Blogs by Robert A. Mills
AURA LEE - PART 14
1/6/2010 7:50:03 AM
AURA LEE – PART 14
John Wilkes Booth sat on a bench under a fanning sycamore tree on the south side of Pennsylvania Avenue and stared at the White House. Next to him sat an older man, a clergyman, not nearly so well dressed nor handsomely turned out; and they were both smoking long black cheroots.
“Father Ervin,” Booth muttered, half under his breath, while expelling a steady stream of blue tobacco smoke, “I must speak in confidence, with frankness, and fully relying upon your clerical discretion. Quite frankly, this matter weighs heavily, causing me much anxiety. I am not eating well, nor sleeping. Those who know me, seeing me often, say I look . . . ragged. And I have moments of keen depression, alleviated only by dangerous amounts of brandy and corn whiskey, which in reality give me little more than temporary oblivion and damnable headaches. There are times when I . . . when the whole issue, this business . . . well, to be frank, I favor kidnapping, snatching the blackguard when he rides alone, rather than outright assassination. But I have no theory, no plan in either case, as to logistics or execution. My confidants to a man are against the idea. I am somewhat . . . beside myself . . . hardly my best position.”
The Reverend Father Ervin Adare, S.G. was barely listening. He was watching a young boy, a lad of less than twelve years, playing with an old Negro and a Union army officer on the lawn in front of the mansion. The old priest, sitting next to the dapper, cosmopolitan, youthful Booth, was visually incongruous, and yet, at the same time, remarkably inconspicuous, as only a clergyman, edentulous and surpassing his prime, can be. He was of diminutive stature, all the more so sitting down, and he was quite bald, with what hair he had left pulled back beyond his ears and bunched over his neck and shoulders in an unruly wad. His eyebrows, forming a tangled frame above dark, narrow eyes, were two rows of untrimmed hedges that fluctuated with emphasis whenever he spoke. But it was his beard which separated him from the ordinary: a gray mass of curls that emanated not from his chin, cheek or jowls, but rather hung from his upper throat, commencing beneath the jaw line and giving the appearance of a wiry bib that covered him to his breastbone.
“Who,” he asked, and his voice, strong and clear, betrayed his demeanor, “is that soldier with young Tad Lincoln and the old retainer?”
Booth tilted his head and focused on the group across the street. “Ah, that’s the eldest son, Robert Lincoln. A regimental captain, home, I would suspect, for a week’s respite.”
“Handsome young man. Looks fit. Are you sure he, too, is Abe Lincoln’s son?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Bears no resemblance to the ‘monster’.”
Booth shrugged, indifferently. “Perhaps he was adopted.”
“No. If that’s Robert, he’s a Lincoln. I was in Illinois when the boy was born. I saw Mary Lincoln often at social functions in those days. Trust me, she was quite abundantly with child when I last saw her a few days before the blessed event.”
“Interesting . . . What say you to the idea of kidnapping young Tad— doing him no harm, of course, but holding him for ransom? We could easily exchange him for every soldier the Yankees are holding on Johnson’s Island. Lincoln would certainly acquiesce to any demands to reunite the boy safely with his mother and him.”
Father Ervin regarded his companion with a negative shake of the head, causing his beard to sway beneath his chin like a pillowcase hanging to dry in the wind. “Why not, then, simply snatch the mother? And the boy? And the older brother, as well? No, my cognizable thespian, that is not what my superiors have in mind. If kidnapping were a workable agenda, it would do only if Lincoln himself were the victim. And in that case, all results would have to be warranted for fruition exactly as prescribed, or it would prove naught and dangerously worthless. Frankly, though you may be partial to kidnapping, for all intent and successful purpose, assassination is the only true and sensible benison that will do.”
Benison? Booth seemed to ponder this, as nothing more was said for several minutes. Then: “Am I correct,” he asked, leaning forward and speaking in a stage whisper, “the bounty is set now at one million dollars gold?”
“Bounty? Strange choice of word. But you are correct.”
“And what modus operandi will place that sum into my anxious hands?”
