A few thoughts on our upcoming book project, which is tentatively titled Spooky Noble County, or: Hoosier Ya' Gonna Call?

(Kidding! I'm just calling it Haunted Noble County, although History Press may have something to say about that.)

I'll probably cut down to posting one blog a week, for now. I post based on my work schedule, which amounted to one on the weekend, one the next Wednesday or so, one the next Monday or so; repeat. Luckily I have some good blogs already written and waiting, along with some bad blogs. That'll give me more time for research and writing, plus in September I'll be on vacation, which will make things complicated.

I just realized I'm doing vacations wrong: They're supposed to be less complicated.

This is what a less complicated vacation looks like.

Emily and I want to tour around Noble County, looking for spooky/haunted things/places to take pictures of. If a ghost shows up, that's just gravy.

By the way, I knew about Spook Hill, although I haven't been there for many years; I also knew about Sand Hill, which is the second highest hill in Indiana. What I didn't know is that the Spook Hill Cemetery (that's not its real name) is actually ON Sand Hill.

Emily wanted to know who determined these things. Did they count the Indiana Dunes? How about Brown County? I assured her surveyors have pretty good rulers, although climbing up three feet at a time can be a pain.

Anyway, we'll use two cameras: The newer one, called the Blue Camera, has better pixel thingies, for photos so sharp you'll need bandages. The older one, called the Black Camera, can switch from automatic to manual for more creative photography.

The black camera looks something like this one. You know: black.

 

Sadly, I had neither with me when I spotted what I thought would be perfect for a book cover:

 

 


 

Isn't it cool? I KNOW! But it was an off the cuff picture snapped with my cell phone, and cuff photos often don't cut it. So every time there's a storm forecast I'm going to stand in the same spot with the blue camera (it's waterproof) and wait for my chance. Or maybe I'll get lucky and someone will donate an historical photo that's better.

Meanwhile I have a list of people to talk to now, and tales of haunted places around the county I didn't know about. I intend to do the bulk of the interviewing and researching in September ... we'll see. But I have deadlines now, so I can't slack off.

I mean, I can ... but Emily recently bought a whip, and the more she practices, the more nervous I get.


By the way, while this process is going on you're all welcome to check out our previous historical books, or humor books, or fiction, or, by gosh, anything else you want, 'cause this is America! Remember, writers live on reviews, purchases, and coffee ... and I don't drink coffee, so don't let me metaphorically starve.

 

 



 I feel a little guilty for not posting about this since June, but it's now official: I have a contract to produce, for The History Press, a book titled something like Haunted Noble County. Probably with an "Indiana" added because, it turns out, there are more Noble Counties.

(I'm looking at you, Ohio and Oklahoma. I mean, did you have both a Governor Noble and a Congressman Noble? That's right--busted.)

My original title was Noble Dead Rise: Haunted Hoosiers Horrified! But the publisher talked me out of it, by saying no. The History Press is part of Arcadia Publishing, and you might remember I already wrote a book with them:

Also Indiana! Don't let Ohio steal this from me.

 

Anyway, the original balloon I floated was in this blog:

https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2023/05/looking-for-local-ghost-stories.html

 

Immediately after posting that, I vanished. Like a ghost.

Actually, we had the summer of hell, which says a lot considering I usually love summer. I don't want to belabor it, because I don't know what belabor means, but it's been an overall horrible year for a lot of people. It derailed both me and Emily, who's an indispensable part of these projects due to my general incompetence. But in a few weeks her job will revert to weekends only and I'll be taking a little time off, so we're about ready to get rolling.

My acquisitions editor even said I could add a little humor to the book, something he may come to regret.

 

I do humor! I also drink tea.
 

 

I'll get back in touch with the people who've already contacted me, and of course I'd love to hear from anyone who has a ghost/spirit/haunted/weird story or place about Noble County (Indiana!) Photos, too, would be appreciated, especially historical ones. I've also cleaned up our good camera and we're going to be going around the county (Indiana!) to get pictures of everything from haunts and historic sites to cemeteries and--well, an actual picture of a ghost would be cool.

If you have a suggestion, make sure it's not in Ohio or Oklahoma. I like to travel, but come on.

Sometimes it's all about the lighting, am I right? The courthouse in Ohio is boring!

As I said earlier, in general I like to communicate through e-mail or various internet messages, only because I spend most days asleep and lots of nights awake. Just the same: phone, in person, ecto-plasmic telepathy, whatever--we want to hear stories. In the list of links at the bottom of this blog are several sites I can be contacted through. I do NOT want to hear the TV say "They're heeeeerrrrreeeee ...." so stay out of the satellite feeds.

 

 

Remember, if you don't support writers they attract more and more social media sites, and are soon so busy checking them they don't have time to write. Not that it would happen to me. Nope.

 

This is a repost, because now that fireworks are an all-summer thing my nerves are shot. Also because I've been busy promoting the reissued Storm Chaser, which is, after all, set in summer.


 John Adams, signer of the Declaration of Independence, Second U.S. President, and all around unpleasant guy, had this to say about America's Independence Day:

"It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shows, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations, from one End of this Continent to the other, from this Time forward--forever more."

 In other words, he thought it would be a pretty big deal, and he was right. Those Founding Fathers, they were smart cookies. Adams, Tom Jefferson, the guy who kept putting his John Hancock on things, and of course Bill, the Earl of Rights ... They were generally good, smart men, who only wanted to, you know, overturn the government.
Of course John Adams also said this:

"The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epoch in the History of America."

Wait.

The Second?

Nobody's perfect.

 
"Hey, bud--let's party!"

Actually, Adams had a point: The Continental Congress did indeed approve a motion to change the United Colonies into the United States on July 2. It was the first big bureaucratic boondoggle, requiring the government to print up new letterheads, buy rubber stamps, and change the seal on the Presidential Podium. Not to mention they had to fund an army.

But, in yet another classic case of putting the cart full of red tape before the red, white and blue horse, the Congress then spent two days editing the Declaration of Independence before they finally approved it--on July 4th. So that date got printed at the top, and eventually led to our National holiday.

The Founders didn't care. They hated John Adams so much that they didn't take any of his suggestions for bells, bonfires and such, anyway. Adams' last words, as he died on July 4th, 1826, were: "Thomas Jefferson still survives. Why isn't he setting off fireworks?"

Adams didn't know that Jefferson had died five hours earlier. Jefferson's last recorded words were: "Is it the Fourth?" When offered painkiller, he added, "No, doctor, nothing more. Make no noise that would make that ass Adams think we're celebrating."

As a result, the first recorded noise complaint to police didn't take place until the night of August 24th, 1814, in the city of Washington. I just happen to have transcripts of the call to police:

"This noise has been going on for hours. I have kids, and I have to get up early to go to work!"

"Sir, you don't understand: The British are burning Washington!"

"Well ... can't they do it more quietly?"

Ironically, the first recorded celebration of Independence Day was on September 13 of that same year, 1814, during The War of 1812.

(I suppose it's for the best that we didn't call it The War of 1812-1815, which doesn't roll off the tongue so well.)

The British were not huge John Adams fans. Still, they had it on good authority that Adams was busy in Massachusetts, debating with its legislature the best way to spell Massachusetts. (A name definitely decided by committee.) So they brought all their cannon, mortars, and rockets, in an attempt to crash the party being thrown at Baltimore's Fort McHenry.

