CT – 217                                        CORNERSTONE TRAVELER                        SEPT. 3 ‘13
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Hi everyone and welcome to another exciting and thought provoking issue of this
bi-weekly newsletter, The CORNERSTONE TRAVELER. Also available on the web at
mid-Hudson Valley news: Yesterday was the official, American end of summer, Labor Day. Though summer officially ends on the 22nd of this month.  Last week the freshman at SUNY New Paltz arrived for their four year hitch in college. Shortly the bars in new Paltz will be thronged with college students, especially P&G’s on Friday nights.
I can see the apple fruit come to bear when I walk into town. When I was younger (in the last millennium) new Paltz was the apple capital of New York State, as there were so many apple farms.
The mackintosh apple was the main variety of apple grown in New Paltz along with Red Delicious and Yellow Delicious. I have often wondered who the man was who bred the first mackintosh? Who was this man, Mackintosh? I guess one could look who was the man named Red Delicious. Just kidding.
observations:
I saw Ollie North on the O’Reilly Factor last week talking about the situation in Syria. He said that Iran would be a military problem in the mid-East especially against Israel.
The I remembered how he directed the sale of arms to Iran to provide money to the Contras in Nicaragua. These can be the same arms that Iran will use against the United States if we ever put boots on the ground in Syria. These weren’t just small arms sales, but also big time arm sales like the Stinger shoulder fired anti-aircraft missile weapon and the like.
At the time of the Iran/Contra affair during the Reagan Administration, I found it hard to believe that the CIA did not know of these arms sales to Iran. And considering the POTUS had a daily briefing with the Director of the CIA, How much did Reagan really know of the arm sales to Iran?
I firmly believe that Reagan knew almost everything about the arm sales to Iran, no matter how much he denied it and Ollie North said that Reagan knew nothing of these arms sales.
Considering this, how much credence can anyone take with what Ollie North says?
sports:
The Yankees are about five games out of the wild card chances of a post season playoff spot . They are 8 games back in the AL East with a record of 73-64.
The Met s are definitely out of any playoff chances for the post season with being
21 1/2 games back in the NL East with a record of 62-74.
other:
As with all previous issues of this newsletter, everything printed here is either copyright protected or copyright pending.
The history of P&G’s follows this newsletter from when the building was first constructed to about the mid 1930’s
The short story I wrote that is included with this newsletter is called Kit Carson and his
Angels, I hope you like it.
Thank-you – Rik McGuire
The History of P&G’s from the Beginning
Travel back more than a century to the spring of 1900 as builder John H. Hasbrouck and his men construct a 50′ by 28′ building on the site of the current P&G’s Restaurant. Look around and begin to imagine.
The first floor features a fountain with water softly falling into a cobblestone basin. The exotic effect is enhanced with darting goldfish and blooming water lilies. Palms set liberally throughout the room, provide an air of privacy for those seated at the groups of small tables. Patrons, dressed in their finest, sit chatting, sometimes courting and enjoying the establishments fine refreshments.
The upper story is a promenade, opened to a full view of sunset over the Shawangunk Mountains. Live music gently eases you from afternoon into evening. Welcome to the ambiance and hospitality of the Casino.
The Casino’s owner, Mr Steen, had correctly envisioned the areas many tourists, summer boarders and trolley passengers stopping to enjoy the unique features of his establishment. The terminal station for the trolley line from Highland was located just across Main Street. It is said that Steen patterned the Casino after the famous Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs.
On June 1, 1900 the Casino was officially opened. That evening “a large number of people enjoyed the ice cream, music and the lovely mountains views.” according to the New Paltz Independent newspaper. Music was provided by a band which included a piano and several other instruments. The Casino soon became famous for Saturday night dances held on the second floor of the open pavilion. It was decorated with flowers and vines suspended from the rafters. The crowds were so large that special late trolley cars were run to accommodate the guests and take the orchestra back to Poughkeepsie.
