jmb blog

Pick Me II

Election

2026

Political advertising is nearly at its peak as we enter the last month before elections.

~

If I were a candidate for office my opponent could say, “Candidate Benson was associated with an American Nazi – investigated by FBI – disciplined by the US Army”

Each of the above is true.

I hired a check-out clerk named John Patler. Later, during the FBI investigation of his shooting of Lincoln Rockwell, the American Nazi party leader, I learned that the Patler had been a captain in the American Nazi Party and the editor and cartoonist for the party’s magazine, Stormtrooper. My store manager told me to hire him.

Every applicant for service in the Army Security Agency had a background investigation by the FBI as a requisite for a security clearance. I served with a TS/Crypto/Nato clearance.

Several of us were late for morning formation at Ft. Devens. We were all punished under the Army Article-15 and restricted to base for a weekend. But weekend passes were not allowed while we were in training.

An opponent could find more events, but I’ve hopefully made my point about how I might be viewed if I were a candidate.

PS: I’ve chosen to not run for anything except to run around a topic.1If nominated and elected I will single handedly prevent nonagenarians from holding office by providing voters with an example.

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Pick Me

Election

2026

This election, there are so many candidates and their supporters who their opponents claim are the ineptest, ignorant, contemptible, loathsome, abhorrent, detestable, vile, odious, repugnant, revolting, loathly, execrable, and immoral to the core person(s) who ever ran for the office.

Whereas each person running and their supporters believe to the core they are the most qualified, knowledgeable, meritorious, noble, honorable, honest, and just plain moral inside and out who ever ran for the office.

Am I the only one who wishes the student council and hall monitor elections were over?

Remember: Vote Early, Vote Often

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Read an Old Book

Old books might be fun to read.

We saw an old copy of What Maisie Knew by Henry James for sale at a yard sale – $100.00!

We did not buy it!

I was curious about the book because we have a great-granddaughter named Maisie, so I read most of and the last chapter of What Maisie Knew.

Henry James published the story in 1897 about the young girl and her experiences with her parents, stepparents, and other people’s involvements around her.

Henry James was a prolific writer during the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th centuries. Some consider many of his works to be classics and several have been adapted as movies.

There are enough reviews of the book, so there is no need for me to say anything already said about the story.

I found the book difficult to read, but not because of the story. It was the writing style. I am, however, sure that he was writing for the audience of his generation.

In as much as the style seemed difficult while reading, I have a very good picture in my mind of physical, emotional, and behavior characteristics of each person.

So, what did Maisie know?

My guess is that the book would have to be studied, not just read. Several academic reviews are available on the internet. LitCharts is one of the sites.

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Trouble in School: part 15 of 15

This milestone is the last time I had trouble as a student in school.

It involves the previously noted Miss Doitover and had the greatest probability of the most serious problem in my student life.

My final Social Studies grade was a B-. I had calculated a strong C+ average in the class, but the day before graduation, Mr. H.S. Prin told me Miss Doitover requested a hold on my being a graduate. I’d failed to turn in a report, and that left a hole in her grade book. Mr. H.S. Prin told me that she would not put zero in blank space. And with that I’d get an incomplete.

When I had calculated my average and knew I’d still pass even with a zero grade on that report, so I didn’t do it.

He told me if I turned in an acceptable report to him, he’d be sure the blank was filled, and I would go out with my class. I guess I did well enough on the paper, thus the B- grade instead of the C+ I’d calculated.

Somehow, those troubles in school didn’t keep me from earning a BA in technology education and MS in school administration followed by a 35-year career in public and private schools.

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Trouble in School: part 14

I’ve missed not having the lessons of a biology class many times.
and
Mr. S.R. Counselor was probably far wiser than I thought at the time.

Every senior was interviewed by the school Vocational Guidance Counselor. Mr. S.R.Counselor’s first remark to me was that I hadn’t met all graduation requirements. I knew what my grades were ‘good enough’ and didn’t yet know about the hole in Miss Doitover’s grade book.1I’ll tell you in part-15.

His reply to my ‘why’ question, was something like, “You don’t have a biology grade. Perhaps it just got missed. Who was your teacher?”

A full year of Biology was required for graduation from Central High School. Most took the class as sophomores.

My answer was probably, “I never had bio.” Then I told him I didn’t know I had to take the class. When he told me everyone knew, I was probably snarky when I said someone in authority should have known the year before and I could still have taken it as a senior.

