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All the News About Hal that Hal Deems Fit to Print
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AUG/SEPT. 1994 ~ Ite in Orcum Directe ~ Volume 3, Issue 5
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_____________________________________________________________________
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The Best Non-cooking, Non-Gardening, Self-Published Newsletter
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in New England - Some Guy at the Boston Globe
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Publisher: Harold Gardner Phillips, III
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Editor-in-Chief: Hal Phillips
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Virtual Editor: Dr. David M. Rose, Ph.D.
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Managing Editor: Formletter McKinley
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Living/Arts Editor: Alex Beam
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Dead/Government Editor: Vincent Foster
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Production Manager: Quinn Martin
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Circulation Manager: Dr. Margaret Bean-Bayog
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Weapons Consultant: General Raoul Cedras
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Spiritual Consultant: Rev. Jean Bertrand Aristide
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Editorial Offices: The Harold Herald
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30 Deering St.
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Portland, ME 04101
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Satellite Office: c/o Golf Course News
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38 Lafayette St.
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P.O. Box 997
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Yarmouth, ME 04096
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ARCHIVE SITES:
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fir.cic.net (pub/Zines/Harold.Herald)
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etext.archive.umich.edu (pub/Zines/Harold.Herald)
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Subscription requests to drose@fas.harvard.edu
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Submissions welcome
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THIS ISSUE: Sell your Philip Morris Stock: Phillips kicks the Habit
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Ken Burns Declines to Comment
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The Thing That Ate Baltimore: A New Phillips Comes Forth
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Thugs and Savages, Friends and Neighbors
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Culinary Wonders of the British Isles
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Minor Leagues, Major Concessions
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Toying with the Dead and the Undead
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And, of course, your letters....
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/-/ \-\
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HAROLD NOTEBOOK
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By HAL PHILLIPS
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PORTLAND, Maine - A decade of inveterate smoking came to an end (in
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theory) on Sept. 12, my 30th birthday. I didn't want to quit, so my
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plan was to tell everyone I knew about my proposed secession, thereby
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making it impossible to weasel out.
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The first week went very well, while the second - which included a
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wedding (see below) - set me back a few steps. The bottom line is
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this: When sober, I show amazing resilience. When buzzed, especially
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via the demon weed, I have more trouble.
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I have, however, made significant progress. As the Herald went to
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press, I have smoked six cigarettes in two weeks - none in my car,
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none on the golf course, none after dinner, none in the morning with
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coffee.
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***
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Health Care Addendum: Why is that Americans squeal like stuck pigs
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when they're wronged by some government agency but shrug their
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shoulders when they're debauched by all manner of private-sector
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entities? Why do we decry government-run health care bureaucracy and
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accept an insurance bureaucracy that couldn't be slower, couldn't be
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less responsive, and couldn't be more expensive.?
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Is there such a thing as too much faith in the free market?
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(Is there a rule about consecutive interrogative sentences? Oops, I've
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done it again!)
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And what about fucking Phil Gramm (Dink-Texas), who doesn't understand
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that he hasn't a the slightest chance at the GOP nomination. I heard
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him on C-Span the other day, railing about government intervention
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with regard to health care.
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"My mother, back in Texas, doesn't want the government messing with
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her health care," drawled the balding, hypocritical toady. "She want's
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government out of her life!"
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Thanks to the New York Times, I learned that Phil omitted an important
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aspect of his argument - namely, the Medicare payments his mother
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receives each month.
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***
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Living/Arts Editor Alex Beam, who writes a column for the Globe in his
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spare time, has asked for some assistance from Herald readers. Seems
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Beam is planning a column on "cars that look like suppositories." Beam
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can be reached at the Big House on Morrissey Boulevard, 617-929-2800.
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***
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I've been to three weddings since publication of the last Herald: Tim
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Dibble and the former Maureen Holland in Hingham, Mass.; David Kett
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and Beth Jordan in St. Paul, Minn.; and Jim O'Reilly and the former
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Kris Kelleher in Harvard, Mass. All three women, to their credit, said
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"I do" or the like without any prompting or prodding.
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All three were very enjoyable affairs. But when it came to pure
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decadence, all paled in comparison to their respective bachelor
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parties. Dibble's shindig has already been documented in this space
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(August '94), but Kettle's and O'Reilly's both deserve mention.
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Kett's bachelor party involved a trip to a St. Paul Saints baseball
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game (see related story), followed by a trip to "The Saloon," a gay
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disco bar where we met up with the simultaneously partying
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bachelorettes. Somewhere in between the ballgame and gay bar, the
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groom - a long-time friend from Wellesley, Mass. - was hijacked and
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taken to a strip bar that looked like a diner.
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O'Reilly's bash was a two-day affair that began with a pub crawl in
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Billerica, Mass. and ended with a Winnebago trip to the Foxwoods
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Casino in Ledyard, Conn. So bored was Jim by the goings-on at Max II's
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(a strip bar known in newspapers circles as the Billerica Performing
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Arts Center), he slept - arms folded, chin on chest - throughout our
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two-hour stay. Jim's high moral character, personified by his sleepy
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indifference, was aided by double-digit drink totals, among other
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vices.
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***
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We're Famous, Part II: I received a curious spate of subscription
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requests early in September. We had not published since mid-August
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nor, to my knowledge, had we received any press coverage. Turns out
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the New England Newspaper Association (NENA) Bulletin mentioned the
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Herald in its September issue.
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This may not seem like much to you, gentle reader. But NENA is big-
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time! Papers like the Marlboro Enterprise and Town Crier (where I
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toiled) belonged to the piddling New England Press Association, while
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the Boston Globe, Hartford Courant and, apparently, the Portland
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Press-Herald belong to NENA.
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The NENA Bulletin basically ran a brief on the Herald, lifting a few
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sentences from Ray Routhier's Press-Herald feature. Did they get your
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permission, Ray?
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***
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Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to do a few impressions
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for you tonight. Are you ready... Who am I now?
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"I remember that... I remember that... I remember that... I remember
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that..."
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I'm a Baby Boomer watching "Forrest Gump."
