Bloggin Be My Life

The Hobo Philosopher

Eliminate welloff-fare

Richard E. Noble
In our Hobo-ing America travels my wife and I sustained ourselves as itinerant farm workers. We camped under farmer’s equipment shelters, under bridges, in a woods or forest, on back streets, in parks, in rest areas, at all night fishing piers, on power line right-of-ways, in abandoned playgrounds and parking lots, in grocery store parking spaces, in back alleys, in rest areas and behind shopping malls. We had no phone, no luxuries, and very little of what is termed disposable income. For most of our fruit picking and migrant career we earned a combined gross income of less than $5,000. I am sure that the majority of you would agree that is not very much money. I think most of you would also concede that for two people to live on that sum of money would be impossible – unless the year was 1942 or earlier. This was during the late seventies and eighties. We survived. I’m not complaining we had a great time. We were living this lifestyle by choice – not from necessity as so many others working beside us.
I find it interesting to point out that during this period of exceptionally low income for us and all our co-workers, we were all required to pay our social security withholding tax. Every farmer made sure he deducted that tax. Every packing house, every cannery or processor, they all took out social security payroll deductions - in some cases even from illegals with false documents. I would like to know where that money was deposited.
At the time it seemed rather ludicrous to me. How did those people in the government in Washington expect us to live, never mind pay into the social security fund? I presumed that the government didn’t care how us folks on the bottom survived. We would pay our social security. And we would pay it no matter how tiny our earnings. In the case of my wife and me we collected no food stamps or any subsidies from any government agency. We had no health care. When we went to a doctor or chiropractor, we paid cash up front. There were no doctors that we meet in our travels that had any other policy. If you had no cash, then you got no pills, no treatment, no prescriptions. There were no free food banks that I can remember and the grocery stores had no discounted programs for low income earners. We paid. We paid everything.
We paid truck repairs and maintenance also. So what is my problem you ask? What do I want a medal?
No I don’t. I would just like everybody to be treated equally.
I don’t understand how the government could demand social security payment from earners making less than $2500 a year and then turn around a give a subsidy to those fortunate individuals who are blessed with incomes of over $100,000 a year.
Is this some kind of a joke?
There is no cap on how little an earner can make and be exempt from social security withholding, but there is a cap for the better-off. The government had no sympathy for those earning less than subsistence but yet it has a guilty conscience when it comes to the better-off, the wealthy and the super wealthy.
I am not complaining that people who have paid more collect more. That’s absolutely right. They paid more, they deserve more. But if the poor can pay on every cent that they earn – no matter how little, then why shouldn’t the rich have to pay on every cent no matter how much. A person should be allowed to pay less because he earns too much? Why shouldn’t everybody be treated the same. Why are the rich being subsidized?
We are talking about the social security tax; I don’t want to hear about all your other rich people problems or expenses. I’ve been listening to that bull all my life. Don’t show me the light bill on your “castle” or the mortgage payment on your mansion. Don’t complain to me about the fuel cost for your helicopter or the air conditioning bill for your chain of gourmet restaurants. I don’t want to hear about your payroll taxes, your property taxes or your income taxes. I could argue about income taxes, fees, licenses, sales taxes and the rest of it, if you would like. But let’s not obfuscate the issue. This is the social security insurance tax. We all pay, we all collect. Social Security is not a welfare program and it was never meant to be. It has been and is still self-sustaining. Any discrepancy in this regard has been caused by government mis-management and book-cooking. As with all insurance programs, if there is a true shortfall then a rate increase is mandatory. But this is not even a matter of a rate increase. This is simply eliminating welloff-fare or loopholes for the better off and the wealthy. This is easy. This is a no-brainer. Eliminate the cap. Everybody pays on every cent they earn – just as the poorest among us have always been required to do.

Richard Edward Noble is a freelance writer and columnist. His local column, the Eastpointer, won the first place 2007 humor award from the Florida Press Association. He has published several books. All of his books can be viewed and purchased on Amazon.com. He can be contacted at richardedwardnoble@gtcom.net for bookstore discounts and volume sales.

Stimulus Check

The Hobo Philosopher

I got my tax stimulus check!