The electric power shut down at midnight. According to Independent writer Delia Shaw “…the time of closing and the departure of the last trolley (run by electricity) had to be reckoned with, but as was often the case, several folks ‘Missed the Last Trolley’… seems between intermissions the fellows would walk their girls down the street where numerous straw thatched summer houses were located on the banks of the Wallkill River and they were so preoccupied with making love by the light of the silvery moon that they forgot everything.” Shaw continued. “Saturday Nights In New Paltz Became A Legend! There was not a single hitching post available, nor an inch of space under any of the sheds of the five local hotels. The Casino drew people from surrounding towns and they came via hay loads and 4 seated carriages, while some men even walked and carried their dancing shoes. ‘Little Larry,’ the shoeshine fellow, did a landslide business on Sat. Nights! As did all the merchants and the stores open ‘til 9 p.m.”
By 1921 the Casino had changed hands and names, becoming the Blue Crane Inn. Ads of the era read.
The big Night at the Blue Crane In
Dancing Every Wednesday and Saturday Evening
In the Chinese Hall-Good Jazzy Music.
The cornerstone of nightlife in New Paltz continued to thrive.
In 1925, after 28 Years of service, the Highland to New Paltz trolley company folded. The demise of the trolley business and the affordability of the automobile meant peoples outings were no longer confined to the trolley’s narrow corridor. They could drive to any village hotel, restaurant, or scenic spot that caught their fancy. Indeed, New Paltz and the Blue Crane Inn lost their captive audience. The Inn, however, continued to accommodate people well into the 1930’s. Other establishments came and went until 1947 when it became Pat and Georges and ultimately was nicknamed the P&G’s that welcomes everybody.
                          KIT CARSON and the ANGLES
Hi. My name is Carson T. Palmer. Friends and non-friends alike call me Carson, T, Tiberius, Tibs and Kit. First I should explain the T. portion of my middle name. My father was an avid Star Trek fan and when I was born in 1976, the countries bi-centennial, he went with my mothers first name of Carson, but insisted that my middle name should be after a Star Trek character. Spock was out as well as Sulu, Scotty and a host of other character names. My mother relented with my middle name being Tiberius after James T. Kirk.
Kit on the other hand is the first part of the name of an 19th century explorer of the west, Kit Carson.
Many of my friends thought that Kit Carson would be a good nickname for me because I was considered one who liked to explore and like Kit Carson of the old I was considered a maverick though I never liked guns.
The reason for me writing what you are reading is that my lady friend, Jessie, and one of my best friends, Tom thought I should make a record of my ability to talk with the angels in heaven when they are not in heaven, but visiting us lowly humans on earth of course.
I realize that this may never be published, for who would believe it. And I am pretty certain it will not be published in my life time.
I learned I could talk and shoot the breeze with angels when I was just fifteen years old. It happened one night when I lay in bed, worrying and fretting over a tenth grade history exam the next day. The history teacher and I didn’t exactly see eye to eye on many if not most of the
political events of the recent past. And in particular Vietnam. My father, Charles, was a field medic in Nam and came away from that cursed war a completely changed man, art least according to my
mother.
Dad told me of the horrors and death he had witnessed in a totally unnecessary war. And he told me this from the perspective of a field medic who healed the wounded and saw the dead.              He would shout loud at anti-war rally’s after he returned home from Nam. Mr. Manning on the other hand was a complete supporter of that war though he never served. He claimed he suffered a back injury in high school from playing football.
I suppose it is needless to say that I reiterated my fathers thoughts of the war from the perspective of someone who had actually been there and Mr. Manning almost branded me as unpatriotic because I had agreed with my father about Vietnam.
I remember one afternoon, we were having a rather long and heated debate about Vietnam. It would have gone into the next class period if Mr. Manning hadn’t asked me. “Are you a commie?”
I just couldn’t resist saying. “Nyet comrade.” I said this with a smirk and the whole history class almost doubled over in their seats laughing. I think it was the first time I had ever seen Mr. Manning at a loss for words. He finally decided he had to save face in front of the class and sent me to the principles office.
“Why?” I asked.
“Just for being so insolent.” He said and pointed to the door.
I could only gather my books, stand up and head for the door, but before I reached the
door, I bowed to the class, thanking them for being such a wonderful audience. That only caused Mr. Manning to yell that I should leave immediately and the classroom doubled over a second
time with laughter.
Did I go to the principles office? No. Because I knew that teachers never bothered to
check to see if you actually went to the principles office as instructed. They only assumed that you did. I learned of this weak link in the chain from my sources in the main office of the school.