Father Ervin scrunched a bit taller on the park bench and leaned back, resting against the ornate cast iron. “The first step is that you must go quickly to Richmond and inform President Davis of what—as you call it—modus operandi you have planned in order to carry out the, uh, mission. If he approves—and I see no reason why he shouldn’t—he will give you a deposit and an endorsement above his seal that you will bring back to me here in Washington. Upon receipt of that document, I will place into your hands two hundred thousand dollars gold. Actually, as such a sum will weigh more than you can carry, I will place the money in carpetbags to be hidden at your hotel, or wherever you prefer, and waiting for you as you make your escape back to Richmond. Once in the capitol again, present yourself to Mr. Davis and receive the remaining seven hundred ninety thousand in bullion. His instructions are that he is to pay you, or at least have the money ready, upon notice from us that Abraham Lincoln has been duly dispatched, by your hand, from his mortal coil.”
Again, the two men fell into a prolonged, contemplative silence. Then Booth spoke first: “I have many preparatory expenses that I cannot meet. There are people in this with me whose time and efforts I must compensate.”
“That is not my concern. You will have plenty of money to meet those expenses once the deed is done.”
“You do not understand.”
“No, Mr. Booth, it is you who does not understand.”
The old priest sat forward and locked his gaze on the young actor. “We have placed one million dollars on the head of the author of the bloodshed, and the money does not come from the Confederacy. We SGs alone have been given the great enterprise to select an assassin and show him a crown of glory in heaven. You, dear boy, are to be the tool of the Society of God, and I can assure you we—they—are a brotherhood who never forgets.”
Father Adare’s tone pierced a nerve in Booth’s psyche. A tool of the Society of God . . . the SGs . . . a brotherhood who never forgets. The actor did not need to read between the lines to fully understand, and he was glad he had familiarized himself with Ervin Adare’s former relationship with Abraham Lincoln.
It had been in 1856, in Illinois, when an altercation had broken out between Father Adare and his bishop, a certain S.G. named Anatole Kipfer. Much verbosity, profane and otherwise, was bantered back and forth, and although Bishop Kipfer stepped aside and had nothing further to do with Adare, one of the bishop’s closest friends, a Father Maurice Dawdle sued Adare for slander. The case was brought in the spring of 1856, and Adare was represented by a lawyer none other than Abraham Lincoln. The future president arranged a most comfortable settlement and compromise before the issue even came to trial, but Adare took this as a monumental victory over the church and, to his discredit, went about for a time bragging that a certain morals charge had been, ostensibly, proven against the bishop. Within a syllable of being ex-communicated by Rome, Adare recanted his louche and ill-chosen diatribe and went abroad for two years. During that time, Bishop Kipfer died, allowing Adare to return to the United States and resume his duties in the diocese of the District of Columbia.
But, of course, the brotherhood never forgets. When it was determined by the S.G.s there was no such man, save Abraham Lincoln, who had undermined and demeaned the value of slavery, a system favored by the majority of American Catholics, the totalitarian Papacy pronounced this president a major enemy, and took it upon itself to find a way to remove him, as they had many others, as a head of state.
Father Adare, as an ex-priest twenty-three years later, would write a book called A Roman Lifetime, in which he would, wallowing in pique, describe the events soon to transpire as “a Catholic grand conspiracy”.
John Wilkes Booth, his insane plans to kidnap the President raked away like dead leaves of autumn, had quite conveniently made himself available as the Church’s most utile, mercenary instrument of his time.
* * *
The President of the United States stood in the window of his second floor office and watched his two remaining offspring playing catch with a hard India rubber ball in the yard below. It was a game of three-cornered catch with old Alvinas Turner placed off at an odd angle, and the two Lincolns threw the ball back and forth, rarely if ever including the dauntless retainer. Robert, the president noticed, was not as good a thrower or catcher as young Tad. This pleased Lincoln, and he turned to the secretary of war and made note of it.
“Look at this, Stanton,” he said. “The boy throws a more manly pitch and catches open-handed and unafraid. Captain Robert tosses the ball like a eunuch.”
Edwin Stanton got up from a wooden, straight-backed chair near the door and crossed the room to stand beside the president and look out the window. Lincoln was conscious of him standing nearby, but he did not look at him. Stanton, though robust, was easily a foot shorter than Lincoln and took on the image of a midget when they were side by side. His shaggy mane and full, elongated beard, splattered in irregular patterns with whitish highlights, did little to enhance his appearance; but his clothes, well-tailored and cut with perfection by the master haberdashers on M Street, made up for cosmetic shortcomings.
“’Captain Robert,’ as you call him,” Stanton said, pleasantly enough, “were this a crown sovereign—which in many ways your Cabinet so regards it—would be heir to the throne. He cuts a fine figure in his uniform.”
