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Our premium Bench Rest products packed in a universal kit. Comes packed in an extra-large, cherry-stained hardwood box. Tray lifts out to reveal added space for storing personal accessories. For pistols, rifles (.22 caliber and larger) and shotguns.
Bench Rest 9 Gun Bore Cleaner, Bench Rest 9 Lubricating Oil, Patches, 3-piece solid brass cleaning rod, brass slotted ends, 5 phosphor bronze brushes(.22, .30 & .38 caliber rifles, and 12 & 20 gauge shotguns), rifle, shotgun and pistol adapters, silicone cleaning cloth, phosphor bronze utility brush, bore light, 12" x 36" cleaning pad and Hoppe's "Guide to Gun Care" booklet.

subset: commoncrawl


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DoubleTree GM Leaving EvansvillePosted: Updated:
Getting the Word Out About Manufacturing & Logistics
As the epicenter of the nation's advanced manufacturing and logistics industries, Indiana has a compelling story to tell about how Hoosier companies make and move the goods people depend on every day. Our goal is to ensure everyone hears these stories – many of which share a common theme focused on cutting-edge technologies that are transforming the way products are made and moved around the world and the people who use them. Conexus Indiana launched an...
Most Popular Stories
Historic Hospital to be Torn Down in Gary
A building that once represented the racial divide in the city of Gary, but long provided health care to the African American community, will soon fall to a wrecking ball. The city says it intends to raze the long-abandoned St. John's Hospital.
Most Wired Hospitals in Indiana Ranked
A national association of healthcare information executives has once again honored Fort Wayne-based Parkview Health for its commitment to using advanced technologies in their clinical and business operations. The College of Healthcare Information Management Executives says Parkview is ranked in the 97th percentile of organizations surveyed for the program, earning a "Most Wired" distinction.
Valpo Approves Plan to Level Mansion, Build New Homes
The property where an aged, Victorian-era, mansion in Valparaiso currently stands will become the site of 15 new homes, described as "upscale." The Valparaiso Board of Zoning Appeals approved the variances needed for Downtown Valparaiso Partners LLC to proceed with the project, according to our partners at The Times of Northwest Indiana.
Honda to Invest $4M, Add Jobs at Greensburg Plant
The American Honda Motor Co. continues to invest in its Greensburg, Indiana plant as it has announced the factory will be producing the company's first electrified sport utility vehicle in the U.S. The company says it will invest more than $4 million and add 34 new jobs in the plant to support production of the CR-V Hybrid.
Eleven Fifty to Cut Ribbon on New Location
Eleven Fifty Academy will cut the ribbon on its new downtown location September 23. The nonprofit coding academy says it will host a grand opening ceremony November 6.


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When you perform an ldapmodify operation, you are able to add, modify, or delete entries in bulk. Entries are specified in an LDIF file that contains update statements to modify or delete existing entries. This operation does not erase entries that already exist.
The changed entries may target any suffix that is managed by your Directory Server. As with any other operation that adds entries, the server will index all new entries as they are imported.
The ldapmodify command will import an LDIF file through LDAP and perform all operations that the file contains. Using this command you can modify data in all directory suffixes at the same time.
Before restoring suffixes involved in replication agreements, see Restoring Replicated Suffixes.
All LDIF files that you import must use UTF-8 character-set encoding.
When importing an LDIF file, parent entries must either exist in the directory or be added first from the file.
Add, modify, or delete from an LDIF file in bulk.
$ ldapmodify -D cn=admin,cn=Administrators,cn=config -w - -B baseDN -f LDIF-file
The following example performs an import using the ldapmodify command. You do not need root privileges to run this command, but you must authenticate as a user with root permissions, such as cn=Directory Manager or cn=admin,cn=Administrators,cn=config. The last parameter specifies the name of the LDIF file to import.
$ ldapmodify -D cn=admin,cn=Administrators,cn=config -w - \ -B dc=example,dc=com -f /local/dsInst/ldif/demo.ldif


text: Shop our huge selection of hand and power tools for every trade and task. Our hand tools list ranges from pliers to pryers to pullers and on. Shop by tools names or industry type to find exactly what you need. Ensure proper bolt tension with our inventory of micrometer torque wrenches. For precision measuring, look to our selection of laser levels, tape measures and measuring wheels. We stock hundreds of cutting tools like bolt cutters, wire strippers and multi-purpose utility knives. Power tools like cordless drill/drivers, impact wrenches, reciprocating saws, sanders and angle grinders help you perform the necessary tasks to keep your operation running smoothly. Cross off every item on your list of hand and power tools in one place.


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The Rt. Rev. James Stanton, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Dallas, led the Ordination of a Priest at St. Mark's Episcopal Church in Mount Pleasant Sunday, elevating Deacon "Sparky" to the priesthood according to the rituals of the church.
Participating with him in the ceremony were members of her family, of the two congregations where she will serve and Episcopal priests and deacons from nearby communities in Northeast Texas and from Dallas.
Criss Bartley of Gilmer represented St. David's when she read the New Testament scripture for the service.
While the process of approving her application began last January, once all the prerequisite hurdles had been met, Bishop Stanton noted that Sunday, Dec. 1, is the beginning of Advent and in the liturgical calendar, the beginning of a new year.
He felt it appropriate to ordain the new priest so she could start her new post with the start of the new liturgical year and be in place for the Christmas season.
The two congregations which compose Trinity Parish of Northeast Texas, St. Mark's in Mount Pleasant and St. David's in Gilmer, have shared a priest since 1989.
It was December 5, 2006, when the Rev. James C.S. Slack was the priest that Ethel Channon was ordained a deacon at the church in Mount Pleasant, and she has served principally there since that date.
Last January at their annual parish meeting, the two congregations voted to urge the Diocese to consider elevating Deacon Channon to the priesthood.
For the past two years, since the transfer of the last priest to Arlington, visiting priests have led most of the services with assistance by Deacon Sparky much of the time.
It was 1987 when a native Illinoisan, Ethel Channon, took the assistant city editor's job with the Texarkana Gazette. Six months later, she was elevated to city editor, a post she held for several years, before being promoted to assistant managing editor and eventually to managing editor.
At the Gazette, she also served as editorial page coordinator and main editorial writer for several years. She contributed one editorial and one column per week to the edit page.
Now, after almost 27 years with the Gazette, the graduate of Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville is starting a new career.
A double major in mass communications and French, she also holds a diploma in ministry degree from the Anglican School of Theology-Stanton Center for Ministry Formation in the Episcopal Diocese of Dallas.
She grew up in East St. Louis, Ill. After working in municipal government during and after college, she turned to journalism in 1980 as a journalist in Belleville, Ill.
Since becoming more involved with the ministries of the Episcopal Church, she participated in a series of studies for the laity called Education for Ministry, and from there she became involved with the homeless ministry with the Randy Sams Outreach Shelter in Texarkana.
She was founding board member and had a 10-year tenure on board, including the opening and construction of a homeless shelter. She also has been very active in Residents Encounter Christ of Texas (R.E.C.) at the prison in Winnsboro where she and others both lay and clergy spend a weekend inside the prison with a group of prisoners.
Starting Sunday, Mother Channon will be leading the service of Holy Communion at St. David's at 218 Old Coffeeville Road at 9 a.m.


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General Anaesthetics
If you would like to inform your patients and their families about our videos when they visit your clinic, please print off these information leaflets with the video links and hand them to the family.
Our charity provides printed copies of these DL size leaflets free of cost to hospitals in Scotland so they can be included in the appointment letter.
Please Contact Us if you would like to us to send you copies.
Select this image to download the PDF leaflet.
Our leaflets are available under the Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 UK Licence.
Also see our other Leaflets that you can download and print off.
We have a number of videos that will help you and your child prepare for their hospital visit. Videos
Colouring In
Have fun colouring pictures of Lily the Giraffe on her hospital visit. Start Colouring


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For nearly 40 years, we have been instrumental to the world's most significant technology advancements, delivering optimized memory and storage systems for a broad range of applications. Our team is transforming how the world uses information delivering solutions for the world's toughest computing and storage challenges.
During the course of this meeting, we may make projections or other forward-looking statements regarding future events or the future financial performance of the Company and the industry. We wish to caution you that such statements are predictions and that actual events or results may differ materially. We refer you to the documents we file on a consolidated basis from time to time with Securities and Exchange Commission, specifically our most recent Form 10-K and Form 10-Q. These documents contain and identify important factors that could cause our actual results on a consolidated basis to differ materially from those contained in our projections or forward-looking statements. These certain factors can be found at Risk Factor. Although we believe that the expectations reflected in the forward-looking statements are reasonable, we cannot guarantee future results, levels of activity, performance or achievements. We are under no duty to update any of the forward-looking statements after the date of the presentation to conform these statements to actual results.


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Kamasa Tools is the premium brand for those
of you who want tools with function, durability,
and feel all in a class of its own.
All tools and workshop equipment are of a premium quality that meets strict tool standards and other demands made by today's industrial companies.
Professional automotive mechanics know best how tools are used and what requirements they must meet. Therefore demanding tool tests on site in automotive workshops are important parts of developing new tools from Kamasa Tools.


