What Would Jimmy Do?

There are a lot of fast-food chicken places around and seems like more are popping up every day. When I was very young, there weren’t any. If you wanted chicken, you went to a regular restaurant and ordered fried chicken from the menu. I don’t remember other kinds of chicken being on the menu. But then again, I grew up in Oklahoma, where beef was king. A lot of people had fried chicken for their Sunday dinner (the noon meal, after church) but other than that, people ate beef. 

Well, anyhow, I got to thinking about Kentucky Fried Chicken and Colonel Sanders. I did some extensive research on Colonel Sanders and discovered some interesting things….
Up until age 40, Harland Sanders was running a service station in Kentucky that also served food. He later moved his operation to a restaurant across the street called the Sanders Cafe. His restaurant became popular and was noted for his featured fried chicken. 

So where does the “colonel” come in? My extensive research revealed that Sanders’ U.S. Army record shows he never made it past private.

It turns out you can be a colonel without really being a colonel. The rank of colonel has a distinguished history dating back to Roman times, but the precise meaning of the term has varied. Generally, a colonel commands a regiment, which can include as many as 5,000 soldiers. However, early Americans adopted the British tradition of conferring colonelships on members of the upper class who didn’t command soldiers directly, but served as figureheads. In colonial times before the Civil War, a wealthy landowner would often earn the title of colonel by funding a regiment of a local militia. These actions of politeness or respect became linked to the figure of the “Southern gentleman” as a mark of importance in the community. 

A number of states expanded this tradition by granting their governors the power to make ordinary citizens honorary colonels in recognition of a special achievement or contribution. In 1935, Kentucky Governor Ruby Laffon commissioned Harland Sanders as a Kentucky Colonel, and Governor Earle C. Clements did it again in 1949. It seems that Sanders had lost the original proclamation paper. At the time, Sanders was operating the small, but well-known Sanders Cafe, and was active in the community. 

Sanders liked how the title rolled off the tongue, and when he received his second commission, he embraced it whole-hog, or maybe whole-chicken. He adopted the wardrobe, facial hair, and walking cane that evoked the image of an old-time Southern gentleman. That person was memorable, and it helped him turn his restaurant into a thriving franchise operation. In February, 1964, he sold Kentucky Fried Chicken for $2 million, and he appeared in ads for the company for many years afterward. Colonel Sanders died in Louisville, Kentucky on December 16, 1980. 

Sanders is in good — but maybe a little odd — company. Other honorary Kentucky Colonels include Muhammad Ali, Elvis Presley, Ronald Reagan, Tiger Woods, Winston Churchill and Pope John Paul II.

I don’t know how “honored” John Paul II felt with the commission — he never went by Colonel Pope, or sipped mint juleps on the veranda of the Vatican — at least as far as I know.
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Well, here we are in August — famous for the “dog days” and what most people consider to be the last month of summer. I grew up in a farming community and the farmers always said that August was a time to reap what you’ve sown. I suppose that’s true — a lot of crops around here have been or are being harvested this time of year.

Summer is a time to try to keep up with lawn mowing — something that seems to get harder for me every year, but August also contributes to the outdoor work by encouraging weeds to grow. Back in the days of the Anglo-Saxons, August was called Weod Monath. That translates to “weed month,” and it’s literally true — I just read that in this month weeds and other plants grow the fastest (in the northern hemisphere.) 

Other than apparently providing just the right conditions for weeds, the month is a little bit unique in that in a standard year, there is no other month that begins on the same day of the week as August. In a leap year, August begins on the same day of the week as February. Now if that doesn’t prepare you for Jeopardy, I don’t know what will.
Anyhow, enjoy the rest of the summer…..
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Today is the anniversary of a yet unsolved modern mystery. Forty-six years ago today (July 30, 1975) former Teamsters Union leader Jimmy Hoffa was last seen outside a restaurant near Detroit, Michigan. 

James Riddle Hoffa was an American union leader that served as the President of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters (IBT) from 1958 until 1971. He played a major role in the growth and development of the union, which eventually became the largest, by membership, in the United States with over 2.3 million members at its peak during his terms as the union leader.

