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The Man Who Wouldn't Die
Olympic hero Rulon Gardner has fallen off trucks, tumbled off tractors, and gotten stuck in a baler. He has been impaled on an arrow, broken his neck, and gashed his knee clean to the bone. He has survived several catastrophic high-speed accidents, endured a frostbitten night in subzero temperatures, and most recently, swam away (barely) from a plane crash in Lake Powell. In between, he pulled off one of the great upsets in sports history and became an American legend. Meet Rulon Gardner, the luckiest man on earth
G-Money was trying to find Ru-dog's toe in the refrigerator so he could show it to me. "Ru, where the heck is your toe?" shouted G-Money. His voice echoed in the virtually empty mansion. Well, almost mansion. It was a manse without the -sion on the East Bench, north of Salt Lake City. Ru was in the process of buying a real mansion down south of the city from his dentist friend, Les, the one who had been with him on the seventh, eighth, and ninth times he almost died. That house had a weight room and a gym and an indoor shooting range. It had high, high ceilings, all the way to Heaven—or so it seemed.
Ru-dog sat calmly in his office now, just off the kitchen. It was strewn with toys: bos of stuff for the snowmobile, stuff for flying, stuff for his boat and for wakeboarding on Lake Powell. Hubcaps for one of his cars. And yet, except for a few oversize beds, two large sectional couches, and plasma-screen TVs everywhere, the house still felt empty.
Ru sat at the computer, trying to check on one of his business concerns, as various online-chat friends kept popping up.
"Hey, sexy, how are ya?"
"You wanna play?"
"What the hell's up, brotha?"
"It's all good," Ru was fond of saying in response to almost anything. It seemed to be his mantra. Friend screwing you on a real estate deal, brother selling out the family farm, someone calling you Shrek online. You could see Ru go dark with that grimace, that flash of psycho-animal in his eye, and then with a quick shake of his head, without a trace of sarcasm, say, "Yeah, but it's all good." The little muscle in his jaw would clench and then release. He'd cover it with a smile. But behind the facade, deep inside that man-child, lived the "real Ru, the Ru of fire and fury," as G-Money put it.
"Check the cheese drawer!" shouted back Ru, a little irritated that G-Money couldn't find his toe.
G-Money—whose real name is Grant and who has been Ru's close friend ever since they met, five years ago at the Olympic training center—had already checked the door shelves, loaded with redundant bottles of ketchup, mustard, and Hershey's chocolate syrup. He'd ferreted among the milk and Pepsi cans and energy drinks, muttering, "Where's that darn toe?" He rooted past two loose eggs and came to a plastic I Can't Believe It's Not Butter! container. "Aha!" he proclaimed, popping his head out of the fridge. "Got it!" He peeled back the lid and pulled out a medicine vial.
Inside was what looked to be a blackened curd, a rogue Cheez Doodle. It wasn't a big toe or a pinkie toe but an in-between toe. It rolled around in formaldehyde like it was lost in the tide. Where it had been chopped from the foot you could see the white of bone and ligament. "Pretty great, huh?" said G-Money.
The rediscovery of his toe brought Ru out of hiding, like a grizzly in spring following the scent of a memory. "Yeah, it keeps changing colors," he said. His own mood ring. It was a gnarly shade of purple-black now. He was wearing sandals, and looking down you could see the spot on his right foot where the toe once had been. It was just a foot minus a toe now, all healed except for the absence. When the frostbite had char-blackened his feet, the doc had said he was going to lose everything below the ankles. Like everyone else, he'd underestimated Ru.
He stood just over six feet and weighed in at about 315, forty pounds over his former wrestling weight. The circumference of his arms was roughly twice that of my legs. He was a whole lotta boy. Prize, prime man-child who had accomplished the kind of impossible reserved for crazy dreams: A once fat Wyoming farm kid, he took out the world's most fearsome Greco-Roman wrestlers, brawling all the way to the Olympic finals, which shaped up to be one of history's great mismatches. His Russian opponent, a man named Aleksandr Karelin, had gone undefeated for thirteen years. Karelin's signature move was a reverse body lift, a maneuver of brute strength in which he hoisted his opponent in the air upside down and slammed him on his back. He'd broken a few necks with it, including Ru's. The thing was, this time around Ru-dog—Rulon Gardner, whose best international finish prior to the Olympics had been fifth—somehow held on to win 1-0, after which, not knowing what to do and not able to emulate the backflips that were de rigueur among wrestling champs, he turned awkward cartwheels in celebration. It was just one moment on the continuum that was Ru-dog's charmed life.
Now he was gazing kind of wistfully at his old toe. "We should auction that thing on eBay," suggested G-Money, a little too eagerly.
Ru-dog looked at G-Money, feigning malevolent disbelief, just to shut him up for a moment. Then gave him a quick playful punch that lifted G-Money off the ground and into the wall. He turned his attention back to the toe. "I've been meaning to get rid of it," he said, "but I just haven't had the time."
I didn't have the heart to point out that it'd been almost five years since he'd lost it—and that most of us wouldn't have asked for it in the first place. No, the toe was more than just another trophy. It was one of those powerful talismans, like skulls on stakes or live sacrifices, meant to keep the Maker from collecting you up too soon.
In fact, just a few weeks ago, he'd survived a plane crash in the middle of Lake Powell, swum two miles, and camped out overnight in frigid temperatures until he was rescued the next morning. Some might have looked at Ru and said he didn't need a midget digit to protect him. Some might have thought he had all the luck in the world to still be alive when he should have died, over and over again. They might have looked at his life and thought it couldn't get better: a gold medal, toys, houses, women, fame. But it still wasn't enough. "I want to go to Heaven," he said to me at one point. "I want to obtain every celestial thing, but I want every worldly thing, too. The problem is they don't go hand in hand."
Time was short. His desire was uncontainable. The computer screen flickered with inviting messages; new packages piled at the door. The toe, like a rare black diamond, went back in its vault, waiting for the day when it might be unneeded.
To be sure, Ru was a tough man to kill. He chalked it up to being the youngest of nine, and to growing up hard on the farm, and to being, as he put it, "too stubborn to die." He also credited his Mormon faith. The wise doctor who delivered him, looking down upon a rambunctious, relentless little Ru, pegged it even back then. "Your son," he told Ru's dad, "is going to be accident-prone."
For instance, there'd been one special show-and-tell in third grade. Ru had a practice arrow with a blunt tip and a very sharp arrow, known as a killing arrow, used with a crossbow. The kids were listening to him tell about it, not rapt, but paying some attention, which is more than he usually got. Because of his size as well as a learning disability, Ru was constantly mocked, called Dumbo—and the ever trusty Fatso. So he was a little nervous standing there in front of everyone, and when his turn was over, when he triumphantly went to put the arrows in a closet, he dropped the practice arrow. Quickly reaching down to pick it up, he leaned too far and felt something slide in. He stood up, leaking blood from a wound in his stomach, impaled by the killing arrow in his hand, as if he'd just been plugged in the gut by Injuns. A fraction deeper, the emergency-room doc said later, and Ru might not have made it.
"Always being the snot-nosed little kid," as he put it, Ru often found himself trying to keep up and feeling out of his depth at the same time. Once, when his parents weren't home, the kids decided to drive the pickup down the road to turn off the irrigation water in one of their fields. Ru's sister Marcella, who was 12, took the wheel but was too short to see over the dash and drifted into an oncoming lane, doing about thirty. When Diane, another sister, realized, she jerked the wheel, and 9-year-old Rulon, standing up in back, flipped out of the pickup bed. Worse, it was summer, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. The sisters gathered him off the road and drove him straight to the hospital, where he was subjected to an iodine cleaning to remove the gravel. Ru can remember the stinging sensation even now. For weeks afterward, he had to have help removing his shirt at night because it would stick to his wounds.
Once they healed, there would be more. The family often built outdoor fires, and once Ru got branded by one of his brothers with a hot stick, leaving a permanent scar. Another time, as he chopped kindling, he nearly lopped off his thumb.
And the list went on: He rode his sister's bike into the back of a parked pickup and suffered a concussion. He fell into a baler and was nearly torn to pieces. He cut his leg so deeply that it became infected and took months to heal. In high school, he gashed his knee on concrete, and after his brother applied a little homegrown medicine—pushing a Q-Tip an inch deep into the joint—they went to the emergency room for stitches, and one of the staff ho-hummed, "Hey, Rulon's here again."
The truth was the accidents became part of his conditioning, of his body's socialization into a world of pain. And they made him tough. For every tangle he lost with his brother Reynold, who was a year older, he came back for double. He was like the storm at the window, trying to get in. And for all the time he spent outdoors, for how irrevocably the farm's fortunes rose and fell according to the whims of nature, he learned, like an old soul, to take the long view: that he could ultimately survive anything, all of the burns and gashes and wounds; that one day he'd kick Reynold's ass and the ass of whoever—or whatever—came after him.
We were driving from salt Lake up to Star Valley, where Rulon grew up, under a big blue-streaked western sky on a coolish day at the end of March. Ru, Grant, and I were in Ru's black 2000 Audi Quattro with tinted windows and a cracked windshield. In his garage, he had a '68 1/2 Mustang, a Hummer, a Ford pickup, a Harley, and a couple of dirt bikes. But, on a drive like this, the Audi made him happiest. It was low to the road and fast. In some ways, driving it up through the mountain passes to home felt a little like flying.
Upon pickup at the airport earlier, I'd been dropped into Ru's swirling world, as if joining in the middle of a very long conversation. "We're going to teach you how to be a redneck," he declared, grinning at me over in the passenger seat. And with that, I was deputized: Barney to Ru's Andy, Gilligan to Ru's Skipper. Until I left four days later, I would spend nearly every minute in Ru's company. He put me up in an empty bed of whichever house we ended up at (he seemed to own three); he introduced me to his friends and showed me some of his new land. He told me that the movie Brokeback Mountain had ruined the last bastion of American pride—the myth of the cowboy—but then, in his arsenal of dead-on impressions, he did a convincing, if over-the-top, gay man.
