation that the talisman of the simple pleasures does work. The trip home was uneventful and the rest of the night was peaceful. So there is some magic in a ritual and the stability only a fountain drink can bring...

Grail Seekers Hits the Podcast Waves Once Again

2008-12-13T17:22:00.001-06:00

Just a gentle reminder that I will be taking the podcast waves tomorrow night on the Errie Radio show at 6:00pm CST. The show deals with all sorts of normal and paranormal topics. I've been slated to talk about the Grail Seekers blog and web site. In my experience with interviews of this type are concerned, one never quite knows where the conversation will lead to.

I've never been on this show, so I'm not quite clear on how their podcasing format works. I'm assuming that you will be able to listen in to the show live. In past shows I've listened into they've had callers, so that would tend to make me think that there is a live feed to the show.

So listen and call in if you can. I'm sure it will be an experience...

Frank Herbert's Dune is being Adapted for Film, Again

2008-03-26T16:38:00.004-05:00

Variety announced last week that Peter Berg will direct Paramount's adaptation of Frank Herbert's Dune. I hope that third time makes the charm, because the last two tries to bring Dune to the screen fell short of the mark. If Berg follows his predecessors, I don't think he'll be too popular at Dragon Con after the film's release.

The article mentions nothing about anything other than a slap on the back to those who snaked the rights from the Herbert estate. Given how Frank's son Brian has been whoring out the licensing for dime store knockoffs of dad's classic, that couldn't have been too hard. I'm surprised there hasn't been a "How to Cook Sandworms with Muad'Dib" show on Food Network.

There are two other elements of this article that perplex me. The first being that, "The filmmakers consider its theme of finite ecological resources particularly timely." Really... It's too bad the Hollywood Left just got the message about how the Fremen tried to live in harmony with their environment. Yes, that one of Herbert's themes throughout the entire Dune series. Wouldn't it be much more instructive to remind ourselves how the political situation of Dune gives us dire warnings to present day global terrorism and international financial marketing woes? I'm assuming that subtitle distinction was missed on the producer's first read.

Finally the article goes on to say, "Paramount envisions the project as a tentpole film." That makes me wonder who they've got in mind for Jessica and Chani. If we're lucky, Miley Cyrus won't be cast as Alia....

If Berg is planning on deviating from the book's story line; may his film chip and crack in his camera. Long live the fighters!

Elvis' Grave and Saint Padua's Finger Bone

2008-03-15T11:58:00.002-05:00

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Jungle Room Love is Driving Me Mad

2008-03-15T11:40:00.002-05:00

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The Quest for the Holy Grail and Madison Square Garden

2008-03-12T10:50:00.002-05:00

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The Cloisters

2008-03-12T08:41:00.003-05:00

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William Cullen Bryant and Gertrude Stein Looks alot like Buddha

2008-03-11T09:12:00.002-05:00

William Cullen Bryant Statue at the
New York Public Library

Gertrude Stein Looking quite Buddha like
in this statue at Bryant Park

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An Easy Morning In New York

2008-03-11T08:56:00.002-05:00

Bryant Park

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The Algonquin

2008-03-10T20:32:00.002-05:00

The Algonquin

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Red Lobster, the Musical!

2008-03-10T19:52:00.003-05:00

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Atlas Shrugs and Rockefeller Plaza Symbolism

2008-03-10T16:38:00.003-05:00

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A Walk in Central Park with No Dead Bodies

2008-03-10T14:55:00.002-05:00

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The Dark Tower Rose and Free Tibet March

2008-03-10T13:26:00.004-05:00

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I really have to be one of the world's biggest nerds. I went to the site of the Rose and the Tet Corporation from Stephen King's Dark Tower series while I was I New York. Now there is no empty lot, but the Turtle Bay building has been built and rests of the site of the mystic rose.

After walking around in my fictional nostalgia, I decided to walk down to the UN building. Much to my surprise, I ended up smack in the middle of a Free Tibet and Beijing Olympic protest march.

The Saw Lady

2008-03-10T12:37:00.003-05:00

The Picture is a little out of focus, I didn't want to scream to New York... "Look I'm a tourist, fleece me!"

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