Lincoln grunted.
“And you, Edwin, are a master of the non sequitur . . . Well, in any event, they seem to have fun running old Turner ragged.”
“How long will Robert be home?”
“I’m not sure. Less than the week, I would think.” The president, not in the least curious why Stanton was unsure the length of Robert’s furlough, turned from the window and walked away from his Secretary of War, circling his desk and finally dropping into the easy chair beside it.
Stanton remained at the window; something other than the group below playing in the field of the presidency had caught his eye. Was that the Roman Catholic priest Father Ervin Adare chatting on a park bench across the street with—could it be?—the actor, John Wilkes Booth? It most certainly was! . . . Wouldn’t Andrew Johnson, Stanton thought, like to be a blue jay perched within earshot on a branch in that sycamore tree!
After a moment, the cabinet officer turned away from the window and addressed the president. “Do you see much of Johnson these days?”
“Johnson?” For an instant Lincoln looked confused.
“Andrew Johnson.”
“Oh. No. . . .Why do you ask?”
“Merely curious. Since his days in the House and the Senate, we rarely see him in Washington.”
“I appointed him Military Governor of Tennessee for the expressed purpose of keeping him out of Washington. What I want of him is to use Tennessee as a model for reconstruction once this abominable conflagration ends. Hope, I’m afraid, will well exceed reality.” The president toyed quietly with the spoon beside his coffee cup. “Are you aware that he spent most of his time in congress trying to implement a plan whereby every man considered ‘poor’ would receive from the government the gift of a farm—complete with a horse, a mule, and a two-room house? A sort of national lagniappe?”
Stanton nodded. “I was aware . . . Is he ill?”
Lincoln made an imperceptible shrug. “Not that I’m aware. Hung over a great deal of the time, I would imagine; but seriously ill I seriously doubt.” The president pursed his lips, and regarded his colleague with a curiosity of his own. “I’m surprised you would give our erstwhile oenophile that much quandary. I wasn’t aware you considered him much more than an enfant terrible with barely a shred of rectitude.”
Stanton smiled at Lincoln’s choice of words, wishing as he often did that he could, in seemingly casual conversation, state his mind with such profound eloquence.
“No, Mr. President,” he chuckled, “I seldom dwell on Mr. Johnson or his proclivity for strong drink. A thought of him suddenly passed through my brain—there is talk he may be put forth for the vice presidency, being a Southerner and a Democrat to give the next ticket the face of balance. I was merely wondering . . . well, yes, curious . . . as to his whereabouts and activities.”
Lincoln sighed heavily and brought up his right hand, and he stared at it— the symbolism may not have been unintentional. “Inasmuch as Johnson’s role in this or any government is indefeasible and marred by his reputation as an inebriate, I cannot bring him much more into play than is barely prescribed by common sense. The less we see of him, the better. The man relishes the notion his position is in Cockaigne rather than Nashville. He is, of course, a fool.”
The Secretary of War sat down, nodding, but not so much at Lincoln’s analysis of the Military Governor of Tennessee as in his sudden grasp of Johnson’s blatant dislike and disrespect for the commander-in-chief: Lincoln knew him and saw him for exactly what he was.
“I would be delighted,” Andrew Johnson once said openly to Edwin Stanton at a meeting in his suite at the Willard Hotel, “to purchase the weapon, load it and place it in the hands of a hired assassin, and hold his arm steady while he squeezed the trigger, sending that baboon to his just reward.”
That remark, fueled by Tennessee whiskey, came during a conversation in which Stanton had been expounding on Lincoln’s mild Reconstruction policies if and when the war was successfully concluded. There was mutual animosity abundant in the room as these two, drinking and talking in total confidence, resolved that more radical reconstruction policies would be required to restore the Union to its deserved glory. For one thing, Lincoln had expressed his plan to admonish the South for its misdeeds by pouring millions into rebuilding farms and towns that were being destroyed in battle after battle. Jobs for prisoners of war returning home; pensions for veterans too incapacitated to earn a living; government subsidies not only for wrecked industries, but also for widows and children left destitute by the war. Worst of all, Lincoln was determined that race and color had no bearing on the recipients of this largess.
“We shall return,” he said, in a speech before Congress, “to a unified nation, one nation, one people known far and wide simply as Americans; and the brotherhood of this one nation, under God, shall prevail, shall endure throughout the centuries, while the stupidity of this conflict for which so many have given so much is submersed in a rare and singular culture to be envied by all mankind.”
