Tomorrow is the first student day at the school where I am employed as a school counselor, North Harrison High School.

I say BRING THEM ON!

It is time to get some students in the building.  That is why we put the place there and fill it with fresh air and fresh ideology and fresh hope and freshman, of course.

This is the third year for me at North Harrison. I love the place.  Like every school I have worked in, the first day is filled with optimism and dare I say hope?  I don’t dare say it.  I am saying it.  I work with a great deal of hope for the future.  We have great young people in the North Harrison Community School system.  In the past two weeks I have also witnessed some great parents and grandparents I have met with, emailed with, and talked to on the telephone.  So many of them are on the verge of being apologetic for taking my time.  I tell them that is why I was hired…to help them out.  I made that point when I was interviewed.

The day is framed on two questions:

Morning:  What can I do to help?

Afternoon:  What did I do to help?

I told my dear wife, Carrie, I brought that up in the interview I had for my current position.  She asked if I got that philosophy from Ben Franklin.  I told my dear wife I actually got it walking around the parking lot of the Meijer store in New Albany.  She told me Ben got there before me. To say I felt I was in good company is an understatement.  I always liked that guy, even if he wanted the Wild Turkey to be the National Bird.

When I was a kid, long before folks kept up with what others had for dinner the night before thanks to a facebook post, the first day of school was reunion first.  You looked around to see who was still there.  Invariably a few kids would move never to be heard from again.  I never got to say goodbye to a girl I was sweet on in the 2nd grade.  Her name was Robin Osmond.  She was fun to talk to.  She was lovely to behold.  I remember the day she took my arm like we were going to a cotillion and spoke up to our teacher, Mrs. Bobb, and held up our arms for Mrs. Bobb’s approval.  Mrs. Bobb just shook her head.  I was 8, but I knew Mrs. Bobb wanted to puke.  A part of me wanted to also.

Paul.  Whatever happened to him?  He was there in 4th grade and gone in 5th.  I felt sorry for Paul.  Lord was he forever easy to want to beat the tar out of.  He brought most of his ill on himself.  His mouth and threats that he could not live up to made him a pain in the ass.  But he was a pain in the ass you could not tune out.  Look, I know so many of you are not going to buy in to this story…but it is the truth.  I was the product of Larry and Tressie Johnson.  Jerry Brown was the product of Tom and Gleda Brown.  John Johnson was the product of Pete and Helen Johnson.  Mike Warren was the product of Leroy and Sarah Warren.  These were my friends….you get where I am going with this.  One day in the fourth grade, Paul had his head down and was crying.  I wondered what was wrong. I didn’t want to see him sad.  Another boy looked at me and said his folks were not getting along.  Paul then picked up his red eyes and snotty nose and said, and I can still hear it… “My parents are not getting a DEE-vorce!”  It went through me like a knife. We didn’t even know how to pronounce it.  How provincial is that?   I call it more fortunate than provincial.  I felt so bad for Paul.  I still do.

My how things have changed.  The culture is different these days for sure.  Kids are much more resilient than me and my cronies ever thought about being.  They have to be.  They have adapted to their environments.  They are made to face examinations in academia that I am not sure, beyond politics, measures a single thing.  A test score did not make me care.  A test score made me a statistic.

I think we need to care more and govern with statistics less.  I would hate to think that worrying over a test would ever make me loose sight of Robin and Paul along the way.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

The crowd roared.  Well, perhaps it cheered somewhat.

The Arizona Cardinals just scored the first touchdown of the pre-season.  It is back, football season.  I am glad.  I have already cheated.  I have watched some of the CFL games that started earlier last month.  CFL as in Canadian Football League.  Yes, I am that guy.  If it is a Division III game, I will check it out.

This weekend the newly elected members of Pro Football Hall of Fame get honored.  One of them is a kicker.  I have always had a soft spot for kickers.  Morten Andersen will be only the second kick enshrined in Canton.  Ironically, the other one, Jan Stenerud, like Morten is Scandinavian.  As sad as the thought is, I hope Scandinavian kickers can still get into our country.

The game of football has changed so much in so many ways.  In the 70s if you had a quarterback consistently throwing for 3000 yards you had something.  Drew Brees usually throws for 5000 or better these days.  We still had straight-on kickers….conventional kicking was called…now they are all soccer style kickers.  Some folks probably still call them side-winders.

