B

Getting worse down south, people dying on the Mexican border, got our two countries at each others’ throats. Problem is a chaotic mix of weapons, drugs, gangs and Democrats. A drug cartel down there is even offering a thousand bucks to any Mexicans or illegals who wants to join up. Like an enlistment bonus in the U.S. Army. So, is there an enemy army gathering on the border? I half expect Santa Anna to come riding into San Antonio and wipe out the Alamo again or something. We’re just barely holding it together down there. I miss the Hispañoles of yesteryear ~ the Cisco Kid and Pancho, Gordo, little Speedy Gonzales with the big yellow sombrero. Shoot, compared to the border trouble today, I’d even settle for those banditos from Treasure of the Sierra Madre, the one guy saying, “Whee doan have to show you no steekin’ bat’jus.” Did you see that movie, Humphrey Bogart? That was a good movie, the banditos cutting open the bags of gold dust at the end looking for plunder, not knowing it’s gold, the gold dust blowing away on the wind back to the Mother Saw, I guess, back to the mountains whence it came. Yeah, so I feel bad for the Mexicans because it’s not “the Mexicans” that’s the problem; it’s the illegals, the drug movers, the terror cells, the guns, the malevolent agents of turmoil, and, yes, the pissy little girlie man in the White House.

“The malevolent agents of turmoil.” That’s grade-A prose, baby. You don’t usually find writing like that outside a novel. And I don’t charge extra for that, either, that’s just how I roll. And I like to think you’re rolling with me. Some of you. Not everybody. Rolling with some of you would creep me out and probably you, too. Best thing when rolling, keep it sane.

And if you really believe that New York mosque at Ground Zero is a community center dedicated to fostering tolerance and understanding between religions, you won’t mind stepping aside while I poop in your cereal, cause, my friend, you’ll swallow anything.

In order to save the planet, the United Nations now says people need to start eating bugs. They say cows and pigs require too much space and fodder, and as everyone knows, space and fodder are planet killers. “Waiter, there’s a fly in my soup …” “Terribly sorry, sir.” “I should think so. I ordered the boll weevils.” But I have a question … if people can eat bugs instead of cows and pigs, then why is there starvation? Freakin bugs are everywhere. I don’t care where you live, there’s going be bugs there. Why are people starving? Or, in the words of Marie Antoinette, “Let them eat aphids.” I’m with the U.N. on this one.

Have you noticed how fallout shelters are making a comeback? Remember the old bomb shelters from the 50s, back at the height of the cold war, the doomsday clock barely holding at a couple minutes to midnight? Everybody thought they were going to be incinerated at any second. The government even cranked out some really excellent propaganda films that we had to watch in grade school, featuring Burt the cartoon Civil Defense Turtle. Anybody remember Burt? Burt taught all us kids how to “duck and cover” when the bombs start falling. What you do is, you get under your school desk ~ that would pretty much keep you safe from from an atomic bomb blast. I guess that metal book holder under the seat blocked all the heavy radiation, neutralized the heat. Of course that advice came from a cartoon turtle, so I took it with a grain of salt, but still. My point is, we want to protect the troops fighting in Afghanistan, we should issue them grade school desks to get up under. If it works against thermonuclear bombs, it should work against anything the terrorists can throw at us.

Ol’ Burt, huh? I never knew if he was pushing instant karma or instant Armageddon. But what did he care, he had that shell he could crawl into. Turtle walking around with his own personal bomb shelter, how can he really relate to the rest of us? Not to mention him being a cartoon and all.

But speaking of nuclear winter, Fidel Castro’s back. Have you noticed that? He’s making a big come-back. Heard him couple weeks ago warning the world of an impending nuclear holocaust that’s just around the corner. Maybe him and Vladimir Putin are planning a re-make of the Cuban missile crisis, you know, in honor of its 48th anniversary? Make for a heckuva October surprise, I’ll tell you that right now.

Well, maybe not that much of a surprise, all things considered.

And remember ol’ Jimmy Carter? Sometimes I get nostalgic for Jimmy. The young Jimmy, not the old one that loves him some Hamas, but the old one … the president Jimmy one. I get nostalgic for Miss Lillian, Billy, the peanut farm, Jimmy in his boat getting chased by that giant swimming rabbit, Jimmy lusting in his heart, giving away the Panama Canal, smashing helicopters into one another in the deserts of Iran years before any Bush ever thought to do it. And the malaise … ah, the malaise.