By Richard E. Noble

This whole thing got its start with FDR and the notion of government spending. Prior to FDR we had Hooverism. Hooverism was Reganomics without the huge federal debt build up.
The 1929 Great Depression came upon us. Money dried up and disappeared, we are told. FDR got a bright idea because "business" and the wealthy stopped spending and investing - at least here in America. If big business would not spend and invest in America for whatever reasons, then the government should start, so said John Maynard Keynes and FDR.
So Roosevelt started the Tax and Spend Democratic philosophy. Back in those days the Federal government thought that taxes, and tariffs were the only legitimate means of raising Federal government money - they didn't know then that they could sell America piece by piece to foreign countries. Roosevelt took money from the rich in every way he knew how and spent it employing the poor and unemployed. Of course this did not make the rich happy - the poor and unemployed thought it was fine.
Democrats today believe that this technique worked and Republicans do not. But the majority of the American people, whether Democrat or Republican, have accepted that it did work - and in practice so have the Republicans.
The modern day Republicans decided to stop fighting the notion of government spending and instead began spinning the idea their way - and it worked. They proffered that giving taxpayer money to rich Republicans was wise and proper economics. After all, they argued, the people who have lots of money are the people who know what to do with money.
Then came Ronald Reagan. Ronny changed the whole tax system. First he cut the tax burden on large corporations. Ronny gave his old boss General Electric so many tax breaks that for some years after, the American taxpayers actually owed General Electric money rather than General Electric owing America. After Ronny, corporations who once paid 35% of the federal budget now only contributed 12%.
Ronny cut the taxes of the wealthiest Americans substantially, also. If he would have cut Federal spending proportionately we would have been all right. But he spent more than all previous American presidents combined - mostly on a pet program that he called Star Wars but overall on military and the promotion of war and a strong defense.
Consequently taxes on the middle class and the working class rose substantially - along with inflation so that the poor wouldn't feel left out. But nevertheless everybody bought into Ronny basic premise - America loved Ronny. The more rich the wealthy get the better it is for everybody, folks thought. That's the American way! Reaganomics was really an update of Hoover's "trickle down" theory.
The Republicans then supported this tax cutting and revenue cutting notion by stating the basic theory that if rich people have more money they will spend it. They will make more investments, build more factories and hire more workers. So America bought the idea of tax cuts. Republicans sold this idea by claiming that John F. Kennedy did it and it worked. The only flaw in this propaganda was that when Kennedy did it, he tied the tax cuts to jobs. Only if the businessman hired more workers did he get any tax dividend. The Republicans thought that little twist was superfluous and they left that detail out of their tax cut bills.
So now we have a returning of federal income to the wealthy with no strings attached. This was done on the basis that all those poor little billionaires were being persecuted. What did any billionaire ever do to you?
This left us with the basic principle that giving federal revenue or income to rich Americans so that they can spend it is a good thing to do and a sound economic policy.
Well naturally, the Democrats then said: if it is a good thing to give money to rich Americans so that they can spend it, wouldn't it be just as good to give money to poor Americans who will most definitely spend it - and probably spend it quicker and right here at the corner store! Now were back to Keynes, Huey Long and FDR.
When Bernanke announced this newly discovered economic principle many Republican Senators and Congressmen nearly fell off their big, comfortable, leather, lounge chairs. One Republican even asked Mr. Bernanke if he would explain that economic principle one more time. He did. And just recently many of us regular people got a check in the mail from the U.S. Government.
The Republicans are still stuttering and talking to themselves. What just happened here? Well boys, what is good for the goose is also good for the gander.
I thought it was rather interesting. My government who for years had been telling me to get up off my lazy butt, pay my own bills and stop griping was now sending me money in the mail and begging me to go out and spend it as fast as I could. I did. It is all gone. Can I have some more, please? I promise that I will spend it also. I will spend it as soon as you send it to me. In fact, if you just tell everybody that I'm good for it, I'll spend it before you send it to me. In fact, if you guys will promise to pick up all my debts like you do with the banks and the bomb and bullet manufactures, I'll spend until I go bankrupt. And you have my word on it!
Whimpy used to say: "I'll gladly pay you tomorrow for two hamburgers today." This is even better. Now Whimpy can say: "I'll gladly buy all the hamburgers that you will pay me to purchase - today, tomorrow and forever." What a deal!
If we put the Republicans and the Democrats together it would seem that we should simply stop collecting taxes from anybody. Then how do we build an Aircraft Carrier?

Richard Noble is a freelance writer. His latest book is a volume of poems and prose – “A Little Something.” It is for sale on Amazon along with Hobo-ing America, A Summer with Charlie, and Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother. If you would like to stock his books in your store or business he can be contacted at richardedwardnoble@gtcom.

Paradox

Noble's Notes on Philosophy

Paradox

By Richard E. Noble

A Paradox: a self contradictory statement, thus false?; a statement opposed to common sense, yet true? An unsolvable mystery? A statement seeming impossible in itself?
"This sentence is false ... Everything I say is a lie." These statements are paradoxical. Some would say that they present an unsolvable mystery. I know that I, personally, have no explanation for them, but I presume that there is an answer to these apparently contradictory statements, but I am just too stupid to figure it out. My guess is that the answer to the above statements lies in either semantics or the definition of the terms within them.
"This sentence is false." What's false? The sentence is false. But there is nothing stated in the sentence that could be defined as either true or false? The sentence contains no statement. But yes it does. It states that 'it' is false. What's false? The statement itself. But if 'this sentence is false' is a true statement, if we can believe the words contained in the statement, and we can believe that what it contains is truly false, then this sentence must be true. "Then this sentence is false" must be a true statement. The truth is that it is false. Or is it false that this statement can really be true? Daahhh?
"Everything I say is a lie."
Everything? Even this statement itself? This statement is a lie? If this statement is a lie, then really it must be the truth, because that is the only alternative to a lie. But where's the lie? What's a lie? Everything you say is a lie. If this statement is also a lie, then I can not believe it. So then, I must conclude that some things that you say must be the truth.
So is this a paradox, an unsolvable mystery? Or is this some kind of intrinsic fault in the terms employed and used above? Is this a language problem?
I'm not satisfied to say that this is an unsolvable mystery. There is something wrong here. At the moment, I don't know what it is that is wrong, but something is misplaced, or misunderstood, or defined improperly. I think that a paradox is not a mystical unexplainable, but an indication of a mistake, a problem not yet solved. We seem to have a good number of these paradoxes in mathematics, and I have no idea how to solve them, I can't even understand them. In philosophy, and in particular with regard to the notion of the concept of God, paradoxes seem to abound.
Can God create a rock so large that He is incapable of moving it? Can God terminate His own existence? Did God have a choice in His own Being? How can God be all-loving and all-just at the same time? How can God be all-knowing and man's choices not pre-determined? How can God be all-Good and yet have created Evil, thus being partly evil himself? How could a perfect God make an imperfect world? How can God be all knowing and yet make mistakes in his judgments with regards to his creations; man and his fall from grace, angels and devils? Is not the notion of redemption, the admission of a mistake on the part of God? How could a man, who is by definition 'the created' be the Creator?
Are these all unsolvable mysteries, faults of logic, or logical faults?

