michaeldexterhankins

THE JEEP WAVE

“So far no one has waved at us but in due time I suppose that’ll change.”

Over the years, I’ve had several friends along with in-laws who owned Jeeps. I believe Charlie Hart was the first followed by Gary Adair in the 1970s. Jeff Thimsen in Alaska eventually came to drive one and then Arizona friends, John Ballard, Tom Gildea, and Jim Brownfield.

Out of all of these names, Jim Brownfield is the only survivor where still owning and driving a Jeep is concerned. Riding with him one day I noticed a person in a decked-out Jeep Wrangler wave as he drove by. Asking if Jim knew the guy, my pal replied, “No, that was a Jeep Wave.” He went on to explain that Jeep owners much like motorcycle riders sometimes wave or acknowledge each other while on the road.

Not long after that, my wife and I purchased a Jeep Grand Cherokee. This model wasn’t four-wheel-drive with us figuring we wouldn’t need it. Our vehicle wasn’t a typical Jeep like the Wrangler or Gladiator either, and for 3 years, I can’t recall anyone waving at us. There were a few instances of receiving the middle finger after we placed a lifelike photo of Donald Trump on the rear window. A sufficient number of “thumbs up” also occurred.

With our little Jeep climbing up there in the mileage department, we decided that the time was ripe to trade it in. A fellow from Anderson Chrysler-Dodge-Jeep had been calling for several months asking if we might be interested in upgrading. They had some 2024 models with a nice rebate including an additional markdown.

On presidential election day, Joleen and I decided it might be a good time to roll the dice and take Brian Marazoni up on his offer. Finding what we wanted on their website first, I made an appointment with Brian to look things over. It only took us a few hours to be handed the keys. Our first stop was In-N-Out Burger on the way home for celebratory fries and a drink.

This Jeep is a bit taller than our old ride yet we knew that beforehand. Jim and Pat Brownfield’s Jeep Gladiator is much the same and we’d climbed in and out of it several times. Doing so is a great stretching exercise.

A couple of friends advised that we’d regret purchasing any type of vehicle sitting up high in our senior years, yet we ignored them. A set of mountable doorsteps was ordered and that took care of the problem like right now.

So far no one has given us the Jeep Wave but in due time I suppose that’ll change. If by chance we get ignored, I’ll order a Trump decal like the last one and place it on the passenger rear window. “The Donald” loved to ride in the back of our Grand Cherokee and I’m sure it’ll be the same with this new rig.

Just for grins, I might stick Kamala on the driver’s side rear window just to see if those two can now get along!

POWER OF PRAYER

“With us standing under black umbrellas, drizzly rain fell as the pastor said a few words before Grandpa’s casket was lowered into the ground.”

Representative picture of January 25, 1966.

The “power of prayer” unlike the horsepower of a car or motorcycle engine cannot be measured. If there were a device to try and capture the power of prayer like an engine dynamometer—the scale or graph with numbers could never capture such. I say this based on what I’ve observed in my own life and not what someone has told me.

I’ve been praying to God since childhood, although the simple prayer repeated nightly back then meant little to me. Mom lovingly instructed my brother and me to always pray before we went to bed.

“Now lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, if I should die before I wake, bless me Lord, my soul to take.”

I first experienced the loss of someone in 1959, when a good neighbor, Lt. Richard Herndon, was killed in a jet airplane crash. It wasn’t so much his death that affected me as the sudden loss of someone who’d always been there. I felt sadness not only for losing this older friend but for his wife who I never saw again. Mary Herndon was my babysitter.

Death meant little to me for seven more years—until attending my Grandpa Hankins’ funeral on January 25, 1966. I vividly recall that cold, foggy, January morning in Vernon, Alabama, a line of cars following the hearse to Asbury Cemetery.

As we stood under black umbrellas, drizzly rain fell as the pastor said a few words before Grandpa’s casket was lowered into the ground. Seeing his body lying in that coffin back at the church was a sobering sight for me.

The Bible doesn’t specifically mention a year for children reaching the age of accountability, meaning, the year when children become solely responsible for their salvation. Many Catholics believe it’s at seven while Mormons say eight.

The Jewish take things a bit further by claiming it’s thirteen. It appears only God knows the correct answer to that question, him knowing that every child is different based upon their maturity. Some pastors are already shaking their heads before I even finish.