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/-/ \-\
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KEN BURNS:NO BALLS, BUT NO STRIKES
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By HAL PHILLIPS
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We can't let Ken Burns scurry off to his next film project without
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comment on his celebrated, nine-inning series, "Baseball," which just
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concluded on Public Broadcasting.
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Anyone familiar with Burns' documentary work - "The Brooklyn Bridge",
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"The Civil War" - has come to realize two things: He's got really bad
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hair sense and an obsession with exploring the American sense of self
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via historical circumstance.
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After plowing through the country's Civil War years, Burns'
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concentration on the game of baseball may seem an inconsequential
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choice. But with his latest documentary, the filmmaker painstakingly
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depicts the Grand Ol' Game as a full-length mirror to American
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culture. Certainly, the question of race in this country is well
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reflected by baseball's 19th-century experimentation with integration
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and eventual regression into complete segregation.
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But did Jackie Robinson's Major League emergence in 1947 somehow
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reflect America's pangs of conscience? Did he pave the way for Brown
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vs. Board of Education and the impending Civil Rights movement?
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Ken Burns would answer these queries thusly: "Those are interesting,
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crucial questions with which Americans continue to struggle..."
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And when does this reflection go too far? Did baseball in the 1920s -
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with its unprecedented emphasis on the home run - mirror an America
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hell bent on self-indulgence and immediate gratification.?
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I say, that's a stretch. But you'll never get an answer from Burns.
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I admire and enjoy Mr. Burns' work more than any documentarian on
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earth, but his scholarship is very safe. I've seen him speak several
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times and he pointedly refuses to offer his own opinions on subjects
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in which he is fantastically versed.
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Let me be clear: In his documentary work, Burns is fanatically
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scrupulous when it comes to spelling out both sides of an argument.
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However, when pressed for an opinion, he damn near refuses to come
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down on either side. And who better to offer an informed opinion than
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someone so objective?
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"Mr. Burns, do you think it fair that Abraham Lincoln be so closely
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associated with the freeing of slaves when he favored the post-war
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black colonization of Africa and resisted emancipation for as long as
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it remained politically practical?"
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Burns would answer, "We, as a country, are still struggling with this
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troubling dual image of Lincoln as emancipator and political
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opportunist. Somewhere on the fault line lies the truth..."
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"Mr. Burns, do you think Major League Baseball deserves its anti-trust
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exemption?"
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"Well, as a nation, we continue to struggle with this question,
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pulled, as we are, in two directions: Toward the sanctity of
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tradition. and fairness in the marketplace. Somewhere in the grey area
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lies the answer.."
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And so it goes.
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***
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There is no denying that 20th-century baseball also mirrors the
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country's on-going labor struggles. And though Burns would never say
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so in public, I will: The anti-trust exemption for Major League
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Baseball is a disgrace. The 1994 strike is merely the most recent
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example.
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Unfortunately, while now would be the ideal time to challenge the
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exemption in court (which Major League Baseball Players Association
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Executive Director Don Fehr has said he would do), Fehr is not the man
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to do it.
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Anyone who would dare challenge the national pasttime must be
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extremely clever, media savvy and, most important, likeable. The
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potential fallout from removing the exemption is enormous. An entire
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nation would require soothing reassurance that baseball would not
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disintegrate and reform as something altogether alien. Fehr - an icy,
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humorless attorney - could never provide that type of security.
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Marvin Miller, Fehr's mentor and predecessor, was perfectly suited to
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this task. But it appears Miller was born too early.
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***
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Getting back to the baseball documentary: I enjoyed it, but not nearly
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so much as Burns' Civil War series. Both are stylish and hugely
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informative, but for me, 95 percent of "Baseball" was rehash whereas
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"The Civil War" was chock full of fascinating minutiae.
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To be fair, this is more a commentary on me than Burns. Fact is, I
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know more about the history of baseball than my country's seminal
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civil disturbance.
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Most people do, I'm afraid. Right or wrong, there are more baseball
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stat freaks than Civil War scholars.
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/-/ \-\
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MARKING THE BIRTH OF A NATHAN
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By HAL PHILLIPS
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TOWSON, Md. - Nathan Phillip Kahla, my first nephew, was born Aug. 28,
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to sister Janet and her husband, Paul Kahla.
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The dark-haired boy weighed in at a whopping 9 lbs. 13 oz., and
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measured 22 inches. Anyone who's met my sister can appreciate the
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dimensions at play here. Janet is 5'1" and wears a size 4... no
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cesarean required. What a trooper!
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Both mother and son came through famously and, at four weeks, Nathan
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was sleeping virtually through the night. Indeed, the awards continue
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to roll in. At a recent reunion of the Kahlas' birthing class, our boy
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captured first prize for biggest and newest baby!
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During a recent phone interview with Janet, Nathan woke up and started
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to wail.
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"He cries a lot," the new mother explained. "But I guess babies do
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that. That's what they tell me, anyway."
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It was discovered that our boy had a wet bum, so his mom - who can
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change a car's oil without removing the portable phone from her
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shoulder - proceeded to service young Nathan. Suddenly, she burst out
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laughing.
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"Oh wow, Nathan just had a bowel movement!" she howled. "We always
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take off his socks because he always puts his feet right into the
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dirty part of the diaper."
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"Did you ever think you'd laugh so hard at defecation?" I asked my
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sister.
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"No, I didn't," she said. "Oh, he did it again! He also has little
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erections. Little baby erections. They're so cute!"
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Reports out of Towson indicate Nathan to be the cutest freakin' baby
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on Earth. Paul insists the baby is "extra cute."
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Consistent with his Phillipsian stature, particularly at birth, Nathan
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has also displayed signs of the family appetite. He eats a good deal
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of the time.
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However, when my parents (Gramma and Grampa Phillips) were in town for
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a visit, Nathan was sucking away on his bottle, only to stop and
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breath before resuming.
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"Well, I guess he likes to breath between bites," Gramps observed off-
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handedly.
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"Well, I guess he doesn't have the Phillips appetite," Janet observed.
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The lovely Sharon Vandermay and I plan to visit the newest family
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edition the weekend of Oct. 8 and 9. I'm excited but Sharon is beside
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herself with gleeful anticipation.
