RichardHowe.com – Voices from Lowell & Beyond

Time of the End of the Season Part Three

Time of the End of the Season Part Three

By Bob Hodge

Bob Hodge grew up in Lowell and went on to graduate from Lowell High (1973) and University of Lowell (1990). He was (and still is) one the greatest runners to come out of this region. He’s also a writer whose 2020 memoir, Tale of the Times: A Runner’s Story, is available at lala books in downtown Lowell and in Kindle format from Amazon. The following is an excerpt from his novel-in-progress.

Already published:

Time episode 1

Time episode 2

****

The thrill of victory agony of defeat .

Van on drive home radio station plays….

“Lou can you get something besides this hillbilly stuff”

Somewhere around my third beer Uncle Lou popped this 8 track…

“Chick music Lou?” “Not just any chick Willy.”

We all clapped and slapped  the sides of the van a natural high where I felt this moment was never to be forgotten going from monumental low to high with my broken arrow brothers

Going home.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=NGTyNA0nI90&t=24s&pp=2AEYkAIB

Great music makes everything better. We had Lou play it again and again as we rolled over the highway and byways.

I am some body…

National

I started getting together with Broken Arrow more often even though Jack preferred that I train on my own. Axel called a team meeting to decide who would go to nationals. The Arrow’s were very good at running as a team working together and did not necessarily choose the fastest runners. They automatically included me on the team as a favor to Jack. That meant they would choose only six other athletes from the thirteen currently eligible.

Axel brought up my name first and asked if there were any objection and there were a few jokes about me but no objections. They then chose the rest of the team and it was a tight battle for the sixth spot which made me feel bad given that I was taking a spot.

The college athletic department let Broken Arrow use one of their vans through some community outreach program. That’s right, we were going to drive to NC in two days and would only stop to run and re fuel. Jenn packed a couple of coolers for us with good food and drinks.

I met with Jack the night before we left. He tossed a copy of Track & Field News on the table and we perused the NCAA cross country regional results together plus other assorted invitationals. The AAU National would be a mix of older athletes from clubs like the Florida Track Club that had won the team the last few years. I was eager to see how I would fare against both the collegiate and the older dudes.

“Willy, just get out well– I hear the course is a bear and becomes narrow after the first half mile.” “But don’t go crazy these are most of the best distance guys in the country, rookie.” Jack had begun to call me rookie and his general behavior around me had changed, so I was worried he knew about Jenn and me.

“Jack, after nationals I’m gonna be leaving but I hope you will continue to coach me.”

“We’ll see Willy.”

The Arrow’s picked me up at six A.M. There would be nine of us in the van, Axel brought another driver who everyone called “Uncle Lou” It was nice having time to just sit and think and watch the country roll by. Everyone was pensive and quiet as the miles rolled by. Axel had mapped out the route with ideal places to stop for a run and it was nice to break up the monotony of the road going for easy group runs.

We ate nothing but sandwiches but Axel promised us a good meal the night before the race. The first day was easy but the second day after not getting much if any sleep in the van sitting upright we were all beginning to feel washed out.

We arrived in Durham in the afternoon of the third day and went straight to the race course to have a run over it. It was a tough one lots of hills but the ground was dry so it would be fast. We only got two rooms for all nine of us at the hotel. Axel slept in the bathtub and Uncle Lou slept out in the van to give the rest of us room.

It was getting late and we all needed some sleep so I suggested to Axel that we just get some pizza and a few six packs and everyone agreed, Axel said only one beer each. While we ate I told the guys the story of my high school race at Franklin Park when I ran off course. They thought that was hilarious and started calling me Mr Magoo. I was anxious but I slept well and was up early out for a walk while the others still slept I sat in the coffee shop and looked over the local sports page with a story about today’s race.

I started feeling like I was in way over my head.

We got into our running gear, packed up and hit the road. We would be leaving immediately after the race heading back west. We did a short warm up, found our start box and stripped down to our shorts and singlets with the Broken Arrow logo, made by Axel’s wife and daughter white singlet and blue shorts. The logo was black just the arrow not lettered.

