Griff.....

  

He was a kind and gentle soul. A wanderer in the mysteries of the cosmos. A polymath in life and living. A maestro in communication. A skilled professional in a storybook path of careers. He was the kind of person you wanted to be around.

I met Griff in the air studio of WNAP in 1969. I’d heard he was the guy who had spent a few years in San Francisco. Since the “Summer of Love” it was the west coast capitol of new music and culture. 

He was the morning man on one of the first pioneering FM rockers in the country, and I was the hard news guy from the front of the building and a 50 thousand watt AM radio giant “The Voice of News…”

Griff was hip, music wise, and the first person I heard use the word karma in conversation.  He had prowled San Francisco music and hippie culture on weekends. During the week he was on duty at Alameda Naval Air, on the bay. His desk looked across the bay and the bridge to San Francisco. It also oversaw the flag-drapped caskets of Viet Nam casualties on their return to the US. 

He had a cool and a depth. It was a time for being real. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy has been gunned down just months before, cities were burning, the war claimed hundreds of kids every month, “flower power,” “power to the people,” “Black power” and the “Generation Gap” were pushing America to places it had never been. In the midst of this, Griff was the master of music mixes that weaved moods, stories, and painted realities that became an escape, or a ride through it all. I was to be the voice that brought news to the new and alternative consciousness and psychographic. 

Griff was the guru, the music director of a band of young radio artists and personalities who understood the zeitgeist was changing, and they would be change agents. 

I was just back from Europe where bride Lana and I spent a few months, she indulging my attempt to pick up the trail of Daniel Cohn-Bendit  “Danny the Red.”  He had been the leader of the student uprisings in France months before and was on the run. There were still signs of the strikes and riots all around Paris and on the Left Bank where we stayed. I wanted to interview “Danny La Rouge” and we got close in Germany, in the anti-war and radical sub culture of music, protest, disco and free form political theater. London, Rome, Berlin were all engaged as Radio Luxembourg and the on-ship pirate radio stations were muscled up “pied pipers” leading millions of boomers into a new land of self-awareness.   

The WNAP air staff was a generation and culture away from WIBC the traditional and legacy powerhouse. Truth is, some of the front of the building didn’t understand, nor like the idea of long-haired freaks in the back. 

I still chuckle, some thought it was "illegal or unholy" to play album rock on the FM band. In practicality, Griff and I were to be the “peace negotiators,” the experiment of fusing through generational and cultural divides. It was a slam dunk. 

We hit it off immediately. A plus was Lana. He was impressed she had been so adventurous as to drive through East Germany into Berlin at the height of the cold war and at a time when people were still being shot on the wall. He thought I was a good judge of people. AND she made clothing bands wore when performing under dark and strobe lights, at a time of psychedelic music and light shows. In that Lana made me, a non-musical, overly serious street reporter “news guy” more acceptable to the Mr. Cool. 

            Griff liked that I was a writer. He had been a South Bend Tribune police beat reporter just out of school. I had done the same thing in Muncie. Both were tough mid-western cities quickly becoming part of the “rust belt” and we shared a sobering look at life through the lens of homocides, fires, car crashes, drownings, and the mayhem of a city. He also thought it was great I did yoga!

            This piece of the story, this relationship nexus, the foundation of a friendship, is important because Griff and I understood it was cool to improvise, invent, create and let a new radio style develop naturally. It was that process that seeded the friendship, a mutual respect that lasted for 56 years.

            In those days a radio newscast was a formal and highly produced event at the top of the hour and in peak listening hours on the half hour. It involved a big sounder or theme, maybe drums or teletype,  a deep voiced announcer, announcing the start, something to set it apart. We were answering the muse of the counter culture and turned it into a casual, conversational, informal and very contemporary flow of information. We covered different items too; the environment, nutrition, science, art, music business, spirituality, and counter culture politics. It was different, it was new, it was successful and more importantly it’s how he and I talked with each other for the next half a century.  Pick a topic, we could riff, and build a kind of rhythm and converse  all around the cosmos. There was hardly anything we did not find interesting, except violence, of any sort. We were peace lovers about everything in life. 

            We continued to converse like that even when our careers took us in different directions.

            Griff was simply a genius communicator. As a DJ he was an “artist.”  With those “great pipes” he was always in demand as a voice over talent for commercial and production companies.