In the 70s we had two games to watch on Saturday at the most.  ABC had a single man, Dave Diles in the studio giving us the scores on the Fireman’s Fund Flashback.  The games one can acquire on a Saturday these days runs into the teens on typical college football Saturdays,  The question is not what to watch….it is what not to watch?

I don’t tire of watching it.  My pulse just increased a moment ago when the Cowboys connected on a nice pass from Kellen Moore and the guy that caught it.

My friend Brad McCammmon is Cowboys fan.  He is also a Lou Holtz-like poor mouth.  If he thought the Cowboys were going to the Super Bowl he would still tell you he thinks they will be lucky to win four games.

This stuff never gets old for me.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

As a kid I lived at 204 South Jackson Street in Brownstown, Indiana.  It was the last street on the East side of town at the bottom of a slight hill from main street.  West of main street there was much steeper hill.  We had no air conditioning.  We had many shade trees.  And for a week every summer there was, across the corn field or soy bean field, whichever was put in that year, the greatest County Fair in America.  The Jackson County.  All of these things mentioned are still there…except me.  And there is central air in my childhood home now.

As I sit on my back porch this Saturday mid-morning, I reflect on that childhood and a visit my dear wife, Carrie, and I made to that very place just yesterday afternoon.  It was a chance to visit old friends and relive the sounds and sights of my youth and they still seem just as fresh today.

Okay, enough John-Boy Waltonesque sentimentality.  But that was fun to write.

Carrie and I did indeed visit the fair yesterday.  We had a great time.  We ate the German Potato Salad courtesy of the talented cooks from St. Ambrose Church and the burger that is secondary to a usual side…we only get this special tater salad once a year…was very well prepped and tasted f…i…n…e fine.

This is not the St. Ambrose stand…but you may get an idea of where I am speaking of…

There is always plenty of exhibits and live stock to take a gander at.

This little calf at Young McDonald’s Farm was interested in the ducks being cajoled into going down the slide.  This little exhibit is always a fan favorite.  One of the many things you “gotta” see again.  I’m not sure why.

Entries to be judged are always a good look.  The following is a small sample of the things we could be here all day looking at.

I could eat on this sweet tater all week.

Excellent veggies.  Fire up the grill!

Plastic Army men painted and arranged very creatively.  Amen.

Above is a photo of the grandstand of The Brownstown Speedway at the Fairgrounds.  Every Saturday night the cars roll during racing season.  During the fair other events take place here as well.  There was to be a country music concert last night.  Tonight they will be racing.  The Paul Crockett Memorial will be in motion.  Paul gave me my first hair cut.

The old tractors are always worth looking at.   This is a cup out of gallon that were on display.

We stopped and listened to some tunes by some guys, I did not get the group’s name, singing barbershop style.  They sang Sentimental Journey and treated it very well.  Carrie and I certainly enjoyed listening.

The midway is full of excitement.  They had the rides cranking yesterday afternoon and know that this place is PACKED at night.  The sights and sounds are amplified when the multitude of lights take on a new life in the dark of night.  It is awesome.

Sad to say that below is tangible proof that the give’em all a trophy for participating mentality has trickled down to the games of chance/skill along the fair’s midway.  You don’t have to wonder why talking heads in education are now saying students need “grit”.  We took it away from kids when we started handing out trophies like they were M and Ms.

Pardon me while my stomach rallies.

Just like the “hill” at North Harrison High School football games, folks put out their chairs to mark their spot to sit and watch the fair go by of an evening.

In closing I can tell you that the new stadium at Brownstown Central is coming together nicely.

Out with the old.

In with the new.

I was hoping my North Harrison Cougars would be waiting another year to visit this place. The way a revamped schedule works out with new opponents on the schedules, the Cougars make a return visit to BC this year.  When I was thinking of the Cougars schedule a few weeks ago I was thinking about odd year vs. even year.  On odd years we host the Braves.  Not this year.

Go COUGARS!

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

Last Saturday night my dear wife, Carrie, and I witnessed another concert by The Moody Blues.  It was fabulous.  The show was in the iconic Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, TN.  It was the third proper Moodies concert we have seen there.  The others were in 2008, the first time the band played a full concert there, and in 2014.  In 2005 there was a Bluegrass Tribute called Moody Bluegrass.  A proper CD was recorded by some of the best bluegrass pickers in town.  They did a show of the CD at the Ryman in October of 2005. My friend Danners Goins and I attended that one.  I have been blessed.