But the Americans manning the fort had a secret weapon: a giant American flag, made of Kevlar.

Most people think Kevlar was introduced in 1971, but in reality Benjamin Franklin invented it accidentally in 1784, while trying to invent a stronger condom. Apparently he was still fuming about his son William being named Governor of New Jersey--royal Governor of the colony of New Jersey, on behalf of the King. Not long before he died, Franklin was heard to say, "I'll never have another child! ... well, hello, ladies!"

It's not recorded where he said this.

Your flag may vary.


The Kevlar was adapted into a flag, allegedly by one of Franklin's great-grand-daughters, and repelled everything the British could throw at it. This led an onlooker to write a poem that was later turned into a song:

Oh, say, can you see,
blocking Franklin's pee-pee?
No latex surrounding--
but this stuff can take a pounding.

The lyrics were later changed by the Daughters of the American Revolution.

So it took a lot of time and history type stuff, but in the end Adams was right about the holiday, if not the date. From one end of the continent to the other, we make noise, flash lights, burn stuff, and generally annoy each other. I'm not sure if everyone doing that stuff actually gets why ...

But we're still here.
 
 


-----------------------------------------------------------------------


If you really want to have fun on an Independence Day picnic, bring along a book that has the American Flag on the front.




Also, don't forget there's an author interview with me up at Canvas Rebel:
canvasrebel.com/meet-mark-r-hunter/

That the new Storm Chaser and Storm Squalls are up for sale on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Mark-R-Hunter/author/B0058CL6OO

And that the Coming Attractions ebook is free for July on Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914




http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

And remember: Starving authors don’t WANT to starve.


 I've been contacted by the Acquisitions Editor for The History Press, which is a part of Arcadia Publishing. They do local and regional history books, and Emily and I wrote Images Of America: Albion and Noble County for them.

On an unrelated note, I noticed the Images Of America books are on sale over the holiday weekend:

https://www.arcadiapublishing.com/

Long story short, I'm starting work on a new book for them. The tentative title is A Haunted History of Noble County, Indiana

Spooky, and I didn't even have to edit. It's an Old Jail--has to be haunted, right?

 

All I need now is you.

Overall it would be the fifth Noble County related book through Arcadia Publishing, and my second. Just as I asked for old photos for our Images Of America book, I'm seeking help from locals, people who used to be locals, and general history and ghost buffs. I need stories: Tales you've heard about supernatural stuff in Noble County (Indiana!), strange things you've witnessed, rumors, general weird stuff, from homes, businesses, cemeteries, isolated roads ... and, of course, any photos of possibly haunted places, old or new.

I do like old photos, but this book will have fewer pictures and more stories than the last one.

This will be my fourth history book: I found copies of the other ones in the Noble County Public Library's history and genealogy room in Albion.

Of course, in the book I'll credit anyone who sends in anything--unless you don't want to be credited, in which case my lips are sealed. And if you have photos, Emily can scan them and get them back to you. We have scanned historical photos already, from the last project, but we don't have them all by a long shot.

I prefer to communicate through the wonders of the web, like e-mail and messaging, because I work nights and sleep when most people are up; but I can act like a regular person and talk by phone or in person. At least, I used to be able to. How hard could it be? We can be contacted at ozma914 at hotmail dot com, if you correct the at and dot and remove the spaces.


Sadly, this pushes my schedule back on our other book projects, including a second book about the Albion Fire Department, but I promise to get back on those just as quickly as possible. Help me out by sending me those stories! It's a spooky world, so freak me out.

Actually, the genealogy and history section of the library seems to have all my older books, which puzzled me until I realized they were in a local authors section.


 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

 



 

Hoosier Hysterical was voted by four out of five readers as the funniest book about Indiana history and trivia ever written in my house:

https://www.amazon.com/Hoosier-Hysterical-became-midwist-without-ebook/dp/B01H7YJNFE/

The fifth reader was just upset because they accidentally learned something.




It's selling the soap time!

 

History can be funny, even if it makes history teachers roll over in their graves (hopefully not while they’re still alive). Mark and Emily Hunter tour Indiana in an off-the-wall, Indy 500-style race though the past, from Paleo-Indians through the Northwest Territory, to the gas in Gas City.



Along the way we encounter killers, heroes, trivia, claims to fame, and of course, Johnny Appleseed. It’s as American as sugar cream pie—Indiana’s state pie, thanks to the efforts of a hard-working state General Assembly. So sit back and have some fun … and if you accidentally learn something along the way, at least it will be painless.
 

 In answer to your questions:

1. No, there's not really soap. It's an expression.

2. No, I don't know what the balloons or presents are for, but I'm telling people they're for Easter.

3. I don't have any St. Patrick's Day book photos.

4. I don't like any beer ... even green.

5. Yes, you can still order our books in all the regular places:

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

Also, here's a dog.

 

Make him happy: buy a book.
 

 The invasion of Normandy, France, during World War II, was a Big Deal.

If you know anything about history, you were already aware of that. But the battle is also clouded in myth and legend, and author Carlo D'Este decided to wade in and find out the truth of the matter. How hard could it possibly be?

Judging by the pages of acknowledgements, appendixes, and listed sources, I'm thinking it wasn't easy.

D'Este concentrates on the Allied ground commander in chief, General Sir Bernard Montgomery. (Ike Eisenhower had overall command of the entire operation--which maybe explains why he lost all his hair.) It was Montgomery who came up with the master plan for the invasion and its immediate aftermath. It was also Montgomery who tended to not only take credit whether due or not, but also continually insist everything went exactly according to that plan, often against all evidence.

This is a big picture book, concentrating on the various leaders on both sides. All the usual suspects are there, including Patton, Bradley, Rommel, and Churchill, along with a lot of other names that should be remembered more than they are. Often through their own words and writing, we follow their hopes, fears, and frustrations as the invasion threatens to bog down into the horrors of WWI trench warfare.

 


 D'Este has an advantage over earlier authors: Access to a mountain of related material that remained top secret and unavailable for years or even decades after the war. He clearly spent a huge amount of time going through it, as well as tracking down every interview he could find. As a result he had a clear picture, warts and all, of everything that went on from the moment the invasion was decided on (and sometimes earlier), to the Allied breakout weeks later.

 

It's an unflinching look, especially at Alexander. D'Este admires the General's abilities, but isn't afraid to get into the dark side of a leader who was vain, opinionated, and dead set against ever admitting his mistakes. We're left with the picture of a man who was better than some people think, and worse than others believe--in other words only human, just like all of us. The same treatment is given to everyone in the command chain above and below Alexander, and D'Este's conclusions are often surprising--but backed up by facts and witnesses.

Decision in Normandy is no light skimming of history, and as such I suppose it will mostly attract hard core history and war fans. (Maybe "war fans" is the wrong way to put it.) I found it fascinating, but it was certainly also dry in places, as D'Este shovels on facts, maps, and military units. It was also a revelation to me--I've studied WWII all my life, and this book revealed things I never knew--or knew wrong.



http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

ozma914: a photo heavy illustrated history, Arcadia Publishing (Images of America: Albion and Noble Coun)
( Jan. 11th, 2023 07:51 pm)

 I went down a few rabbit holes while we were sick over the holidays, and found some examples of the Christmas decorations I grew up with.