Benjamin Harrison

Benjamin Harrison 1833-1901

President from 1889-1893

By Richard E. Noble

Benjamin Harrison is a victory for the old politically established, corrupt machine. He lost the popular vote by over a hundred thousand, but by graft and payoffs both in his home state of Indiana and in Grover's happy hunting ground back in New York he pulled out the Electoral College victory.
He is credited as being "honest", but inept and without charm. He hits the presidency on both popular barrels being a Civil War general and a lawyer.
In 1862 he rousted up his own army of volunteers and was promptly placed in command as Colonel. By the end of the War he was a Brigadier General.
He was a religious fellow. He taught a Bible school for men and was superintendent of a Sunday school. He was considered to be a moderately reasonable Republican, if such a thing is really possible.
Tariffs and treasury surpluses were still plaguing the new post Civil War Government. Supporting tariffs seemed to be like being a Communist several decades later. At one time or another anyone with a heart, no matter what party, race, color, or creed was in favor of tariffs.
The alleged, corrupted James G. Blaine of New York and the extremely wealthy John Wanamaker of Philadelphia supported Benjamin. Blaine got Secretary of State and Wanamaker became the Postmaster General.
Despite Harrison's Campaign promises of Civil Service reform, Wanamaker started firing Democrats. He fired over thirty thousand in the first year. They were all replaced by Republicans.
Harrison reversed Cleveland's Civil War pension ideas. He gave out pension dollars by the millions and passed a law making anyone who had served in the Union Army for ninety days or more, eligible.
Farmers, laborers and immigrants were ignored while businessmen, railroad tycoons, and industrialist were encouraged. The rich were getting richer and the poor were getting poorer.
A new concept in living was emerging ... the city.
The Black Hand of the Mafia appeared for the first time. Seven acquitted Mafioso are released and then lynched in New Orleans.
Lynching is rapidly becoming the most popular spectator sport in the South.
The Civil War is over, slavery has been abolished, and suddenly nobody is concerned with the rights of blacks anymore. Certainly makes one think that the Civil War was a "white thing" doesn’t it?
Benjamin declared war on Chili. What the hell that was all about I have no idea. Queen Liliuokalani started acting up in Hawaii and Stanford Dole calls in the Marines.
The Populist Party appeared and among many other things demanded direct election by the people for Senators, rather than appointment by State Legislatures.
Benjamin capitalized on the "Old Log Cabin" campaign technique of his grandfather William Henry Harrison. It worked.
The Republican Party machine payoffs and train loads of wandering, itinerant fraudulent voters didn't hurt either.
By the time Benjamin left office the Treasury vaults were about empty.
Pensions, payoffs, and money problems over silver and gold continued to cause problems. I don't quite understand it but it seems that there was once a time when silver and gold had something to do with paper currency. It does make one laugh to see what people in the olden days once concerned themselves with. In any case, by the time Grover Cleveland got back in office, the country is nearly bankrupt. The U.S. Treasury is on empty.
Interestingly enough Republican Herbert Hoover and Republican Ronald Reagan and Republican George Herbert Walker Bush and his son Republican George W. Bush all managed the same economic accomplishment. It does make one curious as to how the Republican Party gained a reputation for fiscal responsibility. My guess is that their personal financial bank accounts were in better shape after their tours of “duty” than the treasury of the nation they represented. I suppose some would consider that as being good businessmen with a wise financial sense.

Thomas Hoffer

The Eastpointer

Franklin Chronicle Goes Under

Thank-you Mr. Thomas Hoffer

By Richard E. Noble

For some reason Tom liked me. I always gave him a difficult time – even before he hired me to work for his paper. We became aware of one another way back in my oysterman days. I bought a few season ads for Hobo’s in his new newspaper.
After I sold Hobo’s Ice Cream Parlor and decided to become an internationally soon-to-be-recognized famous author, I brought him a copy of my first book Hobo-ing America. He was very impressed. “You wrote this yourself?” he offered somewhat astonished. I later learned that Tom had a secret aspiration of one day writing and publishing a special book of his own. It was about a famous radical relative of his. Tom, though very conservative, loved eccentrics and radicals. He never became much of a radical himself but he did manage to master the eccentric.
“I’m looking for an editor/proof reader for my newspaper. Did you ever do anything like that? I don’t pay much but if you would like to give it a try, I could sure use the help.”
Reading copy and learning how to find mistakes, I figured was something very important to my success as an internationally famous writer. I figured that if I took this job offer, I could get paid to learn something that I certainly could use as a writer.
Before long Tom was asking me to write copy for his paper. I gave him an essay every week. He rejected 50% of my submissions and paid me nothing for those he accepted. I was not happy with that deal. When he asked me to help him with his in depth coverage of the bi-weekly County Commission meetings, I accepted only if he would agree to pay me by the hour.
So Tom had beaten me out of some free essays but now I had suckered him into paying me to attend County Commission meetings. Actually I think I lost on that deal also. Sitting through County Commission meetings, week after week, was certainly worth a good deal more than he was paying me.
Eventually I learned commission meeting double-speak and I took over the entire coverage of the County meetings. Tom couldn’t believe that I could write so many pages of copy on the local County Commission. He couldn’t even stay awake through one entire meeting. My biggest week, I handed in twenty-seven pages of single-spaced typed copy. Tom said, “I don’t know if anybody is reading this but I hope they are because you are actually making this stuff appear to be interesting.”
Tom did not part with compliments graciously but he gave me several in addition to the backdoor compliment above. I guess the biggest compliment from Tom came one day when I was apologizing for my lack of proper journalistic training. “I know, I’m no trained reporter or journalist but I do the best with what I have.”
As Tom turned and started to walk away he mumbled, “Well, I taught journalism in a college and take it from me you are a journalist.”
One of Tom’s criticisms of me was that I had a tendency to “editorialize.” He demanded that I bring a tape recorder with me everywhere and get in the habit for quoting what other people had to say rather than offering a personal interpretation.
At first I didn’t like that technique. I felt it cramped my style. I felt this requirement to be one of those “boss” techniques to keep anybody from gaining personal notoriety. But after awhile I enjoyed it even more than my previous editorializing and wise cracking. What people actually said turned out to be much better and often times more humorous than anything that I could make up. It turned out to be a great writing (and listening) experience for me.
When the new publisher took over at the Chronicle he offered me the opportunity to return to my editorializing with the Eastpointer column. To my surprise, I won a first place award in the humor category from the Florida Press Association in 2007.
So my thanks go to Tom Hoffer and the Franklin Chronicle, for a great learning experience. I am saddened that the trustees have chosen not to fulfill Mr. Hoffer’s dream of a self-perpetuating local newspaper but I understand the difficulty of the challenge. It is unfortunate that Tom was not able to find people as determined, dedicated and hard working as himself to carrying on his dream.

Noble Notes on Famous Folks is R.E. Noble’s latest publication. It is a book of lite, witty, and satirical essays on famous and infamous folks throughout history from Constantine to Bill Clinton. It is for sale on Amazon along with Richard’s several other works. Richard Noble is a freelance writer who has lived in Franklin County for thirty years. Businesses, bookstores, libraries etc can contact the author at richardedwardnoble@gtcom.net for discounts and special offers.

