tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75163928865780645432024-03-13T09:48:53.010-05:00Mrs. Linklater's Guide to the UniverseMrs. Linklater answers questions about the comic, sorry, cosmic universe, in between other stuff.Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.comBlogger1836125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-79531813379842233242016-10-01T20:00:00.003-05:002017-01-10T15:57:50.009-06:00Bill Bricker: The Poster Boy For Eliminating the Statute of Limitations in Illinois for Child Sexual Abuse<div>
On Tuesday, October 4, 2016 at 10:30 AM, there will be hearings in Chicago at the Bilandic Building, 160 N. LaSalle/Room C600 on an Illinois Senate bill to eliminate the statute of limitations for child sexual abuse. You can listen to audio here: <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=http://www.ilga.gov/senate/audvid.asp&source=gmail&ust=1475680919508000&usg=AFQjCNHCz6dXMyeTs6FHAKCqFEi9DyYaCA" href="http://www.ilga.gov/senate/audvid.asp" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" target="_blank">http://www.ilga.gov/<wbr></wbr>senate/audvid.asp</a></div>
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I am providing this narrative to my Illinois state assembly representative, Elaine Nekritz, for background on my interest in this bill. She is a member of a task force on the subject. This narrative is a work in progress and probably won't be finished until after Tuesday, October 4, 2016. But I decided to post it as I wrote it. [After Trump was illegally elected IMHO, I also decided to take a break from everything political, so this still isn't finished as of January 9, 2017]<br />
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Bill Bricker was a serial child molester for at least fifty, and perhaps as many as seventy, years, who was enabled by the administrators and attorneys for the school district where he worked, the owners of the Wyoming ranch where he taught campers in the summer, the Boy Scouts, the police department in the town where he lived, and the statute of limitations in Illinois. In the end, the long arm of the internet took him down. <br />
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Approximately fifteen years ago, when we were in our fifties, a childhood friend from Winnetka told me he had been molested many times by his scoutmaster, Bill Bricker in the 1950's. Bricker was a Winnetka native who became a decorated Marine veteran during WWII. He was awarded the Purple Heart and the Silver Star for his bravery in battle on Okinawa. After the war, he became a Winnetka scoutmaster, a popular gym teacher at Winnetka's Hubbard Woods Elementary School, and worked as a camp counselor at Teton Valley Ranch near Jackson, Wyoming during the summer.<br />
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I immediately wanted to report my friend's molestation to the police, but he said, "Only if you can find someone else who will come forward. They will try to destroy me otherwise." I told a troubled family relative what I had learned about Bill Bricker. After a moment of silence, he said Bricker had molested him too. I talked to one of my best friends from high school whose Eagle Scout brother had shown signs of mental illness and committed suicide in college. She is convinced that Bricker molested her brother, too.<br />
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After my childhood friend told me he had been molested, I went to the Winnetka police to make a report about what he told me without using his name. I thought perhaps there had been others who had been to the police. The uniformed officer who did the intake made his notes on the back of a used envelope. He told me the statute of limitations had passed and not to expect to ever hear from them about anything they found out. They weren't kidding. </div>
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There is no record that I ever spoke to the police at all. I can only assume that the Winnetka cops felt there was no reason to keep a record of the complaint because the statute of limitations had passed. </div>
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Shortly after my visit to the police, I tried to get Bill Bricker's teaching records to see if there were any other complaints. I called the Winnetka School District #36 office. They informed me that I couldn't get Bill Bricker's records even using the Freedom of Information Act [FOIA]. That was a surprise. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Frustrated, I was at a standstill until around 2007. I begin to Google BIll Bricker in hopes of finding information on the Internet. Since I was Googling him, I thought maybe some of the people he had molested would be using Google too.</span></div>
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In 2007, I discovered a flattering profile written about Bricker in the Glen Arbor Sun, a publication in northern Michigan where Bricker was retired and living. He was now in hia eighties. I copied and pasted the article to my blog and waited. During the ensuing seven years, the Glen Arbor Sun received so many unexpectedly negative comments from Bricker's former victims that they took the article down.<br />
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By 2014, there were even more comments about the article on my blog, enough so I first received a request from a victim to post the contact information for an attorney who was willing to help pursue a case against Bricker in Illinois. But it turned out that the statute of limitations was long past for everyone he talked to. <br />
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Next, I received a call from a Detective Dani Spence of the Teton County Sheriff's Department near Jackson, WY. They had heard from two victims who had attended Teton Valley Ranch [one in the 60's and one in the 80's] when Bricker was a camp counselor. Wyoming does not have a statute of limitations. The sheriff's office read the comments on the blog and opened an investigation. At her request, I posted Detective Spence's contact information so victims hoping that victims molested at the camp in Wyoming could come forward.<br />
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In September of 2014, Wyoming had Bricker arrested in Michigan at the age of 94. Upon his arrest, Winnetka School District #36 provided copies of Bill Bricker's 200+ page school file to interested parties.<br />
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Information gleaned from Bill Bricker's school records released in 2014:<br />
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While the people I have talked to were molested in the fifties, the first complaint about Bricker does not show up in his school records until 1968. At this time the following occurred:<br />
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• Because of the accusation[s] made by a student[s] there is a timeline that shows he had a scheduled meeting with the chief of police -- but there is no record of that meeting and no indication that any investigation was made<br />
•He had a scheduled meeting with a psychiatrist -- but there is no record of that meeting or the psychiatrist's evaluation<br />
• There is correspondence that he was removed from teaching after school sports at Skokie School, so as not to bother the boy[s] who had made the complaint about him, but he was not removed from teaching at Hubbard Woods School.<br />
• According to a letter written at the time by the Winnetka scoutmasters, one of whom was a fellow Marine, Bricker stepped down from Boy Scout Leadership, using his engagement and upcoming marriage as the reason. [The marriage lasted four years, but an uncorroborated scource says it only lasted eighteen months and neither party married again]. According to the letter to the school board from the scoutmasters, Bricker's involvement in scouting was supposed to be limited after relinquishing his position as a scoutmaster. Nevertheless, he received a 50 year plaque for scouting in 1988.<br />
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• When Bricker retired in 1985, the principal of Hubbard Woods School, despite other complaints about Bricker, allowed him to come back as a full time substitute for four more years. This information was used to get this same principal to step down from the District #36 school board in 2015. </div>
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• In 1997 another molested student stepped forward requesting Bricker's school records, using FOIA. The student was turned down. In fact there are multiple letters written by superintendents and attorneys to people requesting records. The letters of request don't seem to be there.</div>
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• Finally an attorney pointed out that the school was denying FOIA access to Bricker's records improperly. The records could have redactions, but not be withheld. </div>
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• There is a reference to a journal about Bill Bricker that was kept by a superintendent of schools who was critical of Bricker, a fact revealed in some correspondence. He refused to give the journal to anyone but Martin Lucente, the Sidley Austin attorney for the schools who stonewalled with his improper interpretation of FOIA. He has since passed away. </div>
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• Where is the journal?</div>
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• There is a long letter defending Bricker written by the owner of the Teton Valley Ranch, who refused to believe that he was a child molester. His adamant support of Bricker helps explain why the former scoutmaster, teacher, and camp counselor was able to molest children for so many years. </div>
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* The North Suburban Boy Scouts contacted to get the names of all the boys in Bill Bricker's troops so they could be apprised of an ongoing investigation. Also to determine the number of suicides. </div>
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° The BSA national office was contacted regarding the notorious Boy Scout "Perversion Files." After years of refusing to reveal these records, they are now online. However, at some point, the original 20,000 were purged, and now only 6,000 files exist. There should have been files for Bill Bricker from the 1968 incident, but there is nothing.</div>
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BELOW -- 1. A cover picture of scouts on an outing with Bill Bricker strumming the guitar<br />