I’m not specifically talking about sin here, but the point a child “doesn’t go” to Heaven without asking Jesus to save them. I didn’t make that important commitment until 1973 soon after turning nineteen.

Getting back to the main subject, it wasn’t until after I made that life-changing decision in the early 70s that I began to notice the power associated with prayer. Our son, Gunnar, came down with spinal meningitis at nine months and was seriously ill.

Rushing him to Providence Hospital, resident pediatrician, Dr. Tower, took Joleen and me into a room and asked if we wanted to pray for our son. Of course, we did. Afterward, friends and family were doing the same. Miraculously, Gunnar came through without any brain damage, although some of his friends will jokingly question that.

Our first grandson, Kevin, was born with serious physical irregularities and spent considerable time in Denver Children’s Hospital. Many prayer warriors are responsible for his remarkable recovery. Kevin just recently entered Cedarville College where he plans on becoming a neurologist.

I’ve seen the power of prayer help pull close friends out of the stranglehold of cancer, with my wife and two of her sisters included. Lying in a Lake Havasu City, Arizona, hospital bed one night with my heart buzzing like a chainsaw, and destined for a procedure the next morning to stop my ticker and then restart it, with tears in my eyes, I asked my wife to go onto my Facebook page and ask for prayers.

She did, and only a few hours later I woke up with a slew of nurses and a doctor standing around me. The cardiologist said that my heart went back to normal on its own—although I knew the real reason why.

Since then, I’ve been involved with many prayer victories regarding health and financial matters of family and friends. Perhaps the biggest prayer miracle of all happened on November 5 of this year. Not to be political in this writing, how could I ignore this event where the power of prayer is concerned. I’ll tread ever so lightly here.

A call went out on October 24 for those of a certain political party to pray for their candidate’s success. The specific time of prayer was to be Monday, November 4, at 6:00 p.m. Millions joined in that day and the result on November 5 was the biggest presidential landslide in United States history.

What I found so “unbelievable” about this, is that not once did I hear the other side pray for their party or candidate. Did they not know about the power of prayer? Something tells me they do now, or at the least the enlightened ones will.

THE HARRIS WALTZ

“Just what happened here?”

Da news has been buzzin’.

For some time now.

How Trump’s goin’ down.

Let us jump and shout.

*****

Kah-mah-lah—you go girl!

Oprah’s got your back.

Along with Taylor Swift,

Michelle, and Barack.

*****

Bill and Hillary too.

They’re quite a lovely pair.

Missy wears the pants.

Willy doesn’t care.

*****

His left eye is winkin’.

At every skirt in sight.

That slow southern drawl.

Makes gals run with fright.

*****

When Dem votes rolled in.

Not all campers were happy.

Just what happened here?

Tim Walz was a bit snappy.

*****

We must put the blame.

Not on me but someone else.

Kah-mah-lah, dear.

Why won’t you wear a dress?

*****

The guilty party,

‘Tis sleepy Joe Biden.

Let’s tan his wrinkled hide.

Where is the man hidin’?

*****

The Harris-Waltz.

It wuz no dance at all.

Just like Humpty Dumpty.

Destined for a fall!

BAKED LAUGHLIN

“In the forty-ninth state, there’s a special dessert called Baked Alaska.”

I first visited Laughlin, Nevada, in 1979. My brother took my wife, son, and me to the Riverside Casino to try our hands at playing slot machines. We each took turns sitting in an air-conditioned truck watching one-year-old Gunnar, because there was no place inside the building for children back then.

The AC worked so well in Jim’s Chevrolet, that I’d have to step outside his vehicle every so often to warm up. Even on low, the Chevy cab would become a virtual refrigerator. A few minutes of sweltering Nevada heat helped immensely before getting back in.

When it was my turn to play, after perhaps 30 minutes of feeding large Eisenhower dollars into a slot machine, my pockets were bulging with winnings. Feeling proud of myself as I walked out of the place, I ended up with $100 more than I started.

Joleen and Jim came out ahead as well. My wife still has an unopened roll of Eisenhower silver dollars from that trip tucked away in a bedroom drawer. I don’t believe they’re totally made of silver as that practice stopped in 1964.