The photo above was taken at the show Saturday night.   I like the picture.  It reminds me of how in 1991 they had a new album coming out.  I did not know what the album was called before it was released.  Remember, this was before the social media age.  It was a much simpler time on many fronts.  A few nights before the release of the new album I had a dream.  I dreamed that the new album was called “Spirit of the Sky”.  I saw the clouds and how it was spelled out on the cover.  That album was actually called “Keys of the Kingdom”.  But, the back cover featured a cloudy sky similar to what I had seen in my dreams.  I thought that was cool.  All that took on extra-cool status in 2013 when Justin Hayward, the lead singer, the guy who wrote “Nights in White Satin”, released a solo album called “Spirits of the Western Sky”.   And now I have this picture from what I think will be the last Moody Blues concert I will ever see.  Maybe not.  Just a hunch.  That, and I explained a few weeks ago, I have some serious writing in the works that will take much of my artistic energy.

I saw my first Moodies concert in 1986 when I was 18.  I’ll be 50 next March.  Do I know how to pick a favorite group or what?  Fortunately the band filmed a concert in Toronto that featured a full orchestra and a CD and DVD of the show will be here before Christmas I am told.

Carrie and I had a good time in Nashville; it was forever hot.

A visit to this store is always in order.  I found a Marshall Chapman CD that was dedicated to our friend Tim Krekel.  Tim played on a couple of the songs…sang a little on it too.  So glad to mine a nugget like this that allows me to hear something new that has Tim on it.  I sure miss him.  So does Marshall Chapman.  The CD is called “The Big Lonesome”.   It is a fine collection of tunes.

The Ryman, oh the pews we sat in at the concert in the balcony are 1897 pieces.  The place is unreal.

So are some other things…unreal.

The Ole Miss Rebels have fallen on even harder times.  I am speaking of their football program.  It is not good.  Hopefully the players will press onward.  If ever there was a time the salaries paid to college football coaches seem a little out of whack, something like what Ole Miss is going through will bring out some talk.

The Ole Miss downfall would all seem much worse than it does if we had a tighter grip on a moral compass.  Washington, DC is loosening that grip by the hour, led by Mr. Reality TV and his string of “stay tuned” tweets.

Better days are ahead, aren’t they?

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Oh my.  This is harder than it was nearly three years ago.

speaktherights.com was in its fledgling stages in October and November of 2014.  Just four months in.  Today we mark post #350.

In a month’s time, between October 25 and the end of November 2014, I chronicled my grandmother’s sickness (leukemia) and her final days on these pages.  I rarely look back at anything I have written here.  I wish there was time.  I wish I cared more.  But now and again when I am feeling wistful and think about Granny, I look back at those posts from 2014.  Wow.  Time flies.

Two days ago my Dad was in my garage.  My Granny’s stuff, what is left of it, has been sitting in a corner of my garage since she passed away.  Granny died in Ramsey, Indiana.  She was buried in Shreveport, Louisiana.  Me, nor my siblings, attended her funeral in Shreveport.  We did participate in a wonderful memorial service I chronicled on these pages.  What my siblings and I did after that memorial service was clean Granny’s apartment while Mom and Dad were in Shreveport.

On Tuesday, Dad looked at and kept for his keeping many photos and artifacts Granny had left behind.

He took his time inspecting many a fine treasure and few pieces of junk.

Believe me, Granny kept everything.

I am glad she did.  This old boy found some treasures.  One was a 1966 Woodlawn High School (Shreveport) High School Football Program.  Can you imagine having one high school where a 4 time Super Bowl Champ and NFL Hall of Famer would be followed by a future NFLer that played longer than his high school predecessor.  It happened.  These were those players.

I think Joe Ferguson, he handed the ball to O.J. Simpson in 1973 when O.J. was the first player to gain 2000 or more yards in a season, finished his career as an Indianapolis Colt.  He played a LONG time.

I also found this historical artifact…and was humbled by it.

My Granny always loved football.  Thankfully, my Mom mailed her newspaper clippings of her son, my Dad, who coached football at both Brownstown Central and North Harrison High School.  My dear friend Jim Brown is featured in one article here.  It was written by Jim Plump.  He too is a good guy.

Enjoy.  I sure have.

Oh, the ELO played at Hirsch Coliseum in 1978 and the tickets were $8.50.