Not in my lifetime, thought Edwin Stanton. It was his belief and purpose, along with many others such as Andrew Johnson, conspirators George Atzerodt, John Surratt, David Herold, certain European bankers led by the Rothchilds, domestic bankers and financiers, Copperheads, radical Republicans, the B’nai B’rith, Knights of the Golden Circle, the S.G.s of the Roman Catholic Church, a number of congressmen—quite nearly everyone who could muster an opinion, that the North was anointed not only to win the war but to avenge the conflict by literally crushing the South into the dirt of defeat through the total submission of conquest. Plainly, however, that is not at all what the Great Emancipator had in mind, and everyone knew it.
The president looked away from his right hand. “Will you stay and have supper with us, Edwin?”
The Secretary of War rose to leave. “I think not, Mr. President, but I am much obliged for the offer. Give my warmest regards to Mrs. Lincoln, sir.”
He left quickly, wondering if he, too, might have a word with Father Ervin Adare.
TO BE CONTINUED
Copyright©2002 by Robert A. Mills
Post a Comment new!
More Blogs by Robert A. Mills
• CANTANKEROUS - Saturday, May 18, 2013
• BOATS - Saturday, May 11, 2013
• BALANCE - Saturday, May 04, 2013
• USPS - Saturday, April 27, 2013
• TAXES - Saturday, April 20, 2013
• AUDITION - Saturday, April 13, 2013
• NASHVILLE - Saturday, April 06, 2013
• BOXER - Saturday, March 30, 2013
• COLUMNS - Monday, March 25, 2013
• VIETNAM - Saturday, March 16, 2013
• ΣAM - Saturday, March 09, 2013
• WHOA! - Saturday, March 02, 2013
• TWO - Saturday, February 23, 2013
• QUITTER - bonus - Tuesday, February 19, 2013
• GHOSTS - Saturday, February 16, 2013
• VALENTINE - Wednesday, February 13, 2013
• FBI - Saturday, February 09, 2013
• WOOLLEY - Saturday, February 02, 2013
• GRUMPY - Saturday, January 26, 2013
• FORMAL - Saturday, January 19, 2013
• PATTY - Saturday, January 12, 2013
• OFFENDED - Saturday, January 05, 2013
• LOVE - Saturday, December 29, 2012
• CHRISTMAS - Wednesday, December 26, 2012
• PEPE - Saturday, December 22, 2012
• TIME - Saturday, December 15, 2012
• TIME - Saturday, December 15, 2012
• UGA - Saturday, December 08, 2012
• MASS - Saturday, December 01, 2012
• SLF - Saturday, November 24, 2012
• THANKSGIVING- a bonus column - Wednesday, November 21, 2012
• ASSASSINATION - Saturday, November 17, 2012
• POLL - Saturday, November 10, 2012
• YOGI - Wednesday, November 07, 2012
• VOTE - Saturday, November 03, 2012
• REACH - Saturday, October 27, 2012
• WASTELAND - Saturday, October 20, 2012
• 58% - Saturday, October 13, 2012
• WACKO - Saturday, October 06, 2012
• REVIST - Thursday, October 04, 2012
• DEBATE - An addendum - Wednesday, October 03, 2012
• CRASH - Saturday, September 29, 2012
• VEEP - Saturday, September 22, 2012
• BUGLE - Saturday, September 15, 2012
• DELTA - Saturday, September 08, 2012
• ANNIVERSARY - Saturday, September 01, 2012
• INCA DINKA DO - Saturday, August 25, 2012
• METH - Saturday, August 18, 2012
• PHELPS - Saturday, August 11, 2012
• UPDATE EXTRA - Wednesday, August 08, 2012
• CHICKEN - Saturday, August 04, 2012