As usual, G-Money was irrepressible, couldn't stop talking. He had the features of a New York tough from the 1950s—a slight, muscled body; a flattened nose; cauliflower ears; a scarred lip; and quick, slightly mournful eyes. He'd been a navy man, and after ten years he'd just been cut free. It was his time now to make millions in the auspicious vermilion fields of Mormon-land. He had this habit of narrating Rulon's life, the complexities of Ru, even as Rulon sat by listening. Yes, it was true that Ru-dog was "socially behind." He was "like most people are their freshman year."
"He lives the church," said G-Money. "He could be all NBA about it—with a bunch of secret women everywhere—but he's not."
"For someone making nearly a million a year," said G-Money, "he's a little timid, not seasoned."
More than anything, G-Money loved to discuss Ru's gold-medal upset of Karelin. "History will continue to add more and more luster to that victory," he said.
Ru sat at the wheel, all orbs: his large head resting on his wide shoulders, his rounded stomach dipping to touch his thighs, the biceps of his slabbed arms just floating there, and his cheeks as they rose in a smile. I had an amendment: History will add luster to the way this man eats. Already I'd watched Ru buy his standard gallon of water, two energy drinks, six packets of Skittles, a roll of SweeTarts, one bag of Doritos, and one bag of Smartfood. And we'd gorged on what seemed like half a hog at a highwayside barbecue joint. There Ru had tried to make inroads with a cute waitress of erotically pierced tongue, on behalf of Grant, who was feeling a little sheepish about women given that his marriage had recently kind of blown up on him. Ru had burned through three marriages. These failures weren't something either of them was too happy about or wanted to dwell on. Among some Mormons, including Ru's family, divorce was seen as a spiritual failing, and the boys took that failing hard. Ru, who was 35, and Grant, who was 31, both now spoke of "trying to heal."
"This guy's an Olympic wrestler," said Ru to the waitress, exaggerating Grant's fifth-place finish at the U.S. Team Trials a few years back, in the 163-pound weight division. "He's a dangerous single man." The waitress, not exactly recognizing the hulking gold medalist before her, raised a skeptical eyebrow. More banter ensued: She had a military boyfriend ("My man here just got out of the navy," said Ru. "Lieutenant"). She liked her men a little scrawny ("They don't come much scrawnier," said Ru proudly). She didn't want to give her number ("Then just take his," said Ru, snapping his fingers impatiently while Grant fumbled for a business card). When she left the table to get more corn bread, Ru shook his head, a little disappointed.
"Brother, I can only lead you to the water," he said. "You're the one who has to drink."
To find the real Rulon, the Ru of "fire and fury," you had to go back to a time before Sydney, before Karelin. You had to go back to junior year in high school and all those wrestling practices in the Star Valley High School gym, where it was Rulon, fueled by his feelings of isolation and bitterness, versus Reynold, in all his superiority. Day in and day out, a lifetime of rivalry coming to a climax, every day, one trying to finally gain the upper hand, the other trying to maintain it. They were two big boys, teeming with testosterone, teeing off: the clash of titans. Rulon might beat him in a practice, but when it came time for the real wrestle-off to see who would represent the team's varsity in the next meet, Reynold would get in Ru's head and win. Back and forth like this for a season, and a few weeks before they were to wrestle-off one last time to see who would represent the team at regionals and states—with Rulon convinced there was no way he could lose this time—Rulon gashed his leg on a tractor while working in the fields as Reynold sat inside, watching the Super Bowl. Ignoring the injury, Rulon landed in the hospital with an infection, a leg swollen with pus. According to the doctor, the worst-case scenario was amputation.
But Rulon didn't really care about that. He still thought he could wrestle. The biggest letdown came when Coach arrived at Ru's hospital bed on the Sunday before the Monday wrestle-off and said, "It's Reynold's senior year, and you need to get all healed up." Until that moment, Rulon actually thought they were still on—and he was ready to go. Even more amazing, Coach knew he had to show up at the hospital in order to call Ru off, otherwise the kid would have been there, hobbling around in his singlet, frothing to have at it. Reynold won the state championship that year. And something switched inside of Ru. He was sick of being the snot-nosed runty brother, the perennial also-ran. He was sick of being overshadowed and made invisible. With few believers behind him, his belief in himself became fully formed. And so he entered the visible world. Someone might beat him on the mat again, but never would he lose because of self-doubt or fear.
Olympic wrestlers usually come with a cred sheet: NCAA and national championships, few matches ever lost, years of international experience, and intense training. By the time Ru graduated from Nebraska, he was regarded as a good wrestler but not great, though steadily improving. He had no college championship, no aura that surrounded him. And he'd only wrestled folkstyle, which is a particular American quirk in the sport. It wasn't until 1993 that Rulon first wrestled Greco-Roman, in which one is not permitted to score a takedown by attacking below the waist, and with some early successes, kept at it. By the 1996 Olympic Trials, he was a threat, but with a staph infection in his leg again, he missed weigh-ins. He got to watch Karelin—known as "the Madman" for, among other things, once having carried a refrigerator on his back up eight flights of stairs—win his third Olympic gold on television.
Four years later, Rulon won the Olympic Trials. Rather, he'd won it day by day, over the intervening years, slowly grinding, teaching himself as he went, recording the weaknesses of his training partners, gathering slights in his mind to unleash on the mat, surpassing his teammates one by one. Every practice, every second of every practice, he went all the way. Ru remembered Brian "No Neck" Keck laughing at "the little fat kid" training so hard. Oh, he was laughable all right—with his fifty-four-inch barrel chest, unchiseled body, and Teletubby ears—but he wasn't going home.
There was a drill known as "shark bait," in which a wrestler takes the center of a circle and the other wrestlers ring the perimeter, jumping into the pit in tag-team fashion, over time breaking down the "shark." After a point, most sharks just try to hold on, but Ru's attitude was the opposite. He kept repeating to himself: "I'm going to beat all of your asses—and you're going to be damn happy when it's over." And that's exactly what he did. He had the strange capacity to get stronger as he went, his huge oxygenating lungs, the product of a life of hard work lived at altitude, giving him more stamina. And there came a time when few of his national teammates wanted to wrestle him anymore. They were worried for their safety.
"Your worst nightmare as a wrestler," said Grant, "was to give Ru a reason to go psycho." When forced to wrestle him, they did everything they could not to anger him, because when Ru got angry he got that faraway look in his eye and started attacking, surging, muscling his opponent to the mat. "I just tried to get ahead of them, move by move," Ru said.
Even "No Neck" Keck later confessed: The little fat kid had outtrained and outwrestled everyone. He deserved his rich reward. What set Ru apart was that he could tap into some ancient fear—some fear of being left behind, forced to the outside of the circle, or forgotten, some fear of dying—and convert it to the kind of controlled rage, the kind of transcendence one needed to win on the mat. Fear, then, became ferocity.
Up through the mountain passes and high valleys running with cold-water streams, that big western sky faded to the melancholic, aswirl in purples and oranges that were finally overtaken by a black moonless night. We were headed to visit Ru's parents, who were both sick but in separate hospitals, his mom in Montpelier, Idaho, where she'd worked for years as a nurse, and his dad in Star Valley. It was looking pretty rough for both of them, and every time his phone rang Ru repeated the announcement: "Yeah, Dad's terminal right now, and we're waiting to see about Mom."
As we drove, Ru kept pointing out parcels of empty land to Grant, wondering aloud what it might take to buy them. "I want to know the appraisal on this one over here on the ridge," he said. Or: "Can't you see a golf course over there someday?" When it came to real estate, his mind never ceased. It beat relentlessly against a future in which Rulon Gardner would win the real-life game of Monopoly, just as he'd won a gold medal. Maybe he'd have $50 million someday. Maybe as you drove to Star Valley, you'd pass his tasteful developments and realize his fine instinct for real estate as well.
You didn't get to be Ru without having a powerful personality. He was immediately likable, wore his patriotism on his sleeve (he had nothing but admiration for our armed forces), played the farm-boy role to perfection, and, of course, his story was an inspiration, a story he'd told over and over again, for kids and corporations across the country—and the world. But he also carried his own powerful motivations, sublimated now in pursuit of the almighty dollar. Everything was still reduced to competition for him. To beating the man standing across from him on the proverbial mat. And, without a way to resolve things physically, on a real wrestling mat anymore, his frustrations and disappointments rode right there with us, too.
"I wasn't very popular," he said. "I had two dates in high school: homecoming and senior prom. And I had few friends."
"My ex-brother-in-law sent me a text message after I survived the plane crash. It said, 'I wish you'd died in Lake Powell.' Nice, huh?"
And then there was his real brother Reynold, who'd gone on to become a two-time heavyweight Pac-10 champion. All these years later, Ru wanted to settle the score from high school. He wanted to wrestle him…now! "Payback for what he put me through," he said. "It sure would feel nice. But his wife won't let us go at it."
Once he got started, it all suddenly came pouring out: the supposed friend now trying to bilk him on some real estate deal, the ex-wives, his father.
Dad was a big hulking man with silver wisps of hair and a gentle drawl. Though there was love, there was also a lacuna between father and son. Ru had spent some difficult years under Dad's no-nonsense rule, never quite living up to expectations. But what had been harder to accept—what was still hard to accept—was the way Reed had always pined for his first wife, the one who'd died suddenly, before he'd married Ru's mom and had eight more children. Throughout his second marriage, Dad had always remembered his first wife's birthday and their anniversary; sometimes he even discussed his ongoing feelings for her while Mom was selflessly raising the kids, especially Ru, who was Mom's baby.
"Once I won the gold, everything was good with Dad," said Ru. "I became his boy."