I purchased everyone’s dinner that night, telling anyone who’d listen that Don Laughlin was paying for things. The late Don Laughlin is the originator of Laughlin and owner of Riverside Casino.

Over the years we’ve gone back only to see Laughlin grow in leaps and bounds, and then slow down to a snail’s pace. New bridges have been built to make it easier to get across the Colorado River, but casino construction has all but ceased. The Colorado Belle casino closed down several years later.

Our reason to visit Laughlin these days isn’t to gamble, but to dine at a favorite Mexican Restaurant and check out the cars in Don Laughlin’s car museum. That museum has been in existence for quite some time with free admission.

I talked to a man overseeing the museum collection sometime in the 1990s. He told me that Don Laughlin would stealthily show up unannounced to inspect things. It wasn’t uncommon for him to climb inside an automobile and check it for dust and cleanliness. He’d then quietly disappear through a secret passageway.

I found that to be humorous because there’s been a story circulating around Lake Havasu City for many years, about Don flying his helicopter to a car show here in town, and landing on the golf course where all of the vehicles were parked. Dust, dirt, and debris went everywhere. Supposedly, he graciously paid for any damage to the cars and trucks.

Don Laughlin died on October 22, 2023, and was 92 years old. Laughlin as a city lost a great man, a visionary who was generous with his money in keeping the town alive. He did so many things where charity is concerned, that it’d take a book to list them all.

Just recently, we were back in Laughlin to visit his museum and grab a bite to eat. A longtime employee of one of the Laughlin businesses, who wishes to remain anonymous, told Joleen and me that Don still lived in the penthouse suite above the Riverside. With that bizarre statement being said and knowing that Don was deceased—we both raised our eyebrows.

The fellow then went on to explain that Don Laughlin made plans to have his body cryogenically frozen years before his death. Evidently, the wish was followed through by family members. He finished things off by saying, unconfirmed rumors had it that Don’s frozen remains were returned to Laughlin and now reside within the top floor of the casino.

I checked things out, finding that Don had been frozen as the fellow claimed. For rich folks having that process done, they do so in hopes somewhere down the road scientists will be able to bring them back to life. As a Christian, I know that isn’t possible using cryogenics alone. As far as the location of Laughlin’s body goes, I couldn’t substantiate that rumor.

In the forty-ninth state, there’s a special dessert called Baked Alaska. It consists of cake and ice cream. By following a prescribed recipe, the combination is baked in an oven without any ice cream melting. From a layman’s perspective, that’s how I view this cryogenic experiment.

Should scientists ever revive one of these frozen corpses, I suppose the first thing Don Laughlin would do after waking, besides grabbing a cup of hot coffee, would be to walk outside his casino for a blast of desert air.

Having aching bones myself whenever I get cold, a dose of Arizona or Nevada desert heat makes them hurt much less. I can only imagine how rejuvenated Don will feel after doing the same, with Baked Laughlin instantly coming to mind!

TIME PASSAGES

“Sadly, for so many of us seniors, that’s no longer possible.”

Quite often on Facebook, someone will post a photo of a place taken years ago, with a revisit to this exact location in a side-by-side comparison pic. Some of these “then-and-now” photographs can be funny or sad, others are touching, yet occasionally, a graphic one comes along.

The funny shots usually involve a group of guys or gals with old and new pictures. They try to replicate their exact look in the vintage photo, and in some cases, successfully pull it off except for being a bit more weathered in the face, arms, and legs.

An old black & white photo showed a family gathered around the Christmas tree with unopened presents. The children were small, with dad and mom in their late 20s or early 30s.

Four decades later they tried to duplicate things, but unfortunately, the artificial tree, professionally wrapped presents, and physical appearance of each individual didn’t cooperate. Even so, it was still a cute and touching comparison.

Another photo group I came across has a young couple standing in front of their recently purchased 1956 Chevrolet. In 2014, they still owned the vehicle, and some 60 years later, they reenacted the same pose with big smiles.

One of the most popular Facebook shots involves Main Street in Oatman, Arizona. I’ve encountered several 1920s scenes with Ford Model T and Model A vehicles coming and going, and recent ones having rows of shiny Harley Davidson motorcycles parked in front of stores. The unchanging Black Mountains are prominently in the background of each shot.