I’ll tell you what I have always told my students: WE ARE NOT HERE TO HAVE A BAD TIME.

I do know that I am blessed in this category….but I believe it to be true.

Last order of business…

I am taking my dear wife, Carrie, to Nashville this weekend to The Ryman Auditorium to see The Moody Blues.  I need her to see the Days of Future Passed show.  It is amazing.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

My dear wife, Carrie, and I are paying a visit to Bloomington, Indiana.  We are near the campus of Indiana University.  We have been blessed with wonderful weather for the middle of July in a place that you never know what you are going to get with weather.

The Sample Gates taken yesterday.

This photo is a post card of shot.  Carrie hit a homer with this picture.

This one isn’t so bad either.

The Fountain near the Lilly Library and the IU Auditorium.

For lunch today we went to Mother Bear’s Pizza on 3rd Street.  It was a fine meal.

My pizza was a nod to Alabama Football.  It was called the Tuscaloosa Touchdown.  It is the one without the tomatoes.  It has pork BBQ and it was great.  The cheese was the truth.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Adjustments…they are not always easy…not always a picnic.  I am cursing my way through adjusting to a different laptop to do some of my work on, including this very post.  The computer I have been using for over two years now…my dear wife, Carrie, used it much longer before that.  I am using a smaller version of a laptop.  It has its merits.  It has yet to win my writing heart.

Adjustments are part of it.  I know some friends that are going through some adjustments with their career choices.  You know that old adage “when it rains it pours”?  For some reason I know many going through career changing choices right now.  I know it is not easy.  Believe me, I made one two years ago.  I am very glad that I did.  It was best for many I think.

Sometimes you just have to fly away from the nest.  This segue courtesy of a photo I took two days ago.  Every year there is a small bird that hatches a few smaller ones of its own kind, I don’t know what kind of bird it is. Ornithology was never my forte.  But I do know to count on these birds finding their way to learn how to fly first in our screened-in porch and then two days later finding their way into the back yard and then on to who knows where.

This is inside the porch.  Still looking for something to eat.

The fuzzy head is quite the sight.

There is Mom on the clothesline pole keeping an eye on both of us. I think she knows we are harmless.  Why else would she keep coming back?

Speaking the rights and fighting a puny new keyboard…

Danny Johnson

Mississippi Revisited

This was originally posted in 2017.  I need to add an addendum here.  Look, I have been a blessed man.  I know that.  Today, I wish I could have been in Mississippi to say goodbye to my Aunt Authula Crout.  I’m not sad.  She was 95.  She lived a life most of us would dream of living.  Simple.  True.  Loving.  Tough.  Honest.  Classy.  Funny.  My Aunt Authula was all of those things and more than I will know.  Aunt Thula’s funeral was held today. I wish I could have been there to hug the necks of Janet, Boobi Sue, Joyce, and Doyle (Fred Biletnikoff)…an inside joke.  I love them all so.  I have been in Indiana my entire life.  My sojourns to Mississippi are too sweet to mention.

This was the last time I saw Aunt Thula in December of 2019.

From 2017…

A few days ago my dear wife, Carrie, my sister, Lynn, and my niece, Katie, visited family members in Mississippi. It was the first time we had been there since 2013 and that is shameful. As much running around as Carrie and I do, we need not wait four more years to get back. I say it again, it is shameful.

We had a great time. It was a wonderful visit. It always works out that way even when Carrie and I are walking at 8 in the morning to get a little exercise and the bright sun there is already strong enough to take the hide off of you. How do they practice football in this, I asked. I know…they are used to it. I am not. But that is not to say that I do not like it. The air there is much more kind to my pipes that the crud we are relagated to breathe in and out in Southern Indiana. Like the Berkshires, I’ll take the Mississippi air to take in and out any day, sun or no sun.

We saw Uncle Stanley and Aunt Reat. They are in a nursing home in Morton, Mississippi. Neither one of them can get around too well. Uncle Stanley can make out what you have to say to him if you can keep your voice long enough to do it. You have to speak up a great deal. Though he can’t hear and can’t see very well, he still has his wit about him. He was the only one on the visit to bring up the political spectrum in this country. Pleasantly, we agreed on the dim horizon from “left” to “right”.

Aunt Reat is an inspiration. She told us she never thought she would ever be in the spot she is in…in a nursing home. She was then quick to bring out the fact that many others there have it much worse than she does and that she is thankful and still has a great deal to live for. She is tough. It was hard to say goodbye to them. She’ll be 90 her next birthday.