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Until then, we have to rely on observations from Nathan's mom, who has
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taken this motherhood thing in stride.
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"His crying, I thought, would really get on my nerves," she explained.
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"But that doesn't seem to be the case. I'm much more patient than I
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thought I would be.
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"You can see him changing every day. We have this developmentally
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correct poster, all black and white, near his crib. For the first
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three weeks or so, he had no interest in it whatsoever. Now he stares
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intently at it, constantly. Once he started showing an interest in
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that, I started with the rattle. No interest. But yesterday, I brought
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it back out and he follows it all around. He'll hear the rattly sound
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and look around for it.
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"They say that kids can recognize faces immediately. They love to look
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at mirrors. They probably don't realize it's them, but I have two
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mirrors in his crib: A three-way and convex. He likes the three-way
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mirror. It has red, black and white borders. Red is the first color
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they see. Then they move on to cool colors.
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"They practice facial expressions, but he doesn't really know what it
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means. He'll grin as he falls off to sleep. It's the cutest thing
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you've ever seen."
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/-/ \-\
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MEETING RAOUL
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By Dr. DAVID ROSE
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It was Friday morning, around 4 a.m. or thereabouts when the phone
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rang. I had just completed some very satisfactory Rapid Eye Movement
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and was settling into a dream in which I was appearing as a special
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guest on the Lawrence Welk Show. Normally, I would have unplugged the
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phone and rolled over for several hundred additional winks, but I was
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groggy and was momentarily confused by the simultaneous disappearance
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of Myron Floren and Arthur Duncan. In my compromised state, and
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against my better judgment, I picked it up.
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It was him again, I should have figured. Whenever he gives a big
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speech he gets all keyed up and can't sleep. Then he lies in bed,
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staring at the ceiling and turning things over in his mind until he
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gets so confused and worked up that he has to call me. It wasn't the
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first time, and it wouldn't be the last. My wife Pen was still
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sleeping, so I slipped out of bed and took it on the extension in the
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kitchen.
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"Bill, what the hell? It's four o'clock, I've got work tomorrow..."
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"Ah know, Dave, Ah feel your pain. But Ah need your help; it's the
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Haiti thing. Things aren't working out like we planned."
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"WE? What's this we shit? Don't try to pin this on me. Gays in the
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Military, okay, that was my baby. But I tried to tell you from the
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start that Haiti was a mistake. And no offense, Bill, but the speech
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was weak. What did I tell you? Sincerity and resolve, sincerity and
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resolve, we went over it about 50 times! You couldn't even look into
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the camera."
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"Well, Ah thought it went pretty well.
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Your.....time.....is.....Up; I counted 'Mississippi' just like we
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practiced. And Ah didn't do that Mike-Dukakis-bent-finger thing once.
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Ah used graphic descriptions of the brutal human rights abuses
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committed by the Haitian military to appeal to America's innate sense
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of justice, thus focusing the country's attention like a laser beam on
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the suffering of their brothers to the South and a little bit to the
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East, or, in the case of the New England states, their brothers just
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to the South... and in some cases actually a little bit to the West."
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"Uh, very stirring. But you've got to remember, Bill, the Haitians are
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three time losers as far as Middle America is concerned: They're
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black, they're poor, and, as if that wasn't enough, they speak French
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for Christ's sake.
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"Actually, most speak Creole..."
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"Great, when the campaign bus is swinging through Idaho next year
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start speaking Creole out on the hustings and watch how it whips Ma
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and Pa Kettle into a frenzy. People couldn't care less, the fucking
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Simpson trial is coming up. "
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"Did you know we don't have Court TV in the White House? Ah know the
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trial falls under the purview of the judicial branch, but as Chief
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Executive Ah feel a need to keep informed..."
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"Bill, let's stick to the business at hand, shall we? Look, a Haiti
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invasion is a no-win situation. If things go smoothly, a lot of people
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will die and you'll achieve a military objective that no one cares
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about. If things don't go so well, more people will die and you might
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achieve nothing. Either way, Bob Dole's got your balls in a sack."
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"Ah know, Ah know. That's why I'm calling. Is there a way out, any way
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to get through to the military leaders?"
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"Let's face it. The Cuban Missile Crisis approach isn't working; you
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gave it a shot, but you're no Jack Kennedy. Cedras thinks you're
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bluffing, and even if you weren't, he doesn't think you can get an
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invasion past Congress. I think it's time for some Good Cop/Bad Cop;
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you've done the bad cop part, now send in some good cops to tell
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Cedras that you're just crazy enough to do it - unless he makes nice."
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"But who? Ah suppose we could send Dole or Gingrich* in to say that
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Congress won't stand in my way..."
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"No, too dangerous; Dole or Gingrich would use it against you later.
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But I must admit that I like the idea of sending a bitter enemy, a
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right-wing ideologue whose neo-fascist views are so diametrically
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opposed to yours that Cedras will have to view him as I free agent...
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I know: Sam Nunn.
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"Perfect! Now, we should also have someone who the coup leaders can
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identify with, someone with similar attributes and interests, who can
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win them over to our way of thinking. Hmmm....."
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"Well, Colin Powell isn't poor, but he's black and he knows a lot
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about how to kill and dismember people; we'll give him some Berlitz
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tapes and he can learn Creole on the flight down."
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"Brilliant! It's all coming together! Now, Ah know Ah can't go along,
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but Ah feel that Ah should send a sort of surrogate, someone who will
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represent me. Ah want the coup leaders to see first hand the type of
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man they're dealing with."
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"Hmm. It's a thought, I suppose. He should be a man of humble origins
|
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who, by struggling, has vastly improved his station in life. A sober
|
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and earnest man who nonetheless possesses a certain Southern charm. A
|
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Democrat, of course, and a man who has used his innate gifts of
|
|
intelligence, industry, and devotion to public service to become a
|
|
well-meaning and likable but maddeningly ineffectual president. Hmm,
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that's going to be a little tougher, but we'll think of someone.
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Anyway, Bill, I'm beat. Give me a call early tomorrow and we'll work
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out the details. And you get some sleep, you've got a big day ahead."
