Winging It

Mrs. Linklater rarely cooks anymore. She microwaves. So preparing a 20-pound turkey for this most recent Thanksgiving was a trip down memory lane -- an electric Kool-Aid acid test of her ever diminishing recall. 
          Back in the saddle again, thoughts of turkeys past danced in her head. The ones she cooked upside down. The ones she cooked right side up. The ones she grilled. The ones she brined. The one she won in a raffle. The 18-pounder that her sister-in-law's brother cooked in just under an hour in a deep fat fryer, positioned next to the swimming pool, just in case. The ones she infused or injected, stuffed or didn't stuff, basted with butter or broth, slathered in maple syrup, coated in Jim Beam, or sloshed with brandy or wine. 
          Having spent Thanksgiving as someone's out of town guest for the last fifteen years or more, Mrs. Linklater couldn't wait to mash her own potatoes, make her own gravy, and share the prep with her older daughter, who took charge of the dressing. The day was so successful, Mrs. Linklater feels compelled to share her tips for this classic American meal.       
          
7:00 AM -- Do pre-turkey carbo dumping.
Drive to location of the annual 10k Turkey Trot to watch older daughter run in the race. Stamp feet to stay warm and burn 6.2 miles of fat by association. Bring Flip Cam to capture start and finish. 

   RACE START: Person in the purple hoody wearing sunglasses is DNA positive

• TIP: Remember to check and see if the camera is actually turned on when attempting to shoot video of the FINISH. Or you will get stuff like this when you think it's off and record nothing at all when you think it's on:

12:30 PM -- Get the turkey into the oven 1/2 hour late. To do this properly, stop first at Starbuck's after the race. Then pick up some stuff from Mrs. L's house before going to her daughter's. 

• TIP: Don't forget to bring a meat thermometer, even if you think your daughter already has one, because she probably doesn't. Mrs. Linklater planned to cook the turkey using the high heat method -- 500° until the meat thermometer says it's done. No basting, no stuffing, no muss, no fuss. But, oops, forgot the meat thermometer.  


• TIP: Read the directions for cooking again: Extremely high heat also requires a heavy duty stainless steel pan and Mrs. Linklater's untamed frugality had already settled on a lightweight aluminum pan on sale for $2.00. 
           So instead of risking an aluminum pan meltdown at 500° she lowered the oven temp to 450° instead. Couldn't hurt. But when she checked the bird after an hour, it was already looking as browned as it ought to be when it's done. Forgetting her years of previous poultry prowess, she panicked, covered the entire bird with aluminum foil and dropped the temperature to 325°, where it stayed for the next three hours until the bird was done -- according to the turkey leg squeeze and the joint pull test, if you'll pardon an expression. But, just in case, Mrs. L sliced into the meat anyway. Boy was it juicy. Terrified this was too good to be true, and the bird might be raw farther inside, she turned off the oven, leaving the turkey to cook some more in the last remaining degrees of heat. Meanwhile, there was no room yet on the counter, with all the slicing and dicing for the side dishes. 


1:30 -3:30 PM -- Prep the side dishes. Mrs. Linklater suddenly remembered what it was like to prepare family meals every night instead of once a year, the way it should be. After chopping apples and parsley for her daughter's sausage/apple/cranberry dressing with almonds but without the sausage, then cutting the rye and wheat bread into semi-perfect little cubes and drying them out in the oven, and stopping to taste her daughter's delicious herb concoction to flavor the dressing [this sentence is getting so long Mrs. L must pause to take a breath], before finishing with a flourish by slicing a pound of mushrooms, cutting off the ends of a boatload of green beans, making broth with the giblets, and peeling three pounds of potatoes -- okay it could have been worse -- Mrs. Linklater lay down and watched football for an hour. She has no memory of which game.


• TIP: You can eat pretzels lying on your back without choking. Those mini pretzels are perfect for absorbing the saliva which begins to build in anticipation of the best meal of the year when you're watching TV. And they sit comfortably on your stomach. I'm just sayin'.


3:30 -4:30 PM -- Set the table. CAUTION: If you have pets, do not do this the night before. Nothing like finding a kitty with its ass in the middle of a plate. 


• TIP: Take everything that you bought in cans and jars and put it all into serving dishes so there is the appearance of homemade. 