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U.S. Equal Employment
Opportunity Commission
Health System Rescinded Job Offers When It Learned Applicants Were Disabled, Federal Agency Charges
MINNEAPOLIS - Aurora Health Care, a health system operating in eastern Wisconsin and northern Illinois, violated federal disability discrimination law by rescinding employment offers to two job applicants after it learned they had disabilities, the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) charged in a lawsuit filed today.
According to the allegations in the EEOC's lawsuit, Aurora extended job offers to Kelly Beckwith and Charlene Helms, conditioned on completion of a medical examination. Although both Beckwith and Helms were able to perform the essential functions of the jobs they had been offered, both disclosed disabling health conditions during their medical examinations: Beckwith suffers from multiple sclerosis and Helms from carpal tunnel disorder. Following the medical examinations, Aurora rescinded its offers to the two, claiming they had failed to disclose their health conditions.
John Rowe, director of the federal agency's Chicago District, said that in the EEOC's pre-suit administrative investigation, Aurora contended that Beckwith failed to disclose a medication she was prescribed for MS treatment, but Beckwith had not been having MS symptoms and had not been taking the medication. Further, Aurora learned about the prescription by accessing Beckwith's private, patient records. According to Aurora, it had a policy of accessing patient records for job applicants undergoing medical examinations, even though the applicants were not being seen for treatment.
With respect to Helms, Aurora contended she did not disclose that she had surgery for carpal tunnel disorder, yet documents received during the investigation show disclosure of the condition and clearly reference the surgery.
Such alleged conduct violates the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), which protects employees and applicants from discrimination based on disabilities. The lawsuit, filed in U.S. District Court for the District of Eastern District of Wisconsin in Milwaukee (Equal Employment Opportunity Commission v. Aurora Health Care, Inc.; Civil Action No. 2:12-cv-00984), was brought only after the agency first attempted to reach a voluntary settlement with the employer through the EEOC's conciliation process. In this case, the EEOC is seeking injunctive relief barring discrimination and prohibiting Aurora's practice of reviewing job applicant's patient medical records, and will seek back pay and compensatory and punitive damages on behalf of Beckwith and Helms.
"Federal law allows employers to require applicants to undergo a medical examination once an offer has been made," said John Hendrickson, regional attorney for the EEOC's Chicago District. "But they can't use that examination to discriminate against applicants with disabilities. It appears - and we intend to prove in court - that Aurora found out these two applicants had health conditions and then claimed the two failed to disclose their conditions to justify Aurora's underlying disability discrimination."
Jean Kamp, the Chicago District's associate regional attorney, added that "the EEOC finds Aurora's policy of digging in a job applicant's patient records particularly disturbing. Job applicants who undergo a medical examination in order to get work aren't seeking treatment from their own doctor. Aurora never should have accessed their patient records in this context."
According to the company's website (www.aurorahealthcare.org), Aurora is a private, not-for-profit healthcare provider that operates 15 hospitals and 185
clinics, with $4.3 billion in annual revenue.
The EEOC Chicago District Office is responsible for processing charges of discrimination, administrative enforcement, and the conduct of agency litigation in Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, and North and South Dakota, with Area Offices in Milwaukee and Minneapolis. The EEOC's legal team in its Minneapolis and Milwaukee Area Offices will conduct this litigation under the management of the agency's Chicago District Office.
The EEOC is responsible for enforcing federal laws against employment discrimination. Further information is available at www.eeoc.gov.


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Engineers Detained in Bangladesh Disaster
Engineers Detained as Death Toll in Collapse Passes 362 and Anger Swells Over Building Safety and Pace of Rescue
DHAKA, Bangladesh—Police on Saturday detained two engineers here that were allegedly involved in issuing permits for the collapsed Rana Plaza building, as the search for survivors slogged ahead and as public anger mounted over the growing death toll.
Police on Sunday arrested a third factory owner.
The death toll from the collapse of the Rana...


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ISLAMABAD (Reuters) – Pakistan's former military ruler Pervez Musharraf arrived in court to face treason charges on Tuesday, a victory for the country's increasingly assertive judiciary after months of delays.
Musharraf, 70, faces the death penalty if found guilty of charges related to his suspension of the constitution and imposition of emergency rule in 2007, when he was trying to extend his rule as president.
Musharraf, who has been in hospital for the past month after suffering chest pains, stood up when the judge entered and gave him a small wave but did not speak.
Judge Faisal Arab, who heads the special panel of three judges, did not charge Musharraf and said he would first examine challenges raised by the defense.
"We are inclined to first decide about the jurisdiction of this court, and if we decide that the jurisdiction is valid, the accused can be called again," he said.
After two bomb scares prevented him from appearing, Musharraf was taken to hospital on January 2 while on his way to court. Since then, he has been at a military hospital in the city of Rawalpindi, near Islamabad.
The case is being closely watched for any impact on the relationship between Pakistan's three power centers – the historically powerful military, an increasingly independent judiciary and the civilian government, led by Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif.
Some observers are concerned that the trial could anger the army, which has ruled Pakistan for more than half its history since independence in 1947.
Musharraf recently told reporters the whole army supported him though the military leadership has given no indication that it might intervene in the trial.
He has repeatedly said the trial is a politically motivated vendetta. He ousted Sharif in a coup in 1999 and forced him into exile, but eight years later Sharif returned and won a landslide victory in a general election in May.


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Upgrade to a more convenient, more controllable keyless entry deadbolt with SmartCode™ Signature Series.
With a SmartCode keyless entry deadbolt you can use your own personal keypad code to enter your home with just a few simple pushes of a button and lock it with just one. You also get more control over who has access to your home. Just assign a temporary keypad code to who ever needs one and delete it when you see fit. Now you can totally eliminate the need for keys. SmartCode is easy to install, program and use and operates on 4 AA batteries. The SmartCode electronic deadbolt complements any Kwikset knob, lever or handleset.


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While war between Israel and Hamas reverberates from Gaza City to southern Israel and to Arab capitals, the fallout will also be felt within the Israeli Knesset.
The fighting is already affecting Israeli public opinion ahead of the Feb. 10 parliamentary vote: Before the offensive began polls showed conservative opposition leader Benjamin Netanyahu and his Likud party leading. But now, the hawks are losing ground and Defense Minister Ehud Barak, leader of the center-left Labor Party, and Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni of centrist Kadima are gaining.
But while it's too early to tell which politician will emerge from the high-stakes Gaza conflict with the upper hand, Israel finds itself once again at a moment of transition as a mix of war and politics promises change for the Jewish state.
"Israel often starts wars looking very good, and the end is often less clear," says Asher Arian, a political science professor at Haifa University. "The only thing that is clear is that every campaign will try to spin the outcome to their advantage."
So far the Israeli operation in Gaza is receiving broad public support among Israelis – a political boon for the incumbent Kadima Party.
The government has learned important lessons from the 2006 Lebanon war and executed this operation with more precision and caution than its fight with Hezbollah, says Avraham Ben Tzvi, an international relations commentator for Israel Radio.
But, he cautions, "One missile unfortunately can change the whole picture.... We're not even at halftime."
In 1996, the government of Prime Minister Shimon Peres launched Operation Grapes of Wrath against Hezbollah in Lebanon – a 16-day war that also ended in an inconclusive cease-fire. But because the carnage in southern Lebanon alienated Israeli Arabs, Mr. Peres lost support from a crucial constituency, giving Mr. Netanyahu his first victory as prime minister.
Still the underlying weaknesses for both Mr. Barak and Ms. Livni rest in the fact that they couldn't stop Hamas's rocket fire over the past three years, since Israel's pullout from the coastal enclave.
In the war in Lebanon two years ago, electoral politics were seen as one of the primary factors in the heated rhetoric leading to the war – much the same way it is adding to calls today for the complete toppling of Hamas.
A successful endgame to the current fighting could help Kadima and Barak's Labor Party make up for their failures on Gaza. A redux of the Lebanon war would be disastrous for their chances in next month's election.
Two polls this week showed the center-left bloc of parties – which are headed by Livni and Barak – pulling into a tie or gaining a slight majority in the upcoming parliament. Previously, a coalition of right-wing and religious parties were forecast to hold the advantage.
As the fighting continued, Israel's cabinet convened amid international pressure for a truce. The Israel-Hamas conflict seemed to have reached a crossroads with calls for both international diplomacy and a ground assault. The decision as of Wednesday was to continue the air campaign.
"We didn't enter an operation in Gaza only to end it with the continuation of rocket fire in the beginning," said Prime Minister Ehud Olmert at the cabinet meeting. "Israel restrained itself for years and gave a chance for calm."
Already, the intersection of war and the election is highlighting a number of incongruences of a political system in flux.
First, the military operation is being overseen by a lame duck premier. Mr. Olmert was forced to resign last year over corruption allegations and remains deeply unpopular for his handling of the inconclusive Lebanon war. So far, Olmert has been an electoral burden to Kadima and Livni, much the same way that President Bush was a drag on the bid by Sen. John McCain's (R) of Arizona for the presidency.
While Livni is running as the leader of the center-left political bloc, the military offensive has relegated her playing only a supporting role. Olmert is calling the shots and Barak is overseeing the widely respected military; Livni is charged with liaising with international diplomats that Israelis largely turn up their noses at.
"Tzipi Livni is a third wheel in this troika," says Gideon Doron, a professor of political science at Tel Aviv University. "The foreign minister should provide the international conditions that provide the time for the operation [to succeed]. It's not clear if she can do that."
And yet, the momentum from a positive end to the fighting would also help Livni.
Barak, meanwhile, remains the dark horse candidate for prime minister even though he has received the biggest boost from the operation. His Labor Party has been forecast to receive 15 to 16 seats in the next parliament, up from 11 or 10.
Front-runner Netanyahu, one of the chief critics of the government's policy toward Hamas, has been forced to abandon his assault on Livni's leadership credentials. Instead, he has dutifully taken on the challenge of explaining to the international community the policy of a government he would like to replace.
Eventually, however, Netanyahu and Likud are expected to end their political cease-fire.
Likud is now running neck-and-neck with Livni's Kadima, forfeiting a lead of about six to eight seats from earlier in December. Political observers have cited internal Likud turmoil as the primary reason for the drop.


text: Sleep-deprived teenagers face the greatest risk of accidents while driving at night. iStockphoto.com hide caption toggle caption iStockphoto.com Shots - Health News Less Sleep For Teens Means Higher Risk For Car Crashes May 21, 2013 New, young drivers are much more likely to have an accident if they're short on sleep, researchers say. And teenage drivers are far more impaired than adults when facing an equivalent lack of sleep.


