THE LAST WORD
Now neighbors, have you ever attended a retirement party where the Director of the National Park Service personally showed up and said "Well now, Jed! After working for the NPS for some 30 or more years, in a variety of national parks you have accumulated a great deal of wisdom about how the Park Service should be run. I, on one hand, am but a humble Schedule C political appointee, who will fade and be forgotten as the Camas lily fades. You, on the other hand, are a great repository of institutional history and learning. We sincerely hope that you will distill some of your experience into a briefing paper that will guide us in the future!"
Haven't encountered this scenario yet? Keep your eyes open; the Second Coming is also in the future!
No, most retirement parties are low key, non-recriminatory affairs, in which a number of loyal friends tell some gentle, usually funny anecdotes about the retiree that illustrate his/her kindness and virtues The retiree, for his part, states what an honor and a pleasure it was to be associated with such a noble enterprise as the National Park Service and its equally noble employees. (Secretly, he/she is mortally glad to be out of the clutches of WASO!)
Still, breathes there a retiree with soul so dead that he/she has not had the desire to tell the organization and its leaders just where and how, in their opinion and expertise, how the NPS could be improved?
With that snippet of human nature in mind, THUNDERBEAR has decided to inaugurate a new feature called LAST WORD.
LAST WORD will be an interview with a Land Management retiree who wishes to finally get his/her two cents in on how his/her agency should be managed.
How are interviewees selected? Democratically, neighbors. We might ask you if you would like to be interviewed, or, if you are impatient or really, really have something that needs saying, you can get in touch with us at Thunderbear@erols.com. So, let's take a look at our first interview:
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COAL MINER'S SON: ROBERT CLAY CUNNINGHAM
The coal fields of Pennsylvania had a reputation for producing tough, resilient and down to earth people. Robert Clay Cunningham was no exception. He was born a coal miner's son in Johnstown, Pennsylvania and was raised in the little mining town of Nanty Glo. He grew up loving the outdoors and sports. He played half back, end and finally quarterbacked the local football team. He excelled in baseball and for a time was a major league prospect. However, nature and biology fascinated him and he looked beyond to college. "In that era, coal miner's kids didn't go to college, so I had to make my own way." Cunningham's way, like that of many, was to join the Army for the GI Bill. After basic and paratrooper training, he was offered a slot in Army counter intelligence and was assigned to Juarez, Mexico to help counter the efforts of the Soviet KGB. Juarez was the weekend "party" town for U.S. Servicemen from the highly secret White Sands Missile Range and Biggs Strategic Air Command. Understandably, the KGB was interested in what they had to say. "The KGB did their job and I did mine" Cunningham remarked. (Apparently well enough, that he was offered a job with Naval Counterintelligence (ONI) after graduating from college.) After the military, Clay went to college at Indiana University. (That's the one at Indiana, Pennsylvania, not the one at Bloomington, Indiana. Those of you of a certain age might recall that Indiana, Pennsylvania is also the home town of the actor, Jimmy Stewart, and yes, Cunningham did meet Stewart and even bought a .22 rifle from Stewart's father, proprietor of the local hardware store.) After earning a bachelor's degree in biology and a Master's degree in Wildlife management, Cunningham accepted an intake position with the National Park Service as a sub district ranger in Yellowstone. His next assignment was as law enforcement and resource management specialist at Theodore Roosevelt National Park. This was followed by an assignment to the North Cascades National Park as Stehekin District Ranger. (Where, according to one retired Washington State Trooper, "Cunningham raised the firearms proficiency level of the Washington State Police as nobody could believe that a little guy with coke bottle glasses could beat us consistently in pistol matches, but he always did!" One of the more politically delicate incidents was Cunningham's pursuit through the wilds of North Cascades of a sitting Congressman's son on drug dealing charges, ending in a successful capture and conviction) I asked Cunningham how he managed to get sidetracked to his next assignment Gateway NRA, after three successive "Green blood" Western parks. "My own damn fault!" He said, still rueful, "I applied for a Management Development position in biology, believing that all the biology positions were out West! He found out that (a) that wasn't true and (b) there was no way he could get out of going to Gateway. While at Gateway NRA, he flourished as research biologist, acting Deputy Superintendent, and Chief of Management and operations; so much so that he was later rewarded with the superintendency of one the premier Green blood parks, Denali. I asked Cunningham's supervisor, former regional director, John Cook, if he could remark on Cunningham's career at Denali: John laughed and said "Cunningham arrived in Alaska well prepared, having just completed what most or his peers considered the ultimate wilderness assignment, Gateway National Recreation Area, New York, New York. This was and is a key to Clay's character and that's that no challenge should go unconfronted. He approached his career much like he approached life -- with the commitment and energy of the Major League ballplayer he almost was. Clay has no "selective memory" and if he tells you it happened, it happened!" George Fleharty, the Denali Park concessioner, called Cunningham "One of the most unforgettable people I have ever known: a totally fascinating, bright, courageous guy!" Fleharty was particularly impressed with Cunningham's "forlorn hope" defense of Denali against Alaska's powerful Greed head congressional delegation; a defense made more difficult, according to Fleharty by the failure of the NPS Director to support Cunningham. In the end, Cunningham was removed from Alaska with a "Career Enhancement" move to Southern Arizona as superintendent of SOAR where he finished out his career. So, let's ask Cunningham some questions: TB: As a wildlife biologist, what would be your solution to the Yellowstone elk and bison problem, particularly the bison and brucellosis issue? RCC: Both the bison and elk herds of YELL have at various times throughout the parks history exceeded the carrying capacity of the park. Studies have shown that the vegetation is being modified by the larger populations. In the past, rangers have shot elk to reduce the population, which drew criticism from both the environmental critics and from sport hunters. I was present when we trapped large numbers of elk and shipped them to other states for release. I don't know if bison were ever trapped in Yellowstone, but we trapped entire herds at Theodore Roosevelt, Wind Cave, and the Badlands. So it is possible to capture some of Yellowstone's bison in spite of the heavy tree cover in many areas However, I realize that trapping is expensive, and I am not sure of the needs of various states that might take surplus animals. However, the question is, has anyone explored all the possibilities? Though quality management can be expensive, trapping and relocation, as well as vaccinating calves against Brucellosis are appropriate management options that are in the best interests of the proper management of parks and the animals as well. I have noticed that over the years both the Democrat and Republican administrations have consistently leaned toward the quick and least costly fix for a wide variety of problems concerning personnel, law enforcement, and wildlife management. The tendencies have been to seek solutions which do not require many hands- on management. In the bison and elk population increase problems their answer has been to throw them to the wolves and hope it all works out. The bison herd is now somewhere around 4,500 animals and the wolves have moved extensively off the reservation causing additional political problems and constant criticism. Complex problems often require considerable thought and expensive, complex