So where did I go? I first went to the girls gym to peek and drool over the girls in their tight t-shirts and tight gym shorts. Then after the girls gym teacher chased me away, I went to the school library to read and explore.
I swear Mr. Manning would have had a fit right in with the now disgraced Joe McCarthy in his futile attempt to find commies in the movies, the arts, the military and the boy scouts. He, like Joe McCarthy, was that paranoid of the supposed communist menace.
I was absolutely certain Mr. Manning would put an essay question in the test about Vietnam and I knew my answer would have given me an F maybe a D.
As I lay in bed fretting over the exam, this beautiful lighted mist appeared before me at the foot of my bed and about five feet above my bed. And in this mist of light was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I refer to it as a creature because at the time I did not know I was seeing one of God’s angels.
When this creature explained to me that it was an angel. My first thought was back to my parochial school education when I was in first or second grade learning religion at St. Josephs. When it was explained to me that angels had wings and halo’s, I immediately saw these angels
flying in the clouds throwing their halo’s at each other like frisbees. Needless to say, even as a young child, I had an overactive imagination.
I guess I can only say that how angels were and still are described in todays and yesterdays
religion are nothing like what I saw before me when I was fifteen and still are today.
The angel explained that I had been chosen to help fight the devils legion of evil
dominions on earth. At first I was perplexed. Why should anyone, let alone angels or God want me? I had to know why I was needed. The angel then explained it was well known by all in
the heavens that I tried to see the good in people and they thought this to be important, to battle
the demonic legion or horde. And also I was not tempted by greed as many of the people around me were. And also I was young and willing to learn. The angel explained to me that night that I would do well on the next days history exam and it would be totally on my own with no help from those above.
I week later the teacher threw my test paper on my desk and I saw that I had scored a B+ on the exam I had fretted over the week before though I knew I should have scored at least an A. I knew then that I had to follow the angels guidance and I did.
As the years passed and I grew older, I learned how to spot evil and the devils design from the guidance of the angel and from more and more angels. It had gotten to the point where I could talk to them as friends. I gave them their names. It was random on my part in regards to their names. You must understand that because angels were created by God, they have no gender.
I had learned that the devil formed his dominion with mortals through half demons who
seduced the mortal people with greed. And greed is a powerful motivator in the human animal.
I am now twenty-eight and a syndicated columnist in many of the country’s newspapers.
When I was in college, my major was archeology with a minor in journalism. I deliberately had a backup plan in college as my father and mother stressed when I was growing up. God rest
their souls. My parents died in a tragic car accident when I was in my senior year in high school.
The accident happened when this evil greedy radio talk show shithead insisted he had right of way through a four way stop intersection and essentially T-boned my parents car in the intersection with his Jeep Wagoneer. He and his insurance company fought tooth and nail during the ensuing civil trial.
I remember I and my lawyers had a sit down conference with this prick and his lawyers. At this conference they tried to brand my father as un-American because of his participation in anti-war rallies. I looked at the driver of the Wagoneer, a Mister Allan Drury straight in the eye and asked. “Did you serve in the military during Vietnam?” I knew he didn’t because it was well known that he deliberately took fewer classes then recommended to extend his college years and his 2-S deferment from the draft.
I admit I almost lost it when he called my father un-American because I stood up and told the asshole that if he really thought my father was un-American that he should come to the house where I would show him the Bronze Star with Oak Leaf Clusters, a Silver Star and a Purple Heart that my father had earned serving assholes like himself. That shut him up.
Though I probably could have gotten over the two million in the insurance settlement. I
wanted the claim process to end so I could continue to grieve for my parents.
I settled for enough that would pay off the remaining mortgage on the house, the real estate taxes and pay for my college education. It wasn’t enough that I could go to Harvard, Yale or any
other Ivy League university, it was enough that I could go to the State University of New York at New Paltz. Even if I had gotten the money to be able to afford those Ivy League schools, I would
never have been accepted because I partied too much in high school and spent the remaining time conversing with the angels. And with all my partying and ongoing conversations with the angels, I was able to graduate from high school. Go figure.