Course, now I think about it, the malaise is still around.

The early start with rifles and other firearms was natural since my dad was an exhibition shooter and we had a house full of guns all the time. His supply of .22 caliber rifles and ammunition was endless because he worked in an amusement park that had a large shooting gallery. His contact with suppliers of firearms and ammunition led to us having large quantities of both.

During the depths of the depression my dad made a little side-money by suckering other men into betting on who was the best marksman. My dad won a lot in matches that were usually set up on the front porches of beer joints or pool rooms. When his reputation caused other men to decline shooting against him he shamed them into matches by letting me beat them at some carefully arranged shots — like splitting playing cards edgewise, snuffing candle flames and hitting clay pigeons tossed from a trap. I wasn’t perfect at the age of nine but hitting one out of three is ten times better than what an untrained shooter can do. Yeah, I was the come-on for daddy’s con games.

What? You think a nine-year-old can’t split a playing card edgewise? Well, to let you know why it is easy, let me explain. First off, the shot is taken at a distance of 50 feet, which is the best range for a .22 caliber bullet and barrel combination. The card can’t even be seen at that distance, which puts the untrained shooter at a disadvantage from the get-go. A trained shooter doesn’t see the card either but he can see the crack that the card is stuck in. Yeah, you shoot at the crack. Also, although the bullet is a little bitty .22 caliber it swells to almost twice that size when an expert shoots it. Huh? Yep. It’s just another trick. The bullet is actually .40 caliber when it reaches the playing card target because you can almost miss the card to either side and still rip the paper. Anyone ought to be able to hit something at 50 feet with a .40 caliber slug. Geez, even a pistol shooter can do that.

The same rule applies to snuffing a candle flame. You don’t have to hit the wick — although I used to do it regularly — all you have to do is come close to the flame and the wind of the sub-sonic bullet blows out the flame. Gotcha again, sucker.

I won’t reveal the secret for busting skeet targets with a .22 caliber rifle because I sometimes still make money with that one. But, it isn’t all that hard with a rifle. Now, with a pistol it is. But I was never handy with a handgun so I left that to big-handed shooters.

Uh, back to our story. I grew up shooting a lot. I carried that rifle all the time when I roamed the countryside. In season I potted rabbits with it. At all times I potted cats. Cats in the woods mean less quail and rabbit populations so I shot cats. Also rats, field mice, snakes, crows, blackbirds and sparrows.

When WWII came along most other kids had to put their rifles in the closet because it became impossible to buy ammunition in the local hardware stores. I didn’t have that problem because when the amusement park shooting gallery closed to support the war effort my dad brought home a half dozen cases of ammunition. Ten thousand rounds per case. We didn’t have a shortage of ammunition during the war years. In fact, the ammunition allowed my dad to trade bullets for firearms. That’s how I graduated from shooting the little .22 rifle to bigger calibers.

The war brought about another big change in my life. The Pittsburgh steel mills expanded and began to run 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Thousands of new families came to the area to work the mills. Government projects were constructed to house the newcomers. The projects were modern … meaning they had indoor plumbing, hot water, central heating and spacious kitchens. Not only were the apartment style structures new, the rent was low. My family moved from an old home on acreage to an apartment.

The projects were actually comfortable once we got used to having neighbors — neighbors from the city and their city-raised kids . . . city kids who started roaming over the countryside in packs and sticking their noses into all the places that we local kids thought belonged only to us.

I didn’t have that much trouble with the city kids and did most things with them — baseball, hockey, basketball and all the other team sports. They were interesting for a time because they swore differently, ate differently, fought differently and had a lot of hot sisters.

Some of the city kids noticed that I ran around with a rifle and they wanted to know how I managed to do that without getting into trouble with the cops. They and their parents didn’t seem to know that having guns wasn’t anything special in our township. Some of the mothers complained that I had a real gun and had even shown it to some of their brats. On days I took to carrying a hogleg Remington .60 caliber cap and ball revolver they almost wet their pants. Some of the parents forbid their kids to play with me.