He called Mr. H.S. Prin and the requirement was waived. Since there was no summer school for that class, the only other option was to take another year of school for one class.

What I remember most is Mr. S.R. Counselor’s closing remark. “Benson, the Army would probably be a good career choice for you.”

I took that to mean, “Benson, you aren’t qualified for much, so you should enlist.”

“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?”
“The Shadow knows.”

No! I didn’t think he had evil in his heart. But his Army comment hit me to the core and stayed with me for many years. When I got my MS in Education Administration, I sent him a copy of my diploma from Portland State University without comment.

In retrospect, he probably saw no future for me in Alexandria and meant I needed to get out of town for my own good.

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Trouble in School: part 13

New York Yankees

vs

Brooklyn Dodgers11953

I didn’t like baseball and didn’t play baseball except very poorly in gym class. I could catch and throw but had a fear of being at bat. Part of the reason was probably from getting hit on the head by a pitch from a 9th grader when I was in fifth grade.

But baseball got me kicked out of my Western History class.

OK! OK! I got me kicked out.

Our teacher Mr. V. C. Histtchr had his radio on for the World Series when we came into the room. I don’t remember if it was the first day or one of the ensuing days. Several boys on his baseball team took front seats which voided the seating chart.

Mr. Histtchr told us to read something or put answers on a worksheet he had his student aid hand out.

D. Shouldersback made a paper airplane with his worksheet and fired it across the room. Histtchr told him to pick it up to which Shouldersback said, “Don’t tell me what to do,” and left the room on his own.

I stood and said, “I don’t like baseball either and we shouldn’t have to listen to it.”

I had another short visit with Mr. H.S. Prin, but only for the rest of that class period. He was also listening to the game. At his advice/firm insistence, I took something to read during the rest of the games.

FYI: 2I had to look this up.The Yankees won the series in six games for their fifth consecutive title.

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Trouble in School: part 12

The spinster typing teacher, Miss Clickakee, seemed even older than anyone in the building – well perhaps she was. An adult acquaintance, the same age as my mother, had her as a teacher when he was in school, and he said she was old or seemed to be old back then.

We had to take at least one business class for graduation. One of the guys had a girlfriend in the typing class and signed up. I’d already taken Retail Selling as a vocational option, but I had an open spot, so signed up for the elective too.

Our typewriters didn’t have letters and symbols on the keyboard. We learned to locate our fingers with the little dot on the j and f key and tried to coordinate the location of other letters from the big chart on the wall.

I don’t remember any of the drills we had, but we started speed and accuracy tests using our propped-up lesson guide. Looking at the paper in the carriage or at the keyboard during typing was forbidden and it seemed that Miss Clickakee could see where everyone’s eyes were focused.

Then came the transcription speed tests from copy we’d not seen before. I wasn’t destined for typist of the week, but neither was I doomed to fail for being too slow or too inaccurate.

Sometime about mid quarter, we had the drill for grade. Text for transcribing was located face away on each propped-up lesson guide stand. At the signal from Miss Clickakee, we flipped the paper with something written in cursive and started. Most were finished before my transcribing was done. Big Guy behind me ended at the same time as I did. I admit being wrong in turning to ask him something totally unrelated to the class.

Whap!

I was spun around in my chair when Miss Clickakee slapped me on the head. I was far more surprised than hurt, and there were gasps from some in the room. Big Guy told me later he started to stand in my defense, but she pointed her finger in such a way as to say he was next, and he needed the credit.

I did the required leaving class procedure: center the typewriter carriage, close the study guide and square it on the desk, slide the chair under the desk, then walk out quietly. I felt her eye arrows penetrating my back. I’m sure, at least I was at the time, that the absence of murmuring in the room was because most of the students needed the credit.

Mr. H.S. Prin, was in the outer office when I walked in. With his curious look in my direction I blurted, “The old bag hit me.”

He asked, “Clickakee?”

Another student arrived as he took me into his inner office. He looked at the note the other student gave him and asked me, “How does one cheat on a typing test?”

I probably just gave a shoulder shrug.

Mr. H.S. Prin asked if I needed the credit after I explained what happened. “Cheating on a typing test eh, just go to study hall instead.” He chuckled and continued, “She hasn’t hit anyone else yet this year. I’ll talk to her.”

Can you imagine current media grabbing onto that incident and his comment?

Learning to type didn’t improve my spelling skills, but we couldn’t type our homework assignments for English class anyway.

