LESSONS I LEARNED FROM MY FATHER: A Fathers Day Tribute To "Dad"

"Tell us what lesson it is your father taught you that has influenced your life and helped you to become the man or woman you are today."

Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"
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A SON'S TRIBUTE TO HIS FATHER, STEVE SAVAGE "KING OF THE BEASTS'
by your son, Dan

(I did this as a poem to honor the poet.)

The lessons you taught me are too numerous to mention
So I’ll start with a few that came to my attention

As a young boy I knew I had
The strongest, smartest, most handsome Dad

Who carried himself with dignity and pride
I was lucky to have as my coach and my guide

You made sure if I stumbled I got back up
Because in order to succeed you have to be tough

Strength and Intelligence, Wisdom and Courage
You always taught me the power of these words

You encouraged me to do my very best
In everything I do and nothing less

A supportive father in all that I did
It meant so much, especially as a kid

Thank you for being at every game
Even the practices cheering my name

I learned what it is to be a great man
By watching you write your daily plan

Praying to God for my actions each day
For Guidance and Understanding to show me the way

So that I could live an honorable life
Good to my children and kind to my wife

Now I can see what I have become
Because the son is in the father, and the father in the son

When I am a Father I hope I can be
As great a Dad as you are to me

The greatest Father a son could have
Thank you so much, I love you Dad


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MY FATHER
by Jaci Anton

YOUR LOVE HAS TAUGHT ME RESPECT AND STRENGTH FROM ALL YOU'VE HAD TO GIVE;

YOUR LESSONS OF LIFE AND DAILY STRUGGLES HAVE TAUGHT ME HOW TO LIVE.

YOU'VE BORNE SO MUCH THROUGHOUT THE YEARS AND STILL YOU STAND YOUR GROUND;

THROUGH MY TIMES OF NEED I AM THANKFUL JUST TO HAVE YOU AROUND.

YOU'VE SHOWN ME HOW TO DEAL THE CARDS WHEN LIFE PUTS ME TO THE TEST,

AND ALWAYS KEEP MY HEAD UP HIGH AND NOT SETTLE FOR SECOND BEST.

THE YEARS HAVE MADE ME INTO WHO I AM TODAY,

I THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE YOU GAVE AND HELPED TO LEAD THE WAY.

I WISH YOU ALL THE LOVE MY HEART CAN HOLD,

BEYOND THE DAYS WHEN I, TOO, GROW OLD.

HAPPY FATHERS DAY TO MY FATHER, DONALD G. ANTON.

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MY FATHER
by Matt Anton

My Dad taught me the powerful lesson of not letting others influence your life.

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MY FATHER
by April Doring

My father; Walter R. Winston served in the United States Army for twenty one years. Throughout his service he accomplished great feats and endured many experiences.
Walter R. Winston was living in Syracuse, NY at the age of eighteen, before he entered the United States Army in 1949. Unlike in today’s military, he didn’t have his GED until after he was signed up into the Army. Winston went to basic training at Fort Knox in Kentucky. During the Korean War; Walter volunteered to go over to Korea twice, but his request was never accepted. Instead; in 1950 they sent him over to Germany, where they were still recovering from World War II. Walter was assigned to a post at the iron curtain; which he had to patrol. While patrolling, the first people to crash through the iron curtain came through. They took these people to their post where they stayed, soon more people came through. After a while Walter and his fleet couldn’t even eat at their own mess hall because of all the people who came through the iron curtain. For his first four years in the military he was in Germany. In 1953, his father was pressuring him to get out of the military and come and work with him and his company. He got out of the Army for one year to work with his father; painting. In 1954 he re-enlisted back in to the Army and was sent to Iceland, but not before he met my mother, Yvonne. Yvonne and Walter didn’t marry until 1956; after his year tour in Iceland. When he returned to the states to marry Yvonne, he got assigned to Fort Dix as a drill inductor for the basic military training. During his time as a drill instructor in 1957, Yvonne had their first child - me. He was an instructor for one year, and then re-enlisted out of the infantry and into electronics. He was sent to Fort Monmouth for electronic school for nine months. He graduated top in his class and they gave him his first choice of station; Fort Devens, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, they couldn’t use him in Massachusetts so he was sent up to Loring Air Force Base in Maine. While in Maine; Walter and Yvonne had their first son in 1960. After their son was born they left Maine and went to Fort Heath, Massachusetts, and stayed there for four years. Then in 1964 the whole family went to Germany; where it was more restored at this time. They stayed in Germany for two years, and in 1966 they went back to Fort Monmouth. Walter was assigned as an instructor for the basics of electronics. He developed a program and put the lessons on IBM cards that were then inserted into computers. By developing this, students were able to come in and learn the lessons on the computer. In 1971 Walter retired and then joined the post office for twenty two years. He is now officially retired and resides in Neptune, New Jersey.

The story of my father’s time line through his military career is both interesting and intriguing to me. My father has accomplished a lot in his life, and during an important time in history. The two most important tasks were the patrolling of the iron curtain and the development of his program on the computers. Not every one in the military gets to witness people crashing through a wall built by the government.

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MY FATHER
by Hank Fey

I guess the greatest thing I learned from my father, Henry Fey, Sr., was how to be a decent person and being able to make friends easily. Something he could not do. He was an extremely intelligent man who gave his knowledge out in little pieces as though he was giving away his life. I learned most of what I wound of doing for a living in the basement of our west Philadelphia row house. Watching him make toy trains out of tin cans or building radios and playing with his lathe when he was not there. Most jobs around the house he would start, than become supervisor as he showed me how to put down a porch floor or thread some pipe. I guess I will never forget how great the anticipation of setting up the Christmas tree and trains were every year. Something everyone in our family still does. As I look back now I learned a hell of a lot more than I thought I did, My father passed away just after I got out of the service a time when we were just getting to really know each other.He had to be doing something right to raise four kids who all turned out to go on to good careers and have children who turned out fine and have his very creative mind right down though the great grand children.

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MY FATHER
by Joe Gillam

My Dad was a storybook guy. A WW II vet who went back to college after the war. Supported us and put himself through The Ohio State University School of Vet Med by cutting wheat in the west in the summer. He took his mustering out money and bought a couple of trucks and combines and headed west. He got school permission to be back late for the fall quarter so he could finish the season.

He would start in Texas, then follow the harvest north all the way to Canada. His half way point would be Cheyenne, WY. He plotted his route so he would be there for the big rodeo, "Cheyenne Days". And, to tighten up his purse a bit he did calf roping and bronco busting. Always walking away with some prize money.

He graduated, but never practiced Vet Medicine a day in his life. His love was farming. He took his funds, and along with the help of both of my grandfathers he bought a farm.

We grew up on the farm in a small Ohio farm community. Didn't even have keys to the house in those days. Old skeleton key locks and the keys had been gone for many years.

He was 5-09 but tough as nails. In those days we had house to house deliveries. The laundry man, about 6-04, got out of line one day with my mother. Dad told him to leave and the fool drew back for a swing. When Dad was done with him we carried him to his laundry truck, threw him in, and it sat there for over an hour until he came to.

The big event in those days was high school basket ball. My Dad had been on the state champ team in school but was too short for OSU. We would go to the games and as the teams warmed up us kids would hang around the foul lines waiting to catch a ball and throw it back when the team was warming up. Dad hollered to me from his bleacher seat about 10 rows up to throw him the next ball I caught. I tossed it up to him and he did a swish shot from a good sixty feet. My hero.

We were looking at some cattle to buy one time and a steer broke and across the field. Dad jumped on some guys horse, chased the steer and jumped and wrestled it to the ground. Just for the hell of it!

He taught me to drive, balance a check book, do math, read and work on the farm. We didn't have three cross words in our whole life

I still don't know if he was my Dad or my partner. I think of him every day, and father's day is so special to me. Not for what my kids do for me, but I will take a long walk alone and relive those years when I was Oh So Lucky.

Thanks for letting me live it again............Joe

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MY FATHER
by John Gonzales

I wish I could send something, but in all actuality I'm like many of the others whose fathers were non-existent. In all my life I lived with my father for 5-6 years. Even as an adult I tried to learn something from him but found that he was a self centered person who only thought of himself. His sole words of encouragement that I can ever recall were, "You're young, good looking, born here, speak English, you have it made." So he was never someone who I could look up to.

Like many others I took the experience of not have a positive role model to become a good, proud father to my own kids in spite of what I lacked as a child. I take the time to talk to my son and daughter, tell them I love them and to let them know that I may not be perfect but I will always be at their side. I've often thought of influential people in my life and I can honestly say that no one person stands out. I've been an observer to see the type of behavior I would want to emulate. Fortunately I've observed good examples that I was able to learn from, and the bad examples that I had the foresight to discard.

That is a good way of looking at things and it lends to my own philosophy of learning from others mistakes. That was the lesson that I did learn from my father, to be the best father as humanely possible to my own children. You're right, I didn't say hate, because I don't hate him. Hate is too strong an emotion to toss around carelessly. That is one emotion that only serves to destroy oneself and those that should be truly loved. In spite of everything, a person has to look at themselves and ask, "what difference can I make in this world and with the ones I love.

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MY FATHER
by Don Hardy

My Dad passed away in 2000. I'd like here to relate a few of the ways he not only influenced me but also everyone who knew him.

