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Indiana plants and history
If you are looking for native Indiana plants, or Indiana history, there are two new resources you can check out online.
The nationally-recognized Indiana State Digital Archives has new digital collections available for anyone interested in Indiana heritage and genealogy. The Digital Archives enables Hoosiers and researchers worldwide to view the vast collection of historical and vital records housed at the State Archives.
The United Spanish War Veterans (USWV) database includes over 6,470 entries for members of the Indiana Department of the USWV. The database, including the Indiana subset, was created in 1904 by the merger of three smaller record sets of Spanish-American War veterans. At the peak of the war, there were over ninety camps (posts) located in towns across Indiana. Typical files contain applications, membership information, pension correspondence, and death notices (TAPS). Information on spouses &widows can also be found within many files.
In addition to USWV database, the Digital Archives has added the 945-entry DeKalb County, 1376-entry Wabash County, and 823-entry Wells County naturalization databases. The Digital Archives now holds 35 of Indiana's 92 counties naturalization databases and plans the addition of more Indiana counties in the future. These databases provide great insight into Hoosier immigration at the county level.
At Butler University, more than 10,000 pressed and dried specimens of wild Indiana plants from the Butler University's Friesner Herbarium can now be viewed online through their searchable database.
The specimens, with their authenticating labels, provide a historical record of what was growing where and when.
Scientists, environmentalists, gardeners, teachers, artists and anyone else with an interest in Indiana plant life can look up plants based on the common name and scientific name, where and when the sample was collected and who collected it. They also are able to see what the plant looks like – or looked like, since some are now extirpated from the state.
Visitors to the site can search plants from all 92 counties and also search by growing conditions where the plants were found such as woods, bogs, or sandy soil.
In addition to the images, the herbarium site contains lesson plans for teachers to use in class, links to the U.S. Department of Agriculture's plant database for more information on each species and to the Butler University Botanical Studies journal, published by the Botany Department from 1929-1964. The journal was started by Ray C. Friesner, former professor and chair of the Botany Department, for whom the herbarium is named.


text: Of Montreal (styled as of Montreal) is an indie pop/rock band from Athens, Georgia. It was founded by frontman Kevin Barnes in 1996, named after a failed romance with a woman "of Montreal." The band is one of the founding bands of the Elephant 6 collective. Throughout its existence of Montreal's musical style has evolved from vaudeville and Beatles influenced psychedelic twee pop to a mixture of electronica, funk, glam, and afrobeat music influenced by Prince and David Bowie.

subset: commoncrawl


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I'm reading a textbook example on the finite element method:
$\nabla^T[D(x,y,z)\nabla u] - a(x,y,z)u + f = 0 $ in R
$\partial R= \partial R_1 \bigcup \partial R_2$, $\partial R_1 \bigcap \partial R_2 \neq \varnothing$
u=r(x,y,z) on $\partial R_1$
$D \nabla u \centerdot n = -p(x,y,z)u + q(x,y,z)$ on $\partial R_2$
where $n$ is a unit outward normal vector, and $D(x,y,z) > 0$ and $a(x,y,z),p(x,y,z),$ and $q(x,y,z)\ge0$.
I understand how to obtain the weak formulation using the test function $v$:
$\iiint\limits_R [-D\nabla u\centerdot \nabla v -auv + fv]dV + \iint\limits_{\partial R_2}[-puv+qv]dA$, where dV and dA are the volume and area differentials.
I'm looking for a bound on the Galerkin method error. The book I'm reading seems to use an energy functional of the form:
$F(u) = \iiint\limits_R \{ \frac{1}{2}D|\nabla u|^2 + \frac{1}{2}au^2 - fu \}dV + \iint\limits_{\partial R_2} \{ pu^2 - qu \} dA$.
I'm not sure exactly how this energy functional was derived. It almost looks like the weak formulation integrated once with respect to u, then integrated over the respective domains. But I don't think this is true for the $|\nabla u|^2$ term. How could I have come up with this appropriate energy functional on my own? What guidelines can I follow, in general, to obtain this functional for numerical error analysis?


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Well, for most companies a fall of over 20% would be a crash.
However HNHI, the penny stock that 50 Cent was pumping on Twitter, gained over 200% yesterday, so 50 and his partners are still sitting pretty.
And we wouldn't count on him plugging it much more. His latest tweets suggest his lawyers urged him to calm down.
Click here to see the tweets that made 50 Cent $10 million >
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WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The U.S. Justice Department laid out new clemency guidelines on Wednesday that are expected to make thousands of drug offenders eligible for a reduction in the sentences they are currently serving.
Under the new guidelines, inmates that were sentenced under laws that have since changed, have served at least 10 years of their sentence and are nonviolent may be re-examined by the Justice Department and suggested to the president for clemency.
Deputy Attorney General James Cole, who announced the details of the plan, said the most obvious candidates for review were those sentenced before a 2010 law that lowered the terms for crack cocaine possession charges.
"These older, stringent punishments that are out of line with sentences imposed under today's laws erode people's confidence in our criminal justice system," Cole said at a news conference on Wednesday.
Under U.S. law, the president can reduce sentences or pardon Americans serving sentences for federal crimes, though the power has historically been used on a case-by-case basis.
Should President Barack Obama grant clemency to each new eligible inmate, the move would be an unprecedented use of clemency power. The Justice Department estimates thousands of inmates may be eligible for review. Over eight years in office, president Bush granted 11 sentence commutations; Clinton granted 61.
"Although it's being done through the pardon power, it really is a kind of administrative action to make some of the newer laws retroactive," said Robert Weisberg, a law professor at Stanford University and co-director of the Stanford Criminal Justice Center. "It's almost as if they have to invent their own kind of shadow sentencing guidelines and in effect re-sentence certain people."
Granting clemency to nonviolent drug offenders is part of the Obama administration's strategy to reduce spending on federal prisons by cutting the number of inmates serving time for nonviolent drug crimes.
The clemency review is part of Attorney General Eric Holder's "Smart on Crime" initiative that is reviewing the criminal justice system and looking for ways to make spending on prisons more efficient by focusing on violent offenders.
Some Republicans in Congress say more lenient sentences would reverse a drop in crime seen in recent decades. Senator Chuck Grassley of Iowa, ranking member of the Senate Judiciary Committee, is skeptical of the new clemency guidelines.
"The new guidelines are one thing on paper, but we'll need to see how they actually play out in practice," Grassley said in an email to Reuters. "The bigger point we need to discuss is how Congress can best lower some sentences or time served, and raise other sentences for crimes such as child pornography, terrorism, sexual assault, domestic violence, and various fraud offenses."
Cole also announced the departure of Justice Department Pardon Attorney Ron Rodgers.
Rodgers failed to relay information to the White House on a drug offender's bid for a shorter sentence, a 2012 report from the Department of Justice Inspector General revealed.
Cole said Rodgers' departure was "in the tradition" of Senior Executive Service attorneys in the department and that he had asked to move to another position. Rodgers will be replaced by Acting Senior Counselor for Access to Justice Deborah Leff.
The Justice Department has guaranteed that any inmate who meets the criteria for clemency review will be offered the assistance of a pro bono attorney to prepare his or her application.
Reporting By Julia Edwards; Editing by Jonathan Oatis


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The Tanuga IV research station was a space station administrated by the Tanugans in orbit of Tanuga IV. It was destroyed on stardate 43610.3, in the year 2366.
Doctor Nel Apgar worked on his Krieger wave converter on the station with his assistant Tayna. His wife, Manua Apgar, also stayed on the station.
The station had three major areas, the most important being the laboratory, a living area and guest quarters. It was powered by a reactor core.
The laboratory was the central location of the science station. It consisted of a large open room with 4 windows and several computers and consoles. Dr. Apgar's Krieger wave converter was located at the center of the laboratory, easily accessible from all sides. Two smaller computer workstations were located at a higher level of the laboratory, close to two corridors leading away from the lab. One lead to the living area and another to the communications station. People beaming onto the station were normally transported onto the lower level of the lab.
Living areaEdit
The living area was the part of the station were the Apgars' personal rooms were located. The major living room was painted green and featured several black leather couches next to a large glass table. Several pieces of art were found in the room, some on a wide sill beneath a large pink window. Commander William T. Riker and the Apgars toasted with a glass of champagne in this room.
Guest quartersEdit
The guest quarters were decorated by Manua Apgar. She considered the room her sanctuary, a place where she could be on her own on the small station for a while. The walls were painted purple and the room featured a large bed, a table and couches, several cabinets, flowers and pieces of art. The environmental controls of the room were located next to the door. Geordi La Forge and Commander Riker were staying in this room overnight when they were dropped off at the station by the USS Enterprise-D. It was in this room were Dr. Apgar found Riker and his wife in a compromising position leading to a small fight between the two men.
The station was destroyed by an explosion in the laboratory on stardate 43610.3. When Commander Riker wanted to beam off the station, Dr. Apgar directed an energy charge from the Krieger wave converter at the commander. The energy was deflected from the transporter beam however, and hit the reactor core, thereby causing the explosion that destroyed the station killing Apgar in the blast. (TNG: "A Matter of Perspective")
Background information Edit
For more information on the model used for this design, please see studio models.