Taking Action

The Eastpointer

Taking action

By Richard E. Noble

Back in the old days when an oyster permit cost $5.00 and anyone could get one any month of the year, we often took visiting friends out oystering. Some wanted to go just for the experience and others needed the money.
On one occasion two good friends of ours stopped by as a surprise. They were older than we were. We had met them in central Florida picking oranges. They had retired early in life. They didn’t pick fruit because they needed the money but because Eldon couldn’t sit still. Marge would stay home and make machine quilts and Eldon would pick oranges. He picked oranges, apples, mushrooms, pine cones and even gathered up aluminum cans when nothing else was available. He had to be doing something. We got them their permits and they went oystering with us.
One day on their stay it was too rough to go out. We made a campfire and sat around shooting the breeze. We were staying at the Island View campground in Eastpoint which was right along the water’s edge. The boats were starting to trickle back in with their catch. One old boat was putzing along. It had a small motor and it was loaded down. The side rails seemed to be just inches above the water. It was bobbing up and down over the crests of the waves. Then suddenly as its nose came down the side of one crest a second wave crashed over the bow. The boat immediately began to founder. It was swamped.
Eldon leaped from his seat and went running down to the shoreline. “We’ve got to do something,” he screamed. “That boat is sinking.”
I knew that the boat would be long gone before I could ever get to it but Eldon insisted. I didn’t move. It was impossible.
While Eldon bounced up and down and ran back and forth along the shore, I stood there thinking out all the possibilities.
Just then a boat pulled up along side the sinking boat and then another boat came up along its other side. The men on the sinking boat began heaving their full bags of oysters onto the rescuing boats. Their boat was just about under when the two men on the sinking boat finally jumped to safety. I laughed. Those oystermen would let their boat and motor go under but they would save those bags of oysters. Eldon finally relaxed when the men were safely aboard the rescuing boats.
This experience made me wonder. Similar things have happened to me many times in the past. I wondered why it was that I always stood immobilized thinking of alternatives while other folks were jumping into action.
One time I was at a doctor’s office in Apalachicola. A physician’s assistant was checking me over when suddenly there was a loud bang outside. The physician’s assistant ran to the window. There had been a car crash at the intersection outside the doctor’s office. The man went running out into the street. I sat there on the examining table ... thinking. After I left the doctor’s office I asked myself why I hadn’t done anything. There was an accident outside and I just sat there twiddling my thumbs. But what could I do? I don’t know how to do anything.
My wife is also one of those action people. She hears a noise in the middle of the night and she jumps out of bed, grabs a flashlight and runs out into the darkness. By the time she returns to bed, I’ve reached a sitting position.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yes, but no thanks to you,” is often her reply.
How come I always think before I act and other people are able to act spontaneously.
This has always bothered me. But not too long ago I was shopping with my wife over at the IGA. We were looking at the fruits and vegetables when this old man walked between us. He tripped and stumbled forward. Instantly, I ran over and grabbed the guy before he hit the ground. I straightened him up. He was nervous and shook up. I held him until he got his bearings.
“Thanks,” he said with an apologetic grin and moseyed on.
This had all happened in an instant. When I turned to my wife she was still picking through the tomatoes.
“Did you see that?” I said.
“See what?”
“Did you see me save that guy?”
“You saved him from what?”
“He stumbled and started to fall but I grabbed him and saved him from busting a hip. And I did it without thinking.”
“So what’s new? It seems to me you’ve been living all your life without much thinking.”
“Thanks.”

Noble Notes on Famous Folks is R.E. Noble’s latest publication. It is a book of lite, witty, and satirical essays on famous and infamous folks throughout history from Constantine to Bill Clinton. It is for sale on Amazon along with Richard’s several other works. Richard Noble is a freelance writer who has lived in Franklin County for thirty years. Businesses, bookstore, libraries etc can contact the author at 670-8076 or richardedwardnoble@gtcom.net for discounts and special offers.