At the Olympics in Sydney, Karelin had a lock on the gold, so the rest were brawling for silver and bronze. Ru beat the Tunisian, the Armenian, and the Italian, and then he wrestled down the Israeli in the semis, until there he was, in the finals against Aleksandr Karelin, whose reverse throw—called the Karelin Lift—was still considered a wonder. Somehow, Karelin hoisted nearly 300-pound men from the down position on the mat up over his head and then pile-drived them down, often for a pin. The only other time Ru had done battle with the Russian was three years earlier, when Karelin had thrown Ru three times on his face and cracked two vertebrae in his neck on the way to a 5–0 victory.
A lover of opera, a writer of poetry, a colonel, a politician and friend of Putin's, Karelin had many nicknames. He was called the General, the Meanest Man in the World, and King Kong, for his scary, brute strength. He was called the Experiment for the fact that no one had ever seen someone that big and powerful mix such speed and skill in such a resoundingly dominant way. Fifteen pounds at birth, he wasn't human, they said: He must have been invented by science. Many of the best wrestlers in the world faced with the prospect of wrestling Karelin allowed themselves to be pinned rather than hurt by him. Speaking of those opponents who considered him a freak of nature, Karelin said, "I train every day of my life as they have never trained a day in theirs."
Sydney was to be the capstone in a perfect career, a fourth gold medal. A raft of Russian dignitaries were on hand, as were Henry Kissinger and Juan Antonio Samaranch, the International Olympic Committee president, who would present the medal to Karelin. Rulon's wife at the time feared he might be literally paralyzed by the Russian.
Roly-poly Ru, a head shorter than his opponent, followed the chiseled 280-pound monster onto the mat. In pictures he has a faraway look walking behind Karelin, looking past him, through him. And then he went out, attacking, pushing, countering. He took every ancient doubt, every age-old taunt, every Wyoming deprivation, and brought them with him, exorcising them for the world to see. He'd begun to warm up almost an hour ahead of the match so that when he and Karelin clinched, he would have a slick sheen of sweat on his body, in hopes that Karelin wouldn't be able to grab hold or ecute his lift as easily.
Meanwhile, Karelin did exactly what he shouldn't have: He acted as though Rulon were invisible. He didn't even remove his sweats or stretch until ten minutes before the match. He gave Ru one splendid hour of growing resentment and animosity, and then once the match began—and once Karelin failed the first three times to raise Ru over his head and body-slam him—Ru just kept chucking and adjusting, kept going after Karelin in a way that Karelin couldn't have expected. At strange angles, stubbornly, without fear. Where Karelin had spent more than a decade intimidating his opponents, Ru wouldn't back down. Locked in a clinch, Ru held on for life, then maneuvered his left leg in between Karelin's legs—a move that might have gone very wrong if it hadn't been so unexpected—while holding and squeezing, a little more then, until Karelin's grip broke, and Ru was awarded a point. There was still five minutes thirty seconds of wrestling left, but as time passed, Ru grew stronger and stronger, the storm at the window, and Karelin clearly had no backup plan. He was spent.
With eight seconds left in the match, Karelin stepped back and put his hands on his hips, conceding. When time expired, the ref lifted Ru's hand, and when he let it go, the first thing Ru did was to make a throwing motion. Later, he said that it was a gesture aimed at anyone who had ever denigrated him: He threw all of their stupid-fat-clumsy incompetence right back at them.
It was about 11 p.m. when we got to the hospital in Montpelier, to Ru's mom. When we entered her room, she was lying quietly with a cool washcloth draped over her forehead. Her body lay motionless, and she had compresses on both legs. She had an oxygen line attached to her nose and bruised arms strung with IVs. In that light, with her strong features and glittering, glassy eyes, she appeared beautiful in a sort of ethereal way. The question was whether her meningitis was bacterial or viral, and everyone was praying it was viral. Ru went right to her and draped a big bear paw over her and said, "Are you good, Ma? Do you wanna have some milk shake? Can you move your toes? Good. Another sip?"
She seemed a little out of it but was smiling. "Today is Monday the twenty-sixth of March," said Ru. "You're fine, Mother. Keep doing the foot ercises."
Grant was always good for comic relief, and he was razzing Ma for just lying around all the time all lazylike while the rest of us worked, and Ru turned to me and said, "Mom tore both rotator cuffs being a nurse, but she can still backhand you."
Talk turned to the farm and how it had been to grow up in Star Valley, a place where Ru's great-great-grandfather Archibald Gardner and his ten wives were among the first settlers. What most would have regarded as hardship Rulon's family had absorbed as their daily way of life, the path God had made for them. Not able to afford a mobile irrigation system—the standard for most farmers—the family used a gravity-flow system, really just a series of forty-foot aluminum pipes that had to be attached, unattached, and moved by hand. One line of pipe had thirty-three sections and ran to a sprinkler that could water forty acres at a time. Even as a young boy, you might be in charge of a field, meaning that every time the pipe had to be moved you had to carry thirty-three sections of pipe to its new location and rebuild it. And because Star Valley has rocky soil, watering was a constant necessity. In midsummer you'd have to wrestle through chest-high hay to get it done, twice a day, at all hours. Or in the driving rain. And then, the next day, you'd wake and have to do it all over again.
It was a hardscrabble existence, Sisyphean, unforgiving. And at 6,000 feet, the valley could be brutal: snow on July 4; ruined crops; frigid, unrelenting winters. And still, the cows needed milking, the pipe needed laying, the fences needed mending, the hay needed haying, the crops needed planting and harvesting, the animals needed feeding, the machines needed fixing. The list went on—and on.
Ma looked as if she might nod off in her bed, all pale and strung up as she was. She still had plenty of fight—and a backhand or two left to deliver—but you could tell she wanted to sleep. "When they get old, people up here live off tanks of oxygen," Ru said later. "You see them all over town, walking around with their tanks. You work so hard for your entire life, and it breaks your body down. And up at this altitude, people just can't breathe. I look at my parents now and think, I'll be where they're at in twenty or thirty years. You know—if I make it that long. So why am I working so hard? My parents have nothing, but they're happy. They have the love of their children."
Now, Ma's youngest son came back around the bed and knelt down near her. His bear paw draped over her body again, and he brought his lips to her ear and started whispering. He kept whispering and whispering, the words pouring forth fervently, with the full, soulful hold of his focus. It wasn't a weird speaking in tongues or anything like that, just one of those intimate moments between a son and a mother, who lay with her eyes closed, smiling. He prayed with her like that for a very long time, with his sister Marcella and Grant and me just sitting there, carrying on nonsensically, then he kissed her and rose.
"Get better, okay Ma?" he said. "You look good. You're gonna be fine."
After defeating Karelin—in a match that became known as Miracle on the Mat—Ru appeared on Leno, Oprah, Letterman. He showed up at the Espy Awards and was photographed with Tiger Woods and Lara Flynn Boyle. He befriended heroes like Garth Brooks and Jason Giambi. He won the prestigious Sullivan Award, given to the country's best amateur athlete. There were parades and city keys, more awards and gifts, including a waverunner from Rosie. He showed up in a "Got Milk?" ad, hoisting buckets of milk while wearing a creamy white mustache. He went on tour, giving inspirational speeches to corporate clients willing to pay up to $15,000 a speech. He wrote his autobiography, titled Never Stop Pushing.
If he didn't entirely believe his own legend yet, if he approached everyone as if he were still the old affectless Rulon Gardner, the farm boy from Star Valley seeking a little love and approval, he had seen through to a life beyond the Valley. And that life included proving he was no fluke by winning World Championships the following year and then preparing to defend his gold medal at the 2004 Games.
Where he once clandestinely sold the Cuban cigars he'd collected at an international meet in Havana in order to support himself, his new-won fame now turned on a spigot of income flow. His father had once lived over him, always on the verge of bankruptcy, and here he was, Rulon Gardner, a national treasure having made $250,000 the year after he won his gold—and the number was climbing. ("He spent nine minutes on the mat with that ugly man from Russia," Reed Gardner jokingly told a reporter. "I spent fifty to sixty years on the farm, and I don't have nothin'.") So, he'd begun to accumulate toys, to live a grown-up version of the childhood he'd missed, with motorcycles and guns and a shiny snowmobile he took into the mountains near Star Valley. Of course there was no way for Ru to moderate his frenetic relentlessness. He pushed everything to the max.
Extreme snowmobiling can be as harrowing as any sport invented, man and machine against the mountain, finding aggressive routes up pitched faces, jumping rivers, riding into deep powder, and searching for perfect isolation. There are breakdowns and strandings, sudden submersions in icy water and the constant challenge of righting a 500-pound machine after having fallen chest-deep in snow—all in quest of some banana-cream vision out there through the trees, up on the ridge, gazing all those silver miles over Wyoming. In other words, it combines all the ingredients that make someone like Rulon Gardner tick: high-octane risk-taking, brute physicality, farm-boy ingenuity, nimble coordination, and conflict reduced to its simplest denominator, survival.
In February 2002, Ru went out snowmobiling with two friends in the Bridger-Teton National Forest, in Wyoming, thirty minutes from his home. They cruised the high peaks and winding valleys for a couple of hours until Ru peeled off, alone, into a gully of virgin snow near the head of the Salt River, "to play a little," as he put it. Shooshing down into the gully, he had no inkling that he wouldn't be able to get out for seventeen hours. He was wearing a T-shirt, sweatshirt, and fleece pullover, having left his jacket behind. The sun had begun to dip in the sky; the temperature, which had been twenty-five degrees, began to plummet. Over the course of the next hours, Rulon tried to work his way out of the gully. His machine didn't have the power necessary to take him back up the route he'd just dropped down. Worse, as he crisscrossed the Salt River in an increasing panic, occasionally submerging his sled, he found himself in a narrow gully where, ultimately, his machine became stuck between two boulders. During the journey, he had to repair a belt and fell four times into the river, soaking his clothes. ("Once I got wet, I knew I had about an hour before frostbite and hypothermia," he said.) Finally, as night fell, he dug out a spot among the trees and waited for his own inevitable death. Sometime around 2 a.m., he heard the roar of snowmobiles, but then the sound faded. "I thought I was rescued," he said. "They came within 200 yards, and I was yelling, but they couldn't hear me over their engines—and then they just turned away." He slipped in and out of consciousness, having visions: first of Jesus and then of his brother Ronald, who died at the age of 14 of a rare blood disease. (When his leg had to be amputated because of gangrene, Ronald said, "It's okay, Dad, I can wrestle with one leg.") Time crawled. What helped keep him alive was the thought of his family and friends finding him frozen there, a lifeless face with eyes open like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
The next morning he was spotted by a search plane, and two hours later a helicopter landed, and he was able to crawl across the snow and climb in. His core body temperature had dropped into the 80s, and both his feet were so badly frostbit it would take four surgeries and three months before he could walk. Most believed he'd never wrestle again, but Ru, the survivor, had other ideas about that, too.