solutions with a considerable amount of labor to achieve the best solution. In my opinion, that has not happened for this problem and a number of other NPS management problems. TB: Should the public have a strong say, as in veto, in park management? RCC: Surveying the public and securing their input for a proposed management action is a wise thing to do because none of us has all the answers. More important however the NPS should require that field rangers be well grounded in resource management knowledge. Any proposed management action requiring an Environmental Impact Statement or Environmental Assessment would receive various levels of in house reviews as well as public review. The odds favor that correct management action will statistically be selected more often than not because of those extensive reviews, but day to day decisions by field rangers at all levels and superintendents can incrementally and collectively, over time, significantly impact park resources. Park managers with a degree in natural and/or cultural resources, and having ascended through the "chairs" of experiential positions, would be properly equipped to manage America's finest natural and cultural resources. I don't believe the public should have veto power over such park managers, but maybe there is a greater demand for this public veto power because the government has paid so little attention to qualifications of their leadership and rangers. TB: Should park neighbors have a stronger say in the management of a park than "outsiders"? RCC: I define park neighbors as those businesses and other just outside the various park gates who have established their business, in many instances, because the park is here. Or, who will profit significantly more because the park is where it is in proximity to their business and more clients will pass or enter their doors. In all the parks, I have worked, those neighbors felt like they had a greater stake in the park than anyone else in America. In reality, they do! Their profits can be directly connected to the management decisions that will or will not be made for that park. I believe it is incumbent on the park manager to work closely with and keep his- her neighbors well informed, but the park belongs to the present and future populations of the world, and should be managed in the best interest of the NPS Organic Act of 1916 and the park's enabling legislation. TB: Unlike the US Forest Service, the NPS recruits staff from a wide variety of disciplines. What is your opinion on this practice? RCC: Field rangers should have a formal education that is consistent with the management and purpose of the National Park Service. If the Director is a political appointee schooled in Law, and the Regional Director rose through the ranks with a degree in business administration, and the park superintendent was a philosophy major in college, and the chief ranger has a criminal justice degree, and the district ranger was a former policeman and the area rangers acquired their permanent positions through a variety of other means such as fire specialist, search and rescue, or any number of college majors , there will be significant negative incremental resource management impacts to the park over time. Over the years I have written extensively on this subject, but have failed to convince anyone after Director Russ Dickenson that this was the most important consideration management has for the success or failure, and protection of the parks for the future. I believe all entry level park rangers should have a college degree consistent with the management and purpose of the NPS. That degree should be in the field aspects of the natural and or cultural sciences. A degree in Criminal Justice is NOT acceptable, nor is a degree in Parks / Recreation. In addition, all rangers should have completed a 12 week ranger academy training similar to what the Horace Albright academy offered in the mid to late 1960s. Those that choose to become law enforcement rangers must then, of course, complete the basic law enforcement training. However, because of the dangers of incremental decisions made by ranger's risings through the ranks, all rangers should be initially trained in the natural and or cultural sciences and have a ranger academy experience before they enter the field as working, permanent park rangers. I know it is expensive, but the parks are priceless, we cannot remake a new Yosemite Valley or Yellowstone, or Denali, and it is imperative that we properly care for our historic parks in perpetuity. The cost is far less than the collective losses that are statistically more probable with the alternative path the NPS has been on now for a number of years. TB: Former Director Ridenour, a Bush the Elder appointee, believed that many substandard areas were being added to the National Park System. He called this "Thinning the Blood." Do you agree? RCC: I concur with former Director Ridenour's thesis on the Thinning of the Blood. I am certain that I do not know all the questionable parks that have been added to the System as part of the park barrel stuffing or to ensure the re election of some local politician, but I worked at one Š.Gateway National Recreation Area. Without question, this park is needed for the millions of New York and New Jersey locals, but also without question in my mind, it is a financial black hole for the NPS and should be staffed and funded by the state, county or the respective communities. Sandy Hook's Fort Hancock certainly qualifies as a National Historic Park, but Congress in their dimwitted wisdom, made it part of the national recreation area.. I realize that we do have criteria for park designation, but they are only suggestions to Congress and the Executive Branch and are often ignored. I would draft a Bill that specifies basic criteria for parks to become part of the NPS system. If the criteria were not met, they would be recommended as state, county or community parks. Federal funding would be available to aid those citizens in need of such a park, but at a much reduced portion than full federal funding for a national park. TB: Would you deaccession substandard units presently in the system? RCC: Absolutely! I suspect that there is virtually little or no national or international visitation to Cuyahoga, Golden Gate, Gateway, Lake Meredith and a host of other areas that serve mainly local populations. TB: The superintendents of Golden Gate and Gateway might dispute the lack of out of state visitors to their areas. RCC: People do not visit San Francisco or New York City to see federal recreational facilities. They go for the food, culture and drama of world class cities. Although they may inadvertently stray onto NPS managed lands, this is not the main purpose of their visit. Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island are good examples of honest NPS areas in the New York area. TB: What about adequately funding the NPS? RCC: If our legislators were honestly concerned about the welfare of the country and the mission of the NPS, they would deaccession, or drop those areas that did not meet the criteria for honest NPS status. The funding then for those areas that, in fact, are worthy of national park status might be more realistic. This could be supplemented with an income tax check off, and/or a portion of the recreational excise tax on outdoor equipment, but Congress has a terrible habit of then reducing the park budget by the amount collected or more than what is collected and sending that extra money to some ridiculous third world nation that squanders it for their military or puts it in the Swiss bank accounts of their leadership, and though it might be widely reported, no one seems to care! Have you noticed the growing tendency of how our politicians can stare directly into the TV cameras and tell us lies that are widely reported and understood to be lies, but they are reelected nonetheless! Voter apathy, liberal courts and the American Civil Liberties Union are having deleterious effects on our country. TB: Should the NPS leave the Department of the Interior and go it alone? RCC: Probably not a good idea. The negative political influence likely would not change. A massive Department of Natural Resources makes considerable sense, but I'm gun shy about the idea after the idiotic move by the Clinton Administration, which was led by Al Gore, that removed the scientists from parks and placed them under the US Fish and Wildlife