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S k a t e L o g F o r u m
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|Roller Dance and Session Skating Forum Discussions about roller dancing, jamskating, rexing, rink session skating, dance circle skating, and similar types of recreational indoor and outdoor skate dancing .
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|February 5th, 2017, 10:38 PM
Join Date: Feb 2008
Location: Encinitas, CA
Posts: 72
Outdoor Dance/Shuffle Wheel Recs
Hey Dancers & Shufflers out there - looking for some input on dance wheels for outdoor use.
I scored a deal on some Reckless Envy Hybrid but don't like 'em much. They have those speed grooves & are 38mm wide... I prefer narrower.
For reference, I sk8 Bones Elites @ the rink and had a pair of Bones Bounce outdoor wheels that I liked a lot. They were 62mm x 80 hardness I think, looks like Bones discontinued the style.
Thx in advance!
|March 14th, 2017, 01:38 PM
Junior Member
Join Date: Jul 2016
Posts: 4
I like radar energy wheels for outdoors they are narrow and tall with great grip. Makes outdoor high speed dancing possible for me without constant slipping or road rash
|August 26th, 2017, 05:05 PM
Junior Member
Join Date: Aug 2015
Location: In the good 'ole U S of A
Posts: 10
I do a lot of dance/shuffle and Rex skating outdoors. Im relatively new to quad skating. Been skating for about 4 years now. I have tried several wheels and my two favorites are the krypto impulse wheels and bones day of the dead 82mm.
I skate mostly on smooth asphalt, concrete and boardwalks/biking trails. I prefer the krypto impulse for dancing, quick turns and crossover turns/shifts. Dotd wheels are not as smooth for bumps and cracks, but equally good for spins and turns.
I'll list some others I've tried as well.
kryptonics route 62 great for crappy trails
Radar energy 62 too sticky/slow
Sure grip motion sticks like glue until you break them in. Then still sticky but good for crappy roads.
Bones Miami Beach 65 best for trails and downhill skating.
Hope this helps.
- "Never underestimate the power of a woman on wheels."
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Batting in the second position for the White Sox, number 2, the second baseman Nelson Fox.
Saw my first game as a five-year old in Comiskey in 65. Sox beat Boston. I think Horlen pitched. That's all I remember about the game except I sat along the right field foul line upper deck and was afraid of the height at first.
"When youre going good, youre not that ****ing good,but when youre going bad, youre not that bad. Thats ****ing Satchel Paige there and thats wisdom. - Don Cooper, April-2019
Nice new thread BRDSR.
The 1965 season took me from 5th to 6th grade. It was the summer that I was on my one and only championship team in any sport as a strong-hitting catcher/first baseman for my Little League team (named, to my chagrin, the Yankees!). It was a summer where I became briefly enthralled with surfer comics and hot rods to supplement my abiding interests in reading history and listening to the still British Invasion-dominated sounds of WLS' Top 40 format.
It was also the summer that I had my first encounter with death's severe hand as my paternal grandfather passed away down in NC. It was at that funeral--actually during the viewing at my grandparents' house, they were still in the habit there of taking the body "home" one last time and setting the coffin out in the parlor--where, during the year of the March on Selma that I saw two of my grandfather's black neighbors from the filling station down the road come forward, hesitant, hats in hand, unsure about the propriety of stepping foot in a white man's house, until reassured by my grandmother that they could come in and pay their respects. They say the past is a different country. Indeed.
I entered the 1965 baseball season fueled with hope--the previous year's White Sox team's anemic hitting and excellent pitching staff had, after all, lifted us to a 98-win season that had fallen one desperate game short of the hated Yankees. If only we (and it was always "we") had been able to win just two--two stinkin' games!--of the first ten games we had played against the Yankees the pennant would have been ours! Surely, there was reason for optimism going into '65--the White Sox pitching staff was a close, close second to the Dodgers' unworldly staff featuring the likes of Koufax, Drysdale and Osteen. In looking at the entire staff from starters through bullpen--a good argument could be made that perhaps Sox pitching was stronger even than that of Los Angeles.
And there was even hope that our inept offense just might be ready to do something. In the off season we had strengthened our club after having re-acquired "Honey" John Romano to add some punch along with a good-looking outfielder acquired from the Phillies named Danny Cater. The '64 lineup promised better, revolving around our star 3rd baseman Pete Ward who had given the dodge to the sophomore slump after his near-miss Rookie of the Year 1963 season posting a .282 ba, driving in 94 runs, and banging out 23 home runs (23! It's hard now to convey just how awesome those sorts of numbers looked for a White Sox player during that era of the pitcher). With Floyd Robinson out in RF, our tall, lanky power-hitting shortstop Ron Hansen, and the big bat of first baseman Moose Skowron (on hand for the entire season this time) it looked like the Sox would be able to make their move.
And from the start it looked good--an opening day win and a decent start while the Yankees so uncharacteristically stumbled out of the gate. In May there was a 9 or 10-game winning streak that I followed excitedly every morning in the pages of "The Bright One", the Chicago Sun-Times. But alas...the Twins, with that horde of great hitters Killebrew, Allison, Hall, Versailles, Mincher, Rollins, Oliva, and the ex-Sox prospect Earl Battey suddenly came up with great seasons from the likes of veteran pitchers such as Camillo Pascual, 21-game winner Jim "Mudcat Grant," Jim Perry, and Jim Kaat; the previous season's 6th place team suddenly gelled and began playing great baseball. And the Sox? A few key injuries undercut the team. The pitching was not quite as good as it had been in '64 although it was still very good and, unimaginably, the hitting was even worse. I learned a lot about expectations, realities, ideals, disappointments, baseball and life that year...
Last edited by Procol Harum; 07-09-2012 at 10:03 AM.
Great thread!
I began collecting baseball (and basketball) cards in the early nineties when I was 6 or 7 and they were an incredible source of information for a kid who was looking to gobble up as much information about baseball history as he could. I also read almanacs, player biographies and the Kahn/Halberstam books as well. To this day, I remember very little about what I learned in school at that age but I distinctly remember poring over lists on the all-time and yearly home run leaders, hits leaders, etc. I remember coming across names like Mel Ott and Harmon Killebrew near the top of these lists, not knowing who they were, and then finding a book that could clue me in. To this day I can tell you that Ott hit 511 home runs, which was 1 fewer than Banks and Eddie Matthews and 10 fewer than Williams and McCovey. I remember reading the back of a Dale Murphy card that called him something like the "ghost of a once-great slugger trying to hold on for just a couple more home runs and a shot at the HOF." (He retired with 398 -- I guess once upon a time 400 was a lot bigger deal in terms of HOF credentials) and feeling sorry for him. I know that Boggs hit over .360 four times before he was 30 (!) but was never close to winning an MVP (probably should have won in '87), which boggled my young mind. I have retained all this knowledge and forgotten all about virtually everything else -- guess I've always had baseball on the brain.
Every year my mom asks me what to do with all the boxes of cards that are just taking up space in my old room. I don't yet have the heart to tell her to just get rid of 'em. Too many memories attached.
Awesome posts, especially Procol's. It's amazing how an avid fan will contextualize the rest of his/her life based on his/her favorite team. I know I still do.
Smoky Burgess
A major-leaguer for parts of 18 seasons, Smoky Burgess was signed at 17 years old by the Chicago Cubs in 1944. He broke into the majors with the Cubs in 1949 and would go on to play for five different clubs. He consistently hit for respectable batting averages, finishing his career at .295, but never hit more than 21 homers in a season and finished with relatively low career power numbers; 230 doubles; 126 homers, and 673 RBI. Burgess never took the field at any position other than catcher, where he fielded at a .988 clip and threw out 213 of 583 base stealers. To this writers knowledge, he holds the distinction of being the only catcher to catch more than 9 consecutive perfect innings in a single game when, on May 26th, 1959, he helped Harvey Haddix retire 36 consecutive batters before giving up an unearned run in the 13th to lose 1-0. In 11 seasons between 1954 and 1964, Burgess made six National League all-star teams, even cracking the starting lineup in 1961. By the time he was picked up on the waiver-wire by the White Sox in September 1964, Burgess was used almost exclusively as a pinch-hitter. He would retire after the 1967 season with 145 career pinch hits, a record that wasnt broken until 1979 by Manny Mota. Burgess now sits fourth on the all-time pinch-hits list.
1965 was indicative of Burgesss last years in the league. Burgess appeared in 80 games, but he was third on the catching depth chart behind Johnny Romano and J.C. Martin, and only appeared in five games behind the plate, three as a starter. Burgess pinch-hit 75 times in 65 and made the most of them. He batted .286 on the season, and with 24 RBI in 89 plate appearances, his rate of one RBI per 3.7 plate appearances was better than anyone on the team with more than 10 plate appearances. (Marv Staehle picked up two RBI in seven plate appearances.) His late-game appearances put him at the plate during lots of crucial situations, such as in the 7th inning of the second game of a double header against the Detroit Tigers on May 5, 1965.
The Sox came into the day a half-game ahead of the Twins, who were only playing one game on May 5th. Heading into the night game, White Sox had gone 4-2 since their win on April 27th, including a 4-0 four-hit shutout victory by John Buzhardt earlier in the day. In the nightcap, Joe Horlen and Tigers pitcher Dave Wickersham were locked in a 0-0 contest until the bottom of the 6th when leadoff hitter Dick McAuliffe hit an inside-the-park home run to the cavernous center field of Tigers Stadium. (The wall was 440 feet from home plate just to the left of dead center.) Down one coming into the top of the 7th, Pete Ward walked, Bill Skowron doubled, and Ron Hansen was intentionally walked. Ken Berry was due up, but his .200 batting average prompted Al Lopez to pinch-hit Burgess instead. Burgess stroked a single, scoring Ward and Skowron, and was promptly taken out for pinch-runner Tommy McCraw. The Sox would score two more runs that inning and win 4-1, but all they needed was the one at-bat from Burgess.
The Sox moved to 13-5 and, in sweeping the double-header, improved to one game ahead of the Twins, who also won that day. And if a child had looked at the back of Burgesss baseball card that day, he probably would have simply been impressed at how long hed been playing. Most kids enamored with baseball cards were under 16 years old, which means the child looking at the back of Burgesss would not have been born when he broke into the big leagues.
Hey BRDSR.... Thanks for the flashbacks. Smokey was the man. He always had a knack for poking it thru some hole and moving them around the bases. If you could say he was an original DH before its time. Not understanding his physical limitations and age and success rate on those ptching and defence Sox teams, I used to ask my Dad why he wasnt an every day player.. He used to laugh and say he could be the father of some of the guys on the diamond. Yup, Smokey had been in the bigs since Korea and had quite a resume on the flip side of his card.
Big Klu says... "When you step in the box you go to war"..
I was 10 years old in 1965 and growing up in New Jersey. Rooting for the Sox in Yankee territory was not any easy thing to do. I am proud to say that I have every White Sox baseball card since 1949 and quite a few before that. Also many programs,yearbooks seats from Comiskey and over 600 Sox autographs.
As a kid who was negative-four in 1965, I am thoroughly enjoying this read. Thanks for taking the time and sharing the cards!
No one has ever bet enough on the winning horse.
Smoky Burgess could be the slowest position player in White Sox history. But he could hit.
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The annual conference strengthens the VFW's advocacy efforts on behalf of America's veterans, service members and their families, as VFW members meet with elected representatives in the House and Senate to discuss the VFW's stance on a number of high priority veterans' issues.
The 2017 VFW Legislative Conference culminates on March 1, as VFW National Commander Brian Duffy testifies before a joint hearing of the House and Senate Veterans Affairs Committees, where he will lay out the VFW's top legislative priorities for the year. Other highlights will include the presentation of the VFW Congressional Award to Sen. Susan Collins (R-Maine), the Voice of Democracy Parade of Winners, and the announcement of the national Voice of Democracy first-place $30,000 scholarship winner.
The VFW will again livestream from this year's conference. Visit www.vfw.org/VFWDC2017 on Feb. 27 at 6 p.m. EST to watch as the legislative conference kicks off with the Voice of Democracy Parade of Winners, followed by the delayed streaming of the VFW national commander's testimony available on March 1 at 5 p.m.
Look for #VFWDC2017 on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, and be sure to visit www.vfw.org for all the latest legislative conference updates beginning Feb. 26.


