Short stories and poems the author wishes to share
In what I believe
Is not important to you
Important for me
And what I believe
Changes with experience
Hopefully improves
The first stanza is a reply to anyone looking for a philosophical argument. There are those who would argue your beliefs for the purpose of justifying their own.
When one knows the rules
Then follows and abides them
It is called respect
Often the lack of it results in confrontation, especially in interpersonal matters. The one being disrespectful may even be unaware of his transgression.
Time can be defined:
The passing of the present.
Measured as you will,
A terse definition is often more accurate than a treatise on the subject. The vector of time is always pointing to the future.
Imagination
The source of human power
Ideas from it
Imagination
From inspiration to fact
The force be with you
The fundamental human characteristics are often glossed over and disregarded. Replaced by volumes of psycho drivel.
3-2-2026 The people of St Louis, and surrounding counties, need to realize that unless some form of metro government is brought about, the historic and culturally important city will continue to evaporate until it is gone, "leaving not a rack behind." The city needs the benefit of the thinking power of the rest of the area. The counties need to get over their petty selfishness and work for the greater good.
3-11-2026: Look around you people in St Louis and surrounds. You are standing at the back of the line. There is no one behind you. There is nothing for which to get in line. When you go, it's gone
3-18-2026: It may be because there's no way up. The ante to a US citizen in today's world is a car, car insurance, apt or house, and renter's or home insurance, cellphone, internet access, TV and streaming services, a college degree (and/or a trade if you're smart enough), and willing to sell yourself into slavery for health insurance.
There was a progression associated with St. Louis. People from less fortunate circumstances came to St. Louis to get jobs. These jobs were in manufacturing enterprises that were numerous there. Whole families worked in the same company because the HR people knew that they were good workers.
They came from smaller towns in the region and even from foreign countries, because this was where the opportunities were. As life progressed, some rose in the ranks of the company, or found better jobs in other companies. They received higher wages and found a place in the newer developments, in the city at first and then in the county. They left the older houses and neighborhoods behind as they were "movin' on up."
Their vacancies were filled by others who came to take the jobs that were opening because of promotions and turnover. These newcomers came to reside in the houses that others left, and were more affordable, in the older neighborhoods.
Then they moved on, and a new wave came in. This cycle was repeating continuously until the jobs went away. It could have been "globalization" as in the NAFTA, where jobs went to Mexico, China, and other parts of the world. Manufacturing moved away. The waves of people stopped coming for work. Now they came for welfare.
Complicit in this scenario are the demands of the workers via their unions. Higher wages and labor cost made the decision to relocate manufacturing easy to make. Why would I incur the higher cost of labor in St. Louis when I could relocate the work to areas that had significantly lower cost?
The situation was obscured by the higher paying jobs that the better educated workforce could perform. The bar was set too high for the entry-level manufacturers. Older, lower rent houses and areas went without tenants, were not maintained, and became uninhabitable.
At first the void was filled by the welfare seekers, but eventually they, too, vacated the area. So, now there are about 25,000 vacant lots and houses, and a large number of others on which structures nearing collapse are located. The stream of new occupants dwindled away.
Could it be possible that the President's tariffs are a way of turning the tide back to where manufacturing will once again be a "draw" for people to come to St. Louis, build or rehabilitate houses that are affordable for working people to get started up the ladder. I say St. Louis but it could be true for all the rust-belt cities in the country, especially those North and East of St. Louis.
Just now, sitting here in my recliner, working the AM Sudoku puzzle, into my mind flooded a memory. It was 8500 Oriole Avenue, Saint Louis, in the early summer. A motorcycle policeman was sitting on his cycle, in the street, off to the side in the shade of our sycamore tree.
He was big, in uniform, with the addition of black shiny, leather leg protectors that covered his legs from the knees to the ankles. They had silver buckles on adjusting straps at the top and bottom.
Several of us kids, we were all little, maybe 4 or 5 years old, gathered in a bunch around him. We may have been asking him questions. I think we must have been intrigued with this apparition, which none of us had seen before.
He remained there a while, observing the intersection. Then, probably due to a lack of action, he kick-started his motorcycle and left. We were impressed. That was 80 plus years later, never before recalled.
It was New Year's Eve, some years ago, when Gene and his wife came over from next door to celebrate the coming of the new year. They'd come over to let their daughter entertain her friends at their home with a party.
We were celebrating with a drink, telling stories, and jokes and generally passing the time in a quiet sort of way, when their daughter came to the back door. She said, "Dad, can you come home, things are getting out of hand."
Gene got up immediately, didn't ask any questions, and left. I went with him to back him up if necessary.
We walked into bedlam; loud music, spilled drinks, knots of kids standing around talking and laughing. There were many more than their daughter had invited. I heard one inebriated young fellow say to his buddy, trying to be cool, "This sucks, let's go to Julie's house. I heard they have lots of beer there." His buddy said, "We're at Julie's." To which the first fellow simply nodded.
Anyway, Gene was heroic in his action to save his house and belongings. He simply walked through the crowd calmly saying, "The party's over." He kept repeating this and, in just a few minutes, the house was empty except for his daughter and us.
Not one argument from anyone, the crowd got in their cars and left. I was astounded. And I was glad I wasn't out on the roads.