I don't recall a lot of specialized or homemade tree ornaments. We had these shiny things, some of them globes and some bells, large and small. As a result, plain and simple ornaments can make me nostalgic.

 

I loved the color wheel! We had a black and white TV at the time, after all. My recollection is that ours had only three colors, green, blue, and red, but I might be wrong. After all, I also remember my very detailed and realistic toy Apollo Moon rocket with a capsule that actually shot into the air--and it turns out it wasn't very detailed or realistic.

(On the subject of toys, I did indeed get a bb gun, and I never shot my eye out.)

 

We had a green aluminum tree, which was all the rage in the 60s, and it looked just like the one on the left. After Christmas the branches went into paper sleeves, and it was all neatly boxed up. As I recall, my Grandma Nannie had a white one.

We also had the cardboard fireplace. In January one year, quaking with terror while doing a speech in front of the class, I related a tale of the cardboard chimney once falling on me, and got some laughs. It never happened. When my kids were little I bought another one, and it lasted several years.

Santa assembled our main toys for us, and left them in front of the tree. Once I got a model Starship Enterprise that lit up. Another time there was a train waiting, and once my brother and I awoke to find a Hot Wheels track winding its way through the living room. The best was probably when Santa dropped off two bicycles. Mine was a five speed with a banana seat.

Wait--maybe our tree is in a photo somewhere. And maybe you want to know what I looked like back then. I hope so, because it took me some digging to find this:

That's Jeff on the left, Delbert (Dad) on the right, and me in the middle. You want to know something odd? I remember those shirts.

 

 


And as usual, find all our books here:

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

Remember, any time you don't buy a book, my pine allergies break out.

Let's face it: 2022 sucked.

Don't get me wrong: In no way am I suggesting 2023 will be any better. That's the mistake a lot of people made at the end of 2020 and 2021. Just the same, 2022 seems to have been, overall, the worst year of the 2020s (so far), and that's going some.

I'm sure some people had a great 2022. Arms dealers, for instance. No matter how bad a time period is, there's someone who was happy--as an example, Hitler had an awesome 1939.

 On the other hand, Vladamir Putin thought he was going to have an incredible 2022 but, like many of us, he'll hit the New Year shaking his head and saying, "What the heck just happened?"

I don't want to turn this into a Rodney Dangerfield routine. Or maybe I do--Rodney understood the value of comedic complaining. But it wasn't the best year in the world from a personal standpoint. Emily and I have been sick so much the CDC pitched a tent in our back yard. In twenty-five years, I've only had the flu once--this time came a few weeks after our flu shot.

 

 

 The above is a picture of downtown Fort Wayne I took from Lutheran Hospital. You know what that means? Yep--visiting my Dad in the hospital. Worse, then we got sick and couldn't visit him.

 

As I write this Emily has lost her voice. At first it was cool, because I walked around the house telling puns and singing Christmas songs loudly. Then she summoned enough strength to start throwing things at me. On a related note, I suffered a head injury this year.

Even the dog kept getting sick. He's 98 in dog years now, and as a result of old age he doesn't know if has to, um, drop a deuce until it's already happening. I mean, you can't get mad at him, and I'm all set for a future career in carpet cleaning.

"Watch your step."

 

My knee going bad from early arthritis, that I expected. Getting a case of Trigger Thumb? Did not expect. (What is it? Well, it's like trigger finger, except in the thumb.) I spent most of 2022 in one of two braces.

We also seem to have started our next round of having to replace stuff. The couch broke, and the toilet broke. We could have managed without the couch. Also, the car's now running rough because the service people are unable to remove an old spark plug, which is stuck because radiator fluid is leaking around it.

I had no idea that could happen. It used to be I'd call my brother for help with these things, but, well ... the 2020s suck.

Rodney Dangerfield could have done all this better, but you get the point.

In 2022 the world population reached eight billion, and two out of three got one of the three pandemics that hit this year. The third got trigger thumb.

Inflation hit its highest level since the early 80s, a time I remember as being as bad as ... well, the early 2020s. Come to think of it, so far this winter reminds me of the early 80s. Oh, and get this: Russia's invasion of Ukraine is the biggest European war since WWII. Also, the Queen of England died, after being in that position for so long nobody remembers who she replaced. (I think it was "King Something".) So far as I'm aware, none of these are related.

There's lots of other stuff, but I'll just end with: Monkey Pox.

Rodney would have had a blast with Monkey Pox. "My doctor said I should get vaccinated. I told him I wanted a second opinion, and he said 'Okay: You're ugly, too'."

 
"My parents took me to a dog show--and I won."

I miss Rodney. He'd know how to face 2023.



You can find all our books here:

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

 


 

As we close out the 100th anniversary of Nation Fire Prevention Week, I thought I’d take a quick look at the history of firefighting.

You might want to brace yourself, we’ll be moving fast.

 


 

Fire was discovered by Adam, who was kicked out of the Garden of Edan because of an apple—making it the first core-pral punishment. It gets darned cold in the real world, but Adam could only find one stick, so he made a fire by rubbing it against a Cain. This led to emotional problems with Cain later on; he tried to cope, but wasn’t Abel.

Ancient Egyptians experienced fire problems when a column of fire led the Jews out of bondage. The Jews were followed by the Pharaoh and his army, who were sore about being plagued. Pharaoh then took his army to the Red Sea, figuring it would water down the flame.

The soldiers drowned, much to the sorrow of their mummies. The Pharaoh himself was unusually tall, and waded back to shore: To this day, when someone measures the intensity of fire, they speak of degrees in Pharaoh Height.

The Roman Empire invented the first fire extinguisher, which looked like a big syringe. Their first firefighters were slaves, and when the syringe wasn’t effective they were just thrown on the flames until the fire was smothered. Everyone was satisfied with this arrangement. Except the slaves.

Benjamin Franklin helped found the earliest organized fire force in the New World. He also flew kites in thunderstorms, thumbed his nose at the most powerful empire in the world, and had indiscriminate sex with dozens of women. And so, to this day, firefighters are assumed to be crazy.

(It turns out Franklin was literally a founding father.)

 

The AFD hose reel was much more effective when it had hose on it.

 

Fast forward (a lot) to Albion in 1887, when a major fire burned down an entire block, townspeople were disturbed to learn they couldn’t find a decent cup of coffee: All the restaurants had cooked. After a week without java the townspeople voted to fund either a fire department, or a coffee house. If the vote had gone the other way, we’d be forming coffee cup brigades.

The Albion Fire Department consisted of a chief, an assistant chief, three foremen, a designated Coffee Rescue Team (they just couldn’t get over the infamous “Week Without a Cup”)—and the entire population. It took a dozen people to pump the water by hand, and another dozen to make the coffee. In an emergency the coffee would be pumped onto the fire, if they felt they had the grounds.

When volunteers ran (literally) to their first call they found they had no hose, which watered down their effectiveness. Luckily, it was only the courthouse burning, not the coffee house. Just the same, they added a hose cart to go with the pumper. Today’s fire trucks carry pumps and hose together, along with modern marvels such as instant coffee.