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'Breaking Bad,' 'Modern Family,' 'Behind the Candelabra' Top Surprising 65th Primetime Emmy Awards
(LOS ANGELES) -- On Sunday night, you could've tuned into the next-to-last episode of Breaking Bad, or you could've tuned into the 65th annual Primetime Emmy Awards to see the show win its first-ever trophy for best drama series. "Holy crap," said Breaking Bad creator Vince Gilligan when he took the podium at the end of the three-hours-plus show. "I did not see this coming."
Breaking Bad's Anna Gunn also took the award for outstanding supporting actress in a drama series: it was her first Emmy win. But to the surprise of many, Breaking Bad's Bryan Cranston failed to win lead actor in a drama. He lost to The Newsroom's Jeff Daniels, who echoed the thoughts of the audience when he said, "Well, crap, didn't expect this!" as he took the podium.
It was the first Emmy win for Daniels, who joked that the only thing he'd won recently had been the AARP award for "best actor over 50." "With respect to the AARP, this is better," he quipped.
There were several upsets throughout the night: Kerry Washington, hotly favored to win outstanding actress in a drama series -- which would've made her the first African-American actress to do so -- lost to Claire Danes, who repeated for Homeland. At the podium, Danes thanked her husband for "making me so whole and happy so I can be entirely unhappy in the land of make believe."
--In the Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Series category, it was a surprise win for Boardwalk Empire's Bobby Cannavale; many thought Breaking Bad's Aaron Paul would take the prize.
--In the Outstanding Supporting Actress, Comedy category, Merritt Wever from Nurse Jackie grabbed the trophy, which absolutely nobody saw coming. At the podium, she said, simply, "Thank you so much. I gotta go. Bye!" and left the stage, prompting host Neil Patrick Harris to dub her comments "Best. Speech. Ever."
--Other surprise wins: Tony Hale of Veep in the Outstanding Supporting Actor, Comedy category; The Voice for Outstanding Reality Competition, beating perennial winner The Amazing Race; The Colbert Report snapping The Daily Show's 10-year winning streak as outstanding variety series.
Michael Douglas won his first Emmy for his fearless portrayal of Liberace in the HBO movie Behind the Candelabra, which won 11 Emmys in total this year. At the podium, he thanked his co-star and fellow nominee Matt Damon, who played his gay lover in the movie, by saying, "Matt, this was a two-hander, and you're only as good as your other hand. You deserve half of this. So, you want the bottom or the top?" After Damon replied from the audience, Douglas joked, "The top? I figured that."
Of course, there were still some tried-and-true winners Sunday night. Modern Family won outstanding comedy honors for the fourth straight year. Jim Parsons won outstanding actor in a comedy for The Big Bang Theory for the third time, while Veep's Julia Louis-Dreyfus won the Emmy for outstanding actress in a comedy for the second straight year.
As a host, Neil Patrick Harris sometimes appeared as though he was hosting the Tony Awards, starring in a big musical number mid-show, and singing and dancing alongside the nominees for outstanding choreography in a massive production number, as that category was presented on camera for the first time ever.
But surprisingly, NPH didn't open the show with a musical number. First, he did a sketch in which he attempted to binge-watch the entire TV season, and that led to a monologue in which he ended up arguing with past Emmy hosts Jimmy Fallon, Jimmy Kimmel, Jane Lynch and Conan O'Brien about the right way to host the show -- while Kevin Spacey, in the audience, claimed that he had masterminded the entire segment.
Harris and his How I Met Your Mother cast also co-starred in a filmed bit about how Harris suffers from EHD, or Excessive Hosting Disorder, and needed to go to The Ryan Seacrest Center to recover.
The show was dubbed "the saddest Emmys ever" by Modern Family creator Steven Levitan because it was heavy with tributes to stars we lost in the past year.
Edie Falco saluting her Sopranos husband James Gandolfini; Michael J. Fox saluting producer Gary David Goldberg; Robin Williams saying farewell to his idol and former Mork & Mindy co-star Jonathan Winters; Rob Reiner paying homage to his All in the Family mother-in-law Jean Stapleton; and Jane Lynch honoring her Glee co-star Cory Monteith. Unfortunately, these tributes didn't include any montages of the late actors' work, so we could see what made them so great.
And in another disappointment, Elton John paid tribute to the late Liberace, the subject of HBO's Behind the Candelabra, with an oddly subdued performance. While viewers may have expected something over-the-top and flamboyant -- especially after Elton said that Liberace had been an influence on him -- all he did was perform his somber new song "Home Again" while wearing a simple dark blue sequined jacket and blue-framed, but regular-size, glasses.
Carrie Underwood also performed: she sang "Yesterday" as a tribute to 1963-1964, "the year that changed TV history," because of JFK's assassination and the arrival of The Beatles in the U.S. "Yesterday," however, didn't come out until 1965. Still, Carrie tweeted that she'd received Paul McCartney's blessing to perform it.
Copyright 2013 ABC News Radio