Service at area universities. That essentially handcuffed me from obtaining needed research for specific management decisions in a timely manner. Management's inability to supervise those approving the study needs and those performing the studies was a disaster for appropriate and timely studies management needs to make intelligent decisions. TB: Should the NPS be combined with the US Forest Service? RCC: No! The USFS would swallow the NPS like a Katmai grizzly eating a gold fish and the NPS and USFS Congressional mandates are at extreme opposites. TB: Since both the Smithsonian and the NPS deal in natural science and history, it has been suggested that they be combined into a super agency. Would this be a good idea? RCC: No! Let us not forget that the NPS received Roger Kennedy from the Smithsonian and the agency was forced to complete the most stupid management reorganization in its history. I'm gun shy about this idea also, enough said! TB: Are politicians involved too much in the management of our parks? RCC: Absolutely, but that will never change. The difference between the past and today is that while politicians were always attempting to influence park managers, they are bolder about it today since the Director"s position went into the "Plum Book" and now even some Deputy Directors are apparently being appointed from outside the agency. In the past, a park superintendent could make decisions that were right for the park, and even though he she might get rolled because of that decision, they were never reduced in grade, forced to retire, or punished as long as their decision was legal and in the best interest of the park. Contrast that scenario with US Park Police Chief Teresa Chambers predicament today. There is no question that both the Democratic and Republican administrations lean on their agency appointees to adhere to the goals envisioned by the White House leadership and their secretarial appointees. That will always be the case and it could be a hell of a lot worse! But statistically, there is a greater probability of more logical and consistent management policies if the political appointee head of the agency was trained in the science field of the agency mission or ascended through the ranks rather than if he or she came from some unrelated background and was appointed because they secured a lot of votes for the candidate or were appointed as a favor for some colleague. Books could be written about this practice, but American citizens are not interested in the topic. TB: Thank you for your insights, what are you doing in your After Park life? RCC: Like most retirees, I am continually amazed that I ever found time for work, as I have so much to do and only so many hours in the day and week! I am continuing my study of Rocky Mountain botany and photography and am fortunate enough to live next to several national forests and our oldest national park, which provides many opportunities. TB: Then we can find you in the Rockies? RCC: If you know where to look! |
THE FLOATING GARDENS OF XOCHIMILCO
Now neighbors, since your kindly editor has spent a considerable time in Mexico, the question arises as to when is the best time to visit Mexico City.
Fortunately, since the Mexican plateau is the proverbial "Land of Eternal Spring" at 7,349 feet, the time of year is not a factor, unless you are interested in certain festivals.
I recommend visiting Mexico City when there aren't quite so many Mexicans present.
Now I regard Mexicans as the salt of the earth, but Mexico City is one of the largest cities on earth at 30 million and counting. As likable as the average Mexican is, if you can plan a time when you are not encountering all 30 million at once, you will have a more enjoyable time.
Fortunately, Mexicans are sentimental, family oriented folk and the pull of the home village is strong. Also, Mexicans are great tourists and love to visit a part of Mexico they haven't seen.
So, twice a year there is a general exodus from Mexico City. Millions leave for a week somewhere else, traffic slows to a manageable torrent, the pollution level drops, parks, museums, and sidewalks are less crowded. Even some of the thieves leave town.
These two blessed times are Natividad (Christmas week) and Semana Santa (Holy Week) or what we would call Easter week.
Everything is open during Semana Santa; it's just that there aren't 30 million people trying to get through the door, so things are a bit more pleasant for the visitor.
"But isn't Mexico City somewhat, um, dangerous"? You ask, trying not to sound xenophobic.
Well yes it is. Mexico City is described as "vibrant" in the guide books, which is liberal speak for reasonably dangerous. Indeed Mexico City is probably the most dangerous large city in the world. (Tokyo, the largest, is certainly the safest, followed by Shanghai, managed by those dependable law & order types, the Communists.)
Mexico City is a bit wide open, like Dodge City or Deadwood writ large, but that should not stop you from visiting.
You should bear in mind a few common sense rules and you will do all right.
First of all, you should not carry your life savings, credit cards, passport and the deed to the ranch in your hip pocket. Indeed, you should not carry them in a neck pouch the way most tourists do; the bad guys are long onto that. Mexico City is the home of the "Express kidnapping", in which the evil ones seize you and you become their guest while they use your bank card to extract the maximum daily cash withdrawal from your account (they have ways of helping you to remember your pin number) until your bank account is exhausted and then you are released relatively unharmed after a week or so.
To forestall this lugubrious event, leave most valuables such as passports, airline tickets, bank withdrawal cards, jewelry, heirloom wristwatches and so on in the hotel safe. Take a generous amount of cash for each day and evening, along with one credit card. Many people, myself included, put the amount of cab fare from any place in Mexico City in their shoe. This ploy is not always effective as the more thorough thieves will take you to a remote part of town and strip you naked, both to secure any secreted cash and to delay pursuit as you obviously are going to be a bit shy about explaining your predicament to passers-by.
Generally speaking, if at all possible, don't flag down a taxi on the street. Have your hotel or restaurant call one for you, rather than risk a ride to an unplanned destination.
If you have to flag down a taxi, avoid the VW "bugs" of your youth. (Mexico is the only place where they are still made). The reason for avoiding them is obvious when you think about it: Once you are in the back seat, the driver of this two door model has you trapped, particularly if the driver has the foresight to place a tool handle on the front seat in such a manner that if prevent the back of the seat from being pushed forward as in an attempt to escape.
Public transport, particularly the subway system is fast, cheap and safe in the day time, though there are stations and neighborhoods to avoid unless you are doing participatory sociological research.
It is probably not a good idea to rent a car in Mexico City unless you are familiar with the city and/or have a passenger who can navigate, and you are comfortable with competitive, Latin style driving (Offensive rather than Defensive driving is the norm here.) Joan and I met a French couple who had never been in Mexico and rented a car at the airport thinking that, after all, can it be any worse than driving in Paris? It can. They became hopelessly lost and spent 3 hours driving around, until they were finally stopped by Mexican police -- who robbed them at gun point!
Now what should you see in Mexico City (aside from the inside of your hotel room) now that we have thoroughly alarmed you?
Naturally, you could spend a life time and not see it all.
The important thing, in my humble opinion, if to see the stuff that interests you rather than the stuff that interests the guide books. I happen to like church architecture, but if you don't, then why make a pilgrimage to somebody else's hobby?
Like most big cities, Mexico City has a fleet of double decker buses that move through the historic section of the city with a recorded narration in your language of what you are looking at. You buy a ticket for the day and can board and reboard as often as you like, just like in Washington, DC. This provides a useful introduction.