The fact that folks with guns visited my dad regularly so he could repair their firearms or make a trade caused more concern. The fact that dad sometimes walked across the street to a vacant lot to test a firearm made some folks call the cops. The cops were home-bred guys and if they bothered to answer a call like that they brought their own guns along to take a few shots with dad. The fact there were guns associated with our apartment and our family members, kept the immediate neighborhood peaceful and free of burglars and other crooks.

Eventually, I was old enough to go along on the annual bear and deer hunting trips with my dad and some of his friends. The hunting place was way north on the border between Pennsylvania and New York. The men rented a cabin up there each year on the edge of a state forest and managed to get away for a week of bear and deer hunting.

One year dad announced that he couldn’t make the hunting trip because of business commitments so he asked me if I wanted to take his place among the hunters. Haw. Me skip school and go deer hunting? You bet.

The fact that I would go on the hunt meant that I had to use a heavy caliber brush busting rifle. For some reason the only rifle dad had available for me to use was a .35 caliber Remington pump gun. It was ideal for bear or deer either one, so I learned how to use it. The operation was easy but I needed to get in some target practice.

I put my trusty .22 caliber rifle away and took to carrying the .35 Remington. It was a big cumbersome thing and kicked like a mule when I pulled the trigger. The recoil didn’t bother me much but I wasn’t exactly satisfied with the performance of the rifle. It had a trajectory like a rainbow. I had to learn what it would do at different distances. It shot dead on at 50 yards, hit low two inches at 100 yards and 18 inches at 200 yards. A shot at 300 yards meant I had to set the sights at maximum elevation and start praying. I practiced until I could hit a pie plate at those distances.

I was ready to hunt.

I went on the deer hunt that year and got a deer five minutes after walking out the cabin door. One shot and the hunting season was over for me. A month of preparation and I did the hunt in five minutes. The shot at the deer was so routine that it doesn’t merit discussion and hardly stays in my memory. What I do remember about that old .35 Remington was the afternoon I took the “longest shot” of my young life.

The long shot came at the end of a day when I was walking over the hills from the woods where I normally went to shoot. I was topping the hill over Locust Grove, our township’s picnic site, when I scanned the countryside between me and the back end of the government projects.

The land between Locust Grove and the projects was a shallow valley — perhaps a mile across. Down in the valley was a little creek that we kids had dammed to make a swimming hole. The swimming hole was among some shielding trees that kept the neighbors from seeing us skinny dip. This particular day I noticed there were a bunch of project kids playing around the swimming hole. They were colored kids and it was a mortal sin for them to be at that swimming hole. Not because they were colored, but because they weren’t part of our gang. Oh, they weren’t swimming, it was already too cold for that — what they were doing was just looking over the pond and the diving board we had built out over the water.

Yep. They were at the pond where they shouldn’t have been. And, one of them was out on the end of the diving board bouncing up and down on the plank pretending he was going to dive in the mud hole. I decided to do something about it. I plunked a cartridge into the chamber of the Remington and aimed off in the direction of the pond — about half a mile. There was no chance of my shot reaching the pond at that distance, all I wanted was for the kids to hear the boom of the gun. I even aimed way up in the air and pointed off to the side.

KaaaBooooMMM!!!

Geez, that Remington could bellow. The noise went echoing across the valley. I watched for their reaction to the noise. What I saw was caused by more than panic at the sound of the shot . . . what I saw was the kid bouncing on the end of the diving board suddenly turn and look towards the sound of the shot, and then the diving board between him and the bank suddenly flying into splinters and breaking from the impact of that monster slug coming down from the heavens where I had sent it. The kid went into the water with the remnants of the diving board. The other kids burned tracks for the projects. The one in the water came out of the pond and passed his buddies before they reached the rim of the valley. It was funny.

I expected someone to complain about the shot but no one did. In fact, word got around that I had pulled off a shot that was so damn long that the Army ought to hire me to teach soldiers how to shoot. I never told anyone that I was aiming at a cloud of smoke coming out of a mill stack when I pulled trigger, and had no intention of clipping off that diving board. But I didn’t change the story that went around about “the longest shot.” In fact, I gloried in it. Still do.

The longest, continuously serving Bradley County Commissioner, Roy Smith, passed away on August 31, 2010 — the last day of his last term in office.

Roy was first elected in 1982, and served the county’s 6th District for 28 years. He was 81 years of age.