He became involved with organized crime during the early years of his Teamsters work, and this connection continued until his disappearance. He was convicted of jury tampering, attempted bribery and fraud in 1964, in two separate trials. He was imprisoned in 1967 and sentenced to thirteen years. In mid-1971, he resigned as president of the union as part of a pardon agreement with President Richard Nixon — he was released later that year.

Hoffa disappeared sometime after 2:45 p.m. on July 30, 1975 from the parking lot of the Red Fox restaurant in Bloomfield Township, a suburb of Detroit. He had told others he was going there to meet with two Mafia leaders — Anthony Giacalone and Anthony Provenzano. Provenzano was a Teamster leader in New Jersey and had earlier been close to Hoffa.

Hoffa’s wife reported him missing that evening. Police found his car, a Pontiac Grande Ville,  at the restaurant, unlocked, but there was no indication of what happened to him. The case continues to be the subject of rumor and speculation, and there is no shortage of theories…

One of the theories is that after he was murdered, pieces of his dismembered, frozen body were buried in the cement foundation of Giants Stadium, located in East Rutherford, NJ. The stadium was under construction at the time and bags of his body parts were mixed in with the cement that would become section 107 in the stadium. Even though this was a popular theory, when Giants Stadium was torn down in 2010, they didn’t even bother to check whether the body was there or not.

A mafia hitman, Frank “The Irishman” Sheehan claimed he killed Hoffa, who was his friend. Since there were hits out on Hoffa — he decided to do it himself. He said he took him to a house in Detroit, shot him twice in the back of the head and burned the body in a trash incinerator. When investigators visited the house, they found blood, but it was not Hoffa’s — nor did they find any other evidence supporting Sheehan’s story. Officials believe the story was entirely fabricated.

An associate of Hoffa, Joseph Franco, claims federal agents abducted Hoffa and threw him out of an airplane. According to Charlie Allen, Hoffa’s former bodyguard, and mob hit man, after Hoffa was murdered, his body was ground up and the remains put in a steel drum, which was then shipped to the Everglades and dumped — to be consumed by alligators. Marvin Elkind, a mafia chauffeur claims the remains were buried beneath the Renaissance Center in Detroit.

An Oakland County judge declared Hoffa officially dead on December 8, 1982, seven years after his disappearance.
So if you love a mystery, this one will probably be around for a long time — pick a theory, or make up your own….
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Even though it was never “officially” a war, 68 years ago today (July 27, 1953) the Korean Was ended with the signing of an armistice by U.S. and North Korea delegates at Panmunjom, Korea. The war had lasted just over three years.

Without getting into the history of the conflict, it should be noted that the United States never formally declared war on North Korea (or its allies China and the Soviet Union.) The U.S. military led the United Nations’ expeditionary force, but it was only acting on a UN Security Council resolution, and the UN itself cannot declare war.
It’s also interesting that no peace treaty was ever signed, so North and South Korea are technically still at war. 

In all, some 5 million soldiers and civilians lost their lives in the “war,” that is sometimes referred to as “the forgotten war” because it drew much less media attention than other conflicts like World War I and II and the Vietnam War. Someone noted that the most famous representation of the Korean War is the television series “M*A*S*H.”

But call it what you want, all those that served deserve to be remembered…
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The Olympics are finally underway — I haven’t seen any track and field events yet, but I thought this might be a good time to talk about marathons. A marathon covers 26.2 miles (42.2km) — that always seemed to be a peculiar distance to me. But the fact that the marathon is such a staple fixture in modern day athletics, I thought this peculiar distance deserved my extensive research.

As you might expect, my extensive research takes us back to Ancient Greece —to the Greco-Persian wars in 490 BC. As the legend goes, it all started with the most famous runner in ancient Greece, a soldier named Philippides (his name was later corrupted in text to Pheidippides.) For much of the fifth century, BC, the Greeks were at odds with the neighboring Persian Empire. In 490 BC, the mighty Persians, led by Darius I, attacked the Greeks at the city of Marathon. Despite being badly outnumbered, the Greeks managed to fend off the Persian troops — and, ended Darius’s attempts at conquering Greece. 

After the victory, Pheidippides ran in full armor from Marathon to Athens — about 25 miles — to announce the good news. After several hours of running through the rugged Greek countryside, he arrived at the gates of Athens crying, “Rejoice, we conquer!” as the Athenians rejoiced. Pheidippides then fell over dead.