In regards to the angels, I was very angry with them because I was certain they could have prevented my parents tragic deaths. I was so angry that I wasn’t sure I even wanted to talk with them anymore. The angels explained that they are not allowed to interfere with the human activities because we humans must learn from our mistakes. I did see my parents one last time a few months after their deaths. I saw them wave and smile at me from a brilliant cloud in the sky. When I saw them I almost dropped to my knees to cry. But I knew I had to remain strong if not for my parents then for the angels who I had forgiven.
Okay. That is my past. Now for the true reason I am writing this record.
The devil is doing a very bang up job to influence the earths population towards greed and damnation and I have been chosen by the angels from heaven to thwart the devils plans for human domination.
The devil is trying it’s damnedest to control the human population and it learned early on, the population can be controlled mainly by greed.
Somehow, the words of Jesus, the Christ was lost. Biblical Scholars thought Jesus to be an early Marxist and Socialist. But if Jesus appeared before the masses today, he would be branded as a religious heretic by the conservative nation because how he viewed the wealthy with their greed.
The devil knows this and it’s trying it’s damnedest to subvert the human mind to greed. It is my goal, aided by my angels to thwart it’s plans. And I am trying my best, but unfortunately I
am, but one man and cannot influence an entire world. There must be others in the world who
have been chosen like I was.  It is hoped that this record will help me let the world know how it is damned for all eternity if they continue to worship the god of greed.
As a young man just starting my career in journalism, my columns in the small town newspaper became accepted enough that many thought I should write as a syndicated columnist in the country’s newspapers about the unholiness of greed. In the first few months of my column, I seemed to be getting my thoughts through then it happened many of the notable of the conservative radio talk show hosts condemned my nationally syndicated column. They didn’t like that I compared their greed to the devils horde. And it infuriated them that they were not considered children of God.
What they didn’t know was that the angels from above provided me with a crow that could see and listen at the meetings of this conservative coalition.
The crow could transmit the video and audio to me via a magical/spiritual airwave. Thus, I was able to know what this conservative coalition plans were weeks in advance. And I, through my anonymous sources was able to write in my syndicated columns of their plans. I can only thank God for the press shield laws that protect me from revealing my sources. If not for the press shield law I would be forced to reveal my sources as the angels from above and my pet crow, who I call Petey. Who would believe that I can sense everything Petey sees, hears and feels. I remember one day it was flying about looking for food. It would rather search for it’s food then for me to feed it. One day, as it searched for nuts, berries and grain, I saw what it saw as it hunted for nourishment. It didn’t see and neither did I that shithead teen trying to prove his manhood and shoot at Petey. The bullet missed his body, but went through the right wing. I felt the pain Petey felt with the bullet through it’s wing. I
swear my right arm hurt, ached and was numb for weeks after Petey was shot. Though there was no bullet hole or scar.  Petey came back to my apartment and rested it’s injured wing as I rested my shoulder.
It was a long three weeks because as Petey recuperated, I could barely use my right arm
and it was hard to write my syndicated column. I told my agent who submitted my columns to the
country newspapers that I injured my shoulder one day and was having rough time of even completing one column. She asked what the problem was and I had to punt because I couldn’t very well tell her that my pet crow was shot by an asshole teen and it affected my right arm. So I just explained that I had separated my shoulder while biking one day. She had to accept that I was laid up. What else could she do?
Petey healed, as did I and Petey was even more vigilant in it’s observations. This helped me a lot because of my absence from the country’s newspapers for almost three weeks, people lost me and my columns.
Petey came through with almost spectacular fashion when he revealed to me the
conservative coalition battle plan to control the world’s oil reserves that they admitted to themselves at least, it would be a long and multi year process, but they were insistent on controlling the worlds oil reserves.
They said as much at a well attended dinner of about thirty coalition leaders. Through
Petey’s eyes I saw how they were dressed, seated and what each had for dinner and drinks. They told each other some rather nasty jokes that poked fun at everyone, but themselves.
As I viewed the video and audio from Petey, I scribbled my notes onto my ever present
notebook.
After the meeting broke up and I thought of how I would construct my next column, I
started to wonder, how did Petey come to be? I started to wonder if Petey was given undercover training in the heavens. And why a crow? Why not an eagle or hawk or raven or even a blue jay?
I had just finished the first draft of my next column when there came a knock on my door.