Guinevere

Lawrence - My Hometown

Guinevere and her host of little dirty Knights

By Richard E. Noble

One of the old corner gang was a very promiscuous sort – actually there were several of the same sort in the old gang. For the lack of an imaginative fictitious name, let’s just call this old gang member, Joe.
Joe was a “fun little girl” finder – of course Joe was also “little.” We were all little – at least for a time.
Joe was a generous fellow also. He believed in sharing.
Joe and his over active fun-girl finder found this cute, blond girl from Methuen one day. From his own experience he found her to be lots of “fun.” So he introduced her to the whole gang. They had there first club meeting in her bedroom at her parent’s house. Where her parents were and what they were occupied with in place of their little girl, is still a mystery to all of us.
Let’s call this little girl Guinevere. Guinevere was very accommodating but had one tiny hang up – as the gang has told me. Of course, I have no actual knowledge of any of this. I was busy studying my Latin responses for Father Arcanada and the Sunday Mass ceremony.
Guinevere was under the impression that sex was “dirty.” This was a common notion back in the “good old days.” In order to clean this whole sex business up a bit, Guinevere would never allow herself to participate in such endeavors totally naked. She would not take her socks off. She would save sock-less love for her one true and forever love.
The boys too liked this idea and they too participated with their socks on – saving themselves similarly. Hey, sounds reasonable to me. This was “clean” sex, not safe sex. But clean sex was very important - better to save your soul by having clean sex than to have safe sex and go to hell anyway. This was a Roman Catholic thing, I think. As I understand it Guinevere had “clean” sex with every little boy in a 40 mile radius of her bedroom.
Okay, now we have the prologue to this kiddy tale from the Decameron.
Time passes and there we all are sitting on the steps at Nell’s Variety, when down the hill from the Howard comes old Ralphie (false name - designed to protect the stupid). It is late. Nell’s is closed and the streetlight has been on for hours.
“Hey Ralphie, what are you doing out so late. This is past your bedtime, ain’t it?”
“Oh man, you guys are not going to believe it. I just made love up the old Howard with the future Mrs. Ralphie.”
Ralphie was the kind of guy who was in love with every little girl who smiled at him. But Ralphie had a strong moral character. Although he was rather free with his sexual favors, as were most of the boys, he never had sex with a girl that he wasn’t intending to marry. I think this was Ralphie’s version of Guinevere’s sock thing. And all of his future wives we just wonderful, sweet, little homemakers.
“This girl is just terrific.”
“Of course she is.”
“No not because of that. She is just wonderful all over. Do you know what she likes to do most of all?”
“No what.”
“She likes to knit.”
“Really, well I hope she knows how to knit baby booties.”
“She likes to sew too.”
“That’s great, Ralphie, tell us more.”
“She bakes cookies every weekend.”
“Have you eaten any?”
“No but I’m sure they are good.”
“Yeah right.”
“She loves kids too.”
“Well, that is a good thing. It sounds like she may be having one or two … or three or four … or ...”
“Oh come on! Get off it. I’m serious.”
“Ralphie, you are always serious, right up until the next potential little homemaker comes along.”
“Yeah but this is different. This is the real thing. I am truly in love with this girl and she is seriously in love with me. She told me that I was the boy of her dreams. She said that she had been waiting for me all her life.”
“She has been waiting for a fat, potentially bald, sweaty little meatball like you all her life? Man, tell her to get a real life.”
“I’m going to buy her a ring.”
“You got enough money for the Cracker Jacks?”
“You guys are so damn funny. You all just wait and see. Guinevere is the girl for me man.”
“Did you say Guinevere?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Ralphie you may have stumbled onto the girl of a lot of guy’s dreams.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ralphie, everybody knows Guinevere – and most guys know her as well as you do.”
“I don’t care. I’m still marring her. I love her and she loves me. This is the real thing. This ain’t puppy love. I mean we just made naked, passionate love up the Howard.”
“You said naked?
“Yeah.”
“Was she naked?”
“Yeah.”
“Totally naked”
“Well …”
“Well what?”
“Well, all except for her socks. She said she was a little cold.”
“Ah huh. Well, Ralphie I wouldn’t be counting your knitted baby booties before they hatch.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out.”
As it turned out Ralphie did marry Guinevere. Such girls were loved by everybody in the good old days but yet frowned on as potential brides and mothers for some reason. It was one of those 50s or 60s things, I guess.
But in reflection and knowing the results of all the gang and the various girls of their dreams, Ralphie did about as well as most everybody else. I think that he is still married to that same girl and his children are all grown and living free – or have been granted an early release. I wonder if she is still wearing her socks to bed each evening. That would be disappointing.

Richard Edward Noble is a freelance writer and columnist. His local column, the Eastpointer, won the first place 2007 humor award from the Florida Press Association. He has published several books. All of his books can be viewed and purchased on Amazon.com. He can be contacted at richardedwardnoble@gtcom.net for bookstore discounts and volume sales.

Beautiful Apalach-chee-olla Bay

The Eastpointer

Beautiful Apala-chee-olla Bay

By Richard E. Noble

“Well, here we are son, at beautiful Apala-chee-olla Bay. I can hardly believe it. We made it boy!”
The man doing the talking above was old and gray and his “boy” was in his thirties or forties. They were standing on the shore at Marion Millender’s campground in Eastpoint. Carol and I were getting all our paraphernalia out on the dock ready to get at it. The old man and his buddy standing there on the hill looking out at the hundreds of boats dotting Cat Point were bursting with smiles. I knew they were strangers here. First of all this wasn’t “Apala-chee-olla” Bay. It was Apalachicola Bay.
They weren’t really touristy looking though. Not too many tourists camped at the Millender Campground. It was a work camp. Everyone who camped there was in the business. There were some that were from Sopchoppy or Wewa, but the majority were locals and everybody oystered.
“Where you guys from?” I asked in passing.
“We’re from Elkhart, Indiana and I’ve been dreaming about this trip to Apala-chee-olla Bay for over 35 years now.” The man spoke in an apocryphal manner. It felt like he was Moses and he was announcing his arrival at the land of Canaan to an army of loyal followers.
“No kidding. Why would you be dreaming about Apalachicola of all places?”
“Well, I worked making travel trailers up in Elkhart, Indiana nearly all my life. I worked at the same place for 40 years. I always wondered where the people who bought the camper-trailers I made went after they bought ‘em. I subscribed to the National Geographic Magazine. And in one issue a long, long time ago they had this story about Apala-chee-olla Bay. They had pictures and everything. In fact, I think one of those photographers was standing right here where I’m standing now when he took some of those pictures.”
“Really? Did he take a picture of all the boats out on Cat Point?”
“He sure did. It looked just like it does today. It was fantastic. This is like a dream come true. I always wanted to be here but I never thought that I would ever be able to do it. What do you think about all this, son? Ain’t it great? Isn’t it just like you thought it would be?” His son just gave his head a little twitch and beamed another big grin.
I couldn’t believe these two guys were for real. But I knew exactly how they felt. Ever since Carol and I took off from Miami in our van camper and hit the road, I was thrilled at everything. I was taking pictures of the highway dividing line on the Blue Ridge Parkway. I was demanding that my wife pull over to the side of the road at every new hill, stream, river or mountain. Just like these two guys, I was seeing things I never really thought I ever would get to see.
I wrote a book about the whole thing, Hobo-ing America. I sent it off to this agent in New York City. She sent it back with a post note that read; YES, BUT WHY?
This rich lady in New York looking out her window on the 65th floor of her high rise office building didn’t get it. She wanted to know ‘Why’. She probably had a home in New York, one in Miami and another in LA. She probably never had to dream about going someplace; she just went. She didn’t have a job; she had a “career.”
But this guy here on the hill at Marion Millender’s Oyster Camp knew WHY. I didn’t have to explain it to him.
But I had forgotten how great it was to be living and working right here on the water’s edge at beautiful Apalachicola Bay myself. In our travels Carol and I had been fortunate enough to see not only Apalachicola Bay but Biscayne Bay, Tampa Bay, the Chesapeake Bay, San Francisco Bay, Mobile Bay and Lake Pontchartrain, the waterfront in Seattle Washington and the Great Lakes in Michigan. We had traveled up the East and West Coasts. We chugged up and over the Rocky Mountains. We camped at Cayucos in Northern California and caught buckets full of tiny red fish in Estero Bay. We fished off fishing piers everywhere. I had grown accustomed to looking and living near beautiful bays and oceans and water. It felt good to look at the “factory” I now worked on through the eyes of somebody who saw it as I once had seen it.
“Hey, how would you guys like to go out on a real oyster boat?” I asked. They started bouncing up and down. “We’re going to be out there all day, now,” I warned, “so you had best pack a lunch and get your cameras.”
They ran back to their camper and were back in a flash. They stayed on the boat with us the entire day. They just loved it! We closed off the day eating raw oysters, drinking beer and watching the sun go down in a burst of pink on the horizon. They took pictures of everything.
No, I didn’t have to explain it to those two guys. Yes sir, they knew WHY!

