“What difference does it make…?” That is what Hillary said when questioned on the attacks on Benghazi. The Huffington Post reported that during the Bush administration, there were thirteen attacks “Just like Benghazi.” They even posted a popular graphic banner to that effect. Much research has been done that disproves their outrageous and misleading claim. Simply do a search for “Bush embassy attacks” And you will find many articles on both sides of the claim. There was a difference, a big difference. In a nutshell, here are some of the details in my own words.
1. Depending on what you count, there were from 10 to 13 “embassy” attacks during the Bush years with 60 to 87 people killed. Only 1 diplomat was killed, and from 5 to 9 other Americans were killed who were either bystanders or contractors. The diplomat was killed instantly in a surprise attack. The rest of the people killed were NOT Americans. No ambassadors were killed. No embassies were completely taken over. The Post leaves out those details.
2. For the most part, these attacks happened quickly as a surprise and were very short in duration. The embassies were adequately defended and the attackers were either killed or pursued. The Benghazi attack was well organized, came in three waves and lasted about eight hours. There was time to call for help, but help was denied even though effective military assets were available. In fact, there may have been a “stand down” order telling our people to NOT to render aid. Obama did not even go to the situation room; Hillary did not take effective action and later admitted responsibility over the situation. The Post does not tell the whole story.
3. After Benghazi, there was a cover up. For many days all the leaders and their left leaning cronies in the press, said the the attack was spontaneous, a mob that was angered by a YouTube video. Eventually the maker of the video was tracked down and put in prison when he clearly was not involved in the attacks. The attackers were well armed and organized. It was NO angry mob. If Hillary had simply reported the incident and what they tried to do to stop it, I think there would be far less outrage about it. The way it was handled makes it appear like little was done, duties were neglected, and a story was concocted to cover their blunders. Emails have come to light that clearly show that Hillary knew it was not an angry mob but an al-Qaeda action.
These are only a few of the differences. Her failure in the Benghazi attack was dismal. She is clearly not qualified to be commander and chief of our military. In two separate incidents this week, Hillary misspoke and said that “we did not lose anybody in Libya.” In the heat of her campaign, she seems to have forgotten about those who died.
What would it be like if the government took over the video game industry and required people to buy only the games approved by the government? They could regulate the pay of all video game workers so that crummy programmers and bad artists were paid the same as those who worked hard to excel? Companies that make crummy games could continue to make crummy games with guaranteed salaries and their games would have an equal chance at making the government approved list of games.
Suppose the really violent games were recalled and confiscated; games like Halo or Saw. Games about war would definitely be out. The new regulations could allow you to pick from only a small group of approved games that were more acceptable to all? Games written by small companies could be given special favor on the government list.
Suppose the government decided it was unfair for a game maker like “Activision” to make billions when my video game, “Peanut Hunt”, wasn’t making anything, so they took away half of their money and distributed it to small game makers like me and put my crummy game on the list of approved games just to be fair. Eventually the government could stamp out the plethora of game devices and have only one approved device that would play all of the approved games. Forget about having a big screen or a super fast computer. Everything would be standardized to a lower, more practical standard.
A large bureaucracy could be forged to regulate the game industry. They would not actually make any games but they would regulate the game industry with all kind of rules. Every game would have to play in at least 60 languages and not be offensive to anyone for any reason. Of course the heads of the bureaucracy would make gobs of money and would have a guaranteed government pension and a golden parachute in case the whole business collapsed. They would need a web site to sign up all of the game players and could hire their bureaucratic buddies to make the web site and spend over a billion dollars to make it. Then when it failed to work properly they could spend a billion more to fix it. Security and surveillance would have to be in place to make sure there were no illegal games or cheats.
This may seem bad, but on the upside, ALL people would be able to afford the same video games that are now only available to the middle and upper class. Low income people and undocumented people could get games and game devices for free. Rich players would have to bear the cost of everything through higher taxes. Extra taxes could be put on beer and cigarettes since they are more harmful than video games. This would help offset the cost of all the free game devices. Penalties could be laid upon anyone who refuses to play the mandated “Common Core” games that are on the list of approved games. Really violent games would be gone and minority values could be promoted through careful regulation of the approved list.