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THE PARTY Artist Darren LeGallo recruited his fiancée Amy Adams and friend Justin Timberlake to co-host the launch of his Nothing You Don't Know exhibit. Held at Trigg Ison Fine Art in the West Hollywood Design District, the evening ditched the traditional red-carpet rollout in favor of an intimate, well-curated cocktail party. THE PLAYERS Justin Timberlake, Jessica Biel, Amy Adams, Darren Le Gallo, Dermot Mulroney, Alex Pettyfer, Virginia Madsen, Timbaland, Adam Shankman THE HIGHLIGHTS Talk about a family affair! Jessica Biel sipped white wine while hubby Timberlake chatted up his frequent collaborator, Timbaland. (Both musicians left their "suit and tie" at home in favor of leather jackets.) Nearby, Adams kept LeGallo company as he mingled with producer Adam Shankman. The group nibbled on a selection of fruit, cheese and caviar while perusing the oil paintings and drawings on display. Photos courtesy of Amy Graves/WireImage


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El Gringo Loco: The Shocking True Story Tuesday. May 28, 2013 by John H. Richardson for Playboy Image: Dustin Snipes
Names have been changed to protect the reporter.
The mirror crashes to the floor and Rigo is in the doorway with his nine in his hand—We're at war! We're at war!
The Gringo bolts from his bed. He's been in the cartel seven months, a college-educated American kid from the suburbs of Portland with a shaved head and the massive shoulders of the offensive tackle he once was. It started out pure fun, easy money, gorgeous women and the camaraderie of soldiers. They called him La Flama Blanca, the white flame, which somehow inspired a series of Talladega Nights jokes. We know how to shake and bake Flama Blanca style! And man, did they party. But lately the Gringo's been getting paranoid. That's why he put the mirror against his door, the only alarm system that still works after Rigo freaked out and smashed all the alarms, thinking they were spy cameras.
We're at war! Rigo shouts again.
As usual, Rigo's out of his mind on coke and ecstasy and massive quantities of booze. He's 30, skinny and good-looking, with the vagued-out sweetness of someone nursing many inner wounds. His uncle gave him a job cleaning meth when he was 13. When he was 15 he watched his grandfather stab a man to death. When he was 18 he stabbed a man and then spent five years in prison. In the past few months he's become the Gringo's best friend.
Calm down, the Gringo says. Tell me what happened.
What happened is Rigo went to the projects to score coke and some guy sold him a $10 bag that seemed light, so they had words and Rigo punched him in the face. According to the narco code, the guy is going to have to come back hard. The alternatives are ostracism or death.
They're coming for us, Rigo says. We're fucking at war right now.
Then Rigo sits down on his bed and starts to pass out. Thinking there's a gang of killers on the way, the Gringo says, Motherfucker, what the fuck?
Rigo wakes up for a second. I just need some milk and cookies, Mom.
After that, nothing will rouse him. So the Gringo takes his gun and stands watch all night, hoping this nightmare will dissipate in the light of morning.
No such luck. In the light of morning, Rigo still wants to kill the guy. He calls his cousin Demente, a hit man who shows up with an extra Glock. Rigo says, I'll talk to the guy, but I'll probably shoot him. And Demente holds out the gun to the Gringo.
This is it, the point of no return. If the Gringo doesn't take the gun, his brief, improbable career as a white American in a Mexican cartel is over.
Let's do it, he says.
The Gringo from Portland is going to war.
Before he went to Mexico, the Gringo was an athletic kid from a prosperous American family with two beach houses. Life was good until he was 11, when his parents divorced and his mother married a much younger man, leaving the Gringo with a fatherless ache that lasted all through his teen years. But he poured his energy into sports and never took illegal drugs till he was 23. He made all-state in high school and got a football scholarship to Portland State, where he picked up a bachelor's degree in communication and a painkiller habit. His biggest rebellion was a taste for Latin American revolutionary history. After college he found work as a high school football coach.
He's telling this story at his mother's house in Portland. He's been back from Mexico for two and a half months, found a job doing telemarketing from a sterile cubicle and taking shit from a snotty boss, and he's trying to sort out his feelings. Should he go straight? Should he go back to the cartel? You get burned if you stand by the fire, he says, but who wants to be cold?
His dilemma began soon after he graduated from college, when he started selling painkillers to pay for his habit. He started to think of himself as an "illegalist," his term for a revolutionary without a revolution. He read Mao and Castro and Chomsky and Kropotkin, cultivating a rage against a society that is created to keep us from thought and from being happy.
Three years later everything fell apart. One of my friends is in a mental institution, one got addicted to heroin, and I introduced them to pills. He felt so bad, he stopped caring if he lived or died and did reckless things that attracted the attention of the police. So when his mom saw an ad for English teachers in Guadalajara, he jumped at the chance to escape. Emiliano Zapata! Pancho Villa! What better place to clean up than sunny Mexico?
He arrived in October and got a job teaching English at a factory, waking up at 6:30 and catching the train, a period he now thinks of as the time I was trying to pretend to be a normal person. But one night, he and another teacher were in a club and a guy came up with a tray of free beer, said he was a hit man from Michoacán who had decided to protect them—and lifted his shirt to flash his gun. The Gringo was fascinated. In the circles he was running in, narcos were Robin Hoods who battled the corrupt government and refused to abide by social norms. Ballads memorialized narcos' deaths. What could be cooler?
That November, the same teacher took him to a party in a big house on a tree-lined street near the Expo Guadalajara. The host was a skinny young guy who spoke perfect English. Call me Rigo, he said, launching into the fantastic story of his life as a fourth-generation narco. One of his first memories was his dad kicking a hole in the wall and digging out two cases of money and a shotgun. He was eight. Next time they met, he was 16 and his dad gave him an ounce of cocaine for a Christmas present.
Another night in another club, one of the Gringo's friends bought some ecstasy from a guy whose boss then came up to their table. He was in his 30s, a good-looking, relaxed dude, six feet tall, big for a Mexican, with the Buddha belly of a man who loves to drink and party. Call me Cuz, he said.
Cuz and the Gringo hit it off. Cuz was funny, an outgoing party guy everybody instantly liked. He grew up in Juárez and loved Americans, was a huge music fan and rave promoter. Soon they were exchanging stories about their backgrounds, and it was amazing because they were both the black sheep of wealthy families with elder brothers who were the favorite. They both loved Scarface and Pulp Fiction and American Gangster. They talked about the bad things they had done and the lives they were destined to live. You can correct yourself all you want, Cuz said, but you're still going to be that person, the person you are.
That night, Cuz made out like he was a little guy who sold a few pills at raves. You hang out with these teachers; you could sell to these teachers, he said, giving the Gringo half an X to try. Remember, call me tomorrow. Don't forget.
The Gringo did as he was told.
A week later, Cuz called back. Let's get some beers and go to this little party. So they gathered some of the Gringo's friends and hopped in a cab and drove till they were 40 miles out of town and starting to get nervous. Suddenly, at the top of a hill, a squad of federales appeared. They searched everybody but Cuz, who walked right past them as if he were invisible. The Gringo and his friends followed him over a ridge onto a mountaintop lit up like a nightclub with 5,000 people dancing. A line of gunmen in ski masks stood guard around the perimeter with AR-15s. The Gringo turned to Cuz. Are those more federales?
No, those are our dudes.
The Gringo was starting to realize that Cuz was connected in a big way. He walked from one hug and high-five to the next. He seemed to know everybody. He led the Gringo to a tent with heat lamps and black leather couches and beautiful women who all seemed to be wearing big fat gold men's watches—the sign of a narco princess, as the Gringo would soon learn. You see one of those watches on a girl, you steer clear.
They were in the narco tent. Famous DJs from Europe chatted nervously with the gangsters, who tended to fall into categories denoted by the drugs they sold—the coke guys were the scariest, dancing like maniacs and giving you that cold coke stare. But the Gringo was oblivious, bopping up to the most dangerous guys and babbling like a goofball. He had a way of twisting his face into comic expressions that contradicted his football body and made him hard to pigeonhole: Was he a thug or an idiot? Not always in a friendly way, the narcos asked, Who is this guy?
Cuz wanted them all to take acid. The Gringo had never done hallucinogens before but found it hard to say no. Cuz just laughed at everything. There was no darkness in him, no judgment. Nothing was true, so everything was permitted, as the old Russian anarchists used to say. Fuck it, the Gringo said. Let's do it. So the sun came up as the acid came on and they were in this beautiful Mexican countryside where everything seemed to fall into place and Cuz seemed like a prophet. The world was divided into good and evil and light and dark, he said, but all divisions were profitable to somebody and it was the same with the cartels dividing the world into families, raising prices in collusion with the cartel of the U.S. government. But some day the world would be one, and all the countries and cartels would go away. That's why Cuz didn't use hit men or deal heroin or speed or crack, because that ruined people's lives. If it was his destiny to be a criminal, he could at least improve his karma by sticking to softer drugs.
If we're dealing coke to a girl, he said, what will she do? Break into her parents' room and steal money out of her dad's wallet. If she's on X, she sneaks into her dad's room to give him a hug.
Oh, how they laughed! In the Gringo's mind, it all made perfect sense, as if his whole life had been leading up to this moment. Stuck between being a bad son and a good son, he could make up for the sins of selling those horrible painkillers and getting his friends addicted and still follow his illegalist destiny. He could have a stretch of lawlessness in a place where lawlessness still exists. In his addled mind, it was a strange kind of self-improvement program that might finally purge his suicidal impulses. His Che Guevara quote tattoo said it all: We cannot be sure of having anything to live for unless we're willing to die for it.
Still, the good son had to teach the next day. So Cuz walked him down to a little mom-and-pop stand to catch the bus back to Guadalajara. While they waited, Cuz turned his wild-eyed grin on the cashier. I'm on acid right now, he said.
The cashier smiled. The 1970s are back—nice.
Cuz started him off at a high price, $7 a pill, supplying acid, X and molly, which is X so pure you can snort it or put it under your tongue. The molly sold for $15 each. The Gringo could make $400 in a single night, almost as much as he earned for a whole month of teaching. He also started hanging out with Cuz a couple of days a week, helping him sort and package pills and move money from place to place.