The third original AFD apparatus, a hook & ladder, carried hooks .., and ladders. The hooks could be used to pull down flaming roofs, walls, and Pharaohs. The ladders were used to rescue sacks of coffee. (No Pharaoh was harmed in the writing of this article.)

The AFD became motorized in 1929, and still owns that very first truck. We’re that cheap.

 

It still pumps! You know ... just in case.

 

On spotting a fire citizens would say something descriptive, like “fire!” and, being firefighters, the firefighters faithfully fought the fire’s fury. Rural homes were on their own, being out of shouting range. But firefighters hate to see fire without putting water on it; families have been torn apart at cookouts, after someone starts the grill, and a firefighter relative throws all the beer on it. So the AFD bought a water tanker, so they could haul their own supply. Of water, not beer.

Other changes came quickly. With four wheel drive trucks, firefighters didn’t have to wait for a wildland fire to come to them, especially since it sometimes didn’t want to. Besides, while they were waiting some other moron with a match … ahem … another wildland fire might break out.

Air packs were developed so firefighters can go into toxic atmospheres and keep their lungs healthy, so they didn’t have to give up smoking.

And then: I was born.

 

This is the most flattering fireground photo of me I could find.

 

This is not a date ordinarily observed at our firehouse. No, I don’t know why.

Back then we didn’t wear our protective clothing much. In fact, when I responded to my first house fire I’d been issued: boots. Just boots.

Well, I wore jeans and a t-shirt, let’s not get silly.

            Today we’re covered head to toe in materials developed for really dangerous professions, like astronauts and talk show hosts. The air tanks are so light, we sometimes forget to take them off. Imagine the strange looks we get in the grocery store checkout lane.

Who knows what’s in store for the future? Maybe we’ll have cameras that can see through smoke, lightweight air tanks, computers, and portable radios we can just clip on our belts. Oh, wait … we have those.

But we’ll keep the old ’29 engine. Just in case.

 

Find our books at:

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

And check out the Albion Fire Department's history in Smoky Days and Sleepless Nights: A Century Or So With the Albion Fire Department.

 

I originally wrote this seven years ago, but few people read it because it's about history. Ironically, it was one of the last pieces I wrote before my newspaper column became history. 

As I said in the opening of our book "Hoosier Hysterical", history would be a lot more fun if it was made ... well ... fun. So I had fun with this. (It's been changed slightly because I'm six years older.)

 
 
 
            Ever since Christopher Columbus first landed in the New World and hid all the Viking artifacts, America has been a land of opportunity, independence, and smallpox.
 
            Eventually the British colonists decided to go off and form their own country. (Except for Canadians, who were just too polite to leave.) Since our schools don’t teach enough history these days--there’s so much more of it now--I thought I’d give you a quick timeline of how we, the people, went from tea to coffee:
 
            1756: The French and Indian War
 
            This was probably the first World War. No, seriously: Over here we just mention the French and Indians, but the rest of the world called it the Seven Years War. It spread all over the globe, like a viral YouTube video, but with more cannon fire and disease. Nations involved included Austria, France, Great Britain, Prussia, Spain, and Sweden. Oh, and the Indians, who had their own list of nations.
 
            (Later on Prussia, not wanting to be confused with Russia, changed their name to Germany.)
 
            Why does this involve American Independence, which came decades later? Because it cost the British government so much to defeat their enemies (and the Indians) that they began taxing the colonists to help pay for it. And yet they didn’t allow the colonies to raise their own armies, plus there was that whole taxation without representation thing.
 
            Oh, and one more thing: The whole world war began (well, partially) because a young Virginia militia leader ambushed a French scouting party in the far west wilderness … near Pittsburgh. In later years, George Washington would be more careful to start battles after war was declared.
 
            1770: The Boston Massacre:
 
            No, it wasn’t a sporting event. It started when a group of colonists began throwing snowballs at a squad of British soldiers (In Boston. Sheesh.). That’s not so bad, is it? Then the colonists starting tossing sticks and stones, which, contrary to popular belief, can indeed break bones.
 
            This is a perfect example of why you shouldn’t throw stuff at people with guns. Five colonists died and the soldiers were arrested, but they were mostly acquitted thanks to a crafty defense by a young lawyer names John Adams.
 
            1773: The Boston Tea Party
 
            Tired of high taxes, an unresponsive government, and Earl Gray, colonists (In Boston—sheesh) dressed up as Indians, sneaked aboard ships (In the harbor—sheesh), and tossed 342 chests of tea into the water. In today’s dollars, they turned Boston harbor into the world’s biggest cup, with $750,000 worth of tea. They were led, of course, by the famous Boston patriot Folger “Starbuck” Maxwell.
 
            But why blame the Indians? They didn’t even drink tea.
 
            1774: The First Continental Congress
 
            They didn’t get much done. But in their defense, they were a Congress.
 
Things are starting to heat up.

 
 
            1775: Patrick Henry stirs the pot
 
            With the grievances of the colonists ignored by a remote government—sort of like today, only without Facebook—a radical named Patrick Henry, upset because he had two first names and no last one, began making fiery speeches and resolutions.
 
            The truth is, Henry was kind of a deadbeat. Worse, a lawyer. But man, he sure could talk good, and his actions helped ignite the American Revolution. You’ve probably heard the last line of his big speech, which was “Give me liberty or give me death!” Luckily, he got liberty.
 
            1775: The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.
 
            He rode through the countryside yelling, “The British are coming!”
 
            Sleepy residents yelled back, “Shut up, you fool! We are the British!”
 
            Then he got arrested, probably for violating the noise ordinance, and the ride was completed by William Dawes. Unfortunately for Dawes, the name “Paul Revere” sounded better in poetry.
 
            Also 1775 (busy year, there): The Battle of Lexington and Concord
 
            Revere had discovered the British were marching by sea, which slowed them down considerably because the horses didn’t swim well. That gave the Minutemen almost a full two minutes. It was plenty of time to gather in Lexington, to protect stores of arms and gunpowder, and Concord, to protect the grapes.
 
            1775 (saw that coming, didn’t you?): The Second Continental Congress
 
            Didn’t get much done. They made up for it in 1776, though.
 
            1775 or so: The Battle of Bunker Hill
 
            It was actually fought on Breeds Hill.
 
            177—wait for it—5: Patriots occupy Montreal, Canada
 
            Things were looking up, up there. And that’s the last time things looked up for the Revolutionaries in the north, who discovered Canadian hospitality didn’t extend to invasion.
 
 
I wrote about both the American Revolution and Canadian hospitality in Hoosier Hysterical. Did you know Indiana was the location of the westernmost naval battle of the Revolution? You didn't? It's in the book--I'll go sulk, now.
 
 

            1776 (finally!) Egged on by the British, Cherokee Indians attack along the frontier
 
            They were still upset about the whole Tea Party fraud. Also, they were mad about getting named for a country on the other side of the world.
 
            June 7, 1776: Richard Henry Lee points out to the Continental Congress that they’ve been rebelling against the British for more than a year, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to actually declare themselves to be rebelling?
 
            June 11: Five Congressmen are appointed to draft a Declaration of Independence. The other four talk Thomas Jefferson into doing the writing, pointing out that he’s the only one who’s invented a portable desk to use.
 
            June 12-27: Jefferson writes a rough draft, only to receive a rejection letter from the committee.
 