A guy in the next box with an Oregon singlet took a close look at mine and said, “nice singlet, righteous.” Turned out it was Billy Hernandez the NCAA Champion recently crowned. Uncle Lou was our official photographer with a couple of disposable cameras. Axel was making notes throughout the race and would be trying to identify as many finishers and their places as he could.

There were over three hundred on the start line, I had never run in a race this large. As I stood there in those last moments before the sound of the gun, I knew I would remember this moment forever. I figured to stick with Hernandez, and I was off to battle.

I sure got off the line and as we hit the end of the open field about a half mile in things began to thin out. Something snapped in me though and I just kept the hard running going leading the pack through the mile where through the crowd noise I heard four something teen. Had to be wrong too easily on the other hand how am I leading? Jack would be pelting me with rocks if he were here.

When it came to racing, I was a born leader too much of a rook to even think about the consequences over your head. I felt good and was committed now and just could not slow down. We entered the wooded section with few if any crowds and I heard no footfalls or breathing. I was out in front by a good margin waiting for that two-mile split, not that it mattered but eight fifty something.

“Just relax Willy it’s only running, and you know running, we all know running.”

I hit the halfway mark still out front. I was getting caught up in it felt so good I wanted to shout back at the spectators, the ones with the quizzical looks “hey, this is what I do, this is who I am, how you like me now, how you like these apples!”

I loved this course, made for me and one minute a big crowd and next minute back in the woods, silence and my mind floated away, I thought of Jenn and Jack how he got me primed and I snuck a look at the sky and clouds because I never look back and down, down, down, I hit the ground and lay in shock.

Twisted my ankle badly on a tree root, got up slowly, tried to get back in gear as the pack came streaming by and I cursed, the rook lost his concentration and focus at the most important moment. One-minute Cinderella boy on the cover of “Track & Field News “next minute a chump.

I limped it in a couple of my Arrow teammates slowed to encouraged me and I urged them on worst I let them down greatest mates I would ever have with my stupid rookie mistakes. I finished and lay on the ground and Axel and my mates walked me over to the medical tent for some treatment.

As I lay on the cot in the tent, I could hear some conversation outside. “Who was that guy leading at four and a half miles? He had this race in the bag.” “His name is Willy Desmarais, probably a Canadian.”

I got a chuckle over that in my pain not physically but just overwhelmed, humbled and not sorry for myself but grateful to have had the good fortune to even have this experience whether everything went sideways or not, counting my blessings.

But I did feel the need to get drunk and get drunk I did.

The Broken Arrows finished tenth and would have been fourth if I had held on, I was not even sure what place I finished.

Axel wrapped my ankle in ice, and we got in our ship and sailed west home to talk it over with my captain and his spouse whose impossible love broke me like a walnut.

My ankle swelled like a baseball, Axel said “Willy you should get an x-ray. Go to the trainer at the college when we get back.” “I’m sorry Axel, I messed up.” “Hey Willy, you gave us the thrill of a lifetime seeing someone in our singlet leading the National.”

Axel got me a six pack of “that skunk piss beer you like” and I sat back and slugged em down. Uncle Lou came over for a chat “Willy, I know you are planning to leave but if you change your mind you can stay with me.” Uncle Lou’s wife had died recently and his son was incarcerated.

“I appreciate that Uncle Lou, I need to give my running a chance or I know I will regret it when I’m older, also I just love it, the feeling I had leading that race with a shot at winning.”

My ankle was still very swollen when the guys dropped me off. Jack and Jenn came out to greet me, Jenn giving me a hug. Jack squeezed my shoulder, “Willy, Axel called me with the blow by blow and he was so excited talking a mile a minute boy you put on a show.”

“Ya, until I lost my concentration, rookie mistake.” “Willy, I thought you would be doing well to make the top twenty-five and you were on your way to winning the whole thing. Let’s go to the trainer first thing tomorrow and maybe you can get in the pool for some water running.”