Al Stewart wrote a classic song in 1978 titled, “Time Passages.” It’s a tune about thinking back to the past while wanting to return home and hopefully relive things as they were. I have to assume he looked at a photograph album while writing this.

In his song, Al longs for Christmases of long ago and the associated memories. Sadly, for so many of us seniors, that’s no longer possible. A good number of those family and friends in our vintage pictures are no longer with us.

We can still return to the past though, because in so many photographs of the places we visited, things haven’t changed at all. A good example of this would be posing in front of the Grand Canyon 40 years ago for a photograph, and standing there now. Replicating such makes for a great comparison.

Ten years ago, I hiked up a hill near Sara Park In Lake Havasu City, with my wife in tow. The reason for this short expedition was to have Joleen snap a photo of me, with a picturesque background that could be used for writing projects. I especially needed an outdoor shot to go with my short writer’s biography. Now a decade later, I wanted to replicate that same photograph.

I still owned the original North Face backpack, the same hat, sunglasses, shirt, and Ocotillo walking stick used in the 2014 picture. The toughest part was for me to line up in the same position, with a specific mountain on each side of my head.

With the glaring sun above us, it was tough for Joleen to align things perfectly on our digital camera, but she pulled it off as best she could. What we couldn’t change no matter how many times we hiked up there was the lighting. It was always different.

Thankfully, nothing had changed geographically in the two images, yet my face is another story. As to be expected for someone who doesn’t use Oil of Olay for beautification purposes, there are more lines and wrinkles than 10 years ago.

Our goal is to hike back up there in 2034 and do it again. I recently placed my somewhat faded clothing and other items in a safe place just for that occasion. There’s nothing wrong with long-range goals, with this one perhaps keeping us above ground.

The one thing that I have no control over, is by that time, will city planning and zoning have allowed storage units and condos up there? If so, it won’t be quite the same posing in front of either!

TIME MACHINE

“I no longer have to go to a library and search through microfiche cards or suffer eye strain watching flickering reels of fragile microfilm.”

I’ve read books or watched plenty of movies that involve time machines, yet always crave a new such adventure. The “Back to the Future” series with Michael J. Fox is perhaps my favorite. Following close behind is, “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. This 1991 comedy helped send actor Keanu Reeves to stardom.

In 1895, H.G. Wells wrote the most famous time travel episode of all, “The Time Machine.” At only 133 pages long, it’s condensed and full of adventure, yet to fully comprehend things, a reader has to go slow.

Within my blog pieces and published newspaper articles, I mentioned several times, for almost 7 years now, that I’ve been using newspapers.com to travel back in history for research purposes. Lo and behold, in conjunction with this valuable asset, I have a time machine of my own and I’m sitting directly in front of it right now.

Called a computer, I no longer have to go to a library and search through microfiche cards or suffer eye strain watching flickering reels of fragile microfilm. For those folks having spent hours doing this without food or drink, they’ll know what I mean. Like many seniors, I’m slowly forgetting things from the past, yet old newspapers stop fading once they’re digitized.

Newspapers.com is a superb tool for writing articles about events from long ago, yet it’s also great for genealogical purposes. Having spent most of my life in Alaska, just recently, two Alaskan newspapers from that timeline were added to newspapers.com.

Already having access to archived papers from other places we lived, like Florida, California, Alabama, and Texas, I’m now able to reconnect with segments of my life from the forty-ninth state that were captured in print.

Traveling back to 1954, the year that I was born, a birth announcement from the “Pensacola News-Journal” in Pensacola Beach, Florida, was uncovered. From there, jump ahead 9 years to April 9, 1963, and my name is mentioned in the “Selma Times-Journal” as belonging to the recently started Cub Scout Pack 133 in Selma, Alabama.

April 9 is my birthday and I find it very interesting the article was published on that very Tuesday I was having cake and ice cream. Within that short composition, it’s mentioned that our group was going to the Cub and Boy Scout circus in Montgomery. I vaguely recall this, as only one month later, my family moved to Lubbock, Texas.

Very little is mentioned in Texas newspapers about me, other than belonging to the Boy Scouts there and winning an award and prize for reading the most books during the summer of 1964. My prize for this event was a non-fiction adventure manuscript called “Kon Tiki” by Thor Heyerdahl. Although the book is quite tattered after one of our dogs got hold of things, it now resides in a safe place.