Robert Dale Hardy grew up in Cheyenne, Wyoming but migrated to the Rio Grande Valley of Texas when he graduated from High School. Shortly after arriving he managed to find a job as a ditch digger with the Power Company. He was soon promoted to apprentice lineman but was unable to go further as he was drafted for WWII. He met my Mother around this time and they were wed before he left for the Army.
Dad spent a short time in the Infantry and then was accepted to OCS. He spent time in the China Burma India area and rose to the rank of Captain. By 1944 he was back in the U.S. and assigned to the Signal Corps School at Fort Monmouth, N.J. I was born while he was there. (Twenty Eight years later I was also assigned to the 241st MP Company at Fort Monmouth as a Staff Sergeant)

My earliest memories were of him after he was discharged and back working for the power company. During the war, the power company was unable to get material so in the early '50s they went into a total rebuild mode, tearing out all the old poles and cross arms, etc. He made a deal to get several loads of poles and cross arms dropped on an acre of land he bought and from them he built our house. His normal day was up before the sun, walk to work, climb poles all day then come home, eat, pick up his hand tools and lantern and walk to the house. He built that house by himself with hand tools. The poles and cross arms were cut with a cross cut saw. He'd do this every day, six days a week and would have worked on Sunday if Mother hadn't objected. He was in a hurry because he was certain that he'd be recalled for Korea because among other things he was a Chinese linguist. He wanted Mother and I to have a house to live in if he had to go.

When I was about ten or so, the men in town decided to build a little league ball park. One fine Saturday morning we drove in his pickup over to the site and found several young engineers from the power company and Highway Department, all wearing white shirts and ties, sitting on the partially constructed bleachers with slide rules out plotting how to stake the fence. The fence was to be built in an arc, 400' from home plate. Dad got out of his pickup, looked at the suits with disgust and grabbed a steel stake, eight foot two by four and a coil of wire plus a bundle of wooden stakes and mallet. He then proceeded to drive the steel stake in the center of home plate and tied the end of the wire coil there. He'd measured out the wire so we uncoiled it out to 400' and using it as a huge compass began to drive stake at eight foot intervals along the proposed fence line using the two by four as a spacer guide. It took us less than an hour to finish and as we walked back towards the suits one of them said, "Oh, Bob! Here's the plan for where to stake the fence." He said he'd already taken care of that chore and suggested that they go dig post holes. Of course they all figured out somewhere they needed to be out of the sun and we dug two foot holes and set 4X4s all day. Dad went on to become an electrical engineer by taking ICS courses and sitting for the state board exam. He stayed with the power company for 40 years retiring as Distribution Superintendent for the Laredo, Texas District an area about the size of Oklahoma.

Throughout his life he continued to amaze me with his grit and intellect and I learned many, many life lessons from him.

In 1996 he was diagnosed with a form of fatal cancer and they told him they could keep him alive for a year or so with chemo treatments. (He actually made four more years) He drove home and started work on a three room addition to his house in San Antonio. The chemo made him feel like he had the flu for ten days out of each month and he had very little energy but he got a lawn chair and set in the middle of his last project. He only felt like working about ten or fifteen minutes out of each hour but he use the rest of the hour trying to figure out how to make his work minutes more effective. I offered to help but he wouldn't hear it. He said the project was keeping him alive and in fact died within a year after he finished.
I couldn' figure out how to fit this in but still wanted to tell the story. In '67 I was an MP Platoon Sergeant in Asmara, Ethiopia. My platoon was alerted that we needed to prepare to go to Aden to assist the American Embassy folks evacuate. This was about the time of the Seven Days War and we evidently were the nearest troops with a Combat MOS.

In the midst of packing our combat gear and loading magazines for our weapons mail call came. To my surprise I got a letter from him. I'd been in the Army for a while then and never received a letter from him. It just wasn't his way. I knew nothing was wrong as back then you got bad new from the Red Cross so I wondered what the hell was going on. When I got the letter opened out came a note in his scrawl, "Boy, get yourself circumcized, they are heading your way".
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MY FATHER
by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

There is no Birth Record of my Father, DAKOTA JIM. At the age of one year, in 1912, He was abducted from His Father by His Mother. He was then abandoned by her in Hill City, South Dakota, in the Heart of the Black Hills (Paha Sapa); the Mystical Badlands of the Great Oglala Lakota Sioux Indian Nation, to someone my Father referred to only as "Uncle Harry."

Although He was of Welsh-English descent, it was here, in the sacred tribal lands of the Black Hills, that He was initiated in the Ancient Ways of the great Lakota Sioux Warriors whose ancestors include the Legendary Warrior Chiefs: Sitting Bull (Tatanka Iyotake), Red Cloud (Makhpiya Luta), and Crazy Horse (T‘ašunka Witko).

The middle initial "F" in His name stands for "Frieborn," but it could just as well have stood for "Fear," because he was Fear incarnated as a Man. He had a Fierce Countenance, a powerful arresting stare, that caused whomever it was that fell into his gaze, to cringe in submission like a dog before an Alpha Wolf.

The whole house would shake from his presence whenever he entered it. I, and whoever it was who was there with me, at the time, shook in resonance along with everything else around us that cowered before Him, not daring to look up at Him lest, God forbid, our eyes should meet.

No one ever dared to challenge Him or disrespect Him in any way. He was a Dangerous Man; a Living Cage of Flesh and Bone whose Prisoner was a barely restrained Ferocious Beast, the Spirit of the Great Wolf. Everyone knew it was there, but it was revealed to no one but me. He did not like to be touched, and especially would not allow anyone to put their hands on Him with intentions to do harm. If anyone dared to do so, I don't believe He would have allowed that Disrespecter to live — knowing my Father as I do.

He was the Strongest, most Intelligent, Moral, Principled Man of anyone I've ever known. He was the Unwritten Law.

He loved my Mother and was faithful to her.

The last enemy on the Path of the Warrior is Aging; the unyielding, unrelenting desire to quit, to give up. In its War of Attrition against the Warrior, it tragically robs Him of His Substance, His Dignity, His Grace, His Power, His Magnificent Presence, until only the virtual image of who He was remains as a projection of His Self Remembrance.

I visited Him in the hospital the night He died, in 1981, the last of our family to see Him conscious. He was 69 years old. It was late and the last train was to leave at midnight. When I told Him I had to leave, to go home to Anna and Danny, and that if I miss the train, the next one wouldn't be until morning, He said to me, "You can go now. You've done your duty."

I don't know why I was unable to accept the Final Scene that was being played out before me or why I insisted to Him, as I prepared to leave, that it was not a "duty;" that I was there because He was my Father and wanted to be there with Him.

Before leaving, I told Him I loved Him, words that I had somehow, in recent years, summoned the courage to begin saying to Him, kissed His forehead, and left.

He must have known that His time was at hand and didn't want to openly ask me to stay; though I see now, through today's eyes, that was the choice He hoped I would make - the choice I so regret for not having made.

That decision to leave weighs very heavily upon me to this day.

He lost consciousness soon after I left that night; His body kept alive, His Spirit shackled, by a life support system that fought to keep Him in His Past. I was alone in the room with Him before they removed the respirator. Because hearing is the last sense to leave the Body, I bent down, kissed His forehead, and whispered in His ear that if He wanted to continue to live within me or my sons, he could — and He does.

I was unable to stem my flow of tears at His wake because that Chief of Chiefs, who was my Father, who taught me the Master Lesson, solely by His Example, had died. I was now the senior male of our kind.

That Master Lesson I learned is:

"Honor thy Father in all thy ways; remember Him before the silver cord is broken and the golden bowl is crushed, the pitcher by the well is shattered and the wheel at the cistern is crushed."

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MY SIX FATHERS
by Roger Whiles

June 24, this year I will be sixty-one years old, older and wiser than when I came into this world. My father was fifty years old and my mother was forty-one the year I was born and by then they had moved the family to Cincinnati. The family consisted of my four older sisters, who were all married except one, when I appeared on the scene. Mom and Dad were from a spot in south central Kentucky called Bethel Ridge. Not long after I was born my Dad slipped on some ice while carrying me into the house. Turns out this was the start of his fight with multiple myeloma, or bone cancer as it’s more commonly known. Dad fought this battle until I was in my sixth year. He was in and out of the hospital, going here and there for treatments and doing his job as a life insurance salesman. Dad was also part of a gospel quartet that sang at our church each Sunday and also on the radio each week. He kept me by his side as much as possible; always introducing me to everyone he met. Then that day came in 1954, when my oldest sister tenderly took me in her arms and told me that our Dad would not be coming home. He was now in a place of no sorrow or pain, he is with God. When I was in my late thirties one of the elderly ladies of the church told me that she remembered listening to my Dad sing on the radio. What a blessing that was thirty years after his death. Don’t feel sorry for me, because I have been blessed with five other men that included me in their families.

There was the gentle giant, as I like to call him, Thomas Ranshaw. A Marine who saw battle in the pacific during the big war, he could make you shake in your boots with just his voice. Yet he had the gentleness to comfort a six year old boy that had a nightmare about his deceased father. He had the kindness to include me when he bought his two sons baseball gloves. He had the willingness to work with me and teach me how to throw a baseball. He also had the compassion to take me to church with him. By now I understood more and, as a result, accepted Jesus into my heart as my Savior. This giant went on to be with the Lord in 1980, but not until he touched many more souls through his Sunday school lessons and activities.

There was the business one, George Frentsos, who married my youngest sister shortly after our father passed. He was very different from the others; he had a college degree and was of Greek descent. What a different view he had of events. My mother and I lived with them in a duplex home for several years after Dad died. From him I learned the value of things, how to save money, and how to cut the grass of a big yard quickly, how to work. He took me to my first professional baseball game at the old Crosley Field. He went on to be with the Lord in 1989, leaving behind six great boys; I mean young men, some of who held world records in swimming.

There was the one I call the Good Samaritan, Jack Klette, who was married to my third sister. He came into my life as I was hitting my teens. It was a time when I needed to develop respect and character, which I was not doing, even as a saved individual. He was the voice of understanding and guidance that I needed. He taught me a trade, he showed me how to be understanding, and he taught me by example how to be a loving person. He taught me the game of golf and some day I will beat him. When he went on to be with the Lord in 1983, there were as many young people at his funeral as older because he was always willing to listen not only to his children and their peers, but to all of us.

