Major General Smedley Butler

Maybe you've never heard of Smedley Butler. He was born in 1881, and died in 1940. He served 34 years in the U.S. Marines, retired as a Major General, and is one of 19 Americans awarded the Medal of Honor twice.

By some reckonings, he may be one of the biggest heroes in the history of the United States.

When FDR won the presidency in 1932, smack in the middle of the Great Depression, he quickly started the ball rolling on his New Deal. Many Wall Street titans thus came to view him as a traitor to his own class. They dreamed up a plan to get rid of him.

They chose the highly-decorated Butler as their point man. Their idea was to have Butler lead a huge veterans' march on Washington, and subsequently pressure FDR to install Butler as the "Secretary of General Affairs." Eventually, as the plan went, FDR would hand over the power to run the country entirely to Butler. In essence, the United States would be run by a Wall Street-installed dictator.

It's easy to understand why the Wall Street titans chose Smedley Butler. As a seasoned combat veteran, he'd served the economic interests of the rich and powerful before: He'd admitted to rigging elections in Nicaragua, and led military forces in other parts of Latin America to keep countries on a path favorable to U.S. economic interests.

What they didn't know was that by the time they approached Smedley, he'd come to believe what could best be related by a quote oft-attributed to him: "War is a racket." (Later, in a speech, he said, "I spent 33 years being a high-class muscle man for Big Business, for Wall Street and the bankers.")

Agents of Wall Street approached Smedley with the offer of an $18,000 bribe, but he spilled the beans to Congress. He gave testimony behind closed doors, and a House committee confirmed the bribe offer. At about that time, the commander of the VFW, James Van Zandt, stated that "agents of Wall Street" had also approached him about taking part in putting a U.S. dictatorship in place.

The House committee's investigation went nowhere. The transcript of the interview with Smedley Butler was printed with the names of the accused Wall Street titans deleted.

General Butler went on to give talks against the futility of war, but he didn't get much press coverage for his efforts.

I tend to believe that General Butler's name should be as familiar to us as that of Paul Revere or George Washington, but I'd wager that few of us ever happened upon his name in a history textbook.

"The problem with history is, the folks who were there ain't talking. And the ones who weren't there, you can't shut 'em up." Tom Waits

My Best Enemy

They moved into our neighborhood when I was eight, a couple and four kids. Eddie was the oldest, at seven, and I immediately took a dislike to him. He was living in the house where my best friend Keith had lived until his parents decided to move to another town. Therefore, I could not like him. It didn't help that his dog would poop while running down the sidewalk.

For a couple of years, we got in the occasional wrestling match, or would simply bristle at each other, but it was never anything serious. We both tired of having each other as enemies, and started saying "hey" to each other when we passed. We started getting along, but we really didn't have much to do with each other.

One day, though, Eddie saw me in the front yard, and he wanted to talk. He talked about what he wanted to do when he grew up. I remember how excited he was, how focused, how hopeful. What I don't remember is what he'd chosen for his future career.

The next day, I yelled out a "hey" at Eddie as he rode down the street. He rode like a wild man, zigging and zagging across the street, like he was daring cars to get in his way.

An hour later, Eddie was in a coma. A car had run into him, and he smacked his head on the pavement as he went down. We didn't wear helmets back then; that would have been weird.

Later that day, Eddie died. He was ten years old, the age of my son today.

He popped into my mind this morning. I wondered what he would be doing today, where he would be living, how many kids he would have.

But for some reason, I can't remember what he'd planned to do for a living when he grew up. Maybe it doesn't matter. After all, he never grew up. He never got the chance.

Still, it bothers me that I can't remember Eddie's chosen career field.

I'm going to stop now, and watch my son sleep.

Steve Brewer: Nest is never quite empty

Steve Brewer posted this on his blog today. Geez, when I read it, I felt the need to go outside away from Dylan. As my friend Dave would say, "damn sinuses."

I was digging around in a file cabinet in my home office when I found a cowboy tucked into one corner of a drawer. He's quite the frontiersman, armed with a rifle, a pistol and a knife, and crouched in a kneeling position perfect for sniping.

Been a long time since our sons -- ages 21 and nearly 19 -- played with little plastic cowboys. Wonder how long that cowboy has been waiting in that drawer for someone to rescue him?

You can't tell it from my stellar cellphone photography, but the cowboy is pretty detailed, with windswept bandana, fringed shirt and the words, on his base, "Made in China."

I'm keeping him on my desk, a reminder that my sons are never as far away as they seem.

photo by Steve Brewer

Heavy Light Reading

Do we really know someone we've only "met" online? Yes and no, I think. I think we know them on a different level, somehow. Not necessarily better or worse, just different.

I've never met Thom Gabrukeiwicz. He's a friend and former coworker of my good friend Ian, who presides over a fun blog titled Uncle E's Musical Nightmares. They both worked at our local paper in Redding, the Record Searchlight, but they both left--along with a bunch of other senior journalists and staff--with the downturn in the paper's fortunes. Thom strikes me as someone who would make a good friend, even though he'd thoroughly piss you off now and then.

In addition to his blog, Thom has a site named Three Word Wednesday. Once a week, he offers up three words as writing prompts. Folks create poetry with the words, or short stories, or "flash fiction." Thom presides over the site like a kindly uncle, and his own submissions show how much can be conveyed with few words.

Perhaps because I'm in aviation, where divorce seems as common as the common cold, Thom's post yesterday really got to me. For National Guard and Reservist folks who've been deployed to Iran or Afghanistan, the divorce rate is strikingly high. That's probably another reason why Thom's story wrapped me up: I've heard similar stories over the intercom. I hope you'll give it a look.

Thom worked as a journalist in the midwest until recently. On his deathbed, Thom's dad encouraged him to go to New York to pursue his love of writing fiction. I wish Thom loads of luck, and I hope he'll do his best to see to it that his first novel is released on Kindle.