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@nextcloud What an awful feature. I'm sorry for the developer who had to implement this :(
ieji is romaji for 家(house)路(street), together it means "the way home / a home / homeland".
So we hope to welcome you to your new home in the mastodon fediverse!
ieji.de supports most recent TLS encryption, IPv6 and Tor with an v2 onion address, called iejidevtqqdlukju.onion or v3 iejideks5zu2v3zuthaxu5zz6m5o2j7vmbd24wh6dnuiyl7c6rfkcryd.onion, Elastic Search Full Text Search is activated, remote media is kept for 7 days, local media indefinitely or until deleted by the user.
Mastodon related services hosted by ieji.de
Halcyon Interface(v3 onion)
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A mastodon/pleroma relay service, feel free to use it at masto.re
Now with 100% more :eichkat3r: emojis!
Background image by alohamalakhov composited by crimeflare
Statuspage Systemcheck


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Photo By: Robert Peterson, Rustic White Photography
Photo By: Lindsay Salazar
Photo By: The Home Edit, TheHomeEdit.com
Photo By: Joni Spear
Photo By: J. Turnbow Photography
Photo By: Josh Grubbs
Photo By: Specht Harpman
Photo By: Alex Herring
Photo By: Hawaii Life Real Estate Brokers, a member of Luxury Portfolio International
Photo By: Joe Buglewicz/Getty Images, Joe Buglewicz/Getty Images, Joe Buglewicz/Getty Images
Photo By: Courtney Lively Photography
Photo By: Ryan Garvin
Photo By: Vance Fox
Photo By: Photography by Bruce Buck
Photo By: Photography by David Fenton
Photo By: Christian Columbres
Mix of Styles
The boldly colored console table is a great example of the mix of the different styles chosen for this bedroom, designed to be a space with a sense of fun and strong personality.
Visit Original Photo
Kitchen Island Doubles as Eat-In Counter
In the center of the kitchen, a large island works overtime by providing space for meal-prep on one side and serving as an eat-in counter on the other. Butcher blocks flank the farmhouse sink and add a hint of warmth.
Farm Sink in Renovated Kitchen
A farm sink is installed in the kitchen island. Variegated granite countertops are used for the cabinets, island and bar top.
Organized Pantry With Labeled Storage Containers
Save space by throwing out packaging, advises Clea Shearer, cofounder of The Home Edit, who recommends transferring items like granola bars and wrapped crackers into labeled bins. Or, shop in the bulk section when possible to skip cardboard boxes altogether.
Red and White Accents in White Kitchen
In the kitchen, large windows and French doors with oversized transoms allow plenty of natural light into the kitchen, making the space feel bright and open. The white walls that anchor the space reflect the light, continuing the open design. To add warmth and color, red and white patterns were introduced into the space, creating a classic, space that is light and casual.
Scandinavian Chef Kitchen With Oak Cabinets
Chef-grade stainless steel appliances nestle in between lovely white oak cabinetry. The white backsplash and countertops are a pop of fresh.
Bold Blue Backsplash
A backsplash should be anything but boring. This bold, blue patterned tile informed the design for the rest of the kitchen, including the vertical lined cabinets.
Outdoor Kitchen Sink With Built-In Refrigerator
This outdoor kitchen stone sink is made complete with stainless steel faucet and built-in refrigerator and storage space.
White and Brown Modern Outdoor Kitchen
A chic outdoor kitchen is tucked into this boxy space by the swimming pool and stocked with everything you need for luxurious al fresco entertaining.
Modern Outdoor Kitchen With Grilling Station
This custom outdoor kitchen is complete with brushed stainless steel appliances, plenty of counter space and wooden cabinetry to enhance the modern atmosphere of this New York City backyard.
Cozy Green Transitional Kitchen
This green transitional kitchen combines colorful design trends from the past with the future of home technology to create a cozy spot where your family will love to spend time.
Covered Outdoor Kitchen
For easy—and gourmet—outdoor entertaining, this covered patio is equipped with a chef-grade outdoor kitchen.
Eclectic Blue Kitchen and Dining Room with Blue Dining Chairs
An eclectic blue kitchen and dining room with blue dining chairs is shown, as seen on HGTV's Flip or Flop Vegas.
Transitional White Kitchen With Stunning Vaulted Ceiling
This spacious kitchen features all-over white cabinets that serve as a gorgeous contrast to a gray mosaic tile vaulted ceiling. An elegant chandelier enclosed in a glass cylinder hangs over the kitchen island, while white and light blue upholstered pub-style chairs provide casual dining space.
White, Contemporary Open Plan Kitchen
In this open plan kitchen, pale woods and white surfaces create a clean, streamlined look that's at once sophisticated and functional. A long center island features a waterfall countertop, along with ample seating and smoky gray pendant task lighting. Glass-front cabinetry showcases dishwear and glassware that continues the room's neutral, whitewashed color scheme.
Rustic Galley Kitchen With Striped Counters
The galley kitchen's monotone look uses subtle pattern for visual interest: The floor features chevron stripes. Countertops are striped, too, white with pale gray. And the ceiling's exposed beams are a strong horizontal line.
Harlequin Backsplash Uplifts a Traditional Kitchen Design
This kitchen's designer selected green and white marble tiles in a classic harlequin pattern for a unique backsplash that contemporizes this otherwise traditional kitchen. The silver antique meat grinder is another showstopper of the room and makes one think of an artistic piece of sculpture, rather than a cooking apparatus.
Terrazzo Backsplash in Kitchen With Blue Cabinets
Designer Massucco Warner Miller chose terrazzo, concrete mixed with small bits of recycled glass, to create a sea-glass-inspired, eco-friendly kitchen backsplash.
Traditional Kitchen With Custom Cabinets And Sage Green Backsplash
This traditional kitchen is filled with light and features white base cabinets, open dish display rack, sage green tile backsplash, stainless steel range and vent hood, a work island with seating, marble countertops throughout, and a contemporary gold ceiling light.


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Cass County family of Katie Rios prepares for resentencing of cousin who killed her
Not a moment passes in Monica Rios' life that she doesn't think about her daughter who was killed by a cousin living in their family's home south of Harrisonville.
All the dreams Rios had for her daughter were stolen on Jan. 7, 2010, when 14-year-old Katie Rios suffered multiple stab wounds inflicted by Reyes E. Olivas, then 16, while the two were home from school on a snow day.
"We gave him love, met his needs," Rios said. "For him to do something like that, it was heartbreaking."
In 2012, Olivas was sentenced by a Cass County judge to spend the rest of his life in prison without the possibility of parole after being convicted of first-degree murder and armed criminal action.
Less than two months later, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that minors can't be sent to prison without the possibility of parole or probation. The justices held that sentencing children and teens to die in prison constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.
As a result, Olivas will be returning to Cass County to appear in front of a judge Dec. 1 to discuss how he will be resentenced.
He could be given at least two options — let a jury sentence him, or to let a judge decide — what his fate will be.
If he chooses to let a jury decide, the Rios family might have to sit through another trial as evidence from the murder is reintroduced, and rehashed, for resentencing purposes.
For Rios, it will be another emotional hurdle in the year that Katie would have graduated from Harrisonville High School and gone to college.
"We just want justice," Rios said. "He's not someone who deserves to be out."
During the murder investigation, Olivas told Cass County detectives that he and Katie were arguing, and that he went to the kitchen to grab a butcher knife that he would use to kill her.
Katie tried to escape into a bedroom, but Olivas caught up with her.
A medical examiner would later determine she had been stabbed about 20 times.
Olivas, who had moved in with the Rios family only a few weeks before the murder, was certified to stand trial as an adult despite his age.
Rios was warned early on that an appeal could someday challenge Olivas' sentence.
Recently, Olivas did appeal, on two points.
In May, the Western District of the Missouri Court of Appeals denied Olivas' claim that evidence did not prove the deliberation necessary to convict him of first-degree murder.
But the court agreed he should be resentenced in light of the U.S. Supreme Court ruling, and similar decisions recently made in the Missouri Supreme Court.
Whether he's resentenced by a judge or a jury, Olivas would receive, at minimum, the punishment established for second-degree murder, which carries a sentence of 10 years to life in prison.
Whatever the outcome, however, Olivas' initial criminal conviction would stand.
"It's stressful to go do this again but I'll be there representing my daughter," Rios said. "I still hope he gets many, many, many years in (prison) because I don't think he is someone we want in society."
With only shattered dreams and crushed aspirations, Rios fights daily to be strong.
"Her memory lives inside of us," Rios said.
While attention will be drawn back into the courtroom for Katie's family and loved ones, individuals in the Harrisonville school community are determined to keep Katie at the forefront of their collective memory — rather than the circumstances of her death.
"It amazes me how people are still holding (Katie) strong in their memory," Rios said. "That is something that really honors me. It makes me proud knowing that something good came out of everything."
Katie was an eighth grader at Harrisonville Middle School when she was killed.
HMS Principal Chris Grantham remembers Katie's happy personality, and even nicknamed her "smiley."
"She would say 'good morning' to me every morning," Grantham said. "She always had a smile."
Grantham recalls that Katie was also loyal to her friends. He said she cared deeply for her peers — and would offer to help with homework or support them without expectation of return.
"She was very intelligent, smart, creative kid who loved life," Grantham said. "We didn't want her memory to fade. We miss her."
Grantham created an annual $1,000 memorial scholarship in Katie's honor, dubbed the "Smiley Award." The school raises money for the award.
Each year, an eighth-grader is chosen as the recipient, and upon graduation from high school, is given the scholarship.
Grantham said the first scholarship recipient will graduate this spring.
"As human beings, we always need to find a way to help others," Rios said. "Taking care of people was Katie's gift."
The school district has also rallied to create the Katie Rios Instrument Closet in the last couple years.
The project, an initiative of Bright Futures Harrisonville, collects used musical instruments in good condition, which in turn are given to band students who otherwise could not afford to purchase their own.
It's another avenue to share Katie's compassion and love of music.
"I thought it was a great idea," Rios said. "It give kids, who otherwise don't have the opportunity because they're not able to afford them, the (chance) to play instruments."
Band was one of Katie's favorite things at school, her mother said. She had played the clarinet since the sixth grade.
"She wanted to pursue something music-related," Rios said. "That was her dream."
This spring, members of Harrisonville's 2014 senior class commemorated Katie by planting a magnolia tree outside their middle school before graduation in May. Graduates also honored their classmate during commencement.
"You try to teach as much as you learn, but I learned from her to just be positive every day and love life," Grantham said. "That's what I remember about her."