• OLYMPICS - a review - Tuesday, July 31, 2012
• SUMMERTIME - Saturday, July 28, 2012
• SHOOT! - Saturday, July 21, 2012
• PUN - Saturday, July 14, 2012
• DECISION - Saturday, July 07, 2012
• FREE - Saturday, June 30, 2012
• EXTRA! - Thursday, June 28, 2012
• ANNIVERSARY - Saturday, June 23, 2012
• REHEARSAL - Saturday, June 16, 2012
• BELMONT - Saturday, June 09, 2012
• 1% - Saturday, June 02, 2012
• DERIVATIVES - Saturday, May 26, 2012
• MEDICARE - Saturday, May 19, 2012
• CRIME! - Saturday, May 12, 2012
• POTTER - Saturday, May 05, 2012
• BUCKHOUSE - Saturday, April 28, 2012
• SOX! - Saturday, April 21, 2012
• SOL - Saturday, April 14, 2012
• CONTEST! - Saturday, April 07, 2012
• JUSTICE! - Saturday, March 31, 2012
• SUITS! - Saturday, March 24, 2012
• BOBBYS - Saturday, March 17, 2012
• NUNDA FUN DAYS – PT II - Saturday, March 10, 2012
• NUNDA FUN DAYS - PART 1 - Saturday, March 03, 2012
• HUTSON IS ONE! - Thursday, February 23, 2012
• TôT OU TARD! - Saturday, February 18, 2012
• MINE! - Saturday, February 11, 2012
• SOUP! - Saturday, February 04, 2012
• BUCK STOP - Saturday, January 28, 2012
• FOLLIES - Saturday, January 21, 2012
• MISFITS - Saturday, January 14, 2012
• MOHS - Saturday, January 07, 2012
• GOODBYE! - Saturday, December 31, 2011
• CITY SLICKERS -- Week of Dec 24 - Saturday, December 24, 2011
• HEADLINES - Saturday, December 17, 2011
• FIRE! - Saturday, December 10, 2011
• YEP, THE SKY IS FALLING! - Saturday, December 03, 2011
• HOBNAIL BOOTS - Saturday, November 26, 2011
• GIRL o’ WAR - Saturday, November 19, 2011
• CAIN IS NOT ABEL - Saturday, November 12, 2011
• JOHNNY CAN’T READ - Saturday, November 05, 2011
• HOLY SMOKE! - Saturday, October 29, 2011
• CELL PHONE - Saturday, October 22, 2011
• 60 MINUTES - Saturday, October 15, 2011
• BANKS CLOSED - Saturday, October 08, 2011
• ANNUAL PHYSICAL - Saturday, October 01, 2011
• A T W IN 80 MINUTES - Saturday, September 24, 2011
• HUTSON! - Saturday, September 17, 2011
• A TIME TO REMEMBER - Saturday, September 10, 2011
• TOMB AT ARLINGTON - Saturday, September 03, 2011
• GUNFIGHT AT DODGE CITY - Saturday, August 27, 2011
• NOTHNAGLE - Saturday, August 20, 2011
• A CLUTTERED BELFRY - Saturday, August 13, 2011
• CFS, FOR SHORT - Saturday, August 06, 2011
• THE MINSTREL SHOW - Saturday, July 30, 2011
• BIRTHDAY BOY RIDES (MARTA) AGAIN - Saturday, July 23, 2011
• KNOCK, KNOCK! WHO’S THERE? DEATH! - Saturday, July 16, 2011
• COMMENCEMENT - Saturday, July 09, 2011
• 234th 4th OF JULY - Saturday, July 02, 2011
• MIDNIGHT RIDE OF BOORTZ/DUPREE - Saturday, June 25, 2011
• OH, MY PAPA (& MAMA, TOO) . . . - Saturday, June 18, 2011
• ROLLING STONES - Saturday, June 11, 2011
• I DOUBLE D’AIR YA! - Saturday, June 04, 2011
• WOW—SUM BEACH - Monday, May 30, 2011
• GRAMP ON THE TOWN - Saturday, May 21, 2011
• THE UNSOCIABLE NETWORK - Saturday, May 14, 2011
• DING DONG, THE WICKED SUMBITCH IS DEAD - Saturday, May 07, 2011
• KATE PLUS MATE - Saturday, April 30, 2011
• GOP IS TRUMPED - Monday, April 25, 2011
• SNIFFING JOCKS IN ATLANTA - Saturday, April 16, 2011
• BOEHNER BLINKED - Saturday, April 09, 2011
• ROY ROGERS - Saturday, April 02, 2011