4:30 - 6:00 -- Assemble the food. Do not worry about little spills if you have dogs. But, have a taser ready if the turkey lands on the floor. Speaking of the turkey, first take the bird out of the roasting pan so you can make gravy from the mess of burnt stuff on the bottom of the pan. 
           Hoisting the turkey from pan to platter is possibly the most dangerous move you can make on Thanksgiving. Mrs. Linklater knows there are no shortcuts to this frightening procedure, short of jamming your fist into the cavity and grabbing the neck with your other hand. But don't ask me to eat any of that stuffing when you're done. 
          The second most dangerous move is screwing up the gravy. If you made your turkey bouillon the Julia Childs' way by dredging the giblets in flour and browning them in butter and shallots first, then adding a bottle of red wine before filling up the rest of the saucepan with water, your gravy will be a lovely golden brown without too much effort. This year Mrs. Linklater' gravy did not reach its full potential. While it tasted fine, it lacked a certain je ne sais quoi, no doubt because some people, who shall remain nameless, refused to share the "drinking wine."
          Sweet potatoes or yams are required on every Thanksgiving menu. It doesn't matter which one you cook, because nobody can tell them apart anyway. Fortunately, you can disguise the orange taste with brown sugar and butter. You're also expected to bury them under a layer of those annoying tiny marshmallows. Or you can break with tradition. Make a topping by warming an entire jar of Marshmallow Fluff with a half cup of butter; pour it over the sweet potato/yam mixture, sprinkle with pecans, and heat in the oven for about fifteen minutes. Or, just eat the Fluff straight out of the jar to save time. And skip the pecans. Either way, you will spare everyone all those eensy-beensy marshmallows.  
          Green bean casserole has become an American cliche. Fight it. Use fresh, whole green beans, saute real mushrooms, and toss it all with real bacon bits you cooked yourself and didn't get from a jar, along with a hefty amount of Marie's Ranch Dressing. IF YOU MUST, throw on some fried onions, which now have the audacity to come in a holiday can. 
          When she was matrimonially impaired, Mrs. Linklater used to prepare her MIL's spinach souffle. Used to. She also stepped in oyster stuffing a couple of times. However, she has yet to understand the fascination with food that looks like it's been thrown up. 
          Rolls. Save them for sandwiches the next day. Seriously. 
          Salad? Are you insane? You probably want Stilton and a lovely port after dinner, too. 
          On the other hand, my favorite grocery store makes cranberry chutney every year. It's so good they should sell it. Oh wait, they do. No more jellied cranberry sauce with the telltale tin can marks for me, even though, along with the green bean casserole, it has become an American past time.
         
• TIP: Make sure the bowl you use to whip the mashed potatoes is deep enough to keep potato spew from hitting all the appliances on the counter. Especially when you add an entire package of cream cheese and a stick of butter. Or cheese or chives or garlic or anything else. 


• TIP: Have someone else wash the dishes. And remember to take a Zantac before you put the turkey in. Now's a little late.
         
8:30 PM or so -- slice a nice piece of pie that someone else made or bought at Baker's Square and top with a dollop of whipped cream. Serve with or without coffee.  Mrs. Linklater enjoyed a wedge of both pumpkin and pecan pie with caramel flavored whipped cream that was really and truly tasty. Naturally there will always be some people who like to make their own pies. Show off! Mrs. Linklater actually considered making an old fashioned mince pie from scratch once, until she read the recipe, "First, kill a sheep. . ."


Next time -- what to do with those boiled giblets, especially the neck, which looks so much like something Lorena Bobbit tossed out a window.  


Well, that's it for Mrs. Linklater's timeless cooking tips for a truly American Thanksgiving meal. Hope yours was as retrograde as hers.  

The Ryan Gosling Effect

Apparently this is Ryan Gosling week at Mrs. Linklater's. Thanks to Netflix, I'm watching all things Gosling to see what the hoopla is all about. Clearly something happened to the nerdy football player in Remember the Titans to propel him into stupefyingly studly status. Seriously, he couldn't have played a bigger dork in that flick. Granted, he was barely shaving back then, but talk about awkward.
          Keep in mind, when Mrs. Linklater starts making rash remarks about subjects outside her limited area of expertise, simply consider the source. So, if my assessment of Ryan Gosling seems unduly harsh at first, remember I thought Josh Hartnett was really good the first time I saw him. 