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2. A photograph of Bill Bricker [top right] in the midst of a group of boy scouts on an outing.<br />
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-51590312818624057282016-09-05T20:51:00.000-05:002016-09-07T19:45:57.951-05:00Let's Crank Up the Way Back Machine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Once Upon A Time, Mrs. Linklater couldn't decide what she wanted to be -- an ad biggie, a famous model, or a member of Second City. So for a brief period in time, she did it all. By day she toiled at a large, international ad agency, by night she was a member of the Second City Touring Company, at lunchtime she was doing print jobs as a harried, married, tired, stay at home or pregnant mom for ad photographers. While looking for something else recently, she ran across these photographs from 1969, which a former boyfriend [and, even after all these years, still a friend] captured when Mrs. L and her other Second City second stringers in the Touring Company took their comedy on the road -- on this occasion, to Beloit College in Wisconsin. You may even recognize some of these people. </div>
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Mrs. L with Gerrit Graham who has gone on to cult status as Beef in what movie?</div>
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No words are needed to explain why Mrs. Linklater's acting style failed to appeal to everyone.</div>
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Harold Ramis when he was in his black Afro stage is the guy on the left. Eric Ross is on the right.<br />
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Mrs. L with David Bloom, or Blum, or Blume, can't remember since it's been awhile. . .<br />
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You can probably spot Harold. Gerrit is third from left.<br />
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Since this is her blog, Mrs. L is posting another shot of herself and David.<br />
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Bill Murray's older brother Brian Doyle Murray, young and handsome.<br />
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Mrs. Linklater once had long hair. And pushed chairs on stages. <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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Harold once again with Sherry Nerens and Eric. </div>
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-42799224619032783802016-07-24T16:58:00.001-05:002019-12-23T21:26:03.897-06:00How Does White Privilege Pay It Forward?<div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, a man who was in the class ahead of mine in high school retired as the head of a foundation that works with non profits. Since the crash in 2008, the number of non profits has grown exponentially. So has the number of business school graduates who want to work in the non profit sector. Each year the foundation he formerly led offers a number of fellowships to MBA students interested in non profit advocacy that include mentorships with non-voting board positions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Along with his previous foundation commitments, this exemplary man -- the only Congressional and White House Fellow ever -- is a well-regarded professor at one of our country's finest graduate business schools. As you might expect, he was a star student athlete in high school, and attended top universities for all his undergraduate and graduate degrees. With such a stellar start in life, he has enjoyed a lucrative fifty years, advising top federal and local officials in the corridors of power, a career that would be the dream of any policy wonk, not to mention a Congressman or a Senator. </span></div>
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But he almost didn't get that chance, because as a high school senior, he did a stupid thing. While on spring vacation, as I recall the story, he blew up a hotel toilet with a cherry bomb. The incident was the talk of our high school. Boy, there goes his acceptance into one of the top schools in the country. What's he going to do? How do you get out of a mess like that? The buzz went on for days. Then school was out for the summer and nobody heard anything else.</div>
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Which means I never learned what happened until years later, after he was appointed to an important post by a famous mayor. The newspapers posted his bio as part of their background story. As it turns out, he got to go to the college of his choice after all. No harm. No foul. Apparently, blowing up a toilet in a hotel on spring vacation isn't grounds for forfeiting a world class education. </div>
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If you're white. </div>
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But there's more. The woman who just took this man's place as head of the foundation, also has a remarkable background. She, too, is white. Given the nature of Tier One graduate business schools, that probably goes without saying, which is part of a larger problem. She was also privileged to attend top schools for her graduate and undergraduate degrees. Along with her position as the new head of the foundation, she is also a professor at the same renowned graduate school along with the aforementioned cherry bomber. In addition, she spent many years as the president/CEO of a very successful museum, brilliantly navigating the difficult waters associated with any non profit institution in a major metropolitan city. By any measure, she has enjoyed a phenomenally successful career. So what's my beef?</div>
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Again. White privilege. </div>
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She didn't blow up any toilets, but, her late grandfather was an architect, a profession steeped in white male privilege. He was also a good friend of a former mayor. After entire neighborhoods where black families lived were demolished for reasons that probably had more to do with ethnicity than fairness, the mayor chose his white architect friend to design high rises for all the displaced people [following the requisite bids, I'm sure]. Why build high rises? The short answer is -- because they could. The longer answer? I am going to assume it's because high rises were cheaper and easier than taking the time or money to design a real neighborhood where anyone would want to live. Second, because I'm certain those in charge [white guys in suits] didn't ask what any of the residents, who were black for the most part, would like. Third, white people have a tendency to think they know what's good for everybody. Noblesse oblige, which was invented by Queen Antoinette, dies hard. Granted, living in a high rise means you don't have to hire people to cut the lawn, so, from their frame of reference [say, Kenilworth] I'm sure they thought they were doing a good thing. </div>
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With an unsettling lack of foresight, these high rises became nothing more than warehouses for generations of underserved black families. The afternoon conversations on neighborhood stoops and bbq's on the back porch had been replaced with dark corridors and broken elevators. The gentrification of a large city in the 50's and 60's had created huge areas of de facto segregation intended to keep black families out of the white neighborhoods. With the mayor's blessing. Along with neighborhood redlining sanctioned by our federal government and executed by the rapacious banks, as well as unions that wouldn't hire or train minorities, what chance would you have to improve your circumstances? </div>
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So as near as I can tell, the new head of the foundation had a grandfather who contributed to the utter failure of urban renewal with the same mindset as a plantation owner. I really don't think she has ever given a thought to the impact his high rise developments had on thousands of people who made the mistake of being black or poor. But maybe the time has come. </div>
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And the former head of the foundation has built his entire life's work on a suspicious lack of accountability at a make or break moment. His ass was grass and I firmly believe his white privilege insured the high quality of his life and the low responsibility for his misdemeanor.</div>
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For both of these people, the time has come to pay it forward, Not just by sitting on boards of directors or writing a check, but sharing ideas face to face, providing one on one advice, and spending time with the people they owe. </div>
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Otherwise, the payback could be a bitch. </div>
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-58508850337560383492016-07-24T15:51:00.001-05:002016-07-24T16:00:55.734-05:00A year just went by? How did that happen?<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
A year ago, I wrote a post about my stepma's 84th birthday. That was on July 15th. Well, here we are again and I haven't posted anything since -- part of taking a break from getting a pedophile arrested -- a sabbatical if you will. So to get back in the saddle, as it were, why don't I post a photo from this year's soirée, courtesy of Grandma Ginny's childhood friends -- still friends to this day, I might add. They all went to Wellesley or Smith. Ta-da, there they are, having their post prandial cups of coffee at one of the legendary Walker Brothers' restaurants -- the one in Glenview. If we'd chosen the Wilmette establishment, we could have driven on down the road to Homer's Ice Cream afterward for dessert. Although, what do you have for dessert after a '54 Buick hubcap-sized pecan waffle? Of course, I then ran this commemorative picture of Virginia's 85th birthday through all 30, yes thirty, iterations of my new artsy-fartsy app called Prisma. Don't worry, I only posted three or four. Youu gotta get Prisma. It's free. It won't change your life, but you'll sure have fun. </div>