This brings me to my only surviving brother-in-law, George Kessinger, the quiet one. He retired to Florida after driving Roadway trucks for twenty years in Ohio. He has led by example all of these years, as my other brother-in-laws have passed he has been there for support. When my “Good Samaritan,” Jack Klette, became ill with cancer George helped him get around and they became a golfing twosome to beat. When he retired they allowed my mother to move with them. When she passed he was there providing her care and attention. He taught me to shoot trap or skeet when I was a teenager. He, like my other brothers-in-law is a veteran, a man who in his late teens and/or early twenties served this country in a war for mankind. He continues to show me how to live my life on a daily basis.

There is one more father I must identify, a person that I have only known for my last thirty-seven years, my father-in-law, John Hood. He has taken me into his family, worked with me on home projects, and provided me with day-to-day advice. He has been with me at the birth of both my children, and helped me give my daughter away at her wedding. He has shown me how to garden and how to do house repairs.

So, you see I truly have been blessed by having the “fathers” that I have had. There is a little of each of these men in me and I’m proud of it. My biggest hope is that these men are as proud of me as I am of them. Yes, I would have loved to had more time with my father, but that is not the hand I was dealt. I believe that God dealt me a great hand, a hand that let me share in some great men’s lives.

It does take a family to raise a child and you my never know the impact that your actions will have. I believe that memories are made with actions, and without any action there will not be memories. Happy Fathers Day to all that read this, and God bless you.

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MY FATHER
by Bob Young

My Dad, Harold Young, was a farmer for most of his life and worked for Shell Oil repairing and installing service station equipment and bulk plants. Not a very big man in height, but a strong man anyway. He was a very gentle man who liked to play catch in the yard on a summer day to wind down. He worked hard all his life and had little to show for it other than our home which he paid off. Back in the fifties we went through the recession but he always provided for us.

One day when we were working together, he got to talking about someone who had cheated him on a job he had done for them. He wasn’t happy about it by any means, but took it rather stoically.

He told me to treat everyone as I would want them to treat me. To treat my elders with all the respect that an elder deserved. To treat a man with the respect I would want him to show me and to treat a lady like a lady. Of course he added, you would learn from this, not all elders were truly worthy of your respect, not all men were trustworthy, and not all ladies were really ladies. But, until you found out differently, you treated everyone, with the respect and kindness you yourself would want. And never blindly accept anyone just on first appearances.

He also told me it was not hard to be that type of person, but it was easier to fail to live up to be that person.

So all my life I have treated people like I would like to be treated until they gave me a reason to treat them otherwise or to be leery of them. As a cop of 34 years, I tried to up hold that and when I was a sergeant with the Sheriff’s Office I told the Deputies who worked for me that that was what I expected out of them.

I found I didn’t have to be condescending to others, just treat them like I would want to be treated by them. It has gotten me through all these years, and when I meet up with the Ould One soon, I want to tell him I remembered what he told me and did my best to live by it.

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Letters of Despair from American Families Who Suffer and Hunger in Cold Silence by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

Since the current (Bush) Administration has been in office, 5 million Americans have slipped into poverty, 8 million have lost their health insurance and 3 million have lost their pensions. Yes, in the last seven years median household income for working-age Americans has declined by $2,500. Our country, for the first time since the Great Depression, now has a zero personal savings rate and, all across the nation, emergency food shelves are being flooded with working families whose inadequate wages prevent them from feeding their families.

In his concern for the collapse of the American middle class, and in order to try and break through the complacency and isolation inside the Washington Beltway, United States Senator, Bernie Sanders from Vermont, read e-mails he had received from throughout America on the floor of the Senate. They describe the decline of the American middle class from the perspective of those people who are living that decline.

They speak about families who, not long ago, thought they were economically secure, but now find themselves sinking into desperation and hopelessness. They tell the stories of working families unable to keep their homes warm in winter; workers worried about whether they’ll be able to fill their gas tank to get to their jobs; and seniors, who spent their entire lives working, now wondering how they’ll survive in old age. They describe the pain and disappointments that parents feel as they are unable to save money for their kids’ college education, and the dread of people who live without health insurance.

We have at times had to choose between baby food and heating fuel.

"We have two small children (a baby and a toddler) and felt fortunate to own our own house and land but due to the increasing fuel prices we have at times had to choose between baby food/diapers and heating fuel. We've run out of heating fuel three times so far and the baby has ended up in the hospital with pneumonia two of the times. We try to keep the kids warm with an electric space heater on those nights, but that just doesn't do the trick."

By February we ran out of wood and I burned my mother's dining room furniture.

"I am a single mother with a 9 year old boy. We lived this past winter without any heat at all. Fortunately someone gave me an old wood stove. I had to hook it up to an old/unused chimney we had in the kitchen. I couldn't even afford a chimney liner (the price of liners went up with the price of fuel). To stay warm at night my son and I would pull off all the pillows from the couch and pile them on the kitchen floor. I'd hang a blanket from the kitchen doorway and we'd sleep right there on the floor. By February we ran out of wood and I burned my mother's dining room furniture. I have no oil for hot water. We boil our water on the stove and pour it in the tub. I'd like to order one of your flags and hang it upside down at the capital building...we are certainly a country in distress."

We also only eat two meals a day to conserve.

"My husband and I are retired and 65. We would have liked to have worked longer but because of injuries caused at work and the closing of our factory to go to Canada, we chose to retire earlier. Now with oil prices the way they are we cannot afford to heat our home unless my husband cuts and splits wood, which is a real hardship as he has had his back fused and should not be working most of the day to keep up with the wood. Not only that he has to get up two or three times each night to keep the fire going. We only drive to get groceries or go to the doctor or to visit my mother in the nursing home three miles away. It now costs us $80.00 a month to go nowhere. I have Medicare but I can't afford prescription coverage unless I take my money out of an annuity, which is supposed to cover the house payment when my husband’s pension is gone. We also only eat two meals a day to conserve."

The pennies have all but dried up….Today I am sad, broken, and very discouraged.

"I, too, have been struggling to overcome the increasing costs of gas, heating oil, food, taxes, etc. I have to say that this is the toughest year, financially, that I have ever experienced in my 41 years on this earth. I have what used to be considered a decent job, I work hard, pinch my pennies, but the pennies have all but dried up. I am thankful that my employer understands that many of us cannot afford to drive to work 5 days a week. Instead, I work three 15 hour days. I have taken odd jobs to try to make ends meet. This winter, after keeping the heat just high enough to keep my pipes from bursting (the bedrooms are not heated and never got above 30 degrees) I began selling off my woodworking tools, snowblower, (pennies on the dollar) and furniture that had been handed down in my family from the early 1800s, just to keep the heat on. Today I am sad, broken, and very discouraged. I am thankful that the winter cold is behind us for a while, but now gas prices are rising yet again. I just can't keep up."

I don't go to church many Sundays, because the gasoline is too expensive to drive there.

"As a single parent, I am struggling everyday to put food on the table. Our clothes all come from thrift stores. I have a five-year-old car that needs work. My son is gifted and talented. I tried to sell my house to enroll him in a school that had curriculum available for his special needs. After two years on the market, my house never sold. The property taxes have nearly doubled in 10 years and the oil to heat it is prohibitive. To meet the needs of my son, I have left the house sit and moved into an apartment near his high school. I don't go to church many Sundays, because the gasoline is too expensive to drive there. Every thought of an activity is dependent on the cost. I can only purchase food from dented can stores… I am stretched to the breaking point with no help in sight."

At the rate we are going we will be destitute in just a few years.

"Due to illness my ability to work has been severely limited. I am making $10 an hour and if I am lucky I get 35 hours a week of work. At this time I am only getting 20 hours as it is "off season" in Stowe. It does not take a mathematician to do the figures. How are my wife and I supposed to live on a monthly take-home income of less than $800 dollars? We do it by spending our hard earned retirement savings. I am 50 and my wife is 49. At the rate we are going we will be destitute in just a few years. The situation is so dire that it is all I can think about. Soon I will have to start walking to work, an eight-mile round trip because the price of energy is so high it is that or go without heat. As bad as our situation is, I know many in worse shape. We try to donate food when we do our weekly shopping but now we are not able to even afford to help our neighbors eat. What has this country come to?"

I am just tired….I work 12 to 14 hours daily and it just doesn't help.

"I am 55 years old and worse off than my adult children. I have worked since age 16. I don't live from paycheck to paycheck, I live day to day. I can only afford to fill my gas tank on my payday thereafter, I put $5, $10 whatever that I can. I cannot afford to buy the food items that I would. I am riding around daily to and from work with a quarter of a tank of gas. This is very scary as I can see myself working until the day that I die. I do not have a savings, no credit cards and my only resources are thru my employment. I have to drive to work as there are no buses from my residence to work. I don't know how much longer I can do this…. I am concerned as gas prices climb daily. I am just tired, the harder that I work the harder it gets, I work 12 to 14 hours daily and it just doesn't help."

Some nights we eat cereal and toast for dinner because that's all I have.

"I am a working mother of two young children. I currently pay on average around $80.00 a week for gas so that I can go to work. I see the effects of the gas increase at the grocery stores and at the department stores. On average I spend around $150.00 per week at the grocery store and trust me when I say I don't buy prime rib- I buy just enough to get us through the week and I can't afford to make sure we have seven wholesome meals to eat every night of the week - some nights we eat cereal and toast for dinner because that's all I have. My family has had to cancel our annual trip to the zoo, and we make less trips to see our families in another town due to the increase of gas. The price of gas has created a hardship for most average Americans. We have less money to pay to living expenses which have also increased. It seems as if it's just a rippling effect. I am really scared of what the future holds for me and my kids because I just simply cannot afford to live from day to day. I am getting further and further in credit card debt just trying to stay afloat."

I am now living out of my car.