The next day Jack handed me a slip of paper with a phone number, “It’s a writer from “Track & Field News” would like you to call him.” I didn’t want to talk with him and I threw away his number.

I did not run for ten days, an eternity for me but my ankle would be okay. I just needed to be careful, continue my treatment and not get impatient. My Dad was excited that I might come home for Christmas but I wasn’t ready. I had a few more mentors to visit.

“Track & Field News” had a photo of me leading with the caption “Desmarais nearly steels the race.” There was also a story about a new club that had just formed in Boston called the Beantown Bombers and that caught my interest a club for mainly post collegiate runners.

I continued to stay at Jack and Jenn’s but spent more time on my own in my room reading and planning out my next hobo time on the road. I spent most of Christmas day with the Broken Arrow’s at Uncle Lou’s. Lou had some good pictures of Nationals and he gave me one of me in full flight.

Now an old man I cherish that black & white photo three inches by five inches. It is framed and sits above my writing desk, sometimes arousing a state of melancholy at all that went down.

I gave notice at the college and finished up my course in Human Anatomy getting a B. The professor didn’t like me too well because there were a few instances when I had to leave the room when he was using very graphic examples of say, bleeding and I nearly passed out.

He made a case about it in front of the class that was just embarrassing for me.

On New Year’s Day I went for a twenty-mile run and my ankle felt fine thanks to the treatment I had been getting and after not running for ten days and then holding back for a few weeks I was like a caged animal. I then packed up my rucksack and headed for the bus station. I didn’t want to face Jack and Jenn and so I wrote a long note of thanks and left it for them to read and then I slinked out and was gone.

I was heading for Atlanta where I had a few running acquaintance’s but first I wanted to visit New Orleans and maybe spend a couple of days there but where? I would look for a cheap room with my meagre funds saved working at the college. I had read “A Confederacy of Dunces” and Got it in my head to visit New Orleans where the book is set.

Today, all these years later I remember the lost and lonely feeling of leaving these people who had become my family on New Year’s Day on a bus and I cried and a young woman came over to console me. One of only four people on the entire bus. I got over it.

Jude was on her way back to Houston where she went to college and the miles went by quickly as we shared our stories. I showed her the picture of me leading the National from “Track & Field News” “Willy, you are almost famous.”

At one of the many stops we made I bought some Mateus Wine and we drank it on the bus from little paper cups and had some snacks. We found seats way in the last row and cuddled up and went to sleep.

In Houston Jude showed me around and said she would invite me to stay but her roommate would not like it. I went for a run from her dorm and showered quickly before the roomie got back.

Adios girlie, it has been fun for the ride. I made my way to the Galveston- Bolivar Ferry and took the short ride with some great views, giant tankers and shrimp boats, the Bolivar Lighthouse and Dolphins.

When I got to the other side I decided to hitchhike and eventually got a ride with a van full of hippies smoking weed. They were students at Tulane University and they were going to be camping out the next few nights as they made their way back. They said it was fine if I wanted to tag along.

The first night I went for a run from the campground “Hey Willy, how far did you run?” “Ten miles.” “What? That’s crazy man.” I then went for a nice swim in the lake and slept in my bag under the stars.

I dreamt about all my myriad experiences since leaving home and I thought about my family, mostly my Dad. I had written him a long letter and sent him a copy of the “Track & Field News” article and photo.

I felt like I had made much progress, might I have done as well if I stayed in college? I thought not, rather be out here hoboing around a learning experience you don’t get at any college.

I dreamt about all my myriad experiences since leaving home and I thought about my family, mostly my dad. I had written him a long letter and sent him a copy of the “Track & Field News” article and photo.

I felt like I had made much progress, might I have done as well if I had stayed in college? I thought not, rather be out here hoboing around a learning experience you don’t get at any college. Lo and behold I had a visitor with me in my bag that night. “Summer of Willy” continues into winter.

In my youth, a voracious reader with no agenda but just only following my instinct I had come across some writing that knocked me sideways realizing that there was something to this life and I was not the only one trying to understand and survive and thrive and deal with whatever hand I was dealt.

