the alberton papers

Name:
Location: alberton, mt., United States

I am a retired steamfitter and vocational instructor, Current member, alberton town council, having served two terms previously, several years ago. Resident of alberton almost 28 years. I am fiscally conservative and socially progressive, a free thinker and an advocate of good, responsive, honest government.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

eternal vigilance is the price of liberty

The Alberton Papers, Vol. IV, #XIX
By Dick Darne 8-28-07
This day in the Think-Tank was going to be different. Everyone was setting up chairs and waiting. The Big boys were calling a meeting. Elder seemed to be in charge of organizing things. At the opposite end of the room was: the Lady, Nemi, Mother Nature, Padre and Viggie, Padre’s cousin. They all had been pretty busy, especially Viggie, what with all the assaults on our liberties lately. Viggie had come to report on the damage.
"I guess you all are wondering why I called this meeting." Viggie said unceremoniously . "I am the guy who sits in front of our National Archives, with the inscription: ‘ETERNAL VIGILANCE IS THE PRICE OF LIBERTY’. While I have been proud to keep watch since the beginnings of our grand experiment in government of the people, by the people and for the people, what it really means is it is up to each and every one of our citizens to stand the vigil. We have been a little lax and allowed great damage to be done to our constitution. It seems as though very few of us have any sense of history or how government should work. Even among the framers, and a fine collection of the brightest and best they were, there were those who believed that only a few special people should rule. They have taken many forms, among them the rich, of which most of their fortunes were acquired by nefarious methods (and then we name bridges, hospitals, towns and schools after them) and inherited wealth, which then gives the recipients the means for mischief. Some have a world-view way out of touch with reality, the benevolent ‘Massa’ in the mansion on the hill, watching as all the happy workers whistle their way to work, swinging their lunch buckets and gushing gratitude at even having a job at all. These are the people who fund phony think-tanks, pouring mega-bucks into shaping public opinion. Then we have the Neo-Cons, disciples of Strauss, also known as ‘the crazies’ who truly believe that only they and others of their ilk can possibly understand and lying to the people is absolutely necessary. The first group have gained control of most of the media even to the conversion of one conglomerate into nothing but a propaganda outlet. They have constantly hammered on themes like how great the ‘Great Communicator’ was or ‘Government is bad’ which, upon coming into power they set out to prove it. ‘Family values’ is another one, except it seems the ones pouring the family values syrup all over themselves have succumbed to their basest instincts, or to be more blunt, they are sex offending hypocrites. Free markets is another one. What it really means is free markets, with all it’s accompanying, loss of jobs, lower wages no benefits, destroyed communities, urban decay and shattered lives for you and me, but subsidies, corporate welfare and full protection of the state for them. And offshore tax breaks as a bonus. We’ll take a break now and pick this up later. Thanks, thinkers."
Stop listening to fake news. Stop supporting the bad guys. dd

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

The Alberton Papers, Vol. IV, #XVIII
By Dick Darne 8-21-07
The Tune-up Ride
After several days riding across the country and a week of lounging around visiting old friends, I decided I had better get in the saddle and ride. I discovered that an old railroad I knew as a child had become a "rails to trails" bicycle route. It had some significance to me, I used to try and "hop it", not even knowing where it went, which didn’t matter, it always ran one mile per hour faster than I could run. My buddy, Rodney and I devised a plan; we found a path down one of the cuts, where gravity would allow us that extra MPH. We didn’t really appreciate the gravity of the situation anyway, we had no idea where it went, or that the hopper cars having something to grab, had no place to sit. We tried anyway, Rodney made it and extending his hand just like the last scene in the movie, "The Defiant Ones", I ran like the wind trying to grasp his outstretched hand, but my "wind" was more like a gentle zephyr. After aborting that attempt, we set to work devising plan B. This probably helped shape my future as a world renowned thinker. At least county wide. OK, west end of county renowned thinker.
Plan B was a masterpiece of our combined ruminating. We got his old boy scout pack, our trusty pocket knives and our jointly owned "Cutter Compact Snake-Bite Kit" (another story). Of course we never thought about jackets or sleeping bags or anything like that, just high adventure. After appropriating my grandmother’s good can opener, we set off for the railroad yard, and finding an empty boxcar with a big empty cardboard box in it, we climbed in. We put the box in the corner, got in it, cut a couple peepholes and snickered. This was much easier than trying to run one down. For what seemed like hours, we went all over the yard, while we snickered as only those who know they have beaten the system can snicker. Finally, we stopped at a loading dock, the door rolled open and an adult voice boomed: "OK boys, end of the line, be on your way now!" the gentle zephyr was now let out of our sails.
Now, over fifty years later, I would ride my bicycle the entire fifty miles of the old track bed, seeing what I didn’t see back then. I parked in the middle and the first day rode to the end in Purcellville (pronounced Percyville) and back. There was one departure from the roadbed onto the highway to traverse Clark’s Gap, el. 535 ft.(passes are called gaps in that part of the country). The 535 ft. was all at once, straight up and over. Good workout!
The second day I rode the other half to D.C. and back,. with the help of a large sno-cone. I never found the scene of the attempted "hop", but parts have been wiped out by I-66. I don’t know what ever happened to Rodney. I hope he caught his train. My grandmother never knew exactly what we were up to that day, or why I had her can opener. If she knew, she’d roll over in her grave.
Wax nostalgic occasionally, it’s good for the soul. dd