"As a student and a part time employee working for just above minimum wage I have found it more and more difficult to survive under these conditions. The drive to school and work require me to use roughly 30 percent of my paycheck just to go where I need to, to make it through my day. When school is in session I am lucky to get about 170 dollars a week and with gas prices at their current all time high I am continually finding myself under hardships because of it. Recently I had to vacate my apartment because I could not afford to pay rent and I am now living out of my car. This too seems like it may not be able to last that much longerbecause I am encountering difficulties in making my car payment. I can remember when gas prices were a little over a dollar and I dream about life taking that turn once more. Because of the gas prices I have found nothing but an extremely low budget for food, I was forced out of my home and now I might lose the one thing that is allowing me to continue my schooling and keep going to work – my car. I am struggling to understand why prices continue to rise and I see no end in sight."

My mortgage is behind, we are at risk for foreclosure, and I can't keep up with my car payments.

"I am a 31 year old wife, mother of two. How has this affected me? My husband drives 35 miles to work, that is a one-way trip. He is putting an average of $80 a week into his gas tank. No, he doesn't drive an SUV or a half-ton work truck. It's a small pickup truck that he needs as he builds houses. The kicker is that he never puts more than half a tank in, because we can't afford to fill it. I drive 15 miles one way, and put about $40 a week into my 30-miles-to-the-gallon car. Again, I never fill the tank - ever! We have even contemplated having my husband quit his job because he isn't making much more money weekly than he spends on gas! We could move to an area that is closer to our jobs, but because of the market, we cannot sell our house fast enough, or for a fair price. Meanwhile, my mortgage is behind, we are at risk for foreclosure, and I can't keep up with my car payments. My parents, both in their 60's, are back to work so that they can make ends meet, and struggle to come up with enough gas money so they can get to doctor's appointments. They are opting to close their house up for the winter, and stay with my uncle so they don't have to put oil in their furnace. I can't tell you how many times we had to fill our little gas tanks with kerosene or diesel because we ran out of oil and couldn't afford the $380 it would cost us to put a mere 100 gallons in. Needless to say, we are way behind on all of our bills, we are still playing catch up with our winter expenses. People that I know that have never struggled with money, are now frequenting our local food shelf so they can feed their families staple foods!"

We are barely staying afloat.

"My family has been hit so hard by this economy, we are barely staying afloat. We have remortgaged the house 4 times in the last three years to pay credit card debt. Now we are trying to tap into our annuity to pay more credit card debt. The debts on the credit cards are all for bills. Mostly grocery, oil and the mere cost of living. My husband is a union carpenter and they just changed our fantastic insurance plan to a terrible one with barely any coverage. I have none of my doctors on it and I suffer from painful nerve damage. I am not eligible for social security disability and I am unable to work. We had a dream to own our own home, and that dream came true seven years ago. I am afraid our dream is slipping through our fingers and it won’t be long before we lose our home, the way things are going."

Does anybody have a solution? Does anybody in Washington care?

"We are retired, 70 and 65 and living on Social Security and some savings. We use wood to offset the price of being warm. Our last oil fill up was nearly $700. How can we continue to make ends meet? My gasoline cost $239 last month. Food and everything else we buy is going up every week because of gouging from oil companies. We are worried about the national debt and the trade deficit. What can be done to bring them down? Does anybody have a solution? Does anybody in Washington care?"

Memorial Day Tribute

After only four days into his first tour of duty in Iraq, on Valentine's Day 2005, young 1LT Daniel Burch Anton, an Army Ranger Platoon Leader, witnessed the death of his closest friend, SFC Dave Salie, a legendary Army Ranger. As Dave's Commanding Officer, it became incumbent upon Dan, who was, himself, only 24 years of age, to deliver Dave's eulogy before the 17, 18, and 19-year-old kids of his command.

Operation Iraqi Freedom suddenly became a nightmarish reality, a war with heart-wrenching consequences. Baptized in Grief, all the boys of Bayonet 2-69 became men the day Dave Salie died. On that day they became "Warriors."

Four months later, in June 2005, Dan was called upon to deliver another difficult eulogy. The day before Fathers Day, he had lost another of his closest friends, 23 years old 2LT Noah Harris, a Georgia "Bulldog," a scholar, All-State Wrestler and Football Player, whose achievements and accomplishments had him on the fast track to becoming, one day, Governor of the State of Georgia - perhaps beyond.

Both eulogies are reproduced here to honor these beautiful boys this Memorial Day—two of our Sons of America who marched so bravely, so trustingly, into the "Valley of the Shadow of Death."

Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"
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Eulogy for SFC David J. Salie
by 1LT Dan Anton, 22 Feb 05


SFC David J. Salie was killed by an IED, Improvised Explosive Device, Valentine's Day, February 14, 2005, Baqubah, Iraq.

"I’d like to read to you a quote by Samuel Johnson: 'It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. The act of dying is not of importance, it lasts so short a time.'

Anyone who has ever met Sergeant Salie could immediately tell what a great American and strong leader he was. His physical demeanor was only dwarfed by his Warrior spirit. When I first met Sergeant Salie I had no idea he was going to be my Platoon Sergeant. We were a brand new company at the time just trying to get off the ground. When the two of us were eventually paired up I only hoped that we could establish a solid, professional relationship. What I found, however, was more than just any platoon sergeant. He was a professional, a mentor, a confidante, and a friend.

The two of us would often talk in our office…or his office as he liked to point out to me. 'Platoon Leader’s don’t have offices, you’re just renting here.' he would say. It was during these talks that I realized Sergeant Salie’s heart was even bigger than he was. He spoke quite often of his wife and kids and it was very obvious what a great husband and loving father he was.

He also spoke of his experiences from prior deployments and there was no other choice but to admire him for the type of person he was. Sergeant Salie had the role of a family man and the spirit of a true patriot. He embodied what the Warrior Ethos truly means. Serving our great country is what he loved to do. If there was ever a mission where he had to stay back he would always try to find a way to come along.

It wasn’t long ago that Sergeant Salie kept asking me about being able to get out and do some combat patrols. He never liked it when he had to stay behind. On one of the patrols that only I was going on he said, 'If you can’t take me as a platoon sergeant what if I’m your RTO?' (Radio Telephone Operator)

Sergeant Salie loved being in the fight and there was no one better for the job. He was truly a soldier of God fighting the good fight.

Many things entered my mind after seeing what happened to Sergeant Salie on that fateful day, but one thought that stuck out was the thought of how I was going to fight this fight without him here by my side and how would his family get along without him? It wasn’t ‘till later that I realized I wouldn’t be fighting it without him because I know he’ll be watching over us just as he’ll be watching over his family.

I’m sure right now he’s getting tired of watching and he’s bugging God to let him come back here so he can get back in the fight which he loved so much.
God bless you Sergeant Salie and God Bless your family. We’re all going to miss you."



Eulogy for 2LT Noah Harris
By 1LT Daniel B. Anton, 25 June 05


2LT Noah Harris was killed by an RPG, Rocket Propelled Grenade, June 18, 2005, Baqubah, Iraq.

"Anyone who knew Lieutenant Harris would tell you that he had an addictive personality. He was the type of guy who could walk into a room not knowing anyone and come out being everyone’s friend. He was more than just a friendly guy, though. He was also dedicated in everything that he did. He was dedicated to his profession, the mission, his family and friends, and to his men.

I remember back to when Noah first came to 2-69. The other Lieutenants in the Company commented that it would be funny if he ended up coming to Bayonet so that he could give me some competition in the gym. They would kid with me about that constantly until I think I almost started to not like Noah before I even met him.

Eventually, Noah did end up coming to Bayonet Company and we were lucky to have him. What I found in Noah was more than just a fellow Lieutenant or a gym partner. He was a true friend, whose ideals and morals were in line with my own. We bonded instantly and became close friends. We shared many good times together. I always remember being in a good mood when he was around. He seemed to have that effect on everyone around him.

Noah came from a very supportive and loving family, and I know that had a great influence on the man he was. He was the epitome of quiet professionalism; always being modest while possessing all the tools needed of a great leader. I know he conducted his personal life in the same way he did his professional life. He was always selfless and eager to help others. He was the first person who came to me after losing SFC David J. Salie and offered to be there if I ever wanted to talk. That was just the type of person Noah was.

When I first heard that Noah had passed I was overcome with anger. I couldn’t understand why someone with so much potential and youth was taken from us. I know he would have been great at whatever he wanted to do. His drive was limitless and his dedication was unmatched. That is why he was such a great Platoon Leader who always led from the front. He earned the respect of every single man in his platoon and they were willing to follow him anywhere.

I trust that in all things God has a plan, whether we understand that plan or not. I know that Noah Harris was doing something he truly believed in. He knew the risks of this profession and yet he remained intrepid in the face of danger.

It would be selfish of me to want Noah back here with us because I know he is in a better place. His spirit is still with us though, and he will be a guardian on our shoulders. Luckily, Lieutenant Harris will now have Sergeant Salie to keep him squared away.

Thank you, Noah, for being the great man that you were, and for being my friend. You will always be in my prayers. I will miss you Lieutenant Noah Harris, My Brother in Arms."

PrayFor Our Soldiers Still Fighting This War


Also, let us never forget the 50,000 Heroes whose names are carved upon The Wall in Washington, D.C. Please follow the link below:
50,000 Names Carved In The Wall

PHANTOM EDIFICE SYNDROME by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

VIEW OF WORLD TRADE CENTER ESCALATORS AND STAIRS

John Hathaway of Clark, NJ, a member of our Army Security Agency Kagnew Station Guard Group, recently posted photos he had taken at Ground Zero, site of the 9-11 World Trade Center Disaster.

Viewing John's Ground Zero Photos has triggered a nostalgia within me that's been buried for more than 20 years. Seeing those photos, and the noticeable absence of what had been a major part of my life for so many years, has made me realize that I'm suffering from repressed "Phantom Edifice Syndrome."

I lived in Jersey City, NJ, from Christmas Eve 1982 until August 1988. From the window of my third floor apartment, I had a direct, uninterrupted view of World Trade Center One where it majestically dominated the New York City skyline. It was also my daily destination.

Each morning I would strap on a 40 pound backpack (my office in a bag), run one and one-half miles, dodging heavy morning traffic, to the Journal Square PATH train station to enter one of the commuter-jammed trains destined for the WTC subterranean grotto, seven stories below ground level.

The moment the train doors opened, like racetrack starting gates, tens of hundreds of us would stream out onto the Lower Level to race toward the steep-inclined escalators that would carry us seven stories up to the Main Concourse that appeared to be miles above us.

A few of us who had, by then, become familiar faces to one another, would opt to run up the stairs, two and three at a time, in a daily race whose sole prize was to be First to the Top of the Stairs.

The return home, at day's end, provided a much more formidable challenge. It was easier, by far, to run up seven stories of stairs than to run down them, especially when sprinting at top speed with a 40 pound backpack affecting my center of gravity and balance.

On this run, I had no challengers; I ran alone.

The World Trade Center was, for me, my personal playground, unlike any other. The excitement, exhiliration, and euphoria of that daily challenge, during that wonderful era of my life, remains with me to this day as kinesthetic memories that are indelibly etched within the essence of my being.

Hubris, We Thought You Were Our Friend?

Col. Charles F. Hurlbut II (photo), is a former U.S. Army Security Agency Provost Marshal. He and his lovely wife, Ida, reside in Virginia in active retirement. From the vantage point of his distinguished career,and high-level duty assignments, which allowed him to observe, first-hand, the genesis of the myriad problems that beset America today, Col. Hurlbut speaks to us with the authority of one who has "been there, done that." - Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"
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"My views as expressed here may not square with those of many of you, which is okay, for they may not be how many Americans see our country's situation today, but they honestly reflect my views at this time."

Chuck Hurlbut

Most people agree that America is in a terrible funk: our standing in the world is the lowest ever; the economy is tanking; governments, at all levels, seem incapable of effectively dealing with the challenges they face; the war in Iraq which most Americans do not support is costing us dearly in the lives of our young and billions of dollars of borrowed money; people, along with businesses and governments, are behaving irresponsibly by spending more money than they have; and rising energy prices conflict with our predisposition for gluttony. How can this all be? How is it that the most powerful and prosperous country ever on the face of the earth can be confronted by such a perfect storm of adverse circumstances?

Can't we easily, with our extraordinary American know-how, overcome any obstacle in our path? After all, we are the country that invented powered flight, the atomic bomb, the microchip, the Internet, the hoola hoop and the drive-in root beer stand. We won World War II and then revitalized and resurrected Europe with the Marshall Plan. After the War, we refocused our energies and talents on improving the standard of living for all Americans, and when some Americans were left behind and didn't share in the prosperity we introduced Great Society programs to economically and educationally uplift them and bring them into society's mainstream. Aren't we, after all, the chosen ones like our politicians like to remind us? Why, then, are we beset with the problems we have today?

Prior to World War II, America wasn't the supremely confident nation that she became and remained until very recently. We thought it was entirely possible that the war might be lost and our way of life unalterably changed. We were not at all confident and didn't take success for granted. We, therefore, channeled our energies in a highly focused manner and worked as one to assure success and the preservation of our American way of life. However, our greatest accomplishment, winning the war, also placed us on the path that's led us to where we are today. Our success in World War II, that came at an enormous personal and economic price with over 400,000 Americans dead and millions of others wounded, led us to believe in our own invincibility and infallibility.

Each of the past three generations, following the one we call the "Greatest Generation," has become increasingly convinced of America's moral and spiritual superiority and rectitude. To be sure, there have always been the sane and wise among us who have counseled us against our imprudent and self-destructive ways, but they've been relatively small in number and easily ignored and dismissed.

Ominous storm clouds first began to gather when we ignored the lessons of the Korean conflict. Limits to our military power became evident then, our perceived omnipotence constrained by the fact that we were not the only holders of the atomic trump card.

We continued our inclination to underestimate and under assess our adversary in the Vietnam war. We looked upon them as a nation of rice farmers and tree dwellers who would be awed by our superior power and intellect and would see the wisdom of following our guidance. Of course, we subsequently learned the error of our thinking when the sons and daughters of those who escaped from Vietnam in 1975 and settled in the U.S. went on to become the valedictorians of their high school classes.

We learned the hard way that the North Vietnamese were a far more resourceful, resilient, capable and sophisticated foe than we had any idea. Their abilities to intercept, decode and then act upon our tactical and strategic communications always exceeded our assessment of them and left us astounded when we ultimately learned of their capabilities.

There are countless other examples of our exuberant hubris, but I think the point has been made.

The American public is only partly to blame for all the problems stemming from this affliction. Our political leaders, not many of distinction, have fostered and cultivated this mentality for decades, but those presently in power are the worst offenders.

It's easy for the privileged and comfortable to see themselves and the country as an island of paradise amongst an archipelago of barren waste. Unfortunately, their lack of intellect, judgment, and common sense, are driving this country at an increasing
speed over a cliff that is coming closer and closer.

Those of us who are fond of studying Abraham Lincoln yearn for the day when another leader of his caliber will step forth and lead us in a positive direction. It had best happen soon, for there's precious little time to waste.

DO WE MEET SOMEONE BECAUSE WE ARE DESTINED TO MEET? by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

With our March 1 wedding anniversary rapidly approaching, last night I dreamt about the almost miraculous circumstances under which Anna and I first met, September 2, 1977, and how we both knew, in that instant, that we were somehow destined for one another. We have never been apart from that moment to this day. (Photo: 1977; Anna–age 25, me–age 40)

The 1987 movie "Made in Heaven" starring Timothy Hutton and Kelly McGillis is a romantic, occasionally funny, drama about two souls who consummate their marriage literally in "Heaven." Needless to say, Anna and I identify very strongly with this movie.

The Movie Plot Outline: Mike Shea, in his first life, dies as a young man performing a heroic rescue. Shortly after arriving in "Heaven" he meets a new soul, Annie Packert, who has never lived on Earth before. The drama centers around their separation soon after being wedded and the burning question is whether they will reunite on Earth before time runs out or whether they are fated to eternal soul-searching.

The synchronicity, that is, the meaningful coincidence attending this, is that this morning I came across this series of questions below by Lalitha V. Raman which coincides precisely with the questions I pondered in my night's dream.

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Do we Meet Someone Because we are Destined to Meet?
by lalitha v.raman, Feb 26, 2008

Are we constantly in search of that one person all through our life, till we meet and become instantly comfortable with him or her?

Do we meet a particular person because we are destined to meet?

Could this be because our need for that person at a particular point in time is so great that it drags us towards him or her?

Do we have God inside us, leading us safely towards or away from a particular person?

Do we call this an instinct, a guiding force or destiny?

Could this be our own decision, though unconsciously?

Or have we been made to realize that we are to meet a particular person on a particular day at a particular time and at a particular place!

What will happen if that person comes late and we had left by then?

Will there be another time and another place in which we shall meet that person in some way?

What will happen if we are unable to meet that person that time as well?

Will our opportunity towards meeting that particular person be gone forever?

Are we destined to meet the next person in the queue?

What are we supposed to do?

Does the searching for and the meeting itself create a comfort zone that determines our future relationship with him or her?

Could this be the fatality of being at the same place and at the same time that plays tricks on our minds?

What is the truth and where is the truth?

How do we recognize the particular person, who is meant to meet us from the rest of the others?

Is there some unseen hand that guides us in such a way that we bump into the right person, moving away from the wrong person?

What do we want to do with that person?

Do we want to spend our time with him or her and share our stories?

Do we want to share our life with him or her?

Do we want him or her to fulfill some of our needs and then move away from him or her?

Will that pave way for the next person in queue to identify us and get close to us?

Are we the one for whom the other person has been searching for all through his or her life?

Thinking of such things, it seems strange that we meet, we like, and we continue our friendship with some people.

Then again, we meet, we instantly dislike, or keep a safe distance away from, some other people all through our lives!

We seem to have a mechanism through which our mind operates, identifying, analyzing and concluding on a person's qualifications to be with us or not to be with us!

HELLO by Lionel Richie

I’M GOING TO THE REUNION by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

60th REUNION LONG BRANCH H.S. CLASS OF 1955 
I put off attending the Reunion because I had other things to do;
Now I’m saddened I didn’t go to see old friends I knew.
Looking at the last one’s photos of those who chose to go,
Makes me sad I wasn’t with them at the Luncheon, Banquet, and Show.
Why wasn’t I there to share memories with those of times now past;
With my dear departed classmates at the Reunion that was their last.
I put off attending the Reunion because I had other things to do;
Now I’m happy I’m going to see dear friends both old and new.
I’m not going to miss this Reunion; that’s a promise I’ve got to keep;
So I can laugh and joke with folks like me before my Final Sleep.

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NOTE: I’m in the top row, second from left.

WE ARE LIVING WITH THE "CHOICE" THAT WAS MADE by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

See: ONCE I WAS A CRUSADER

and ARISE! STAND ON YOUR FEET!

Forty-six years ago, Monday, January 22, 1973, the United States Supreme Court made its most controversial decision in Roe v. Wade by declaring that abortion, the killing of a baby in the womb, is a right sanctioned under the provisions of the Constitution.

Acceptance of, and acquiescence to, this decision was the First Step on the One-Way Road to the Beginning of the End. This "Rotten Apple in the Barrel of Moral Principles" was quickly followed by a googolplex of quasi-criminal practices that have brought us to the systemic corruption we are currently experiencing today.

The people of the United States of America are now beginning to fully realize that we have slipped, and are continuing to slip, deeper and deeper toward a Hell of unimaginable proportions that awaits us. Soon, the Great Depression of the 1930s will appear in retrospect, if there is anyone left to retrospect, as a mere mild Recession compared to what lies ahead.

We have allowed our leaders to sell us into slavery to foreigners whom history has shown to be cruel and merciless people. They have taken possession of our lands, our infrastructure, and ownership of our monetary system.