• SWEAT MORE, BLEED LESS - Saturday, March 26, 2011
• HE STILL DESERVES BETTER - Saturday, March 19, 2011
• AFTRA & EARTHQUAKES - Saturday, March 12, 2011
• ALEX IN WONDERLAND - Saturday, March 05, 2011
• THE OSCARS - 2011 - Wednesday, March 02, 2011
• FIRST BIRTHDAY, PART THREE - Thursday, February 24, 2011
• FIRST BIRTHDAY, PART II - Tuesday, February 22, 2011
• MY FIRST BIRTHDAY - Saturday, February 19, 2011
• IDES OF FEB, MINUS ONE DAY - Saturday, February 12, 2011
• FUN AT THE ICE PALACE - Saturday, February 05, 2011
• VACATION FROM HELL - Saturday, January 29, 2011
• BARBERSTOWN CASTLE - Saturday, January 22, 2011
• TRYING TO TAKE TUCSON – a bonus blog - Wednesday, January 19, 2011
• THE “BOBBYS” - Saturday, January 15, 2011
• POLITICS 101 - Saturday, January 08, 2011
• THE SNOWS OF KILIMANGEORGIA - Saturday, January 01, 2011
• WRITER'S CRAMP - Saturday, December 25, 2010
• BELLS ON CHRISTMAS DAY - Saturday, December 18, 2010
• PATTY ROBERTS, Part Two - Wednesday, December 15, 2010
• SECRET SANTA - Saturday, December 11, 2010
• PATTY ROBERTS - Thursday, December 09, 2010
• GETTING MY GOAT(EE) - Saturday, December 04, 2010
• IN FLIMFLAMS FIELDS . . . - Saturday, November 27, 2010
• PLYMOUTH ROCKS - Saturday, November 20, 2010
• LACED FOR ACTION - Saturday, November 13, 2010
• PEER PRESSURE - Saturday, November 06, 2010
• POLL CATS - Saturday, October 30, 2010
• FRIENDS - Saturday, October 23, 2010
• MY COUSIN DOUGIE - Saturday, October 16, 2010
• LOBSTER POTTED - Sunday, October 10, 2010
• A PRECIOUS GOLDEN BOBBY - Thursday, September 30, 2010
• THE KING IS DEAD (or at least in his throes) - Saturday, September 25, 2010
• STAND PAT - Saturday, September 18, 2010
• EGGS ROSAKOVIA - Saturday, September 11, 2010
• POLL CATS - Saturday, September 04, 2010
• KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE - Saturday, August 28, 2010
• (Bonus Blog) BUT WHO’S COUNTING? - Wednesday, August 25, 2010
• PEANUTS AND CRACKER JACKS - Saturday, August 21, 2010
• LUCKY STRIKE GREEN - Saturday, August 14, 2010
• AMERICARE vs. OBAMACARE - Saturday, August 07, 2010
• THE MAN WHO WOULD (temporarily) BE PRESIDENT - Saturday, July 31, 2010
• THE WEDDING - Saturday, July 24, 2010
• BUTTERFLIES ARE HAPPY - Saturday, July 17, 2010
• HATTERS ARE MAD - Saturday, July 10, 2010
• WHAT DOES THE BOSTON TEA PARTY AND THE REPUBLICAN TEA PARTY HAVE IN COMMON? - Friday, July 02, 2010
• MILQUETOAST HEADLINES - Saturday, June 26, 2010
• JAMIE DUPREE DESERVES BETTER - Saturday, June 19, 2010
• WHAT BARACK OBAMA AND HELEN THOMAS HAVE IN COMMON - Saturday, June 12, 2010
• GRANDNIECE LEIGH IS OFF TO HONDURAS - Saturday, June 05, 2010
• MEMORIAL HOLE-IN-ONE - Saturday, May 29, 2010
• GRANDNIECE EMILY GRADUATES - Wednesday, May 26, 2010
• THE MOON IS ROQUEFORT - Saturday, May 22, 2010
• LENO VS. O’BRIEN – TEMPEST IN A TV POT - Saturday, May 15, 2010
• A SHOT IN THE DARK - Thursday, May 06, 2010
• THE SOUTH SHALL RISE AGAIN – NOT - Saturday, May 01, 2010
• MARS OR BUST - Saturday, April 24, 2010
• A CUP OF TEA - Saturday, April 17, 2010
• THE TAXMAN COMETH - Friday, April 09, 2010