         Speaking of blank pages, er, Josh, the boy from Minnesota could use a Mike Nichols-directed movie to goose his lame-ass career. Ann Margret was twirling down the drain after a slew of bad movies until Carnal Knowledge. Nichols' skills revealed the latent acting talent that other, less competent directors flat-out missed when they were no doubt blinded by her augmented titolas. The Hartnett boy could use a jolt of Nichols' ability to elicit good performances. I think he's got one. Or there's always voiceover work. 

           Where was I? My groundbreaking research into Ryan Gosling's grip on cinema began by watching Half Nelson, an overrated, self-indulgent indy film that asked the question, "What's going to become of a drug-fueled junior high history teacher who drives his latch key student home from school?" Not much, it turns out. But, he and co-star Shareeka Epps managed to overcome a very beige, rinse and repeat script with some prime time acting, worthy of several nominations/wins for both. Score one for Mr. Gosling.
          Last night, after I refused to pay money to see The Notebook in theaters six or seven years ago, I finally watched it on my computer. After suffering through Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep stumbling through the Bridges of Madison County in 1995, I vowed not to get sucked into the maelstrom of mawk ever again. Just the thought of reading the books that spawned these movies gives me diabetes. 
          Shockingly, The Notebook didn't suck, even with a story that tiptoed on the edge of Karo syrup -- a chick flick for the ages. I kept waiting to hate the script and never did. Sam Shepherd is as real as it gets. James Garner never misses. Gena Rowlands is the mother of us all. And James Marsden is just four inches short of worldwide domination.  They were the solid bricks and mortar supporting the movie. Interesting that The Notebook won a "best feature film casting award" from CSA. 
          Nicholas Sparks' wife's grandparents had actually lived this impossibly romantic fairy tale, it turns out. [You can learn things during the commentary.] Nothing like treacle that's true. But the story is only as good as the performances. As much as I hate to admit it, Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams melted the celluloid together. There wasn't a scene between those two that wasn't lit from within. Both were present and accounted for every second.
          The two of them practically swept the Teen Choice Awards in categories that guarantee immortality for boy gets girl movies: Choice male and female, Choice breakout male, Choice chemistry, Choice dance scene, Choice love scene, Choice liplock. And Best kiss and Best female performance from MTV. 
         Ryan Gosling wastes nothing on screen. His gestures and expressions are all in service of the moment. You can read a book by the light in his eyes. Even his stillness communicates as much or more as when he speaks. If young love is now a genre, he defines the category. Score another one for Mr. Gosling. The geek is all grown up. 
          Now I've got a bunch of his other flicks to watch. Let's see if his performances hold up to Mrs. Linklater's squinty-eyed scrutiny. Inquiring minds will want to know.  

UPDATE: Not that she's hooked or anything, but so far Mrs. Linklater has added Blue Valentine, The Believer, Stay, Fracture, All Good Things, The Ides of March, and Crazy, Stupid, Love to her Ryan Gosling repertoire. She owns Lars and the Real Girl and Remember the Titans. Drive, Murder by Numbers and The Slaughter Rule are in her queue. He should win somebody's best actor for Blue Valentine. Stay is a film student's wet dream visually, a nightmare otherwise. His talent is wasted in Fracture and All Good Things, even Ides of March. But the boy is brilliant in Crazy, Stupid, Love. Dan Fogelman's dialog between Ryan and Emma Stone, the first time he tries to pick her up, is as fast and slick as anything Aaron Sorkin tossed out during Social Network. I'm waiting for "You look photoshopped!" to go viral. And Gosling fans around the world no doubt noticed that he gained some well placed L.B.s for the part. BTW, are Gosling fans Goslings? I got bitchslapped by The Believer. If they gave a retroactive Oscar/Golden Globe for best actor, that performance would definitely be on my list. Meanwhile, I have been trying to see Drive in a theater, but it's on its way to DVD land and the closest theater was sixty miles away, so I *sigh* have to wait. 

UPDATE PART DEUX: I had to buy Drive to see it. And it was worth every extra penny I scraped together to afford Best Buy's ridiculous retail prices. I also got out my copies of Lars and the Real Girl plus Remember the Titans and spent the evening in a threesome with Mr. Gosling. Ha. I crack myself up. 
          

"Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor BLAH BLAH BLAH. . ."