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I hung up the phone and slipped back into bed. As I drifted off, I
|
|
remembered that I had meant to tell Bill to instruct his negotiators
|
|
not to piss away their advantage in negotiations and make unreasonable
|
|
concessions to the Haitian military, resulting in an agreement which
|
|
achieved few of his original objectives, forced him into an uneasy and
|
|
unseemly alliance with the men he had just characterized in a national
|
|
address as thugs and savages, and launched a military operation with
|
|
questionable goals and ill-defined rules of engagement that could turn
|
|
into a quagmire that would make Somalia look like a day at the beach.
|
|
Sure, it seemed obvious, but you can't leave anything to chance with
|
|
this guy.
|
|
|
|
No matter, I thought; I could still tell him in the morning... as long
|
|
as I didn't oversleep.
|
|
|
|
(* When the sirname "Gingrich" is run through the spell-check, its
|
|
nearest relative is, appropriately, "jingoish." While the sirname Dole
|
|
is a legitimate word and shouldn't be checked, my spell-checker stops
|
|
on it and suggests "fucking obstructionist prick". - Ed.)
|
|
|
|
/-/ \-\
|
|
|
|
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
|
|
|
|
Dear Harold:
|
|
|
|
Thank you (I think) for assigning me to cover the story of your
|
|
demise, which I'm sure will be untimely and regretted by all. At the
|
|
risk of sounding morbid, I would like to start preparing the shell of
|
|
your obituary now.
|
|
|
|
I'm toying with the following lead: "What can you say about a
|
|
X-year-old boy who died? That he loved beer and debauchery? That he
|
|
once loved a vacuum cleaner?"
|
|
|
|
As you can see, it is a little thin. You could help me out by
|
|
requesting fond memories, quips, and other personal anecdotes from
|
|
your subscriber list, many of whom purport to be your friends.
|
|
|
|
Thank you for your help. I look forward to editing your sordid
|
|
past.
|
|
|
|
Cordially,
|
|
|
|
Alison Harris
|
|
|
|
Cumberland, Maine
|
|
|
|
Ed. - My admirers are legion and easily accessible. However, for an
|
|
alternative view, might I suggest Jim Magonigle, a fellow Wesleyan
|
|
grad hell-bent on beating me to a pulp. Seems I insulted his
|
|
fraternity house, Chi Psi, sometime during my junior year. This got
|
|
back to him and he took it personally - very personally. Every time I
|
|
run into him, he's drunk, has a crazed look in his eye and threatens
|
|
my well-being. Also, you may want to contact my ex-fiancee Stephanie,
|
|
who has a pathological aversion to unpleasantness. So while she
|
|
probably has plenty of nasty things to say, Stephanie has by now
|
|
blotted them fro her memory or attributed them to my drug use. Either
|
|
way, if pressed, she'd probably fabricate something nice to avoid the
|
|
slightest hint of negativity.
|
|
|
|
Dear Hal,
|
|
|
|
Your Aunt Anne and I were some excited to hear you was going to spoken
|
|
of on the front page of the newspaper. I had lots of folks promise to
|
|
save their copies. We was then real disappointed to buy the paper that
|
|
week and you wasn't in it, not just not on the front page but
|
|
nowheres!
|
|
|
|
When we spoke to you about it you said you had meant you was going to
|
|
be in one of them Boston or Portland papers! Course that don't count
|
|
for much around here. If it's not in the Ellsworth-American it hasn't
|
|
really happened. I was in some pickle with all them folks that bought
|
|
extry Ellsworth-Americans and was out two dollar and fifteen cent
|
|
compensating them.
|
|
|
|
I showed them your newsletter to better explain the situation. But I
|
|
don't know but what that didn't make it worse! Effie Beals said if you
|
|
got such a swelled head from being in one of them Boston papers no-
|
|
one's every heard of she'd hate to think how big an ego you'd have if
|
|
you had been in the Ellsworth American!
|
|
|
|
And Clyde Oldstrop said mebbe you was turning out like the Newman boy,
|
|
Paul I think his name was, who left here to got to California and be
|
|
an actor, or some such foolishness. Last we heard he was trying to
|
|
sell salad dressing! Now if he'd a stayed here and worked for his
|
|
Uncle Jarvis in the family boatyard down to Southwest Harbor he could
|
|
of been somebody!
|
|
|
|
Well, Hal, I hope you'll take a lesson from this sorry episode and
|
|
settle down. I sure could use some help getting in the rutabagas this
|
|
fall. Looks like a bumper crop in spite of all the dry weather we've
|
|
had. I'm sure folks'ud forget about all this foolishness of yours in a
|
|
few years. Your Aunt Anne says to tell you she still loves you
|
|
regardless.
|
|
|
|
Uncle Chauncey [Bancroft]
|
|
|
|
Ellsworth, Maine
|
|
|
|
Ed. - Don't worry, Chauncey. I's still the same ol' humble cuss
|
|
y'always knowd. Give my love back to Aunt Anne, and tell ol' Mrs.
|
|
Beals she wouldn't know a swelled head if it poked her ample behind.
|
|
Probably been 30, 40 years since she's seen one anyways.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dear Hal:
|
|
|
|
As this letter concerns you, I assume that you will print it, if not
|
|
in its original form. With the new-found popularity of your periodic
|
|
tribute to self involvement, I'm compelled to share one of my father's
|
|
favorite expressions.
|
|
|
|
Fool's names, like their faces
|
|
often appear in public places.
|
|
|
|
This ditty was most often recited about the graffiti found in public
|
|
restrooms. Although your newsletter offers more clever turn-of-phrase
|
|
than most restroom graffiti, I think it applies quite nicely to the
|
|
recent spill of exposure we've seen for you and the Herald.
|
|
|
|
My father is a wise man. Never famous, but wise.
|
|
|
|
Sincerely,
|
|
|
|
Chris Crocker,
|
|
|
|
Yarmouth, Maine
|
|
|
|
Ed. - Your father was, I'm sure, a very wise man; certainly too wise
|
|
to misplace the possessive apostrophe in the ditty's first line. I'll
|
|
assume that was your error and, because you're a publisher type, I'll
|
|
let it go. But while we're on the subject of your parentage, I'm
|
|
curious as to what your father thinks of that stud in your left ear.