What most of the searchers remember of that night was just how bone-cold it was—minus twenty-five degrees—and how, even after an hour in it, all they could think about was getting warm. What the pilot of the search plane remembers was that, circling overhead for the two hours it took for the helicopter to arrive, he was "watching someone die," a behemoth of a man covered in a suit of ice, zig-zagging through the snow, at one point standing in the middle of the river, waving, then down in the snow, semiconscious.
"We're all working for that Big Dream," said Ru. He was talking about financial stability, of course. And over at Rulon's Burger Barn, Ru and G-Money were now throwing a lot of figures in the air, and not all that discreetly, either. They were the first to admit that they were chasing their own schemes. They seemed to have it wired, too: hard-money funds, real estate, oil wells, dental clinics, capital leasing. There were complex ways you could buy a $2 million house, never move in, turn off the water and electricity, and draw $50,000 a year from the property.
"The sophisticated investor has private placements," said G-Money to Ru.
It was amazing how the law actually helped the rich get richer, said G-Money. It had been a recent revelation to him. After Grant's navy days of everything-by-the-book, the free-for-all of private enterprise was thrilling, working with his brother to manage a $15 million fund, acting as Ru's de facto adviser, and suddenly running with a high-powered group of moneyed Mormons while still driving a beat-up Plymouth. As for Ru, like with everything, he was in it to win.
In fact, Rulon's Burger Barn was as much another one of Ru's investments as it was a place to ercise his actual and existential hunger when he came to visit Star Valley. A convenience store with a fast-food grill, some tables, and benches, the place's biggest cachet was its Wall of Fame, covered with photographs of everyone and anyone who had been able to down the Rulon Burger, a $16.99 meal that included a one-and-a-half-pound burger (it took twenty minutes to cook and was served on a bun baked in a nine-inch cake pan), large fries, and a forty-four-ounce soft drink. If you could get it all down in less than twenty minutes, you went up on the wall. And the record, of course, belonged to Rulon himself: eight minutes thirty seconds.
G-Money was convinced that he could do it; after all, twenty minutes was a lot of time, wasn't it? But for a chef's salad at lunch, he hadn't eaten all day; so he sidled up to the counter to order his meal, then went and sat alone at a table, visualizing. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, "Man, I'm nervous. Do you think I should go buns first and then meat or all of it together?"
Meanwhile, Rulon didn't seem to have a care in the world. He was chatting with some of the young employees, downing an oversize chocolate shake. He walked over to the counter and glanced sneakily at G-Money, who sat a ways away, back to everyone, rubbing his temples. Ru quietly ordered the Rulon Burger, too.
When their meals arrived together, G-Money shot Ru a surprised look, then went about his business. He systematically cut the hamburger into quarters. He eyed the mountain of fries and the forty-four-ounce soft drink, looked at the waitress who stood there with a stopwatch, took a deep breath, and said, "Go!"
Ru watched him for a while. G-Money was off to a decent start but seemed to bog down pretty quickly. He'd take a bite, masticate for a while, take a sip of soda, and lurch onward. Ru sucked the last of his shake and turned to his meal with a sly smile. G-Money, with a mouthful, started shaking his head. Couldn't one eat a hamburger without Ru turning it into the Olympic Games again?
What transpired next was the most impressive, disgusting display of competitive food inhalation I've ever witnessed. Ru started jamming beef and bread and fries down his gullet. At one point, he seemed to have tears in his eyes from eating so much. He breathed only through his nose in order to maximize his intake. His burger and heaping fries were vanishing before our eyes, while G-Money's seemed to be multiplying. One might have surmised that Ru'd been here before, orbed cheeks like a blowfish, looking down at his plate, then at G-Money's, which was still more than half full, then back at his own again—shoveling, stuffing, swallowing.
He had those faraway eyes, that bottomless want. He didn't look up again until he was done. He missed his own record by thirty seconds.
The most recent brush with death had come a few weeks earlier. Rulon's voice was still hoarse from the chest infection he'd suffered, and sometimes it went out altogether, but otherwise he was fine.
They'd boarded a Cirrus 22 aircraft at about 11 a.m. out of Spanish Fork, Utah. It was Ru—and Les, whose mansion Ru was planning to buy, and Les's brother Randy. In training for his pilot's license, Ru flew up to Lake Powell, because they wanted to take a look at Randy's houseboat. On the way back, Randy was at the controls. It was his Cirrus. They were down low for a while, climbed up over the canyon walls, and when it all opened out into a big bay, came down again until they were about fifty feet off the water. Randy, an experienced pilot, was setting the headings and barometric pressure and compass. And the plane drifted down, doing about 150 miles per hour, when the wheels caught on the surface of the lake.
Ru thought he was dreaming. This isn't happening, he kept repeating to himself. They were sinking, but it wasn't happening. He undid his harness, grabbed his coat and wallet, and leapt out of the plane into forty-four-degree water. But it wasn't happening. He started to drown, but that, too, wasn't happening. He yelled to Randy and Les, "I can't make it," and went under. He popped back up and said, "I'm going to die." And Randy yelled, "Get rid of your stuff!" But at first Ru wouldn't. He hit his head on impact, and the concussion seemed to make him loopy. His wallet had everything in it, including a gold ticket he'd been given by a chocolate company after winning the gold medal, one that allowed him an endless supply of free Wonka Bars.
"It's either your wallet or your life," Randy screamed, and though none of it was really happening, Ru finally let his stuff go, kicked off his shoes. "On your back," Randy yelled. And so he got on his back. They were two miles from land. Ru didn't question, he just started stroking. This doesn't make any sense, he thought. But just keep swimming. If you die, you die. But if you continue and swim to shore, and it's real, then you'll be at shore.
Two hours later, having lost all feeling in his body, Ru came to the beach where Randy and Les had arrived before him. That's when he knew it was happening, when he lay there in the sand unmoving for ten minutes. And that's when he got up and found Randy and Les. Les was doing okay, but Randy had very little motor function, no ability to speak. And Les had begun to panic. "Rulon," he said, "you've been here before. Can we make it?" Ru looked at him and said, "Yeah. I know we can make it."
Swimming to shore, Randy had shucked all of his clothes, Les still had a shirt, and Rulon had his pants and shirt. With the sun down now, Ru and Les built a little stone wall. Les lay down on top of Randy, draped his shirt over both of them, and breathed on his brother, to try to keep him warm. Meanwhile Ru lay next to them, and between Ru's body and the wall, Randy and Les were protected from the wind. The temperature dropped to twenty-five degrees, Ru coughed up blood all night, and none of them slept for fear of falling unconscious. They just kept up a patter: You good? You good? Hey, wake up!
At about 4 a.m., Les said, "I didn't think this could be half as bad as that swim, but it's worse."
And Ru said, "Each man has his battle: It is what it is."
So what was the battle for? When he was lost on the mountain, when he came shoulder to shoulder with the beast, when he nearly drowned and came back again to that beach, the one without plasma TVs, what was it that he met there? Fear? His dead brother? God, finally?
Ru just wasn't sure. He said that the way he beat Karelin was he never thought about that hulking force as Karelin. It was just a test, to see where he was at in this human life and how far he had to go. He'd really been wrestling against himself. In those fleeting moments between life and death, up against an entity that sought your demise, what you found was yourself again, full of gratitude and beneficence, stripped down to this pure jewel: the desire to live.
When the sun came up, a plane passed overhead without seeing them, and then sometime later came the sound of boats. A bass tournament in progress. No one ever fished in this part of Lake Powell, too deep for bass, but for some reason one boat came across to a nearby cove—the man would later refer to it as a metaphysical pull that brought him—and Randy, with his wits back, rose and started running, yelling, "We have this emergency. Can you help us?"
So they were picked up, and clothed, and brought back to civilization, where they called their families. Ru left a message on Grant's machine. "Hey, brotha," he said matter-of-factly. "Hey, I just wanted you to know that we crashed into Lake Powell yesterday, and we swam two miles and huddled up like puppies through the night, and we survived. We're okay, we're fine. We were discovered this morning. We're alive. I'll see you when we get back, man. Bye."
There were more high jinks. We were going to go flying, but thankfully the weather turned lousy. We watched some of Ru's favorite video clips on the Internet, like "Infrared Fart" and a clip that showed an actual race down a runway between a Porsche, a motorcycle, and a jet. There was a basketball game at Rulon's house-to-be later, in which Rulon ripped the ball from Les's young son in order to score a basket. (Later, with the boy in tears, Ru apologized.) And then a group of about five guys laid out some gym mats, Ru took the middle, and they did a round of "shark bait," switching off every two minutes or so. The other wrestlers, sitting on the sidelines, said things like:
"He could kill us all."
"It's amazing how he tripods his weight."
"His lungs go forever."
"He's too strong—and he just gets stronger."
Ru encouraged me to suit up so that we could do battle, but honestly, sizing our near 150-pound difference in weight and having three kids that needed a father—one not in full traction for the next half year—I took a polite pass, knowing he would have disassembled me.
I did agree to go snowmobiling with him, though. On the morning we went, Ru ate a light breakfast of two corn dogs, a cheeseburger with ham on it, and a large basket of Tater Tots. And then we were off.