I don't know about your post office, but there have been some noticeable changes at mine. I'm not talking about the longer hours for no extra pay, or fewer mail carriers. I'm talking about the service. Not that I would deign to suggest that there's a link between less people, more work, no additional compensation, and worse service. Not me. 
          Regardless, in September I noticed that my mail was suddenly being delivered after four in the afternoon. Or later. So far, the latest delivery has been after 6:00 PM. I don't know exactly when the mail arrived, but I left at six and got home at eight, only to discover mail in my mailbox. That's not just late, that's tomorrow. 
          However, I figured I could cut the PO some slack because of the belt tightening. Plus all the old mail carriers had been replaced by a bunch of different ones, a ragtag bunch, if you ask me. Like one of the movies where there's a difficult mission that could end in death, so they choose all the misfits for the job. That bunch. 
          So even though they are trained professionals and my neighborhood is laid out in a perpendicular grid that an idiot could figure out, they might not be familiar with the routes yet. Assuming they care. 
          Along with the late deliveries, I also noticed there are days when I get no mail at all. In the thirty years I've lived in my town, that's never happened until now. Except on holidays, of course. Usually there's enough junk mail to load up my mailbox any day of the week. 
          Then mail began to disappear selectively. In September I was expecting a refund check from The Lock Up. But it never arrived. On the other hand it was never cashed. So another check had to be cut. Since that one wasn't sent to my house, I got it. 
          In October I just found out another check was sent from a different company. I never got that one either. They told me they will be sending a second one today. It should arrive on Monday or Tuesday. Maybe.
          A couple of days ago I got a whole bunch of mail intended for someone else. It included catalogs and letters, about eight in all. Over the years a single letter or magazine might get delivered to my house by mistake, but not the entire delivery. The number was correct, but the street was wrong. 
          Today I called the post office with my "concerns". As soon as I told the new postmaster what was going on, he had me talk to the supervisor in charge of delivery. I told her about the late deliveries, the days when there was no mail, the mis-delivered mail and the missing checks. I told her I was concerned that someone may be targeting my mailbox. 
          What I'm really concerned about is incompetent or even integrity-challenged new mail carriers. Mail carriers who aren't delivering the mail, but dumping it somewhere. Or delivering it to the wrong address. Or just taking the mail, although no attempt has been made to cash my checks. There's also the possibility that someone is getting my mail by mistake and throwing it out, or worse. 
          So I did something I shouldn't have done. I told the delivery supervisor when the check is supposed to be delivered. Any bets on my chances of getting that check now? She said she would put a watch on my mail. I wonder how that's done? 
          "Okay, everyone -- watch out for Mrs. Linklater's mail. She's expecting a check." 
Update to follow.    


UPDATE: Check arrived unscathed. Other checks still nowhere to be found. Also, mail is arriving BEFORE noon. And something comes every day. Hmm, I guess it pays to call with complaints.         
          

Why is Ryan Gosling's Fly Open?