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TEL AVIV, Israel, Aug. 9 (UPI) -- The transition from hunting to agricultural society in Neolithic times parallels the development of woodworking tools, Israeli researchers say.
"Intensive woodworking and tree-felling was a phenomenon that only appeared with the onset of the major changes in human life, including the transition to agriculture and permanent villages," Ran Barkai of Tel Aviv University said.
Before to the Neolithic period, around 10,000 to 6,000 B.C., there is no evidence of tools that were powerful enough to cut and carve wood, let alone fell trees, he said, but new archaeological evidence suggests that as the Neolithic age progressed, sophisticated carpentry developed alongside agriculture.
"We can document step by step the transition from the absence of woodworking tools, to delicate woodworking tools, to heavier woodworking tools," Barkai said, and this follows the "actual transition from the hunter-gatherer lifestyle to agriculture."
Whether the transition to an agricultural society led to the development of major carpentry tools or vice versa remains to be determined, said Barkai, who calls it a "circular argument."
Beyond the change from a hunter-gatherer to an agricultural economy, a new form of architecture also emerged, as round and oval structures of earlier times were replaced by rectangular structures.
"Evidence tells that us that for each home, approximately 10 wooden beams were needed," Barkai said. "Prior to this, there were no homes with wooden beams."
These architectural developments, along with building pens and fences for domesticated animals, required the felling of trees in large quantities and a growing use of wood, he said.


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Right Wing Warns Of 'Homosexual Indoctrination' In Public Schools
To hear some on the political right talk about it, "homosexual indoctrination" is already a problem in public schools — and it's about to get much, much worse.
"I guarantee you [your kids] are getting homosexual indoctrination," social conservative "historian" David Barton said in January. "I don't care whether you're in a rural area or not, because this is so much a part of textbooks, so much a part of curricular stuff, so much a part of what goes on with other kids."
In the past few weeks, the right has upped its game campaigning against what Barton sees as a pervasive problem. Some of the momentum hinged on April 15th's "Day Of Silence," a yearly campaign by youth LGBT students to raise awareness about bullying by taking a vow of silence for the day. One group behind it, the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network (GLSEN), called it a way "to bring attention to anti-LGBT name-calling, bullying and harassment in their schools."
But some conservative groups see something more nefarious afoot, and proposed a "Day Of Silence Walkout" in response, encouraging parents to keep their kids home from school on the same day. One of these groups is Save California, headed by Randy Thomasson. Save California says it's a "frontline pro-family organization standing strong for moral virtues for the common good," that aims, among other things, "to challenge liberal forces wherever they attack moral virtue."
Thomasson told TPM that the Day Of Silence is "another day of brainwashing for children. To have an entire academic day to be hijacked and disrupted is just a wasted school day."
"They should be taken into detention. They shouldn't be allowed to make a school day a day of sexual political activism," Thomasson said.
He's not alone in his view. The American Family Association recently implored its members to "de-politicize the learning environment by calling your child out of school if your child's school allows students to remain silent during instructional time on the Day of Silence." The Liberty Counsel worked to raise awareness about "the intolerance promoted by the Day of Silence."
This fear has been compounded by a bill making its way through the California legislature that would require public schools to add lessons in gay history to their curriculum. SB 48 would require schools to include instruction on the contributions of "Native Americans, African Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian Americans, Pacific Islanders, European Americans, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender Americans, persons with disabilities, and other ethnic and cultural groups." This would include general instruction and the content of textbooks, and would also prohibit both from containing any material that "reflects adversely upon persons because of their race, sex, color, creed, handicap, national origin, or ancestry."
Thomasson, of Save California, told TPM that the bill "would mandate new role models — homosexual, bisexual, transsexual role models," and that "kids as young as kindergarten would have to admire" them. Specifically, he speculated that the textbooks would teach about Elton John and his husband, or might ask: "Did you know President Abraham Lincoln was gay? How do we know that? He slept in a bed with a man when he was younger." He added: "Abraham Lincoln was not homosexual. He was a Christian man who loved his family."
"This is the kind of garbage that will be taught to kids," Thomasson said, adding: "it's gonna be open season on indoctrination."
State Sen. Mark Leno (D-CA) defended the bill on MSNBC last week, saying that it is "no more about sexuality than when students are taught that a man named Dr. Martin Luther King, who fought for Civil Rights, was African American. That Cesar Chavez was Mexican American. Harvey Milk happened to be a gay American who was fighting for civil rights, and was killed in his City Hall office because of who he was."
"This is not teaching sexuality," Leno continued, "this is teaching history and what the fight for Civil Rights equality, fighting for the great promise of our Constitution, that all men and women are created equal and should be treated fairly and equally under the law."
The Daily Caller's Tucker Carlson called the bill "propaganda" on Fox & Friends on Tuesday. Co-host Brian Kilmeade asked: "Should public school teachers be ordered to tell their students why it's OK to be gay?"
"At any age, teaching propaganda is wrong," Carlson said. "No one is suggesting, and no one, as far as I know in the modern age, has ever suggested that people who are gay not be included in history. I mean, that's ludicrous." But, he said, this bill "would teach kids politically charged facts that are not the whole story. It would lie to kids, it would prevent schools from teaching things that somehow reflected poorly on a group that has political power."
Co-host Steve Doocy also took issue with the language that would prohibit schools from using materials that reflected negatively "on gays or any particular religions. That doesn't sound good," he said. Carlson replied: "Clearly, this is an effort to keep information that might be critical of Islam from reaching students. And again, that's propaganda."
Republished with permission from TalkingPointsMemo.com. Authored by Jillian Rayfield. Photo via AP. TPM provides breaking news, investigative reporting and smart analysis of politics.


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BeBop Back into the Fifties at the WAG's Rockwell Around the Clock
The Winnipeg Art Gallery is pleased to announce a swinging new event, Rockwell Around the Clock, on Friday, March 23. Inspired by the Gallery's spring blockbuster, American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell, Rockwell Around the Clock promises to be a carefree night of music, dancing and fun!
As well as guided tours of the exhibition, the evening features Will Bonness' Swing Band. Let loose on the dance floor and enjoy a performance by dancers from Hepcat Studio, and learn a few new steps.
"Rockwell Around the Clock will be an entertaining and enjoyable evening," says Doren Roberts, Special Events Coordinator. "Bring your friends or meet new ones. Relax with cocktails and relive the good old days."
Tickets are $20 for WAG Members and $25 for Non-Members. Available in person at the WAG or at wag.ca.
American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell
This historic touring exhibition of one of North America's best-loved artists makes its one stop in Canada at the WAG March 2 through May 20. Featuring over 40 major paintings, the complete set of 323 Saturday Evening Post covers, and a group of rarely seen preparatory works and artifacts, the exhibition is organized by the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Massachusetts.
For related programs and events visit rockwell.wag.ca and for updates, follow #WAGrockwell on Twitter @wag_ca.
Celebrating its centenary from September 2012 to August 2013, the Winnipeg Art Gallery is Canada's oldest civic art gallery and Manitoba's leading visual arts institution. With a collection of over 25,000 objects spanning over ten centuries—including the world's largest collection of contemporary Inuit art—the WAG constantly moves between the historical and the contemporary, engaging a growing public with the power of art in our lives.
- 30 -
For information, please contact:
Catherine Maksymiuk
Manager, Communications and Marketing
Winnipeg Art Gallery
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text:
Administrative and clerical professionals are often assigned numerous duties and responsibilities beyond their job titles. In many cases, a receptionist actually manages the entire office; an office manager may be in charge of an entire division or satellite offices; a secretary may be handling a lot of the boss' duties while an executive assistant may be responsible for clerical staff, bookkeeping and a multitude of other important duties. Sounds familiar? Make certain your resume doesn't sell you short!
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text:
WarGames: WOPR v1.01 Apk | 13 MB| Mediafire
Requires Android:2.2 and up
Wage intense battles of Global Thermonuclear War as the iconic WOPR computerShall We Play A Game?
This is THE officially licensed WarGames mobile game!
Step into the role of the iconic WOPR computer as you wage intense battles of Global Thermonuclear War against characters from the movie. Take on David Lightman (played by Matthew Broderick), Jennifer Mack (played by Ally Sheedy), McKittrick (played by Dabney Coleman), and others.
-Compelling storyline
-40+ levels
-24 Tactics and Mods to make your character more powerful, each with 6 upgradable levels
There are four tile types on the board at any given time. Drag your finger over as many similar tiles to create as long of a chain as possible. The longer the chain the bigger the bonus you'll get or more damage you'll deal to your opponent.
Tile Types:
Nuke – Damage your opponent
Health – Heal yourself
Money – Gain money to deploy tactics against your enemy
Radar – Fills up your bonus meter. Once the meter's reaches 100% you get to choose an instant PowerUp
Enemy Tiles:
Your opponents will deploy tiles onto the board in an attempt to damage you and heal themselves. Match enemy tiles with regular tiles of the same type to damage and eventually destroy them. Enemy tiles are denoted by a pulsing crosshair.
Tactics are instant-use items deployable during battle. They do anything from dealing direct damage to your opponent, destroying enemy tiles, or nuking the whole board. They cost money to use (gain money by clearing money tiles). There are 12 unique tactics, each of which has 6 upgradable levels.
Mods give passive bonuses and are always active during battle. Their powers range from increasing the amount of money gained each turn, adding to the value of a completed chain, or giving insane bonuses for completing long chains. There are 12 powerful mods and each one has 6 upgradable levels.
puzzle, tile, tiles, match, 3, match-3, strategy, war, games, 80s, license
Stay in the loop!
Want to hear what's next from Be-Rad? Have a cool feature you want added? Keep in touch:
Be-Rad's Facebook page: www.facebook.com/BeRadEntertainment
Be-Rad's Twitter: twitter.com/#!/BeRad_Ent
The official WarGames movie Facebook page: www.facebook.com/WarGamesMovie
WARGAMES TM and © 1983 METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER STUDIOS INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Video Review:


text:
The massive facelift of Mountain View's San Antonio corridor has already begun -- with the first phase of the San Antonio Shopping Center currently under construction -- and more apartment buildings, office space and retail developments on their way.
Despite some pushback on executing the phase-two plans for the San Antonio Shopping Center, developer Merlone Geier is hoping to go to City Council for final approval in late spring or early summer of next year, City Planner Melinda Denis said. If the almost-10-acre project gets the green light, construction will likely start next summer and a two-year timeframe is anticipated.
This would mean the arrival of a 167-room, six-story hotel; approximately 54,000 square feet of retail; 393,000 square feet of office space; 28,000 square feet of commercial space and 35,000 square feet for restaurants on the north side of the shopping center between California Street and El Camino Real.
There's also the proposed movie theater, which Denis said is locked in at 1,700 maximum seats, which allows for about eight theaters, depending on their final size.
Plans also include an underground parking structure below all the office buildings that goes down four levels as well as a centrally located above-ground structure with retail on the ground floor and seven levels of parking above. The hotel will also have its own one-level underground parking area.
Geier owns certain existing properties in the center -- Ross, BevMo! and the vacant international market known as the birthplace for the Valley's first silicon chip maker -- which will all be torn down, Denis said.
However, she said Geier has been in verbal discussions with BevMo! to bring the liquor retailer back into the project and is working with Ross to see if there's another location within the center that the store could relocate to.
The Milk Pail Market, corner restaurant and small office building are all privately owned and, Denis said, will remain. However, many residents have expressed concern that Geier's decision to not renew an agreement to share parking with the Milk Pail could threaten the partly open-air market.
Denis said the developer hasn't yet committed to any public benefits, but installation of a new bike lane -- along San Antonio Road in front of Phase I and down to California Street -- is included in the project description.
Denis said this will require modifying the lane configuration and moving the median on San Antonio.
"There's a lot of things that are going to change," Denis said. "Essentially there are going to be some traffic impacts, which is what we're studying now. (And) just the visual settings of it are going to change."
The total size of the shopping center is pegged at 21.5 acres.
Also possibly on tap for the San Antonio corridor is up to 376 apartment units in five four-story buildings built over underground parking garages at 400 San Antonio Road, between Miller Avenue and Fayette Drive.
According to a city staff report, the developer, Pillar Group, has pitched a mix of 196 one-bedroom and 180 two-bedroom units. A "modern design" has been proposed, aiming for flat roofs, stucco, wood siding and masonry base. There will be pedestrian paths connecting all five apartment buildings. The proposed project is larger both in acreage and unit numbers than other recently approved apartment projects, such as the Madera Apartments on East Evelyn Avenue near the Caltrain station. Madera built 203 units on a 3.63 acre site, and the Pillar Group has proposed its 376 for 5.72 acres.
Scott Plambaeck, senior planner for the city, said the project is still at the early stages, at least nine to 12 months from city approval.
Rebecca Shapiro, associate planner for the city of Mountain View, said that the city has also received an authorized gatekeeper application -- but not yet a formal development plan application -- to redevelop the Target site on Showers Drive. The city authorized the gatekeeper application, which includes plans for moving the store closer to the street.
"The existing Target store is undersized and operationally obsolete," the gatekeeper application reads, which was sent from Target's Regional Development Manager John Dewes to the city of Mountain View in April.
The application goes on to propose demolishing the existing store and constructing a new two-story structure with parking at the ground level and Target on the second. The new store would be larger: 163,000 square feet instead of the existing 119,000 square-foot space.
Target also proposed bringing the structure closer to the street to "help to 'activate' the public street and provide the ability to offer more pedestrian friendly amenities including an open-space plaza," the application reads. There would be an outdoor plaza along the street, instead of a parking lot.
The project also includes plans for new retail space facing Showers Drive and a redesign of the area behind the DMV at 595 Showers Drive to allow for additional street-level parking.
Editorial Assistant Elena Kadvany can be emailed at firstname.lastname@example.com.


text:
Baltimore, Md., Nov 27, 2013 / 04:06 am ().- In the face of growing restrictions on religious expression, Catholics must be able to explain the place of religious liberty in public life, said Archbishop William E. Lori of Baltimore.
"We need to evangelize," he emphasized in a Nov. 11 interview with CNA.
He explained that the broader culture is not paying attention to many of the religious restrictions being enacted in the United States.
"This is part of the new evangelization, and we need to talk neighbor-to-neighbor to those who do not yet understand or see the threats to religious liberty," he said.
Archbishop Lori chairs the U.S. bishops' Ad Hoc Committee for Religious Liberty. In recent months, the bishops have voiced mounting religious liberty concerns in a variety of areas, including service to immigrants and a cultural push to redefine marriage.
Health care has also been a major realm of concern for the bishops and other religious liberty advocates, as pressure increases on Catholic health care workers and systems to perform abortions and dispense contraception against their beliefs.
"Catholic Healthcare provides a tremendous witness," Archbishop Lori emphasized. "It is the continuation of Jesus's healing ministry. It has always been exceptionally generous to the poor and the needy."
However, due to an increasing secularist influence, "there is a growing tendency to treat all hospitals, including faith-based hospitals, simply as public institutions and as quasi-governmental institutions, and therefore to say they cannot harbor any particular religious convictions," he warned.
He described restrictions such as the federal contraception mandate as "a subset of that" trend.
The controversial mandate, which requires employers to offer health insurance plans covering contraception, sterilization and some drugs that can cause early abortions, has been widely criticized as violating the religious freedom of those who have moral objections to it.
More than 200 plaintiffs across the country have filed religious liberty lawsuits against the mandate. On Nov. 26, the Supreme Court announced that it would hear two cases from for-profit cases challenging the regulation. A ruling is expected in the cases next summer.
At their fall general assembly earlier this month, the U.S. bishops issued a statement voicing their unanimous opposition to the mandate and support for efforts to defend religious freedom.
Archbishop Lori noted that other challenges to religious liberty have begun emerging "at all levels of government," and these "challenges are, if anything, intensifying."
Many federal rules, state laws and city ordinances have good intentions, he explained, but they result in the often unintended restriction of religious expression.
In addition, political discourse in much of society has shifted towards the views of "secularists who really want to exclude religion and religious values" from American life.
These challenges can be difficult to address, Archbishop Lori said, because many of the threats and restrictions are "just under the radar screen," and consequently, "most people don't pay too much attention to them."
Efforts to educated American Catholics of these troubling trends have resulted in a "much greater consciousness of the need to promote and defend religious liberty," as well as "more attention to what the church teaches, and more attention to our heritage as Americans," he said.
However, he continued, the greater public needs to be aware of the threats facing religious activity and expression.
"There's got to be a lot of neighbor-to-neighbor explaining," the archbishop stressed.
In addition, he said, Catholics should strive to "be really great citizens, and that means participating very actively in the political process and making their voice heard."
"When our elected officials hear from us and realize that a lot of people are paying attention, it really makes a difference."
Tags: Contraception mandate, Religious freedom, Evangelization
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text: and you guys were a bunch of slackers. I can't believe that not one of you stuck your head up under that 2 ton rock that looked like it was about to fall at any minute. The cache was exactly where I had placed it and if you looked from the correct angle the corner of the container was right there in sight. The rock had dropped down some since I placed the cache and it took me a few minutes find. Once I spotted the cache it took me another minute to work up the nerve to reach in with me head and chest up under that rock. When I placed the cache only my hand and wrist were under the rock. It had moved quite aways. In the interest of safer caching (on a Deathwish Cache?) I relocated the cache about 4 feet further up the cliffside into the roots of a small tree. It is even easier to find now so who is going back after it now? LOL Have fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!