Tom had come over to shoot the breeze and maybe try and cajole me into a rare night out. I tried
to explain that I was tired and begged off, but he kept urging me, saying that I had to cool
my jets from my constant writing.
I was saved from a raucous night out when Jessie appeared at my door with a small overnight bag in hand. Tom knew immediately that I would be otherwise preoccupied with Jessie to go paint the town red, purple, yellow or green.
Both Tom and Jessie read over my first draft of my next column and made pointed suggestions for a better column and I noted each suggestion.
They both knew that I communicated with the angels in the mist because I had told them
so. When I told them, they didn’t know what to think or believe until they realized that I was able to get some very inside scoops for my columns and they knew I had to have some extra if not spiritual help.
I did not tell them about my pet crow, Petey. I wasn’t sure if I should and I knew they
would be puzzled that I magically received images and sound through this crow.
Tom left and Jessie stayed the night and believe me we enjoyed each other tremendously. It
was so demanding that I didn’t wake until eight the next morning to edit my column. This was
unusual because normally I am awake by six in the morning to write or edit.
Jessie had already left to get to her job as an emergency room nurse at the local hospital.
So I was alone to drink my coffee and remember with a smile the previous nights activities. As I smiled of how good we were the previous night, I was interrupted by visual and aural images and sounds of Petey. It seemed that this coalition was bothered by my columns and how I had come to
my conclusions. In my columns I wrote who attended the meetings, how they were dressed and who sat at the head of the table to direct the proceedings. I even wrote what each ate for dinner and dessert and what they had to drink. I stressed that more than a few were well into their cups and thankfully had limos to drive them home.
I could only imagine the reaction of this coalition of greedy assholes. They must have wondered who in their group leaked this information to me or who among the staff was giving me this information. I guess I could have written that their meetings would have been secretive if they only pulled down the shades of their windows and closed the windows. But what fun would that be?  It was decided that I had to be eliminated immediately and permanently.
Alan Drury was present at all of the meetings of this conservative coalition. And he was the one who most wanted me dead. He was still pissed off that he had to pay extra on his insurance for several years because of the accident he caused that took the lives of my parents.
It was well known that he didn’t like to be inconvenienced especially when he was driving
his Wagoneer, now a Hummer. The accident that took the lives of my parents, he felt inconvenienced to stop at the four way stop intersection. He thought to stop and check for traffic was inconvenient, so he just barreled through killing my parents.
And he was still pissed because of the added insurance premiums he no longer had to pay and on an income over ten million a year spreading his vile verbal vomit on the radio. Go figure.
Petey was able to broadcast to my consciousness the date, time and method of my
execution. I wasn’t sure what I should do. I could have avoided the location, date and time of
my supposed execution, but I didn’t want them to suspect that I knew of their plans. I was unsure
of what to do.
An angel appeared before me in the usual mist and explained I would be protected. I had to ask, how?
“By us. The angels from heaven, we will protect you.” The angel whispered.
“How could they?” I asked. They are insubstantial beings so how could they protect me?
The angel only smiled and said. “Trust us.”
And I knew I had to. What else could I have done?
The appointed date and time of my execution by this coalition came and I exited my
apartment in the small city to walk to my favorite coffee shop and deli just down the street.
I wasn’t sure what to expect until I saw scores of angels hover all around me with wings
spread as if a protective blanket, shield.
I had gone maybe one hundred yards when I heard a rifle shot from a nearby roof. I then saw a bullet drop to the street almost directly in front of me. I estimated that the bullet was intended for my head. I heard another shot then a third and each time the bullets dropped to the street, harmlessly. I knew immediately that the angel wings had protected me.
Ir was reported in all the newspapers that someone had fired three shots at me and each bullet
had stopped mysteriously before it reached it’s target, me.  Everyone was stunned especially the coalition, they had hired an expert marksman to assassinate me and he failed. How?
My next column was published and only caused this coalition to retreat further underground. What they didn’t know was that they could never escape me because of my pet crow. I only hope and prayed that they kept their windows open and their shades up.
Many of my readers thought that I should report on the chaos in Iraq and both Jessie and Tom agreed. Though Jessie was uncertain because I would be away from her for so long, but she relented when she realized I had to report on the war in Iraq.