I have a lot of DVDs. Not as many as some. But more than others. I bought most of them at the many Blockbuster Four [previewed] DVDs for $20 sales -- first because I like to watch movies more than once, so why not own them? Secondly, because they were cheap. 
          But now that I've watched some of them more than ten times [Blade Runner director's cut anyone?] I'm suddenly hooked on the bonus features. Particularly the feature where the director, or the director and various other people attached to the movie, comment on it, while we're all watching it together.
          I just watched Gladiator that way. Needless to say, I still love that movie. But I have been dying to know how the opening battle was filmed. Everything about it looks so different from the rest of the movie. I wondered if it was shot in 16 mm because it seemed so grainy. How much of the unusual, almost pixilated effect was done in post? I was curious about the unusual look of the entire sequence. Somebody tell me. So when I heard the director of photography and the editor introducing themselves as the movie began, I got all excited in an educational way. Enough to put down my pretzels and dip. But Ridley Scott was also on board, and the other guys turned into toadies from the get-go. I hardly heard them speak at all. And Ridley was all about giving the actors their props. Russell Crowe was perfect.[YES] Connie Nielsen was perfect. [Sorry, I thought she was just WRONG but I was impressed that she had more knowledge of the Roman Empire than the experts hired as consultants]. Joaquin Phoenix was perfect with white makeup and something to make his eyes dark and brooding.[YES. He should have won the best supporting actor, but no one realized how well he was acting. Everyone thought he was just playing himself.] Oliver Reed was also perfect, albeit dead before filming was completed. 
          But, the only thing worthwhile that anyone said about the crazy battle at the beginning was when the DP mentioned, almost in passing, that they shot it at 6 to 8 frames a second. Really? That's it? What kind/speed of film did you use? Did you push it? What kind of lenses? Talk to me Antonio or whatever your name was. Everyone knows that the only people who listen to the commentary over the movie are film students and people like me who have no life. So TALK about how you made the movie, already. And Ridley, don't spend all your time giving tongue to people like the guy who positioned the chair that's out of focus in the background in one of the tents. I don't give a rip. 
          Two Weeks Notice, which should have had hilarious commentary with the director, Marc Lawrence, joined by Sandy "Bollocks" and her pal, Hugh Grant, was a dud. The only laugh moment I had was when Sandy made fun of Hugh for pronouncing "renaissance" as "renn-A-sanse," instead of "rennaSONSE," which was pretty silly of him. But soooooo British.  
          I've watched Groundhog Day every Groundhog Day since it came out. And more. Fifteen, maybe twenty times. I finally watched it with director/co-writer Harold Ramis commenting. With nobody to stop him, he had an annoying habit of giving us the line that was about to be said and then saying it along with the actor, so it was like hearing an echo. And one time he even said, "I think this is some great dialog, probably because I wrote it." Then he proceeded to speak it along with Bill Murray. 
          One bit he did was funny the first three times, but the fourth time he said, "Have I told you that I kept the coat that he's [Murray] wearing?" -- it smelled of old socks. He also has a thing about Andie MacDowell. I was somewhat embarrassed to hear that he would forget to say "cut" because he was so mesmerized by her natural beauty or whatever magic she holds over him.
          I recently watched Lars and the Real Girl again. That was a quirky, sweet, and strangely philosophical movie. So I was hoping for some fun bonus features. Ryan Gosling stayed in character with the anatomically correct "Bianca" sitting next to him for an interview, which was very funny, but I was disappointed there was no director commentary. The director needed to 'splain himself, because I noticed two weird things in the movie, not that having a blow up doll for a leading lady didn't qualify. First I noticed a lot of pink everywhere -- clothing, flowers, an entire bedroom, even a pink bowling ball that Ryan Gosling used. What was that all about? And the other odd detail was that Ryan's fly was open more than once. I even went back to check. Yep, not real obvious, but that zipper was in the down position. Maybe that's why there's no director's commentary.
          George Clooney's director commentary for Good Night, and Good Luck, with his good friend, co-writer, and producer, Grant Heslov, is rich with information and punctuated with his deadpan humor. The film was shot on color stock with a virtually black and white set, then transferred to black and white film afterward. They didn't have an actor play Senator McCarthy. Instead they used archival footage of the HUAC hearings with McCarthy's actual ravings and rantings at the witnesses and later, at the media. Ironically, there were people in some audiences who complained that the actor who played McCarthy was too over the top, not knowing they were seeing the real McCoy. 
          Clooney deadpans a riff about treating women on the set the way women were treated back in the fifties, along with several funny asides about the people he worked with. At one point, when Heslov mocks Clooney's second grade artistic skills, he replies, "Second grade was the best six years of my life." 
          Another favorite director in this soon-to-be-up-for-an-award genre of director commentary was J.J. Abrams who was joined by a hooting and laughing gaggle of actors, special effects peeps, ADs, DPs, and a couple of relatives or two. They dealt out a lot of trivia and had as much fun as you would expect a bunch of thirty-somethings to have, sitting around ragging on each other.
          Probably my favorite bonus feature of all time was for Hot Shots Part Deux. From years ago. No director commentary. But the documentary with Charlie Sheen was hysterical. He did it all in character. Unfortunately, that was on the VHS version and I wonder if it's on the DVD? 
          Once again, Mrs. Linklater has the courage to ask the difficult questions.            

"I've never met anyone so old who had a blog."