Our leaders have become as Shanda Kommanders, the Death Camp Jews, who lured and cast their own people into the Ovens of the "Final Solution" to save their own skins.

Perhaps, then again, perhaps not, there will be someone, in some future time, who will remember and speak of Monday, January 22, 1973, as the actual moment of America's death in much the way that Kurtz's final words in Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" were indirectly narrated: “The horror! The horror!”
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*Shanda- Shame

'"THAT CAN'T HAPPEN HERE, CAN IT MISS WHITNEY?" by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

"The people who cast the votes don’t decide an election, the people who count the votes do." - Joseph Stalin, Communist dictator


September 1949. I was 12 years old and a Seventh Grader in morning class at Long Branch Junior High School, back when we were the United States of America.

After Morning Prayers and the Pledge of Allegiance with our right hands extended in respectful reverence toward our Flag, Marion DeLuca, the "prettiest girl in the class," was chosen by our teacher, Miss Whitney ("Ms" wasn't invented yet), to read her "favorite Psalm - "Psalm 23." I loved that Psalm. It was mostly everyone else's favorite, as well, followed closely by Psalm 100 and Psalm 101.

Next, we all stood to sing the "Star-Spangled Banner," then "God Bless America," with such an outpouring of love for, and pride in, what we knew, for certain, was the greatest country in the history of Mankind.

Once this regular morning routine was completed, we discussed "Current Events." It was mostly always about the evils of Communism.

Miss Whitney began the discussion by comparing the virtues of United Nations Diplomat, Dr. Ralph Bunche, Harvard Professor, acclaimed Academic, Scholar, and Athlete, nominated as the first person of color to receive the Nobel Peace Prize (which he did receive in 1950), to another man of color, Paul Robeson.

Although Robeson's credentials were as equally, if not more, impressive than Bunche's, e.g., All-American Football, Actor/Singer ("Old Man River"), and Phi Beta Kappa Scholar, he was labeled a (forgive the profanity) "Communist."

This instruction was directed mainly for the benefit of Laura Wilson, Willy Williams, Bobby Robinson, and Shirley Baker, the "Negroes" of the class. This was before their appellation evolved through the years from "Coloreds," "People of Color," "Blacks," and the currently acceptable designation of "African-Americans."

Jimmy Duncan, mercifully interrupted Miss Whitney's "Compare and Contrast" lesson by announcing that his mother worked at Fort Monmouth and that he overheard her talking about the elections in Russia where Josef Stalin got 100% of the vote.

Miss Whitney promptly pointed out that the people in Russia were fooled into believing that they were actually voting. They were going to the Polls, casting Ballots that just as well might have been written on toilet paper and flushed down the toilet.

How righteous and proud she was in her exclamation, "Thank God (you could say "God" in those days) that could never happen here."

Fast Forward to January 2008. Because of questionable results in our Primary and National Elections, the integrity of our election process is being seriously questioned from every corner.

Historically, Exit Polls are never wrong, yet they predicted that Gore would win Florida in 2000, that Kerry would win Ohio in 2004, and that Obama would win New Hampshire last week. So How did Hillary win? What's the variable that ties all of these anomalies together?

DIEBOLD!

One candidate has gone so far as to demand a recount and commented that "Ever since the 2000 election - and even before - the American people have been losing faith in the belief that their votes were actually counted. This recount isn't about who won 39% or 36% or even 1%. It's about establishing whether 100% of the voters had 100% of their votes counted exactly the way they cast them."

The candidate further stated, "Without an official recount, the voters of New Hampshire and the rest of the nation will never know whether there are flaws in our electoral system that need to be identified and addressed at this relatively early point in the Presidential nominating process."

"Can we please have a show of hands here?"

KARL FEY'S "DIME STORE DWELLINGS" by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

Approximately 14 years ago, Martha Stewart's Living Magazine did a feature story on "Dime Store Christmas Houses" and directed readers to a Web site dedicated to them, called "Papa Ted's Place" featuring:
KARL FEY'S DIME STORE DWELLINGS.

The site recounts the history of the houses and gives information on their value at auction on the Internet.

The original cardboard houses, some made in Japan, as well as America, date back to 1928. At the time, they cost less than a dollar for a whole town at the dime and department stores, like F.W. Woolworth's, as well as from various mail-order catalogs of the day, including the Charles Williams catalog out of New York, and the Sears and Roebuck catalog. Now the houses are extremely rare and are valued according to condition, but usually are found in groups for hundreds of dollars.

While a great many have attempted to reproduce the quality, craftsmanship, and appeal to the nostalgic interests of collectors of these beautiful time-frozen memories, only one creative genius has managed to captivate and enthrall the hearts of those who refuse to settle for anything less than perfection.

That gifted and talented artist is Karl Fey who, incidentally, is the nephew of Hank Fey, a member of our Army Security Agency Kagnew Station Guard Group, and cousin of 2008 Golden Globe Winner, Tina Fey, the brilliant writer, actress, director, etc., of TV's Saturday Night Live and 30 Rock.

When you visit Karl's web site and see his unparalleled work, you will understand very clearly why his two-year absence from this art form was sorely missed and why his return is being applauded so loudly.

Nostalgic Tableaus seem to be the domain of the Fey family. Karl's grandfather was Chief Electrician and creator of the internationally renowned Annual Christmas Railroad display of John Wanamaker's Department Store in Philadelphia.

Following in that tradition, Karl's Uncle Hank and father, Karl, did this Trolley Display (photo) for Rohm & Haas and have been commissioned to create an even more impressive display for their 100th Anniversay, to be celebrated in 2009.

Absolutely amazed at the level and diversity of artistry and creativity possessed by, from what I can determine, every member of the Fey family, I had to ask Hank, "From whom and where did all this originate?"

His reply was, "Where does it all come from? I trace it back to my great grandfather Charles Fey: ex-soldier in the Kaiser's army, toymaker extraordinaire, and - from what I can gather - all around Bohemian. Apparently, the Germanic toy-making tradition runs strong in our family and we just do what comes naturally. You might say we're modern-day elves."

So there you have it. Five generations of the Fey family, whose creative genius, knowledge, skills, creativity, and unexcelled pride in craftsmanship, have been handed down from father to son over the past several centuries, safeguarding a tradition of creating rare, limited art forms that will continue to grow in beauty and value with each passing year.

Karl Fey says he will try to make his creations available on a limited basis, possibly by this coming March 2008! Keep watching his web site. There will be limited numbers available on a first-come, first-served basis, and when the supply is gone that will be it until further notice.

OSAMA BIN LADEN IS DEAD ACCORDING TO BHUTTO

November 2, 2007, Benazir Bhutto was interviewed by Sir David Frost. During the interview she mentioned that Osama Bin Laden had been murdered by Omar Sheikh. She said it so casually as though everyone knew it was common knowledge. Why didn't Frost ask her the obvious follow-up questions to this statement? Am I the only idiot out here who missed the news reports of his death?

Osama Bin Laden was killed years ago [Benazir Bhutto]

OUR GREAT HISTORICAL DOCUMENTS ARE FALLING INTO PRIVATE OWNERSHIP by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

The Magna Carta
"...here is a law which is above the King and which even he must not break. This reaffirmation of a supreme law and its expression in a general charter is the great work of Magna Carta; and this alone justifies the respect in which men have held it." -Winston Churchill, 1956

Sadly, a 710 year old copy of the Declaration of Human Rights, known as the Magna Carta, the most important document in the world, "the Birth Certificate of Freedom," bearing the seal of King Edward I and dated 1297 - the version that became part of English Law - was auctioned Tuesday, December 18, for $21.3 million.

It was bought by David Rubenstein of the Carlyle Group. Yes! That Carlyle Group.

Until a few days before its sale, it shared space at the National Archives in Washington, D.C., with the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution, the two documents that drew upon its principles.

The Master Copy of the document, sealed by King John in 1215, is unable to be located, but other copies exist. However, only 2 are held outside of Britain: the Australian government has a 1297 copy, and Rubenstein's, which is also a 1297 copy.

David Rubenstein's copy is the only one in the world that is held by a private citizen.

Perhaps if the War continues long enough, Mr. Rubenstein will be able to amass enough funds to purchase the remaining documents in the National Archives, the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution, for a complete matching set.

GOD BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU SAFE, MY "DANNY BOY"

This song has many interpretations.

For me, Danny, it's about you, my beloved son, going off to war and me waiting for your return.

Because you were named after your eponymous Welsh Great-Grandfather, Daniel Burch, and chose as your Confirmation name, "David," the patron saint of Wales, I thought it only fitting that our greatest Welsh singer, Tom Jones, sing this to you. God Bless you and keep you safe, my Danny Boy.
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountainside
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

But when he come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my grave will warm and sweeter be
For you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

Caleb's Piano Recital at Lynnhaven Mall, Virginia Beach, VA

This is my 6 year old grandson, Caleb, from whom, one day, I am certain, the world will see great accomplishments.

Caleb's Piano Recital at Lynnhaven Mall, Virginia Beach, VA



Photo: Caleb's Mom and Dad, my first born son, Edward James Anton and wife, Deborah. Ed is Minister of the Hampton Roads Church, Virginia Beach, VA and Author of "Repentance: A Cosmic Shift of Mind and Heart." Debbie is a Pediatrician whose practice is also in Virginia Beach. They have 3 sons: Zack, Chase, and Caleb; and daughter Lindsay.

"REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR" by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

Oh, is the anniversary of Pearl Harbor here already? It comes and goes so quickly and without much fanfare these days. No longer politically correct, you know, to appear patriotic when immersed in a sea of hodge-podge humanity who cannot, nor will not, remember that they are Americans. We mustn't offend our former enemies who are now our current creditors. Better not fly the Flag at half-mast either. Someone might notice. "Wouldn't be prudent."