I personally like water and the ways people use H20 to decorate a city. This means lakes, riversides, fountains and canals. Mexico City is one of the few world class cities is not built on a river bank or an ocean but it does have fountains and canals, perhaps not as many as St. Petersburg or Venice, but it does have them. Indeed, what Mexico City does have is the Floating Gardens of Xochimilco (That's pronounced "SO-SHE-milko, for you non-Aztecs.)
The Floating Gardens are Mexico City's signature tourist attraction, sort of like London Bridge or the Eiffel Tower, only a bit more interesting; possibly because the Floating Gardens have been around longer than London Bridge or the Eiffel Tower;
The Floating Gardens no longer actually float. Before the arrival of the Spanish, Mexico City was located on an island in a huge, but shallow lake. This island city, which even in pre- Hispanic times was one of the largest in the world, had to be supplied with food. The city was connected by a causeway to the mainland, but there were no horses or other beasts of burden (other than you and I) so how do you feed a quarter of a million people or more on a daily basis.
The solution was quite ingenious. Rafts were built and filled with reeds and soil in such a manner that the reeds wicked up sufficient moisture from the lake to the roots of the various crops to irrigate the crops growing on the rafts, but not enough to waterlog the roots and kill the plant. The rafts were anchored in place with willow wands. In time, the wands took root and became trees. The crops were tended and harvested by farmers who used canoes to transport them to various markets on the shores of Mexico City.
The Spaniards, being trusty Europeans like you and I, figured out a way to screw things up by draining the lake and making Mexico City look pretty much like any other large metro area.
Fortunately, some of the Mexico City wetlands still remain, though being "wetlands" they are naturally endangered by that old devil, Progress, which would like to see them "reclaimed." (From whom, God?)
There are still around 180 kilometers of canal remaining, which is quite a bit for any city not named Venice. The nearest American equivalent would be the much smaller, more sanitized "River Walk" in San Antonio.
The Floating Gardens are where the citizens of Mexico City go to picnic and if the Gardens no longer float, the picnics certainly do.
What happens is that you rent a barge- like, flat bottomed boat that is about 30 feet long with a sun roof and a table running the length of the boat and is poled by a single boatman. Mexicans like to do everything in extended family groups, so there may be 20 or more sisters, brothers, uncles, nieces and cousins aboard each "Chalupa" as they are called.
In addition to all your relatives, you load the Chalupa with coolers of beer and soft drinks and hampers of food. If you forgot anything, don't worry! There are waterborne food vendors, and sellers of every manner of souvenirs during your passage through the canals.
The interesting thing is that this is almost a total Mexican experience. Hour after hour, Joan and I were the only gringos in sight among thousands of happy floating Mexicans.
The eerie thing is the experience hasn't changed much in 70 or more years. I picked up a travel book, MEXICAN ODYSSEY, published in 1935. The following description of the Gardens could have been written by you or me today:
"So many rhapsodies have been written about the floating gardens of Xochimilco, every casual tourist has gone into such ecstasies about it, that we had been prepared to be disappointed in its loveliness. With no illusions to be broken, we were agreeably surprised. The quality of the Xochimilco is most of all motion and changing color and a hundred different tunes at once. Only secondarily do you notice the detailsŠthe gliding motion of the Chalupa, decked with its bright blue and orange flowers. Why do not more people call attention to the fact that especially of a Sunday, Xochimilco is vulgar in the literal sense of the word, and for that reason it is as interesting to a foreigner as our own Coney Island.For here are hundred of Mexicans and very few tourists in proportionŠEspecially on Sunday do the Mexicans like to come here. In twos and three -- and whole, multitudinous families armed with cases of beer or jugs of pulque and great hampers full of food. Sometimes they have a table large enough for banquet in one of the big motor driven boats. And floating beside them, like a sucker attached to a shark, a boatload of musicians, playing their fiddles and guitars. Up and down through the canals, past the great truck gardens which supply the City are women, rowing alone in smaller canoes, offering great bunches of violets or beer or pulque.
We stretch in our chairs, letting ourselves be poled slowly along, watching the people. As we go farther up the canal, we see restaurants like the outdoor places along the Seine, sometimes with tables in little tree houses. Occasionally an island has been appropriated by a photographer and some Mexicans are having their pictures taken against a hideously painted backdropŠThis is the similarity to Coney Island; the refusal to allow nature alone to provide the setting and the entertainment. A certain grotesqueries and vulgarity, exemplified also in the glaring cognac advertisements over the quaint bridges; smelling tasting, sounding of a vast humanity."
Actually, neighbors, the scene has improved aesthetically and even environmentally in the past 70 years. Motorized boats are no longer allowed on the canals (At least we didn't see any.) Even the largest multi family boats were powered by people. The "glaring Cognac ads" on the bridges are gone. The only down side of Progress are the flowers. Flowers, like everything else, are no longer dirt cheap in Mexico and the boat owners cannot afford either the time or the money to decorate their boats with fresh flowers each day (would you?) The Mexicans have hit on an ingenious substitute: The boats are decorated with woven dried lake reeds, upon which flowers and a girl's name are painted in fluorescent Day-Glo paint (I know, its sounds pretty awful, but the effect of watching scores of these boats in motion is quite beautiful.
Now what else is there to see in Mexico City? Well, just about anything, neighbors. I would suspect that very few of the City's 30 million inhabitants have seen it all.
In the next issue of THUNDERBEAR, we'll visit some of the small museums and historic sites of Mexico City.
SHOULD THUNDERBEAR GO TO YALE?
Recently, the University of Wisconsin, John Muir's old Alma Mater, asked if I would be so kind as to donate a complete collection of the works of THUNDERBEAR to the U of W.'s Newspaper and Periodical Library, which is sort of the national respository of all the counterculture, alternative "political" magazines and newspapers in the United States. (The pejorative and narrow minded might call these publications "crank", but that's their problem.)
We at THUNDERBEAR were, of course, flattered and honored. However, we were a bit nonplussed as we had no complete collection to donate.
The problem was solved by the sad coincidence of the death of the much beloved and admired NPS archeologist and interpreter, Dave Hannah. Dave, in addition to being a magnificent chap, was a life long subscriber to THUNDERBEAR. Dave's widow, Barbara, very kindly asked if I would have a use for Dave's collection. I gladly accepted Barbara's offer and the University of Wisconsin found itself in luck.
Which brings us to the question "Should THUNDERBEAR go to Yale?"
You see, the University of Oregon has a collection of THUNDERBEARS and now the Midwest in the form of the University of Wisconsin has a collection. This leaves only the East Coast and the Ivy League unwatered by the wisdom of THUNDERBEAR.