Through my contacts in the press I was able to get accommodations in the Green Zone In Baghdad, though the Green Zone was becoming less and less protected with each passing day.
I am flying to Iraq tomorrow and the next you hear from me will be from Iraq, if I survive.
In Iraq
Kit Carson is back and as Paul Harvey used to say on his radio show, with the rest of the story.
I checked into the Baghdad Hilton in the Green Zone in Iraq. I was able to use my press credentials to a get a flight from New Yorks JFK to Iraq. And more press credentials got me a seat in an armored Humvee in a column of Humvees from the airport to Baghdad. Armored or not the explosions and constant gunfire as we rolled into Baghdad did scare the shit out of me.
I can assure everyone that your nerves are on edge during your stay in Iraq. The sounds of gunfire and explosions punctuate the day and night on a continual basis. As I was getting my bearings
in Baghdad an explosion echoed close by, or a least it seemed to be close by to my untrained ears. I naturally flinched, dropped my notebook and pen, raised my arms over my head and saw two soldiers laugh at my reaction. They didn’t even flinch at the sound of the explosion and they explained. They said that if they flinched at the sound of every explosion or gunfire report that they would be twitching uselessly within a week of their stay. They assured me that I would learn quickly. I knew I was safe because I saw the angels hover all around me, without their wings spread, so I knew I was safe.
I wanted to go outside the city of Baghdad and talk to the residents to get a sense of how they felt about the war and the constant violence. But I didn’t know Arabic, Farsi or any other mid-East language, so I would be hard put to learn from the residents. I thought that I could talk to the American soldiers to get a sense of how it felt to be deployed in Iraq for two, three or more tours of duty. And that was the first thing I did. I learned that some soldiers were so desperate for relief from duty, that more than a few committed suicide.
I found a café that catered to the American servicemen and served a most potent and
stringent coffee. If you weren’t awake when you entered the café after one cup of coffee you
were ready to take on the world. You knew this café catered to the American servicemen because there was a constant armed patrol near the café. And it was clear that the owners of the café feared reprisals by fellow countrymen for catering to Americans. The café also served a hard biscuit that took a while to get used to eating. It helped if you dunked the biscuit into your strong coffee to make it easier to chew on.
It did take a while before the American soldiers felt comfortable enough to talk to me because unfortunately my reputation as an investigative columnist preceded me into Iraq. It did take a while
before they believed that I would never use their names or their units or even home towns. After they felt comfortable talking to me I was able to gleam a mountain of material on the thoughts of the American soldier. The one thing they all stressed almost to a man that they enlisted into the armed services after the tragedy of 9/11. They wanted to defend our country. They were all determined to make certain it didn’t happen again. They all admitted, only grudgingly, that they were unsure of the Presidents actions in Iraq. They were unsure of their mission, but to protect the Americans and the innocent Iraqi civilians.  They had to admit that if America wasn’t there in Iraq would there be the violence they now saw all around them.
I had to tell them that I wasn’t sure of the President myself because when America first entered Iraq in March, 2003, the Shiites almost welcomed American forces with open arms to help them push out the ruling Sunniis from power. And now the Shiites hate America and the Sunniis are American allies.
After these meetings with American soldiers, I had to roam around the streets of Baghdad
to observe the Iraqi people and wear off the affects of that potent Iraqi coffee before I could go to my room, write and maybe sleep.
One night, as I lay back in my bed waiting for sleep to overcome me, I wondered how I was to interview the Iraqi citizens. As I thought this over, an angel appeared before me and whispered. I will help you speak to the Iraqi people.
“How?” I had to ask.
Simple. When an Iraqi speaks, I will translate what he or she says into English. And when you speak, the Iraqi person you are talking to will hear you speak in Arabic.
“You can do that?” I had to ask.
Of course. I am an angel, after all. The angel smiled.
“Can you guide me to an Iraqi café where I can talk to the Iraqi people?”
Of course. The angel whispered.
The next morning I followed the angel though the streets of Baghdad to a small outdoor café just outside of the Green Zone. I sat at a table, ordered a coffee and the man in the apron smiled and nodded. As if he understood every word I said.
He came back with the coffee and said something. At first I couldn’t understand, but the angel whispered into my ears his exact words in English. I could only nod my appreciation and give him several Dinar notes for the coffee and a tip.