text:
On the morning of April 1, 2006, Harold Dennison went for a ride on his all-terrain vehicle in the woods surrounding his house on Stag Hill Road, in Mahwah, New Jersey. Mahwah occupies the northwest corner of Bergen County, where the Ramapo Mountains, stony foothills of the Appalachian range, loom over the intersection of routes 287, 17, and 87. It was one of the last towns in the region to succumb to suburban sprawl, and, although the old valley farms along the Ramapo River have mostly been replaced by million-dollar estates and cul-de-sacs with names like Stabled Way and Polo Lane, Stag Hill, about twenty-five miles from midtown Manhattan, remains a kind of world apart. Roosters far outnumber spaniels, and spare tires and rusting appliances vie for scenic predominance. Area teen-agers, recalling decades-old legends of unsuspecting people who climbed Stag Hill and never returned, dare one another to drive up at night. Dennison's and his cousins' families—the Manns, the Van Dunks, the De Groats, the De Freeses—have lived and hunted there for generations.
Most of the Ramapo Mountain woodlands, extending from Pompton Lakes, south of Mahwah, up to West Point, on the Hudson River, are now preserved as parks, where A.T.V.s are prohibited. But Stag Hill has traditionally been left alone, and blazed hiking trails steer clear of the residences by at least a mile in any direction. Dennison brought a switchblade with him, as well as a .22-calibre handgun, which he kept in a holster on his right side. He planned to take some target practice at one of the abandoned cars nearby, or, if he got lucky, to bag a deer or a wild turkey or some smaller game. "Basically, he was doing what every American kid does: go out in the woods and shoot off a couple of rounds," his lawyer later argued. "It's as American as apple pie." Not in New Jersey. Dennison, a married man in his late fifties, soon ran into three park rangers, two men and a woman, who had wandered out of their jurisdiction during an "area familiarization" patrol, conducted on A.T.V.s of their own. They stopped him, and discovered that the handgun, for which he had no license, was loaded with hollow-point bullets, sometimes known as "cop killers."
Word of the arrest spread quickly. Deep in the woods, near the ruins of an old goat farm, some of Dennison's neighbors and relatives were gathering for a birthday cookout. Ancestors of the present-day Mann family once worked the farm. Now everyone referred to the spot as the German house, and scattered shotgun shells and broken beer bottles marked it as a common meeting place, for grilling venison or mackerel or bluegill. By late afternoon, when the rangers returned to the woods after booking Dennison at the Mahwah police department, many of the picnickers had dispersed, but those who remained began to feel as though they were under siege. A father and son were cut off while riding their A.T.V.s home, and the boy's vehicle was struck by one of the rangers'. "You don't belong on this mountain," the boy complained.
A couple of electric-company workers investigating a low-hanging wire on the top of a nearby power line passed the German house and warned the stragglers about cops in the area. A small man standing beside a jug of wine told them that a hiker had got lost the day before. Ever since, he said, "rangers have been up here hassling us, and we've had enough of this shit." He asked permission to throw rocks at the beacon on their truck as they drove away. "Have at it," the driver said, not wanting to make trouble. Soon after, the workers crossed paths with the three rangers headed in the opposite direction, and waved.
The first ranger to arrive at the German house dismounted and ran down a slope behind the stone foundation of a barn, toward a man with a ponytail, whom she recognized as having buzzed by them on the trails shortly before. His name was Otis Mann. "No way. It's not going to happen," he said, resisting her attempts to pry his hands from his A.T.V. A second ranger came down the slope. Mann's teen-age daughter got involved ("Leave my father alone!" she yelled. "What are you doing?"), and the scuffle escalated. Out came the pepper spray.
Emil Mann, the rock thrower, and a distant cousin of Otis's, was hiding behind a tree, up the hill and out of sight. He tried to intercept the third ranger, who arrived at the clearing to the sound of screams from down below. "All this over A.T.V.s," Emil said. "What's wrong with you people?"
The utility workers heard two loud booms in quick succession as they approached the trailhead. A few minutes later, they encountered a frantic woman in a New Jersey State Parks Police S.U.V., who urged them to clear a path for an ambulance.
In the next half hour, a dozen police forces, from towns where teen drinking and vandalism are the principal concerns, converged on Stag Hill, shutting off the only paved road up the mountain, while, at the top, patrolmen began assembling assault rifles.
"Do they know who's shooting?" a police dispatcher asked.
"Apparently it's the mountain people up there."
"Mountain people" is a euphemism for what locals used to call "Jackson Whites"—a racial slur that the referents equate with the word "nigger." They call themselves Ramapough Mountain Indians, or the Ramapough Lenape Nation, using an old Dutch spelling for the name of the river that cuts through the Hudson and North Jersey Highlands, although suburban whites tend to think of them as racially indeterminate clansfolk. The Ramapoughs number a few thousand, marry largely among themselves, and are concentrated in three primary settlements: on and around Stag Hill, in Mahwah; in the village of Hillburn, New York, in the hollow below Stag Hill's northern slope; and, west of Stag Hill, in Ringwood, New Jersey, in the remains of an old iron-mining complex. The settlements span two states and three counties—a circumstance with socially marginalizing consequences—but they are essentially contiguous if you travel through the woods, by foot or A.T.V.
Off-roaders in the Northeast are used to public indignities, and they track A.T.V. news on Web forums with a sense of resigned foreboding, as more of their favorite trails are closed to riding in the interest of environmental protection ("apparently we're killing all sorts of endangered tadpoles when riding through small puddles and mud bogs") and noise control. The Stag Hill shooting seemed to confirm their worst suspicions about how dire the situation had become. As it turned out, none of the people at the German house were armed, and the only two bullets that were fired landed in Emil Mann's chest and left thigh. Outnumbered, unfamiliar with the terrain, and anxious from lingering visions of Harold Dennison's arsenal, the three park rangers evidently rated the threat to their own safety more pressing than the condition of the bleeding victim. ("Yeah, we got a shitstorm coming here," one said over his radio. "We're on Stag Hill.") In the commotion, another cousin, recognizing that an ambulance would never make it through the rocky trails, carried Mann to the nearest A.T.V., so that he could be delivered to the road, a mile away, where a helicopter was eventually able to land on a ball field for a medical evacuation. Otis Mann was taken to jail. At the hospital, Emil Mann was also placed under arrest. He died nine days later.
The initial comments on sites like ATVriders.com and thumpertalk.com reflected a unified sense of outrage: "Wow . . . all to save a tree," and, "Sounds like people need to start boycotting NJ and just move away . . . a ranger SHOT a guy for riding an ATV?" Then people who were more familiar with the area noticed the victim's name, and the location of the incident, and the Web commenters turned on their man and began to disavow. "This is going to give a great example of riders to the NJ public," one wrote. "Like we already don't have enough bad media." Before long, the A.T.V. enthusiasts' sentiments might easily have been confused with those of the pro-police posters at NJLawman.com. The riders alluded to the movie "Deliverance," speculated that the Manns had been cooking meth, and shared stories about personal encounters with the "freakin monkeys" on Stag Hill, where it was rumored that martial law was in effect, with armed vigilantes driving around in pickup trucks. "Yes these people are known as the Jackson Whites," one posted. "They are all inbreed lowlifes. The odds are they got what they deserved." Another wrote, "Those so-called 'Indians' up there are nothing more than Gypsies who think they can do anything they want in the woods. . . . Mixed emotions here between the happiness of one scumbag dead, and the bad media circling around off-roaders AGAIN for no reason."
The reaction of politicians was more sympathetic, owing to an environmental crisis near the iron mines of far greater magnitude than soil erosion from off-roading. Less than three months earlier, some six hundred Ramapoughs, represented by Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., among others, had filed a mass tort suit against Ford Motor Company and its contractors, as well as the borough of Ringwood, for the dumping of toxic waste. From 1955 until 1980, Ford operated an assembly plant in Mahwah, memorialized in Bruce Springsteen's "Johnny 99," near the base of Stag Hill. For several years in the late sixties and early seventies, while the plant was turning out hundreds of Fairlanes and Galaxies a day, the automaker's contractors poured millions of gallons of Rangoon Red and Brittany Blue paint sludge and other untreated waste into a Ringwood landfill adjacent to the former mining-company homes, as well as into a couple of the old mine holes. A few months before the lawsuit was filed, the Bergen Record published a five-part investigative series, titled "Toxic Legacy," describing a wide variety of illnesses, from chronic nosebleeds to leukemia and rare autoimmune disorders, among the Ramapoughs in Ringwood. The paper conducted soil tests and found lead and antimony levels near some residences that were in excess of a hundred times the recommended safety limits, and photographed orange pools of benzene near a creek bed. ("Don't worry, the paint sludge will kill off the low-lifes in Ringwood," someone commented on ATVriders.com. "With the in-breeding the f**kers in Mahwah will eventually die too!! This place would be better off WITHOUT them!!")
Governor Jon Corzine and Lisa Jackson, who was then the commissioner of New Jersey's Department of Environmental Protection, met with tribal leaders and promised a thorough investigation. A law partner of Barry Scheck's attended Emil Mann's funeral, and filed a civil-rights suit on behalf of Mann's three children and their mother, Charlene Defreese. Coaxing the distrustful Ramapough witnesses to coöperate with the grand-jury investigation into the shooting proved difficult, however. As the months dragged on, more bad news came, from the health department, which issued a warning about squirrel meat—a staple of the Ringwood community's diet—because of lead contamination related to the paint. Healthy adults were advised to limit their squirrel intake to two meals a week, and pregnant women and children to less than half that much. The squirrel situation caught the attention of David Letterman and Z-100 shock jocks, who saw an easy opportunity for humor, which in turn led to fights and suspensions at the Ringwood schools, where the Ramapough kids are sometimes called Mineys.
Emil Mann was in many respects an unlikely civil-rights martyr: forty-five, short, of medium build, and by all accounts unassuming—"meek," even, as the town supervisor of Ramapo, New York, which includes the village of Hillburn, put it while exclaiming about the "evil" that had visited Stag Hill in the form of New Jersey State Parks Police, as the rangers are formally called. Mann had worked in parks, too, as a heavy-machine operator for the Ramapo Parks and Recreation Department. He came from a family of eleven kids. He loved cars and cooking. His brown hair and his mustache had recently turned gray, and had you seen him on a fishing trip, with his shades on, you might have guessed that he was Sicilian, or Puerto Rican. The indefinite appearance extended back through the family line: Second World War draft and enlistment papers identified his paternal grandfather as a "negro" with "light" complexion, and his father as white.
Yet the so-called "Jackson Whites" were once internationally known, the subject of syndicated newspaper columns and poems and Off Broadway plays, on account of their shockingly premodern isolation in such proximity to New York City—our own metropolitan hillbillies, living in hovels with views of the rising skyline. Red Smith, in covering the U.S. Open for readers as distant as Winnipeg, once wrote that a golfer had sliced his drive "into woods too deep for habitation save by raccoons and Jackson Whites." And the London Times coverage of the Lindbergh baby's disappearance, in 1932, included a report that state troopers had begun searching "the hill country, peopled sparsely by 'Jackson Whites,' which lies at the back of Colonel Lindbergh's house." William Carlos Williams's "To Elsie" begins:
The pure products of Americago crazy—
mountain folk from Kentucky
or the ribbed north end of
with its isolate lakes and
valleys, its deaf-mutes, thieves
old names
and promiscuity between
devil-may-care men . . .
and young slatterns, bathed
in filth
from Monday to Saturday.
The poem was inspired by Williams's mentally handicapped maid, who had come from a state orphanage and was descended, supposedly, from Ramapo-mountaineer stock—"expressing with broken brain the truth about us."
Another source of lurid fascination, particularly as the eugenics movement gained momentum in the early decades of the twentieth century, was the group's mysterious racial makeup. They were a "singular people," as journalists were apt to put it, combining Indian, African, and European features: high cheekbones, aquiline noses, dark skin, red hair. Albert Payson Terhune, the best-selling children's author ("Lad: A Dog"), lived in the Ramapo Valley and cast as villains in one of his novels these "blue-eyed niggers," who "resembled East Indians more than any other race."