Although Cornell and Dartmouth have excellent schools of Forestry and Environmental Science, I feel THUNDERBEAR should go to Yale. It is after all, the alma mater of the the 41st and 43rd president of the United States, as well as that of my wife. (Who, as a liberal democrat rather violently disowns the contribution of the Bush dynasty to Yale and the nation.)
Still, I think Yale should be approached as a THUNDERBEAR depository.
With the permission of the readership, your editor will approach The Yale Corporation (Yup, that's what they call themselves; sort of a telling admission, no?) and ask them if they would like a collection of THUNDERBEARS for Yale's library..
Should Yale accept, we get to the difficult part. One of you will have to die.
(No, this is not some arcane ritual of the Skull & Bones Society; it is just that there is a shortage of complete hard copy sets of THUNDERBEARS, that is issues # 1 to # 233.) Since most readers prefer to hold on to a complete collection during their lifetime, we must patiently await that moment when Jesus asks you take a stroll with Him on the Big Nature Trail in the Sky.
This means you should include the disposition of your THUNDERBEAR collection in your will. (You have already made provision for who will inherit a favorite rifle, shotgun or fly rod, why not your THUNDERBEAR collection? It would be sacrilegious if the Holy Writ were to wind up in the county landfill after your departure!)
In order to avoid confusion and satisfy the needs of Yale University, we will need to know who has a complete set of THUNDERBEARS from issue # 1 through # 233, after which THUNDERBEAR went electronic. There may be more than one complete set (In which case we will consider the Library of Congress, the British Museum or Oxford University.)
Therefore, if you have a complete set of hard copy THUNDERBEARS from # 1 through # 233, please contact me at THUNDERBEAR@EROLS.COM. We will guarantee your privacy and guarantee that Yale will not annoy you during your life time.
Many Thanks! PJ
THE SAFETY MESSAGE
Good for you! You finally found it! You can now relax in the admittedly suspicious environment of Norella & Co.
Fortunately," Safety is everyone's business" as you have been tiresomely reminded since you first put on your Smokey Bear Hat. Safety is your "Kings X!" Nobody can be persecuted for promulgating safety, you just can't get too much safety, which is why you were going through this issue of THUNDERBEAR looking for the promised safety message; blessedly, you have found it! You can now rest easy!
This brings us to this month's safety issue which is that of attitude. That is, the employee must realize that there is a potential problem if he/she does or does not perform a specific action.
Some employees are totally clueless, often willfully so.
The question of "Safety Attitude" gets us to our main point of the month
"Is President George Bush a Safety Hazard?"
Now neighbors, as collateral duty park safety officer, you may have had the thankless task of informing a Schedule C political appointee that they are doing their job in an unsafe manner. This must be done in a diplomatic way or you may experience a career backlash.
Such is the case with George Walker Bush.
Bush, as you will recall, was a political appointee sent to us the first time by the U.S. Supreme Court. There was some grumbling about this, but the second season he had so charmed folks with his Good Ol' Boy Texas ways, that we hired him back again his own merits (or the lack of an attractive substitute.)
In the past, George has tended to be a potentially hazardous employee due to his dangerous addiction to fossil fuels. ("My daddy was in the bidness; didn't hurt HIM none!") Safety officers have pointed out that fossil petroleum is an addictive drug and like most addictive drugs it is ultimately controlled by people who really aren't very nice and who do not have your best interests at heart and who will even use the money you pay them for the drug to do very bad things to you.
Apparently these safety lectures are having some limited effect. (Possibly, somebody read him the article on biodiesel in issue # 261 of THUNDERBEAR.)
Anyways, on May 16, George went down to West Point, Virginia to visit the little town's leading industry, Virginia Biodiesel Refineries, a mom and pop operation with three employees, that nonetheless churns out some 500,000 gallons of biodiesel a year.
Bush gave a speech praising the virtues of biodiesel and even praised the National Park Service for promoting and experimenting with biodiesel throughout the system.
Indeed, some 23 national park units from Assateague to Yellowstone have at least some vehicles and/or boats on biodiesel for a total of 675 pieces of equipment. Channel Islands has perhaps the most varied biodiesel inventory, running several large sea going vessels, vehicles and heavy equipment on biodiesel.
The most famous single unit was the Yellowstone Dodge, a 1995 three quarter ton pickup with a 5.9 liter Cummins diesel engine. Aside from being winterized, the engine was not modified for biodiesel. The experiment was to run the truck on 100% biodiesel (in this case, derived from rape seed) for a year at Yellowstone altitude and famously extreme weather conditions and see what would happen.
One safety concern, which may not have occurred to the engineers and scientists at Detroit, was the biodiesel exhaust. It smells like French fries and might attract bears! A formal bear exhaust attractant study was conducted by the University of Washington and proved negative.
Although the President did not mention the Yellowstone Dodge in his Virginia speech, the results of the experiment were excellent. The truck accumulated 145, 000 miles in all kinds of weather in the Greater Yellowstone Region. It suffered no maintenance problems, other than routine. According to tests, the Yellowstone Dodge biodiesel produced significantly less pollution than fossil diesel. Park visitors often asked what sort of mileage it got per gallon. The answer was 16.5 miles per gallon, about answer for a truck of that size.
The Yellowstone experiment debunked the idea that biodiesel was some sort of hobby fuel that could only be used at sea level in Beverley Hills by rich liberal movie stars.
Any drawbacks? Yes, biodiesel is significantly more expensive than fossil diesel in remote areas like Yellowstone. For biodiesel to be cost effective, you would need a plant in the Greater Yellowstone area that could produce 500,000 gallons (Oddly enough, the same output as the little plant the President visited in West Point, Virginia.
At present, the 23 NPS unit using biodiesel get their fuel from outside sources. Can they make their own?
Yup! As the President might say "Its not rocket surgery"
The children at Sandy Springs Elementary School (A suburb of DC) ,wondered in their science class if it would be possible to reduce pollution and global warming, conserve resources and free the US from foreign oil slavery by making their own biodiesel to run their school buses?
Now their science teacher did not realize that the role of an adult is to stomp on children's ideas with as much ridicule as possible. Instead he told them to go for it. The local fast food establishment eagerly contributed their waste grease, engineer type parents agreed to supervise (It's a hazardous process involving lye) and the kids are well on their way to producing biodiesel)
Now should George Bush be making biodiesel out in the Rose Garden?
Should you be making it in your park?
Probably not, but its worth getting on board with the other 23 parks if you're not already there.
ON WILDERNESS
The dead grizzly lay nearly on top of the nearly dead mountain man.
Three other mountain men stood by, assessing the situation and deciding what to do.