Richard Noble is a freelance writer who has lived in Franklin County for thirty years. If you would like to stock any of his books in your store or business contact Richard at richardedwardnoble@gtcom.net or call 1-850-670-8076.

William James (1842-1910 A.D.)

Philosopher

By Richard E. Noble

William James - Philosopher/Psychologist. He was most noted as a psychologist but enters the ranks of the Philosophers because of his definition of truth, according to Bertrand Russell. William James says that if enough people believe in something and it makes them happy to do so, then what they believe in must be true. And, of course, from this type of philosophic logic we can conclude that the world was, in fact, flat at one point in history and that the earth was at one time truly the center of the universe - and Elvis Presley is not really dead. If this makes William James a Philosopher where does that put my Mother who used to say to me as an 'a priori' proof of pure ignorance and stupidity, "so if everybody was going to jump off a bridge, you would too, I suppose, dimwit?!"
William James's Grandfather was a multi-millionaire, which left William's father with virtually nothing to do. So, he devoted his life to studying theology and became a Presbyterian. William and his brother (the successful novelist) both had serious mental problems. They both suffered from severe depression, and William, a serious hypochondriac, contemplated suicide very sincerely and for a long, long time. Their sister Alice was pretty much a wacko from the get-go. Most biographers attribute all of this to their stern Presbyterian upbringing. I wouldn't know. I have never even met a Presbyterian, but this family's story should be enough of a warning to any of us in the case that we ever do.
How does a thinker recognize that he has attained a rational concept, asks James. "Subjectively," he answers, "by a strong feeling of ease, peace, and rest."
Well, that does it. I have always had my suspicions, but this confirms what I have, in the past, only suspected. Truth, in reality, is really sex. I mean, that is the only time that I have ever, ever felt - ease, peace, and, rest. I wonder if this also means that Truth is primarily a 'male' thing. I'm not sure about this but I think that Truth for the female of the species is . . . hot fudge. You girls out there will have to let me know, or maybe we could compare? (Please, don't ask me about this when the old battle-ax is around).
William went from almost totally out of his mind to prominent psychologist traveling about the world becoming rich and famous by telling people whatever it was that he thought that they might like to hear. He did real well until one day he started telling people that war was no good. People did not want to hear this and William took a lot of static over it.
He became a para-psychologist (nothing to do with jumping out of airplanes) and a ghost hunter. He also introduced Gertrude Stein to the technique of automatic writing, after which she became very, very famous writing poetry that no one could understand.
The study of William James's life makes one fact very clear - if you, as a student, find yourself leaning to the discipline of Psychology, you probably have mental problems of a potentially serious nature, and should forget about Psychology altogether and take a creative cooking course conducted by Emeril Lagasse, Bamb! Bamb! Bamb! Either that or see a psychiatrist as soon as possible.

Herbert Spencer

Herbert Spencer (1820-1903 A.D.)

Philosopher

By Richard E. Noble

Despite being hooked on morphine and opium, and suffering from some kind of incurable sickness, causing serious pain and incapacities, headaches, insomnia, sensitivity to sound and light and an eventual nervous breakdown, Herbert Spencer became a very prolific philosophical writer of his day. He didn't become rich though. And it seems almost a miracle not only that he was actually able to accomplish what he did, but that he was even able to get any of it published. If it weren't for the wealthy John Stewart Mill secretly financing Herbert by buying subscriptions to Herbert's Synthetic Philosophy and convincing his other rich friends to do so, the work would probably never have been completed.
Herbert's 'Synthetic Philosophy' went on for volumes and took him between thirty and fifty years to complete. Herbert was an advocate and proponent of the theory of evolution long before Darwin ever set pen to paper in his Origins of the Species. It was Herbert's goal to compile all the scientific knowledge of his day, according to the principles that all knowledge was basically empirical and inductive and had become known basically through the processes of evolution.
In his first volume he lost almost all of his subscribers when he matter-of-factly dismissed Theism as misinformation based on superstition and primitiveness. He further dismissed Pantheism and all other religious beliefs on the premise that God was basically unknowable and undiscoverable. He said that Religion had its place, though, because of its historical and socializing aspects. He basically implied that religion kept folks of the streets and stopped men from screwing rabbits, so what the hell. The only belief, according to Herbert, acceptable to a rational, intelligent human being was Agnosticism. Needless to say the entire Synthetic Philosophy subscription department was laid off almost immediately.
Herbert, that little devil, was quite a romantic, though a little reserved. He had only one girlfriend and her name was George (Eliot, Marion Evans). In describing her he once poetically exclaimed, “Usually heads have, here and there, either places or slight hollows, but her head was everywhere convex.” Obviously Herbert was not a big T & A man.
He was also a great advocate of Capitalism, industrialization and the economic policy of Laissez faire. He hated Socialism and Militarism. He prophesied an eventual world filled with wealth, prosperity and peace due to the advantages of Capitalism, Industrialism and laissez faire. And, of course, he was absolutely right. In the hundred years since his death we have pretty much lived in a Capitalistic world of peace and prosperity, with virtually no economic downturns or any serious wars to speak of. Milton Friedman, Nobel Prize winning economist, went so far as to claim in one of his public appearances a few years back that the U.S.A. was free of poverty. I wonder, when a Nobel Prize winning economist has his policies fail, and most everything he had to say proved false, do they take back his Nobel Prize?
This is why I love Philosophy. You know, reading men who have all of the answers and the right ones too. My second favorite subject is Religion, and after that politics can be fun.