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

The Alberton Papers, Vol. IV, #XVII
By Dick Darne 8-14-07
"Well Dick, I guess you learned some lessons that night, and even though it took a few years to sink in, you never forgot them." Asked Bill.
Before I could reply, Johnny said: "Yeah, it is true about getting too soon old and too late smart. Some people never learn."
"While you were gone, we had a few discussions about the true cost of things." Said Todd.
"Like the cost of my car and the hospital bill?" I asked.
"Not exactly, it’s more about things we take for granted that we don’t realize the true cost of." replied Todd. "One of the simplest would be a board."
"A board? Asked Johnny.
"Yes, a simple board. One could figure the cost of the raw log plus the milling, transportation, warehousing, retailing, all the accompanying expenses and profit and come up with a price. But sometimes there are hidden costs that the ultimate user never pays. Or any of the middlemen, but good old J..Q. Public usually winds up footing the bill."
"How’s that?"
"Sometimes up front, as in taxpayer funded access roads, or afterwards in cleaning up the mess. Some of the real big boys probably were never made to clean up after themselves when they were children. Makes it bad for everybody." Said the old logger, Bill. "It sure seems that given the relatively small population here, we should be able to harvest all we need to sustain the local economy."
Elder spoke up from the back. "Over the years, a lot of boondoggles were due to not realizing the true cost of things. Mine tailings, asbestos, DDT, air pollution to name a few. Those to blame got theirs and are gone, the public foots the bill."
The phone rang. Someone answered it, it was Sven Berkowitz, Professor Emeritus, from the North Dakota Institute of Financial Technology, calling to tell us about his new book about this very subject. One of the guys was bringing him up to date on our discussions. He put him on speaker phone.
"Say, I’m sure glad to hear the think tank is working so well. I’d like to share one of the case studies in my new book, ‘The True Cost of Stuff and Why Some Dummies Never Seem To Get It.’ It takes place in a little town in Montana called Alvinville.. They took out a fifty thousand dollar loan to buy this wonderful Wildcat Do It All machine, figuring it would save so much money it would pay for itself in nothing flat. At the time of this writing, adding the amount paid so far to the depreciation (generously allowing twenty years) and eighteen percent for maintenance, then dividing by the number of hours used comes out to one hundred and forty two dollars per hour. That’s just the cost of owning it. Ah wunnerful, wunnerful. That’s about twice the cost of hiring a contractor. Wunnerful, wunnerful. Gotta go now, boys, lots more research to do. Keep on thinking and figuring the true cost of stuff. Root out the financial dunderheads"

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Black Ice

The Alberton Papers, V4, # 16
By Dick Darne 8-6-07
While searching around my old hometown, I came upon a place where I learned one of life’s great lessons. Of course at the time I did not realize it, that took place many years later. There is an old saying: "We get too soon old and too late smart". I was thinking of this as I stood on the banks of Pimmit Run (back in Virginia, all small creeks are known as "runs") and Old Dominion Drive, just to the east of McLean. I was waiting for Mr. Steve Dryden, from the Fairfax Trails and Streams, to go over some of the history of this stream that meandered through the old family home and served as one of my playgrounds when I was a young feller. As I waited, my thoughts wandered back almost fifty years ago, to January of 1958, when, having turned 18, I was now endowed with all the necessary knowledge, wisdom and common sense needed to embark upon life’s journey. In other words, I knew it all. Certainly more than the Old Man, who was rapidly approaching "fuddyduddydom". After all, I drove a cool car, while his was merely functional. Mine was a 1940 Ford Deluxe Coupe, his was a ‘38 Pontiac 4 door sedan with the back full of tools. Mine was beautiful, a "cherry" as described in those days, not a dent, the envy of all the guys, object of many a dream of customizing it into the ultimate street rod.
"Where the heck do you think you’re going on a night like this?" he asked me as I was opening the front door to leave.
"Out." I replied.
"It’s raining now, but it’s going to get nasty later on. There’s no good reason to go out tonight." the Old Man said.
"It’s just rain, it’s warm out and I’m always careful." I said, but was thinking. "What’s he know anyway."
I was to find out later that night.
I was heading home on Old Dominion drive, it had cooled off considerably and the rain kept coming down. The road was an old railroad grade and was pretty flat, alternating between cuts and embankments, as I approached the bridge, the roadbed was about fifteen feet above the creek bottom. Suddenly, everything got very quiet, then things viewed through the windshield were moving sideways. Absolutely no control. In a matter of seconds my beautiful coupe and I were sailing over the embankment. Then I saw stars, lots of stars. The car landed nose first, coming to rest on it’s top. I crawled out through the trunk, saw more stars when I hit the ground. My right leg was numb and useless, my head hurt, I could feel blood flowing, it was dark, I was rapidly becoming soaked and scared to death. I could see a flashlight bobbing, someone had seen the wreck, and was coming. As he passed the light over me to see how bad I was hurt, I could see the panic in his eyes, this scared me even more.
"Hang on, buddy, I’m going to get the rescue squad." he said as he left me in the dark.
"Dickie Darne, what the heck are you doing down here?" was the next voice I heard from Jack Akre, one of the McLean fireman.
In a matter of minutes I was on my way to the hospital. A few stitches above the eye, some to fix the big gash in my knee and, ugh, a foot long needle to drain the other knee. As soon as they were done, there was the Old Man waiting to take me home. And remind me that he had tried to tell me, but I just wouldn’t listen,.over and over and over. The wounds were painful but not as painful as knowing that the Old Man was right, and I was wrong. The car was totaled. Young fellows listen, your Old Man knows more than you do. Keep listening, dd