He smiled and said that if I needed anything else, all I had to do was ask. The angel translated.
I watched the man talk to who I could only assume was the owner of the café because the
man he spoke to gestulated his arms to me as if a command.
My waiter came over to me and asked in Arabic if I would like some Syrian bread with
local Hummus. He said this in Arabic, but I heard only English through my angelic translator.
I could only simile and nod. A short time later he appeared at my table with the bread and hummus. I smiled and gestured for him to sit down opposite of me. He looked around the café and saw no other customers then looked to the owner who gestured for him to sit down.
I took a piece of bread, dipped it in the hummus then pushed both the bread and bowl of hummus towards him.
“Help yourself.” I said through my angelic translator.
As we ate our bread and drank our coffee, I casually asked his name.
“Kamil.” He said. “Kamil al-Kalhid.”
“Well Mr. Kamil.” I started. “How’s business doing at this café?” I asked.
“Not good.” He said. “Everyone is fearful of the insurgent fighting between the different militia groups.” He explained that innocent civilians were what Timothy McVeigh called collateral damage when he talked about the innocent children killed by his hand at the Harrah building in Oklahoma City.
As much as I tried to pry more information from Kamil, I found it to be almost impossible because before he answered a question, he would look around the café and into the street then whisper.
I got the feeling that he thought the two main insurgent faction were doing their best to
divide the country of Iraq. He admitted that this could not be if the Iraqi people were to regain
control of their country.
In one breath he loved the American presence and in the next he hated all Americans. I
was finally starting to see the quagmire of Iraq. The innocent civilians weren’t sure whether to love the Americans or hate us. And this caused great confusion among the populace.
I sipped my coffee as slowly as I could and when I finished it, I dared not have another cup or I would be up for the rest of the night.
I shook hands with Kamil as I prepared to go and he said that he hoped that we could meet and talk again. He wanted to learn more from me about the Americans. He thought that I could tell him the Americas intentions for Iraq, even after I assured him I had no idea what my governments
intentions were.
That night as I sat at my desk scribbling notes for my next column, I thought I would write about the conflicting views of the Iraqi people to the American presence. It was then that I wished I had my pet crow, Petey, to help me see the Iraqi people at night. But I wasn’t allowed to take Petey aboard the jet and I sure as hell didn’t want him in the luggage compartment. He wouldn’t be able to breathe at high altitudes and it was cold.
I knew my column would rile the conservative coalition, but did I care? Not even a tiny shit. I knew I had to show to the American public that the Iraqi people in general did not want us there. But how could I compete against the daily verbal vomit of the conservative radio talk show hosts? I didn’t know, but I had to try, if not for me then for the angels of God. I knew this because I saw several angels nod their heads in approval.
As I wrote my column on my lap top, I suddenly thought that I had to interview several members of the militant insurgents. But I knew that to be an almost impossible task for I had no inside information on the insurgents. So I was stopped dead and cold with this issue.
I finished my column and thought to edit it the following morning after I was well rested. As I lay in my bed waiting for sleep to overcome me, I saw the brilliant lighted mist that the angles always appear in before the foot of my bed.
The angel smiled and whispered. I will take you to one of the insurgents who will talk to you if he feels it safe to do so.
“When?” I asked.
Tomorrow afternoon. After you have edited your column and sent it via the internet to your
agent.
“Is it safe?”
Of course. Under my wings you will be forever protected.
“I’m counting on you all.”
Trust me or us.
“I will.” I then closed my eyes to finally sleep or almost because a lighted mist appeared before the foot of my bed and out of this mist flew Petey. My angels were able to get Petey from our home and into Iraq magically.
The next morning, I woke and went to the hotel dinning room or commissary. I had my usual two or three cups of coffee with buttered toast. That was what I always had for my breakfast though there were times I would add jam or jelly to my toast. But those were so few and far between that not to be mentioned and only in passing.
I went back to my room to edit my column and I deliberately stressed the confusion of the Iraqi people to the American presence. I knew that stress of the Iraqi people would get the conservative balls aching for a comeback of sorts. Did I care? HELL NO!