|
|
|
|
Dear Hal,
|
|
|
|
Since I let my subscription to the Portland Press-Herald lapse, I have
|
|
felt so out of touch. If I had read the article ["Personal journalist
|
|
writes about what he knows - himself," Aug. 2), I would have sent
|
|
roses and a bottle of Dom. Now that all the accolades have been
|
|
pouring in and the ego tracking system has been recalibrated, my
|
|
little trifles wouldn't be noticed. So I'll save the cash.
|
|
|
|
I'm sorry I haven't written sooner, but eight years in Hollywood and I
|
|
can no longer than put original thoughts on the printed page... I am,
|
|
however, a great fan and look forward to your fine journalism.
|
|
|
|
Now, down to business. I hope the motion picture/television rights to
|
|
your amazing life story and publication are still available. I know
|
|
the weenie-boys from Hollywood must be swarming. But seeing as we are
|
|
old friends, I assume I first dibs. As, I am leaving next week to
|
|
produce the "New Adventures of Flipper" in Florida, I will be unable
|
|
to come out and make the bid personally. But, I will have my business
|
|
affairs guy call your agent and see if they can hammer out the broad
|
|
points of a deal. Creatively I see a newspaper in the great outdoors,
|
|
a "Murphy Brown/Northern Exposure" thing happening here. Five years on
|
|
the nets and then straight to syndication. I know you've been thinking
|
|
HBO, but trust me, the money's in the four networks. By the year 2000,
|
|
you'll be able to buy that Winnebago they've been eyeing. The new one.
|
|
|
|
When I get back from Florida, I'll send out the Goldwyn jet to pick
|
|
you up. We'll do lunch, then take a meeting and get your creative
|
|
thoughts. I hope you don't mind if we change the name of the paper.
|
|
|
|
Please call if you are making your calls personally these days. I just
|
|
hate it when your secretary calls with the "I have Hal Phillips on the
|
|
line... Oh, I'm sorry. He picked up another call... could you hold,
|
|
it'll just be a minute."
|
|
|
|
Best wishes,
|
|
|
|
Dan Smith
|
|
|
|
Beverly Hills, Calif.
|
|
|
|
Ed. - The Goldwyn jet? Yes! I hope it has cable...
|
|
|
|
Some may wonder if the "Flipper" reference is on the level. I assure
|
|
you, it is. Smith made good use of his Wharton degree by further
|
|
matriculating to Hollywood, where he toils as a real, live TV-movie
|
|
producer. The above letter fell into the Herald letter bin following a
|
|
fax cover bearing the show's befinned logo. It's nice to see Mr.
|
|
Smith, having eschewed Washington for Beverly Hills, hasn't
|
|
compromised his artistic integrity. Dan, don't go changin'.
|
|
|
|
Dear Hal (Resident Stud),
|
|
|
|
The August Harold Herald had very little mention of Maine in its
|
|
pages. More space is devoted to Massachusetts (yech) than our own
|
|
beautiful state.
|
|
|
|
Your are missing our on some important territory here, for I find the
|
|
native Mainers to be friendly, generous and witty to boot. I was in
|
|
Blue Hill last weekend and overheard the following conversation
|
|
between two Mainers. They were discussing a canoeing trip one was
|
|
planning to take down the St. Croix River.
|
|
|
|
"In my AMC guidebook," one of them explained, "it says the river is
|
|
loaded with class III and IV rapids."
|
|
|
|
Translation: Its is a difficult river with numerous strong rapids
|
|
navigable only by experts.
|
|
|
|
"Ah no," said the other. "Girl Scouts go down it sideways."
|
|
|
|
Translation: It's a piece of cake.
|
|
|
|
The full impact of this story is missed unless you know what the
|
|
second guy looked like. He was fortyish, long-haired and bearded with
|
|
buck teeth wearing a wet suit unzipped almost down to his waist,
|
|
thereby displaying a full mane of chest hair.
|
|
|
|
Get off your pompous soapbox, go out and talk to some real people.
|
|
|
|
Sincerely,
|
|
|
|
Paul Louis
|
|
|
|
Portland, Maine
|
|
|
|
Ed. - Indeed, the Herald pages are filled with references to the Bay
|
|
State, while Maine receives little mention. This is consistent,
|
|
however, with an editorial focus that concentrates on interesting
|
|
things as opposed to piddling, irrelevant things; witty, urbane,
|
|
studly Greater Bostonians rather than poorly groomed Mainers with
|
|
prominent incisors and an obsession for young girls in green cotton
|
|
dresses. It should be said this particular wet-suited pedophile shows
|
|
a refreshing orthodoxy that stands in stark contrast to the amorous
|
|
tendencies displayed by all too many of his fellow Pine Tree Staters.
|
|
|
|
|
|
/-/ \-\
|
|
|
|
|
|
THOSE BRITS SURE HAVE A WAY WITH CONGEALED FLESH
|
|
By TIM MONAGHAN
|
|
Cuisine and Religious Affairs Editor Pro Tem
|
|
|
|
Now that Hal has survived to the grand old age of 30, given up smoking
|
|
and miraculously matured into a well-rounded human being overnight, I
|
|
feel comfortable contributing to his award-winning gospel, safe in the
|
|
knowledge that it must necessarily cease to be a rag and will now
|
|
aspire to lofty heights of journalism, proselytizing or at least self-
|
|
aggrandizement.
|
|
|
|
Hal's nativity is a matter for worldwide celebration. Even as I write,
|
|
primitive Viking descendents in the farthest isles north of Scotland
|
|
are scratching runic figures on ancient burial mounds to celebrate his
|
|
invention of the modern sport of golf. In Singapore, a caning stroke
|
|
has been named after his sand wedge swing to mark the day he strode
|
|
from a 747 and told the natives: "Build golf courses and I will come."
|
|
In Yucatan, scholars are only now linking the ruins at Chichen Itza
|
|
and elaborate Aztec rituals with worship of Hal's ego, which stretches
|
|
beyond his 20th-century existence to encompass all of space and time.
|
|
|
|
As the only former altar boy in the Western Hemisphere not sodomized
|
|
by a priest, I too feel compelled to make some kind of burnt offering.
