In the beginning was the word. The word was with God. It was good. The people were pleased.
Political:
In the beginning was the word. The word was changed. The change was revised. The revision was amended. The amendment was edited. The edit was deleted. The deletion was suspended. The suspension was removed. The removal was superseded. It was confusing. The people were not pleased.
Take what you will from the insights of The Grumpy Doc.
Continuing my reminiscences about growing up in West Virginia I’m going to visit the subject of ramps. For those of you who haven’t been blessed to live in Appalachia, ramps are a type of wild leek in the onion family. They have a very pungent flavor that is like a highly garlicky, sulfureous onion. They have a short season in the spring and are highly prized by those who enjoy them.
If you think politics can be contentious, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen the disagreements about ramps. You either hate ramps or you love ramps. There is no middle ground and almost no one is neutral on the subject.
Those unfamiliar with ramps might think, “If you don’t like them, just don’t eat them.” Well, it’s just not that simple. If you think garlic or onions can give you bad breath, just standby.
Ramps may give you the harshest breath that you’ve ever experienced. But that’s not the worst part. The odor of ramps will radiate from your body for several days. Despite much folklore about the best ways to rid your body of the odor, the only thing that works is the passage of time.
I can remember many years ago when I was in school, kids who would eat too many ramps sometimes would be sent home because the odor was just too much to bear in a closed classroom. There were times when I thought eating ramps might be worth it if I got a day off school. Ultimately, I decided maybe school wasn’t so bad.
The spring of my senior year in high school a buddy and I decided to go to Richwood for the annual ramp festival. Richwood sits in a river valley and as we started down the hill, we could see a haze hanging over the town. As we got closer to the festival site I was almost driven back. I grew up in a town with several chemical plants so I thought I was used to bad odors in the air, but was I ever wrong. The only thing that kept us going was free beer. We had both just turned 18 and could legally drink.
Even the federal government has declared ramps to be a public nuisance. The editor of the Richwood weekly newspaper once mixed ramp juice with the ink for a special edition. The smell was so bad the post office refused to deliver the paper and destroyed all the copies in its possession.
People who love ramps talk about the many ways to cook them. In the spring in West Virginia restaurants seem to compete for new ways to prepare ramps during the few weeks they are available. They have ramp burgers, ramp pimento cheese, ramp jelly and ramp omelets. There has even been the misguided ramp infused wine. It seems to me that most recipes involve ways to disguise the flavor of ramps.
It’s not just when they’re cooked that they put off an objectionable odor. Even raw they can be hard to deal with. I was out in the country with my brother and his wife when she decided to pick some ramps (leaves only, the bulb is left to grow next year’s crop). Let me say I was glad we drove out separately. He said it was at least three days before the smell of ramps was cleared from the car. He joked that while ramps may not be grounds for divorce, they certainly could be grounds for temporary separation.
If you love ramps, I hope you enjoy them. Just make sure everyone else has enough warning to avoid you during ramp season. And that is The Grumpy Doc’s opinion about ramps. Be sure and leave a comment with yours.
I have to admit that I came late in life to appreciating abstract art. Early on, I thought it was the type of art done by people who had no artistic ability. My general impression was that it was probably done better by a 12 year old.
I was in my late 50s before my wife, who was extremely interested in art, got me involved in an art appreciation group called The Collectors Club at the Clay Center in Charleston. At that time, I still wasn’t convinced that abstract art was really art. I was more inclined to art such as the great masters like Rembrandt and Caravaggio, or the French impressionists like Renoir and Monet or the post impressionists like Cezanne and Van Gogh. While I still think that Van Gogh was one of the world’s greatest artistic geniuses, I have learned to appreciate other styles as well.
For a long time, I thought abstract art could be done by anyone with a can of paint and a brush. I’m ashamed to say I was not shy about expressing my opinions about abstract art. While this included such recognized masters as Picasso and Miro from the early 20th century; my specific scorn was held for the mid-century artists known as abstract expressionists.
I will now admit that I was completely wrong about this. And for those of you who know me, you know how hard it is for someone as opinionated as I am to admit to being wrong. But my wife, as she most frequently is, was right about this. It just took me awhile to recognize it.
We began going to art exhibits and museums and saw a lot of mid-century art. Initially I was resistant to it. My thought was that if I can do it, then it certainly can’t be art. And I really thought that I could do it.
The specific target of my scorn was Jackson Pollock and his drip paintings. At the time, I didn’t realize that he was a formally trained artist who had even studied under the famed muralist Thomas Hart Benton. He was adept at sculpture and ceramics in addition to representational works in oil.
When I finally took the time to truly examine his drip paintings, I recognized that there was something there. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.
I thought, just to satisfy myself, I would give it a try. I bought some canvases and put them on the garage floor. Since many of the abstract expressionists worked with house paint, I bought several different colors of enamel house paint. I also bought a stylus similar to what Jackson Pollock used. I laid out my canvas and began to drip the paint.