We also had a visit with Aunt Barbara. This is another self-procliamed “tough old sister”. That is what she said in 1989 when it started to rain at an Ole Miss-Arkansas football game she and I were attending. I asked if she wanted to find cover. She set me straight.

Aunt Barbara’s husband, my Uncle Durwood Hines, was the first of the 17 brothers and sisters born to W.E. and Levi Jane Hines to leave us. He died of a brain tumor in April of 1988…April 18th to be exact. I know where I was when I got the call from my mother that day.
We still talk football, Aunt Barbara and I do. She still works fulltime. She will be 82 in less than a month. We also enjoy taking in a meal together. We ate catfish on Tuesday night at a place called The Cock of the Walk along the Ross Barnett Resevoir not far from Jackson. It was a feast. The best fresh water fish in the world.

Our last stop was at Uncle Carlton and Aunt Wanda’s house. Carlton Hines is the youngest of the 17 Hines children. He is 70 these days. He does not look it. I have all his white hair. He and I have a shared interest in music and football and we held forth on both subjects with earnest vigor sitting on his back deck while the ladies shared stories inside. It was an old-fashioned meeting of sorts. Carrie did come out to join us eventually. Our time there went by so quickly it is sad.

If there is one constant in geography and personage, it is a country road, maybe Old Hillsboro Rd, I really am not quite completely certain and I don’t have to be because I know the way. It is the same road that my parents drove on to the same house we visited in the 1970s,80s, 90s, 2000s, 10s. Five decades rolling up to the same house.

My Aunt Authula moved into this house in 1952. He her husband, Everett Crout, planted Sycamores in 1953. They are prominent on the property today along with an array of other tall and wide trees including Oak, Magnolia, Pine, and others I don’t know quite as well. My leaf collection was puny in the 9th grade Biology.

I do know I shot some ball on this hoop as a child.

Only in Mississippi could I get artsy with a basketball goal.

The back of the house.

Aunt Authula will be 91 this month. Like the house she still lives in, though Uncle Evertt passed many years ago, the place is still like it was in so many ways when I was young. There is a peaceful sensibility about the front porch where my Grandaddy Hines dipped snuff and took note of the weather. It is the Ryman Auditorium of front porches to me. I considered it a hallowed spot.

So does Carl. Carl, you are in the midst of greatness. I hope you appreciate it.
And so it goes. Mississippi is as sweet as ever. A much better place than given credit for or understood. But I suppose you have to know a thing or two to appreciate it, like anything else. Thank God I know what I know. Hope I can hang on to it, even if only in my mind.
Speaking the Mississippi rights…
Danny Johnson

That is the one.  This is the tape….that still plays by the way, a testament to the staying power of the music.  I bought it in March of 1983 on my 15th birthday.  I held it up Saturday Night before I witnessed a great concert by The Moody Blues.  The first set was a collection of hits and a couple should have been hits.  The second set was The Moody Blues performing, in its entirety, “Days of Future Passed” which is the band’s first album released in 1967.  That would be 50 years.  How?  I have no idea.  But it sounded better than ever at The Fraze Pavilion just South of Dayton where a capacity crowd responded in kind with strong ovations after each song. This was for good reason.  My sister, Lynn, attending her first Moodies concert, reluctantly became a fan quickly.  Her question after the show:  “Are they always this good?”  My answer:  “Why do you think I keep coming back?”

When you are fifteen and pick a cassette up from an end-cap bin filled with artists and songs from multiple countries, styles, and genres, you hope you picked up something you had to pay for that would be worth it.  Check that off the list.  What I did, I know I have written about it before, is pick up the cassette shown above and read it.  I saw the reference to the song “Nights in White Satin” and I told myself I know that song…I think this would be cool.  I enjoyed The Moodies in solitude and anonymity for long time.  My friends didn’t get it.  I didn’t care.  They’re my ears.

I was 18 when I attended my first Moody Blues concert at The Louisville Gardens in 1986, the same year the band scored a top ten hit with “Your Wildest Dreams” as I was graduating from high school.  This was good timing. I have appreciated their work ever since.