The wars our forefathers fought for the very survival of America are no longer celebrated as great victories for liberty and freedom; nor are our heroes glorified for their bravery and courage. The emphasis on World War II history is now on racist internments of Resident Aliens and the segregation of Blacks in our military.

Napoleon said, "History is a set of lies agreed upon." How true that is. Our educational system is effectively eliminating America's past. What was once deemed important, is now unimportant; the once relevant is now irrelevant. Fact has become fiction; fiction fact, myth legend, and legend, history.

Our Founding Fathers, if they happen to appear in a textbook that has not been redacted to exclude their mention, are not portrayed as the great men they were, but rather, as slave owners.

Thomas Jefferson is characterized as, not only a slave owner, but also, as the adulterous, incestuous child molester of Sally Hemmings, his slave, and wife's half-sister.

Very few stand out of respect for the National Anthem anymore; fewer still salute the Flag - more symbols of racism, I suppose. We celebrate KWAANZA and Hannukah by allowing their religious symbols on municipal property, yet will not hesitate to prosecute anything that even remotely smacks of Christianity.

I really don't know how we devolved into the divided, Balkanized America we've become, but it seems to me that the America we once knew, who "lifted her lamp beside the Golden Door" and cried out: "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," is no longer a "Melting Pot," but, rather, is rapidly becoming a "Rotted Stew."

"MEET MY TEACHERS" by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

Sylvan Scolnick aka "Cherry Hill Fats"

The Sanskrit term "Upanishad" literally means "sitting down beside." It is a term that defines the relationship between a Teacher and his Student.

Soon after my Cosmic Consciousness Experience of August 1973 I was "set" upon a Path of Esoteric Learning, in the Greater Philadelphia Area Classroom of the School of Life, to be instructed by Master Teachers in Arcane Knowledge.

These teachings have never been, nor ever will be, written or recorded.

Though my Teachers are no longer among us, many results of their lessons have been accomplished by unwitting countless thousands through the instructions of their Last Disciple who is writing these words.

The names of my Teachers, in the order in which I encountered each one, received their instructions and moved on, are:

1. Larry Mullenhagen: He recited the words of the "Great Secret" to me that I had to commit to memory in one hearing.

2. W.W. Lassiter: By including in my instructions the mantra,"People respond to strength with admiration and respect; they respond to weakness with strength," he taught me to be "Strong" in all that I am.

3. Sylvan Scolnick aka "Cherry Hill Fats": Endowed with a mind of unbelievable intellectual capacity, imprisoned in a 700 lb. body, he possessed business knowledge that would "post-grad" both the Harvard School of Business and the Wharton School of Penn.

4. Carl Spaulding: He was the Flame to the Moths. He possessed a Power of Magnetic Attraction and Strength of Presence from which few could escape.

5. Lou Piazza: A genius of the highest magnitude, Lou was dyslexic, spoke in malapropisms, and his very being engendered antipathy, hostility, and false feelings of superiority in others. When one thought that he was outsmarting Lou, that was the moment that one was being outsmarted.

6. John Wright: A creative genius, wealthy beyond the wealth of all men because, metaphorically speaking, he held the Combinations to All Safes. The World was his Bank from which he could withdraw whatever cash he needed to satisfy his needs or whims.

"LAST LETTERS" by Steve Savage

Below are Last Letters of the Faceless, Nameless Numbers that were once Statistics scrawled across the Chryons (bottom banners) of our Cable TV Screens, while the Mainstream Nightly News was reporting such important news as "French transit workers back on job."

Read these letters, which follow, as though they were written to you and your family by your own son or daughter, father or mother, sister, brother, or friend, and yes, even in some cases, Grandmothers, who are serving in Harm's Way.

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Excerpts of letters from Army Capt. Joshua T. Byers, 29, of Anderson, S.C., who was killed on July 23 when a bomb detonated under his vehicle.
Thursday, June 5

Dear Mom and Dad,

A couple of days ago, my squadron commander told me that I would be taking command of Fox Troop in June, after all. . . . SWEET! I left my conversation with him walking on air! Not only will I soon be a cavalry troop commander (the most lethal combination of fire power that a captain can be in command of, in any service), BUT I will have the opportunity and the incredible responsibility of commanding in combat. I have to admit that I am really nervous and just pray that I am up to the task out here to lead 120 men in combat operations. I will give them everything I have to give — I love them already, just because they're mine. I pray, with all my heart, that I will be able to take every single one of them home safe when we finish our mission here.

Friday, June 20

It seems like I've been here for so much longer than I have. My life away from here seems so far away. In some ways, I don't think I'll ever have it back completely. I think war takes certain things from you, or maybe it gives certain things that change your perspective.

I love being in command. It's so great to lead again. I love taking care of my men and accomplishing our missions together here. I am blessed.

Thursday, July 3

In the past two nights we've been attacked each night while on patrol. No casualties for us. . . . I see more bravery in a day here than I had seen in my entire life prior to this.

I'm healthy and doing fine — although I really want to get that redeployment order and come home (as everyone does) — I don't dwell on it. We are accomplishing our mission here and I think I'll take a lot of pride in that for the rest of my life. Although the sacrifice is great, the rewards of service are so much greater.

Friday, July 18

Life here continues to be challenging, but we're all hanging in there. We got a blow to our morale a few days ago when the corps commander visited us (three-star general). He said there was no way we were going home in less than nine to 12 months. Man, that's going to suck. We're working on month No. 4 right now and it already seems like we've been here forever and a day.

I still love being a commander. I love leading troops and taking care of them. It is a huge responsibility and I feel the weight of it every day. I send the thing I love most out here — my men — into harm's way every day and every night. I just do my best to ensure they're ready, trained, equipped and properly led in every situation.

Monday, July 21

We conducted a huge operation in the desert about a week ago. We had intel that suggested that the bad guys were hiding weapons and ammo out in the desert and bringing it into the city to attack us. We swept all of the desert north of us and found lots of weapons/ ammo. . . . Two of the targets that we captured turned out to be first cousins of Saddam Hussein.

I love you both with all of my heart! I'm working very hard here — adding honor to our country and to our family name!

Love,
Josh


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Excerpt of an e-mail message to his wife, Theresa, from Army Master Sgt. Kevin N. Morehead, 33, of Little Rock, Ark., who was killed Sept. 12 during a raid on enemy forces. The message was sent July 7.


Hey Baby,

I do enjoy planning for the future. It gives me a lot of hope to be able to plan for our success. Sometimes I think that maybe I wouldn't come up with these plans if I wasn't deployed. Being here focuses my attention on home and I have time to come up with lots of avenues for us. It has been one blessing for me being here. I think if we can get the things done that I have come up with we will be able to have a prosperous life ahead of us. I don't want you to worry about how we are going to make it after I get out. . . . I want us to be able to enjoy our life and do things that we want to do.

I think after we get these bills settled and get on track this winter with the property and the house, next spring I am going to get us another boat. We had a lot of fun when we had a boat. I remember when me, you and Jesse used to go to the lake and camping. Those were really fun times. I would eventually like to get a camper or an R.V., too. . . . I know how you like to have a nice place to stay. If we got a nice camper, then it would almost be like staying in a hotel room with A.C. and a private shower and a queen size bed.

I love you very much. I can't wait to get on with our lives. I really look forward to our future together.
Kevin


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Excerpts of letters from Army Pfc. Rachel K. Bosveld, 19, of Oshkosh, Wis., who was killed Oct. 26 in a mortar attack.


Tuesday, Oct. 14

Mom,

I'm doing fine, Mom. Yes, I did get into a sort of accident, if that's what you call it. We were hit by an IED (improvised explosive device) or RPG (rocket-propelled grenade), which set our truck on fire because it struck the battery and fuel line. My neck and shoulder were pretty banged up for about two weeks. My shoulder popped (dislocated) and I jammed my neck as well. I lost my hearing in my left ear for a few weeks. My hearing in general isn't good at all anymore. I've been through my share of explosives. I'm sending pictures home to be developed of my truck (or what's left of it). I took a few of me with the truck, so you could all see that I'm O.K.

It's still pretty warm during the day, but gets very chilly at night. Could you try and find one of my hooded sweatshirts to send to me?

Right now I'm soaking my feet. My feet take a beating in these boots. My feet are all cut up and sore. . . . Feels soooooo good now, anyway. I guess I haven't been taking as good care of myself this month. We have a physical training test I'm getting ready for. This month and last we haven't gotten much time to do P.T. So I work, sleep, work, P.T., work — oh, and eat.

Well Mom, my 20-minute soak is up. Take care. I love you. Don't worry so much about me, Mom, my intuition has already saved a few lives here and my own as well.

Monday, Oct. 20

I'm doing great this week. Sure, I've dodged lots of bullets and such, gotten little to no sleep and eaten nasty food, but I am doing great.

I got to drive a tank! I got a tour, learned how to operate everything, load everything, and I got to DRIVE IT! I was tooth from ear to ear!

I'm getting a Purple Heart for the accident, along with eight other people in my platoon. . . . Someone is always getting injured here. There have been no fatalities so far in my company, though, just lots of injuries.

So, how are you? Eighteen days till my birthday! I can't wait! No one probably even knows when it is over here.

Well, bye for now, just wanted to let you know I'm O.K. and I miss you.

I love you,
Rachel


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Excerpt of a letter from Army Pvt. Robert L. Frantz, 19, of San Antonio, who was killed June 17 when he was struck by a grenade. The letter was postmarked June 15.


Dear Mom,

I got the first package, and the letter you sent me. Sorry if I haven't been writing so much. I pull 12-hour guard shifts from 7 at night till 7 in the morning, and then I go on patrols some time in between those hours, and when I am not doing that I am usually sleeping.

Someone shot at us last night. I was getting ready to go to sleep and I hear a pop, pop, and then the bullets ricocheted off the building right outside the window I was standing in front of. . . . It kinda sucks, when all you can think about is there's someone out there trying to kill you or your buddy next to you, and all you can do is hope you kill them first.