After a quick sandwich and ice coffee at the commissary, I followed my angel guide to outside of the Green Zone to a café that before always bothered me, but I had no choice, but to enter.
I sat at a table, ordered the typical stringent, potent coffee and a hard biscuit.
I could only sit at the table, sip my coffee and wait. The wait was not long in coming when this Arab man dressed in jeans and t-shirt stood before my table and asked if he could sit down and naturally I said of course. He heard my acceptance through my angelic translator and in Arabic.
He sat, ordered a coffee and proceeded to tell me, he was a student of American journalism and had read all of my columns. He spoke English very well so I had no need for my angelic translator. He wanted to tell me of the insurgent militias reasons for guerilla warfare on Americans. And I wanted and was willing to listen. It would be a three coffee cup talk. I was very wired at the end of it, both from what I learned from him and by the coffee I had ingested.
I learned that not all of the people of the Islam religion were so violent. It was those people who seemed to find gratification with the killing. They rose the echelon ladder of the militia groups. How else did Napoleon, Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin etc. rise to their leadership roles. Through fear and intimidation of course. Just go back in history and examine those people who rose through the ranks to command large armies.
Before I left the café, I told my new friend that I would like to learn more from him.
As I walked back to the Baghdad Hilton I saw several angels hover over me with their wings spread as if in a protective bullet proof blanket. I knew immediately that there were individuals out there wishing to do me harm. But I was protected by the angels of God. I felt relieved until I thought of the man I had just interviewed. What of him?
I looked to an angel close by and asked. “What of the young man I just talked and
interviewed with? What of his safety?”
The angel only smiled. We are protecting him, as we are protecting you. He is safe, Trust us.
And what else could I do, but trust these angels? I learned later, multiple bullets were fired at him as he walked from the café. And though he heard the gun shots each bullet fell harmlessly to the street in front of him. He had to have been perplexed and stunned by this event as were the
shooters. When I learned of what had almost happened to my new friend and informant, I imagined that the shooters were confounded that they had somehow and incredulously missed their mark.
I saw him the next day at the same café as before and he looked nervous and apprehensive, constantly looking around for snipers or assassins.
He became almost settled when I explained that there are angels protecting me as well as him, if he was willing to talk to me.
He hesitated only a few minutes before he told me of how the insurgents, both Shiite and Sunni were stealing hundreds of thousands of barrels of oil from the Iraqi oil fields and selling this oil to interested parties, some of whom were American oil barons.
I immediately thought that these American barons who were buying this oil from the insurgents should be tried for treason because the money they paid the insurgents is being used to kill American men and women in Iraq.
I knew then that my next column would be about the stolen Iraqi oil sold to greedy individuals who knew they could triple their investment of this oil in the American economy.
My Iraqi informant, who I will call Malcolm X, was able to give me much information of
this stolen Iraqi oil. He told me which tanker ships were used to transport this oil to American and other European countries. I knew that if I used my investigative sources I could find the names of the individuals who bought this stolen oil. But I was reluctant to learn the names of these greedy peoples. And greedy they were and still are. Think about it. The insurgents stealing the Iraqi oil were selling it to these people at just over twenty dollars a barrel and at the time (2008) the price of a barrel of oil on the New York Mercantile Exchange was selling for over one hundred and twenty-seven dollars a
barrel. Over a hundred dollar profit per barrel and at one hundred thousands barrels that amounts to ten million dollars. Not bad for not breaking a sweat or having to invest any money into an infrastructure other than your home P.C. to keep track of these illegal transactions. And the twenty million the insurgents receive is used for what? To kill and maim American troops.
I suppose if I broke a sweat and researched the oil tankers and such, I would have been
able to find out who and /or what was buying this ill-gotten booty. But I thought and hoped that
the FBI, CIA, NSA, etc and every other government acronym would do this dirty work. And as it turned out I was wrong. The lobby affiliation in the US government is strong, steady and insistent.
My last column from Iraq on this subject caused a firestorm of speculation from the press and everyone else.
I am not safely ensconced in an American jetliner heading to JFK. We had just left Heathrow and I should be back on American soil in three hours. I am looking forward to seeing Jessie again after my three month absence and I even looked forward to seeing Tom and maybe having a wild weekend. What can I say, but I missed the two of them, especially Jessie.