Whoa!!! I just woke up! What a nightmare. I dreamed the government took over video games. Somebody pinch me! I am so glad this industry is regulated by market forces. Sure there are some things about it that I don’t like, but I get to play MY favorite games and if I don’t like a game, I don’t have to buy it or play it.
May be tomorrow night I’ll dream about the cosmetic industry.
Brrrr! It was cold!! Idaho always feels much colder than other places and this winter was no different. It was the winter of 78 Thanksgiving with the folks in Idaho was the next adventure. I was the pastor of a tiny rural church that afforded no pay, but did supply a nice parsonage. Self-employed, business was a bit slow and money was tight. We had no credit cards. Sounds like a great time for a Thanksgiving trip. We scraped together every cent we had and off we went in wild abandon. There were 5 of us counting Susie’s brother who was living with us at the time.
The vacation was great and the food was superb and the snow that came along was beautiful. Then it turned cold…. I mean really cold. I don’t remember exactly but it was well below zero when we gassed up the VW at the farm pump and headed for home. A count of all the coin showed that the trip home was going to be real tight.
The heater in an air cooled VW van was nothing to brag about, especially in the winter. This time, it was so cold that even we in the front seat were freezing. We had to stop and buy a real heater, so the first store we came to, we bought a 5,000 BTU Coleman catalytic heater, a can of gas and a few candy bars. Ouch! that hurt, but it warmed us up. We were now down to less than $2.00 total, but, “No Bother,” “We can make this trip on one tank…right?”
The cold and the snow took its tole and soon I was driving with one eye on the road and the other on the gas gauge. I noticed that the gauge was dropping a little faster than it should and I figured that we would be stranded somewhere in Portland if we didn’t do something. We had to get some gas.
After descending the mountains in Pendleton, the snow cleared. I slowed down to about 5 MPH and rode on the shoulder. Carl, Susie and Lynnel watched out the side windows and hollered out every time they spotted a pop can or beer bottle. Cans in Oregon had a 5 cent deposit and that can add up. Gas that year was about $0.85 cents per gallon. We must have idled along for 20 miles or more, sometimes with the side door open so Carl could hop out and snatch the cans. They seemed to be everywhere. The cold was gripping.
Rufus, Oregon was a welcome sight. We found a warm shop, cashed in our bottles and cans and spent every penny for gas in the tank. Warmed up again, we headed for home and pulled into the driveway, hours later, running one slim notch above fumes.
That’s right! I fell asleep while driving my motorcycle and lived to tell about it. Read on…
It was summer of 79′. I was self employed as an “handy man.” Work was busy so I could not take time off to go to Idaho to visit with Susie’s folks and she wanted to go, go, go. Loading up our not so trusty VW van, she headed out with the kids to spend a few weeks. Looking for the adventure of a “cruise,” I agreed to come for a weekend visit on our Honda 550, 4 cylinder motorcycle. It would be my very first and very last long distance motorcycle journey.
Late Monday afternoon, I got a mildly frantic call from Susie. “The van broke down! You’ve got to come rescue me!” Sure enough, she had made it to within 20 miles of the farm when it went “Chunk” and rolled to a stop with a grinding crunch. Her dad came and towed her and the kids to the farm. I told her I would come right away as soon as I could make arrangements with my work schedule. The plan was to ride the bike over, repair the VW and then tow the bike home.
Monday night, I juggled all my scheduled jobs explaining the situation. Working all day Tuesday, I wrapped up my only job in progress, so I was free to depart. I ate a quick supper, packed up everything that I could carry on the bike, and headed down the road by 7 PM. I loved riding that Honda 550-4, I never dreamed that I might get tired.
Heading straight up I-5, I zipped through Portland, then Troutdale and headed out into the gorge on I-84 (back then they called it I-80.) It was a beautiful day and the scenery viewed from the Honda was breath taking. Once I was out on the open road, speeding was the order of the day . 80 to 85 was no problem for this bad boy. As I approached Hood River, I spotted some guy up ahead riding a Honda 250. He was really loaded down and struggling along at 60-65. He didn’t look very comfortable and his two cylinder bike was vibrating so much that he was taking a beating. I decided to have a little “biker fun” with him and down shifted quietly into 4th gear as I pulled up along side of him. We nodded to each other and rode together for several miles. Finally we waved goodbye and I made a big deal of gunning my engine and shifting into 5th gear as I left him in the dust.