            Producers of “big event” live coverage of award banquets or shows loved him because with all the chips on the line, millions of dollars invested, the manic activity of multiple cameras, and all the vagaries of live television, he was the cool and polished voice in the booth that smoothly talked its way into the big show, all the while a director in his ear giving him a count down.

            

            He and Jacque published a weekly culture and entertainment news paper from Broad Ripple Village. It was pitch perfect for the time. 

 

His love of music took him on a path where he produced records. It’s a technical art that is a highly complex mastery of sound and performance.  

Even in retirement out here on the central coast he could never attend a live music show without making some suggestion about the sound mix. We’ve been lucky to have troubadours Jill Knight and Eric Williams “score” the life of people here for the better part of 2 decades. I can’t count how many times we have seen and heard them. These great artists listened to Griff.

 

            He knew many major artists and some were friends. He gained their friendship when he spent time on the road as a show promoter’s producer. He’d get to the big arena a day ahead of the concert and go to work with lighting and sound techs, unions, transportation teams, manage how and when the unload and set up would occur. He’d work with caterers, law enforcement and crowd control and  local officials. He managed the process. Everyone from big star to roadies appreciated his skill and loved his personality.

 

        From the beginning he loved high speed Indy car racing. He began volunteering around the track, got to know who’s who and how things worked and eventually became an owner in a team of owners that ran one of Indy’s great and historic winning teams. One of his partners was quarterback of the Indianapolis Colts, “Captain Comeback” Jim Harbaugh, who has since gone on to be a championship coach in college and the NFL. Another partner is now President of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. They were a class operation.

            Griff’s specialty was communication, image, training drivers on tv and interview skills, making promotional pieces, engaging sponsors. When the league moved to including night time races on the circuit Griff researched and tested until he found a way to paint the car’s surface so that is glowed, or shone on camera under the lights. Needless to say everyone else wanted to know his secret.

            He loved the Indy 500, maybe as much as anyone, ever. 

On race day, when he could no longer be in the pits, he’d set himself up at home. He’d have earphones, a lap-top, the television on, had dialed in to get the frequency of the team’s radio link to the driver and their track spotters. Who else ever did that?

            He was one of a kind.

            About 5 years ago he was given a diagnosis that gave him odds to live 12, maybe 18 months. He continued to live with enthusiasm and joy. He had setbacks to be sure, but his spirit was exemplary. Over and over friends would be “amazed”  at “how unbelievable and incredible” “you’d never know!” He didn’t like to dwell on the illness, he was more interested in others and whatever was on their mind.

            I was fortunate to spend even more time with Griff in the last few years. We’d drive to blood draws or lab work and always worked a late breakfast or lunch. Up and down Highway 1, the Pacific gleaming or rolling in and we remembered the people and events and our common history. We also talked about the future, the unknown. He always gave tribute to his “Queenie” Jacque, for keeping him alive, being his case manager and advocate. 

            He had an indomitable spirit, an Irish zest and love for all things. In the tough last months, he cherished his orchids, purchased a Nikon-he was an extraordinary shooter-they adopted a new family member, Luna, a rescue dog, and he was thinking how he might set up a small solar array to feed an emergency battery. 

            He did not want to leave this life, but he was excited about what kind of adventure the next chapter would be. A couple of weeks ago he told me it felt like “his body was changing.” He said  “it was odd, I feel like it’s in transition.”

I asked him “are you going to be a pupa or butterfly?”

It was the biggest chuckle I’d heard in months. “Oh, that’s a good one, that really is!” He smiled.

            Eventually a killing illness took his body from him and he courageously labored until he just slipped away in his deep sleep. 

But that indominable spirit? Well, Griff had been a hot air balloonist, and he built and flew a small airplane. He loved to go up, especially in the vintage planes and racers. I like to think that spirit is in free flight, attached to big smile.  Wow!

See you down the trail.

They are killing the mother of rock and roll...

         The auto industry is moving to take AM radio out of cars. Without radio kids in the 50'-70's would never have been able to "cruise" and rock and roll may never have become a cultural force.

        This is a bit of long cruise, a personal and impressionistic history as I drive to the point that if AM radio had not existed, neither would rock and roll. 

        We heard the music on AM. That spurred record sales that made the stars who

choreographed our lives.  

        It was a skill to pre-set the buttons to the exact AM rockers that you could hear in your area. Punching in and out to get your favorite tunes or hear your favorite DJ was part of driving.