Native Americans, naturally, accounted for the first ingredient in the popular conception of this uniquely local melting pot: Delaware, or Lenape, the original inhabitants of the mid-Atlantic region; and Tuscarora, who might have stopped off on their northward march to Oneida after losing a war with the settlers of North Carolina in 1714. The rocky and densely forested hills near the New York–New Jersey border provided cover from white encroachment and made it possible for some Indians to remain after the Treaty of Easton, in 1758, ostensibly banished them all to the West. Runaway Dutch slaves—an explanation for the common surnames De Groat, Van Dunk, De Freese—came next, according to received tradition, and introduced African blood to the gene pool. (From the New York Sun, in 1898: "When a negro once succeeded in hiding there he was as safe from recapture as if he had gone to Canada, although he might be within sight and sound of his master's home.") As the Revolutionary War turned in favor of the Colonials, the woods were presumed to have become a convenient safe haven for newer sets of undesirables: Hessian deserters from Colonel Johann Rall's regiment after the Battle of White Plains, Tory sympathizers, and outlaw bandits from Claudius Smith's gang. The nineteenth century, and the growth of industry, brought immigrant laborers—Italian woodcutters, Irish colliers and iron miners—to the mix. "It amounts to almost a crime in Bergen County to sell liquor to these people," the Times wrote as the twentieth century began.
The true origin of the term "Jackson Whites" may be lost. Its earliest known appearance in print, in the Rockland County Journal, occurred in 1878, with no explanation of the etymology. According to one theory, the name derives from the nineteenth-century use of "jack" as slang for a runaway slave, and the original formulation may have been "jacks and whites," which was corrupted in the repetition. A more fanciful notion traces the slur to the Presidential election of 1828, when Andrew Jackson was looking to expand the white-male voting population, and rounded up non-landowners and other mixed-race mountaineers who could pass.
But the theory that stuck, despite the lack of any documentary evidence, was the most vivid, and involved a British captain or general named Jackson, who contracted to supply the Redcoats garrisoned on Manhattan Island with some reliable entertainment to boost flagging morale in the late stages of the Revolutionary War. Jackson, as the story goes, was a pimp, and he filled twenty ships with England's most dispensable women, from the slums of Liverpool, Southampton, and London, but one or two of the ships got lost or sank en route; for expediency's sake, he then sent for replacements from the British West Indies. The whores were known to their eager clients in New York as "Jackson's whites" and "Jackson's blacks," respectively. When the British defeat was imminent, and the time came to evacuate, the women fled west, across the Hudson, rather than return to sexual servitude. And by whom were the prostitutes first welcomed? By the Indians and slaves and Hessians and outlaws camped out in the hilly Ramapos—a dystopian colony of desperate characters in the making.
Among the publications that cited the prostitution fable as fact was this magazine, which in 1938 ran a feature by George Weller called "The Jackson Whites." Weller, who later won a Pulitzer Prize for his Second World War reporting, conceded some difficulties in the assignment ("It is harder to find out something that happened in the Ramapo Mountains two generations ago than what happened in the Fiji Islands at the same period"), before giving exacting, though unsubstantiated, details about the prostitutes—"They all lived in a stockade in Lispenard's Meadows, now a part of Greenwich Village"—and about Captain Jackson's remuneration (seven thousand pounds for thirty-five hundred women). But Weller's main focus lay elsewhere. Factories, summer bungalows, and Boy Scouts were crowding his subjects' homeland and threatening not only their privacy but their distinct way of life. Several months before publication, Simon Mann, an elderly mountain dweller, had been struck dead by an automobile—a casualty of progress—while making his annual spring trip into the valley for tobacco and fishhooks. The previous winter, Long-Haired Bill Mann, who identified as a full-blooded Tuscarora Indian ("His face would have done for the side of a buffalo nickel, whatever his descent"), had died of old age. Weller visited with a seventy-seven-year-old medicine man named Uncle Will de Frees, whom he described as the lone remaining patriarch and one of two sons born to Aunt Abbie de Frees, a practicing witch. Once Will passed on, what would become of his plantain-redroot remedy for boils, or his sod-and-vinegar treatment for toothaches? "Oblivion is gathering around the Jackson Whites," Weller concluded. "There is nothing Uncle Will de Frees or anyone else can do about it."
Weller and other premature eulogizers underestimated the extent to which racial anxiety and isolation are self-reinforcing. In 1970, the Times published a story about the existence of a Stag Hill civic association, which was headed by Otto Mann, a grandson of Long-Haired Bill Mann; the story was accompanied by photographs of nine-year-old Emil Mann, the future shooting victim, fishing with a brother and a cousin, and of a snarling hound, along with the caption "A dog charged the photographer, who—much to his relief—was still inside his automobile." Six years later, another Times account ("ANGER IN THE RAMAPOS") mentioned that "on Stag Hill in Mahwah, a recent visitor was told not to linger or ask questions," and recounted the story of another reporter's car being run off the road by locals.
The year after the shooting, I drove up Stag Hill to have lunch with a daughter of Otto Mann. After more than a mile of steep, winding incline, of the sort that strains an old Honda Civic, I had to slow to let a family of wild turkeys pass. The ground levelled off at a baseball diamond, the spot where the helicopter had landed for the medevac. I continued on as far as the road would take me, another mile or so, passing dead-end side streets and, on the left, a spread of shanties and tarps, overlooking a lake. Eventually, I pulled into the driveway of a modest nineteenth-century house that had been painted white. A modified version of the Stars and Stripes, on which a wolf's head had been superimposed, hung from a flagpole beside a toolshed. Ryan Mann, who had carried Emil's body out of the woods, lived in the front of the house with his parents. His aunt Phyllis, a retired school-bus driver, lived in back.
"I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked, so I opted for roasted chicken," Phyllis said, showing me to a seat on a small, screened-in porch behind her kitchen. "I figure that's safe for everybody." She had short gray hair, and there was a faint hint of copper in her complexion. Her grandson Jason, who appeared to be in his teens, sat in the living room, which doubled as her bedroom, watching a video on a laptop. It was early fall, and the leaves on the mountaintop had begun to turn. A light breeze rustled the wind chimes on the porch, adding to the soundtrack of crowing roosters and roaring A.T.V.s in the distance.
This was the house Phyllis had grown up in, along with four brothers and five sisters. She raised her own four children on a street ringing the lake that I'd passed, and sold that place in the mid-nineties, after her husband died. "Today we're living among strangers," she said. "There's strangers on the mountain. They call it progress." She'd heard that the owner of her old house by the lake was hoping to get a huge amount for it. "They have plans for that road—big plans," she said. The township had designated much of the area surrounding the lake as a protected watershed. The property with the shanties, a game-fowl farm, was facing zoning and health-code violations. Realtors could now refer safely to "the ever-changing Stag Hill area."
Phyllis called out to Jason, "Are you going to eat with us?" He helped himself to a plate of food and returned to his computer. She said grace, and reminisced about hunting for crayfish and mushrooms, and spending her afternoons in the upper branches of the pine trees, many of them now felled, along the invisible state line. "I really, truly loved growing up up here," she said. "It hurts when you hear these stories about our people being so backward." Jason returned for dessert (berries and whipped cream), and declined once more to join us on the porch. "There's still people today, they'll say, 'Oh, don't go up there, they'll kill you and boil you and eat you for supper,' " Phyllis went on. "You go on the computer and they don't even say it's the Ramapough Mountain Indians. They'll say it's the 'Jackson Whites.' Now, why don't they get to know us before they say these things?"
The Ramapough Mountain Indians incorporated in 1978. The galvanizing event, for a group that had always been characterized by outsiders as disorganized and indifferent, was the publication of a book, "The Ramapo Mountain People," which investigated the sources and validity of the folk legends, and concluded that they were mostly bunk: no Jackson, no hookers, no Hessians. Using baptismal and census records, the book's author, a Rutgers professor named David Cohen, attempted to trace the movement of free "coloreds," like Augustine Van Donck, from near the Collect Pond in lower Manhattan, in the seventeenth century, to the Hackensack River Valley and then to the Ramapo Mountains.
Cohen granted that individual Native Americans might have married into the new mountain families, but his thesis was that the people of the Ramapos were essentially "Afro-Dutch," as he put it, and he suggested that their collective identification with Indian traits was itself a kind of internalized racism; not wishing to be black, they preferred to think of themselves as something rarer—as, indeed, the mainstream culture had always insisted they were. Still, he saw himself as an advocate for the people, and tried persuading them—"naïvely," he now says—that they ought to embrace this new identity with pride: pioneering black landowners, among the first in the New World.
His subjects did not welcome the intrusion. Taking charge of their public identity for the first time, they cited stories, passed down by their ancestors, about retreating into the woods to dance around fires on a flat rock, and sacred traditions like sprinkling tobacco on pigs before a slaughter. They established a self-governing structure involving three clans—the Wolf, the Deer, and the Turtle—representing the families' settlements in Mahwah, Hillburn, and Ringwood, respectively. New Jersey's legislature passed a resolution acknowledging them as a tribe in 1980, but the federal vetting process, with its stricter standards of documentation, proved more difficult, and organized gambling interests in Atlantic City lobbied against them. "They sure as hell don't look like Indians to me," Donald Trump said in 1995, after a dozen Ramapoughs banged drums in front of his Manhattan office. The Bureau of Indian Affairs denied the Ramapoughs' final petition three years later, ruling that they had failed to meet three of the seven criteria required for federal recognition.
One of the Trump Tower protesters is now the Ramapoughs' elected chief, Dwaine Perry. When I first met him, he was standing outside the entrance to the tribal lodge, a one-story cinderblock building across the street from the Stag Hill ball field, and was using an eagle feather to waft smoke from a frying pan of burning sage and cedar, as part of a cleansing ceremony called smudging. Perry has weathered light-brown skin, hazel eyes, and a goatee, and wears his hair in a long, braided ponytail. "I'm an Indian chief, and on a clear day I can see the Empire State Building from my attic," he said. "I recognize there's kind of a dichotomy there." He allowed that he and his people were sometimes regarded as "hippie Indians," or "yuppie Indians," by more well-known tribes out West. But, inside the lodge, a sun dancer from Montauk and elders from the Tutelo and Cherokee nations had come to pay their respects to the memory of Emil Mann, as had representatives of the Justice Department and the local N.A.A.C.P. chapter. "They want to be able to co-exist," Lydia Cotz, a lawyer who represents the tribe pro bono, told me. "But they need a blueprint."
Not all of the recent strangers on the mountain were typical suburbanites. I later visited the home of the Çakirs, a Turkish family who began renting on another of the dead-end mountain roads in 1994, after living unhappily in the wealthy town of Upper Saddle River, in what the mother, Mihri, called an "executive neighborhood," where she felt constantly condescended to, because of her foreign accent. "I had it with American housewives," she told me, after putting some logs in her wood-burning stove and taking a seat by a large picture window, through which you could just make out a towering Sheraton hotel, where the old Ford plant used to be. "It was so pleasurable to live here, such a beautiful place. We told a couple of friends. They said, 'Oh, Jackson Whites live there.' We didn't know anything about it. So the story goes, they are a mixture of white, black, and British prostitutes. Then I learned they are Ramapough Indians—very violent people, they are always shooting up here. This is what I'm hearing. 'They don't like to mingle with others.' So we move here, and I'm trying to put this house together, but there are no services. The Post Office doesn't bring anything to the house. No regular recycling or garbage. And I'm having a big fight with the town, that they are obliged to bring the services. So I called the town to request a recycling schedule. I said, 'Make a Xerox copy and mail me one. And also, the Indians didn't get any, neither.' The lady said, 'I don't have to send them anything.' I said, 'Why?' 'Because they don't know how to read and write.' "