John Kennedy Toole for no exact reason and his posthumously published “Confederacy of Dunces” made some powerful impressions on me. I think just the weirdness, the language of the place, the honesty is not barred. It is a weird story with highlight comedic moments and sad so sad.Well, anything can have a powerful effect if it captures you at the right time and place.

The hippies and I got along okay, I mean really, I was just like them just not so overt about it. We had another night like the last and then arrived in New Orleans where they dropped me off on the banks of the Mississippi and I met a few Navy men who were singing sea shanties. I sang along.

Well known Gun

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HEORrdw150w

You Need to Work on Your Sweeping

You Need to Work on Your Sweeping

By Rich Grady

It’s been nearly four years since my wife passed away. I think of her all the time. Every morning when I walk into the kitchen, I grab the broom and start to sweep, as she always did. I am always amazed at how many crumbs and dirt particles fill the dustpan – far more than I see when they are all spread out on the floor. This is something that would not have surprised my wife. She understood all of the realities of keeping and managing a house, and much more than that.

My wife worked as a teacher at the local elementary school. She volunteered in the community. She helped our parents as they got older. She took care of our kids – she knew where they had to be and when, and was their chauffeur before they could drive. She went to their games, cheered for them, and coached or refereed when needed. She took care of them when they were sick, bought them clothes as they grew, and gave them presents on their birthdays and at Christmas. And when we were blessed with grandkids, she was an amazing grandmother. I will always be proud to have been her husband.

When she was gripped by cancer for the third time, I did my best to do all the chores that she had done for decades, but could no longer do as she battled the disease and endured the various treatments and hospital stays. I began to do the laundry, fold the clothes, go grocery shopping, run errands, vacuum, wash the floor, dust, polish the furniture, plant flowers, water the plants, clean the bathrooms, do the dishes, figure out meals, pay the bills, and cook. And I’m sure I left some things off the list of chores that she did before I took over.

When we were both working full-time, I responded willingly to her occasional requests for help, and thought I was doing my best to be helpful. I truly appreciated all that she did, but never actually knew how much time and effort it took to perform all of the chores around the house, until she got very sick and I needed to step up. As I became more aware of the amount of work through my own efforts, I began to feel that I could’ve and should’ve done more over the years to share the workload. She did a lot without my help, and without complaining or bragging about it.

She had always told me that I was capable of doing the chores around the house that she did, but until I took over, I wasn’t sure. I sought her reassurance that I was doing things right when it was my turn. I didn’t always put things away where she put them, and I didn’t always fold or iron the clothes the same as she did, but she didn’t get riled when I’d teasingly confess my slip-ups. She would just give me an amused smile.

When her end was near, but before I would even let that possibility creep into my head, she said to me, “You’re doing a good job – you’ll be fine on your own.” I teared up – I didn’t want to think about being on my own, and she could see that it made me very sad to hear her say those words. With perfect timing, she delivered a truthful punchline that made me laugh, which was:

“But you need to work on your sweeping.” She knew that was a true statement, and so did I. We both laughed, as we often did together.

And so, it has become my daily mantra to speak her words out loud as I enter the kitchen and reach for the broom. It has given me a whole new outlook on housework and life in general. It also reminds me of my wife’s sense of humor and kind but direct manner. She was

down-to-earth and could quickly reduce complex situations to their simple, honest essence. To me, she was amazing, and I always told her so. I still do. And every morning, I sense a knowing grin on my wife’s face as she sees me look at the dustpan in amazement at the crumbs that I sweep up, even though I can’t see them on the floor – it’s a gift that keeps on giving.