        At age 11 I  heard Little Richard wailing Tutti Frutti coming out of transistor radio. It was on the sunning deck at the concession and dressing room building at the "Reservoir Park" on Clinton Street near downtown Fort Wayne. That was the first rock and roll song I heard. It just jumped out at me and attacked me with a rock rhythm. It was a total experience. Life changed. 

        My brother and I started saving money to buy a transistor. Before that radio was the floor model we listened to as younger kids. The Lone Ranger, Johnny Dollar, Lights Out, Jack Benny, Lux Theatre and so many more dramas, serials and comedy shows

        Or it was the bakelite radio that sat on a window sill in the kitchen where we listened to the news as mom prepared dinner. It was from that kitchen radio I first began to think about being a foreign correspondent or radio newsman. I was fascinated by the voices coming in from distances, sometimes fading in and out as they observed events. That seemed a life of adventure. 

        Like most boomer teens it was the new rock and roll music that filled my ears until the day that flipping up the dial I landed on a station playing jazz. It was coming from an Indianapolis radio station playing local jazz and blues artists  and what  I learned were legends. Some of the DJ's were also players and that became one of the go to preset buttons on the car radio.  

        The world of AM radio was magical. At night you could pick up signals from distant stations...WLS Chicago, WABC New York, and my favorite WLAC Nashville playing rhythm and blues. Hoss Allen, John R. or Gene Nobles were the DJ's. Exotic music, accents, commercials for Randy's Record Rack, Moon Pies and RC Cola filled the night with AM magic. 

    On weekends there was also Monitor from NBC. It opened a new world-with an ongoing live nationwide broadcast from Saturday morning to late Sunday. It was a mix of everything in life, in a fascinating format that was powerful enough to draw the attention of this kid away from rock and jazz. 

        A pending death of AM radio is a personal thing.

        My first radio news job was at WERK, a six tower, small watt AM radio station in Muncie. It was great training ground learning from news directors Ron Branson, Jack Gardner, who was also a county sheriffs deputy and then the legendary Fred Hinshaw, who was also a highly regarded state legislator, and a published poet. Before he landed in Muncie he had been an NBC announcer. He and Lorne Green, later of Bonanza, were the networks star talent. Muncie got lucky.

        It also helped to pay the college education expenses, since I ended up working so many hours. I ran the police beat, managed all of the weekend news and even had a record show-after all it was small town radio. It was a new station, signing on in 1965 and it was a sensation in Muncie.

        In the frame above our air staff was being given hearts bye local ambassadors for our public service support. That's your correspondent front right. All over America AM station DJ's were celebrities and in most markets- it was the place  people heard rock and roll and personalties. The line up was Big Joe London, Wild Bill Shirk, Mr. Show Biz Gil Hole, and your's truly, Tommy the C.

        Being Muncie, home of one of winningest high school basket ball teams in the nation, the WERK KREW were expected to shoot hoops as well, by golly! We did, fielding a team that traveled to high school gyms around the area, playing the faculty team or a team of all star Alumni. It was decent basketball and we filled gyms.

        Above Tommy the C, Wild Bill and Lar on the Air McCabe and the Union 76 car stoppers in a promotional shoot. 

        There was a cache to being being a college lad on the hit radio station at a time when dorm rooms, fraternity houses, sorority suites and businesses blasted your station rock and roll. AM and Rock was a powerful cultural institution until it changed.

        Up the road in the state capitol of Indianapolis a 50 thousand Watt powerhouse and well established radio station owned the market. It was a mix of personality and music, special events programming and a sense of community. Everything a good AM radio station was supposed to be. It was old school.

        Personalities like Jack Morrow, Bouncing' Bill Baker and Jim Shelton were 

genuine celebrities.

        And then the Good Guys came to town with their top 40 format, sensational news style, big promotions and the mid 60's radio battles heated up. It was not long before WIFE with their promotional give away's overtook the old standard WIBC.

        Enter James C. Hilliard. He had done a tour as a radio star on WIBC and had gone off to bigger markets. He returned to manage WIBC and to change radio in historic ways.

        Hilliard created a new image for the staid WIBC. It became more contemporary, and  fun. It emphasized community and featured enormously popular personalities, exciting contests, and creative engagement of listeners. It played to one of the stations's strengths, the powerful news department.