|
|
But like the little drummer boy in that charming epic of popular
|
|
music, I have nothing to offer save my limited skills. As I play
|
|
Falstaff to King Hal, it is obvious my contribution should be of a
|
|
gustatory nature. Therefore, I off the fabled Recipe for Hal's
|
|
Birthday Brick, a rough, well seasoned pate I have adapted from
|
|
European recipes for the rough, well seasoned Great Golf God. I am
|
|
fond of this pate because it reminds me of the texture of Hal's brain.
|
|
It tastes great and is simpler to create than an infant.
|
|
|
|
1 lb. lean ground beef
|
|
2 lb. bacon (use smoked for a stronger flavor)
|
|
8 oz. calf liver
|
|
2-4 cloves garlic, to taste
|
|
1/2 cup dry white wine
|
|
1 fl. oz. brandy
|
|
10 juniper berries (if you can't get hold of juniper berries, replace
|
|
the brandy with gin)
|
|
15 black peppercorns
|
|
1 tsp. salt
|
|
1/4 tsp. ground mace or nutmeg
|
|
|
|
1. Buy a food processor. I recommend Cuisinart, the best on the
|
|
market. Unfortunately, they are also the most expensive. Okay, get a
|
|
cheap knock-off, but by the largest capacity you can.
|
|
|
|
2. If you don't have a processor that can hold at least eight cups,
|
|
divide the ingredients in half (or thirds if you've been really cheap
|
|
and bought small) and repeat the following steps for each batch,
|
|
thoroughly mixing them together at the end of the food processor
|
|
section.
|
|
|
|
3. Using the metal chopping blade, grind the bacon and liver together
|
|
until well mixed.
|
|
|
|
4. Crush the peppercorns and juniper berries and add them together
|
|
with the rest of the ingredients. Grind until nearly smooth. (If you
|
|
prefer a really chunky pate, leave the ground beef to last and process
|
|
just enough to evenly distribute it through the mix. If you prefer
|
|
your pate smooth, grind away.)
|
|
|
|
5. Decorate the inside of a 2-3 pound loaf tin by smearing the bottom
|
|
with butter and pressing down a few whole bay leaves and juniper
|
|
berries in a floral pattern. fill with the pate mix, dropping it down
|
|
carefully at first so as not to disturb the decoration, then prodding
|
|
it down with a spatula to expel air bubbles and ensure it reaches the
|
|
corners of the loaf tin. Smooth the top and cover with aluminum foil.
|
|
Refrigerate for at least a couple of hours for the flavors to develop;
|
|
overnight is best.
|
|
|
|
6. Arrange a shelf at the lowest point of the oven and preheat to 350
|
|
degrees. Boil a kettle of water. Place the loaf tin in a larger baking
|
|
tin with high sides and fill with boiling water halfway up the sides
|
|
of the loaf tin. Place on the lowest shelf and cook for 30 minutes,
|
|
then turn down the heat to 300 degrees and cook for another 90
|
|
minutes.
|
|
|
|
7. Remove from oven, leaving pate covered and in the baking tin of
|
|
water. Allow to cool for about 30 minutes then remove from the water
|
|
(which will be oil, as fat will have exuded from the loaf tin), place
|
|
on paper towels and evenly weight the top with 4-5 pounds - Use a
|
|
small board, thick cardboard or a book you don't care about on the
|
|
aluminum foil, making sure it fits inside the loaf tin sides. Weight
|
|
with large cans or a pile of books. This stage isn't essential, but it
|
|
makes the pate less crumbly and easier to slice.
|
|
|
|
8. When the pate has cooled almost completely - 2 to 3 hours - remove
|
|
the weights and foil. You will notice the pate has shrunk back from
|
|
the sides of the tin and is surrounded by liquid. This is good. When
|
|
chilled, the juices and fat will solidify, creating a protective layer
|
|
around the pate. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least
|
|
overnight for the flavors to develop further. Pate is best eaten two
|
|
days to a week after it is cooked.
|
|
|
|
9. To serve, carefully remove the plastic wrap - it will have
|
|
condensed water hanging from it - and rest the loaf tin in warm water
|
|
for 30 seconds or so to loosen the protective fat layer surrounding
|
|
the pate. Put a serving plate upside down over the tin and turn them
|
|
both right side up. The pate should drop neatly onto the plate. If it
|
|
doesn't, a light shake should dislodge it. If it remains obstinate,
|
|
warm the loaf tin some more. Either leave the fat covering the pate or
|
|
gently prize it off, as is your wont. Slice thinly and serve with
|
|
crusty French bread, toast points or crisp crackers. Wine is an almost
|
|
obligatory accompaniment. Serve either red or white; this pate doesn't
|
|
care. I recommend a medium- to full-bodied wine that can stand up to
|
|
the pate's strong flavor but not overpower it.
|
|
|
|
10. Accept the humble and awed compliments of your guests who never
|
|
dreamed they'd taste anything like this outside a classy restaurant.
|
|
|
|
Cuisine and Religious Affairs Editor Pro Tem Tim Monaghan is a
|
|
recovering Catholic working his way through Purgatory as a hack. He's
|
|
also English, which makes his knowledge of tasty comestibles all the
|
|
more shocking. He livers in Berlin, Mass. (Get it? Livers?) with his
|
|
wife, Lynn Hatch.
|
|
|
|
/-/ \-\
|
|
|
|
THE MINOR LEAGUES: WHAT BASEBALL'S REALLY ALL ABOUT
|
|
By HAL PHILLIPS
|
|
|
|
It seems every time there's a work stoppage in the major leagues,
|
|
"purists" begin singing the praises of minor league baseball. As they
|
|
extol the minor leagues' refreshing, nay, cleansing qualities, these
|
|
dogmatic traditionalists usually throw their heads back in fits of
|
|
Dionysian pleasure.
|
|
|
|
It just so happened the 1994 baseball strike coincided with the
|
|
Portland Sea Dogs inaugural season, so the reaction was two-fold in
|
|
Maine's largest city. Aside from setting the minor league attendance
|
|
record, just about everyone in the Greater Portland area - all 46 of
|
|
us - own at least one piece of Sea Dogs paraphernalia, testimony to
|
|
the team's ability to promote itself.