July 1-4: The entire Congress rips apart the Declaration. (Not literally. Sheesh.) Jefferson quits writing and goes into politics.
 
July 2: Congress declares independence, just as the British fleet and army arrive to invade New York. Talk about timing. John Adams declares that July 2 will forever be celebrated as Independence Day.
 
July 4: Having already declared independence, Congress now adopts the Declaration of Independence, declaring something they’ve already declared. John Adams’ head explodes.
 
July 9: George Washington has the Declaration read before the American army. The soldiers nod politely and ask when they’re going to get paid.
 
There was much more to it, of course. In fact, you could say the American Revolution went on until the US Constitution was adopted in 1788, or even until we fought the second Revolutionary war in 1812, which might also be related to the real second World War.

Now, that’s a funny story.


 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

What's that, you ask? Why yes, of course you can celebrate July 4th, or any date, by buying
Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All:


Flags are cool. Of course, these flags hang at the Albion Fire Station, so maybe they're hot. Your flag may vary.

 We got a new review of "Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All"!

Spoiler alert: They liked it. (If they hadn't, I probably wouldn't have mentioned it.)

 

Anyway, you can see the review on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/RT3XQRTQIT7ML/ref=cm_cr_dp_d_rvw_ttl?ie=UTF8&ASIN=1533120625

 

Or on Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30641159-hoosier-hysterical

 

or on BookBub:

https://www.bookbub.com/books/hoosier-hysterical-how-the-west-became-the-midwest-without-moving-at-all-by-mark-r-hunter

 

Or just give me a call, and I'll tell you they really, really liked it.

And remember: Every time you buy a book, history gets a little more funny.


 

 

 It was ten years ago this summer when my first novel, Storm Chaser, was published. Almost exactly a year before that I received the publishing offer, an event I envisioned as going very differently than it did. I told that story in our latest newsletter:

https://mailchi.mp/200abd2041ac/ten-years-published

Don't forget to subscribe, and in return I'll try to be entertaining. And no, I don't sell my e-mail list to anyone, although I suppose the NSA already has it.

Meanwhile, since then we've (Emily is invaluable) had ten more works published. One of them is Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All. I'm highlighting it because today it appears on the Fussy Librarian website, which you'll find at https://www.thefussylibrarian.com/

 You can get it at the same price on the website or Amazon (it's illustrated and everything!) at just $2.99 as an e-book and $10.00 in paperback. You could even hand me the cash and I'll hand you a book--I won't tell.

It's a little silly, but I like to see how many I can sell in a short period of time. I have a theory that if you sell two books on Amazon within an hour, you'll end up in the top ten, and selling ten in that time gives you the ability to brag about being a best seller. Nobody really understands their algorithm, so why not?

If you choose to accept that experiment, the link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Hoosier-Hysterical-became-midwist-without-ebook/dp/B01H7YJNFE

Or, as usual, you can buy it direct from us here:

http://www.markrhunter.com/

 It's well know, of course, that Hoosier Hysterical is among the top ten humorous Indiana history and trivia books ever written, so far this decade. And to prove it, below the obligatory cover posting is a new excerpt from the book, one which I assume is quite funny. Although as I write this I haven't picked it out, yet, so I could be wrong.



INDIANA FACTS:

He’s Our President! No, He’s Ours!”

 

Three states can lay claim to Abraham Lincoln. You could say he was born in Kentucky, grew up in Indiana, and did all his adult stuff as an Illinois resident.

Well, you can say it if you want—who am I to stop you? It’s a free country, partially thanks to Abe.

A lot of the stuff you hear about Abe Lincoln is, surprisingly, true. His family got to America in 1637, and Thomas Lincoln’s father, the original Abraham, moved his family to Kentucky in 1782. So it took them almost 150 years to reach the Bluegrass State and produce little Abe, but hey—travel took longer back then.

Unfortunately, four years after they arrived Grandpa Abe Lincoln was killed by American Indians, because, after all, he stepped on their proverbial lawn. But Thomas grew up, married Nancy Hanks, and bought a farm near Hodgenville. Hodgenville is south of Louisville along the Lincoln Parkway, although it’s safe to assume the highway didn’t exist at the time.

Just like in the stories, Abraham Lincoln was born in a one-room log cabin, and later attended school in a log schoolhouse. They laid a lot of logs back then.

In 1816—the same year Indiana became a state—the Lincoln family crossed the Ohio River and settled in Indiana. Abe was six, so we Hoosiers can claim some of his formative years.

And formative they were. At age seven he shot a wild turkey, which upset him so much he never hunted again. It was February, after all, and with no way to keep the turkey until next Thanksgiving, it was wasted.

The next year he got kicked in the head by a horse, and for a time everyone thought he was dead. Personally, that would have put me back on to shooting animals. That same year his mother did die, permanently, from a medical condition called milk sickness.

Like Lincoln, milk sickness was uniquely American—this is the only continent it happened on. It came when cows ate a plant called white snakeroot, and wouldn’t you think the name alone would keep the cows away from it? That’s why learning to read is so important. Today milk sickness is almost unheard of, so we use fast cars to control the population.

Lincoln didn’t attend school much, but he developed a love for reading and would borrow books whenever he could. This was because they had no electricity for his PlayStation. You can’t power a videogame console with candles, but you can sure as heck read by them.

He also got to travel a bit, something many people never did. In 1828 he helped crew a flatboat down the Mississippi, and got his first taste of slavery when he saw a slave auction in progress. During the same trip seven black men tried to rob the flatboat, which could be called ironic. After he fought them off Lincoln didn’t hold a grudge.

Then, in 1830, the Lincoln family moved 200 miles, into Illinois. Abraham Lincoln was never heard from again.

Okay, not really. In fact, that same year Lincoln made his first speech, which urged navigation improvements on the Sangamon River, near Decatur. Over the next several years he read, enlisted in the military, read, ran a business into the ground, read, became a postmaster, got elected to the state legislature, and realized he’d read so much he could start studying law.

So it all worked out pretty well for him.

Okay, there were bumps along the way. He had bouts of depression, lost an election, was unlucky in love, and almost got into a sword duel. All because he left Indiana, so let that be a lesson to you.

In 1900 Lincoln’s son, Todd, gave $1,000 to take care of his grandmother’s Indiana grave. Spencer County officials gave another $800, and bought 16 acres around the gravesite. That place is now the Lincoln Boyhood National Memorial. I understand there’s also a monument for Abe in Washington.


 
ozma914: (American Flag)
( Sep. 11th, 2021 11:14 am)

Much as I tried, I couldn't write anything new this year to memorialize the events of 9/11.

I was so heartsick over our horribly bungled and costly withdrawal from Afghanistan, I found myself unable to say anything that wouldn't just attract pointless political arguing. Oh, I found words--I'd even go so far to say they were eloquent. But despite the obvious connection, writing about it now would only take away from remembrance of the terrorist attacks.

So I deleted the whole thing, thus saving the internet another corner of hate throwing and name calling. Instead, I'm reprinting here the column I wrote for the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Sadly, I didn't need to make many changes.

 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 
 
            I've mentioned before that I’m uncomfortable using the word “hero”. Like many words, it’s overused and clichéd. What is a hero? Not a sports star. Being tough doesn’t make a hero. Not a skydiver. That may make you brave, but not heroic.
 