Soon after, his mom came down for the holidays, and Cuz took them out to lunch at a fancy Argentine steak place. She asked, Is Mexico safe? Cuz said, Oh, don't worry; we're just getting rid of all the dirt balls, rapists and killers to make a better society. They hit it off, even became Facebook friends, and that helped seal the Gringo's bond with Cuz, because Mexico is all about family. He didn't tell his mom that 18 headless bodies had just been found a mile from her hotel.
By January he had stopped teaching altogether. He worked parties and gay clubs and hung out with hot French girls. He was their peek into the glamorous narco lifestyle—a dancing bear, as he puts it.
But more and more, he found himself hanging out with Rigo. Talk about an illegalist! Rigo would walk out of a club and shoot his gun in the air. He would fire off a couple of rounds at the front door instead of ringing the doorbell. He had been a meth addict, a heroin addict, a professional killer who took payment in cars. He never judged and never criticized, accepting the craziest behavior with a laugh and a shrug. I always like having people around who are crazier than I am. More important, he was the dauphin of a powerful cartel family, and as long as he was around, nobody would touch them—as the Gringo learned one night when he got into a club dispute with a thug who threatened to slit his throat. He went straight home and called Rigo.
This fucking guy from Sinaloa threatened to kill me, he said.
Don't worry, Rigo said. They'd have to get permission to hit a white guy and his uncle would hear about it. I'll put the word out; nothing will happen.
And nothing did.
Around March, the Gringo moved in with Rigo. Their housemates included a Satanist death-metal fan who had been arrested for manslaughter, the burned-out son of another powerful family and a hot-dog salesman who doubled as muscle in dangerous times. There were bullet holes in the palm trees and rumors of bodies buried in the backyard, left by a former owner who led one of the cartels. They called it the House of Pain, and the Gringo made it his mission to turn it into the Happy House. To Rigo, he was a minty blast of American optimism.
For the first month, they did a lot of coke. People would come by, drink a beer, buy some pills. Or they'd go to one of the nightclubs Rigo's uncle owned, hanging out in a private lounge with bottles of champagne and Johnnie Walker Black, the narcos' favorite drink. Rigo's uncle would come by with his fancy watch and $300 shoes and give them a big bag of lavada, the narco drug of choice, coke double-washed to clean out the chemicals. It had no bite and didn't make you hunger for more, just lifted you up on a waft of soft air and deposited you in a fluffy cloud—and it smelled like strawberries.
Hour after hour Rigo would explain the business. Somebody always runs the plaza, which is sometimes an actual plaza and sometimes just a part of town. Rigo knew how much things cost, how to move things, how things worked in the U.S. and what groups you needed to make alliances with. He taught the Gringo how to recognize other narcos, the flashy ones who wore designer sunglasses and glittery shirts and the kind who looked like skate punks. Almost always they carried three phones: one for the boss, one for the customers and one for the family. And you have to know your history, he said. The narcos get offended when you don't know the history of Mexico or the cartels.
The management of violence had a single rigid rule: If they lay their hands on you, come back tenfold. That's how Rigo's cousin was killed. He set up a meeting between two guys who were fighting, and one of the guys slapped the other guy. The guy who was slapped killed the guy who slapped him and then killed Rigo's cousin just for setting up the meeting. So Rigo and his hit-man cousin Demente had no choice. They burst into the man's home and killed him along with his entire family.
After that, Rigo went out of control. His uncle was dropping off kilos of crystal and Rigo was such a good cleaner he could save a tenth of the product, which he smoked. He got so paranoid he spent half his time in his room with his gun. He cheated on his wife and she left with their three kids. Finally his uncle came to him and said, You're skinny; you don't look so good. I hate to see you like this. I'm not going to do business with you till you clean up.
Rigo got a job as a bellhop, got fired and got another job and got fired again. And another. And another. Finally his uncle called and said, What are you planning on doing?
I want to do whatever you want me to do and gain your trust back, Rigo answered.
That's why Rigo was so obsessed with the rules he was always breaking. Under his training, the Gringo felt militarized. They were soldiers in a war, brothers in arms, and nothing in his white-bread American life had ever felt so real.
All that winter the Gringo continued to work as Cuz's sidekick. Sometimes Cuz would say, You want to make some money, just drive this down the street. One time he drove 15,000 pills to a guy's house. Once, Cuz came out with a black bag the size of a loaf of bread, a million pesos in small bills. Cuz made it all seem like a rolling party, blasting his beats on the car radio. You hear this part? You hear this part?
One day Cuz was flipping through a magazine called Proceso and he came to a picture of Joaquín "El Chapo" Guzmán, leader of the Sinaloa cartel and a billionaire who has appeared on Forbes magazine's list of the world's richest men. He asked, What do you think about this guy?
I don't know what to think, the Gringo said.
He'll fuck you over, but he has a big heart, Cuz said. He'll fuck you over if you need to be fucked over.
That was the first hint that the Gringo's chain of command ultimately stopped with El Chapo himself. The next hint came from another regular at Rigo's house, a volatile 39-year-old gangster named Roberto who dated an Argentinean stripper and loved to talk about killing people. If I was having lunch with your mom, he said with an evil grin, I would tell her, "He's with Chapo now."
So the Gringo was working for the Sinaloa cartel, the most powerful drug-trafficking organization in the world. So be it, he thought. He had come to see everything through the eyes of his friends, whom he loved for their loyalty and straightforward, no-bullshit way of living. The other cartels were the dickheads. Worst of all were Los Zetas, a cartel from southern Mexico that was making a big push on Guadalajara and the north. They use a lot of poor people to do their shit, guys from the projects, Central American guys, guys who are willing to kill for nothing. Chapo ran the good cartel. He buys things for people and helps with public works projects and stuff. To this day, the Gringo always calls Cuz "my boss," and it's hard not to hear an echo of the fatherless son in his voice.
But the sane part of him, the part that wanted to live, started to live in fear. At one of the mountain parties, he saw a guy hit on one of the narco princesses and get dragged out into the night by two big guys, never to be seen again. At another Cuz was in the narco tent, chatting with a former MMA fighter, when the Gringo looked too long at his girlfriend and made a joke about his fighting skills. Are you challenging me? the MMA fighter asked. The tension lasted all through the long night. And Rigo's house kept getting crazier. One guy named Manuel was so out of control they'd put Xanax in his drink to calm him down. One time he opened the refrigerator and pissed in one of the drawers, so they beat him up and threw him in the street. An hour later he came stumbling back. Rigo said, I'm sorry I hit you, but you can't piss in the fridge.
Manuel looked confused. I pissed in the fridge?
By the night the mirror came crashing down, when Rigo roared his war cry and the Gringo made his decision to take the gun, all this seemed almost normal. They prepared for the gunfight by doing coke and listening to heavy metal for 10 hours. That made perfect sense too. When they finally got to the projects, it was three in the morning and the Gringo was so wired he pissed on a gang sign and shouted, Come out, motherfuckers. We're here.
The coke dealer appeared with 10 buddies. They fanned out behind him as Rigo walked up to the guy, his nine in his back pocket. The Gringo moved his hand over his piece, ready to draw.
For a long moment life and death hung in the balance.
Finally the dealer stepped forward and held out his right hand. I'm so sorry, he said.
He had discovered who Rigo's uncle was, and he was scared to the point of shaking. That's when the Gringo finally had a flash of sanity. What the fuck am I doing here? How did I get into this? But it passed quickly as they left in triumph, Rigo and Demente laughing at the crazy Gringo pissing on the gang sign. El Gringo es loco, said Demente—high praise from a guy whose nickname translates as "insane."
As a reward for his service, Rigo revealed his real last name. From now on, bro, you are family. "La Flama Blanca" was no longer enough. The crazy white boy from Portland deserved a new name: El Gringo Loco.
All that summer, protected by Rigo's name, El Gringo Loco worked a circuit of three beach towns—Manzanillo, Puerto Vallarta and Sayulita. By now he was paying $4 a pill and selling them for $25 each. He quit drinking and cut back on X and even looked into a job selling time-shares at inflated prices but decided it was too dishonest. You get a pill from me and it's a good pill and you pay the same price everyone is paying. Taking money from people in a fraud, I couldn't fucking do it.
That's the paradox he still can't get over. In Portland he might have done it. But in this world where violence settled disputes, the Bob Dylan rule applied: To live outside the law you must be honest.
But the paranoia got worse. At night his mind would go to the worst thoughts—torture, death, dismemberment, dishonor. One night in Sayulita he was selling in a bar and a guy with a pit bull took him into a back room, where a group of men were waiting for him. The boss pointed a finger at him and pulled an imaginary trigger. You need to leave—you need to leave now. Another night in Puerto Vallarta a Zeta chieftain cornered him in a restaurant. I know where your fucking pills come from, man. You shouldn't be working here. This is past your border. Another night he was at a party, and Roberto announced, This is the boss from the dragonflies. This is the distributor. He was pointing at the Gringo. The problem was, dragonflies were a superior brand of X controlled by another cartel. The Gringo wasn't supposed to be selling them.
Shut the fuck up, he told Roberto. You're going to get me killed.
Roberto gave him the cold eye. You're lucky you're my friend.
The beautiful girl who gave blow jobs for X was no consolation. To get his mind off his troubles the Gringo started to write poetry. I need to get the crazy out of my life, he thought.
Instead, he moved back into Rigo's house for the three craziest months of his life, partying his way into narco legend.
In November it all came crashing down. Cuz sent him to Mexico City with 10 kilos of weed and he came back with 50,000 pesos in his pocket, and no sooner did he arrive back at Rigo's house than he ran into a phalanx of cops. Hey, gringo, we need to see ID.
A year had passed since he started the narco life. The cops searched him and found the money. What the fuck is this? He put on an innocent face. That's my rent. The cops searched further and found an X. What the fuck is this? He said, Guys, these aren't my jeans. They cuffed him and put him in the car. From the backseat he tried to make a deal. Take half the money and we call it a day.
No deal.
