Tuesday, November 7, 2017

The Reverend Sydney James

I can see, and hear, in my mind, even these 50 years later, the Very Reverend, Sydney James, standing in the pulpit saying, "Might Never Makes Right"......... at our church in Kent. His deep baritone voice projecting "truth" and finality. Now my main complaint, with religious persons, is that most persons who claim to be religious, have never even read the Bible. And because of this, they receive their dose of reality from some Anglican Father, like the Very Reverend, Sydney James; absorbing his words as gospel; and never reading the Bible in its entirety, and never becoming aware of the huge disparity between the actual text, and the "cherry picked" paragraphs chosen by these lovers of "peace", that hold their "flock" imprisoned in a world of fantasy. And to those readers who don't understand what I am talking about, I give you this attached posting, in the hope that your mind can be opened, and some sense of reality, in this present world, can be reached. And without going into some deep philosophical inquiry, I readily admit that I believe that the Bible is not the actual word of the Creator, but that it is the inspired word of the Creator. That not all events mentioned, in the Bible, are actual or factual, but that they are events that are totally human, and as such depict the natural human experience, and thus can be attributed to that hidden force that "sparks" all Earthly life, Nature. And regardless of the written word, and the human dilemma between "Good" and "Evil", all life is a struggle for survival, and that struggle has different "rules" at different times, with survival of the species being the dominate factor all the time. Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. But in time, everything returns to the beginning, as nothing can be either created or destroyed. This is why the aphorism, "History Repeats Itself", holds such weight in any discussion of Earthly reality.

How, my father, the first, Lord Howard Hurts, made me understand that "Might Makes Right".

I was 16 years old, when my father, Lord Howard, came to me, and asked me to drive over to his apartment building in the middle of Maidstone, in Kent, and collect the rent from a Mr. Carter in apartment 212. He further told me to see that I did not leave without receiving the rent owed. Well, I went to the apartment building, a new, modern, building that held 64 rentals in a horseshoe design, with an extensive and beautiful garden, giving the modern complex both a trendy, and at the same time a "country cottage" look. The building was directly in the commercial part of the town, and was quite convent for persons who did not have a car for transportation, and relied on either walking or taxi transport. The rents were modest, and the occupancy rate had held at a profitable 97% over the 10 years since the buildings' opening. The renters were mostly retired persons, singles and couples, who held small pensions. Nice quiet people for the most part. 

When I got to the building, I went directly to Mr. Carter's door, on the second floor, and pressed the outside bell button. He answered the bell, almost immediately, and when I told him that I had been instructed by the Lord to claim his rent check, he began to respond to me in both a loud and domineering voice. He said that I need not bother him for he had always paid his rent on time; that he was busy at that particular time; and that I could go home, and inform Lord Howard that he would forward the rent check in due time. He then proceeded to close the door in my face.......... punctuated with a loud slam. Thinking that I had done my job, I proceeded to go home, and inform my father of the situation. Well, I was in for a huge surprise. Father, started, "You moron. I told you to bring back the rent....no excuses. I could let this cretin send the rent when he pleases; I don't need you to go around, and translate for this fool. He has a binding contract, and he needs to pay according to that contract." Well, I was quite surprised at the furry of father. I had only seen him this "wild" on no more than 3 occasions in the past 16 years, and I was not sure, by his ferocity, if he was going to "kill" me, or the errant tenant. Father told me to bring the car around, and said that we both would go visit Mr. Carter, and see that he understood the complete meaning of an obligatory, legal document.