"Looks like he's scuppered" said the tallest one.
"Surely does" said the squat one, with the finality of long experience in such matters.
The young man said nothing. It was his first season as a Rocky Mountain Trapper, Everything he did or saw was new, different and often terrifying. He had never seen a man so torn to pieces as Hugh Glass. It was best to say nothing. The young man's name was Jim Bridger. It was the early fall of the year 1823 and they were standing in the middle of a grassy wilderness called the Great Plains in what is now South Dakota.
The tall one, Fitzpatrick,said, "We'll see what the Bushway wants to do. The "Bushway" or party leader was Major William Ashley. He was the leader and one of the financial backers of this fur brigade. He was responsible for its success and the survival of its employees.
The Major looked at the bleeding dying, unconscious mountain man with practiced eye.
"He'll be dead in a few hours, tomorrow morning at the latest." He said this not coldly, but with the finality of a weather prediction from a veteran.
Party morale was important in the wilderness. There was an unwritten rule that one did not abandon one's associates until they had abandoned this life. Major Ashley knew this. If one person was abandoned, the others would think "What if I'm next?" "Who can I trust?" " Can I count on anyone?" You did not want them thinking about that. You wanted them thinking about beaver.
"Fitzpatrick" said the major, turning toward the taller man "You and Bridger will stay with Glass until he dies, give him a decent burial, take his rifle and possibles, and then catch up with us on the river. We'll be traveling slowly and doing some trading, so we will be easy to catch and find. Savvy?"
They savvied .
The two men of Glass's burial party camped beside Glass and the dead bear without a campfire to avoid attracting the Arikara, who were dying off from smallpox and wished to take every trapper with them. Glass was passing in and out of a coma, speaking sailor lingo that neither of them could understand. Glass was said to have been a sailor, even a pirate with Lafitte before he came to the Rockies.
The two men passed the day digging Glass's grave. It gave them something to do, besides listening to Glass's labored breathing and scanning the horizon for sign of the Arikara.
The second day came and went. Glass was stubbornly, barely alive.
To expedite departure, Fitzpatrick had talked Bridger into helping him place the unconscious man in the freshly dug grave. They covered Glass with the skin taken from the bear. It seemed a fitting shroud for a Mountain Man.
There was still no death by the third day. Fitzpatrick was beginning to get very nervous, though pride kept him from showing his fear to the younger man. At least initially.
Fitzpatrick knew that even if the Ashley party was moving slowly, it was still moving, away from them. A middling sized party like the Major's could stand off most war parties. Two men could not. As soon as the Arikara fixed their position, they were doomed
"Can't last much longer" said Fitzpatrick, eyes on the horizon.
The young Jim Bridger said nothing.
The waiting, more than anything else was beginning to get to Fitzpatrick. While the code of the Mountain Man required that you stick by your partner to the end. Fitzpatrick was also aware of "Out of sight, out of mind". If he and Bridger did not show up on the river in a reasonable amount of time, Major Ashley was unlikely to send out a search party to find out what had happened to them. They would know what had happened.
The tall mountain man began to push dirt into the grave, lightly covering the bearskin that covered Hugh Glass.
"He's still breathing! I can hear him!" Protested the boy.
"Not for long!" Fitzpatrick muttered.
But the kid was right. Couldn't rightly bury a man alive. Fitzpagtrick liked Glass about as well as he liked anyone in the short lived way of the Rocky Mountain trapper.
"We've done for him as best we can! Now it's time to go!" commanded Fitzpatrick, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. They collected their goods, including Glass's belongings, rifle, powder, bullet pouch, knife and his "possible" sack.
They cast a fearful 360 degree glance around the bowl horizon of their wilderness world and rode rapidly to successfully catch up with the Ashley Party and tell the Major that old Hugh had gone under.
Hugh himself rose from the dead a half day later, rolling back the bear skin and feebly crawled out of his grave. He had a raging thirst and a raging head to toe agony. He was half delirious, but he could smell water and crawled in the wet direction like a tadpole. He made it to the creek bank after blacking out several times.
After water came wisdom. He was able to piece together what happened. It was not a bad dream, it was real. They had surprised a sow Griz and cubs. She charged before he could shoot. Got a few licks in with his Green River before the bear tore him up. Looked like the boys did for the bear. He could hear the flies buzzing on the naked bear carcass. Glass looked about. Even that movement hurt. He was alone. They had left him. There was no point in hollering, unless you could holler a hundred miles.
The raging thirst was being replaced by a growing anger that would flower into hatred. They had left him! He had never done that to a partner! Never! And never would. Almost as bad as abandoning him, they had taken every possibility of survival. His rifle, powder, shot, knife, even his flint and steel to make fire. He was naked and helpless as Adam after the fall.
It was over 200 miles to Fort Kiowa on the Cheyenne. He could not stand, he would have to crawl. He would have to eat what he found on the plains, bugs, rattlesnakes, rotting buffalo carcasses. When he finished that 200 mile crawl, and for Glass it was "When" and not "if", he would rest up and then do for those lily-livered scoundrels, Fitzpatrick and Bridger!
All he had were buckskins torn to rags, a bear skin and his Pawnee boots.
Pawnee boots! At least they hadn't taken those! Maybe things weren't quite as bad as they looked! The Pawnee boots were really high topped moccasins, reaching almost up to the knee. They were wide mouthed and were like an extra pair of pockets. You could put a lot in'em, like extra pemmican for the day, or a little tobacco, or even a spare possible sack for emergencies. This was exactly what Hugh Glass had done. He had planned ahead! He could feel it against his shin bone, his extra "possible" bag that every mountain man carried for emergencies.
Every movement an agony, Glass reached down and extracted his "possible' sack.
He berthed a sign of relief as he pulled out his cell phone and his GPS.
He gratefully punched in 911 and read the map coordinates from the GPS to the operator on the other end, and then drifted off to sleep.
Glass was awakened by the welcome "Thump! Thump! Thump! Of a Bell X-9 steam powered helicopter (fueled by buffalo chips). Soon he was able to make out the Logo MOUNTAIN MAN RESCUE SERVICE painted on the buffalo hide fuselage. In a trice, experienced paramedics were loading Glass aboard for the flight to the regional trauma center.
Didn't happen that way of course.
Hugh Glass instead completed one of the epics of wilderness survival; a 200 mile crawl across the Dakota plains, dragging his torn, nearly naked body over rough ground, with no tools other than his wits and determination. He ate rattlesnakes and long dead animals. He encountered a very polite grizzly bear that sat down beside him and licked the tasty maggots from his decaying flesh. He also met a philosophical Indian who did not scalp him, but instead commiserated with him through sign language on the vagarities of fate and encounters with bears. He did reach Fort Kiowa, did fully recover and sought vengeance against those who had abandoned and ended up forgiving them. He lasted a few more years in the daring and deadly Rocky Mountain fur trade before going under during an Indian attack.