            Ronald Bucca was a member of the 101st Airborne, then served in the Special Forces and Green Berets while on active duty in the army. He became a New York City firefighter in 1978, and on September 11, 2001, became the only FDNY fire marshal ever killed in the line of duty.
 
            Does somebody become a hero when they take on a dangerous occupation? I don’t know … the flagger who controls traffic during road construction has an especially dangerous job, but I don’t know if you’d call it heroic. You could even argue that a firefighter or police officer doesn’t automatically become a hero the moment he puts on the badge. Maybe – potential hero?
 
            But then, isn’t everyone a potential hero?
 
            Steve DeChiaro is a businessman, and was just entering the Pentagon for a meeting when the building was struck by an airplane. No one would have blamed him for saving himself; he had no legal responsibility to act. Certainly he never thought he’d end up winning the Defense Department’s highest civilian award, the Medal of Valor, for his actions in rescuing and treating people that day.
 
            Sometimes, maybe, a hero is just someone who overcomes their fear and acts – not on a lark, but to do something important, something vital.
 
            Tom Burnett was the vice president of a medical devices company. He found himself on United Airlines Flight 93, and after his plane was hijacked he learned, in a cell phone call to his wife, of the attacks on the World Trade Center. He didn’t know for sure what the hijackers were planning, but it must have quickly become clear they also wanted to kill.
 
            Burnett must have also known that an attempt to take the plane back would likely be fatal … but that if it failed, they still might keep the hijackers from taking a large number of civilians on the ground with them.
 
            Sometimes being a hero is a matter of relativity. A firefighter might do something on a day to day basis that others see as heroic, while he just calls it another day on the job. But others wouldn’t normally expect to see a crisis, beyond a paper jam in the copy machine.
 
            Welles Crowther was an equities trader. The biggest risk for him on the job was a paper cut, or a coffee burn. He was on the 104th floor of the South Tower when the first plane hit.
 
            Witnesses described how Crowther, a former volunteer firefighter, took control, organized people, and got dozens out of the building before it collapsed.
 
            Sometimes it’s the call of duty, of course.
 
            Moira Smith, a 13 year veteran of the NYPD, had already been decorated for heroism. It’s hardly surprising that she headed into the World Trade Center to rescue people, and became the only female member of the force killed that day.
 
            Her daughter would be 22 now. I hope people tell her about her mom.
 
            Or … maybe heroism just runs in the family?
 
            Eric Moreland was a George Washington University student at the time, but also a volunteer firefighter and paramedic. As often happens to off duty emergency personnel, he was just happening by when an airplane crashed into the Pentagon.
 
            Moreland, at great risk, charged into the burning building and carried injured people to safety. Then he stayed to help remove the dead. Then he drove all the way to New York to help out at the world Trade Center.
 
            Moreland’s grandfather, Lt. Col. Conway Jones, was one of the famous Tuskegee Airmen of World War II. His father flew 80 combat missions in Vietnam.
 
            Whether it runs in the family or not, some people are just born to serve.
 
            Special Agent Leonard Hatton fought crime as an FBI agent, fought fires as a volunteer, and fought for freedom as a US Marine. He reported the second plan crashing into the south Tower – not from inside the World Trade Center, but from the roof of a nearby hotel. Then he went in. What else could he do? He died that day, but if he’d turned his back on the call for help, he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself.
 
            There will always be some who suffer for their service.
 
            Jim Ryan survived, but was still a victim of 9/11. A New York City firefighter, he came back to the WTC site again and again, for months. He helped search for survivors, then victims, and as time went by there was nothing left but to search out bits of what were once people.
 
            What else could he do? Over three hundred of his brother firefighters were there.
 
            The cancer diagnosis came in 2006. His lungs finally failed him on Christmas, 2009. He was 48, and died on the same day that someone else grabbed the headlines by trying to bring down another plane, with a chemical bomb strapped to his leg.
 
            On September 11, 2001, 341 FDNY firefighters and 2 Fire Department paramedics were killed; 23 NYPD officers died, along with 37 Port Authority PD officers and 8 private EMS medics.
 
            On 9/11 at least 200 people, faced with the horrors of burning to death, jumped from the Twin Towers. Among the almost 3,000 who died in the four sites linked in the attack were citizens of over 70 nations. I don’t know how many of those people qualified as heroes. A lot of them, certainly. And just as certainly, the dead from that day are only a fraction of the victims.
 
            Every now and then some short sighted person will suggest we stop obsessing so much about 9/11, that we “let it go”. After all, it’s been twenty years, right?
 
            They’re wrong. They’ll always be wrong. Ten times twenty years, they’ll be wrong. Not only because we must keep this from happening again, but because heroes vanish too quickly, in the flotsam and jetsam of pop culture and the concerns of everyday life. Their memory goes too quickly, just as they do.
 
            Be inspired by their stories. Saddened. Enraged. But never forget.
 

 

 Emily and I were traveling through Marshal County, Indiana, when we stumbled across a sign:

We knew about the Trail of Death, having traveled across Indiana for two years researching our book, Hoosier Hysterical. Since Emily and I have Native American blood, we followed our curiosity and other signs ...

To the statue of Chief Menominee. 

 

Here Beowulf (who was not allowed to pee on the property) investigates a plaque at the memorial site. While other Native Americans signed treaties and moved themselves west of the Mississippi River, Menominee gathered into his village a group of people who simply refused to go. In 1838 he and five other leaders were arrested, and the final 859 Potawatomi were forced to move to Kansas, a two month trip. It was the largest single forced removal of Natives from Indiana. In a march of about 660 miles, forty-two of them died, many of a typhoid epidemic; twenty-eight were children.

A Catholic priest who made the trip with them died on the way back, of exhaustion. Menominee himself passed away less than three years later, and is buried in Kansas.


The first monument to a Native American under state or federal legislation is this one, erected in 1909 by the State of Indiana. It's near the headwaters of the Yellow River, and not far from the location of his village.

So.

Emily and I both have Cherokee ancestors: Hers were forced onto the Trail of Tears, ending up in her case in Missouri; mine apparently hid out in the Appalachians, escaping government removal. There are markers and monuments commemorating events along the routes, and I'd encourage people to follow them sometime.

If there's one thing our road trips have taught us, it's that you come across the most unexpected things along the way.

 

 

 When I was a teen, I had a friend who sometimes got me into ... questionable situations. Case in point: One day he, I, and another friend were walking down the railroad tracks ...

And there you go. Questionable situations.

He was a bit ... reckless. He also wasn't too good at impulse control, which I suppose is the same thing.

(He also once coaxed me onto the tracks to find a good position for viewing Halley's Comet. We couldn't see it. I don't know what his thing was, with railroad tracks.)

Anyway, we were walking down the tracks, late at night, carrying packs of firecrackers and bottle rockets.

Once, when that other friend and I were playing chess, my questionable situation friend got bored and threw a firecracker into the middle of the board. We never did find all the pieces.

There are certain things you should never do with fireworks. At the time, I did most of them. He did all of them. In this case I was carrying firecrackers and a lighter, while my friend had bottle rockets and a bottle, which is what bottle rockets were originally to be fired from. Thus the name.

I have to be honest at this point: I can't remember which of my friends was actually carrying the bottle. I'm just basing this on the odds.