Our sources tell us that District Attorney Steven Bebb has tapped the failed sheriff’s candidate to be the new Director of his 10th Judicial District Drug Task Force. Now, instead of wreaking vengeance across just one county, Lawson can wreak vengeance across four. He will be replacing Director Mike Hall, who is moving to Florida. In a hurry. A big hurry. Something about the FBI.

The 10th Judicial District Drug Task Force — which includes Bradley, McMinn, Monoe and Polk counties — has a rich history of malfeasance, duplicity and breech of trust. It’s sort of a tradition. But that’s what happens when a government agency with no oversight and access to millions of dollars and all kinds of drugs, operates at the discretion (and under the protection) of a single district attorney.

In 2002, Task Force Director Ken Wilson was charged with possession of cocaine and sitting on large amounts of missing drug evidence. After that, Task Force Director Roxanne Blackwell got in trouble over “mismanaging evidence.” Then, there is the legendary Task Force Director Chip Bryant. Chip, they say, had to “step down” after being nabbed with a crack ‘ho during a drug sting.

Now, Task Force Director Mike Hall is said to be leaving town to take a preaching job in the Florida Keys. But sources tell us the FBI is “investigating” Director Hall (the nature of said investigation we choose not to reveal at this time), and DA Bebb wants Hall to take that investigation and move as far south of here as he can get.

But when it comes to the potential for abusing power, the new Task Force Director Steve Lawson hits the ground running, having already proven himself to be hot-headed, spiteful and not above ganging up on private citizens he doesn’t like. Better wear a cup, 10th District, cause this could get painful.

One of his books, The Great Raid, was made into successful Hollywood feature film.

In the Governor’s Primary election, Bradley voters picked Zach Wamp over Bill Haslam by a margin of 57 to 38 percent. However, the rest of the state didn’t follow suit and Bill Haslam took the win with 342,499 votes statewide. He will face off against Democrat Mike McWherter in November to see who Tennessee’s next governor will be. Which we will go ahead and tell you now will be Haslam.

Likewise, in the 3rd District Congressional race, Tim Gobble won the majority of votes in Bradley County, but failed to carry the rest of the district. In fact, with only 18 percent of the vote, the H’allo Policeman ended up a distant third behind Robin Smith (28 percent) and winner Chuck Fleischmann (30 percent). Huckabee’s boy Chuck will face off against Democrat John Wolfe in November. At least John won’t be trying to smell Chuck’s hair.

State Representatives Eric Watson and Kevin D. Brooks both pulled in over 99 percent of the Bradley County vote in their races. And County Trustee Mike Smith topped out at 99.74 percent. Of course, none of them had an opponent, but still.

No surprise to anyone that incumbent mayors D. Gary Davis (Bradley County) and Tom Rowland (Cleveland City) breezed by their opponents to hold onto their titles; Davis with 80 percent of the vote, Rowland with 78 percent.

Long-time local GOP blister, John Stanbery, lost his 9th District State Executive Committeeman position to former Fox affiliate talking head Dan Howell (57 percent to 43 percent). After Lisa Stanbery’s defeat in the May primary, it’s painfully clear the Stanbery brand has lost it’s gild.

The only other race of interest was the Bradley County Sheriff’s race. The voters rejected Democrat Steve Lawson’s Green Machine for the third time, handing the job of Bradley County’s top cop to veteran BCSO lawman, Capt. Jim Ruth (53 percent to 47 percent). Lawson spent over a  hundred grand trying to convince people that there was no difference between a Democrat and a Republican, but he just ended up proving that there is. Strike three, Steve. You’re out.

Bradley County is known as the “most Republican county in Tennessee.” The population here is largely conservative and a combination of faith and hard work has served the community well for the last 174 years.

However, because Cleveland/Bradley is conservative, it’s difficult for Democrats to win elections.

That is why many local Democrats join the Republican Party if they’re considering a run for public office. Dan Gilley did it. Chip Bryant did it. In 2006, the chairman of the Bradley County Republican Party had been head of the Young Democrats at Carson-Newman College just a few years before. Democrats in Bradley County routinely use the Republican Party to win public office.

The problem is, quite often, that type of thinking lends itself to deviousness and scheming, political tricks, that sort of thing.  To make our point, we ask you to consider Chip Bryant.

Long-time Dan Gilley sidekick, Chip Bryant, ran for the office of Bradley County Sheriff in the May primary as a Republican. We want to share with you part of an impassioned speech he gave before the Bradley County Republican Party on April 27, 2010, a week before the primary election ….