Justin Hayward playing the 6-string Gibson and John Lodge playing the Fender.  Let’s not forget Julie Ragins playing a keyboard in the background.  Along with drummer Graeme Edge, an original member, the three Moody Blues are ably helped out on stage by drummer Billy Ashbaugh, Norda Mullen on flute, guitar, and vocals, and Alan Hewitt on keyboards and backing vocals.  Oh yes, Julie also sings harmony, plays guitar, and sax.  She stays busy.

My gut tells me this is the last tour I will see of The Moody Blues….at least for a while.  Why?  Well, it is NOT because of the age of anyone.  The Moodies are all in their 70s and I will be quick to point out that has less to do with it than my own age (49) and my own endeavors.

I began singing and recording songs around 2000.  I took a three year hiatus from attending Moody Blues concerts or much of any concerts for that matter.  Why?  I was hearing my own music and I just didn’t feel the urge to hear something else, to invest my time and sensibilities on other sounds.  Not sure what that sounds like…but it is the best way I can describe it.  And I feel I am there again.  I finished a recording project this year.  I am still rather into it.  But this time what is tugging at me is writing some prose…that  and I still feel compelled to grab my guitar to write another song.   I give it all I have got.  That is why it works.  That, and I am blessed to be associated and surrounded by musical folks who understand me and my music and we make it work very well.

The Moody Blues music was my music…until I picked up a guitar and started making “my” music.  I write rockers, ballads, rootsies, spirituals, and whatever hits the brain and the finger tips.  This is a very good thing.

I fell in love with sound of Billy Swan’s “I Can Help” at age six and played and recorded years later with a member of his band.  Tim Krekel played the guitar riff I fell in love with in 1974.  I wish I could explain it.  I can’t.  That may be the best thing I can say about it all.

That and thank you to The Moody Blues.  I’m not sure….but I think I get ya.

Fraze 2017

Ryman 2014

Speaking the music rights…

Danny Johnson

I did not walk today.  In the previous 7 days I walked 38 miles.  This morning I settled on some time lifting and 2 miles on the elliptical and two miles on the stationary bike.  Why did I walk so much?  Two reasons:  trying to maintain a better habit of health.  Though I walked a great deal on our trip to the Northeast, I also ate a whole lot more than I usually do.  Lobsters rolls that I eat are the truth and they include real bread and PLENTY of real butter.  Also there is a nice country store near where we stay that carries not only all the papers one would want to read but also a crumble cake concoction that is unreal.  Also I have been taking advantage of the cool temperatures and the low humidity that came with it.  Have mercy that was good walking weather.  Felt almost like The Berkshires in the Rolling Hills here.

Next week my dear wife, Carrie, and my sister, Lynn, and her daughter, Katie, are going to see relatives in Mississippi for a few days.  This is always a good time.  I am looking forward to it.  I think it was 2013 the last time we were down there for our family reunion in October.  That is good times.

Watching the healthcare debate in Washington has been a strong lesson to younger folks as to what NOT to do when you grow up to be a politician.  Be he or she Republican, Libertarian, Democrat, or Independent,  the office of the president of the USA is not a place to be cutting your political teeth.  That is what we are dealing with.  Clue vs. No clue.  We have a Commander in Tweet and that is about the size of it.  Look, I got a license to say this.  I am a Republican and we lost our chance when John Kasich got turned away.  No one should be shocked that any of this is not working out well.  When Mitch McConnell announced to the world that his intent was to see President Obama fail, Mitch failed the country and what comes around goes around.  Power and greed are alive and well in this country, otherwise we would have a chance to have a real leader in the White House.

If you  have insurance and you need to go to physical therapy to get yourself in better working order because you care about yourself and your loved ones, you better TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOUR OPPORTUNITY before the chance is taken away.

One of my favorite writers shared with me his support for Donald Trump and called him amoral in the same sentence.  He said it was up to those around him to shape him up.  Well, I don’t think there is time for that.

I have said it before and I will say it again.  We are back to the 1960s again.  The kids that couldn’t get along in the Summer of Love are still fighting…and a country weakens all over again.  Is there enough resolve to do the right thing?  At what point will honesty still matter?  I am not a big fan of the news outlets that pander to the left or the right.  But I do get a sense we are dealing with a little Pravdaesque treatment from an administration that really doesn’t do much administrating.  The White House is whiter than ever.  The whitewash is in full flower and the painted constituents look like photo negatives of the flower children.

Pardon me while I listen to The Moody Blues album Days of Future Passed.  Both sides know a good thing from 1967 when they hear it.  We could use some more of that today.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson