Tis of Thee

The time for celebration is upon us once again as America salutes itself this Fourth of July. In case you've been in a coma or just plain can't do arithmetic, we as a nation have made it to the benchmark of two hundred and fifty years of existence. SA-LUTE as they used say on Hee-Haw. Happy birthday. Your card's in the mail.

Why so blase', Cher-nay? Call it holiday burn-out, I reckon. We seem to be celebrating everything these days, blissfully ignorant that it's merely a series of cash grabs, Christmas being the main culprit, though there are several runners-up. (I'm looking at you, Halloween) Whatever keeps the economy moving, good taste be damned. Those Memorial Days sales should remind us that our men and women in uniform died on the battlefield just so that you could get 25% off a Barcalounger. 

Every day it's something new. National Chocolate Chip Day. Stapler Awareness Week. Gummi Bear Pride Month. The over abundance of these quasi-events trivializes those people and events that actually deserve recognition into near-obliteration. "Sorry, I can't come to the memorial of your proud heritage because it's national Air Traffic Control Day." https://nationaltoday.com/national-air-traffic-control-day/

But as far as this particular holiday goes, the 250th has been pretty much downplayed up until the last last weeks (with the exception of the Great American State Fair debacle) and I'm okay with that. I lived through the days when the Bicentennial was rammed down our throats from every angle available and that way WAY before the Internet, social media or even Cable TV. Those Bicentennial Minute segments alone were about to send me over the edge.

"In this, our Bicentennial Year" became a cringe-worthy reminder that you could not escape this patriotic deluge even if you tried. Two hundred years was indeed a major milestone, but I, for one, couldn't wait for it to be over.

As for this year, well, 250 is all fine and dandy but it doesn't even have a catchy name. 300 will be the Tricentennial, but this is what, the Polytennial? Whoop-ti-do. I'll be long gone by 2076, so have at it. 

Hey, I'm just not big on nationalism, okay? Never have been, never will be. Sure, I've been onstage signing George M. Cohan songs 'til the cows come home and even went to the wall for the US of A during 9/11. When I see the visiting teams of the World Cup go over the moon for things we take for granted in this land o' ours, it points a knowing smile on my face. Lately though, it's tough to be all rah-rah for what's been happening to this country since even before the turn of the century. Am I proud to be an American? I waiver back and forth as anyone really should. Blind

allegiance is exactly as the term applies. I know what we're capable of us as people to want things to be better for us. And it's not for lack of love that I don't wave the flag willy-nilly. I find it to be an empty gesture if it's not sincere. I am an American through and through. I'll never live anywhere else especially at this late date. So excuse me if I don't join you at the parade. I'll say hoo-ray for the red, white and blue in my own inimitable fashion while I duck and cover from all the illegal fireworks that will be set off when the sun goes down since I live in the center of Ground Zero here in Washington County, Oregon. Another day in America until tomorrow.

Enjoy your Fourth if you feel the urge and come back home with all your fingers. Well, most of them, anyway.

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Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-The Election

The Fourth of July in 1979 fell on a Wednesday, but Tule Flats Ghost Town would be open for
business even though it was normally a weekends only operation. Therefore, we had something extra special planned for this holiday extravaganza.

I haven't a clue who came up with the idea, but it was decided that we would have an election that day to name the Mayor of Tule Flats. The field for candidates was wide open-anybody and everybody could run if they so desired, provided they run for this prestigious office in character. We all had been given free rein to create a town character for ourselves. Bill Humphreys became Humphrey Williams (clever boy), the town banker. Ed Thorpe was Ned Tate who ran on the Law and Order ticket. I had a couple of different characters, one of them being Al Jennings, a real-life western train robber who later became an attorney. (look it up) But in the gunfight known as "Poker Chip", I played the Storekeeper role as a Swede named Sven Bjorn Bjorg Gunther and he is who I chose to throw my hat into the ring with. 

So those became the main three vying for town mayor. We were to run our campaigns throughout the day on the Fourth, culminating in some fancy speechifyin' in the gazebo out before our potential voters. Grant-Lee Phillips wrote Bill's-or Humphey's, rather-campaign song that he sang as they paraded down throughout the town.

Humphrey Williams

He's our man

Best darn throughout the land

Humphrey Williams

Rah Rah Rah

And best of all he wears no bra!

In a nutshell, meaning his amazingly creative head, that was our Grant-Lee.

As we all stood on the gazebo, ready for our campaign speeches, a dark horse candidate entered the picture. Accompanied by a bevy of bombastic beauties all dressed to the nines in hotsy-totsy saloon girl costumes, here came Goldie Pollard, all decked out in full regalia as though starring in a Mae West one-woman show. She took the stage by force of her sheer personality and announced to the crowd that she indeed was running as a write-in candidate for mayor. Her campaign promises included no restrictions on gambling, the sale of alcohol and...wait for it...open prostitution. 

Goldie won by a landslide.

There was no way any of us would attempt to contest the results because I think we all voted for her ourselves. Maybe some of the townsfolk and one of the business partners took issue with the "open prostitution" line, but that's politics.

Later that night, we all celebrated Goldie's win and it was the first time the ghost town and the Palace Showboat merged together as one. It wouldn't be long before some of us would take up residence there, but right then, we were two separate entities that found common ground and that is due to the one person who brought us all together, the one (and only) duly elected Mayor of Tule Flats Ghost Town, the Honorable Goldie Pollard. 

As we partied long into the night in the saloon that night, one person joined us who never had before, our very own Sheriff John. In, all the years I had known him up to that point, he had always kept to himself, the lonesome cowpoke he had always bee. Here he was though, drinking, laughing and celebrating with the rest of us. In fact, at one point, we spouted lines from our gunfights, adding a plethora of swear words to not only spice things up, but to crack ourselves up until the cows came home.

Sheriff! Sheriff! Have you seen the sheriff?

What the fuck do you want, you little asshole?

High comedy indeed and a perfect end to the holiday, or any other day for that matter.

That Fourth of July, we didn't need fireworks. We made our own.

Next up: Chapter Four-I SHOT THE SHERIFF

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TALES FROM THE VILLE