• DIPLOMAT OR DEMOCRAT, PART THREE - Saturday, April 03, 2010
• DIPLOMAT OR DEMOCRAT, PART TWO - Wednesday, March 31, 2010
• DIPLOMAT OR DEMOCRAT – PART ONE - Saturday, March 27, 2010
• . . . BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD SMELL AS SWEET - Wednesday, March 24, 2010
• A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME . . . - Saturday, March 20, 2010
• WHAT’S IN A NAME? - Wednesday, March 17, 2010
• SQUEAKY’S FLEETING FAME - Saturday, March 13, 2010
• ATTICA REVISITED - Wednesday, March 10, 2010
• MARK MY WORDS - Saturday, March 06, 2010
• RADIO HALL OF FAME - Wednesday, March 03, 2010
• THE BEST HAS COME (and gone) - Saturday, February 27, 2010
• SWEAT MORE, BLEED LESS - Wednesday, February 24, 2010
• MY FIRST BIRTHDAY - Saturday, February 20, 2010
• IDES OF FEB, MINUS 1 - Wednesday, February 17, 2010
• THE ENOLA GAY - Saturday, February 13, 2010
• SUPER BOWL XLIV 2010 - Wednesday, February 10, 2010
• EARTHQUAKE - Wednesday, February 03, 2010
• AURA LEE - CONCLUSION - Sunday, January 31, 2010
• THOUGHTS ON STATE OF THE UNION, ETC - Friday, January 29, 2010
• AURA LEE - PART 21 - Wednesday, January 27, 2010
• AURA LEE - PART 20 - Saturday, January 23, 2010
• AURA LEE - PART 19 - Wednesday, January 20, 2010
• SLAINTE, AER LINGUS! - Bonus Blog - Monday, January 18, 2010
• AURA LEE - PART 17 - Saturday, January 16, 2010
• AURA LEE - PART 16 - Thursday, January 14, 2010
• BONUS BLOG – TRUTH BEHIND JAY LENO’S DEPARTURE FROM PRIME TIME - Monday, January 11, 2010
• AURA LEE - PART 15 - Saturday, January 09, 2010
• BOGUS BUT PERTINENT EMAIL - Bonus Blog - Friday, January 08, 2010
• AURA LEE - PART 14 - Wednesday, January 06, 2010
• AURA LEE -- PART 13 - Saturday, January 02, 2010
• AURA LEE -- PART 12 - Wednesday, December 30, 2009
• ALEX'S SECOND CHRISTMAS - Bonus Blog - Monday, December 28, 2009
• AURA LEE - PART ELEVEN - Saturday, December 26, 2009
• AURA LEE - PART TEN - Wednesday, December 23, 2009
• ALEX'S FIRST CHRISTMAS - Monday, December 21, 2009
• AURA LEE - PART NINE - Saturday, December 19, 2009
• AURA LEE - PART EIGHT - Wednesday, December 16, 2009
• BONUS BLOG - CHESS WITH PATTON - Monday, December 14, 2009
• AURA LEE PART SEVEN - Saturday, December 12, 2009
• AURA LEE PART SIX - Wednesday, December 09, 2009
• AURA LEE PART FIVE - Saturday, December 05, 2009
• AURA LEE PART FOUR - Wednesday, December 02, 2009
• AURA LEE PART THREE - Saturday, November 28, 2009
• AURA LEE PART TWO - Wednesday, November 25, 2009
• AURA LEE PART ONE - Friday, November 20, 2009
• ROGUE'S GONE - Monday, November 16, 2009
• NEW YORK, NEW YORK PART VI (concluded) - Friday, November 13, 2009
• NEW YORKM NEW YORK PART V (continued) - Monday, November 09, 2009
• NEW YORK, NEW YORK PART IV (continued) - Friday, November 06, 2009
• NEW YORK, NEW YORK PT III (continued) - Tuesday, November 03, 2009
• NEW YORK, NEW YORK PT. II (continued) - Friday, October 30, 2009
• NEW YORK, NEW YORK! IT’S A WONDERFUL . . . - Monday, October 26, 2009
• THE ICE PICK BOY HOAX - Friday, October 23, 2009
• YES, WE ARE COLLEGIATE! - Monday, October 19, 2009
• BULL'S EYE! - Friday, October 16, 2009