Lawrence - My Hometown

McGovern’s and the Den

By Richard E. Noble

McGovern’s and the Den were on route 114 heading out by the Den Rock Drive-in Theater. As typical insane teenagers from the 60’s we used to drag race out in front of McGovern’s.
My friends got me into a drag race one night. I had the use of my sister’s ‘55 Mercury. It was really a neat car and it had a stick shift. My friends were all pumped up. I pulled out in front in first gear but when I shifted into second everybody in my 55 Merc let out with a huge groan. I didn’t know how to speed-shift. The other guy, with his Olds 88 hydromatic, zoomed past me like I was standing still. That experience ended my drag racing career.
I also remember playing tackle football out in the middle of the highway. That was nuts. But in those days at 9 o’clock in the evening on a Saturday night, route 114 was deserted. That also explains the drag racing - after all in order to drag race both sides of the highway had to be used. Of course, this still doesn’t explain playing tackle football on the asphalt pavement.
Both McGovern’s and the Den were packed on weekends and especially after football games. Cars would circle through the Den parking lot over and over trying to nab a prime spot. Girls would cluster on the hoods of cars, giggling and laughing and attracting the boys’ attention as they drove round and round.
My biggest memory from the Den was a rather interesting experience. The whole episode started on the Hampton Beach Casino boardwalk. I had a 1946 fluid drive DeSoto. It was my first car. I bought it for ten bucks. It was a Sunday evening and everybody was heading home. Four or five local girls were dashing up and down the Casino looking for a ride to the Den. This wasn’t so unusual. Boys and girls would often ride to the beach with one group then bum a ride home with another.
One of my buddies knew one of the girls. She was somebody’s sister. We agreed to give them a lift. They piled into the back seat and me and my two buddies rode in the front seat. They each had a beach bag of clothes and we threw those in the trunk.
My old DeSoto was big. It could hold a lot of bodies. The space between the back of the front seat and the back seat was as big as in a hearse.
My recollection of our ride to the Den was quite rowdy. I was rather shy and not used to having a carload of females. They were giggling, singing songs and asking any number of silly questions. They were all quite attractive and very bold. They would ask me some provocative question and when I would stutter or the backs of my ears would turn red, they would go into a spasm of giggles.
When we got to the Den and got their bags out of the trunk, the girls all asked if they could use my vehicle to spruce up a bit before stepping out into the “lime light” of the Den parking lot. The Den parking lot was also a kind of showplace for the girls. They had to look their best. They were fresh off the beach when we loaded them up - no lipstick, no nothing. The girls blocked all the windows by hanging up skirts and blouses and beach towels.
When they finally emerged they looked like the McGuire Sisters. For you younger folks that means they looked good.
The next morning I was aroused from a sound sleep by the screaming and ranting of my outraged mother. She was running in and out of my bedroom waving pink, green and yellow panties.
It seems that she had passed by my car in the backyard on her way to the garbage shed when she detected the smell of perfume and girly powder wafting from my 1946 Desoto. She began foraging around inside the car and found several pairs of girl panties in my glove compartment.
Though my mother was quite beside herself, I was somewhat proud that my mother would think that I was teenage boy enough to gather up a glove compartment full of panties.
Why the girls left their panties in my glove compartment is still a mystery to me.

Richard E. Noble was raised in Lawrence, Mass and is now a freelance writer. He has published six books. Two of them have Lawrence as their setting, A Summer with Charlie and Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother. A Little Something is a book of poetry -parts of it inspired by life in Lawrence. Hobo-ing America is a workingman’s tour of the U.S.A and The Eastpointer is selected pieces from his award winning column about life in a sleepy fishing village in the Florida Panhandle. Noble Notes on Famous Folks is his most recent production.

How Did You Do It

The Eastpointer

How did you guys do it?

By Richard E. Noble

Carol and I have been together now for over 30 years. Whenever you see older couples on TV the moderator often says, “Well, bless your hearts. How have you two managed to stay together so long? Can you give the rest of us a little advice and share your wisdom?”
For some reason no one has ever asked me that question. I imagine it is because when they look at me they can’t imagine that I am old enough to have ever lived with anyone for over 30 years. Why just the other day I went into a local gas station. My gas bill was $19.67. I said, “1967 huh, that was a good year.”
The older, gray haired man behind the counter said authoritatively, “Yes it was, but how would you know? You probably weren’t even born in 1967.” Wow! Can you imagine?
How have Carol and I kept it together for so long? The answer is that we both have an inordinate love for material possessions.
Now I know that some of you who read this newspaper are my neighbors and you drive by my property every day. You are now asking yourself how it can be true that love for material possessions have kept Carol and me together when we don’t have anything – certainly nothing that shows.
Ah ha, that is how it appears on the outside, but on the inside we have some very valuable stuff. We keep the outside of our property looking as it does to avoid any increases in our Homestead Exemption and to get around paying more property taxes. We have relatives who were Republican and they taught us some of the tricks.
One valuable thing we have in our home is a complete collection of home repair books published by Time/Life. Those aren’t valuable, you say. Well sure, the first issue was only 99 cents but each following issue cost $7.95 and we have all 32 issues. These are hardcover books – with pictures. And they are in mint condition.
They are now obsolete – real collector’s items. We have stopped doing any improvements on our place because of all the new rules. I will give you an example.
We were going to connect two of our decks with a third deck and put our washer and dryer out there. But the folks over in Apalach said we couldn’t do it. Not only that, we needed to hire an architect to design the six foot deck addition. The deck would also have to be anchored so that it could withstand 180 mile an hour wind. I explained to the man that our trailer was nearly 30 years old and uninsurable and that all our other decks were built over 20 years ago when there were fewer rules – none that I remember. He said that didn’t matter. “We” had to upgrade the neighborhood for future hurricanes. But I said if I do as you ask, the new six foot deck will cost more than my whole trailer home and lot and, when and if that hurricane comes, the only thing that will be left on the lot will be this six foot super deck that you now require. He said that didn’t matter.
But wait a minute, I’m getting away from my story. Another valuable thing that Carol and I own is a 15 piece set of fancy screwdrivers. They are Craftsmen from Sears & Roebuck and have a lifetime guarantee. I don’t know if that’s my lifetime or Sears’s lifetime, but whatever. I bought them for Carol one Christmas. Carol’s birthday is on Christmas day, so I get a “twofor.” I spring for a little extra because of the birthday benefit.
This is a real expensive set of screwdrivers. Carol likes tools and screwdrivers are fun for tool type people like her. Carol has fixed door hinges, repaired microwave ovens, installed her very own dishwasher, hooked up her washing machine and drier, adapted the burners on her new stove, installed and maintained her water heater, fixed her vacuum cleaner, repaired her lawnmower, her hedge trimmer and her circular saw … I’m telling you, she has really got distance out of those screwdrivers. I am very happy that I bought them for her – so what if they cost me over 100 bucks. You know, as they say … “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.” Ain’t that the truth!
Now if we were to get divorced, we would have to decide who is going to get those screwdrivers for example. You ask, “Why would I want those screwdrivers? I never use them and I probably don’t even know how to use one.”
That’s true. But those screwdrivers were very expensive and I bought them with MY money. I look at them like other people look at art. There are wealthy people out there who have very valuable paintings and they don’t even know how to paint. They couldn’t mix two colors together and come up with a third that resembled anything in the rainbow. They don’t know the canvas from the frame, but they would kill to keep their works of art. Well, that’s me. I want my stuff … but Carol would want it too. So what would we do with the screwdrivers if we were to separate? It would be horrible and too much damn trouble. So why screw with it? Carol and I are together until death do us part – or something happens to them darn screwdrivers.