We had a lot of candy on board and three snowmobiles, one supercharged with nitrous oxide, like drag racers use. Grant and I were more or less beginners, but Ru led us deep into the woods, down into gullies, up onto ridges. I fell off my sled a few times and got stuck up to my waist, trying to keep the sled from crushing me. As we went, Ru kept peeling off: He jumped a river. He climbed a sheer face in a bowl that must have been forty degrees. On that climb, he punched the nitrous-oxide button and porpoised his way through the deep snow. It looked as if he would fall backward at any moment. It was scary and thrilling just to watch.
After about two hours, way back in there somewhere, the weather turned particularly nasty: one of those freak western snowstorms, a whiteout, really, with thunder and lightning going off all around us. We had to get out of there, but first Ru wanted to race. G-Money took up the challenge, and I stood off to the side and motioned Ready, set, go. The two of them rocketed off into the murk, thunder rumbling, and it occurred to me that if we didn't get going soon we might not get out for a while. When I caught up with them, however, I came upon a scene of wonder.
Ru had won the race, and now they were off their sleds, two grown men, wrestling in the snow. A silent shriek of lightning went off over their heads. And they couldn't have cared less. Ru picked up G-Money and threw him into a drift; G-Money rose and tried to use some martial arts on Ru, kicking him once on the side of the leg, which only landed Grant back in the snow. They locked one last time, covered in white, Ru-dog about to go Abominable on G-Money. Watching them, I recalled an earlier conversation with Ru about whether he thought he had nine lives. "Maybe," he said. "But really I feel like I'm limitless. I can't be destroyed." The good Lord keeps letting me come back. Exactly why, I have no idea. That's the scary part."
Now Grant lay in the snow, having surrendered. Ru lurked over him, smiling in orbs. The murk thickened. Lightning crackled. Armageddon came forth. And it was all good.


text:
"Stamp Out Hunger" ranks as the largest, single-day food drive in the nation and one of the easiest ways to make a difference in the community, said city route letter carrier Jeff Koontz.
"Stamp Out Hunger" ranks as the largest, single-day food drive in the nation and one of the easiest ways to make a difference in the community, said city route letter carrier Jeff Koontz.
He challenges the residents of Davidson County to participate May 11 when letter carriers join others around the United States to collect bags of donated food along their mail routes. The National Association of Letter Carriers sponsors the drive.
"One bag at a time makes all the difference. No one can do it by themselves," Koontz said. "That's why we need everybody to donate. You don't know if you're helping a woman, man, child or family. Pride comes from the donations people give. It's not just my pride. It's the community's pride. There's not one individual that can do it alone. … it's a community effort."
The nonperishable food items can be placed by mailboxes. Koontz said the donated food needs to be placed in a paper bag that has been or will be delivered this week in the mail. The food will be sorted by volunteers.
Food collected will benefit Crisis Ministry. The nonprofit organization operates an adult and family homeless shelter, food and clothing pantries and other services for the homeless.
"I see where the need is. On the routes I know people this drive is helping. I'm glad Crisis Ministry is there to help. It's such a good feeling when I pick it up. My heart goes to the people who receive it and donate it," Koontz said.
Jessica Harris recently went to Crisis Ministry to receive food assistance for herself and four elementary-age children. She was referred there by the Department of Social Services after her food stamps on her Electronic Benefit Transfer card were delayed and then she only received half of her monthly amount.
Harris encouraged individuals to donate to the drive because she said it helps families that end up in a predicament such as herself. The single mother works part time. As a way to give back, her family decided to save pennies to donate to the agency's "Pennies From Heaven — Spare Change, Changing Lives" campaign.
"They were very helpful and very nice," she said. "I really don't know what I would have done. This really helped me. I'm just glad they're there, especially for families that are worse off than mine."
Another resident, Tenna Byerly, receives food from the pantry every month. She also receives food assistance from the government, but it doesn't last the whole month for her family. Byerly is on disability, and her husband was laid off from work.
"They have been a big help," she said. "It's easier to go where you know you can and not have to wait in line. They are a good service. They have always been good and willing to share."
Last year 35,000 pounds of food was collected in Davidson County.
"The people that are able, please give," Byerly said. "There's people out here that need help. There is always someone that's worse off than you."
Even though last year's amount of food donated surpassed previous years, Koontz said, it's still not enough. He noted that amount did not go far because so many families were in need. He said the food pantry at Crisis Ministry is bare right now.
"It's depressing," he said. "I know there's no way they can help people at this time. That's why we need the community's help."
Gayle Whitehead, executive director of Crisis Ministry, noted this drive helps them maintain food through the summer. She said within the last year they have seen an increase in requests.
"This is the biggest (drive)," she said. "We just need people to help us. We're seeing more people. It's not all the same people. We have a lot of different people."
The agency is seeing more than 500 families each month including seniors. Whitehead said they are in desperate need of sugar, crackers and cereals. She noted they cannot take expired food.
"We appreciate everything the community does and what the postal workers do. They work hard that day. It's just great. It's unbelievable how generous the community is. It's just awesome," Whitehead said.
Deneesha Edwards can be reached at 249-3981, ext. 213, or at email@example.com.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Now that you've figured out where to buy a stove (as if there were a question), here are some quick tips on how to buy a stove.
The fastest way to narrow your options — beside knowing your existing fuel type, gas or electric — is to identify your style.
Freestanding ranges
The freestanding range is the most commonly used range style in homes, probably because it's the most affordable and easiest to install. Featuring finished sides and a flat back, this range can sit flush against a back wall.
>>Shop freestanding electric ranges
>>Shop freestanding gas ranges
Built-in ranges
With the growing trend of kitchen islands and decoratively tiled backsplashes, the slide-in range has become one of the fastest growing segments in the industry. Featuring unfinished sides and back, this style is designed to be built in between two cabinets.
The body of the range is typically 30-inches wide, and the top of the range is slightly wider to prevent crumbs from getting in the crevices between the countertop and range while providing a more built-in appearance. The oven and burner controls are located on the front of the range, just above the oven door.
Though similar to a slide-in range, the drop-in range has waned in popularity in recent years.
The primary difference is that while a slide-in range touches the floor, a drop in range sits on top of a cabinet baseboard. Though a drop-in range looks more built in than a freestanding range or even a slide-in range, it's also more difficult to replace because of its height and the limited selection of drop-in style ranges.
>>See built-in electric ranges
Professional (pro-style) ranges
While it is the most expensive range style available in the industry today, the professional range is becoming more common in high-end and gourmet kitchens. Pro-style ranges take the performance and styling of a true commercial range and make it safe to use for a home cook.
The oven and burner controls are always located on the front, just above the door. Professional ranges feature burners capable of reaching high temperature for rapid boiling as well as extremely low temperatures for delicate and precise simmering. Larger models (36", 48" or 60" wide) offer flexibility in the cooking surface, allowing for the addition of built-in griddles, grills and other specialty surfaces. Large oven(s) generally boast convection capabilities and intensely high-temperature broiling.
Professional ranges generally come in a stainless steel finish although some manufacturers such as Viking and Bertazzoni other distinctive colors (i.e. beyond white and black).
>> Read more advice on buying a range in our Range Buying Guide.
>>See all our Appliance Buying Guides


text:
Feature Request: It would be great if we could archive jobs so that they no longer show up on the jobs list but are still recoverable if necessary.
Help: Right now our artists tag their jobs with an "archive" tag when they want the project to be deleted. I'll then come along and delete the jobs once a week.
It would be great if there was a way to automate/schedule this process? possible macro integration or a script to select all tags with "archive" and delete?


text:
The two veteran City of Kawartha Lakes councillors, whose wards cover the Fenelon Falls area (Coun. Strangway in Ward 5 and Coun. Elmslie in Ward 6) say budget cuts at Parks Canada will have a devastating impact on the local economy if operation times are reduced at the Trent-Severn Waterway's locks. Mr. Hinton, too, paints a bleak picture.
About two weeks ago, Parks Canada announced it is facing $29 million in budget cuts. While details are not yet available, the operating season for the Trent-Severn could be shortened from between four and 12 weeks.
Parks Canada, which oversees the waterway announced plans to reduce the length of its season and hours of operation to "periods of highest requirements" for the boating season and the associated workforce. Last week, Carol Sheedy, vice-president of operations of eastern Canada for Parks Canada, said what exactly the reductions will be has yet to be finalized, but service will be focused on periods of high use.
"We will be aligning the length of the season, the hours of operation, and the personal service at locks on the canals to better reflect the patterns of use and to provide better value to Canadians."
Ms Sheedy said over the last 25 years, boating use has dropped by more than a third, but the cost per boat to maintain the waterway has risen. She added the fees boaters pay have been frozen for the last four years.
Coun. Elmslie said the decision will have a big impact on the number of boaters who use the waterway. That translates to "all the people who stop at the locks and visit Fenelon Falls to shop, buy food...I can't recall a bigger threat to this area than this."
He pointed out that all five locks within the City (Kirkfield, Rosedale, Fenelon Falls, Lindsay and Bobcaygeon) are tourist draws for boaters and land visitors alike - and, that translates to tourist dollars.
He noted how the addition of extra docking space and electric power at the lock in Fenelon Falls boosted the local economy; last year businesses reported an increase of up to 40 per cent.
"Businesses here depend on the summer tourist season," he said. "This will be devastating."
Coun. Strangway said shortening the days the locks are open will come down to how it will be done. Currently, the season starts on the May long weekend and runs until a few days after Thanksgiving weekend in October. Coun. Strangway said he understands there are times, such as early or late season weekdays, when few boats go through the locks and cost savings need to be addressed.
"But, what will happen? Are they talking only operating the locks in July and August? I'm very, very worried about the impact of this on the marine industry and the tourism."
Coun. Strangway said he believes a much more aggressive advertising campaign to promote the waterway is a better solution than reducing the times the locks are open. He noted the "vast majority of visitors to the locks come by land."
"Do you ever go to Fenelon Falls or Bobcaygeon and see the number of people just watching the boats go through?"