Two Alaska newspapers, “The Anchorage Times” and “Anchorage Daily News” contain quite a bit of my history starting with high school graduation, wedding announcements, birth announcements of our children, their graduation and nuptial announcements, obituaries of family and friends, and a smorgasbord of “letters to the editor” written by me. Thankfully, a slew of speeding tickets during the earlier years were never published.

That’s not all of my Alaska history. In the classifieds sections, I came across an ad for a 1968 Dodge Charger that I purchased for $1200, including a 1968 Plymouth GTX for $600, and a 1971 Polaris TX795 Starfire snowmachine for $550. Entering our home phone numbers in a search for other such records, I was able to view items such as furniture that we sold through both newspapers. Old phonebooks provided me with the phone numbers.

During my research, I found archived articles on newspapers.com mentioning American Civil War veterans that were directly related to our family, including news regarding my long-departed great-grandparents, great-aunts, and great-uncles.

Specific events include a tragic fire in 1943 involving an uncle I never met, and horrible accidents that Mom and Dad were involved with. One of those was a car crash near Victorville, California, on July 9, 1957. On that day, my father was riding in a 1957 Corvette driven by a friend who swerved off a curve on Route 66 and flipped. Dad’s leg was severely damaged and he walked with a limp for the rest of his life.

I came across a bunch of wedding and birth announcements for family and friends. I’ve relived life through newspaper articles, regarding tornadoes, floods, and world atrocities such as the 1963 assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

The cost for a subscription to newspapers.com is minimal, and best of all, it can be had for 6-month subscriptions. For writing purposes and for genealogical research, I couldn’t do without my time machine. Quite often, when bored, I fire things up and take a literary journey back to when life was simple.

Yes—living in the past can be a blast!

BLAZO

“Toss a can of Blazo on a fire and you have an instant inferno.”

Over the past 40 years, I’ve written many “letters to the editor” for various newspapers. It wasn’t worth my time to sit down and write one unless it was somewhat controversial and would elicit a response.

I learned a lot about how to write newspaper letters by emulating a fellow named, Edward Boyd. The late Ed Boyd was a successful Anchorage businessman and a prolific writer. I decided to take the time and copy a few of my favorites just for grins.

Looking them over, after all these years, I still think pretty much the same as I did back then. I named this blog “Blazo” for a specific reason. Toss a can of Blazo on a fire and you have an instant inferno. I’ve learned that words can do the same where emotions are concerned.

I added a few rebuttals to make things interesting. The last letter of mine concerns welfare. Two people reading it in Homer and Talkeetna, quickly responded back, with them seemingly lacking reading comprehension skills.

I’ll be adding more to this fun project as time permits.

“Anchorage Daily News” – Thursday – June 28, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Tuesday – February 26, 1985

“Anchorage Times” – Sunday – December 15, 1991

“Anchorage Daily News” – Tuesday – May 27, 1997

“Anchorage Times” – Tuesday – December 29, 1998

“Anchorage Daily News” – Wednesday – May 26, 1999

“Anchorage Daily News” – Friday – August 18, 2000

“Anchorage Daily News” – Friday – September 29, 2000

“Anchorage Daily News” – Tuesday – November 13, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Sunday – July 7, 2002

“Anchorage Daily News” – Wednesday – July 10, 2002

“Anchorage Daily News” – Monday – January 28, 2002

“Anchorage Daily News” – Friday – November 27, 1998 –

“Anchorage Daily News” – Saturday – February 1, 2003

“Anchorage Daily News” – Monday – May 10, 2004

“Anchorage Daily News” – Wednesday – March 7, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Saturday – August 14, 2004

“Anchorage Daily News” – Wednesday – August 25, 2004

“Anchorage Daily News” – Monday – August 18, 2008

“Anchorage Daily News” – Saturday – January 15, 2005

“Anchorage Daily News” – Tuesday – November 13, 2007

“Anchorage Daily News” – Wednesday – July 26, 2006

“Anchorage Daily News” – Thursday – March 20, 2003

“Anchorage Daily News” – Tuesday – November 25, 1997

“Anchorage Daily News” – Monday – December 17, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Friday – December 21, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Sunday – November 12, 2000

“Anchorage Daily News” – Saturday – April 15, 2006

“Anchorage Daily News” – January 2, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Saturday – January 06, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Monday – January 8, 2001

“Anchorage Daily News” – Sunday – January 7, 2001

FLAGNOMICS 101

“Our city has extreme wind and sun that constantly tests the endurance of flags.”