These bottles were supposed to be rested on a level spot on the ground, from which they would rocket the, um, rocket. Manufacturers suggest you lay firecrackers down, light them where they lay, then do a stunt man roll away from them. We didn't do those things.

I used to be able to do a stuntman roll. I also used to be able to see my belt without sucking in my gut.

Anyway, I was lighting the firecrackers and throwing them, even though I'd already been a firefighter for a few years and knew better. My friend was using the bottle as he should, only instead of putting it on the ground he would hold it in his hand and pointed it toward safe areas, like high grass, creosote-soaked railroad ties, or birds.

 

"Oops ... sorry about that."

 

 

 Probably bats, in this case.

Afterward it took us awhile to put together what happened.

That sentence tends to pop up in many of my stories.

I lit a firecracker. At the same time, my friend lit a bottle rocket. Our other friend was walking between us. Instead of launching, the rocket dropped into the bottle. The firecracker fuse had apparently been soaked in nitroglycerin, because there was a fuse there--but the firecracker reacted as if there wasn't.

BOOM!

Both went off at the same instant, followed closely by terrified screams, and my friends probably yelled, too. The firecracker went off in my hand. The bottle exploded into shards of glass that flew like shrapnel.

No, we didn't get our deposit back. I'll explain that joke to you younger folks later.

I waved my hand around, but at the same time didn't look at it. I had no desire to know how many digits were missing. Maybe if I ignored the problem it would go away, just like it never worked before. Would I spend the rest of my life known as "Lefty", "Three-Finger Mark", or "Stupid"?

"Look! There goes a left thumb!"
 

 

The guy who played Scotty on "Star Trek" lost a finger in World War II, and did his best to hide it when the cameras were rolling. There's a guy who could have bragged about his loss; in fact, if I had come out of this with fewer digits, I probably would have stolen his story and hoped no one asked for details.

I had minor burns on my hand; I don't think my friend even had a cut. If I had a dime for every time my hand got burned, I could buy some gloves. Still more proof that angels watch over the foolish.

I sometimes wonder if the frostbite damage done to my hands several years earlier could have protected them, somehow. That would be ironic.

The moral to this story? Well, don't be stupid. Duh. Still, memories like this give me mixed feelings when it comes to dealing with young people. On the one hand, people inexperienced in life--and seemingly further from death than I am--are going to do stupid things. That hasn't changed since the first cave-teen teased a T-Rex. On the other hand, I'd like them to learn the easy way, even though they're hard wired to learn the hard way. I prefer to split the difference and try to talk them into avoiding both death and hospitals.

Personally, I've seen enough of both.


"Heh heh ... heh heh ... cool."


 

 

 

 John Adams, signer of the Declaration of Independence, Second U.S. President, and all around unpleasant guy, had this to say about America's Independence Day:

"It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shows, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations, from one End of this Continent to the other, from this Time forward--forever more."

 In other words, he thought it would be a pretty big deal, and he was right. Those Founding Fathers, they were smart cookies. Adams, Tom Jefferson, the guy who kept putting his John Hancock on things, and of course Bill, the Earl of Rights ... They were generally good, smart men, who only wanted to, you know, overturn the government.

Of course John Adams also said this:

"The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epoch in the History of America."

Wait.

The Second?

Nobody's perfect.


 
"Hey, bud--let's party!"

 

Actually, Adams had a point: The Continental Congress did indeed approve a motion to change the United Colonies into the United States on July 2. It was the first big bureaucratic boondoggle, requiring the government to print up new letterheads, buy new rubber stamps, and change the seal on the Presidential Podium. Not to mention they had to fund an army.

But, in yet another classic case of putting the cart full of red tape before the red, white and blue horse, the Congress then spent two days editing the Declaration of Independence before they finally approved it--on July 4th. So that date got printed at the top of the Declaration, and eventually led to our National holiday.

The Founders didn't care. They hated John Adams so much that they didn't take any of his suggestions for bells, bonfires and such, anyway. Adams' last words, as he died on July 4th, 1826, were: "Thomas Jefferson still survives. Why isn't he setting off fireworks?"

Adams didn't know that Jefferson had died five hours earlier. Jefferson's last recorded words were: "Is it the Fourth?" When offered painkiller, he added, "No, doctor, nothing more. Make no noise that would make that ass Adams think we're celebrating."

As a result, the first recorded noise complaint to police didn't take place until the night of August 24th, 1814, in the city of Washington. I just happen to have transcripts of the call to police:

"This noise has been going on for hours. I have kids, and I have to get up early to go to work!"

"Sir, you don't understand: The British are burning Washington!"

"Well ... can't they do it more quietly?"

Ironically, the first recorded celebration of Independence Day was on September 13 of that same year, 1814, during The War of 1812.

 (I suppose it's for the best that we didn't call it The War of 1812-1815, which doesn't trip off the tongue so well.)

The British were not huge John Adams fans. Still, they had it on good authority that Adams was busy in Massachusetts, debating with its legislature the best way to spell Massachusetts. (A name definitely decided by committee.) So they brought all their cannon, mortars, and rockets, in an attempt to crash the party being thrown at Fort McHenry.

But the Americans manning the fort had a secret weapon: a giant American flag, made of Kevlar.

Most people think Kevlar was introduced in 1971, but in reality Benjamin Franklin invented it accidentally in 1784, while trying to introduce a stronger condom. Apparently he was still fuming about his son William being named Governor of New Jersey--royal Governor of the colony of New Jersey, on behalf of the King. Not long before he died, Franklin was heard to say, "I'll never have another child! ... well, hello, ladies!"

It's not recorded where he said this.

Your flag may vary.

 

The Kevlar was adapted into a flag, allegedly by one of Franklin's great-grand-daughters, and repelled everything the British could throw at it. This led an onlooker to write a poem that was later turned into a song:

Oh, say, can you see,

blocking Franklin's pee-pee?

No latex surrounding--

 but this stuff can take a pounding.

The lyrics were later changed by the Daughters of the American Revolution.

So it took a lot of time and history type stuff, but in the end Adams was right about the holiday, if not the date. From one end of the continent to the other, we make noise, flash lights, burn stuff, and generally annoy each other. I'm not sure if everyone doing that stuff actually gets why ...

But we're still here.

I can see my house from here!

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

If you really want to have fun on an Independence Day picnic, bring along a book that has the American Flag on the front.



 

 Looks like all the Arcadia Publishing Images of America books, including Images of America: Albion and Noble County, are on sale for the holiday weekend!

https://www.arcadiapublishing.com/Products/9781467114516

40% off, at least there on the publisher's website; I haven't checked around elsewhere, and it appears to be the paperback version. Still, that makes it $13.19, which is pretty darned good for all those photos and all that history. And hey: If you live near Albion, Michigan or Albion, New York, they also have Images of America books on sale.


Emily and I worked hard on this project, and we're justifiably proud of it. It may not be as amazing as that one time when I did yard work without getting injured, but it's pretty darned close.

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

I'm cutting the cord, so to speak. Unwiring, vaulting myself into the 21st Century, taking the leap--

Okay, I'm mostly doing it to save money ... I was perfectly happy being wired. I suppose someday soon the doctor will want me to cut out caffeine, and after that I won't be wired in any way at all.