Mr. Hinton said the decision will impact all three of his businesses. He operates Fenelon Falls Boat Cruises, which average 70 to 100 people a day on the Kawartha Spirit. He and his son also operate R&R Houseboats and the Kawartha Lakes Marina.
He estimated he could lose 60 per cent of his business for the boat cruises if the locks close for several weeks. And, that's just the beginning.
"We just bought 16 houseboats. It's a five-year project to recondition them and put them into service," he said. "If I'd known this could happen, I never would have bought that many."
Mr. Hinton said he attended a meeting last week with the union that represents Parks Canada employees who operate the locks.
"This is not about hours the locks are open; that's where everyone is getting confused," he said. "It's about weeks. Parks Canada is talking about cutting the season by four weeks this year and possibly eight weeks in 2013. I was told at the meeting that layoff notices for [lock employees] will be issued around Sept. 16 this year, instead of mid-October."
Mr. Hinton wondered aloud why the province is running campaigns to promote boating in Ontario when the federal government is considering shutting down the locks during peak season.
"They cut the hours back about four years ago; closing at 7 p.m. instead of 8, and we worked around that," he said. "It had an impact on our dinner cruises. But, I have a lot of people who go on the fall colours tours to the Kirkfield lock. That will be gone. As for houseboats, the Kawartha Lakes is the houseboating capital of Ontario.
"People aren't going to come watch a lock that isn't open. What are they doing? Welcome to the Kawarthas; we're only open in July and August?"
-with files from Joel Wiebe
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text:
none of your buisnes on 02/11/2012
i would say something about the londlord they do havet bed bugs in hall entire building but no one knows about that and the bigest problem is that ther was at all the times leak what i m trying to say ther is mold in hallways in basemend hallways but no one relize that what is going on on this building i called 2 or 3 times building departman but no one is doing nothing they pay the tapes pay rents are to much for this kine building any one who will try to contact me about this building please e
mail me because this is nothing what i say ther is more and more problems in this teritory thanks
none of your buisnes on 02/11/2012
i would say something about the londlord they do havet bed bugs in hall entire building but no one knows about that and the bigest problem is that ther was at all the times leak what i m trying to say ther is mold in hallways in basemend hallways but no one relize that what is going on on this building i called 2 or 3 times building departman but no one is doing nothing they pay the tapes pay rents are to much for this kine building any one who will try to contact me about this building please e
mail me because this is nothing what i say ther is more and more problems in this teritory thanks
Viktor on 12/07/2011
Hi! My name is Viktor and I can help everyone of you guys. My method is unique and it works for 100%. I will give you 1,5 year guarantee! No jokes! It's realy different from what others do. You don't need to put all your clothes in plastic bags. Stop wasting money on useless sprays and bedcovers. Don't throw your furniture away I can save it. I will work even with hard infestations. Call me now (347) 762-8562 Viktor
Craig Robinson on 07/25/2011
I live in 248 Mckibbin over 2 years already, i never had bedbugs in my apt. I don't know why ppl would say that it does have. I'm sure they brought the bugs from job, or a friends house and claim that Mckibbin is infested. It's not fair to write such things which makes us feel not safe and it downgrades the ppl here as not clean guys. I think bedbugs can be all over no place is guaranteed. The main key to keep them away is KEEP YOUR APT CLEAN, ALLWAYS TAKE THE GAR
BAGE TO THE TRASH AREAS ON THE STREET, in public areas as the train, restaurant, etc, look before you sit down.
In one word, BE A CLEAN GUY AND DON'T BLAME OTHERS WHEN YOU GET INTO TROUBLE. ALLWAYS BE ON THE LOOKOUT ANY PLACE YOU GO.
Anonymous on 03/18/2011
i live in 255 and havnt slept a full night in a month they sent some dude over he sprayed my bed and my couch and was gone in less then 15 minutes i saw a bed bug the next day... it took 3 weeks and a 311 complaint to finally get that one shitty guy over itll take years before this building is clean i am cleaning my clothes and my shit and throwing everything else out the window and moving out McKibbin lofts can suck a fucking dick
Melunhed on 05/05/2010
In June of '09 I moved in and found that I was being bit every night. I called the "Bed Bug King" whom I found on the internet. He asked where I was and i told him I was in Brooklyn. Then he asked, "Are you anywhere near 248 McKibbin St?" I said, "I'm IN 248 McKibbin St." He told me to wash all my clothes in hot water, seal them in plastic bags and get the hell out. I did what he said. I was only there for 3 weeks and hope I never set foot near there again!
Anonymous on 04/13/2010
I found a couple of bugs about a month ago, but I hoped they were not bed bugs or stragglers. Then last night I found 2 more, I woke up covered in bites. I feel like the whole building is infected (my bed is brand new; I just moved in a few months ago, and I NEVER take furniture off the street or even shop in thrift stores anymore because of bedbugs), so I don't even know if it's worth it to exterminate or if I should just put all my belongings in the dryer and move.
Anonymous on 11/11/2009
I asked the management about this problem before moving in and they denied ever having bed bugs. Now I see all the reports.
Anonymous on 11/11/2009
I'm 95% sure there are bed bugs. I have been waking up around 5am every morning itching like crazy with little red bumps all over, in clusters. My boyfriend has no reaction to them at all.
Rhodney on 04/08/2009
It is not worth the fight with these bugs. If the building sends in an exterminator make sure they drill holes into the walls ever 12 to 16 inches and drop powder in there. Bed Bugs can live up to a year without food. They multiply quickly. it is not worth the hassle of cleaning your clothes in hot water several times, vacuuming your home at least 5 times per week, and checking your bed every night before you go to sleep to make these animals are not there. Management always tries to s
ay that one catches these animals on the trains,at work, or a restaraunt. Truth of the matter is-if you never had them before more than likely they where at the new location where you decided to move into.
Frenchy on 07/06/2008
248 Mckibbin st
Ijust moved in the building 1 week ago. I havent seen any bed bugs but the first few day smy girlfriend woke up with massive amounts of bug bites, Small red bumps all over her arms and legs the bites wwere ! to 2 inches apart from eachother. My appartment was very clean when i moved in the floors had just been sanded and polished, new paint job, and we spent a day cleaning befor we moved any furniture in. i went and bought a powder called result (indoor insect killer).
I powdered my bed and the surronding floor area and vacumed it !5 minutes later. She has not had another bite since. I never got one bite, but strangely i never get bitten much by bugs. Don't know about this building many people say they have bed bugs. Also this powder i used was 25 bucks and after reading the hazerds it realy doesn't seem safe to humans. It said use on mattress but it also says " if powder gets on skin take off contaminated cloathing, rinse skin immediately with plenty of water for 15-20 minutes, call poison control center or doctor or further treatment advice." So i'm very skeptikal about having used this product on my mattress. The building realy needs to step up and take care of this problem.
imdone on 07/01/2008
Todays Date is 07/01/2008
540 East 138th street
Bronx, NY 10454
Every day and night, i am suffering with bed bug bites. This building is ridiculously infested with bed bugs. I have tried everything to live more comfortably. I have washed all my clothes in hot water. I have wiped my apartment down with bleach and lysol. I have vaccumed all of my furniture and sprayed lysol on them. I dont what else to do besides call 311 or report the building owner to someone that can help. I have atleast 2
0 bites on both legs below the knee. My leags looks as though I have been fighting the war in iraq alone with no help. I have some very beautiful legs and it really hurts my feeling to wake up and have another bite on them. I'm tired of bying itch cream from riteaid. I'm ready to get the hell out of here. Noone should have to live like this. I am a human not an animal.
bedbugstories on 07/01/2008
Clearly this extermination process was not done properly. You MUST:
Have an exterminator in that knows how to deal with bedbugs and does a THOROUGH investigation before exterminating. If the guy shows up and isn't wearing a freakin' WET SUIT, demand a new exterminator - the guy doesn't know what he's doing! They should be spraying 2 chemicals - one to dehydrate the bugs, and one to hinder their reproduction - and they should be dusting with diatomaceous earth (ground glass and particles th
at cut the bugs). If he's not doing this - demand a new extemrinator!!
Secondly, you must have all the apartments surrounding yours exterminated! This includes the apartments on either side of you, above and below you. Getting one apartment doesn't solve the problem because these bugs live in the walls and the floors. They crawl through cracks and outlets. If the landlord isn't doing this - you won't get rid of the bugs!
Thirdly, you must be very diligent about getting rid of these bugs yourself. You need to go through every one of your belongings, including every piece of paper, book, furniture - EVERYTHING - to make sure there are no bugs on it to start with. Then, even if you don't SEE a bug, realize that there could be a tiny egg attached to the item. YOU MUST PUT ALL OF YOUR THINGS INTO SEALED PLASTIC BINS AND BAGS AND STORE THEM FOR 18 MONTHS!! An extermination can't get to every nook and cranny when you have a building-wide infestation like this! Don't open the bag in 2 months for a pair of shoes, or in 6 months for a favorite book. Put these things into storage and don't open them for 18 months. You need to starve anything that survived, or the problem will come right back. (Bedbugs can live for over a year without feeding.)
Fourthly, you must launder EVERY single piece of fabric in your apartment in HOT (120-140 degree) water and HIGH HEAT dryer.
Fifthly, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, you must have a minimum of 3 extermination rounds, although 4-5 are much better. **There is no known pesticide that can kill a bed bug egg!** Eggs hatch in 7-10 days, so you must have weekly exterminations that are thorough if you are to prevent a re-infestation.
If the landlord or your neighbors are not helping you with this process, consider moving, and when you do so, STILL KEEP ALL YOUR THINGS IN STORAGE or you may inadvertently start another infestation at your new home.
Anonymous on 05/01/2008
call 311 and report it!!!! then send a registered letter via usps to the landlord/office. keep and paper trail and don't pay your rent until it gets fixed or put it in and escrow account with hdp!! tell everyone in the building to do the same!!