I try to be a “Made in the USA” kind of guy. When I say this, I’m talking about buying products manufactured in our country. Unfortunately, most of the smaller products I purchase nowadays, including shoes and clothing, are made in China. I wish things weren’t that way, but it is what it is.

The higher cost of manufacturing certain items, along with stringent environmental laws forced many US companies to fold or move overseas. Politicians, greedy investors, and unions had a lot to do with this as well.

From day one, I’ve been a Chevrolet, Ford, and Dodge owner. My reasoning is that they’re still considered American namesakes, although Dodge is now owned by Stellantis, a multinational European corporation.

Friends and strangers have told me that some components in those three makes come from various out-of-country locales. Perhaps so, but the vehicle names are still synonymous with red, white, and blue. You’ll never find me owning an import because it isn’t in my genes to do so, although Japan, Korea, Germany, and other European nations produce some fine cars and trucks.

A while ago, I wrote about coming across an authentic American Indian Dreamcatcher in WalMart. At least that’s what the label said. In small letters, the back of this packaging was printed — Made In China. Alaska gift shops sell items supposedly crafted by local natives yet are manufactured in Taiwan, China, and elsewhere. Miniature totem poles are a good example.

I purchased a stout aluminum flagpole with an American flag one year ago. Both items were identified as being made in the USA. The 4 x 6-foot flag looked to be of medium quality, manufactured of polyester, and vibrant in color. I proudly raised it to the flagpole’s full height of 30 feet. An extra flag identical to it was purchased for $49.

Our city has extreme wind and sun that constantly tests the endurance of flags. Driving about town I see them in all states of deterioration. Some are so bad that there’s not much left where color is concerned. One can only assume those flag owners are out of state, or they’re inside the house and refuse to go out and inspect things until the temperature cools down.

Within 90 days, strong Havasu winds had my USA-made American flag tattered in several places. Taking it down and running up the other, this spare lasted approximately 60 days before it too looked like it’d been through a major battle. That was $100 worth of flags destroyed in a little over half a year. At this rate by the end of 12 months, I’d be out 200 bucks.

Searching for a cheaper alternative to American-made flags I found none. The highest quality ones made of polyester were hovering around the $100 range online, while medium quality was half that price. This might be okay for some but it’s a bit rich for my wallet.

Looking further, I came across a tool supply company on McCulloch Boulevard offering Chinese-made polyester flags “on-sale” for under $4. They were smaller at 3 x 6 feet and I believe made of cheaper polyethylene rather than their advertised polyester material. I doubt that my USA-manufactured flagpole would know or even care that a foreign-made flag was perched on top.

A friend of mine from Minnesota is totally against flying flags made in other countries. In “The Gopher State,” a state law prohibits stores from peddling Chinese-manufactured American flags. That’s why so many Minnesotans buy them here and smuggle their contraband back into their home state. I say that jokingly.

Calculating that if my cheap China flags were to last one month, I’d only be out $50 for a year’s supply, 12 were purchased. For the most part, they’ve stayed together for less than 30 days, with the latest surviving just under 3 weeks. This one was in 4 pieces before being permanently lowered. At this rate of survival, a dozen might not be quite enough.

When I look at an American flag flying in the breeze, the furthest thing on my mind is whether it’s made here or in Timbuktu. I see red, white, and blue, along with the stars and stripes belonging to the greatest country in the nation—a place that I’m blessed to be born in.

I’ll go even further, by boldly stating that I bet many foreign workers making US flags wished they lived here too!

MAKING PREDICTIONS

“Closet drinker is my politically correct term for stealth alcoholics.”

I’ve always been one to predict certain things going way back. To me, it’s merely a way of making life more enjoyable. I can’t say my predictions have been highly accurate, especially with picking the winner of a football game or presidential election. More on those two later.

I don’t use a crystal ball or Ouija Board, believing they’re tools of the Devil. I rely on my own instinct or logic with analysis of the surroundings, and foremost, utilizing verses from the Bible. Philippians 4:13 is my favorite verse. “I can do all things through Christ that strengthens me.”

