I should have been a cowboy.Riding the range all day, mending fences, tellin' doggies to get along, lazing around a campfire with the boys and eatin' hubcap-sized plates full of beans, passing copious amounts of gas, sleeping under desert skies.
Ahhhh, now there's the life. Dirty, smelly, not a care in the world.
Instead, I got into broadcasting; first radio, then television. Some would say that dirty and smelly fits the broadcasting nicely at times. You'll get no argument here, pardner.
Next stop along the dusty trail of life was animal sheltering, which itself can be malodorous at times - I don't mind an ounce. Then this cowboy was tempted to mosey on a bit and darned near saddled back up, riding off into those mysterious canyons where the political life hides, places where the sun never quite manages to shine.
For any number of reasons spelled out in the previous post on this blog, I did not.
I have no regrets whatsoever. My promise right from the very beginning was to never make any promise I could not keep. No one can make an accusation of my breaking that promise.
Then there's my fellow political-weenie pal, David Yonki, who posted on his blog, "...And folks, let’s face facts, being a Congressman isn’t what it used to be. Even though I love politics, there are so many of my fellow Americans if you will who have nothing but disdain for the political process."
Pop over and visit David's blog http://lulacpoliticaletter.blogspot.com/ I'm betting you'll enjoy it greatly.
So how do I feel about things?
Pretty darned good, to answer my own question. That being said, I do have a few concerns. Let's say there are a few burrs under my saddle.
The biggest burr of all comes from those who seem to think my interest in politics is a recent development. Wrong. Those who believe that should go and have a few laughs with that handful who believe I know very little about politics. Again, wrong.
Neither assumption could be further from the truth. Anyone who has known me for more than seven minutes knows the passion that can sizzle within me when it comes to politics.
Not too many years after my obligatory pony picture was taken at Rocky Glen Park, I stood within a damp throng in the hot, steamy, and cavernous Watres Armory along Adams Avenue in Scranton. We waited, and waited, and waited.
We waited for the man we all just knew would be the next president of The United States. It was worth the wait. Elecricity crackled in the air as the crowd screamed when John Fitzgerald Kennedy's motorcade finally pulled to a stop at the Myrtle Street entrance to the Armory and word spread like a tsunami's surge that "he" was here.
JFK's striding to the stage coaxed forth a roar that had to have been audible at every saloon in Minooka, all of which were surely empty that night. It was magic. I got it. And I loved politics from that night forward, and have never taken a time out.
If only by default, if only by being a political-weenie most of my life, I happen to know a great deal about the process. There are many times I believe I know more than is good for me. Much of what I know makes me sad, it shakes my faith in the system that is supposed to be the very foundation of who we are as a nation.
"We the people..." may in theory still control this great country with its states, counties, cities, townships and boroughs, but every time we elect or re-elect candidates, we temporarily turn the keys over to them. Some of "them" are not worthy keepers of the keys.
For now, my political ambitions, while not tucked away down in the basement for good, have been put on hold while I get back to the business at hand here The SPCA of Luzerne County.
It Didn't Cost A Million Dollars...
The roller coaster in that picture, it's that roller coaster that immediately forces my eyes to go right to it. That was Ben Sterling's Million Dollar Coaster, the one that never did cost a million dollars.
Mr. Sterling was one of the handful of people who at one time or another owned Rocky Glen Park. It's my understanding that Sterling was the man most singurlarly responsible for Rocky Glen hitting its greatest strides, mostly in the 40s and 50s. In 1957 that Million Dollar Coaster burned down. What was left was then torn down. From there, most all historical accounts paint a slow, steady, and sad demise of Rock Glen Park, right up until its complete closing in 1998. Why in the name of all that is fun this area cannot support an amusement park baffles me. I mean, politics can be one hell of a spectator sport hereabouts, but we need rides, big rides, scary rides.
Giddy-up...
I can't stop staring at that picture, which was among many my sisters and a brother-in-law have rounded up, scanned, and sent to me.
It's a fine looking pony, and it sure seems like a humid, hazy, gooey summer day at "the glen" as most called it back then. What I'm trying to remember is if I remember sitting there like a dolt and having my picture taken. If you look at the left side of the photo, you'll see an adult forearm steadying the pony, which would tell you that I wasn't exactly galloping around hell-bent for leather, stopping only for a quick snap of me saying, "Howdy, ma'm..." before yeee-haaa-ing my way off again in a cloud of dust.
And my feet don't reach the stirrups, my legs had a long way to go before being ready to ride 'em hard and put 'em away wet. But I did see Gene Autry once...at The CYC in Scranton. He was actually on a stage with his horse Champion. It was kind of lost on me. I was more of a Roy Rogers and Gabby Hayes guy myself.
And I was once considered a distinct and serious possibility as a candidate for The U.S. House of Representatives. Of that, I am both humbled and proud.
Maybe my feet do indeed now reach the stirrups.