I was really surprised, but his paintings had a coherence and a uniformity and a visual impact that I could not achieve. No matter how many times I tried I could not get my paintings to look like anything other than a drip cloth.
I spent a lot of time thinking about this. I decided this form of abstract art required a talent I didn’t understand. It was more than just paint poured on the canvas. It was paint poured on a canvas with a purpose. It created an effect that I could feel but couldn’t duplicate.
My initial thought was if I can do it, it is not art. Since I couldn’t, maybe it was art. The more I reviewed it, the more I realized that there was a plan, a vision, and a feeling that produced an overall sensory experience. This was not something that occurred by chance. It was something created by a person with an artistic vision I didn’t have.
I may not have convinced you, but I have convinced myself. This is art. Look at it with an unprejudiced view and you may come to recognize it as well. It is never too late to learn about something new, even if that something is 70 years old. Try it, you just might like. Call me; we can talk about it.
There are few words that cause more trepidation among doctors than having a patient start off a visit by saying, “I was reading on the internet”. It’s not that we don’t want our patients to be well informed; a knowledgeable patient is an important part of successful health care. It is what we call the therapeutic alliance.
What we worry about is what they may have been reading on the Internet. There is a lot of good information available, and I always encourage my patients to learn as much as they can about their own health issues. There are many professionally researched and peer reviewed medical websites. They include such commercial sites as Medscape and WebMD. They also include patient advocacy sites such as the American Diabetes Association and the American Heart Association. And, of course, there are the government sites such as the Centers for Disease Control and the National Institutes of Health. All these present the best available science and benefit from rigorous research and review.
That is not to say that they won’t change. Science evolves and knowledge improves. What is our best knowledge now may at some point in the future be proven wrong. However, your best chance of getting solid information is on these well documented sites.
What I worry about are the undocumented or unverified websites that provide what can best be called rumor or conspiracy. Any time a patient tells me,” I was reading on the Facebook page “The Truth About….,” I cringe. Any Facebook page entitled “The Truth About…” is unlikely to contain much truth.
False information takes on a life of its own on the internet. The big lie almost always buries the truth. Long after the article that was the basis for a false claim linking the MMR vaccine with autism was withdrawn by the British medical journal The Lancet, and long after the physician who wrote the article was found by the British General Medical Council to have falsified the data and long after he lost his medical license, the study is still quoted by many anti-vaccine people as being a fundamental truth.
Even when the authors of such false information repudiate it, people still believe it. It becomes part of the legend that “they” forced the author to remove it. No one ever explains who “they” are or why “they” want to keep the public in ignorance. Of course, there is never any source documentation or research reference.
The websites espousing false medical information may be second in number only to that espousing false political information. At times it seems that the more outlandish the claim the more readily their adherents believe it. It doesn’t even seem to matter that this type of information is frequently published anonymously. You would think the readers would wonder why a person in possession of such great knowledge would refuse to take credit for it. I have often thought that if I anonymously posted on the internet that everyone who has ever drank water has died, that suddenly a large portion of the population would stop drinking water.
So, in closing, I just want to say I want all my patients to be well informed and take an active interest in their health care. And I encourage you to Google any medical questions you have. Just be sure that what you are reading is accurate and verified and scientifically based. Don’t allow conspiracy theories and “crackpot science” to have a detrimental effect on your health.
If in doubt, ask your doctor. If you don’t trust your doctor to give you factual information and prefer to consult with the anonymous pseudo medical websites then perhaps it’s time to find a new doctor. But please, think twice before disregarding the advice of someone whose entire professional life is dedicated to your good health.
I love studying about history, particularly the entire revolutionary period in America. The revolutionary period, as distinguished from the Revolutionary War includes the events that led up to “the shot heard ‘round the world”. This period is generally considered to begin with the Sugar Act of 1764 and end with the Treaty of Paris in in 1783. When I find something new, I love sharing it.
When considering an American icon like Benjamin Franklin it is hard to come up with something new, something interesting, something that everyone does not already know. Most people know the basic outline of his life. He was born the last of 10 children to a poor tallow renderer and his wife in Boston. His formal education lasted little more than a year. Until age nine he worked for his father making candles and soap from rendered animal fat. He was then apprenticed to his older brother’s print shop.
He rebelled against his brother’s tyrannical treatment and ran away to Philadelphia. After much hard work and several failures, he developed a successful printing business. He was one of the first businessmen in America to create what we now know as a franchised business.
He was so successful that by age 42 he retired from the active day to day management of his businesses and devoted himself to the pursuit of knowledge. He was largely self-taught but still became an esteemed scientist, known at that time as a natural philosopher. He was the first North American to be invited to join the Royal Academy of Science.
He spent a large portion of his adult life in Europe, particularly in England. He once told a friend he would be happy to spend the rest of his life in London. One of the few things that kept drawing him back to Philadelphia was his long-suffering wife Deborah who had a fear of ships and the sea and refused to accompany him to London.