My weather predictions, especially those involving rain, are oftentimes better than the slick-dressed folks you see on television. If you don’t believe me—just ask my wife.

Some things predicted are kept to myself, especially whether I believe a business, restaurant, or especially a marriage will fail. I pray that all couples will remain together for the duration, but sometimes, I know more about the other half than their marriage partner does.

One of these failed nuptials involved a guy who was a “closet drinker.” He kept it hidden until after the last vows were said. Sadly, that marriage lasted one year. Closet drinker is my politically correct term for stealth alcoholics.

A video game store opened in Anchorage, Alaska, with me predicting to my son they wouldn’t be in business for long. Gunnar disagreed with my analogy, saying that video games were so popular with kids that they’d always be around.

I was off by a few years but the establishment eventually went under. After eating at Kenny Rogers Roasters, I predicted that this restaurant chain wouldn’t last as I exited the front door. Blockbuster Video was picked as a loser a year before they went down.

I made the same prediction with Sand’s Market. This small grocery store was formerly in the London Bridge Shopping Center where the Chamber of Commerce is now located. A Havasu business where customers tossed axes at targets was an easy choice to fail.

I’ve been fairly accurate in predicting what items would appreciate in value. Antiques, guns, coins, and real estate are some things worth collecting. Years ago, before muscle cars hit the ceiling in price, I told family and friends they were a good investment. Some laughed at me.

My father chuckled at the notion of muscle cars. One vehicle Joleen and I owned, a 1968 Hemi Dodge Charger purchased for $3900.00 in 1977, is now worth upwards of $400,000.00. We sold this vehicle before it ever hit that mark.

Football games have never been easy to predict. My favorite team is the Miami Dolphins and I refuse to say whether they’ll win, not wanting to jinx things. Presidential races are my worst venue to choose going back to 1992.

In 1992, I predicted that George H.W. Bush would top Bill Clinton. Of course, “Slick Willy” easily won. In 1996, I thought Bob Dole would beat Clinton, and I lost again. When John McCain went up against Barack Obama in 2008, many predicted that Senator McCain would win by a landslide including me. Everyone knows the outcome there.

I had Hillary Clinton over Donald Trump in 2016, even though I voted for “The Donald.” In the last election, Donald Trump was supposed to win over Joe Biden. Somehow, Joe Biden came out on top making me eat crow again. For this latest election, having not picked a winner in 32 years, I’ll have to go with Kamala Harris.

If I make the wrong prediction this time—I’ll quit while ahead!

WOKE MENTALITY

“Records show that neither George Washington nor Martin Luther King Jr. were perfect, much the same as Christopher Columbus.”

Americans recently celebrated Columbus Day. Some “woke folks” have tried to change the name to Indigenous Peoples Day, but it’ll always be Columbus Day to me and others. For those illogically thinking members of society constantly wanting to change history—they should create another day to have American Natives honored besides the second Monday of October. There’s plenty of room for additional federal holidays on the calendar—354 open slots to be exact.

Columbus Day was created in 1892 by President Benjamin Harrison, as a way to memorialize the lives of 11 Italian Americans killed in New Orleans by a vigilante mob on March 14, 1891. Nine of the Italians were lynched with two of them shot. The massacre created quite a rift between Italy and United States relations, with President Harrison attempting to calm the tension with his declaration. This bit of history is never brought up by those trying to remove Columbus Day because undoubtedly, they know little of the history.

For political leaders to now try and erase Columbus Day is a blunt insult to Italians throughout the world, especially those immigrants and their ancestors having settled in America. It’s no different than 50 years down the road, a group of self-described “do-gooders” deciding to change the holiday names of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, or Washington’s Birthday, after delving into their lives and discovering morally questionable behavior.

Records show that neither George Washington nor Martin Luther King Jr. were perfect, much the same as Christopher Columbus. Why punish these guys eons after they were placed in the grave?

Getting back to the definition of “woke.” I hear this word all the time regarding a certain group of thinkers, and it makes me visualize a mass of half-asleep people trying to make decisions when they’re not fully awake. It’s evident that those trying to erase Columbus Day—still need to wake up and smell the coffee!