Even though there was a lot of debate about the accuracy of this story, the legend stuck with the Greek population and when the modern Olympic Games were revived in Athens in 1896, a long-distance running event known as a “marathon” was introduced.

So the marathon certainly has ancient roots, but the race’s official length of 26.2 miles wasn’t established until the 20th century. In the first two modern Olympic Games, the “Pheidippides distance“ (about 25 miles) was used as the marathon distance. But things changed in 1908, when the Olympic Games were held in London. The British Olympic committee determined that the marathon route would start at Windsor Castle and end at the royal box in front of London’s newly built Olympic Stadium, a distance that happened to measure 26 miles, 385 yards.

There doesn’t seem to have been any good reason for the whims of the British lords, but 26.2 miles somehow became ingrained in the sport. By the 1924 Olympics in Paris, the arbitrary distance had become the standard for all marathons.

Marathons seem to get more popular every year — and not just as an Olympic sport. Every year in cities like Boston, New York and Chicago, thousands of professionals and amateurs turn out to participate. Of course, a lot of wiser people remember what happened to Pheidippides…
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A few days ago, on July 20, I talked about the anniversary of the first maned landing on the Moon. July 20 is certainly a memorable day for most Americans. But another anniversary that I intended to discuss on the 20th is pretty important to some people in Shepherdstown. 

July 20th, 2021 was the 13th anniversary of the (new) St. Agnes Church here in Shepherdstown. When we moved here, we went to church in what is now know as the St. Agnes Chapel. The building was built in the 1700s, was very small, occasionally had bats flying around inside and had absolutely no place to park. 

The initiative to build the new church was underway when we moved to Shepherdstown and we were fortunate enough to get in on some of those activities. The “new” church is not perfect, but it’s a huge improvement over the old facilities. 

It may be a little late — although it can probably never be too late to celebrate something special — but happy anniversary to St. Agnes. Every July 20th, we may think about Space and the Moon, but St. Agnes reminds us we’re in a pretty good place here in Shepherdstown.
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Anyone that has followed this blog over the years may remember that a few years ago, I talked about the Cleveland Indians being my favorite baseball team. I know it may seem strange growing up in Oklahoma that my favorite team would be the Cleveland Indians. 

The story of why my favorite team is the Indians can be found in the archives of this blog and even though it’s a spellbinding story and holds a lot of memories for me, today it just goes down as a part of history. Today, the Cleveland Indians are no more — the team name has been changed to the Cleveland Guardians.

I’ve been reminded many times that I don’t like change. That’s true, but I realize that change is inevitable and constant and often it’s necessary or for a good reason. I’m not questioning that there may be a good reason for ditching the Indians as the team name. 
Society in general, and sports teams in particular, recognize that team names often offend “minority” groups… in the case of the Indians — Native Americans. 

I’m not sure why “Indians” was chosen for the team mascot in 1915, but I never took it as a slur against anyone. I was born and raised in Oklahoma — known as Indian Territory before statehood —and have some Native American heritage, but it never occurred to me that the Cleveland Indians were derogatory or disrespectful in any way. I grew up playing Cowboys and Indians and the majority of people in Maysville. Oklahoma were not cowboys or Indians. 

I guess the change was inevitable — call it a sign of the times. And I can’t say that it wasn’t socially and probably morally the right thing to do. The Cleveland Indians weren’t always the Cleveland Indians — the team had three names before they became the Indians: Blues, Bronchos and Naps. But I alway knew them as the Indians.

When I first heard the team was to be call the guardians, I immediately thought of someone who looks after and is legally responsible for someone unable to manage their own affairs, like an incompetent or disabled person or a child. 
Of course, I didn’t grow up in Cleveland and “guardian” didn’t have any special meaning to me. Clevelanders have a special relationship with the term. Guardian was chosen to “honor” the statues named “The Guardians of Traffic” that adorn the Hope Memorial Bridge that is very near the ballpark.
As far s I know, those statues are unique to Cleveland, so I suspect the new name will prove to be fairly popular. 