Mihri demanded a meeting with Mahwah's mayor, and learned that the township had money set aside for building a basketball court and a playground near the Stag Hill ball field, but none of the residents had expressed interest in claiming it, and the allotment would soon expire. She dropped by the tribal lodge and introduced herself. "I said, 'This is where I live, I know you don't want white people getting in your business, but I was in the mayor's office, and he told me that you have some money there.' And they got the park."
Gradually, Mihri befriended a number of the Ramapough women. "We became family," she said. "We drank together from time to time." She learned that the Stag Hill residents, when applying for jobs, avoided giving their true addresses, fearing discrimination. Mihri is an anthropologist, and had done work with the Kurds, with whom she saw a number of parallels to her new neighbors, but the women told her about their unhappy experience with David Cohen, the Rutgers professor, so she confined her efforts to helping out with an after-school program. She found the boys threatening, but got along well with the girls, and conducted weekly reading lessons at her house. "We made brownies, we walked in the woods, I took them to museums in New York," she said. For the most part, she didn't explore the back roads—"I didn't want to bother them just for my curiosity"—but on a couple of occasions she offered her tutees rides home. "You won't believe the poverty," she said. "It's just right by our nose."
Around 2000, Mihri said, new houses—"Home Depot houses," she called them—started going up over on Split Rock Road, a neighboring street. "It's kind of a new money," she said. "This lady, all dressed up, riding her horse on a black tar road, O.K., and a cell phone in her hand. I have all the reasons not to like her." She alluded to the pressure being put on the game-fowl farm, and said, "I don't understand. How do chickens make more dirt in a farm than the lady's horse on my street?"
A grand jury in Hackensack eventually indicted Chad Walder, the park ranger who shot Emil Mann, for reckless manslaughter—the first time an officer of the law had faced such a serious charge in Bergen County since 1991. "You almost feel sorry for the man," Roger De Groat, a plaintiff in the environmental suit, told me one afternoon when I visited him in Ringwood. "I think they were scared, didn't know how to handle the situation. You walk up to people, you have to do it right. Tell 'em, 'You know, you can't be here, and you have to leave.' Don't go up there all loud and stupid in front of somebody's kids." He shook his head. "I'm surprised more people didn't get killed up there that day, boy."
De Groat is a tall, genial, sixty-year-old man with silver hair and a prominent nose. He lives more than half a mile from the closest main road, near a concrete remnant of the hoist house from the Peters Mine, which was first dug around 1740 and eventually grew to seventeen levels, extending nearly two thousand feet below the ground. His home, a two-story, four-bedroom frame house with cracked yellow siding, was once the mine supervisor's. There was a high fence around his front yard, which appeared overgrown with weeds. He'd been mowing his grass one afternoon in the summer of 2005, I learned, and had gone inside to fetch a wrench, then returned to find that a lawn chair and some irises had disappeared—swallowed by an unmarked mine shaft.
The E.P.A. mandated a Superfund cleanup of the mine area by Ford in the nineteen-eighties, and ordered further remediation beginning five years ago, leading to the removal of an additional thirty-five thousand tons of sludge and soil. De Groat's sinkhole served as a reminder of the difficulties involved in an ongoing operation that required moving large quantities of earth around an inhabited site that was pocked with barely concealed cavities which had never been charted all that well to begin with. The mine area is clearly not at risk of gentrification, but displacement, for safety and other reasons, is nevertheless an ongoing concern. Seventeen months after De Groat lost his lawn furniture, the earth threatened to claim a pair of houses on Van Dunk Lane, across the street from where his twin brother, Bob, lives, and two dozen residents were forced to evacuate. Bob's ten-year-old son had been diagnosed with thyroid cancer, some years back, and his granddaughter was beset with nosebleeds. They'd found pink, blue, and gray clumps of sludge in his front yard.
Back when the dumping was going on, forty years ago, the De Groat boys used to scavenge the freshly discarded piles of junk for carburetors and copper snakes to sell on the side of the road. "After the trucks come, the dust was so thick you couldn't see your hand," Roger said. "We didn't know anything about chemicals back then." A few hundred yards from Bob's current house was an old sledding hill that the neighborhood kids used to ride down while sitting on detached car hoods. They called it Sludge Hill. Now, on the remediation contractors' maps, it was SR-6, as in Sludge-Removal Site No. 6.
"We got our situation here with the paint sludge and stuff, and they got their problem over there with Emil," De Groat said, nodding east toward Stag Hill, where his father grew up. "But you know what? It's a crazy thing. There's a silver lining already, because Governor Corzine signed some paper that has to do with the Native Americans." He was referring to a recent executive order endorsing the recommendations of an eighty-page report from the state's new Committee on Native American Community Affairs, which affirmed the Ramapoughs' continued existence as "descendants of Munsee-speaking groups, i.e., Lenape-Delawares," and vowed to improve outreach programs. "It's too bad somebody had to die for that, but who knows how it's going to turn out here," De Groat said, noting that the area had already "broken records" by becoming the only site ever to be named to the Superfund list twice. "A lot of people don't see how big this thing really is," he said. "They dumped the stuff up here, but water goes downstream."
Here, it seemed, was a man at peace with the fallen world. De Groat stood near his back door and surveyed his surroundings. "What you see right there is what you get," he said. "All wooded area and streams: beautiful." A teen-age boy rode by on an A.T.V., while a man across the street siphoned gasoline out of a truck. "I'll be doing some squirrel hunting maybe on Monday," he went on. "I'll take my daughter with me, too. She's seven, and she's interested in hunting already." They had resumed hunting the squirrels, because it turned out that the health advisory was based on a faulty study, in which a lead-based blender was used to analyze the samples. "Now, what scientist, with a brain like that, is going to be looking for lead in an animal, and use something that's got lead in it to mix things up?" De Groat said, with a grin. "I only went to eighth grade and come out of school and that's it. And I know better than that."
Harold Dennison pleaded guilty to weapons charges—for the switchblade, the unregistered handgun, and the hollow-point bullets he'd brought with him on his morning ride—and was given four years' probation. "Mr. Dennison and other ones may have to find that the life style has changed because of the encroachment of society on what used to be a very remote area of this county in the world," the judge said at his sentencing. "The Court urges the defendant to use this event as a wake-up call to change his activities in accordance with society's continual growth into what used to be his boundary areas."
State Parks Police Officer Chad Walder's manslaughter trial finally began in June, 2009, and although Dennison was not called as a witness, his name and his gun were invoked frequently by the defense in setting a scene of frightening lawlessness on Stag Hill. "This attack occurred because Mr. Dennison is associated with the people involved," Walder testified, referring to what he and his lawyer portrayed as a retaliatory ambush by the Manns. But throughout the three weeks of testimony no real attempt was made to explain the nature of that association. (An investigator at one point referred to the Ramapoughs' tribal lodge as the "Stag Hill Community Center.") Walder also described Dennison as a "black male," and, while recounting the lead-up to the shooting, mentioned that he saw "two white males" creeping up behind him.
Instead, the woods themselves seemed to be the central subject of the trial—contrasting notions of a sanctuary despoiled. Robert Galantucci, a defense attorney out of central casting, down to the polished brown-leather shoes, described the German-house area as "naturally beautiful but seriously compromised," and fixed his witnesses on descriptions of discarded refrigerators and "annoying" exhaust and wounded trees. ("The way they describe it, I'd be afraid to go up there—and I live up there," Chief Perry told me during a recess, which he was using to complete the Times crossword puzzle.) "It is not one person, one group, one family's possession," Galantucci said. "Respect doesn't have boundaries."
Not that Chad Walder, from what the jury learned, fit anyone's image of an earthy forest ranger. A Coast Guard reservist, he said that he'd been called to active duty on September 11, 2001, after spending several years as a corrections officer. He transferred to the parks service, where his wife, Lorna, also worked, less than a year before the shooting; Lorna was the frantic woman whom the utility workers had encountered at the trailhead, urging them to make way for an ambulance. Now forty-five, Chad had close-cropped gray hair and a pallid complexion that suggested a life undone. He hadn't worked since the incident.
The ranger who first confronted Otis Mann on the slope behind the barn confessed, amid tears, to having urinated in her pants after her pepper spray seemed only to enrage him, and she recalled handing his driver's license to a sergeant in the aftermath and saying, "If we don't make it out of here, at least you know who to look for." (Otis Mann has yet to stand trial for assaulting and attempting to disarm an officer. "I wouldn't take a plea bargain because the story needs to be told," he said recently, while asserting his innocence and alleging that the rangers had broken his nose in the fracas. "My life's a total mess. I don't sleep.") Meanwhile, a young woman who'd caught some of the residual pepper spray in her mouth described her own bewildered fear upon emerging from the trails alongside a moaning "Uncle Emil": "I never seen so many cops in my life."
The prosecution countered the defense narrative of lawless disrespect with one of forensics. Assistant Prosecutor James Santulli wheeled a painstakingly rendered diorama of the mountain around the courtroom, and called as a witness Dr. Henry Lee, a veteran of the O. J. Simpson and JonBenét Ramsey cases, who testified that he'd found no gunpowder residue on the jean jacket Emil Mann was wearing—an indication, he said, that the shots had been fired from a distance of at least four feet, or beyond arm's length, thereby challenging Walder's claim of self-defense.
Once the jury began deliberating, a rumor spread through the courthouse, and onto the Internet, that the tribe was planning a riot in anticipation of bad news. Having noticed the blue ribbons pinned to the shirts of Walder's supporters, many of the Ramapoughs were displaying white bracelets inscribed with the words "The Fallen Warrior." Before the verdict was announced, a sergeant-at-arms walked over to the left side of the gallery—the Ramapoughs' side—and asked, "You guys don't got glass bottles or anything?" They didn't, and, upon hearing "not guilty," they mostly wept, and left without incident. There was no riot, only retreat, and when a reporter from the Record drove up Stag Hill looking for reaction, she was met with slammed doors.
In September, the details of a settlement in the dumping case were leaked: a reported ten million dollars in damages, with no admission of liability by the defendants. (Ford does not deny dumping, but contends that it was far from alone in doing so, and that, moreover, whatever toxins remain in the soil may be related to leftover tailings from the mine operations. The residents' life style and generally poor health care, it argues, may account for many of the illnesses.) I paid another visit to Roger De Groat and found him sitting on his neighbor's porch with a couple of younger men, drinking a can of Budweiser. "We were just now talking about that," he said. "They admit they brought stuff up here but they don't feel what they brought up here caused any harm. How could you be happy or glad about any part of this?"
Since my visit the previous fall, Lisa Jackson, New Jersey's former environmental commissioner, had been appointed by President Obama to head the E.P.A. She invited a few of De Groat's neighbors down to Washington for her swearing-in ceremony, which they took as a sign that their plight would not be forgotten. But the cleanup, in the interim, had stalled, as officials debated the merits of capping the mine holes rather than continuing to excavate, and with the delay came a creeping cynicism. "I mean, they can take as long as they want," De Groat said, and looked across at a locked gate in front of what the Ramapoughs call Mine Mountain. "That's why they put that fence down there. They said, 'Well, we didn't want people walking through it.' Who are we talking about? We've walked through it all of our lives. So who did you mean?"
The chasm in De Groat's yard had more than doubled in size in the years since it opened, and he wasn't sure that it would ever stop spreading. It was now eighty feet deep. But De Groat did have one bit of good news to report: he and his girlfriend had just had a baby girl. "Done deal, that's it—my ninth one," he said, as he walked back to his house. "Last of the Mohicans." ♦