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<br />Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-73445372508969422622015-07-17T14:20:00.001-05:002015-07-17T14:29:46.315-05:00Happy 84th Birthday, Grandma Ginny!!<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Grandma Ginny isn't my grandmother. She's my stepma. But Grandma Ginny is what my kids called her growing up, so I did, too. If I don't use Grandma Ginny, which is usually saved for family occasions, I call her Virginia. After my mother died when I was 23, my father remarried a year or so later. As much as I liked my new stepma, I didn't call her Mom. She was 16 years younger than my father and only 12 years older than I, and more like my sister. I was also so bonded to my biological mother that psychologically I couldn't replace her. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Regardless, I was thrilled my father had remarried. Plus I got two half brothers out of the deal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since then, every year for the past fifty or so years, Virginia's birthday has come and gone during the same month and, coincidentally, on the same day. So you'd think I could remember those two things. But no, I usually find myself calling her up a week or so after the event to wish her a belated HB and we go out to dinner or something. She never seemed to mind, preferring to ignore the passage of time. She also hates calling attention to herself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This year I decided to have a party on her actual birthday with as many of her friends as I could find. I was prompted to do this because one of her best friends, Jody, a pal since junior high school, had past away in 2014. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In a brilliant move on my part, I contacted another one of her childhood-through-college chums, Ruth, and mentioned my idea to her. She was on board from the get go, calling everyone, ordering a cake, and even encouraging one of their group to fly in for the occasion. We spent a lovely afternoon during the tea time hours -- 3:00 to 5:00 PM -- sipping raspberry tea, enjoying a delightful cake confection. reading some funny cards, passing the homemade fudge. And talking, talking, talking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, without any more pre-mumble, here are some photos from a couple of days ago, with this great group of lo-o-o-o-o-o-ongtime girlfriends, all of whom attended Wellesley or Smith, back in the day when our high school, New Trier, was a feeder school for the Ivy League colleges. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mostly they can't believe so many of their group are still around to celebrate Virginia's natal day. Their only deceased friend, Jody, had gone to Stanford, but she was forgiven long ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Grandma Ginny is easy to spot -- she just came from her stylist and her hair is brown. </i></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eyeO8r4dPPk/ValTW8LwziI/AAAAAAAADhc/4-kTQ_Y3cpc/s1600/FullSizeRender%2B%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eyeO8r4dPPk/ValTW8LwziI/AAAAAAAADhc/4-kTQ_Y3cpc/s640/FullSizeRender%2B%25283%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>This was a discussion of medical mysteries, which usually take over most conversations. </i></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LNT1RIyFxfc/ValTWrgKuDI/AAAAAAAADhY/CLRNQMZ_GqI/s1600/IMG_2480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LNT1RIyFxfc/ValTWrgKuDI/AAAAAAAADhY/CLRNQMZ_GqI/s640/IMG_2480.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I'm only 83. They're 84. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Lynn's smile matches her sense of humor. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>One of the Wellesley girls.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Grandma Ginny was having a great time.</i></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpmQ8P7fmrc/ValTX92H4YI/AAAAAAAADiQ/WbOvW7eGS8w/s1600/IMG_2487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpmQ8P7fmrc/ValTX92H4YI/AAAAAAAADiQ/WbOvW7eGS8w/s640/IMG_2487.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Tish has some serious fudge-making skills.</i></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-myMMlK4zF7w/ValTYI3JOII/AAAAAAAADhs/P3ms4nipgrE/s1600/IMG_2488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-myMMlK4zF7w/ValTYI3JOII/AAAAAAAADhs/P3ms4nipgrE/s640/IMG_2488.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Didn't you JUST take my picture?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Ruth, our hostess with the mostest. </i></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oNSFV7dalLY/ValTYh1Hb1I/AAAAAAAADh4/y2y44TaupI8/s1600/IMG_2490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oNSFV7dalLY/ValTYh1Hb1I/AAAAAAAADh4/y2y44TaupI8/s640/IMG_2490.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Betsy flew in for the event. And took even more pix than I did. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qtmVI-nb_Q8/ValVI7c3tdI/AAAAAAAADi4/w8S4O4SWdyQ/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qtmVI-nb_Q8/ValVI7c3tdI/AAAAAAAADi4/w8S4O4SWdyQ/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>It was nice to go Olde Schoole and use real silver and china. </i></span></div>
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-51047105059322110702015-05-06T18:47:00.002-05:002017-01-09T13:37:29.774-06:00Weekend in Indiana<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">It cost me less than $20 to get to Indiana and back on the train last weekend. One of my train rides was from my suburb to Chicago: $6 roundtrip. The other was the 94 miles from Chicago to South Bend: $11.50. Okay, senior discount. So half price. I also got picked up at the South Bend stop, which is at the South Bend airport, just an FYI. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">For comparison, it cost me $8 one way, including tip, to travel one single mile across the Loop from Union Station to the South Shore station. These pix below are from breakfast at the Mill Creek Kitchen in South Milford, IN. There used to be a mill on the creek. The creek is still out back. And there's a huge granery behind that. Huge. But no more mill. This little restaurant has grown since I was last there in August of 2014. Open more hours and days. With more people working there. Check them out on Facebook -- did I mention their name is Mill Creek Kitchen? Really good food. And a large menu. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">We also ate dinner at my favorite Amish place, Tiffany's, filled with long tables of Amish men and women, speaking Amish, with the most pleasant service from Amish teens. Not to mention wonderful, inexpensive food. And great pie. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Drove through Shipshewana. We didn't stop because it was raining, but we've taken the Amish buggy ride -- a gift from my friend for my septuagenarian birthday. Try saying that three times in a row. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Had such a nice, relaxed time at my friend's home on one of the many glacially formed lakes. Visited with her daughter/son-in-law and four of her grandkids. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I also baked browned butter chocolate chip cookies for dessert on Sunday night. Way worth the train ride.</span><br />
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<br />Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-38544641972251230192015-04-23T17:37:00.003-05:002015-04-23T17:38:10.835-05:00Fifteen Minute Post<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In fifteen minutes I will leave for my weekly rehearsal of the ladies who wear sequins and polyester. We've also added boas to our costumes. What's next? Tap shoes?</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">We are working toward our Really Really Big October Show, which will feature 10 to 12 new tunes from the sixties. And choreography taught to us by a Las Vegas Singer and Dancer. [Put that in your hat and sit on it!!] </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Meanwhile, over the next few months we will also be performing at several venues using selections from the repertoire of songs we sang for our last show. Can you count? That means we have to keep more than two dozen tunes tiptoeing through our heads at any one time. You try remembering that much. Did I mention that we are not spring chickens? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PLUS -- we have a whole </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">repertoire of Holiday Tunes which we perform dur</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ing December. Show bidness is not easy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As the engineer at our recent recording session noted, "For a group that only rehearses once a week, you're pretty good." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I see that my fifteen minutes is up. Until next time.</span><br />
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-35444123861680164182015-03-24T21:33:00.000-05:002015-03-25T17:11:23.097-05:00Movoto Top Ten Lists are Total Bull<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I love when companies latch on to a marketing idea to build awareness about themselves that's basically just a bunch of B.S. wrapped up with a pretty bow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For example, Movoto Real Estate. This is an online real estate company, licensed in thirty states, that has become ubiquitous around the internet for its Top Ten Lists. Their motto seems to be "We make real estate easy." It should be "We make real estate cheesy."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Somehow they've came up with a bunch of exotic algorithms, which [they claim] help them determine which cities, towns, counties, states, etc. are the best places for people to live. I'm sure they've done a bunch for your state.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I think they are full of shit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Let me use my state and a town where I've lived [Northbrook, IL] as two prime examples of how insanely inaccurate these people are. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Recently, Movoto posted the list of the Ten Best suburbs around Chicago. I know Chicago. I have lived in the city and its 'burbs most of my life -- not only Northbrook, but Winnetka, Glencoe, and Evanston. According to Movoto:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">First of all, La Grange, La Grange Park, and Western Springs are right next to each other. They are carbon copies of one another, too. So, pick ONE, not all three. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All that aside, Kenilworth and Wilmette are the only two suburbs that should be on this list. Why? Because they are the only two towns listed that are located on the lake. Or any lake. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As far as I am concerned, the lake is the ONLY reason Chicago exists. If your town doesn't sit on the beaches of Lake Michigan or any one of the smaller inland lakes, or a river, you got nothing, no matter how big your lawn is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Movoto says they based their [ridiculous] choices on 1] amenities per capita 2] standard of living 3] total crime 4] violent crime 5] high school grad rate 6] commute time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If high school grad rate is so important, where's Winnetka on the list? Business Insider just named Winnetka <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/most-educated-places-map-2014-9">the most educated town</a> in Illinois. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So why pick Kenilworth over Winnetka? Kenilworth has a train station. And huge houses on big lots. [Winnetka may have even more] That's about it. Oh wait, I forgot its residents have an insanely high median salary [$230,000 give or take a few thousand]. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But Kenilworth has nothing else besides their one beach, which isn't nearly as big or as swank as Wilmette's or Glencoe's. Plus Evanston and Winnetka have more beaches. Kenilworth has no downtown. No grocery. No drug store. No Starbucks. Only a travel agency, a brokerage firm, and an assisted living service, that I can recall. You have to go to the towns on either side of Kenilworth to get anything to eat, anything to wear, anything to fix your car, a plumber, a dry cleaners, anything. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">I know for a fact that Winnetka, Glencoe, and Evanston have way more to offer besides rich people in enormous homes. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Movoto even admits that Kenilworth doesn't have much in the way of amenities. So WTF? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Not to mention, Kenilworth has no park district either. No golf course, no tennis courts, no parks to play basketball or baseball or soccer, nothing. You have to use the facilities in other towns. And yet, Kenilworth made this stupid list. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here's where it gets even more interesting. Movoto published another Top Ten list for my state. Actually they've published several Top Ten Lists, mainly to create awareness of themselves for having Top Ten lists. They also list the Best Cities for Cats, Snobbiest Cities, Most Boring Cities, Most Stressed Cities, Most Caring Cities. . .blah blah blah. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">However, the list I'm referring to is the Top Ten List of Best Towns to live in for the entire state of Illinois. Not just around Chicago, but the whole state.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The towns they chose are all suburbs of Chicago. Did anybody look at a map? They couldn't consider Galena, Rockford, Springfield, Princeton, Wayne, Libertyville, or anything else outside Cook County? Or downstate?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the number one town they picked? Northbrook. Granted, Northbrook is the only town around with a velodrome! And not one, but two post offices. Acres of forest preserve. A dog park. Four tennis clubs. Five Starbucks. A skateboard park. A destination mall. A Harley store. A huge hill for sledding. A river. A pond with fish to catch. Two aquatic centers. Two indoor skating facilities. A Jewish day school AND a mosque. Did I mention a world class park district? Plus Jim McMahon and Gale Sayers live in Northbrook. Here's the whole list. Not one of these towns is outside Cook County, where Chicago is located. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">I can't believe that Park Ridge and Glenview made both Top Ten lists. Neither one is on Lake Michigan. Both towns are perfectly fine places to live. But they're not that wonderful. Meanwhile, where are Schaumburg, Orland Park, and Naperville in the mix? Not one mention? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">So odd that even though Northbrook was considered good enough to rank Number One on the list of the Ten Best Places to live in Illinois, it couldn't make the Ten Best Suburbs around Chicago. How messed up is that? But there's more!!! Here's what Movoto said about Northbrook:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This photo of Northbrook's Village Hall [ABOVE] is just another example of Movoto stupidity, lack of knowledge, and failure to do their research. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They described the building in the picture like this: "[T]he town is dotted with old buildings like the Village Hall. . ."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In fact, the Village Hall is practically brand new. Maybe ten years old. It was designed to look retro/classic rather than modern. Apparently they succeeded. Movoto calls it quaint. Right next door to the Village Hall is the public library which doesn't qualify as an old OR quaint building. So suck it, Movoto. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Next time you see a Movoto Top Ten List for anything, be sure to take it with a grain of salt. </span><br />
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<br />Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-71761798980996399412015-03-06T16:51:00.002-06:002015-03-06T16:51:22.874-06:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I hope I can live up to this. </span></div>
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<br />Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-65221039847960653842015-03-01T20:38:00.001-06:002015-03-03T19:28:38.998-06:00When Death Is An Option<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Four people -- a family member, two guys I had dated, and the adult son of a close friend -- have died in the last four weeks. Only one death was anticipated. The others were sudden and unexpected. Two of the funerals were on the same day. So I am tapped out emotionally. And it's made me a little philosophical about death, LITTLE being the operative word. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The longer I live, the more I appreciate how close I have come to dying. At the time these near death experiences took place, I didn't think I was that close to terminal, but on reflection, I realize that the Grim Reaper had tiptoed a lot closer than I ever thought.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The first time -- that I am aware of -- I was sixteen. One summer afternoon, my best girlfriend and I were hanging around at the beach in my hometown. I lived six blocks from Lake Michigan growing up and spent many summers on our suburban sands trolling for cute lifeguards and frying my epithelial tissue to a crispy bacon shade with baby oil. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On that fateful day, a bunch of guys in a powerboat was hovering close to shore and asked if we wanted to go for a ride. Yes, we did. After tooling around for a half an hour or so, they drove us back near the shore to let us off. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">We planned to jump off the boat and swim the short distance to the beach where we'd left our towels. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">The boat was stopped, idling in deep water so they wouldn't get stuck on a sand bar. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Except there was a hidden sand bar that nobody noticed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We spent about five minutes saying our thank yous for the nice ride. As we were executing the teenage girly giggle and flirt thing, nobody noticed that the idling boat had begun to drift into much shallower water. Finally we had worn out our welcome. My girlfriend stood on the stern of the boat and jumped out. I followed about a second after, but in a moment of teenaged stupidity, I had decided to dive, for no other reason than to show off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I had been to camp. I had learned, long before, that you never dive off a boat, a pier, anything, unless you know exactly how deep the water is. Ever. Amazing how showing off for boys shuts off the synapses.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The only thing that saved me from a broken neck, total paralysis, or immediate death was that in the middle of my swan dive, which almost became my swan song, I saw my girlfriend out of the corner of my eye, SITTING in water that barely reached her chest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In midair, I turned my head hard left so that my right shoulder -- not my head -- could take the brunt of the plunge into the sand just inches beneath the water. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks to that last minute move, I survived, albeit covered in heavy, wet sand. I rose from the water looking like one of the Clay People from Flash Gordon as I stood up. The guys in the boat took a gander at the monster I'd become and sped away. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Initially, based on the amount and location of the pain, I thought I had broken my shoulder. Along with my shoulder, the ligaments, muscles, and tendons on the right side of my neck felt wrenched to the breaking point. My head was bent so far left, my ear almost reached my clavicle. Needless to say, it took awhile before I could straighten things out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I hurt for a long time afterward. But I never went to the doctor. Or told my parents. As I recall, I just took some aspirin and went to bed early. Years later, nerve pain revealed thinning discs at C6 and C7 on an x-ray. A small price to pay. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The second time I could have died was one of those home accidents that usually happens when you're drunk. Drunkenness is a helpful catchall for stupid death tricks in one's home. But, like most of my life, I was stone, cold sober. [I may have told this story before. If so, my apologies ahead of time.]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I had come home from work early and, for some reason, decided to change the burnt out lightbulb which usually illuminated the basement stairs. I wanted to do this chore before I changed out of my work clothes, fed the cats, had something to eat, or even checked the mail.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was still in my power suit, which included black patent leather heels. As I stooped down on one of the steps to remove the cover on the light, my slippery shoe slid out from under me and I was suddenly propelled down the rest of the basement stairs, head first, on my backside. Despite any effort I made, there was nothing to grab onto as my rear end went thump de dump, dump, dump on each stair, leaving me with spectacular black, yellow, purple and green headlight-shaped bruises on each butt cheek for weeks afterward.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I continued down the stairs, unable to stop myself, I remember thinking, "People die from falls down the stairs. They break their necks." This contemplation of my imminent demise was something I considered as calmly as sipping a refreshing glass of water. Without a sense of panic or the least amount of terror. Like deciding whether to have a mushroom or sausage pizza.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was still holding the new lightbulb in my hand, when my head made contact with the basement floor. To this day I don't know whether I was knocked out or not. I do know, once I'd come to a stop, I opened my eyes and saw lots of broken lightbulb glass around. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I tried to get up, I noticed I was physically impaired to the extent that I had to concentrate very hard to do anything. I reached for the stair railing and held on to it like Dorothy riding the tornado in the Wizard of Oz. I was conscious enough to know I needed to call for help. But the phone was upstairs in the kitchen. To climb the stairs, I had to think very hard and focus on each step, pulling myself up one at a time. Very. Slowly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When I got to the phone in the kitchen, I remember leaning against the refrigerator to brace myself, while staring intently at the phone's keypad, trying to keep things from spinning, as I attempted to remember what to dial. NOTE: This was before my town had 911, so I had lots of numbers to input. After several tries, I got the police on the phone. That's when I discovered that I couldn't talk very well. "Hell--loh. [LONG PAUSE] I. . .felllll. . .dowwwwn. . .the. . .stttaairs." Every word was spoken very carefully and extremely slowly, because no matter how I hard I tried, I couldn't talk any faster. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The paramedics got to my house and found me sitting on my front stoop waiting for them when they arrived. They wrapped my neck in a collar, transported me on a stretcher, and kept asking me questions about two inches from my face. I kept wondering why they had to get so close.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I later learned that people usually fall down the stairs because they are drunk. Apparently the first responders were all trying to get a whiff of my breath. ["I don't know Al, what do you think?"]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At the hospital, they took an CAT scan of my head, gave me a tetanus shot, and tracked down all the places where broken glass was embedded in my skin, obviously a potential for infection. They were ready to release me when a doctor rummaged through my hair and found a large cut in my scalp that needed several stitches. I should have known that not finding this gaping hole in my head did not bode well for other cuts that may have been missed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I returned a week or so later to have the stitches removed, only to learn I was running a slight fever. Did I have a cold? No. I pointed out a cut on a pinky finger that was slightly inflamed, but no one panicked. Or did anything about it, for that matter. Me neither. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Within days I felt like I had a horrible case of flu. I had a three digit fever, my joints ached, and my head hurt. I called my doctor for two reasons. 1] I don't get the flu 2] Jim Henson had just died of a systemic strep infection he thought was just the flu.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After escaping death from my fall down the stairs, the systemic infection I got from some leftover broken glass, festering in my pinky finger, could have killed me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Instead, Augmentin killed it, thanks to calling my doctor after reading a story in People Magazine about why Jim Henson died. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My most recent brush with death was just a few years ago, when a woman ran a red light and nearly broadsided me, only to stop within inches of my driver's side door. I remember thinking as I saw her front end headed straight for me, "Hmm, I could die from this." For some reason I just stared her down as she got closer and closer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She was so close to me, when her car finally came to a stop, that I could almost read the keypad on her cellphone, which she was still holding up next to her left ear.</span>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-91599752642347739852015-02-27T16:45:00.004-06:002015-03-01T14:01:44.371-06:00Jobs In Jeopardy Continues <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Who knew that JIJ would become such a crowded field so fast with so many big time players. The latest in this growing field of potential firings, besides <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/27/bill-oreilly-trustworthy-poll-fox-news-lie_n_6770314.html">Bill O'Reilly</a> and too many <a href="http://www.politicususa.com/2015/02/25/republican-thinks-women-gynecological-exams-swallowing-cameras.html">Republican Senators to list</a>, we must add Chicago's Democratic Mayor, Rahm Emanuel. After last Tuesday's election, he finds himself in an unexpected April run off with a Latino candidate named Jesus "Chuy" [pronounced Chewy] Garcia. The bad news is that certain news outlets have been posting the picture of a beloved Star Wars creature in place of the candidate's photo. Tsk. Tsk. The good news is that Chuy's name recognition shot up into the stratosphere thanks to that little gesture: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Along with this fortuitous rise in his name recognition, Chuy's successful bid for a run off is a result, no doubt, of Rahm's failure to outspend this challenger by the ineffective ratio of $12 for every $1 Chuy laid down. I'm just sayin'. Forget March, April will be the cruelest month if Rahm isn't careful. And that, dear readers, is our latest [turn up the echo and reverb] JJJOOOOOOBBBBBB INNN </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">JEOOOOPAAARRRDDY!!</span></div>
Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-771356411166124472015-02-24T13:53:00.003-06:002015-02-24T16:46:05.635-06:00Jobs In Jeopardy February 2015 Episode II<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How exciting is this! Two episodes of Jobs in Jeopardy in the same month!! We can hardly contain ourselves. JIJ returned earlier in February with a daring prediction about <a href="http://mrslinklatersguidetotheuniverse.blogspot.com/2015/02/jobs-in-jeopardy-returns6.html">Darrell Bevells, the offensive coordinator for the Seattle Seahawks</a>. Or should we say, the future former offensive coordinator for the Seahawks. Bevells, who made the absolute worst call in NFL history -- failing to score from the one yard line with three downs to do it and Marshawn Lynch to carry the ball -- will no doubt have company in the unemployment line after this next imminent firing occurs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And just who would JIJ's next candidate for job loss be? Why it's none other than the Secretary of the Veterans Administration, Robert McDonald, who lied about serving in the Army Special Forces. To a homeless veteran, no less. In front of news cameras. His casual slide down the slippery slope from truth to fabrication was caught on tape and vetted faster than you can say Audie Murphy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Of course, that's the risk you run when you hire the former head of Procter & Gamble, the company which promises whiter teeth, whiter clothes, whiter woodwork, and a general whitewash of your entire lifestyle. He's a white guy in a suit. A political appointee hired to wipe clean the problems of a very troubled agency. How ironic that this white knight fell into his own pile of poo. He flat out lied. He didn't make what the spin doctors are calling a "mistake." He was infected with a classic case of hubris, which caused a major brain fart that stinks of stupidity on his part.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The guy graduated from West Point. He actually got through Ranger training -- earned his tab -- but instead, served with the 82nd Airborne Division, a legendary group itself. And he served honorably, we might add. So why does he go and embellish his record with the Special Forces claim on camera? Ours is not to question why. Ours is to post this meme which is making the rounds of the internet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He will apologize. By all apearances he will be forgiven. But one of these days, he will go his office, make a few calls, write a few emails. And, then, he will leave and never return. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You can read the exciting story of this latest Job In Jeopardy <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2015/02/24/va-secretary-robert-mcdonald-reportedly-admits-lying-about-special-forces/">HERE:</a> </span><br />
<br />Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-22749727093708289822015-02-22T15:24:00.003-06:002015-02-22T15:38:51.329-06:00We Had Some Good Times<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After a long battle with cancer, my friend, Michael V. Metzger, died around 3:00 AM last night with his daughter, Lauren, holding his hand. His very good friend, Jennifer, who spent the last twenty years as a huge part of his professional and personal life, wrote a touching tribute on Facebook about her loss: </span><br />