I brought the car around, and father got in, and he seemed so calm, that I was thinking that I had dreamed the previous encounter. We arrived at the apartment building without further incident, and father beat a path up the stairs to Mr. Carter's apartment, with me following in dogged pursuit. Father did not even ring the door bell.....he pounded on the door, 3, or 4, very hard hits.... and it was suddenly opened by Mr. Carter. Mr. Carter was a slight man in his mid fifties, and father was just slightly less than 6 foot, but with the build of a prize winning boxer. Father, did not even give Mr. Carter time to speak. He grabbed this renter with his left hand.....a handful of shirt....and proceeded to push him across the living room, and into a wall. Father, using the handful of colorful flannel..... then lifted the slight man upwards so that his toes barely touched the floor. He then screamed in Mr. Carter's face, "Don't give me excuses and don't dismiss my son when I have sent him to collect your rent. I am going to count to 10, and when I get to 10, if you have not put your rent check in my hand, I will grab you by your shirt once again, and I will take my right hand, and grasp your balls and squeeze them, and I will then throw you through that front window. And then I will go outside and pick up your bloody and broken body, and throw you back into this room, and continue to do so until you say, "Quit." Father then let Mr. Carter down, and there upon he (Carter) ran into his bedroom and returned with check book in hand. Looking quite scared, Carter then sat on the living room couch; leaned forward....... and used the steamer trunk, he had as a coffee table, to substitute as a writing desk, to write out the rent check. He handed it to father, and announced, "I have included an extra $15 dollars to compensate you for your collection trouble."  Father took the check, and we went home, saying not a word in the car during the trip.

Later that night, father, summoned me to his library, and he informed me that I was to take charge of the rentals at the apartment building starting as soon as I either evicted someone, or took over from someone that had an expired lease. He further informed me that I would be living on my own, and handling all the general maintenance on the building, and the collection of all rents...... and that I would need to figure out how much to increase the rents to compensate for my living in one of the apartments...for "free".  I was overjoyed at the prospect of being only 16, and living away from home, and having a "bachelor pad" in the middle of town. Father, also told me to contact his friend, Carl Zinman, who owned a furniture store, and to get myself everything I needed to establish my future domain. I lived in that apartment building for three and one half years, and learned how the "real world" operates on this planet we call Earth. The Very Reverend, Sydney James, was so wrong. "Might Always Makes Right", it is just a matter of how much force to apply, and when to apply that force. This is what always separates "Good" from "Evil". 

Epilogue: Mr. Carter continued to inhabit unit 212, and even  extended his "stay" by another year contract. Lord Howard never again set foot on the property, leaving complete control in my "hands" until I left England, and moved to America. Lord Howard sold the property  6 months later and made himself a pretty penny indeed.                 
Lord Howard Hurts

Monday, November 6, 2017

Massachusetts Man in Nome

Ronald: Your photos of bears reminds me of a story I was told when I went to Alaska for the first time back in 1967. I  had settled in Nome and was at a little cafe called "Mr. Lucky's Gold Dust Cafe". It was a blustery Saturday afternoon in November. I had just come up from Alabama.........Dothan to be exact.........and it was already colder than any winter I wanted to see. But as I sat in the dry warmth of that little cafe the friendliness of the town of Nome, showed itself in the good nature of the three old prospectors who shared that breakfast counter with me that day. Well we began to talk about the weather, and then the conversation turned to more personal aspects of our unrelated lives. And when I mentioned that I was up there from Alabama everyone in the cafe........not just my new three friends..... began to laugh and joke about Alabama. Well then the talk turned to the tenderfoot that had come into the cafe a few weeks ago from Massachusetts. Well my new friend said that he was not even sure that this tenderfoot would last past breakfast by the way he was complaining about the cold and the snow. So one of my new friends took up with him, and told him that everyone new to Alaska must do three thing before they became a real Alaskan. Well it seems that "Massachusetts" was serious about staying and prospecting for gold come summer so he said that he was surely interested in knowing what he needed to do to become a real Alaskan. Well this one guy, Bill, one of the protagonist, was sort of a joker, and he told Mr. Massachusetts that he would first need to go to some bar on the strip and drink a full bottle of Irish whiskey. That after he had done this he would have to kill an Alaskan bear. And then finally  he would then have to have hot passionate sex with an Alaskan woman. And as quickly as these words flowed from Bill's mouth this Massachusetts guy jumped up from his bar stool ,and said that he was going to do all of these mentioned things right then and there.  And he further stated that he would return after accomplishing his mission. Well after maybe two hours had passed....suddenly the door of the cafe was swung open, and it crashed against the adjacent wall with a loud thud. And there stood the man from Massachusetts. And he was drunk as the proverbial skunk. And he was bruised and scratched from head to foot. His clothes were ripped and torn beyond repair. His hair was even missing from several spots on his bloodied head.  Well he looked at everyone in the room and said, "I am out of here.....I am on my third and final mission. And if you gents would be so kind as to direct me to that Alaskan woman I have to kill, I would be most obliged". 
Lord Howard Hurts