        Award winning news director Fred Heckman went on to become a bit of legend in radio news. At the time he was known as a no nonsense hard boiled newsman. Here again my life and AM were to be intertwined.  The giant 1070 WIBC lurked in my future

        When Lana and I honeymooned in Europe in the spring and summer of 1969, I asked a friend to fill in on my WERK shift. That's the kind of world it was back then. The friend was Dave Letterman. He told me on my return that Heckman had called looking for the "young charger" news reporter in Muncie. Dave told him I was in Europe and Heckman said "have him give me a call when he gets back." I did.

        He hired me to join his state capitol news team and told me to get a hair cut, even though Lana had extensively cut my near shoulder length hair the night before the interview.    

        My first days on the job I was "broken in" by another legend, Bob Hoover. Hoover entered journalism in the 20's as a newspaper photographer. He'd been a friend of Hoagy Carmichael, even played drums for him, played poker with Harry Truman, used to jump on the running board of squad cars and ride out with the police. After a shoot out one mortally wounded cop fell into Hoover's arms and pled with him to look after his daughter. 

        Bob had a vault of memories and extraordinary stories. He also had a "grapevine" of news sources and after he figured I was alright he introduced me around. The other guy who I shadowed was Bruce Taylor who conducts  the Oddball Observations blog and about whom I have written. Bruce remains a dear friend. He also started on AM, in the wilderness of the Dakotas.

        Radio news departments battled for scoops, leads and listeners in those days. It was a street war. Radio stations had more staff than some television newsrooms.

Where once newspapers fought circulation wars, radio stations waged that fight and AM listeners benefited. AM radio invented the idea of breaking news, continuing coverage, and keeping the public informed. It was the first place people went for information.

      The Historical Society asked me to write a magazine article on one of the nations most famous hostage situations. Tony Kiritsis held mortgage banker Dick Hall at the end of a shotgun, wired to his head, for three days. I covered the incident as part of our continuing coverage night and day. 

    Kiritsis called Heckman during the crisis. Media from around the world swarmed to the Indianapolis apartment complex. For the first time the FBI sent a "hostage negotiator" a new thing then. The principles, all of the other media and law enforcement listened to our AM coverage to get the latest. 

    Films have been made about our team coverage and the issues it raised. It was a time before rules and protocols about hostage coverage.

    With the popular and culturally nuanced entertainment side and the news and sports department dominance, the old AM station had become a staple in people's daily routines and their lives.

      Along the way Hilliard had turned the old AM giant into one of America's great radio stations and I was delighted to be a part of it.  But he had other plans and they have become part of American radio lore, but it may also have been an opening chip in the erosion of AM radio.

     A book, countless articles, documentary films and stories have been done about what was about to happen. 

    WIBC had an FM station as well WIBC FM.  Like most FM stations it played background music. Hard to believe now, but in those days very few people had FM radios. Once the station was off the air for hours, and no one called to complain. A lot of folks had never heard of FM. But in San Francisco and in New York FM's had been turned on to become progressive music rockers. 

    In Indianapolis they changed the call letters to WNAP, hired a few young DJ's and became one of the earliest FM rock and roll stations. They upgraded to stereo and started pushing the sale of FM receivers and sound systems. It was all fledgling and  a start up but it showed promised.

    Hilliard spotted a creative young DJ and gave him the reigns to program the station in a fresh, innovative and imaginative way.

        

        Cris Conner, "King Freak," "Naptown's Night-Time Baby Driver," "Moto Groove"

were the nick names he used as he created a surreal world of rock, personality, hip culture and life style news.

        Cris reached out to one of the AM DJ's he had worked with up state.

        Mike Griffin, a Notre Dame journalism student had worked at a South Bend newspaper and was eventually hired at a radio station, where he had a music show. That's where Conner and Griffin met. In the interim Griffin joined Naval Air and was stationed to a base in San Francisco, where he absorbed the culture and music and spent weekends photographing the city's mid 60's vibe, music and clubs. 

        As soon as Griffin was separated from the Navy, Conner hired him to join the new WNAP. Griffin brought his first hand knowledge of the emerging San Francisco music and lifestyle cultures. He and Conner were ready to turn on the city and Hilliard was ready to step up the radio war and its widening impact.