|
|
|
|
[All this despite a viral "family atmosphere" that infects Portland's
|
|
Hadlock Field: No smoking, single-payer beer system, lots of fun
|
|
sideshows for the kiddies.]
|
|
|
|
I've been to several Sea Dogs game and enjoyed them. But no baseball
|
|
organization in America promotes itself better than the St. Paul
|
|
Saints, an independent Double-A team co-owned by Bill Murray, who
|
|
shows up periodically in the Twin Cities to coach first base. I took
|
|
in a Saints game here during the August nuptials of David Kett and
|
|
Beth Jordan. Here's a sampling of what goes on during the average
|
|
Saints tilt:
|
|
|
|
* First of all, let's note what goes on beforehand - tailgating. The
|
|
parking lot opens three hours before the first pitch. Genius!
|
|
|
|
* Each main concourse, separating the box seats from general
|
|
admission, features a special sideshow. On the first-base side, a
|
|
barber named Ralph gives haircuts. On the third-base line, a nun named
|
|
Sister Rosalyn gives massages. I can testify as to the quality of
|
|
Rosalyn's work - she and God are clearly on the same team.
|
|
|
|
* When the umpire asks for new baseballs, a unescorted pig delivers
|
|
them to home plate.
|
|
|
|
* The Saints PA announcer brings to baseball what public address has
|
|
been missing for 150 years: sarcasm. Before every announcement, he
|
|
would intone, "Your attention please; your attention please..." There
|
|
was no organ, so the PA guy would hum the Addams Family theme and "da-
|
|
da-da-da" song a cappella.
|
|
|
|
At one point, with St. Paul trailing 5-1 in the fourth inning, the
|
|
Saints third baseman lashed a line drive to dead center, where the
|
|
fielder misplayed it into a triple. As the Saint pulled up at third
|
|
the crowd booed, disappointed he didn't go for an inside-the-park
|
|
homer. With the fans still moaning, the PA guy interrupted: "Hey! Hey,
|
|
hey... Not down four runs in the fourth, ladies and gentlemen. C'mon
|
|
now." The ignorant masses hushed right up.
|
|
|
|
However, whenever he would say something really funny, locals felt
|
|
compelled to qualify his humor. "He's from New York, you know," they
|
|
would explain. What with that? Is it code language?
|
|
|
|
* The Saints' best promotion is "The Futon Gallery." Rising on stilts
|
|
over the right field wall, "The Futon Gallery" is basically a platform
|
|
adorned with plants, coffee table, lamps and a futon couch -
|
|
presumably provided by a local futon purveyor. One lucky fan, selected
|
|
at random from the audience, sits in the Gallery all night, eating
|
|
free brats and beers.
|
|
|
|
* Another good stunt is "Old Mr. Johnson's Window," sponsored by some
|
|
local window purveyor. This involves a lucky fan, selected at random
|
|
from the audience, who goes to center field where an ordinary
|
|
household window sits atop the fence. The fan has three chances to
|
|
smash the window with a baseball. If he does, Old Mr. Johnson emerges
|
|
from a door in the centerfield fence and chases some kid across the
|
|
outfield, with the PA guy providing voice-over: "I'll get you this
|
|
time, you little whipper-snapper!"
|
|
|
|
* At one point during my Saints experience, the PA guy called the
|
|
crowd's attention to a small bleacher way out in left field.
|
|
|
|
"That's our Family Section," he explained. "We in the Saints
|
|
organization try to foster a family atmosphere here. So in the Family
|
|
Section, there's no smoking, no drinking and, basically, no fun at
|
|
all."
|
|
|
|
/-/ \-\
|
|
|
|
NIGHMARE ON DEERING ST.
|
|
By HAL PHILLIPS
|
|
|
|
PORTLAND, Maine - The plan was hatched in Billerica on the occasion of
|
|
Jim O'Reilly's bachelor gala, the theme for which borrowed greatly
|
|
from New Hampshire's alpine slogan, "Ski 93". That's Interstate 93, of
|
|
course. We were bar-hopping in Billerica, however, and modified this
|
|
catch phrase to "Drink 3A".
|
|
|
|
In any case, whilst throwing back beers & shots at Billerica's finest
|
|
road house, Ma Newman's, Mark Sullivan - being responsible for
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promulgating the notion that former House Speaker Thomas Brackett Reed
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haunted my apartment - suggested we contact the long-dead Mainer by
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conducting a seance (see related story).
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We had every intention of doing this properly, i.e. through a medium
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with identifiable cosmic credentials... But you'd be surprised how
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difficult finding a psychic can be; especially one who makes house
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calls.
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Sullivan made the first attempt at securing a paranormal tour guide,
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making contact with a woman named Linda Saurenman of Concord, Mass., a
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psychic who (not surprisingly) specializes in ferreting out
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Revolutionary War-era spirits. Having sized him up on the telephone
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for five minutes, Saurenman told Mark she could identify - through him
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- a female spirit in my apartment. This distaff apparition was wearing
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a long dress, explained Saurenman, who had no interest in traveling to
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Maine for the seance. But she did provide Mark with a contact.
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Richard McKenzie is a dowser living in Falmouth, Maine. After tersely
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informing me that dowsers identify water sources or folks lost in the
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deep woods - not lingering souls from the Other Side - McKenzie asked
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me for details on why I needed a medium. After I gave him the whole
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Thomas Brackett Reed spiel (he lived in my house, which is named for
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him...), McKenzie switched gears, his interest piqued. He launched
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into a 20-minute soliloquy on the dynamics of auras, explaining that
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those individuals who die unexpected or violent deaths don't go where
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they're supposed to go, as it were. Unprepared for death, their auras
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linger in a limbo stage. Talented media, he said, can assist these
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spirits in moving on to the proper stage.
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On McKenzie's advice I contacted Carole Curran, a parapsychologist I
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found in the Yellow Pages. She was very defensive, insisting her work
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provided "no entertainment value. This is for real!" However, after I
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invited her to visit my apartment for the seance, Curran explained she
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didn't make house calls. Instead, she invited me to visit her Portland
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office.