So is Wilderness now an illusion? Unlike Hugh Glass, we can now summon up a rescue in most of the lower 48 if things suddenly get unpleasant. Even in the most remote of these parks or national forests, if a leg is broken or a heart behaves melodramatically, the reassuring (if expensive) whump! Whump! Of a medivac helicopter is never far away.
Does this somehow diminish the meaning of true wilderness; the fact that we can, in effect, call "Time Out" if things get a bit dicey during our "Wilderness' adventure, switch to a more hospitable channel by calling in Search & Rescue?
Can one visualize Sir Earnest Shackleton, hero of another epic of survival in Antarctica in 1914 addressing his men after their gallant trek across hundreds of miles of ice in sub zero weather, dragging sledge loads of supplies they have rescued from their ship crushed and sunk by the ice. They have reached barren inhospitable elephant island at the edge of the ice shelf. "Lads! We have but two choices!" Shackleton says grimly, "The majority can stay here on this windswept God forsaken rock, while I and a few companions make an epic 800 mile sail in an open boat through the wildest ocean in the world, make a landing through freezing surf onto the cliffs of South Georgia, then climb over a 10,000 foot mountain range and make our way down a glacier to the only settlement within a thousand miles and get help!"
"What's our other choice?" One of the men said weakly.
"Well, if you REALLY feel you've had enough adventure, I can dial up the Royal Navy on my cell phone, but it won't make NEARLY as interesting a story!" said Shackleton, a bit reproachfully.
Needless to say, in those pre-electronic times, any rescuing had to be initiated by oneself, so Shackleton and his small party managed to perform one of the epochal feats of valor and survival in the history of world travel.
Now that we can "cheat", does wilderness actually exist or is it an illusion, or was it always an illusion?
According to the pioneer Alaskan bush pilot Bud Helmericks:
"There is no Wilderness left when a biologist can swoop down in a helicopter, tranquilize the world's largest carnivore, take a rectal sample and roar off before the bear knows what's happened."
To be sure, Wilderness has always been if not an illusion, a matter of perspective: To the Arikara Indians, The Dakota Wilderness was not a wilderness, but simply the neighborhood, complete with super market, pharmacy and toy shop. Indeed, American and Australian aborigines looked on with puzzled interest while English explorers melodramatically died of hunger or thirst in a "Howling Wilderness" that the locals called home.
So if Wilderness and its perils are but an illusion, is it really necessary to humankind?
The answer seems to be yes.
Consider the case of one Wilderness Ranger who was among the first to view wilderness not as a "resource" or something to be tamed or destroyed but rather as a setting for spiritual and/or physical renewal.
That of course would be that famous carpenter, story teller and heir to the Family business of running the Universe, Jesus Christ.
Christ discovered that human beings were a lot more perverse than he had expected and wisely decided that a 40 day back packing trip into the wilderness (Probably today's Sinai Desert) would be just the ticket to collect his thoughts and decide how to proceed.
During his camping trip, Christ encountered all sorts of wild beasts and other dangers. Now the interesting thing is that Christ possessed a sort of "Cosmic Cell Phone" in that being God, he could with the flick of a thought, rescue himself from the Wilderness or change, modify, or destroy the Wilderness. He did neither. Christ simply accepted the Wilderness on its own terms and humbly sought what it could teach Him.
This does not mean that Christ didn't have adventures while He was in the Wilderness; He encountered a character that seemed to be a composite of every political appointee in the Bush Administration. The Wilderness does provide Wisdom and Christ overcame even that threat. Christ emerged from the Wilderness restored and refreshed, more confident that he could overcome obstacles.
So, if Wilderness can be useful to such diverse folks as Hugh Glass, Earnest Shackleton, and Jesus Christ, possibly, that even as an illusion it could be useful to you and I.
Pass that on to James Watt and Norella next time you see them.
MONTHLY REPORT
The Bear was sitting on the sofa when I entered the den. He was gently stroking my cat, Thomas, with his pie pan sized paw. Thomas was sitting on the Bear's lap, wearing a happy grin and purring like a well tuned Rolls Royce.
Now serious biologists will tell you that the Cheshire cat and its famous grin to the contrary, it is physiologically impossible for a cat to grin. This is nonsense of course and one of the many reasons people are skeptical of Science and distrust its many claims and shibboleth!
Of course cats can grin! True, it is a fairly rare phenomenon. Cats do not grin for just anybody or any little reason! Unlike dogs, cats are very particular about who they grin at! Aside from the Great Bear, I have seen Thomas grin at only one other person. That would be a rather mysterious Celtic person named Deirdre who visits our house from time to time.
Deidre is a renaissance woman and among her many talents is that of Cat Whisperer. A Cat Whisperer is very much like a Horse Whisperer. It is a gift, you cannot learn it,. though some races, notably gypsies and the Celts seem to possess it more than others.
Deidre would unleash her great four foot mane of shining Black Walnut hair and Thomas would entangle himself in it, while Deidre would softly cat whisper to him and Thomas would begin to grin and his golden eyes would glow and he would begin to purr ecstatically.
And I would become quite jealous. I had fed this imperious 17 pound Butterscotch-marmalade Maine Coon Cat nearly every morning of his 11 year life, and he had always treated me like some kind of food robot. Deidre, on the other hand, he truly worshiped, like a superior being from another Galaxy.
As I say, the only other person to have this effect on Thomas was the Great Bear himself. Someday, I would have to ask Thunderbear if he and she were acquainted.
"You seem to have great rapport with Thomas; he seems to like you very much!" I remarked.
"More importantly, your cat seems to like you very much."
"I beg your pardon?" I asked..
"Thomas has given you an excellent yearly evaluation", Thunderbear remarked offhandedly.
"Yearly evaluation?"
"Yes, a surprisingly large number of people get into heaven mainly on the recommendation of their cats or dogs. We consider the prayers of relatives to be biased and self serving. Pets are more objective. We had one chap who made it on the opinion of his gold fish. Therefore, it's always a good idea to be nice to animals; keep up the good work and you should have no trouble on Judgment Day, the Bear remarked.
I was truly amazed at this revelation.
Thomas continued to sprawl happily across The Great Bear's lap, grinning and purring mightily.
"Why do cats purr?" I asked absently.