Cris with head phones and Tom in sport coat  along with Tommy Chong greet drivers who created a massive traffic jam who drove by the studio to meet the Cheech and Chong star and to get free tickets. (You can see a television crew on the scene covering the jam that had down town traffic tied up.)

    WNAP needed a news voice and it eventually came around to me to start creating a new kind of news cast for this new kind of radio. I grabbed a type writer, set up in the studio and became part of the morning programming. Originally with Griffin, then with the late Bob Richards and eventually with Cris and a growing cast including Bruce Macho Munson, Mister Ron Below,  and Fast Freddie Fever in one of the first off the wall entourages. We took the show out of the studio whenever and however we could.

    We created theatre of mind festivals, parades, and we even did a couple of days  imagining the city in the year 2093, thanks to sophisticated electronic gear. It was a sci-fi event that was scheduled for only one day, but it was such a success we extended it, working around the clock to write and record the sketches.

    We did wine tasting on the air and then followed with wine tasting events. We created the Free Money give away, at first just dropping in on offices and handing out cash. Once we created another traffic shutdown by asking if people would be silly enough to brave a driving thunderstorm to catch free money thrown to them from the roof of the station. 

        Celebrities were frequent guests. One morning Cris and I decided in that very moment to see if we could get a plane, get to Boston and watch the Marathon all the while reporting on our adventure. We spent a week camping in the wilds near a beaver pond and doing it live. Ditto spending a night in jail, or broadcasting from a bedroom in a department store window. 

        I had an easy job, to be the straight man, the voice of sanity, the journalist reporter amidst a team of entertainers and personalities. I used new and emerging news sources in addition to the traditional wire services and network feeds. I brought in Earth News, Zodiac New Service, Lou Irwin's reporting on culture. We created new information units and formats. It clicked.

        Soon WIBC and WNAP in combination dominated radio listenership. WNAP was a laboratory for new radio concepts. In the meantime Hilliard had moved Fairbanks broadcasting into a position of ownership of stations in other major markets.

        Canadian AM broadcaster George Johns was hired to be the national programming director. He worked with the Indianapolis stations, tweaking and joining the experimentation. Eventually he exported ideas and concepts to sister stations around the country. They too were FM stations going into markets to knock off once dominant AM stations. 

        By 1979 I was leaving radio to try my hand at long form television journalism.

WNAP and WIBC were golden. The long hairs in blue jeans at WNAP had become  huge winners, and ideas we experiment with were being deployed by our stations and then copied by the growing list of FM radio stations that had become the norm. 

        The chain of stations Hilliard assembled was hugely successful.

                                                            

        AM radio became something else. You've heard it.  All things have a life span and so much of what AM used to be is dispensed or available in other media. 

        It was all great run. Radio was the most personal of media. But as I read of the pending demise of AM, already in critical condition, it started me down memory lane and I wanted to pay tribute. I also wished to reflect on the role AM played in bringing rock and roll to America and then how that rock and roll culture changed including in radio.

        It's interesting to me that over the years, basketball has remained the same essentially, same court and rules and game. Ditto baseballl, football. Law is still the same, and teaching has made some adjustments but it's the same profession.

        Media is different. Newspapers had their day, AM radio had its era. Now in a digital world it's all fusing and changing. But I have to think that pod casting is in the last analysis a kind of return to AM radio. A voice, a listener, the engagement of the mind and a relationship is built.

        Still, there was nothing like hearing a great DJ play your favorite song coming through the night from some distant capitol. It was a sweet world!

        Thanks for taking this cruise.

        

        See you down the trail. 

Respite

    Gentle ripples on a little pond in the flow of San Simeon Creek offer a respite from the madness and sickness of  2020.
     Remember the kind of world you imagined for 2020, back when we were filled with dreams and when most of life, including the distant 21st century was far in the future.
     For health and for a kind detox I've been visiting the past. 

   Farmers and ranchers on the California central coast have been "putting up hay."
   That leads me back to the early 1960s in central Indiana.
    US Highway 40 east of Indianapolis was dotted with villages and crossroads that were once part of the National Road. Places like Cumberland, Gem, Philadelphia, and Charlotte were little clusters of a life that passed by when the Interstate system was built. A few still had grain elevators and the expanse between was farmland.
    My father rented an historic and drafty large farmhouse in Cumberland, as we awaited the construction of new home near a golf course. I got to know the local lads, the Hills, and their cousins the Hilkene's and Sharpe's. They were farm kids and their families "put up hay" every summer and needed manpower.