She looks like a young Kat Von D. She stands very tall in her ridiculously high heels. Her body is tattooed. Her hair is dyed black. Her eyes are rimmed in black eyeliner. One of her nostrils is pierced. And her lips are painted blood red. The effect is porn star pretty. 
          She attended an art school for awhile, but quit. She says she's sorry she quit. Oops. Meanwhile, she's now attending a film/media/performing arts college. I wonder when she'll quit that, too. She seems like a quitter. The kind of girl who gets bored with something or has an assignment due, so she quits, forgetting that one of these days she is going to run out of time, money, drugs, her overinflated sense of entitlement, and have to get a job. 
          She was introduced to me as someone who wanted to get into the music business. Like I could help. Apparently her experience includes a boyfriend in a rock 'n' roll band. So I mistakenly thought that meant she could compose music. Nope. She writes lyrics. Given her appearance and vocabulary, I decided she had confused banging the band with banging out lyrics. Of course, there might have been that one time when everybody got stoned and she helped the guys rhyme "cocaine" with "rain." 
          But, there was no way I could help her, especially with the rock 'n' roll end of the music business. My connections only go as far as the jingle lyrics I've written and the music I've produced to go with those lyrics, which were all for radio and tv commercials. So unless she wanted to get into writing for advertising, which requires a modicum of intelligence I did not see on display, I couldn't hook her up.  
          I don't know how we got to talking about blogs, but we did. She says she has one, but during our brief meeting, I could tell by the way she talked that 1] she wasn't funny and 2] she didn't have the vocabulary to write her way out of a paper bag, so, 3] I didn't ask for her blog's name or what it was about.
          She did the same to me, dismissing me with an insulting comment by first saying that she didn't mean it as an insult. Much. "I've never met anyone so old who had a blog," she said out loud. It was such a stupid thing to say I didn't say anything back, much to the disappointment of my fan base, it turns out. 
          When I posted that little quote on my facebook page, I got a lot of comments. Most people wanted to know how I cut her back down to earth. But I was so amazed by how that brainless bitch could say something so stupid, I didn't say anything. I just looked at her like she was a piece of lint that needed to be brushed off. And our conversation was over. 
          So, I'm sorry if I've disappointed anybody.   
          But, really, why waste good stuff on a cipher? 

The Pope and Penn State

"Maybe now the Vatican will take the lead from Penn State and fire the pope." 
          A few days ago I wrote that thought on my wall over on facebook. Obviously, I meant it tongue in cheek, oops sorry, probably not the best metaphor, so let's just say I was kidding. I kid because the idea that there will be any meaningful prosecution of the Catholic Church for centuries of harboring sexual predators is highly improbable. For 2000 years, the continued silence of its leaders has effectively sanctioned the worldwide rape and sodomy of children by priests, whose victims may now number in the millions -- a crime so huge and endemic, it will never be punished except in the most superficial ways.
          Since the secret lives of priests went public and global several years ago, we've now segued into the well-publicized, predatory proclivities of a coach at Penn State, albeit aided and abetted by other coaches and the university president. None of these coaches or the president called the cops, because their responsibility to the law and the lives of those children was superseded by a cover your ass [how appropriate] mentality.       
          But, instead of considering Penn State a case of one rogue coach at one school, do the math a different way. Assume that every grade school, junior high, high school, college and university in the country has at least one pedophile coach still operating under the radar. With a minimum of ten victims each. Protected from prosecution the Penn State way. Now do the math. 
          I knew a star high school wrestler who told me his coach used his friendship with his parents to molest him. How many other parents did the guy consider his friends? This young man still couldn't tell his folks what happened, even after the guy died. So just imagine the potential number of victims out there.
          Click HERE for the best response to the Penn State fiasco. It's the best I've read castigating not only the people who penetrate the private parts of children, but the people who witness this outrage or have it reported to them, only to sweep it under the rug, the altar, the stadium, or, in my upcoming example, the cub scout tent. 
            In keeping with this ongoing theme of unreported, unprosecuted, unpunished pedophiles, I thought I would re-post a link to an article that profiles a teacher/boy scout leader who used to live in my community, a man who allegedly preyed on boy scouts and students in my area for fifty years, a couple of whom confirmed to me that he had molested them in his tent. You can read the post HERE. 
          The comments after my post of that article [which has its own comments] are interesting. Along with one notable [naive?] person who defends the teacher/boy scout leader, there are others who stepped up to say he molested them, too. Remember, this man was in scouting for five decades. Two generations. And never prosecuted. I knew boys who were in his scout pack who committed suicide as young adults. Wouldn't it be nice if the statute of limitations extended well into adulthood, so when these boys became men they could take out their anger through the legal system, instead of taking out their anger on themselves?