The trip wore on and fatigue set in. I whizzed through Pendleton and roared up the steep grade into the Blue Mountains in the darkness. It was late.
I’m not sure of the time, but I was zipping along somewhere between LaGrand and Baker where the road is nice and straight. I think it was 1:30 AM or so, maybe 2:00. I was cruising along at 75 mph when suddenly I “WOKE UP!.” I have no idea how long I was asleep, it could have been a few seconds, or a few minutes, I just don’t know. What I do clearly know is that I definitely “WOKE UP.” You know how it is when your head is slumped forward and to the side a little, and you suddenly jerk yourself awake and think, “Huh?, what happened.” That’s the way it was. Asleep on my motorcycle at 75 mph. This scared me so bad I immediately stopped the bike, drank some coffee from my thermos, and paced around for about 10 minutes. Jumping Jacks! Stretch!!! Remounting, I proceeded cautiously to the Baker exit, sipped coffee and dozed for the next hour in a diner and then headed back down the road. I finished the rest of the trip travelling at 65 mph with a new respect for the bike and the road and thanks in my heart to God that this lesson had not been harder. Few people survive falling asleep on a bike unscathed.
The repairs to the van went quickly. I was getting real good at working on this VW. It had suffered another broken valve, but I got it fixed with many trips on the bike to the dealer in Twin Falls. Dad let me use his nice shop and tools for the repair and when we were ready to leave, he made a special towing hitch for the VW that would hook up to the motorcycle. The front wheel sat tightly in the hitch as the rear wheel followed on the ground. This was the third big strike for the VW van. We loved it, but we were getting real tired of getting stranded. It was a long trip home, but home looked mighty nice when we pulled into the drive.
It was the summer of 1978. My wife and I were missionaries for American Missionary Fellowship (formerly called American Sunday School Union.) AMF is an old organization started by Francis Scott Key who wrote the national anthem. I was the pastor of a tiny rural church near Salem, Oregon. We were invited by several churches throughout the US to present the work and history of AMF for which I had a presentation with slides. (Do you remember slides?)
We still had our trusty 1972 VW van, the same one that had made two previous trips to Florida. We loaded up on supplies and took off. Our stubborn daughter was still in diapers and our new son was only a few months old. Having no credit cards, we scrounged all the cash we could for the trip and packed lots of food. It would be a tight budget trip. Our final destination was Brandon, Mississippi where we would meet my parents at my sister’s house.
Our first two presentations went fine. I can’t even remember where they were now. After the 2nd one, we wanted to do some sight seeing so we headed over to Glen Rose, Texas to see the human footprints alleged to be in the Paluxy River bed, right along side some dinosaur footprints. (The human prints are gone now. But we saw them and walked with our feet fitting the trail.) It was HOT!! The hottest day I think I have ever experienced. We left Glen Rose and headed south on 281 but didn’t get very far. We were zipping along about 70 MPH when there was this loud “BANG, CRUNCH!” Coasting to a stop, we parked on the shoulder near a shady tree and tried the starter…. nothing. We were stuck. No Phone. Nobody around. We were out in the middle of no where.
I dug out the CB radio, turned it on, and started chatting with the local truck traffic. We got a lot of honks and friendly waves, then finally some guy in a pickup stopped and towed us all the way into Hamilton where we parked the VW in the parking lot of the Baptist church. After supper at a diner, we got a room for the night at a “Mom and Pop” motel. Susie took care of the kids while I went to evaluate the VW. Since the engine was jambed up tight, I figured it was bad. Pulling the plugs revealed that a valve had broken in the #1 cylinder destroying that part of the engine. There would be no fixing it this time, at least not here.
Using the phone at the motel, I cancelled our final engagement and called my Dad who advised us to take a bus to Brandon. I called the pastor of the Baptist church and asked if we could leave the VW there for a week or two and he agreed. There was a bus coming through the next day, so we took all we could carry in our bags and headed off on the long ride to Brandon. By now you are wondering what this has to do with Sacramento….. keep reading.
After a nice visit with my folks and my sister, my Dad and I went to Jackson to do some serious tire kicking. We found a green, 1970 Chevy station wagon, the nine passenger type with a fold down rear seat and a trailer hitch. Dad bought it for us for $300 along with a brand new “tow bar”, the kind that clamps to a metal bumper. (That’s right, bumpers used to be made of sturdy metal.) After packing up and saying our good byes, we headed for Hamilton in our Chevy “lifeboat.” Upon arriving, I thanked the pastor, hooked up the VW using the new tow bar and we hit the road toward home. This would be my very first experience towing a car with a tow bar, but not my last. We decided to head down through San Angelo and then on down to Interstate 10 which would take us all the way to California where we could head North on Interstate 5 toward home. We were rolling again.
It was early afternoon, Tuesday, July 4th as we were driving North into Sacramento on Interstate 5. Traffic was heavy and it was pushing 90 degrees. As we approached the center of down, I don’t remember exactly where, the car suddenly shut off…. no power. Suddenly I was coasting in heavy traffic in the center lane, pulling a VW bus. Somehow we managed to bull our way over to the wide shoulder. Susie rolled down the windows and I raised the hood to take a look. After checking a few things, I came to the conclusion that the fuel pump was broken. I wasn’t sure exactly where we were. We were trapped on the freeway by a tall concrete sound barrier wall. Fat chance anyone would stop to help us, and if they did, what could they do? We had to get out of there because we were cooking hot.
I spotted a steel access door just ahead built into the concrete wall. It led to the streets below. We grabbed the kids and the diaper bag, and headed down toward the door hoping it was unlocked. It was!! Some vandals had smashed the lock, so out we went into the streets. You might say we were lost. We had very little money left, no phone, no map, and we didn’t know anybody in Sacramento. We just needed help.
We were in an older middle class neighborhood with large trees and old streets. I tried knocking on a few doors but got no replies. We picked a likely direction and started walking. At each intersection we would look both ways trying to determine the best way to go for a store, a phone booth, whatever. About ten blocks later, we looked down the street to the right and there was an old fire station a few blocks over. I remembered the advice that Lou DeBee once gave me. He said, “If you are ever desperate for help, find a fireman.” He was a fireman. He said police are too busy to be much help, but unless there is a fire or an emergency, a fireman is the person to ask. Soon, we were pounding on the door at the station.
It was amazing. There were several guys there doing what firemen do when nothing is happening. They welcomed us in and listened to our story. Most of the car part places were closed for the day….4th of July…. but one of the guys had a friend that worked for a parts place. He got him on the phone and talked him into meeting us at the store. Susie and the kids hung out at the station while the fireman (I’m sorry I can’t remember his name) drove me across town to the parts store where we bought a new fuel pump. Then he drove me to our rig up on the freeway and helped me install it. Soon, he was leading the way back to the station where we rested a spell, filled up our water jugs, took advantage of a few snacks and told the firemen our whole story. We were thrilled that God provided these guys to rescue us in our time of need. It is really true, if you are desperate for help…. find a fireman.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. We finally arrived safely at hour home in Halls Ferry, Oregon. The old VW had let us down big time but God provided through various means and we made it home. It took me several weeks to get the VW running again. It was a major piece of work involving new cylinders, rebuilt heads and new sodium filled valves.
It was 1977 and we had our 1972 VW van loaded way beyond the max. We were making a trip from Salem, Oregon to Hollywood, Florida to attend summer camp at Florida Bible College. My wife and I were the organizers of the trip. Ronnie Schweitzer was along for a ride back to college. My daughter was 2 1/2 and still in diapers. Four teenagers were with us who planned to attend camp for a week. That’s a total of 8 bodies in a VW van for about 3334 miles each way.
The VW was in good shape. We had it rigged up inside so that 3 people could lay down and “sleep”, two could sit in back seats, while 2 sat up front (including the driver). My daughter just hung out where ever she wanted too, usually in Susie’s lap. We were planning to drive straight through, with no stops to rest. 5 of us could take turns driving. On top of the van we had a very large homemade luggage box that measured 4x8x2 and it held all of our stuff except the ice chest. We were LOADED!!
We left early on a Saturday morning in August. I took the first shift driving and drove from Salem, Oregon to Ontario, Oregon. We crossed the state line into Idaho and made a long rest stop at the first rest area just over the bridge. I decided that it was time for Ronnie to drive. He had driven his old VW van all summer but this was his first time driving mine. This one had the new “flat” engine made by Porsche. It was pretty hot for a VW and it purred like a kitten. The entrance to the freeway is a little uphill. I laid down for a nap and Ronnie fired up the engine and started up the ramp. I could hear the engine whine as he wound out first gear a little tighter than I liked. I felt a little on edge. Then he wound out 2nd gear as far as it would go. The engine was screaming. That’s when it happened. When Ronnie went to shift into third gear, he accidentally put it back into FIRST GEAR and he popped the clutch. The engine let out a very loud BANG!! and then over-revved like a screaming banshee. In an instant I popped up and shouted, “Shut it off! Shut it off!” We coasted to a stop along the busy freeway. The starter would spin, but the motor would not turn over. We were stuck. Grimly we got out and pushed the VW back down the ramp and into the rest area. It was hot, and remember….1976… no cell phones, no internet, nothing.
Everything was closed. We spent about two hours calling around trying to find help. I found a Pastor of a small church in Weiser, Idaho who volunteered to come pick up my wife and the girls, put us all up for the night and provide meals. Wow, that was nice. Finally I found a VW repair shop in Weiser, a mom and pop sort of shop. They were closed for the weekend but the guy agreed to tow us to his shop and let us use his tools to repair the engine. He would not help because it was his weekend. Besides that, we could not afford his help. His shop was a dream…he had everything in the way of tools. In two hours, Ronnie and Wayne and I had that VW up on jacks and the engine sitting on the floor ready to repair. The problem is, there were NO parts. The nearest parts for this model were in Seattle and not available until Monday and we were in a hurry to hit the road.
Damage report: When Ronnie popped the clutch, it destroyed the clutch, and snapped off all 5 bolts that held the flywheel in place. At the other end of the engine, it snapped off all 5 bolts that hold the cooling fan onto the crankshaft. Amazingly, there was no other damage that we could see. We were afraid we may have thrown a rod or blown a head gasket, but we could not turn the engine over because there was no longer anything attached to the crankshaft to turn. We stood there pondering what to do.
That’s when I saw it….. right there in the shop’s back yard…. a VW van just like mine, same year and everything. Joe the shop owner walked in to check on us since it was getting late. I asked him what the story was on that van over there. He said that it belonged to a lady who left it there for a week to get a clutch job. BOING!! A light bulb went off in my head. If we could pull her engine and take all the parts we needed off of it, we could be back on the road by morning. I talked to Joe about the importance of getting the teens to camp on time and told him my idea. He was reluctant, but finally agreed. We would do all the labor of pulling the engine out of the lady’s van and remove all the parts from it that we need. He would let us use the new clutch assembly that he had bought for her. In return, we would pay full price for all the parts so that he could order all new stuff for her van and we would pay him the labor to re-assemble her motor and re-install it. What a deal. Joe said that the lady was a good friend and he was sure she would not mine….but I doubt he ever told her. Joe went to bed and we worked all night. There was no further damage. All the cylinders had good compression. At 6:30 AM on Sunday, we fired it up. We settled up with Joe, had breakfast at the pastors house, gave them many thanks for their hospitality and hit the road by 8:00. Whew! What a deal.
We had replaced the clutch, the pressure plate, the flywheel bolts, the cooling fan bolts, and the fan belt. I can’t remember anything else. That is pretty light damage for having such a heavy load and such high RPM under all that stress. Apparently there was no damage to the transmission or the intern workings of the engine. We were all praising the Lord for that. The rest of the trip was swift and safe. We made it to camp 8 hours late, had a great time, and returned with no further problems.
Not even Law and Order would attempt to capture this mess…This is an unbelievable twist of fate!!!
At the 1994 annual awards dinner given for Forensic Science, AAFS President Dr. Don Harper Mills astounded his audience with the legal complications of a bizarre death. Here is the story:
On March 23, 1994 the medical examiner viewed the body of Ronald Opus and concluded that he died from a shotgun wound to the head. Mr. Opus had jumped from the top of a ten-storey building intending to commit suicide.
He left a note to the effect indicating his despondency. As he fell past the ninth floor his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast passing through a window, which killed him instantly.
Neither the shooter nor the deceased was aware that a safety net had been installed just below the eighth floor level to protect some building workers and that Ronald Opus would not have been able to complete his suicide the way he had planned.
“Ordinarily,” Dr Mills continued, “Someone who sets out to commit suicide and ultimately succeeds, even though the mechanism might not be what he intended, is still defined as committing suicide.” That Mr. Opus was shot on the way to certain death, but probably would not have been successful because of the safety net, caused the medical examiner to feel that he had a homicide on his hands.
In the room on the ninth floor, where the shotgun blast emanated, was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. They were arguing vigorously and he was threatening her with a shotgun. The man was so upset that when he pulled the trigger he completely missed his wife and the pellets went through the window striking Mr. Opus.
When one intends to kill subject “A” but kills subject “B” in the attempt, one is guilty of the murder of subject “B.”
When confronted with the murder charge the old man and his wife were both adamant and both said that they thought the shotgun was not loaded.
The old man said it was a long-standing habit to threaten his wife with the unloaded shotgun. He had no intention to murder her. Therefore the killing of Mr. Opus appeared to be an accident; that is, assuming the gun had been accidentally loaded.
The continuing investigation turned up a witness who saw the old couple’s son loading the shotgun about six weeks prior to the fatal accident.
It transpired that the old lady had cut off her son’s financial support and the son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that his father would shoot his mother.
Since the loader of the gun was aware of this, he was guilty of the murder even though he didn’t actually pull the trigger. The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus.
Now comes the exquisite twist.
Further investigation revealed that the son was, in fact, Ronald Opus. He had become increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to engineer his mother’s murder. This led him to jump off the
ten-storey building on March 23rd, only to be killed by a shotgun blast passing through the ninth story window. The son had actually murdered himself so the medical examiner closed the case as a suicide.
A true story from Associated Press, Reported by Kurt Westervelt
What a blast! It got real noise outside at our house today. We had an unusual amount of thunder and lightening accompanied by a heavy burst of 3/8″ diameter hail that came on really fast. The wind was strong and gusty.
About an hour later, after things had calmed down, we heard on the news that a small tornado had struck about 10 blocks South of us. The police blocked off the roads because too many curious looky loos where trying to drive by with their cells phone waving in the air taking pictures. The news stations way over hyped the story that prompted emails and phone calls from our friends and relatives.
Don’t worry. Battle Ground is still here. Damage was small and we are OK.
Have you ever been irritated by a berry bush that is turned the wrong way when you try to plant it? You have to put it down somewhere nearby, then rotate it, then pick it up and put it down where you want it. Right?
Happily, there is a fix for this that is not a complete cure but a lot easier. Grab a berry bush out of the store so that you can plant it. If it is turned the wrong way, drop it on a berry bush that is turned the correct way, it will fly back to the store. Now go back to the store and grab the berry bush again. This time it will be turned the correct way. If you want more, they will most likely be turned the correct way too. This is a lot faster than the “Plant and rotate” method. Try it!
I think this is a record for me. I set out three traps in my next door neighbor’s yard to catch a new mole that recently started his campaign of tunneling terror. ONE hour later, I was walking by and notice one trap was tripped. I looked again as saw that two were actually tripped. “Wow! I got him!”, I thought. I pulled the traps and there was no mole. He had escaped two traps. A sly fellow indeed.
I reset the traps and went my way. About THREE hours later, my neighbor’s son in law came to visit and I went over to warn him of the traps. He wanted to see them so we sauntered over to where they were set. To my surprise, one was tripped. I pulled it out and there was a big mole freshly caught and still squirming. I had to whack him with my shovel to end his struggle. Ewww.