• Nobel Peace Prize - Monday, October 12, 2009
• WHAT TO MY WONDERING EARS . . . - Friday, October 09, 2009
• EARLY A.M. CALL - Monday, October 05, 2009
• FLOOD STORY - Friday, October 02, 2009
• PLAY ON, GEORGIA! - Monday, September 28, 2009
• SEE Y’ALL, IF’N THE CREEK DOAN RISE! - Friday, September 25, 2009
• "POPCORN" THEATER REVISITED - Tuesday, September 22, 2009
• OPEN WIDE - Friday, September 18, 2009
• CAMELOT IS CLOSED - Monday, September 14, 2009
• HEALTH CARE, ANYONE? - Friday, September 11, 2009
• MARTYRDOM - Monday, September 07, 2009
• CLOSE THE POOL! - Friday, September 04, 2009
• THE WEEK BEFORE LABOR DAY - Tuesday, September 01, 2009
• MORNING JOE - Friday, August 28, 2009
• LIPS THAT TOUCH WINE . . . - Monday, August 24, 2009
• KING TEDDY - Friday, August 21, 2009
• SHOP TIL YOU FLOP - Monday, August 17, 2009
• MOVIES ARE BETTER THAN EVER (?) - Friday, August 14, 2009
• THE BIRCH JOHN SOCIETY - Monday, August 10, 2009
• EVERYTHING I KNOW I LEARNED FROM SAM SPILLIOPOLIS AT THE PASTIME POOL ROOM - Friday, August 07, 2009
• SHORT PEOPLE - Tuesday, August 04, 2009
• ANDY ROONEY - Friday, July 31, 2009
• CHERNOBYL 7.28.09 - Monday, July 27, 2009
• ACTING STUPID 7.25.09 - Friday, July 24, 2009
• JUSTICE FOR SOTOMAYOR 7.21.09 - Monday, July 20, 2009
• ONLY AS OLD AS YOU FEEL 7.18.09 - Friday, July 17, 2009
• THE NATIONAL RADIO HALL OF FAME - Tuesday, July 14, 2009
• BIRTH OF THE TEDDY BEAR 7.11.09 - Sunday, July 12, 2009
• (Close Counts) 0NLY IN HORSESHOES 7.7.09 - Monday, July 06, 2009
• MAD AS HELL . . . 7/4/09 - Friday, July 03, 2009
• 4th OF JULY - Wednesday, July 01, 2009
• HOBBIES? - Monday, June 29, 2009
• LONG WAY FROM BUCK HOUSE - Friday, June 26, 2009
• NAVAL ENGAGEMENTS - Monday, June 22, 2009
• REGINA BRETT IS NO LADY BRETT ASHLEY 6.20.09 - Friday, June 19, 2009
• JULY 4th's A-COMIN'! - Monday, June 15, 2009
• WINNING THE LOTTERY - Friday, June 12, 2009
• THE TONIGHT SHOW - Monday, June 08, 2009
• PERSONAL DISCOVERY CHANNEL - Friday, June 05, 2009
• Jon and Kate, The Great Debate - Monday, June 01, 2009
• Philadelhia Lawyers - Friday, May 29, 2009
• MEMORIAL DAY 2009 - Monday, May 25, 2009
• La Isla de los Alcatraces 5/24/09 - Saturday, May 23, 2009
• CONFESSIONS OF AN INTERNET IDIOT - Thursday, May 21, 2009
• HAIL TO THE BOSS - Monday, May 18, 2009
• SAY CHEESE . . . - Friday, May 15, 2009
• NUMBER, PLEASE . . . - Tuesday, May 12, 2009
• AND THEY'RE OFF! - Saturday, May 09, 2009
• Some Enchanted Evening - Tuesday, May 05, 2009
• Fox Boycotts Obama - Friday, May 01, 2009
• RAILROADED - Tuesday, April 28, 2009
• NAKED GNOMES - Friday, April 24, 2009
• THE EYES OF TEXAS ARE UPON ME - Tuesday, April 21, 2009
• THE TEA PARTY - Friday, April 17, 2009
• HAPPY INCOME TAX DAY! - Wednesday, April 15, 2009
• THE FAIR TAX PLAN - Monday, April 13, 2009
• THE REST OF THE STORY 4/10/2009 - Friday, April 10, 2009
• A SPORTSMAN'S PARADISE - Monday, April 06, 2009
• IF AGENTS & BEST SELLERS ARE A DIME A DOZEN, HOW COME WRITERS AIN’T RICH? - Sunday, April 05, 2009
• BONUS BLOG 4.4.09 - Saturday, April 04, 2009
• TYCOON! - Tuesday, March 31, 2009
• End of Year Report - Sunday, November 02, 2008
|