But it’s just hard for me to imagine being an eight year old kid in Oklahoma, tuning in his crystal radio every night to listen to the Cleveland Guardians. What’s in a name? Sometimes a lot — and sometimes it’s a lot more than a lot….
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This month’s full moon will occur tonight…. July’s full moon is most commonly known as the Buck Moon, but some also call it the Full Thunder Moon. The Buck Moon was named by the Algonquin tribes that lived in the northeastern United States because it appears at the time of year when male deer regrow their antlers. It’s often called the Thunder Moon due to the frequent thunderstorms that are common in the summer.

Europeans often call the July full moon the Full Hay Moon — for the haymaking in June and July. For Hindus, Buddhists and Jains, this is the Guru Full Moon (Guru Puriima,) celebrated as a time for clearing the mind and honoring the guru or spiritual master.

For Theravada Buddhists, this full moon is Asalha Puha, also known as Dharma Day or Esala Poya, an important festival celebrating Buddha’s first sermon. The day of the full moon of Waso (the fourth month of the traditional Burmese lunisolar calendar) marks the start of the three-month annual Buddhist retreat called Vassa.

Tonight’s full moon will have an extra reddish or orange hue to it because of ash from the wildfires raging out west. The moon or sun near the horizon always looks reddish because it is being viewed through more of the Earth’s air, but the wildfire ash makes the effect more prominent.
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Happy Pi Approximation Day! Both you readers know that Pi Day (March 14) is a day that I celebrate every year — the day gets it’s name from 3.14, the first three digits of the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter. The date, March 14, is written as 3/14 — thus the name.

But today, July 22, when written as 22/7 (the 22nd of July) is a fraction that has a value of 3.132857 — so it also has the same first three digits of Pi.
Even though both 3.14 and 22/7 are only approximations of Pi, 22/7 is really closer to Pi than 3.14.
So if you’re a purist, today is a better Pi Day than March 14. 

In case you haven’t been following this blog, I should probably repeat that the March 14 Pi Day looks like 3.14 only for those that write dates in the month, then day format. That format is rarely used outside the Americas. Today, July 22, when written as 22/7, is in line with the European format.

Pi Day was born in the US where the month, then day format is used. Worldwide, by far the most popular date format is day/month/year — Pi Day (March 14) doesn’t work with the world’s most popular format, but the 22nd of July (22/7) does.

Anyhow, today is Pi Approximation Day, also known as Casual Pi Day. Pi has been known for almost 4000 years — it’s believed that mathematicians began to use the Greek letter for Pi (𝛑) in the 1700s. Pi is the mathematical constant with the most acknowledgement and recognition in the world. The Pi (𝛑) symbol has been used regularly in its mathematical sense for the past 250 years. Most scholars and experts also regard Pi as the most significant and interesting number in all mathematics. Pi is also called the “circular constant,” “Ludolph’s number” and “Archimedes’ constant.” 

So today, Pi Approximation Day, celebrates the Pi symbol (𝛑) and its importance to mathematics. No matter how you celebrate, recognize Pi to the extent that your belief in mathematics allows.
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Yesterday was a noteworthy day for the United States and those interested in the space program. We always remember the anniversary of the first Moon landing. Today, July 21 happens to also be a noteworthy day in the field of space exploration. It’s almost as signifiant at the Moon landing, but much sadder, and it also involves a landing.

On July 21, 2011, the Space Shuttle Atlantis landed at Kennedy Space Center. It was the final flight of NASA’s space shuttle program. The final shuttle mission was STS-135.

Atlantis was the fourth shuttle built and obviously the last one to fly into space. It was in service for 25 years and flew 33 missions. 

Atlantis was named after a ship that did work for Massachusetts’ Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute between 1930 and 1966. That sailing ship was the first to image the ocean floor using electronic sounding devices.

Atlantis had an impressive list of accomplishments during it’s lifetime, including being the last shuttle to visit the Hubble Space Telescope. During a mission in May of 2009, the Atlantis crew made 5 spacewalks to repair and add equipment to the Hubble. 

The first flight of Atlantis was October 3-7, 1985 (STS-51J) — it’s last flight was July 8-21, 2011 (STS-135.) During it’s 33 missions, Atlantis spent 306 days, 14 hours, 12 minutes and 43 seconds in space. 

To this day, Atlantis’ first flight is shrouded in secrecy. We know that mission STS-51J took five people into space and lasted four days — the payload was, obviously, classified. Today’s anniversary marks the end of an era and the last time a spaceship landed in Florida. RIP Atlantis — you had a good run.
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