I've been a hardliner all my life. I'm not trying to start an argument about politics--I mean telephones. You see (listen to this in a grumpy old man voice), when I was younger they didn't have them-there newfangled cellular phones.

Don't laugh. When your kids grow up, they'll make fun of you for not having a brain input port on the back of your neck.

But when I was a kid you couldn't even carry the phone over to your couch: Our phone was on the kitchen wall. Maybe the theory back then was that housewives could talk while cooking. We don't really have housewives anymore, either.

And it was a party line. I know, right? Just imagine.

Wait, you don't know what a party line is?

Well, we lived out in the country, and several homes around the area shared the same line. Before you made a call, you had to quietly pick up the receiver, to make sure someone wasn't already talking on it. If they were, you very quietly continued to listen for any good gossip.

So we didn't have a private line until I moved into town as a teen, and even then it was still screwed into the wall. It wasn't until I moved out on my own that I got a phone that was actually portable. And by portable, I mean it rested on a table, and had enough line coming from the wall that I could carry that heavy thing anywhere in my apartment.

You could use it to call a hospital, or send someone to the hospital.

 

Of course, my first apartment only had two rooms, if you include the bathroom. Still, a phone that heavy could be used to give burglars a concussion.

Back then you could actually get tired dialing. Why? Because dialing in the 80s often meant an actual dial. If you called a number with a lot of ones, no big deal. If you called 219-797-8998, you'd have cramps at the end.

Around that time somebody came up with the idea of a mobile phone you could have in your car. You had to pay attention to how much phone line you had left, or the car would come to an abrupt stop at the end of the reel.

Around 1990 we got our first cordless phone, a huge advancement, as long as you didn't stray far from the base. I remember standing outside (okay, five feet from the house), feeling strange that I could talk outside, at least until the neighbors complained. Cordless phones also encouraged exercise, by which I mean wandering around the house, trying to find it.

Hello? Is it me you're looking for?

 

Then, in 2001: My first cell phone. Entirely portable! All you needed was a shoulder strap and a back brace to carry it. After that you could have real fun with your phone, like drop it in your drink, or talk while driving, or drop it in your drink while talking while driving. It was great to have a way to call for help if you crashed while talking and drinking.

But I kept my land line for twenty years after cell phones became a thing in my family. My initial argument was that if cell service went down, or a power outage led to drained batteries, we could still talk on a phone that used a separate line. But then, one day, I realized he only phone still hooked up was the cordless--which would stop working in a power outage, anyway.

By now the only calls I got on it were from people sitting in cubicles in India, asking about my extended warranty.

So as of now, although the number's still in the phone book (if they still make those), it no longer works. If you want to talk to me on the phone, you have to ask for my cell number. And I don't pick up there when there's no name on the incoming call, because apparently the FBI has a warrant out for me and doesn't use caller ID. Well, that's what the guy on the old phone said.

Or, you could e-mail me. But that's a whole other story.

Is that a tiny little phone in your pocket, or are you just sad to see me?

 

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

I don't talk much about politics, but just to show I've always paid attention, I uncovered this piece from way back in 2012. I think you'll find me on the cutting edge of activism:

 --------------------------------------

          New York City Mayor Bloomberg wants to ban supersized sugary drinks, as a way to combat malnutrition.

            He also signed a proclamation for NYC Donut Day.

            (Oh, another note of irony: I brought up several internet articles to familiarize myself with the Bloomberg Big Belly Ban, and the very first one was preceded by one of those annoying internet ads – for Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.)

            The BBBB would apply to any bottled soda or fountain drink over 16 ounces that contains more than 25 calories per eight ounces, which is pretty much all of them. They’d be outlawed at restaurants, sports venues, street vendors, and – brace yourselves – movie theaters. Gasp! Next they’ll be taking my large buttered popcorn.

            But those goobers won’t get it without a fight.

            No word on whether the 17 ounce Big Gulp will be available in government offices, but grocery stores and convenience stores would be exempt. Apparently large soft drinks sold there are not dangerous.

            The good news is, banning things that are bad for us is always effective, and always, always works. Just ask the people who pushed Prohibition.

            Well, they can have my Slurpee when they pry it from my cold, sticky hands.

            If they criminalize supersized Cokes, only criminals will be truly refreshed.

Family reunions are a great place to exercise my right to choose.


            When Bloomberg came for cigarettes, nobody spoke (because they were busy coughing). When he came for trans fats, nobody stood up (because they were too heavy to get to their feet). Now they come for sugary drinks, and who will stand up for Mr. Pibbs? Has the medical field even debated this? Did anyone ask Dr. Pepper?

            Give me Mountain Dew, or give me death! And not Diet Mountain Dew, either. It tastes like artificially sweetened sheep dip.

            The Founding Fathers would be horrified. The whole reason they settled in the New World is because the British wouldn’t let us sweeten our tea.

            “One lump or two?”

            “How dare they alter our national beverage? Off with their heads!”

            Then we formed an independent country, so we could have southern style sweet tea. Thomas Jefferson wrote that right into the Declaration of Independence, along with a clause about fried chicken and gravy. Both were removed by a rather grumpy New York delegate named Samuel Chase, whose wife had just put him on a diet.

            Say, do you suppose that’s it? Maybe Bloomberg’s just steamed because his wife has him eating fish and asparagus.

            The Founding Fathers really would be horrified, as this kind of nanny state thinking is exactly what the Constitution was meant to prevent. It demonstrates that their written guide for the country is more relevant now than ever, despite the food stains.

 Rumor has it the Founding Fathers fueled their revolutionary ardor with Heaven's snack: S'Mores.


            Benjamin Franklin would be especially upset, as he was known to upturn an extra-large mug of mead himself, from time to time. Franklin, who famously said that wine is proof that God loves us, and wants to see us happy, would have loved one of those fountain drinks you need to haul around in a cart. Ben Franklin would have punched Bloomberg right in the nose. Well, maybe not … Ben would probably have slept with Bloomberg’s wife. He was into all sorts of excesses.

            I’m not so sure about Thomas Jefferson’s reaction. He believed in personal freedoms (unless you were one of his slaves), but also had a huge vegetable garden that he took great pride in. He grew over 250 varieties of more than 70 different vegetable species, in a garden 1,000 feet long. His children hated him.

            Once, Jefferson sent John Adams a sampling of twenty different types of lettuce. Adams wrote back: “Tom, would you relax and have a friggin’ donut? I’ll bet you can’t find twenty different varieties of donuts.” (This was before Krispy Kreme.)

            Still, they would have agreed that no mayor of York, old or new, had the right to come over and tell them how many lumps they could put in their tea. Should you stop drinking huge sugary drinks? Of course. Should we bow to a government telling us we have to? Hell, no.

We can’t have true freedom without independence. A nanny state, by definition, is a lack of independence. I may disapprove of what you eat, but I will defend to the early death your right to pork rinds.

            Yes, there have to be some limits in an orderly society, but we must draw a jittery line in the sand, with one of those big soda straws. Our voices, strengthened by a sugar rush, should shout out that we can be convinced to be healthier, but not be force fed. And, to paraphrase Franklin Delano Roosevelt, we would rather die on our Frostie than live on our salads.

            Now. If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a little non-violent protest. Supersize me.
 Is this a great country, or what?

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

 

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