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"Don't you need to be near the spirit to contact him?" I asked.
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"Not necessary," she answered sternly. "I can do it through you, right
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here in my office. Just like turning on an FM radio."
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Undaunted, I called a local New Age crystal shop, where I learned the
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house psychic reader, Patricia, was booked for the weekend. From
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there, I attempted to contact one Sharon Elaina, an Indian faith
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healer recommended by a co-worker. The Scarborough, Maine-based Elaina
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specializes in Indian Heart Circles similar to the one depicted in
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"Gray's Anatomy," by monologist Spalding Gray. Unfortunately, I traded
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phone messages but never spoke with Elaina, who said she very
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interested by my "case".
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Come Labor Day weekend, with the big night was fast approaching and no
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psychic to be had, those slated for the seance - the lovely Sharon
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Vandermay, Sullivan, O'Reilly & then-fiancee Kris Kelleher - set out
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in search of a Ouija board. We visited the New Age crystal shop, where
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the woman behind the counter remembered my earlier call and took an
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interest.
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"Do you have any sea salt?" she queried.
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"What for?" I answered.
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"You'll need it to sprinkle in each corner of the room, to ward off
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unfriendly spirits."
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"How about kosher salt," I asked.
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"That should be fine."
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The woman was clearly worried we novices were biting off more of the
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spiritual world than could be safely chewed. She urged us to respect
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the process, or we would find ourselves in deep, paranormal trouble.
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"You should invoke your highest guides before the seance," she warned.
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"Highest guides?" I was confused. "What do you mean by highest
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guides?"
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"I mean your strongest, most personal, spiritual guides," she said.
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"You should have them there to protect you."
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"Well, we have two Catholics in the group. We should be okay."
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She laughed: "I don't think they're going to help."
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/-/ \-\
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WHITHER FETSET?
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By MARK SULLIVAN
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PORTLAND, Maine - Well might we ask along with the lager-soaked,
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Buffett-crooning Jim O'Reilly: "Whash da ghost's name? Whash da name
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of the ghost?"
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Who or what was behind the mysterious word etched on Hal Phillips'
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Ouija board this past Labor Day weekend, in the most cryptic message
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|
since a tree-carving Crotoan marked the vanishing of the Lost Colony
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of Roanoke?
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Who is, what is, and whither "Fetset"?
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Research into possible etymological roots of the term "Fetset" turned
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up several intriguing - if questionably plausible - possibilities. Two
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themes repeatedly surfaced: the warding-off of demons and drunken
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revelry.
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This seems remarkably appropriate given the more than slightly sozzled
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tenor of our Labor Day weekend inquiries into the Other Side.
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At a New Age store in Portland that sold crystals, Tarot cards, Indian
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fertility idols and how-to books on conversing telepathically with
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caribou, we were cautioned against making careless use of the Ouija
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board. Those who cavalierly treat the board as a party game, we were
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warned, run the risk of summoning no-account wandering spirits who
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might latch onto unwitting board players, or who, if poltergeists,
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might move into the house and start smashing china.
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The warning was not lost on us. Advised to sprinkle sea salt in the
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corners of the room as a precaution against evil spirits, Hal Shook
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Morton's table salt about with a gusto not seen since Mr. Fuji and
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Toru Tanaka purified the wrestling ring at Madison Square Garden.
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Admittedly, by the time we got around to mentally placing protective
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white lights around ourselves, most of us were well-lit already. Given
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this context, some possible roots of "Fetset" present themselves:
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* The Fete Des Fous of medieval France was a festival of promiscuity
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similar to the Bacchic celebrations of Greece and the Saturnalia of
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Rome.
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* The Fescennine verses and songs of ancient Rome were recited or sung
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|
at rustic merrymakings and harvest festivals. They were named after a
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popular festival site, Fescennia in southern Etruria, and for a god,
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Fascinus, to whom the verses were offered as a precaution against
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|
sorcery. An early Latin divinity, Fascinus was worshipped as a
|
|
protector from evil demons and witchcraft, and was often represented
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|
in the form of a phallus, a symbol believed most efficient in averting
|
|
evil influences.
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* The -et suffix of "Fetset" might suggest a tie to ancient Egypt, the
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|
lost civilization revered by New Age adherents of pyramid power. Cats
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|
were worshipped in ancient Egypt as they are in Hal's apartment.
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|
Indeed, it has been remarked that Hal's voluptuous cat Zelda bears a
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|
striking resemblance about the eyes to British starlet, Patsy Kensit,
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|
whose name bears a remarkably homonymous relation to "Fetset." The
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Egyptians had a minor goddess named Khenset, or Khensit, but she
|
|
tended to be depicted as a cow.
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Kenset was the wife of Sopd, "lord of the East, the one who smites the
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|
Asiatics," a deity sometimes pictured a winged bes - an ugly, serpent-
|
|
strangling dwarf with a cat's ears, mane and tail, whose image placed
|
|
over a door or headstand was believed to keep away noxious animals and
|
|
evil spirits. A joyous deity, the bes was fond of drinking and was
|
|
often represented sucking beer from a large jar.
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Might "Fetset" be some sort of astral signature or trademark? The
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Latin term fecit, literally "he or she made it," was an artist's way
|
|
of signing a work.
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* From the Portuguese word Feitico, for "fabricated," came the term
|
|
"fetishism," the worship of idols or other objects as having magic
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|
power.
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* Meantime, the acronym FET stands for a Spanish falangist party, and
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set is the Portuguese abbreviation for September. Might the end-of-
|
|
summer weekend have found an Iberian fascist flitting about in Hal's
|
|
apartment. Is Francisco Franco still dead?
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Hal might want to keep a few extra salt shakers about the place, just
|
|
in case.
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|
Paranormal Editor Mark Sullivan lives in Winchester, Mass., where he
|
|
freelances on more down-to-earth subjects for The Boston Globe. The
|
|
above-mentioned seance was his idea, as was the notion that Thomas
|
|
Brackett Reed - former Speaker of the U.S. House - haunted the
|
|
Portland, Maine apartment where Herald editor Hal Phillips now
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resides.
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copyright 1994 the harold herald all rights reserved for what it's
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worth
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