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<i><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">With </span><a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=567617968" href="https://www.facebook.com/lauren.metzger.12" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; text-decoration: none;">Lauren </a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">holding his hand, telling him stories about visiting New Orleans and the three of us hiking in Telluride, he passed quietly. Our hearts are broken. I already miss his very large presence in my life. Michael was many things to me for just short of 20 years. I will love him and hold him close to my heart forever. We are planning a celebration of his life and I will post on here the information and attend if you loved this incredible person.</span></b></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Educated as an astrophysicist, Michael became a well-regarded photographer with a wide range of interests. He was easily one of the most interesting, fun-loving people I've ever known. One year, I invited every woman in the area that he'd slept with to join him for a birthday lunch. I think there were over twenty who came for the celebration. We had loads of laughs and a lot of fun. Plus, I don't think any of the ladies realized their shared experience. Even the woman he was seeing at the time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Everyone called him Michael. The older we got and the longer I knew him, the more I called him Mike. It probably annoyed him. But then, he absolutely abhorred Obama and that annoyed me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Coincidentally, this morning, a high school classmate posted this poem, Sonnet XLIII, by Edna St. Vincent Millay. The sadness and melancholy it evokes resonated with me, remembering the highs and lows of the more than fifty years that I knew him. </span><br />
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-88691374241922953442015-02-21T23:59:00.002-06:002017-01-09T13:47:02.549-06:00The Numbers GameOne of my relatives is big into Chinese numerology. He also wears aluminum foil hats to repel the people who are trying to end his life with microwaves. Coincidence? I think not. Apropos of that, I have noticed a strange alignment of numbers in my life.<br />
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Today, February 21st, for instance, would have been my 45th wedding anniversary. After the wedding and reception, my ex and I drove East to visit relatives so I could show him off. On our way we spent the night at the George Washington Motel somewhere in Pennsylvania, on February 22nd, George's birthday. I just threw that in there for entertainment.<br />
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Turns out I just learned that one of my cousins passed away. And I noticed his birthday was listed as February 21st. Same as my wedding anniversary. Ooo. Cosmic.<br />
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Other coincidental numbers -- my dad died on the 8th of August. My sister's birthday is the 8th of August. My daughters were born on the 11th of their respective birth months. One of their grandmas was also born on the 11th of the month. My grandbaby was born on the 3rd of her birth month. Like one of her grandads. But the trifecta occurs on November 24th. My dad and stepma got married that day. One of my half-brothers was born that day. And my uncle died in a plane crash during Army Aircorps training on November 24th in the 1930's. Every seven years, it is also Thanksgiving. So it's a quart taffeta -- LOL, thank you auto correct. Quart taffeta beats quarenta-fecta, which showed up as square festa the first time around.<br />
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But wait! There's more! One of my daughters got married on the 14th of the month (not this one) and their baby was born in 2014. And I know four people with same birthdate as mine.<br />
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I think I should sleuth around some more. I may discover even more numerical coincidences.Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-54466348054237783122015-02-20T15:48:00.001-06:002015-02-20T15:55:13.716-06:00The Aftermath of Child Sexual Abuse <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Apropos of the recent Bill Bricker pedophile arrest, a reminder that the fallout from child sexual abuse is one that stays with children as they became adults. Dr. Phil posted a number of articles on his website to help the uninformed understand the aftermath of abuse when no intervention is provided. Victims can't undo the damage alone. They don't just grow out of it. Sadly, abuse can</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"> follow them to their graves without help. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here is a screenshot posted by Dr. Phil on the lasting damages to victims caused by child sexual abuse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Below is another screenshot of more additional titles of informative articles about child sexual abuse, also posted by Dr. Phil on his website. Here's the <a href="http://drphil.com/articles/article/705">LINK </a>you need to reach that page. Once at the page, you can click on each topic to read the full story. The links below will not work from this blog. </span><br />
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-5090724688305595722015-02-16T17:56:00.002-06:002015-02-16T18:06:39.704-06:00Something for My Grandbaby To Play Along With<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Okay, "Blurred Lines" may not be the most kid appropriate tune, but aside from the explicit lyrics, which are nearly unintelligible, the music is just perfect for an almost year old baby to enjoy banging on her colorful Babies 'R Us xylophone -- while bobbing her head from side to side and kicking her feet in a way I cannot begin to describe. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just think how much she can learn from watching someone else play the same instrument she plays. Think of the hours of fun her parents will have trying to explain Grandma's idea of educational experiences. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just so you know I'm not entirely off the grid, I posted Idina Menzel's [Adele Dazeem to some of you] G-rated "Let It Go" on Facebook, so my talented grandbaby can have not one, but TWO tunes to bang on her xylophone. </span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YOZjaqHioro" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">By the way, when I Googled John Travolta's version of Idina Menzel, I also found this handy Travolta name generator <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/low_concept/2014/03/john_travolta_called_idina_menzel_adele_dazeem_what_s_your_travolta_name.html">HERE.</a> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I couldn't wait to see my name after it had been put through the Travolta machine: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-70218888983724612412015-02-07T20:41:00.000-06:002015-02-09T13:31:10.635-06:00Jobs In Jeopardy Returns<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm a little rusty, so Jobs In Jeopardy didn't get here fast enough to predict the end of Brian Williams' career on NBC nightly news. Not only that, he took himself down faster than the internet could pull the plug. But don't let that temporary hiatus stuff fool you. He is gone boy, gone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So that means I have to look around for other likely candidates. The ones who may even seem safe from the fickle finger of firing. Not the obvious ones like the congressional assistant whose racist blatherings on social media prompted him to execute himself just a few days ago. No, I want fresh meat.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Say, for instance, the offensive coordinator for the Seahawks. He is still sleeping peacefully at night. But his career will be toast in a few months. It will be quiet. It will be discreet. But he will be gone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fresh from the Super Bowl, with Pete Carroll gamely taking the blame for the absolute worst call in football history, Darrell Bevell's reason for making the call is almost as bad as the call itself -- let's make a pass on the one yard line to kill the clock. WTF you pussies. Too afraid to risk a kick off return? Just get the damn touchdown. If this 71-year-old grandma can make the call, anyone could have done it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When there's 26 seconds left and you're on the one freaking yard line with three more tries to score with an MVP player carrying the ball, you don't freaking throw. You give it to the best back in the league. Why? Because he's so good? NO!!! Because he is SO-O-O pissed that he didn't get the ball into the end zone on his first try, nobody's going to stop him. Now he's got three more tries. I guarantee NOTHING was going to keep Marshawn Lynch from scoring. You want to get fancy and go for two points after that, go ahead and let 'em think you're going to throw. But give it to Marshawn so he can run it in again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Then, don't be afraid of the kickoff. Killing the clock was an egregious example of hubris. Putting the cart before the horse. With all due respect to a great player, how could anyone assume that one of Russell Wilson's passes wouldn't be intercepted? Darrell, did you see the Green Bay game?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Hasta la bye bye. </span><br />
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Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-21192041413002416782015-02-04T19:01:00.000-06:002015-02-05T15:22:46.891-06:00The Ten Day Weekend Trip to NYC<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>I flew to NYC for the weekend ten days ago. It was a great day to fly for those of us who love to fly. Plus, I had the entire row to myself, a bonus for those of us who hate to sit next to people who might decide they want to talk to you. </b></span><br />