I got to stay the night in Saddam's wife's palace the first night I was in Baghdad. That thing is huge. I want to see what his main palace looks like. . . . I took some pictures, hopefully they'll come out.

We've had random gunfire within a 100-meter radius all night, every night, since I have been here. It kinda scares you the first couple nights, but you tend to get used to it.

Well, Mom, I gotta go. Tell everyone I love them and miss them very much.

Love always and forever,
Robby


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Excerpt of a letter from Army Pfc. Jesse A. Givens, 34, of Springfield, Mo. Private Givens was killed May 1 when his tank fell into the Euphrates River after the bank on which he was parked gave way. This letter was written to be delivered to his family if he died. Melissa is his wife, Dakota his 6-year-old stepson and Bean the name he used for his son, Carson, who was born May 29.


My family,

I never thought that I would be writing a letter like this. I really don't know where to start. I've been getting bad feelings, though and, well, if you are reading this. . . .

The happiest moments in my life all deal with my little family. I will always have with me the small moments we all shared. The moments when you quit taking life so serious and smiled. The sounds of a beautiful boy's laughter or the simple nudge of a baby unborn. You will never know how complete you have made me. You saved me from loneliness and taught me how to think beyond myself. You taught me how to live and to love. You opened my eyes to a world I never dreamed existed.

Dakota . . . you taught me how to care until it hurts, you taught me how to smile again. You taught me that life isn't so serious and sometimes you just have to play. You have a big, beautiful heart. Through life you need to keep it open and follow it. Never be afraid to be yourself. I will always be there in our park when you dream so we can play. I love you, and hope someday you will understand why I didn't come home. Please be proud of me.

Bean, I never got to see you but I know in my heart you are beautiful. I know you will be strong and big-hearted like your mom and brother. I will always have with me the feel of the soft nudges on your mom's belly, and the joy I felt when I found out you were on your way. I love you, Bean.

Melissa, I have never been as blessed as the day I met you. You are my angel, soulmate, wife, lover and best friend. I am sorry. I did not want to have to write this letter. There is so much more I need to say, so much more I need to share. A lifetime's worth. I married you for a million lifetimes. That's how long I will be with you. Please keep my babies safe. Please find it in your heart to forgive me for leaving you alone. . . . Teach our babies to live life to the fullest, tell yourself to do the same.

I will always be there with you, Melissa. I will always want you, need you and love you, in my heart, my mind and my soul. Do me a favor, after you tuck the children in. Give them hugs and kisses from me. Go outside and look at the stars and count them. Don't forget to smile.

Love Always,
Your husband,
Jess

STOP EMINENT DOMAIN ABUSE NOW! by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

My hometown, Long Branch, New Jersey, was America's First Seashore Resort, boasting of the world's best beaches. The crystal clear waters and view of the Ocean's Horizon was a pleroma of beauty that had to be experienced to be described. Every Beach had its own little community of quaint, picturesque cottages that granted quick, easy access to a panorama we Long Branchers considered to be a very special gift from God to all of us.

My grandfather, Julius Lafayette Granit, World Champion 10 Mile Ocean Swimmer, was Chief Lifeguard in the 1890s and I was Chief Lifeguard through the 1960s. No matter where we Long Branchers would go in this world, our hearts would always long for the image of our beautiful seaside that was so indelibly painted on the mural of our minds.

Over the years, the municipal political machinery of Long Branch was usurped by vacationing visitors who came to stay and exploit what was God-Given for their own greedy, personal gain. Through the sheer force of their voting numbers, they took over the Administration of Long Branch and quickly began to condemn homes and businesses through the use of Eminent Domain Abuse.

Many of these homes and businesses that had stood for centuries, were "in-your-face" sold to developer friends who, seemingly overnight, turned the Beachfront into some grotesque monstrosity of cheaply constructed homogenized condominium firetraps.

The eulogy, below, eloquently written by Jeff Rowe, is the true story of Anna DeFaria, the courageous Long Branch woman, who gave her life in defense of her home and her neighbors' homes. It was she who was at the forefront of the battle to stave off the greedy monsters behind the Eminent Domain Machine that continues to devour the lives and livelihoods of the victims in its Path.

Stand Strong America! Don't Let Long Branch's Story Become Your Story! STOP EMINENT DOMAIN ABUSE NOW!

Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"


-------------------
EMINENT DOMAIN FOE DIES, BUT HER SPIRIT ENDURES
by Jeff Rowes
[Jeff Rowes is an attorney with the Institute for Justice in Arlington, Va., which represents the MTOTSA homeowners in Long Branch and which represented the homeowners in Kelo.]
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In 1960, Anna and Antone DeFaria plunked down $6,400 for their American dream, a tiny seaside bungalow in historic Long Branch. Though small by today's standards, their home served the DeFarias well, faithfully sheltering them and their children from the cold winds of the Atlantic and the cold winds of life.

Anna DeFaria, who died last week 10 years after Antone passed away, never imagined in 1960 that her modest home would one day become a flashpoint in the nationwide fight against eminent domain abuse. She and her neighbors in the working-class Marine Terrace-Ocean Terrace-Seaview Avenue (MTOTSA) neighborhood have been locked in a closely watched legal battle to save their homes from Long Branch, which is trying to seize them so a private developer can build even more beachfront condos for the rich.

Those of us privileged to stand with DeFaria in this important struggle drew inspiration from her unwavering commitment to the principles of liberty. Although offered inducements not available to her neighbors, she was a rock. She understood that this case was about the sanctity of the home and the constitutional right of everyone, even people of modest means, to keep the property they worked so hard to own. There was no way she would sell because, as she put it, Long Branch was not trying to take just her house, but "my home, my life."

Eminent domain abuse was catapulted into the headlines in 2005 when a narrow majority of the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Kelo v. City of New London, Conn., that the U.S. Constitution allows the government to transfer property from one person to another for the latter's private financial benefit so long as there is some hope that jobs and tax revenue might follow.

In a now-famous dissent, Justice Sandra Day O'Connor warned that the decision in Kelo meant that the government now can seize any beloved home, any booming small business, any thriving church and even pastoral rural land whenever someone richer comes along promising to build something bigger. The justice also predicted that the burdens of eminent domain abuse would fall on those least able to defend themselves.

O'Connor was right on both counts. We at the Institute for Justice documented a dramatic proliferation of eminent domain abuse in the wake of Kelo as local governments, no longer concerned about pesky constitutional rights, binged on private property. We also just published a study showing, based on U.S. census data, that people subject to eminent domain for private economic development are much more likely to be poor and from minority communities.

As bleak as this seems, there is reason to hope. Courageous Americans like DeFaria have taken on greedy local governments and developers in strategic lawsuits across the country arguing that state constitutions provide more property rights protection than the Supreme Court is willing to recognize in the Constitution. So far, two such cases have reached their respective state supreme courts, where the Kelo theory of eminent domain for private economic development was soundly rejected.

State legislatures also responded to unprecedented public outrage over Kelo. Forty-two states have reformed their eminent domain laws to prevent what happened to DeFaria and her neighbors.

Although New Jersey, which is one of the worst eminent domain abusers in the country, did not enact any reform following Kelo, all of us took heart last spring when the state Supreme Court unanimously ruled that Paulsboro violated the state constitution by labeling harmless rural property "blighted" so it could be transferred to a big corporation. DeFaria was particularly joyous at discovering the most distinguished judges in New Jersey agreed with her that rights are for everyone, not just the rich and powerful.

DeFaria embodied the very best in all of us. Though as tiny as the proverbial David, she never shrank from Goliath. And though given much reason to be bitter, she was a woman of enduring devotion who never failed to wish God's blessings on everyone, even those in the city government out to take her cherished home.

Her personal fight may be over, but, to no one's surprise, her children have vowed to carry on. Through her family and our memory of her, she will remain with us in spirit as we continue our fight to vindicate the constitutional rights in which she so deeply believed.

"THANKSGIVING PRAYER" by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

[March 1, 1980 Wedding Photo: Anna, 27, and Me, 42]

Thanks for my wonderful, carefree life
With access to cash and a beautiful wife.
No worries, health problems, or bothersome blues,
Can jump in the car and eat out where I choose.
Thanks for the Grandfather Clock, the Giant TV,
Lounging around doing nothing in anonymity.
Thanks for teaching me the tricks of the trade,
Enabling me to live this outrageous charade.
Thanks for my new teeth, spaces gone from my smile,
Fountain pen, diamond ring, watch with gold dial.
Thanks for the friendship of so many nice folks;
The joys, the laughter, camaraderie, and jokes.
Thanks for letting me live in these beautiful Hills,
As just an ordinary Joe who’s paying the bills.
Thanks for no pressure, no sleepless nights,
No guilt feelings, no senseless fights.
Thanks for making me the world’s luckiest man;
A husband, "Daddy," "Pop-pop;" my family’s biggest fan.
Most of all thanks to be in this Land of the Free,
With the right to pursue happiness and opportunity.

IN HONOR OF MY BELOVED SON'S SERVICE TO AMERICA by Steve Savage "King of the Beasts"

Today, November 10, 2007, my son, Dan, deployed for his Second Tour of Duty in Iraq. For the next 12 to 15 months, his beautiful new bride, Amber and her family, Dan's mother, Anna, his five brothers, Eddie, Michael, Tommy, Matthew and Scott, and I, will be praying every moment that God will guide him, protect him, and keep him safe from harm.


This is the child Anna sees and carries in her heart. When he was only 4 years old, he said to his mother,"Mom, you know some day I'm going to have to leave you." Anna, faced with the future, said, "Yes, but not now."



This is NOW!
Undefeated New York/New Jersey Junior Olympic Boxing Champion, Danny "The Lion-Hearted" Anton, Army Ranger Hand-to-Hand Combatives Champion, "Achilles" to the men of the 2-69 BN, 3rd ID, Twice-Awarded Bronze Star for Bravery, US Army Ranger Captain Daniel Burch Anton.