Anonymous on 05/01/2008
call 311 and report it!!!! then send a registered letter via usps to the landlord/office. keep and paper trail and don't pay your rent until it gets fixed or put it in and escrow account with hdp!! tell everyone in the building to do the same!!
Anonymous on 04/16/2008
I found bedbugs in my apartment 2 days ago. and called the management several times they have not called back. I'm having an exterminator come tonight but if the management does not spray the building they are not going to go away. If u have bedbugs. Please we need to bug the management until something is done.
Anonymous on 04/14/2008
Anonymous on 03/24/2008
still having the same problems since the past summer, on and off. they only spray once a month but it is said that someone needs to come 2 or three times within a 2 week period for them to be taken care of. there are a hundred or so apartments in this building. it would be nice if this problem could be taken care of asap. i am paying rent for a place i cant live in or bring people to.
Residents on 02/18/2008
Many of the apartments are infested and the management does little about it!
Are you kidding me?
Anonymous on 10/23/2007
I have bed bugs. I moved into an apartment and woke up one morning with bugs on my futon bed. I got rid of the bed and have been trying to treat it ever since. I contacted my landlord immediately and she said no reports were ever made. Could I have brought them from my old apartment? I lived in Brooklyn for 6 years and never had any bed bugs.... Could my cat carry them? I am perplexed. I really dont know what to do. I saw a bed bug this morning on my new covered matress - a protective a
nti-bug cover. I killed it yet don't know where they are hiding yet... I sleep with the lights in a sleeping bag. I really don't have any significant bites... yet the bed bug was fed! gross me out. help!! I need a good experminator to help me get to the bottom of the problem. My landlord has an exterminator company yet they only spray. I really need a referral.
Victor on 10/14/2007
340 Webster ave.The building is infected. All neighbours have bed bugs
Anonymous on 09/19/2007
The management is trying to cover up this issue, and the statement above is mostly false information. We have bed bugs, again, for the second time since June. Bed bugs leave a trail of bites, which are distinct from mosquito bites. I have also saved the bed bugs in ziploc bags, so you can\'t deny their existence. For the managment to say this isn\'t a problem is a blatant denial of a major infestation that is occurring in their building. In the past we have had an appt. with the exterminato
r, who never showed. There are several apts in this building awaiting extermination today.
We have NEVER been offered a follow up appointment, contrary to what they say.
No one is making this up. You can sit in the cafe downstairs and hear one person after another talking about having this very problem. This is a very serious problem and must be taken care of immediately.
Anonymous on 09/18/2007
We would like to assure everyone that each and every complaint that was received by our office was dealt with immediately and appropriately. We had an exterminator visit and inspect every apartment that called our office suspecting bed bugs and some turned out to be mosquitoes, etc; but as a precaution we had also these apartments exterminated. It's not a building wide problem it was limited to several apartments. There isn't anyone that was ig
nored and every complaint was dealt with immediately. After the exterminate visit in fact any tenant that had a problem was called by us to verify that the problem was resolved.
Please note that it might take several visits by the exterminator to completely clean an apartment. If your space was exterminated and you still have a problem please advise us immediately as we had arranged with the exterminator to come back as many times needed to get rid of the problem. If anyone else has a problem which was not reported to us please call our office and be assured that we will take care of the problem immediately.
Also, we would like to ask you to be careful with bringing in any old furniture, mattresses, etc. to the building to prevent the bed bugs from initial entry; because that is where the problem usually starts. Please note that the bed bug problem initially started by a new tenant transferring their property with the bugs from their previous location. This in addition to tenants bringing good looking furniture, mattresses, etc. from the garbage, being oblivious to the fact that it is full of bed bugs. There is no way for us to control what every tenant transports in from the street, garbage, or from any other building that is already infested.
On September 12, 2007 people started posting here about this problem. Until these posts started there wasn't any outstanding unresolved complaint. We have documented every call received from tenants and every visit by our exterminator. Looking back on all the posts there isn't anyone complaining to state "I currently have a bed bug problemâ€. They're talking about history or just suggesting what to do if there is a problem. In fact current tenants' posts are that they don't have any problems. Some of these posters don't even live in the building and seem to have an agenda other than curing the problem. One previous tenant is actually using these posts for reasons of their own, namely to try to clean their credit record ruined by their eviction for non- payment, as well as trying to get company in their misery. And as some bloggers suggested; there are here wild accusations some with mosquito bites etc.
Laura on 09/17/2007
Roommates notice bites, find bugs. We exterminate successfully the fist time. They crop up again in April 2007. One roommate experiences bites far more than the rest of us. She leaves to travel Europe for a month, and they move on to my room. We exterminate professionally, and clean everything. I go on vacation. Apparently the bugs move next door. I come back from vacation, and am still getting bitten. We exterminate AGAIN, wash everything we have, spray pesticides all over, tape over c
racks and holes, but it does nothing.
I move out.
The entire building is infested. Check the myspace blog of the building here: http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=58123348&blogID=309296816
Anonymous on 09/17/2007
175 Stockholm St. 1st floor. I fought them for 5 months, thew out almost everything I own, slept on a bare camping mattress in an empty room. The fight isn\'t worth it. I should have ran the first day I learned what a bedbug is.
Bed bug extermination is a careful expensive science your landlord must take care of. Just spraying isn\'t enough.
The landlord kept trying to bill US for the extermination! Then I talked to a public lawyer in downtown Brooklyn and she said billing the tenet is in
Document everything. Put bugs under glass. Take pictures of bugs and bites with a newspaper in the shot to verify the date. E-mail the photo\'s to your landlord and set your own terms for extermination or moving out. Just, for the love of god, don\'t bring them with you. I still have most of my stuff sealed in bags in trashcans in a friend\'s backyard.
a.o. on 09/13/2007
I moved in May 1st. By May 3rd I was getting bit. I'm subletting (all 4 of us are) so we contacted our guy, and he was good about having exterminators come in. Too bad the mgt company is lazy and hires crappy exterminators. they would leave for a day or two, then come back.
I've been here for 5 months, and for the first 3 I was the only one getting bit. When i left for vacation in August, my other roomates started getting bit and seeing the bugs. The apt was sprayed twice in August and once in
I don't sleep in my room. all my belongings are tied up in plastic bags. I keep a bag of clothes at work that i wash weekly so i don't worry about transporting them on my clothes. I sleep on a futon in the living room, and I don't get bit there, so at least they only live in the bedrooms.
in the past month no one has had troubles, but our neighbors still do, which means we just shifted the problem a room over.
i had two matress covers on my matress (a very expensive memory foam matress that i had to throw out), and took my bedding out of my room every day. i have spent hundreds washing my clothes and fabrics, and buying bug spray (which works for about 15 minutes). i've sprinkled diatimacious earth and covered things in petroleum jelly, and every other trick i can think of.
until the mgt company takes this seriously, there will always be a problem.
but i am leaving. i can't wait for them to fix things anymore.
Jay on 09/12/2007
I lived in Apartment M of 248 McKibben St. We told the landlord several times there were bedbugs. Some people that slept there were bitten dozens of times. They seemed to come in through the ceiling on the Bushwick St. side of the building towards the karate studio. The landlord sometimes sent in some amatuer exterminator and it did nothing and we informed him the bugs were still there. Nothing was done. They got worse and worse. We would fumigate all the time, threw out all mattresses, half our
belongings, covered bedposts in vaseline, the list goes on. THE LANDLORD HAS KNOWN FOR ALMOST A YEAR THAT THERE ARE BEDBUGS IN THE BUILDING. The cost of getting them out is extraordinary, yes, but obviously a must. THEY DID NOT CARE. I would say I was bitten everyday for half a year and it took me about another half a year to be able to sleep straight through the night without waking up and looking for them on my body. I would be willing to do anything to have justice served in this situation. I lost some petty things, but for a family with children to have bedbugs because of ignorance is horrid.
j on 09/12/2007
They crawl at night and suck our blood, they are everywhere in this building. We remove them with diatomaceous earth and spraying and all that stuff but they still come through once in awhile from neighbors apartments. The whole building needs to be sprayed at once.
AngryNYC on 07/17/2007
Bed bugs at THE Hotel in Madalay Bay comples
jsm on 07/02/2007
248 McKibben Street is KNOWN by real estate brokers for having Bed Bugs- STAY AWAY from that Building!
Young people find fuerniture in the streets that is infested with bed bugs and bring the furniture back into the building - and because there is such a denial at the management as well as with some tenants - these lofts are infested
YURI on 06/22/2007
bill on 06/04/2007
As a tenant living in the building for a couple of years, I was surprised to see the building posted on this site for having bed bugs. And the best of it all is to read people claiming that this has gone on for years! As far as I know, there was one tenant that moved in recently and had brought along the bed bugs from their previous location. The management had an exterminator come down to the building to take care of that incident. In fact, I asked some of my neighbors if they had seen any bed
bugs in their apartment and they confirmed that they haven't. After meeting the exterminator in the building, I inquired about this and was told that the bed bugs are all gone and that only one or two apartments actually had them. It seems to me that the original tenant who brought in the bed bugs got evicted, and so they are taking revenge this way.
na on 05/30/2007
my next door neighbor has been putting furniture in the hallway for the last week. i thought they were remodeling, but find that she has bed bugs.
she reported them last friday. the city was supposed to come within 72 hours. they didn't show up. the building manager of my building has been placing me on hold and never returning to the phone all morning. i finally learn from the receptionist that an exterminator is supposed to come on Wednesday June 6. The management company is unwilling to tak
e preventative measures; i have to wait for an infestation of my apartment before they'll take any action.
melissa on 05/17/2007
There have been several apartments throughout our building that have had bed bugs during the four years that I have lived there. Well we finally get them although the management denies responsibility. They tell us we brought them in and refuse to treat it. Eventually they do ,but it doesn't work we try several things on our own to get rid of them, but to no avail . They spray again , well the stuffthey uses I think makes me and my kids sick! Now I have no furniture and have gotten rid of almost
all clothing and many stuffed animals and new toys . today i come home to find an amendum to the lease on my dooor stating that bed bugs do not migrate from apartment to apartment and we will be financially responsible. A Terminex representative signs it as well. Funnny thing is I go online to the terminex website to read their bed bugs info and low and behold contradictory to the amendum signed by a terminex rep , they have it posted that they do migrate from apartment to apartment.
friend on 05/07/2007
They are annoying. There are some things to do that don't involve spraying posion, which hurts the people in the long term as the bugs are smart enough to leave, then come back.
food grade diatomaceous earth (not the stuff they use in pools.
vaccum everyday, empty vaccum immediately. They will crawl right out if you don't...
use plastic coverings on mattresses
Cover bed frame legs with petoleum jelly. This will trap bugs that try to migrate to your bed from other areas in the apartme
Jason "bedbug" Destroyer on 05/01/2007
They don't ever seem to disappear. You spray foggers, poison, etc etc etc etc and they don't disappear, theres 60 apartments, they just flee from the dangers and when its all settled they come back. Its a never ending battle and it makes me want to move out of nyc because they are everywhere. In pretty much every apartment I have ever lived in, I don't complain because it never gets me anywhere, but these are my observations. They serve no purpose in life, I wish they did because then I would we
lcome them with open arms.