"The "purring" sound that you hear is actually high speed data transmission." The Bear answered. Cats are actually MDT's", Thunderbear added, conversationally.
"MDT's?"
"Yes, Mobile Data Transponders. This is the way that the Celestial Civil Service transmits reports to the Supreme Bureaucrat at Celestial Center, or what you call God and Heaven."
"You mean that everything that God knows about the Human Race is filtered through cats?" I asked incredulously
"That is not entirely correct" The Bear said irritably, "Cats are normally just a means of transmission and usually do not editorialize or comment on human behavior, though there have been exceptions."
"But why cats?" I demanded "We're the dominant species on this planet! Why not us!'
"Because cats are impersonal and businesslike! The Bear said imperturbably. "Cats are not religious and they are not political. They are the closest thing on this planet to being impartial and unbiased! You should be pleased to have such good interpreters as the felines! In addition, there are certain cultural considerations, unlike dogs or other animals; there is no religious or ethnic prejudice against cats. They are generally welcome anywhere there are humans, which is fine with us as we find it necessary to keep an eye on you".
I was stunned and humiliated. Cats providing an evaluation of humans!
It was undoubtedly all too true. Thomas nestled on the Great Bear's lap, his great amber eyes gazed at me with that fixed level of condescension that cats always seem to have.
Thunderbear popped a liter can of grizzly beer and reached for a double paw full of honey flavored popcorn.
"Could you read my mail, please?" The Bear asked politely.
Like President Bush, Thunderbear did not particularly like to read, but preferred to have his mail read to him. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, Thunderbear always had a great deal of mail at the end of the week.
I selected an envelope at random from the pile.
"It's important! I deadpanned. "It's from the Democratic Central Committee!"
"What do they want" The Bear asked excitedly.
They want you to complete a survey and send them money. According to their letter, they are asking you to do this "because you are an important Democratic leader in your community and your opinions will help shape the future direction of the Democratic Party and make us more effective in building grassroots support for our agenda."
I was mildly surprised, I had no idea the Democrats had anything as coherent as an agenda.
The Great Bear swelled himself to nearly twice normal size and said in a rolling Churchillian voice "Tell them that I am honored by their faith and trust in me, but Flying Bears and other Celestial Civil Servants are forbidden by law to participate in the affairs of the sentient beings of the planet they are maintaining."
"Actually", I said "They really just want the money."
"Then why don't they just ask for it?" The Bear said, puzzled.
"Because that would violate the principles of Democratic Fund raising 101! You must always ask the reader to do one of two things, either fill out a questionnaire or sign a petition stating that you dislike the actions of the person who will be receiving the petition, and asking him/her to commit political suicide.
"What does the questionnaire ask?"
"It is a list of ten to fifteen increasingly loaded questions that must be answered "yes" or "no". The last question, the one right after "Are you willing to allow George Bush to extinguish the Sun?" asks if you are willing to put up $100 to prevent that from happening.
"Does this work?" The Great Bear asked incredulously
"The fundraisers seem to think it does, maybe it does, for them"
"Do the Republican fund raisers use the same technique?"
Mercy, no!" I responded heartily "We Republicans are completely unmoved by polls or petitions. Republican fund raisers appeal to our inherent greed, self centeredness, and the nagging feeling that someone else may be getting a leg up the power structure and the ear of the People Who Really Run Things"
"Could you clarify?"
"Of course! Every year until fairly recently, I always got a letter from the Republican Central Committee containing a personal letter from Senator Bob Dole. In the letter, Bob would tell me that he had been sitting around shooting the breeze with the Republican Governor of my state, wondering why the Republican Party seemed to be slipping. The governor would always point out to Bob that the Party had yet to harness the charismatic leadership and intellect of PJ Ryan .
Bob would always wander over to Trent Lott or somebody just like him and pass on the governor's thoughts. Trent or somebody would always clap hand to forehead and gasp "Of course! That's it! The reason we fail is that we don't have PJ Ryan in the Inner Circle of the Republican Party!"
So Bob would always slip me an invitation to join the Inner Circle.
Now, to someone who never made it into the inner circle of the really neat kids in high school, this was pretty heady stuff.
Once I was in the Inner Circle, I would be given a lapel pin that would instantly identify me to other members of the Inner Circle. (I don't recall if there was a secret hand shake)
I would also be given an Inner Circle telephone number direct to the White House so I could express my opinion on anything 24 hours a day (But no secret decoder ring!)
I would have a laminated card identifying me as a member of the Inner Circle which I could show to bemused Federal employees, such as park rangers in order to receive special service. (I am not making this up! The Denali Superintendent, Clay Cunningham, encountered a member of the Inner Circle and how he handled him is one of Cunningham's funniest park service stories)
There would be duties of course. I would be sent briefing papers by the President himself and would be asked to make my comments and recommendations in the margins before sending them back to the White House.
Now, how was I to get into the Inner Circle? The foremost thing I needed to do was send a check for $2,000 to the Republican Central Committee and fill out the form that Bob had helpfully enclosed. The problem was that the RNC wanted the money up front, in one piece and no installments. To do otherwise would indicate you were a piker and not Inner Circle material. I believe the initiation fee was later raised to keep out the WAL-MART "associates"; we need them to vote for us, but we do not want them in the Inner Circle.
"Unfortunately, I never was able to accumulate $2,000 in one uncommitted lump sum, so I never got to be a member of the Inner Circle!"
"Tragic!" The Bear commiserated, "So that's how Republican fund raising differs from Democratic!
"Do I have any other mail?"
"Of course! You have a gazillion begging letters from environmental groups." I said, holding up a fat sheaf of envelopes addressed to "Thunderbear" or more formally "Mr. Thunderbear."
"Why is that?" Thunderbear asked curiously.
"Computer Demographics" I explained, cryptically
"Computer demographics?"
"Yes, your name; the computer search engines thinks you are an American Indian. Native Americans traditionally vote Democratic and support the Environment. It is impossible for them to know you are an extra terrestrial flying bear."
"I see' said the Bear. "Would you open an example?"
I chose a letter from Carl Pope, Executive Director of the Sierra Club.
Carl had included a petition to the Senate Majority leader Bill Frist, asking Bill to kick George Bush in the political shins and deny him access to the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to drill for oil. It was a bit late in the game and I had to tell Thunderbear.
However, Carl had thoughtfully enclosed Thunderbear's Sierra Club membership card. In addition to his name and address, the card depicted a reclining polar bear in full color. That was the hook that Carl needed. The Great Bear took one look at the membership card and said "Write them a check!"
And that is how Thunderbear became a member of the Sierra Club.