Richard E. Noble is a freelance writer and has lived in Franklin County for about 30 years. He has published several books. You can find them all on Amazon or by contacting the author at richardedwardnoble@gtcom.net.

Brother Conrad

Lawrence - My Hometown

Brother Conrad

By Richard E. Noble
Brother Conrad was, in my opinion, one of the worst instructors ever at Central Catholic High School. But yet I have never forgotten the man. I had him for “Home Room” and for “World History.”
Brother Conrad was the size of a midget. One of his antics was to crawl up on top of his desk at the front of the room and peek down on somebody who was sitting up front, maybe eating their lunch or doing something inappropriate. He would belly-flop across his desk, his head propped up by his elbows with his chin in his palms. His feet would be in the air behind him, like a little kid lying across his bed at home. Everybody in the class would go into hysterics.
No matter what class he was teaching, he always drifted over into Lawrence, its politics or people. He was very concerned about the canals. He felt that they were dysfunctional and useless. He wanted them to be drained and paved or used for a subway or something.
He was brutally sarcastic. I’ll never forget the day that he walked into the classroom holding a copy of the Eagle Tribune high over his head.
“Lookie, lookie, lookie,” he squealed. “Did you see last night’s paper? We got two more.”
The front page of the Tribune had a picture of a car wrapped around a telephone pole. The car was estimated to have been traveling at over 100 miles per hour. Two teenagers had been killed instantly. The vehicle was hardly recognizable as an auto.
Brother Conrad thought that teenagers were violent and suicidal. He proposed a solution. He often suggested that all teenagers should be shuttled off to an island somewhere. Periodically a boat could be sent to the island and extract all of those who managed to survive to the age of 21 and return them to civilization.
In World History class he had one routine that went on and on. There was a student in the class by the name of Harcourt.
“Harcourt, would you please stand up.”
Harcourt (not his real name) was probably eating his lunch, looking out the window or grab-assing with someone around him.
“Tell me Mr. Harcourt, what do you intend to be when you grow up?”
“I’m goin’ to be an engineer, Bruddah”
“Really? I don’t really think so, Harcourt. Engineers have to know a lot of math. Are you good at math, Harcourt?”
“Not very, Bruddah. But why do you have to know a lot of math to drive a train? All you have to do is follow the tracks.”
“Oh, you what to be that kind of an engineer. And you have the boots for it don’t you?”
“Yes Bruddah, I got these engineer boots for Christmas.”
“How nice. And you feel that you can drive a train by just following the tracks. I suppose that is how you get to school each day. You are from up the river aren’t you?”
“I live in Haverhill, Bruddah. But I don’t follow the railroad tracks to get to school. I take the bus.”
“Well, since you ride on a bus everyday to get to school, why don’t you want to become a bus driver?”
“Bus drivers don’t have no tracks to follow, Bruddah. I figure driving a train should be easier and I think it pays more money.”
“Harcourt, you must know by now that you are never going to graduate from this school or go to college. Here it is only January. Do you realize that if you quit school right now and beat the June rush, you could get in line ahead of all the other kids over at the mill employment office and maybe get a job?”
“I want to drive a train. I don’t want to work at a mill.”
“Okay, okay, quit now and get your fanny down to a train station. If you wait until June, there will probably be a whole bunch of your fellow classmates ahead of you down at the train station. If you quit right now the line will be a lot shorter.”
“I’m goin’ to go to college, Bruddah.”
“You are? And what college is that, may I ask?”
“Harvard.”
“Harvard? That is a very good choice. Why did you pick Harvard?”
“Because there is a train from Haverhill that goes right to Harvard Square.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. You like trains.”
This comedy routine sometimes went on for the whole period. It depended on Harcourt’s answers. If Harcourt’s answers were creative enough, Brother Conrad couldn’t resist asking more silly questions.
Our entire class flunked the World History exam. For some reason Brother Conrad just couldn’t believe it. When he asked for an explanation, Harcourt raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Harcourt. You have an explanation of why this entire class flunked their World History exam?”
“I think so, Bruddah.”
“Well, by all means share your insight with me because I am at a total loss.”
“Well Bruddah, there wasn’t one question on that exam about the canals, the Merrimack River, the water works, Lawrence, or even Mayor Buckley.”

Richard E. Noble was raised in Lawrence, Ma and is now a freelance writer. He has published several books. Many

of them have Lawrence as their setting, A Summer with Charlie and Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother. A Little Something is a book of poetry - parts of it inspired by life in Lawrence. Hobo-ing America, is a workingman’s tour of the U.S.A and The Eastpointer is selected pieces from his award winning column about life in a sleepy fishing village in the Florida Panhandle.