Diners

Diners

By Leo Racicot

Diners are as American as mom and apple pie. In the late part of the 18th century, an enterprising Providence, Rhode Island man, Walter Scott, began serving night workers (newspaper employees, nighttime vending hawkers, graveyard shift factory workers) sandwiches and coffee out of his horse-drawn wagon. The service was an instant hit and soon evolved into the dining cars of today.      I love diners and diner food. Who in Lowell hasn’t eaten, or still eats, at The Owl Diner on Appleton Street? It seems to have always been there. When I knew it, it was owned by the Shanahan Sisters. Its sign read Four Sisters Owl Diner. One of the sisters, Bridget, owned a beauty salon out in Dracut. Bridget did my sister’s hair for many years and Diane always said Bridget was her favorite of the sisters. Owl’s tiny parking lot and the surrounding area is always packed-to-the-rafters, especially on weekends. Just try getting a table on Saturday and Sunday mornings. My routine on Sundays was to run next door to Palmer News, grab the Sunday Boston Globe, the Sunday NYTimes and eat my breakfast in The Owl while reading them. A delightful memory…The usually loud, bustling Owl boasts a diverse patronage: popular among politicians, tourists and college students, it’s become a classic comfort spot for generations.

The decades-old Club Diner on Dutton Street has been doling out hearty breakfasts and lunches since the 1930s. Run by the hard-working LeVasseur Family, the aromas emanating from its stoves dare you to keep walking without wanting to come in for one of its tasty breakfasts, homemade soups and lunches. When I first moved back to the city in 2007, I made it a habit to have breakfast there every morning. Breakfast, diner coffee and a newspaper are my idea of heaven. The Club was not a far walk from my house and I got to know the staff, Bobby, the cook, and his dad, also Bob, pretty well, looked forward to seeing their friendly faces each and every morning. I stopped eating there every day only when I noticed I was getting to be the size of The Hindenburg.

My friend and CTI co-worker, Connie Carrigg, loved to take me to Cameo Diner in Centralville. We often stopped in for a bite and cup of “Joe” in between shifts or on Saturdays. Connie knew everybody in the place, staff and customers. Connie was such a spirited presence, had what I call “star gravity” that whenever she ate there, she drew crowds around the table to hear her stories, her infectious “good time gal” laugh. Connie worked for a time as a waitress and liked to tell how, any tme a male customer took the liberty of pinching her on the behind, she’d quickly snap, “Buddy, it ain’t on the menu!” How I miss dear, funny Connie…

I think back on the great times my travels took me to diners outside of Lowell, During my years working at O’Leary Library, ULowell, I was befriended by a couple, N. Blau and Joe, and their interesting circle of musician and writer friends.  The Blau “set” always had a party going. N. was so exuberant and enthusiastic, she had the group feeling we were on our way to the Met Gala or the Academy Awards, even if we were just going up the street for coffee. She, herself, was a hoot. In those days, she was known as N. Blau, light opera star and phone sex operator (well, college tuition was steep, even back then). I was fortunate in the ’80s and early 90s to know a group of women, confident, attractive, who knew who they were and who let you know who they were: N., Connie, Jane Wall, Ruby Killelea.      Anyway — with N. Blau, many was the time I found myself coasting along a post-midnight highway towards Boston when she had a sudden impulse to eat at Boston’s Leather District’s Blue Diner. It was beyond fun to be there, while the rest of the city was dark and asleep, eating in its eerie after-hours lighting, surrounded by college kids, night workers on their break, mostly revelers spilling out of the nearby bars after last call. Food always tastes better in a diner, the greasier, the better, washed down with bottomless cups of fresh coffee, being regaled by story after story, eavesdropping on the people at the table behind, getting to see the latest nighttime fashions and fads, even spotting a celebrity or two refueling after a day’s grueling performance schedule. I’ll never forget my Blue Diner nights. I can still see the gigantic blue coffee cup on its roof, as we drove around the South Station neighborhood around and around in our search for a parking space.  Eating, chatting, laughing till sun-up, that, for me, was The Blue Diner.