KW on 04/26/2007
I have noticed bedbugs over several months. We have constantly fought with the landlord, and they say they will send an exterminator, but they often lie and don't. If you move here, you will get bedbugs, because the management doesn't care, as all the tenants are young and have no money to fight them. I personally have 3 welts that have not dissapeared in 3 months. My roomate doesn't even sleep in our apartment anymore.
CC on 04/18/2007
Moved in March 1. April 8, girlfriend notices welts. They increase over the next couple of days. We see a bug in our bed. Research online and discover photos of bed bugs which matches the bug we saw. Exterminator inspects the place and says it's infested - that the whole building may be infested. Eggs are found in various places in the apartment. Stay away!!!!
815 bedbug reports near this address:
|130 Moore St
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|140 Moore St
|0.175 km
|207 Johnson Ave
|0.226 km
|251 Bushwick Ave
|0.248 km
|199 Johnson Ave
|0.248 km
|244 Montrose Ave
|0.265 km
|240 Montrose Ave
|0.266 km
|242 Montrose Ave
|0.266 km
|126 Graham Ave
|0.270 km
|87 Graham Ave
|0.276 km
|80 Graham Ave
|0.285 km
|134 Graham Ave
|0.288 km
|241 Montrose Ave
|0.291 km
|120 Mckibbin St
|0.307 km
|222 Bushwick Ave
|0.323 km
|198 Meserole St
|0.330 km
|152 Graham Ave
|0.332 km
|255 Mckibben St
|0.342 km
|255 Mckibbin St
|0.342 km
|158 Graham Ave
|0.347 km
|191 Meserole St
|0.360 km
|248 Mckibbin St
|0.362 km
|182 Meserole St
|0.363 km
|248 Mckibbin St
|0.363 km
|158 Johnson Ave
|0.365 km
|131 Boerum St
|0.372 km
|210 Humboldt St
|0.381 km
|204 Bushwick Ave
|0.387 km
|35 Graham Ave
|0.389 km
|206 Scholes St
|0.405 km
|210 Scholes St
|0.406 km


text:
Wed, 21 December 2011
The kids from Joshua Christian Academy recite and sing....inspiring. Rev Keith Ratliff explains the mission. Then, Sonja Brown from the Kitchen Cabinet...wants Iowa women to get involved at a higher level in the political process. Should Michelle Bachman step aside to let Rick Santorum gain more headway? Congressman Steve King...issues. Defending Christmas against silly rules.
Direct download: mickelson-2011-12-21.mp3
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FRANKFORT, KY–Farmers are hard-working small business owners. Farm families have historically had to work off the farm for employer-sponsored health insurance or gone without health coverage.
At Tuesday's Keep Kentucky Covered Campaign Press Conference, several families from the Community Farm Alliance explained how Kynect and Medicaid expansion have positively affected them. They also expressed concerns about dismantling Kynect and changes to the Medicaid expansion program.
Staff Report
Trackside Butcher Shoppe, in the small town of Campbellsburg, is more than just a family business venture for friends Chris Wright and John Edwards. The small meat processing facility is a community vision that the two young Trimble County men made a reality for area farmers when they opened the doors in November 2015.
Getting our financial house in order.
That was a theme Gov. Matt Bevin returned to several times as he gave his first budget address on Tuesday night during a joint session of the Kentucky General Assembly.
The governor's State of the Commonwealth Budget Address unveiled a two-year spending plan that calls for 9 percent cuts across state government with the much of the savings aimed at helping state pension systems meet obligations.
Staff Report
Local first responders responded to several motor vehicle accidents during the past week, according to Milton Fire Chief Jason Long.
Landmark News Service
After more than ten years, 12th Circuit Family Judge Tim Feeley has resigned from his position to take a new job as deputy secretary for the Cabinet for Health and Family Services (CHFS).
"I was contacted at the beginning of the month by the governor's office asking if I would take a position in the Bevin administration," Feeley said.
As deputy secretary for CHFS, Feeley's responsibilities have dramatically expanded.
By Trevor Browning
Special to The Trimble Banner
Copyright © 2019
The Trimble Banner is your source for local news, sports, events, and information in Trimble County, KY and the surrounding area.


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How did Kennedy's assassination change the world?
The John F. Kennedy who was elected in 1960 was not going to change the world. His major charge against the Eisenhower administration was that it was not prosecuting the Cold War vigorously.
He believed that its policy of Massive Retaliation in the event of any attack meant America would be incapable of a flexible response to a non-nuclear communist aggression in the Third World, where, he believed, the Cold War would be won or lost.
He aimed to close any missile gap (actually non-existent) with the Soviets. He aimed to beat the Russians to the moon. He planned to calm business fears by appointing a Republican Secretary of the Treasury.
He wanted to avoid coercive civil rights legislation or the use of federal troops to enforce segregation because he put his faith in white southern moderate leaders.
The John F. Kennedy who was assassinated in 1963 had begun to change the world. Admittedly, the failure of the Bay of Pigs invasion did not lessen the enthusiasm of either the president or his brother, Bobby, for covert action and counter-insurgency.
The military advisers committed to Vietnam were part of a flexible response — but so was the inspirational Peace Corps.
But chastened by confronting the Russians over Berlin and missiles in Cuba, and reassured by the knowledge that the missile build-up had guaranteed a measure of Cold War stability, Kennedy moved to lessen Cold War tensions and the dangers of nuclear war.
He started a backchannel correspondence with Khrushchev. He negotiated, in the face of military opposition, a Test Ban Treaty which aimed to eliminate nuclear tests in the atmosphere. He was the first American president in the Cold War to talk about the Soviet Union as an adversary with whom the United States should peacefully compete, rather than an enemy to be defeated militarily.
Except in the Yom Kippur war in 1973 the world never again came close to a nuclear holocaust. Under JFK the first steps to détente were taken. Kennedy was the first president to understand the Sino-Soviet split.
At home, he proposed a tax cut, not as a result of a budget surplus, but despite a budget deficit, in order to stimulate the economy. As a result of the crisis created by violent resistance in the South to civil rights protest, the president was forced to do the two things he did not want to do.
He sent in federal troops to force the admission of a black student to the University of Mississippi. After the Birmingham demonstrations and the defiance of Governor Wallace on the steps of the University of Alabama, he went on national television to promise strong civil rights legislation and acknowledged for the first time that civil rights was an inescapable moral issue.
Kennedy's assassination and Johnson's masterly leadership guaranteed the eventual passage of the civil rights bill and the tax cut. It did not interrupt the progress towards détente.
But Kennedy's death did put an end to third-party efforts to normalize relations with Cuba. Kennedy might have gone on to re-orient policy towards China. Would he have avoided the Vietnam disaster?
Kennedy's defenders argue passionately that, protected by a big re-election win in 1964, he would have withdrawn American troops from Vietnam. But his Vietnam policy in late 1963 in which he acquiesced in the overthrow of President Diem's government was already locked in a policy of sustaining a South Vietnam government that was ready to fight the communists.
He had effectively narrowed the options available to his successor. There is little evidence that he would have sanctioned the "loss" of South Vietnam.
Faced with the impossibility of finding a government that was both popular and willing to fight the Vietcong, how would Kennedy have avoided the commitment of ground troops in 1965?
Advised by McGeorge Bundy and Robert McNamara, who guided Vietnam policy under both JFK and LBJ, would Kennedy have been prepared to scale down the American commitment and see the South Vietnam regime collapse?
British Ambassador and friend of the Kennedys, David Ormsby-Gore, tried to console Jackie Kennedy by telling her that the late president, "had great things to do and would have done them."
The jury may be out on that judgment. But the British reacted with the same grief as the Americans to a lifer cut short, to the cruel death of a young man whose vigor and youth contrasted so markedly with the contemporary political leaders of an older generation: De Gaulle, Adenauer and Macmillan.
They established at Runnymede, the site of the signing of Magna Carta, a memorial funded by popular appeal and driven by cross-party consensus on an acre of land permanently ceded to the United States.
David Ormsby-Gore, as Lord Harlech, was the first chair of the Kennedy Memorial Trust which also awarded scholarships to the "best and the brightest" of British students to do graduate work at Harvard and MIT.
On Friday, as current chair of the Trust, I will be laying a wreath at the memorial. Why does JFK's memory still resonate? Perhaps it is because contemporary American politics is dysfunctional and anti-intellectual fundamentalism is so rampant in American public life.
Kennedy was familiar enough with congressional gridlock and only too aware of the paranoid style of American politics on the extreme right. But he was the modern American president who was most comfortable in his own skin, who surrounded himself with intellectuals and delighted in their company, and who made government service an honorable calling after the ravages of McCarthyism.
Kennedy may not have changed the world and his assassination may not have significantly altered America's future, but 50 years on it is not surprising that his memory still evokes a profound sense of loss.
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