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<b>I also got some nice iPhone pictures of the view from the 17th row. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>I would happily point out local landmarks, but this view coming in for a landing was nothing I'd ever seen before, so you tell me what I was looking at.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>After a wonderful, but too short visit with family, it was time to fly back home. The first time I made an attempt was on Monday, January 25th, the day that Mayor DeBlasio and three governors shut down their cities and states in a pre-emptive strike to prepare for the storm of the century. It may have been nasty for Long Island and the Northeast. But here's a picture of what that allegedly hellacious storm looked like when it hit New York City [ho-freaking-hum]:</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>After the third day of rescheduling flights, only to have them cancelled, I decided just to stick around until I was sure it would be safe to head back to Chicago. {What was I thinking? You can NEVER count on the weather.]</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>But I was optimistic. Especially if I left about five days later. Say on Monday, February 2nd, Groundhog Day? I could stay to watch the Super Bowl with friends and family on Sunday, Feb 1. Eat myself into a stupor. Then head home Monday, Harold Ramis' national holiday. What could be easier? </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I mention Groundhog Day, referring to the movie, not the rodent. Because the film is all about repeating the same day over and over again. Until someone gets it right. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I should have known better. In a repeat of the previous Monday, my flight was. . .wait for it. . . cancelled. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I woke up with the Groundhogs in the morning, knowing there was 19 inches of snow in Chicago, but the airports at both ends were trying to pretend things were normal. Chicago was trying to stick it to New York. Snow? Hell no!! We are flying today, people -- get your butts to the airport, because the planes will be taking off for the Windy City!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>While standing in line for my boarding pass, I watched as the departure board changed my flight's status from ON TIME to CANCELLED. I informed the agent that my flight had just been cancelled. He said, oh no, it ha -- oh, wait, yes, it has. I could stand by on the noon flight or the 4:15 flight. Having been snookered by that trick before, I decided to leave on Tuesday. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Good idea. For once. All the flights from LGA on Monday had been cancelled, it turns out. Stand by got stood up. Hanging around at the airport did nobody any good. So I got some more family time.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Of course, getting airborne will always test the theory of relativity. Fortunately, my flight on Tuesday was relatively on time. Only delayed for two hours. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Here's my view to Chicago from seat 7D. Not as picturesque as the flight out -- c</b></span><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">loudy with a chance of more bad weather. </b></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But I did get home on the second try, the third or fourth time I tried. Got my abandoned cat out of hock. Thanked my neighbors for snow-blowing my driveway and sidewalk. Stopped by the Post Office to pick up the mail that had been piling up. And played catch up with my life. The usual. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">[Actual, un-retouched photo of the aftermath from Chicago's fifth worst snowstorm on record.]</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></b></span>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-58404789132968966832015-01-31T21:28:00.002-06:002015-02-05T15:31:37.782-06:00Time to Give It a Rest<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 2007, when he was 87 years old, I Googled Bill Bricker and found a flattering profile written about him, previously published in the Glen Arbor [MI] Sun in 2005. [If only the article had been written twenty years earlier.] </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">posted the article on my blog, because a friend of mine told me years before that he had been molested by Bricker during scouting overnights. I made a cryptic remark at the end of the article, wondering why Bricker left his teaching job, hoping to see what kind of comments my query and the profile would generate. Thus began the long and winding road to Bill Bricker's arrest seven years later for inappropriate behavior with three minors. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over the next several years, lots of people began to comment for and against Bricker on the blog. Always anonymously. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One victim, who never told me his name, decided to get a Chicago attorney involved with an eye toward criminal or civil charges against Bricker. He even called me on the phone [anonymously, with the number blocked], when I was discouraged by the lack of people coming forward at the time. Ever hopeful for a result, I tried to help out by posting the lawyer's information.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In 2012, I was contacted via this blog and my email, by a detective with the Teton County, WY, Sheriff's office. She wanted me to list her contact number on the blog for anyone who had been molested by Bill Bricker in Wyoming. With help from comments they found on the blog, there was an active, open, ongoing investigation against Bricker. After the years of whispers, I was very pleased to hear that an investigation was under way in Wyoming which, unlike Illinois, didn't have a statute of limitations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">However, a year later, she called back wondering why she hadn't heard from more victims. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It became clear that the shame and humiliation of sexual abuse were too great for the victims, both boys and girls, to feel comfortable revealing themselves, no matter what I, or anyone else who tried to help, could do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Finally, at the end of September, 2014, the ailing, now 94-year old former teacher/scoutmaster/camp counselor was arrested. Three credible victims had come forward. His double life was over. His decades of depravity had been revealed. He was arrested and taken from his medical re-hab facility and put in a cell before his arraignment. The press perked up and took an interest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The years of rumors became a moment of truth for Bill Bricker's victims. More victims felt empowered to come forward. More papers carried the story. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The arrest was then followed by weeks and weeks of lawyers fighting for Bricker's extradition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">Followed by Bricker's death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">With Bricker's passing, this chapter of my life is over. I am on to other things. If there are postscripts, I will share them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">But for now, I'd like to give it a rest. </span>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-42677531903410056032015-01-20T17:54:00.003-06:002015-01-21T00:05:12.240-06:00Illinois Child Abuse Law Not Good Enough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I wanted to know the statute of limitations in Illinois for charging someone with sexual abuse of a child. As you can see, even the criminal statute has all kinds of exceptions. You can view the website where I found this info <a href="http://www.legalmatch.com/law-library/article/illinois-statute-of-limitations-for-sexual-abuse.html">HERE.</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Frankly, I think there should be no statute of limitations for any kind of child sexual abuse. I think we can take a lesson from more forward thinking Wyoming on the value of removing the statute of limitations to protect our children. Bill Bricker would have gone to his grave with his reputation bright and shiny without Wyoming's invaluable help.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I was hoping that the Illinois statute of limitations for people who enable sexual predators [i.e., ignore complaints] was unlimited. But, you'll notice that the statute runs out eighteen years after a victim's 20th birthday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Meanwhile, Wyoming is apparently going after the people who chose to ignore direct complaints from Bricker's victims. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Because, thanks to their unfettered statute of limitations, they can. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-9054511684088677132015-01-15T16:41:00.000-06:002015-01-18T19:31:52.329-06:00Requiem for Molested Children <b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The murder of a child is the cruelest death of all. Our hearts break. The loss feels incomprehensible. Trying to cope with the murders of multiple children can overwhelm the emotional reserves of an entire community, a whole city, even a country. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While the world never knew them, no one will ever forget the nineteen babies and toddlers of Oklahoma City. Or the twenty school children of Sandy Hook Elementary School. We are also reminded daily of the ongoing, never-ending mass murders of children all across the world. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the wake of these kinds of deaths, we struggle with the horror as we attempt to honor their memories. How do you celebrate a life un-lived? The years of promise unfulfilled -- all gone in an instant? </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To assuage the emotional upheaval caused by these unimaginable losses, memorials have been held. Monuments have been built. And requiems have been written. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But what about the children whose souls have been silently and slowly extinguished by sexual predators like Bill Bricker? The children who die slowly, gradually over the passage of time, left to live with corrosive memories of abuse that eats them from the inside. The children who become alcoholics or drug addicts. The children who begin to suffer from mental illness. Or the children who can no longer bear the pain and finally commit suicide.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Who will honor the dozens and dozens of boys and girls abused by Bricker, who have suffered alone, tortured for decades with the nightmares of remembrance, dying a thousand times each day, crushed under the weight of shame and humiliation, molested by someone they trusted? </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Each one of these children was enthusiastically sacrificed to the respected teacher, scout leader, and camp counselor by the same adults charged with their protection. He was a war hero. So they ignored the complaints. He was popular. So they refused to believe the victims. He had powerful friends. So everyone looked away while Bricker cut the hearts and souls out of three generations of defenseless children. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Who will write their requiem? Who will build a monument worthy of their memories? </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">• • • • •</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">An anonymous, handwritten note in Bill Bricker's Winnetka school file estimated that he had molested at least 100 children during his decades as a school teacher, scout leader, and camp counselor. These are lives that Bill Bricker destroyed in countless ways. He took away one child's unbridled eagerness, happiness and joy. He ended another child's future dreams and smothered his innocence. He wreaked havoc on dozens and dozens of other children, with psychic devastation that followed many into adulthood. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He could have been stopped years ago. He should have been tried and he would have been convicted. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But despite what Bricker did, many of the boys and girls he took advantage of became productive, successful members of society. They survived, albeit wounded. As one of Bricker's survivors pointed out, "I don't know how the molestation affected me, but I know it affected me." </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Bill Bricker died a few days ago, having squeezed every possible accolade and honorarium he could out of his undeserved ninety-four years. Thanks to law enforcement in Wyoming, Bricker's enablers in Illinois could no longer protect him. His illegitimate legacy has been erased with his arrest in September of 2014 for inappropriate behavior with three minors. His public humiliation encouraged of some of his silent victims to finally come forward and speak out about what he did to them. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>A newspaper account of Bricker's passing noted that he would be cremated. There would be no services and no burial. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Hearing this, someone suggested that his ashes should be flushed down a toilet. I thought the idea was worth mentioning.</b></span><br />
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<br />Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-58227665606788072692015-01-03T16:30:00.000-06:002015-01-08T13:17:29.708-06:00What Next if Bricker Isn't Extradited?<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Stopping by the blog for a quick observation or two. First, kudos to the Tribune and reporters Karen Cullotta and Lisa Black for their thorough work and excellent coverage of the Bill Bricker story. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Next, in the package of 200 pages or so from the Winnetka School District, there are several mentions of a diary about Bill Bricker kept by Paul Avery, the former superintendent of Winnetka District 36. In 1968, Avery, now dead, was already preparing to leave left to assume another position, just as the first accusations against Bricker came to light. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There are handwritten snippets from the diary, written as a timeline of events surrounding the Bricker issues, which had arisen. Avery supposedly gave to the diary to the attorney [also dead] for the district, who worked at the law firm of Sidley & Austin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">[A full circIe moment occurred when I saw my grandfather's name on the masthead of a letter from Sidley to the School District. And no, his name wasn't Linklater].</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The diary has not surfaced. It is probably filed away at Sidley somewhere. Or "disappeared." Avery was one of a few people who might have had the courage to insist on Bricker's removal, when the accusations surfaced. His disgust with Bricker is apparent in a memo he sent to another school administrator, regarding Bricker's teaching style. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">However, Avery was a lame duck, getting ready to leave for another job in another state, never to be heard from again. Unfortunately, the pediatrician who brought the 1968 accusations to the attention of the school board died suddenly around the same time. And everyone else seems to have closed ranks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Also not found in Bricker's 200 page school file was a copy of the psychiatrist's report on Bricker. Bricker was scheduled to meet with the doctor to be evaluated. Where did that file go? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The next chapter of the Bricker story really has to do with how so many people who could have done something -- didn't. Not to mention the number of people who actively obstructed the few who tried. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I also understand that a current school board member, who was, arguably, a do-nothing principal at Hubbard Woods school during a portion of Bill Bricker's reign of terror, will not be running for re-election. That's good news. I am only sorry that he hasn't been forced to resign ahead of time. </span>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-68896529319601348482015-01-02T17:20:00.003-06:002015-01-02T17:20:55.605-06:00Bill Bricker Accused of Molesting Top Winnetka School Administrator's Son<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">File this one under cruel irony. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">One very important person, who had the power to fire Bill Bricker and help to deny him years of 24/7/365 access to school children, scouts, and campers, was Donald Monroe, former Superintendent of Schools for Winnetka's District 36.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From 1977 through 1990, when his and Bricker's tenures overlapped, the buck stopped with him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">However, like the scouts, the camp owners, and other school administrators -- He. Didn't. Do. Anything. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Probably because Monroe's son was not a member of Bricker's Winnetka's Troop 18. Nor did he go to Hubbard Woods School where Bricker taught. There might be rumors swirling, but his kid was safe. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Until 1985, when Monroe sent his son to the fancy ass Teton Valley Ranch Camp in Wyoming, an idyllic venue enjoyed by the rich and famous, as well as many Winnetka children, since the 1940's -- the camp where Bill Bricker was a volunteer counselor for 53 years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And where Bricker allegedly molested Monroe's 11-year-old son. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Read the son's story <a href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/winnetka-northfield-glencoe/ct-bill-bricker-superintendents-son-met-20141231-story.html#page=1">HERE.</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-4436402916829187402014-12-29T14:39:00.001-06:002015-01-06T18:47:15.725-06:00What do Bill Clinton and Bill Bricker have in common?<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Warning: Younger and/or more sensitive readers may discover that this entry contains language which your mother doesn't want you to use correctly in a sentence. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If there's anything I have learned from the Monica Lewinsky scandal, it's that some men have a very narrow definition of sex. For these guys, the only time sex takes place is when the rocket enters the silo, the peg goes through the porthole, or the piston pumps into the cylinder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nothing else counts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That's why Bill Clinton so vehemently denied having sex with Monica Lewinsky. "I did not have sex with that woman!" Because she didn't hide his sausage in her buns. She didn't let the rabbit go into the hole. There was no insertion of a member into her clubhouse. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Instead, she gave him a blow job. Not sex. In fact, you could say as much for any other "jobs" she may have performed. Not sex. Same if he had played motorboat with her "girls." Not sex. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So when Bill Bricker vehemently denied having sex with any of his students, scouts, or campers, his alleged victims, along with the rest of us, may have wanted to yell "LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE." But Bricker may just be a victim of Bill Clinton syndrome. If his elevator didn't go up and down inside a shaft, then sex didn't take place. Rubbing and touching and fondling and stimulating to ejaculation? Not sex. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Now maybe you can understand why -- for the last 75 years -- Bill Bricker doesn't think he ever did anything wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Neither do the Winnetka police, a host of Winnetka School administrators the Boy Scouts of America, and the owners of the Teton Valley Ranch Camp. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Unfortunately, the rest of us, plus an estimated more than 100 boys and girls, if not more, would beg to differ.</span><br />
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<br />Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7516392886578064543.post-88701527703980018922014-12-28T20:21:00.001-06:002014-12-28T20:27:08.575-06:00Governors of Wyoming and Michigan Push for Bricker's Extradition<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">This AP story, which broke on December 27th, has been showing up in newspapers all over the country. For some reason, the Tribune ran the headline, but didn't pick up the AP story. You can read about the warrant issued by the Michigan governor at the Wyoming governor's request <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/governors-urge-94-year-old-mans-extradition-to-wyoming/2014/12/27/fdcb12aa-8e14-11e4-ace9-47de1af4c3eb_story.html">HERE</a>.</span></b><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">For months, Bricker's attorneys have been claiming he's too old and too ill to travel, etc., etc. Their delaying tactics have been successful so far. </span></b><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>This governor's warrant says there are those who think Bricker is well enough to stand trial in Wyoming. So let's get this show on the road. </b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>However, since the warrant was issued on December 16th and nobody from the Traverse County [MI] Sheriff's office has served it, one wonders if we're in the middle of a game of chicken. </b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Who will blink first? </b></span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>Mrs. Lhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16582230399160973531noreply@blogger.com0