In fact, I liked diners so much, it got so that whenever I’d run into one I didn’t know, I’d head inside to sample its fare, its ambience. Let’s see. There was The Rosebud in Somerville’s Davis Square, Average Joe’s in Action (where they’d shout out your name when your order was ready), The Paul Revere Diner in West Medford.      On one of our trips to New York City, Joe and I had to check out Manhattan’s historic Empire Diner. It did not disappoint. Years later, while strolling the west side of Chelsea with Edmund White, we both agreed we were “starving” and wound up in a diner close by. We were at the counter noshing away when I remembered the Empire (not remembering where exactly it was located) and said to Ed, “Years ago, Joe and I ate at The Empire Diner and loved it.” Ed smirked and replied, “Yeah, you’re in it. It changed its name a while ago.”   We both had a hearty laugh about that.

It bears mention that probably the most famous “dining car” I’ve eaten in was owned and operated by none other than the great Vincent Price. Audiences know Price most of all for his performances in ’60s and ’70s horror movies. But he was anything but scary. A very refined, very cultured man, he was a splendid gourmet cook and respected art collector. He loved travel, especially in the Pullman dining carsof his yesteryears,  and could discourse on the golden age of travel for hours. In about 1965, Price converted his Cortez Club Car into his own personal diner, installing it on Malibu Beach, turning it into a mini-restaurant and lounge for guests he liked to entertain with his plethora of recipes, gathered from his many travels throughout the world. His melt-in-your-mouth lamb sausage was out-of-this-world, so succulent and tender, you thought you were eating clouds… And why not?  I’ve often thought of diners and diner food as “pure Heaven”

_____________________

Club Diner

Blue Diner

Cameo Diner

N. Blau

The Empire Diner

Owl Diner

Vincent Price in his private dining car

Seen & Heard: Vol. 8

 Welcome to this week’s edition of Seen and Heard, in which I catalog the most interesting things I’ve seen, heard and read over the previous seven days. 

Book Review: 1929: “Inside the Greatest Crash in Wall Street History and How it Shattered a Nation” by Andrew Ross Sorkin – This book has been on the New York Times best seller list for many weeks – with good reason, it turns out. I’m familiar with Sorkin from his economics writing for the Times and the various business conferences he organizes. At the beginning of this book he explains that after his last one, “Too Big to Fail” which was about the 2008 financial crisis, he became intrigued by the 1929 crash. I’ve studied that event in history class, read several books about it, and assumed I knew what I needed to know, but Sorkin’s book puts it all in a much clearer context. Specifically, the 1929 crash was triggered by people going crazy with stock market investments. Established figures on Wall Street, before things like insider trading were illegal, manipulated the market to make themselves fortunes and thought there was nothing wrong with it. Countless others in the country wanted to become wealthy too and jumped into the market. Like real estate promoters before 2008 who said the value of real estate never goes down, stock promoters in the 1920s said the same about that market. To accelerate their gains, people bought stock “on margin” which meant putting up $1000 of your own money and borrowing $9000 from the brokerage so you could buy $10,000 worth of stock. The stock was held by the broker for collateral. The market went up and up and up until it didn’t. In our hypothetical, when the value of the stock sunk below $9000, the brokerage would demand more cash from the investor to make up the difference. If the investor didn’t have the cash – and most did not – the brokerage would sell the stock to recoup its money. More stocks being offered for sale drove the price further down which is what precipitated the crash. The revelation to me was that within two years the stock market had stabilized and was behaving rationally. But in the meantime, thousands of banks across the US failed. With no deposit insurance, people lost whatever savings they had. More importantly for the economy, banks were unable to extend credit which froze up the economy. Sorkin suggests it was a crisis of confidence as much as one of economics. The new president, Franklin Roosevelt, had mixed success with the solutions he proposed, but his positive demeanor and cheerful personality made people feel more confident which is one reason why Roosevelt was deemed to be so successful. At the conclusion of the book, Sorkin sounds a bit pessimistic. He says in 1929 as in 2008, it was clear to many that the economy was at great risk but because so much profit was being made hardly anyone was willing to apply the brakes. He sees that as a function of human nature and is doubtful we will learn any lessons from these past mistakes. 