Still afraid to give his real name, he pretended to be German and demanded a translator. That pissed the cops off so much, they sent him to one of the most notorious prisons in Mexico, Puente Grande. On the bus another prisoner warned him, Gringo, you better get ready. These guys don't play.
Walking in, he was shaking inside. They put him in a tiny cell with six other men. The showers didn't work; you had to pay for your food, phone calls, weed—that's all they did in prison, smoke weed. He found his way to a neutral area called Beverly Hills and made friends with some cholos, who saved his ass when he got into a fight with another narco. Finally Rigo called his mom, and his mom found Cuz on Facebook and they hired a lawyer, who got him transferred to an immigration prison to wait for his papers. It took 17 days. One day a guy from Honduras brought up the Zetas, and El Gringo Loco couldn't help repeating the Sinaloa line: Their own mothers don't love them.
Yo soy los Zetas, the Honduran said. After a tense moment, the Gringo twisted his face into one of his goofy expressions and cracked a joke. Oh, but I don't know any from Honduras.
Laughter saved him once again. The next day he was on a plane back to Portland.
Now he's going back to Mexico. It has been 10 weeks since he was deported, and he's already sick of his cubicle job. He's sitting in his mother's elegant suburban house, skimming the internet for news about Guadalajara, where a cartel prince called El Changel just got wounded in a gun battle with police, unleashing violence all over western Mexico. Still, he thinks it's a fine time to slip back down for one more taste of the narco life. The complication is, he's bringing a reporter who looks alarmingly like a DEA agent—me. Hopefully his friends won't think he got turned in prison.
The night before he leaves he sends me this message:
I feel nervous, good and excited, mostly nervous. I mean, I trust my people, but these are killers—if I was not nervous then I suppose I would need to check my pulse. I did not sleep well last night, I have to get my war face on. In the end I am a soldier and I have trained myself for this. I have said good-bye to my friends, and if I go then it has been a hell of a ride. I get to go from being a normal white guy who works a nine-to-five and stands in line at the grocery store to a man who is feared, respected and loved. I look forward to it with an absurd amount of excitement. In the end I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.
After his plane lands, the Gringo meets me in a hotel lobby. I can't believe I'm back here, he says. It's definitely not a world I want to come back to.
But he's going to go see Cuz tonight to get some acid and X and do a few little deals. And Rigo is coming over in a few minutes—in fact, there he is now, just as the Gringo described him, a skinny, good-looking guy who looks about 25, if 25 were as sad as 70. He's tweaked out on something, fanning his neck and impatient to go see a hostess who used to be a narco wife—yes, she has a gold watch. A nice one, the Gringo says.
Rigo doesn't care. He's supposed to meet her in eight minutes. No, seven minutes. And man, what an ass she has. She's sitting on it.
They drain their beers and go.
The scariest part is the anticipation of meeting Cuz for the first time. The cartels really don't like journalists—according to the Committee to Protect Journalists, they've beheaded, tortured and shot at least 45 of them in the past seven years. Many more have disappeared.
The next afternoon the Gringo takes me to Rigo's house. This too is just as he described it, a two-story place on a pretty, tree-lined street. Inside it's just raw walls and a couple of sofas around a glass coffee table, some weights against a wall, a brown lawn out back. Rigo points out a big hole where a friend shot the wall. The doors have all been kicked in; not a single one closes properly. Out back they show off the bullet holes in the trees.
Odd as it may be, Rigo really does seem like a sweet guy, eager to like and be liked. Maybe that's why he starts telling his backstory, his teen years cleaning meth and the lessons his father taught him: It's better to have a gun and not use it than to need a gun and not have it, for example. Each story has sub-stories and punch lines to illustrate the ridiculous glory of narco life. Over and over he insists the narcos are good people and kill only people who need to be killed—except the Zetas, of course.
When we part that night, Rigo pushes a button on his dashboard and then another button to release a secret compartment—in some narco cars you have to tune the radio to a certain station before you push the buttons. Inside is a space that spans the width of the car, big enough for 40 kilos. He takes out a bag of X and hands it to the Gringo—to El Gringo Loco.
Saturday, Rigo and the Gringo head downtown for some six-peso tacos. Rigo's already on his second or third beer of the day. Every few minutes he spots some hot girl. Look at that ass. She's sitting on it! Walking toward the city's big open-air market, they stop for Cuban cigars and some gifts for the Gringo's nieces. At the taco stand Rigo brings up the guy who shot his cousin. We killed his whole family, just walked into the house and started shooting.
In the same detached voice, he says he killed one of them from about as far away as those poles across the street. It's not like the movies. You pull the trigger and he falls down. There's no blood.
How does he carry that around? No problem, he answers. I had nightmares for a couple of weeks, but they were about my cousin dying alone in the street. I don't have any remorse.
Cuz calls and the Gringo is already laughing by the time he picks up the phone. They make plans to meet at a steakhouse so he can introduce me. Before the Gringo hangs up, he asks, Do you have any wash? Meaning lavada, the double-washed strawberry cocaine of the narcos. Great, bring me some. Yeah, I got the money.
A few more hours, a few more beers, and it's time to meet the boss. At the steakhouse they get a table in the back and shoot the shit until he shows up—a big guy with a small forehead and a Fred Flintstone jaw darkened by a five-o'clock shadow. His girlfriend is a green-eyed beauty with major cleavage and skintight leatherette pants. After some teasing about Cuz's Polish soccer jersey—I just bought it to go with my shoes; I didn't even look at the logo—the Gringo asks if he brought the wash. Cuz hands over a little plastic bag filled with white powder, and the Gringo turns aside to take a quick snort off the tip of Rigo's ignition key. Nobody saw me, did they? Cuz says, Yes, they saw you. He thinks it's funny.
After lunch we walk out of the restaurant with beers in our hands. A waitress stops us, so we chug down in the doorway and head for the car. Another bump off the ignition key for everyone and we're off, following Cuz's black SUV—leaving the safety of a public place, putting our lives in his hands. Adrenaline mixes with the cocaine, and every nerve is thrumming with a heightened sense of being alive. There's the club where I shot off the gun, Rigo says. There's the doorway where my cousin got killed.
Cuz leads us to a house in a suburban neighborhood with a pool and a bunch of attractive people drinking, an oddly domestic scene with a little kid running around the pool and five narcos huddling across the yard. There's a mountain party tonight, and they're partying here until it starts. The narcos slip outside to smoke a little dope, slip into the bathroom to snort the lavada. Cuz wants everyone to stay cool so they can make it to the mountain party tonight.
Standing behind his boss, the Gringo shakes his head—Please, God, no. Cuz always wants to hang out in the narco tent, and you're stuck out there in the middle of nowhere with all those guns—no thanks. But he doesn't say this to his boss.
Cuz doesn't take anything too seriously. His family is so rich, he says, that his older brother, the chosen one, is one of the five biggest landowners in Mexico. When Cuz's father dies, he'll inherit a fortune. So he keeps his business low-key, running the pill market in Guadalajara and on the coast. As long as he sticks to pills and avoids the cocaine and meth other families control, he's all right.
And El Gringo Loco? Why him? Was it his white skin? His brains? His twisted sense of humor?
He's my little brother, Cuz says.
After a couple of hours the Gringo, brimming with relief, says good-bye. Bro-hugs all around, plus promises to stay relatively straight and rise at dawn for the second phase of the mountain party—Cuz is a hard guy to say no to.
Now the real party begins. We head downtown to the club district, and man, is it hopping. The streets are jammed with sexy young women tottering by in high heels and short, tight skirts. Rigo leads the way into an American-style bar, and the shaggy young bartender spots the Gringo, comes around the bar to greet him with open arms. Where the fuck have you been? He gives them free beers and shots and after a while takes the Gringo into the bathroom to do a little deal. The Gringo loves the action, it is clear, loves being the American all the Mexicans want to see. He says he's thinking of doing six months in the U.S. and six months down here. You should come down for spring break, Rigo says. Yeah, that's when the six months would start. There's a stubborn core deep in that skinny body of Rigo's that just doesn't give a shit about living. It's oddly endearing. He wants to get healthy and be good but deep down can't believe that he deserves it, so he protects and punishes himself with booze and drugs and lays his neck bare to the knife of existence—which is, when you think about it, pretty much how you'd want a man who has killed 15 people to feel.
Outside, the Gringo sighs. You see how he is.
Never mind. The night goes on. Another cerveza. Another snort. The true El Gringo Loco is coming out now, sliding free in the haze of intoxicants. On the great avenue of trees and fountains called Lopez Mateos there's a street party with a reggae band, and the crowd is like Times Square on New Year's Eve. One of Rigo's girls shows up—very pretty and sweet—and then it's on to a rock club called Barramericano, where a good band is playing the Strokes note for note, then on to his uncle's club with the pretty girl driving.
Here we are at one of the best clubs in Guadalajara. Do you want to go through the front door or the narco door? Rigo asks.
The narco door, of course. It's black steel with a little speakeasy barred window and opens wide for Rigo. Everyone's so happy to see him. Inside the club is huge and packed with beautiful women and sharp men and spinning lights and a sound system as fancy and expensive—Rigo says it cost a million bucks—as ones in the best clubs in New York.
Ah, Mexico. El Gringo Loco is in his element now, hitting on the prettiest women. With his massive shoulders and goofy animated face, he is the dancing bear, and you can't help but laugh when he shimmies into yet another gaggle of beautiful women. And now Rigo is hitting on a stunning little thing in a skintight micromini while his date waits at the table. Dude, you already got a hottie right there! He laughs. Yeah, but look at that ass. She's sitting on it!
This goes on till five in the morning. Then Rigo takes his hottie home and drops another X. Good times, he says.
Two days later El Gringo Loco flies back to Portland and his telemarketing cubicle. In the morning he writes this note:
For now, I will try the "normal" life and see how it fits. I will try to laugh at the guy who talks shit to me at the club, listen to my boss belittle me in front of my employees and remember this is not Mexico and I can't just call one of my friends to teach him his final lesson. The days of El Gringo Loco are done.…
Then, thinking again of Mexico, glorious tragic Mexico, where the women are beautiful and life is sweetened by the presence of death, he adds a final line:
But never say never.…
Names have been changed to protect the reporter.