Trouble in School: part 11

Of Sticks
my mouth
and
Old Cars

Alexandria’s Central High School started a driver ed class in the spring of 1952, and it was a route to get a real license at 15½. I did most of my practice driving with the assistant football coach/history teacher Mr. Astcoach and did well. Two friends were farm kids, so they and I also practiced with pickups on their parents’ farms and the nearby county roads.

Mr. Hdcoach was the main driving teacher and did all of the testing to consent to the State Patrol testing for a minimum age license. I almost didn’t get authorized to take the state test.

My mouth got in the way of what the rest of me could do quite well. Parallel parking was done with sticks at the corners of an on-street parking place. I’m not sure just what I said, but it was something like, “Mr. Hdcoach, I believe it’s ridiculous to park with sticks pretending to be cars when the real test would be to have some wrecking yard cars parked for us to get in between.”

I knew it was so the Chevy dealer donated driver ed car wouldn’t have a dented front fender but said what I did anyway. My unheard intention was to make parallel parking more realistic.

His look told me I should keep quiet, but I added as I completed the maneuver into the space, “How many times in real life have you had to park between sticks.”

He got out and told me I was more than a foot from the curb to which I said something about the posts being more than a car-width from the curb, so space-wise I’d actually parked correctly.

I did a recovery and asked if he’d show me how to get closer to the curb. He hit the front stick twice, then sent me home.

The letter authorizing me to take the state patrol test came, and the next week two junkers were parked the required six inches from the curb in front and in back of the driver education practice spot. I had aced the written test and parked between the junkers after my MSP test drive through town and on the highway.

I got my license at 15½, but we didn’t have a family car so it was some time before I could drive them anywhere. But it did help getting me a job at the Red Owl grocery store. I could use the boss’s wife’s car to make deliveries.
There is more to that story, but perhaps I’ll tell it later.

Finished, yes, finished

At last!

I have finished Bill Bryson’s

At Home: A short History of Private Life.

There are many reviews about the content and significance of this work on the internet, so what I could write about it would be redundant.

The content, for me, however, was not what I expected when I read the title and chapter headings. You will have to read it yourself to learn what I mean. One chapter – you will have to read to know – was disturbing but was a learning experience.

I already have several more of my problems in school drafted, so unless interrupted by reading, they will continue.

Trouble in School: part 10

By now you might be tired of reading about my troubles in school. I understand, but keep in mind, I don’t need nor want cheese with my whine. But whine isn’t a good word for my words – I have no real complaints; I wasn’t the only one. Some readers may even know of those about whom I speak, and remember something like, that’s how I remember him/her too.

Junior high school gym class was not a good experience for me. I got a D in seventh but improved to a C in eighth grade. I don’t remember my junior high teachers, but with Mr. Hdcoach as the high school PE teacher, I somehow managed to get a B.

I didn’t like PE class in high school. Even in no contact activities I managed to be in the way of one or more of the teacher’s favorites. They ranked from star athletes, kids of the local social elite, teachers’ kids, and down from there. My only real positive was consistently being second or third to the eraser throwers in foot races I mentioned in part 5.

Rope climb was my least favorite activity. But I did learn using my feet to grip the rope took pressure off my arms, so I made it to the top for the test and managed to have enough grip left to make it down. Many others did the bare hand burn going down to avoid falling. Oh, the only padding on the gym floor was a three-inch mat from the wall behind the baseline on the basketball court. I was among the few who made it up and down the rope. And perhaps I should not have asked Mr. Hdcoach, “Why is climbing a rope to twenty feet above the gym floor an important skill?”

We were usually outside as much as possible during fall and spring seasons, Mr. Hdcoach seemed to have little concern about keeping kids outside in most inclement weather. One spring day it must have been very bad outside because we had an inside activity. Perhaps there was an order from the principal because I doubt that he would have brought us in even if there was lightning.

I was a freshman, and another freshman, the starting JV fullback, gave me a little shove. I thought it was good natured jostling and did the same to him. He hit me on the chest hard enough to make me stumble backward and fall. By the time I recovered and said, “What did you do that for?” Mr. Hdcoach was there asking what happened. The high on his list jock said I had shoved him, and ignored my, “He shoved first.”

I thought it was over until the coach gave me a very hard swat on my bare buttocks during shower time with a shortened shaft canoe paddle.
In those days a report from a student would have been disregarded and the student would be labeled a whiner or pantywaist.
What teen boy wants that label?