“I am a Republican. I believe in the principles of the Republican Party. I’m a Reagan Republican, I’m not a Pelosi Democrat. And you’ll be hearing that more this summer if I’m the nominee.

“We will run hard against the Democrats. We will show you the distinction between me if I’m your nominee and that Democrat. And next Tuesday night, whoever wins — gentleman, friend, colleague — we’ll have a real victory. But that Democrat won’t have a victory because his nomination was handed to him because of party rules. He has nothing to be victorious about. He walked into it.

“But whoever wins this nomination, won it through hard work and great effort and shoe leather. And that person should be commended and I pledge my support to that person, whoever the Republican nominee is.” (Listen to the Audio Below)

Chip lost the nomination to Jim Ruth. But rather than “pledging his support” to the Republican Jim Ruth as he said he would, Chip jumped back over the fence and is now part of Democrat Steve Lawson’s campaign (who’s own candidacy, Chip believes, was “handed to him.”)

This isn’t just hypocritical, it damages the conservative integrity of the community. It is claimed by people who don’t believe it, don’t live it and only speak it for political reasons. Perennial candidates (this is Steve Lawson’s third run for sheriff) who slip back and forth over the idealogical fence simply have no strength of conviction. They’re opportunists, dishonest in word and deed — and ignoble doesn’t generally become noble once a person is in elected office.

Chip isn’t the only shapeshifter in Bradley County politics, there are others. But he does stand out.

The Cleveland/Bradley community chooses to self-govern according to conservative principles. The people here work hard for their homes and families and trust governance to govern. Unfortunately, many voters only have what knowledge of the candidates they can glean from political ads in the Banner, or whether some guy gave them a hotdog at a political rally. That communal naivety is both our charm and our weakness.

But you know, those of you who have followed HometownCleveland.com the last six to eight years, understand that we don’t speak lightly. Our archives and history bear that out — time and again, we have demonstrated that one simple fact: In local matters, we know of which we speak.

Having said that, our contacts in and around the Bradley County Sheriff’s Office are impeccable. They served us well during Gilleygate and they are still getting us information from behind the iron curtain. Steve Lawson did, in fact, laugh, jive, two step and gloat when Obama won the election. That is perfectly fine and doesn’t need an apology. Steve Lawson had been a big Obama supporter (the Democrat) and when his guy won, he was glad. Nothing wrong with any of that — until he starts denying it. There was not “a” witness to this — there were many.

Why bring it up? Because, as Emily Dickinson once said, “Truth is such a rare thing it is delightful to tell it.”

EXCLUSIVE!

HTC’s J.Michael Leonard conducts an exclusive one-on-one interview with sheriff’s candidate, Democrat Steve Lawson! Listen as J.M. confronts Steve Lawson with the tough, hard-hitting questions only HE can ask! You wanted it ~ you got it!

]]> http://www.hometowncleveland.com/?feed=rss2&p=3421 1 http://www.hometowncleveland.com/?p=3344 http://www.hometowncleveland.com/?p=3344#comments Thu, 29 Jul 2010 03:19:53 +0000 HTC Staffer http://www.hometowncleveland.com/?p=3344 Hundreds Turn Out to Support Rep. Eric Watson

Rep. Eric Watson, Sen. Dewayne Bunch and Rep. Beth Harwell share a moment after Watson's fundraiser luncheon at the Mountain View Inn, where Watson presented Bunch with a plaque of appreciation for his years of service as both a state representative and state senator.

State Representative Eric Watson, representing Tennessee’s 22nd District, held a well-attended fundraiser luncheon on Wednesday (7/28/10) at Cleveland’s Mountain View Inn. Rep. Beth Harwell, representing

Tennessee’s 56th District, was the keynote speaker. Several Nashville lawmakers took the opportunity to attend the event and wish State Senator Dewayne Bunch well as he retires from the legislature to pursue other interests.

Juvenile Judge Dan Swafford with Hannah Evans.

Long-time conservative advocate and Republican archivist Kay Shamblin with Hannah Evans.

Cleveland Daily Banner reporter Greg Kaylor could only hit the floor after learning the Banner's circulation of 12,000 pales in comparison to the millions of hits HometownCleveland gets each month.