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2013 Barrett Jackson, ERN Live / Craftsman DIY Pavilion demonstration using the Miller Multimatic 200 to install some Rigid Industries LED lights.
The Multimatic 200 is easy to use and portable. You just set the size wire and thickness of the metal and everything is automatic. This unit MIG's, TIG's and stick welds. 120 or 240. We use them on our off road racing chase trucks and in the pits.
Alan Taylor - Entertainment Radio Network
Brian Ostrom - MCM Motorsports
Facebook: Baja Racing Design


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Product Information
Ingredients: Deionized Water, Grape Seed Oil, Avocado Oil, Caprylic/Capric Triglyceride, Emulsifying Wax NF, Glyceryl Stearate, Jojoba Seed Oil, Shea Butter, Aloe Barbadensis Leaf Juice, Stearic Acid, Tocopherol (Vitamin E), Silk Amino Acids, Glycerine (Vegetable Origin), Sorbitol, Cyclopentasiloxane, Phenoxyethanol and Caprylyl Glycol (Optiphen®), Methyl Cellulose, Allantoin, Fragrance
Size: Approx 4 ounces.
Other: Our Hand & Body Lotion contains Silk Amino Acids, and is NOT vegan.
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New Catholic Dictionary – Saint Clare of Montefalco
Latin: clarus, famous
Virgin, born Montefalco, Italy, c.1268; died there, 1308. She was probably a secular Franciscan tertiary in her youth and later a nun in the Third Order of Saint Augustine. She became Abbess of Santa Croce, 1295. Her life was remarkable for her devotion to the Passion of Christ. Emblems: scales. Feast, 18 August.
- "Saint Clare of Montefalco". . CatholicSaints.Info. CatholicSaints.Info. 25 November 2016. Web. 20 September 2019. <>


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Taking the Next Step: Shattered in an Instant
"The California 200 is a race that's put on by Mojave Desert Racing. I was out there with my two children, Heather and Jakob. As we were talking with people, a truck went by," recounted Travis.
"My dad told my little brother and his friend to get back a little bit," said 21-year-old Heather.
"It happened so fast. I looked left, and I saw a white flash," Travis said.
"I was hit by the truck as it was flipping, and it threw me through the air and knocked me on the ground," Travis said. "I remember looking up and seeing this truck rolling. It came to a stop upside down on my legs."
"The next thing I remember was feeling gas dripping on me, and my first instinct was to try and get away from it," Heather recalled. "I was underneath the bed of the truck after it flipped. This woman had grabbed me, and it was just utter chaos."
Travis sustained serious injuries as a result of the crash, breaking his neck in three places as well as five ribs. The driver survived the accident, and Travis remembers making eye contact with him as he lay under the truck. "It was like reality came flooding in: 'Oh, my God. Where are my kids?' I went into a panic," he said. "My son, Jakob, found me. He thought I had passed away. He started screaming, 'My dad's dead! My dad's dead!'"
Travis gives an update since the show:
Wow. That is all I can say. As I sit drinking coffee this morning and pondering life, I have to admit it is good to be alive. I don't quite know if I'll ever be capable of showing all my appreciation to so many of you. There have been people who have helped me out in so many ways. I have often thought about karma, and the talk of it all. Sure, I always stop and help strangers, probably because I always tend to view things as, "What would I want if I was them?" In a way, I guess I always help out for the pure self-indulgent fact that it makes me feel good to help others, strangers, no strings attached, no expectation of a returned favor.
We all talk of and think of karma, but how many of us have had the blessing of it walking into our lives, truly? I never did. Until that day ... a day which cast me into the darkest place in my life, to look into the depths of one's own soul and admit to that you are truly scared. I was lost, feeling alone, and so, so scared. I know there are some of you who are reading this who know exactly what I am talking about. You have to live it to fully grasp its cold feel. It is unlike anything one can experience, and for those of us that have walked it, you pray others won't have to follow this path.
As I sat in the middle of my unfamiliar forest, lost, hurt and alone, I could see lights flickering in the distance. I could hear voices but could not find the strength to yell for help, and at times asked myself how anyone could even help if they found me. I couldn't move, but knew within my soul that I had to take the first steps to get help.
Then, the rescuers started to arrive. The posse came out, and did not stop searching until they found me. And when they did, I was concerned if my credit card could afford the debts to which I will owe them for the rescue. Would they help once they found out that I didn't have the funds to repay them for their work? I mumbled that concern, and what I found was a quiet response: "We aren't on the clock, Travis. These are your friends and loved one's volunteering their time for you. They are here because they have chosen to be. Karma called and said you had a lot of credit on the books. God himself called and said he had more work for you and asked his soldiers to go help find you. When you're better, talk to God, and find out what his plans are for you."
Wow, how humbled a person can be to see the true power of love and compassion. There are so many people who have done so very much for me. The Dr. Phil group has done so much for me when I wasn't able to. So, as I sit here, drinking my coffee, looking at the clouds, feeling better every day, reflecting on the past few months, I have come to understand that God is alive and well, and there are numerous folks who are genuine in this world of fast money and quick self-gratification.
I am getting stronger and better each day. Each and every one of you will truly never understand the impact of your support in helping me achieve this goal. Generosity is something we give to others to let them hold it when they need to, then pass it on to someone else when they need it. I can only show my true appreciation by handing it off to someone else, and I thank each one of you for giving me that ball when I was in need. I hope to pay it forward for someone else.
Special Thanks:
Lawlis Peavey PNP Center
Dr. Frank Lawlis


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Despite a common heritage, the social, economic, and political differences between the United States and Britain are, in some cases, great.
Like most west Europeans, Britons tend to have more left-wing views than Americans, but the first chart shows that this is often by a surprising margin. ("Left" and "right" are harder to locate than they were: here "left" implies a big-state, secular, socially liberal, internationalist and green outlook; right, the reverse.) The data are derived by subtracting left-wing answers from right-wing ones, for each country and for each main political grouping within each country. A net minus rating suggests predominantly left-wing views and a positive rating suggests a preponderance of right-wing views.
Compared to Britain, the US is a remarkably conservative nation. The companion chart is a good look at some of the data. (via gongblog)


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The World This Week - October 19th, 2012
Issued on: Modified:
In the US presidential race, it's neck-and-neck now that both sides have failed at demonizing the other candidate. Also, EU reform seen as liar's poker (with the hope that no one calls bluff) and the Bollywood wedding that has captivated a nation.
- Judah Grunstein, Editor-in-Chief, World Politics Review;
- Craig Copetas, Correspondent-at-large, Quartz/The Atlantic Group;
- Noopur Tiwari, Resident Editor Europe, NDTV;
- Ulrike Koltermann, Freelance journalist.
Programme prepared and produced by Paul Maakad, Anelise Borges and Mary Colombel


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[Eng/Swe] DD is a sonnaoffabish
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