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Sussex Police are warning farmers to be aware of opportunist thieves.
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Police advise that roadside gates should be kept closed as most opportunist thieves will want a quick entry and exit.


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"I must be in my Father's house"
As was said last week, the Christmas stories might not be true in all their details but they are True in the sense that they represent a very special intervention of God in the human condition, a revolution indeed because it revealed to us just how much God loves us, one that, as G.K. Chesterton said, turned the world upside down and, astonishingly, when viewed from that perspective the world made sense.
God, in the words of the Irish Dominican poet, Paul Murray, loves us so much that if we should cease to exist, he would die of sadness. The Christmas stories reveal to us that God loved Her human children so much that He took on human form so that he could show us how to live and how to die, even walking with us down to the valley of death itself.
The stories today tell us that even from the beginning it was not easy to be the special light of the world. Jesus was under threat all his life. The threats would finally catch up with Him as they catch up with all of us. But from Christmas we learn that finally the darkness can never put out the light.
Fr. Greeley's Last Book:
Once upon a time there was this young man, Peter Patrick, who could hardly wait to go off to college. Starting half way through his junior year in high school, he decided that his family was ruining his life, almost every day. His father was a tyrant who didn't know what it was like to be a teenager. His mother was a crab. His younger sister was a spy. His younger brother like a total dork – and a nuisance too. The summer before he want to college was sheer agony. He'd learned in one of his classes that some guy – he thought it was probably a German – said that Hell is other people. The guy was certainly right. Hell in fact is your family especially when you're young.
So college began. It wasn't as much fun as Peter Patrick had expected. In fact, it wasn't any fun at all. He couldn't find the way to his classes, his adviser was never in, he didn't know where the mail boxes were, he didn't figure out how to get his laundry done. The food was terrible. The teachers were creeps. The other students were dorks. The women were stuck-up. Some of his fellow freshmen were drunk every night of the week. The dorm smelled of vomit all the time. There was never any quiet to study, even if he wanted to. College, he finally admitted to himself, was a big mistake. Peter Patrick told his parents, when he called to ask for more money, that he loved it. College was great, college was wonderful. He wasn't sure he could make it till Thanksgiving. He told all his friends that he loved college. They replied that they did too. It was wonderful to be on your own.
He didn't want to go back after Thanksgiving because Christmas was probably a couple of years away. At Christmas he acted like he was condemned man at death row. Finally a girl he knew named Sheila said to him, Petey Pat, you hate college like we all do because there's no one there who loves us like our families did. Don't try to fool me. Well, said Peter Patrick, what should I do? E-mail, said Sheila, who was very smart, that way you can talk to your parents and your siblings (she actually said siblings) every day. It will be almost like being home. So Peter Patrick got himself an e mail account and talked to his family every day. He said to Sheila the next time he saw her, the guy was wrong. Hell isn't other people, Heaven is.
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