      We'd start early in the morning, as soon as the field was dry. There were usually two of us on a wagon, pulled by tractor hooked up to a baler. 
      Blades would gather the cut hay and it was fed into a kind of conveyor.

         The baler shaped the hay and then wrapped it with a line or wire to keep it in a block. My job was to stand on the front of the wagon with a hook

  and grab the wrapped bale off the conveyor, turn and hoist it to Bobby, Chip, Jack, or who ever was on that wagon. He'd then stack it on the growing pile. We rarely had three on our wagons, so the "boy-power" could be spread to another wagon working the same field.
        The farms were large, the fields were massive, and the bales kept coming at you without stop.

           Hay is "put up" in the summer. The sun is scorching,  the hay or straw is scratchy and there were days when I thought the field was an ocean. But we'd always stop at noon. If there was a tree line with shade we'd settle there or get a ride to an area that was out of the sun. The farmer's wife would bring us picnic baskets full of relief. There were gallons of lemonade, iced tea, either a mountain of sandwiches or fried chicken. And usually there was a pie or fresh baked cookies.  15 and 16 year olds can devour more food than you can imagine.

          After lunch, and a moment to answer "nature's call," it was back to the wagon, field and hay. After a field had been cleared, or when the stacks were at a proper height, we'd jostle along to the barn, where the bales had to be off loaded and stored.

         I got stuck in the loft one day and thought I'd die from not being able to breath. A barn hayloft in the heat of summer is a miserable place. After that I was the guy who hauled the hay off the wagon and threw it on to a conveyor where the rest of the guys would go about filling the loft. They'd handle only every third for fourth bale, but tossing each one was worth not being in the loft.

   When ever I see hay in a field, I go back to those couple of years of learning to work. 

    Back then the future was unlimited. I want it to be that way for my grandchildren as well.

       We've got to get better at solving problems and working around or through differences.

      Lana took these shots the other day. She said it looked like I was talking to the cow. I was. 
       We'd been hiking for a while in the sun and I needed a moment in the shade, a shade being shared. I told the cow she didn't need to bolt, or charge me, that there was plenty of shade for the two of us. We made peace.

     There's been a lot of recent attention to the fact so many are depressed, or ill, full of the toxic nature of the news.   
      There is the unrelenting worry about Covid and this nation's failure to handle it as well as most of the world.    
      Then this age of reckoning brings us to painful truths and difficult decisions. I hope they are growing pains, but pains none-the-less.
      Remember when we used to say, as mad and as incompetent as Trump is, at least there is no crisis. Almost seems like the good old days doesn't it. Another mile marker on the descent of this nation.

             If I may suggest, a great antidote is to spend a few minutes viewing Lincoln Project videos and/or the videos  of Republican's Against Trump. They are short and cathartic. The truth is always alternative to the sick fantasy world the sick man weaves. Seeing it all told so well may help this nation with it's first political exorcism.
         I've been gratified by the early response of college leaders who say the administration's recent ICE crackdown on foreign students is just more evil and meanness. I hope they fight it. 

           We are fortunate to have the timeless shore, help with our emotional respite. We enjoy being able to share a few moments.

       Another respite moment came the other day when friends Jacque and Griff arranged for this. The talented Brynn Albanese and Eric Williams entertained a socially distanced block gathering within view of the Pacific.

  They are renowned and have superb credits and resumes, but like all musicians, have been sidelined. It was pure pleasure to see and hear them back in action.

   Everyone seemed to enjoy the respite. 

   I apologize to my friends abroad. This is not the America that nations could once trust. This is not the America that was recognized as a leader on important issues, as a beacon of light. We did it to ourselves, but I'm gaining a sense we will fix this. I suspect there is a hard rain coming, and it will be a time of rumble. 
    We seem on a path to address our racist and genocidal proclivities. Honest acknowledgement is forthcoming, even now. Fixing it will take time, but it will be good work for a nation.
     I think most have been shaken into a state of awareness. The prevailing cultural attitudes of celebrity, wealth and entertainment are not lodestones for a serious nation, nor the values by which to measure women and men for the fitness of work on the public's behalf. 
     These are hard truths. We ate the poison. It made us sick. It is killing us, but we know the cure, and the power resides within.

          Stay safe and well. Take care of each other. That is our destiny.

    See you down the trail.