Television – Winter Olympics week 3 – I didn’t see much live Olympic coverage this week but tried to catch the highlights on YouTube and follow events online. US women Olympians finished the week strong with the hockey team coming from behind to beat Canada for the gold medal. Skier Mikaela Shiffrin won a gold medal in slalom, and Alysa Liu won a gold medal in figure skating. Then on Sunday, the US men’s Olympic hockey team beat Canada in sudden death overtime. The Olympics ended Sunday but I’ll do some concluding comments next week. 

Newspaper feature – Last weekend, the Boston Sunday Globe Sunday Arts section launched a new feature. “One Special Thing” is a weekly series in which a member of the Globe Arts section “will choose something that speaks to us and sings to us, something timeless that we return to in good times and bad.” The opening essay was about “The Friends of Eddie Coyle”, the 1970 debut novel by George V. Higgins which was later made into a classic movie that starred Robert Mitchum. I think what the Globe plans to do is a little like what I try to do with this Seen & Heard column so I look forward to seeing how they handle it in the weeks ahead. 

Newspaper article: “Inside the Debacle That Led to the Closure of El Paso’s Airspace” in New York Times on February 14, 2026. Late on Tuesday, February 10, 2026, the FAA announced that the air space over El Paso, Texas, was closed for national security purposes for the next ten days. I remember seeing that news and thinking, are we about to attack Mexico? Is there a terrorist threat? Neither of those made sense because the response would not be limited to one small segment of the US-Mexican border. Early the next morning I watched on Reddit as people who’d been scheduled to fly into or out of El Paso had their plans upended with no warning. Then by mid-morning, the restriction had been lifted. A multiple choice flow of explanations ensued from “administration sources,” none of which sounded credible. This Times story offers some explanation and context. The US military has developed some kind of laser that can be used against drones. It’s important to develop such capabilities because the use of drones by Ukraine and Russia are revolutionizing warfare and the US has to be prepared. But the “Secretary of War” wants to use the weapon to shoot down drones purportedly being used by drug cartels to carry product across the US border. Because the US Customs and Border Patrol is charged with defending our national border, they wanted access to this weapon. However, the FAA, still scarred by the preventable tragedy that occurred last year when an Army helicopter collided with a passenger plane landing at Reagan Airport killing all on both aircrafts, wants everyone to proceed cautiously with this weapon lest innocent aviators and passengers be shot out of the sky. In this El Paso incident, the military and border patrol ignored the FAA’s concerns and shot off the laser at a supposed drug drone. With its concerns being ignored, the FAA promptly closed the air space which then got everyone’s attention. You’d like to think the adults in the room will figure this out so innocent people will be safe but that would be wishful thinking. Oh, and multiple sources told the NYT that the target was not a drone but a mylar balloon that slipped away from some kid’s birthday party and floated across the border. 

Obituary – Jesse Jackson – Rev. Jesse Jackson died on Tuesday, February 17, 2026, at age 84. In its obituary, the New York Times called him “the nation’s most influential Black figure in the years between the civil rights crusades of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the election of Barack Obama.” Jackson was a superb orator who ran twice for president. His speeches, particularly at the Democratic conventions in 1984 and 1988, were inspiring. I want to say that Jackson was ahead of his time because many of the positions he proposed which seemed radical back then make abundant sense today, especially in view of our current political climate. But rather than being ahead of his time, perhaps Jackson helped shape our present in a good way. Jackson’s 1984 Rainbow Coalition, which sought to mobilize racial minorities, the working class, LGBTQ individuals, and other marginalized communities into a powerful political movement never materialized but should still be pursued. It’s needed more than ever today. 

Obituary – Robert Duvall – Actor Robert Duvall died on February 15, 2026, at age 95. He had been in too many movies to mention and all of his performances that I recall were excellent. The one that always stood out for me was his portrayal of LTC Kilgore in the 1979 film Apocalypse Now. Kilgore commanded an air cavalry squadron that conducted an air assault on a Viet Cong village. This portion of the movie was subordinate to the plot but it was my favorite part of the film.