Early on the road to revolution Benjamin Franklin strongly favored reconciliation with the monarchy. Some radical Patriots were suspicious of him and thought that he was a spy for the British. He believed that if only the King were aware of the misfortunes of his North American subjects, he would make things right and that would be best for all.
Franklin took a position in London as an agent for the colonies of Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Georgia. A colonial agent was something like a combination ambassador, publicist, and lobbyist. He frequently met with the Privy Council, an advisory group to the King, to discuss issues of importance to the colonies.
While Franklin was serving as an agent for Massachusetts, the colony’s citizens became increasingly dissatisfied with the Royal Governor, Thomas Hutchinson and wanted him recalled. Hutchinson and his Lieutenant Governor Andrew Oliver exchanged a series of letters concerning the best ways to control dissent in Massachusetts that included suggestions that some of the colonists “English liberties” such as the rights to assembly, trial by jury and petition of grievances, should be curtailed.
Franklin made an appointment to meet with the Privy Council to present the recall petition. The Privy Council met in a room in the House of Parliament called the cockpit. It got its name because during the reign of Henry VIII cock fights were held in the room.
Franklin was excited about the prospect of meeting with the Privy Council. So much so that he had a brand-new suit of blue velvet made for the occasion. He presented himself to the Privy Council on January 29, 1774, expecting to present his petition for the recall of the Royal Governor and expecting to have it well received. He assumed that the royal government would welcome the opportunity to support the rights of its American subjects.
However, he was unprepared for the reception he received. He was unaware that members of the Privy Council had discovered his role in the release of the Hutchinson letters, and he had no idea how angry they were about it.
I’ll take a brief pause here to introduce Alexander Wedderburn, the British solicitor general, the crown’s representative to the legal system. In court Wedderburn was considered a combative speaker and his aggressiveness in debate was well known. He was arrogant and condescending and held the colonies in contempt. So, why do we care about this now obscure British politician? Because he was responsible for creating one of the most important of American patriots.
When Franklin arrived at the cockpit, he was required to stand in the middle of the room. It resembled a theater in the round with Franklin alone at the center. He was not allowed to speak or to present his petition.
Lord Wedderburn spoke for over an hour and never addressed Franklin’s petition but attacked Franklin’s character instead. He accused Franklin of spreading sedition and inciting treason. Through it all, Franklin stood completely still, emotionless and silent, his expression unchanging.
After his attack on Franklin, Wedderburn declared that he was ready to examine the witness. Franklin replied that he did not choose to be examined. He then left the chamber. After the chamber was cleared of spectators, the Privy Council denied the petition without discussion.
The personal attack left Franklin in shock. He was a proud man and was not accustomed to attacks on his honor. The next day he learned that he had been removed from this position as colonial postmaster, Not only had his character been attacked, but his work for reconciliation had been ignored and his contribution to efficient government in the colonies had been disregarded.
This may have been one of the least known but most important events on the road to the Revolution. Prior to Franklin’s ordeal in the cockpit, he had been a strong proponent of reconciliation. After the cockpit he would work tirelessly for American independence.
As a note of interest, the suit he had made for this visit was put away and not worn again until the day France signed the Treaty of Alliance with a rebellious American government.
Without Franklin’s insight and involvement, the America that we take for granted may never have come into existence. He played a key role in convincing France to support the side of the colonies, in obtaining loans from the French and the Dutch and in negotiating the final peace treaties. He also attended the constitutional convention, proving a tempering presence to the frequently contentious deliberations. (More on the constitutional convention in a later post.)
So, in closing, when you thank those responsible for American independence, be sure and thank Lord Wedderburn, and do so with a smile.
I would be remiss not to recognize my two main sources for this post:
The Making of a Patriot: Benjamin Franklin at the Cockpit by Sheila Skemp
Benjamin Franklin: an American Life by Walter Isaacson
I highly recommend both books to anyone with an interest in American history or biography. As I quoted in my first post, “To define the future you should study the past.”
If you would like to read a more detailed version of this post, email TheGrumpyDocWV@gmail.com
My daughter shared this with me after my last two posts. I initially thought this was some type of clever photoshop product. But, after some admittedly superficial research, it appears that this was a actual option offered by VW in Europe in 1959. I don’t know how many they actually sold, but I sure would have bought one.
Take that Tesla. You think you’re so high tech. Elon, with a self driving car it would be a lot easier to brew coffee.
I’d like an extra-large, soy, fat free, sugar free, decaf macchiato with no whip, extra cinnamon and two pumps of caramel syrup. Did I miss something there? Coffee was never even mentioned. It’s come to the point when I go into a coffee shop and order a coffee, I’m asked what flavor I want. Well, I’ll tell you what flavor I want, I want coffee flavored coffee.
I’ve been thinking back to the day when the only questions asked about coffee were cream or sugar. Coffee was strong and hot and generally served in a large, heavy china mug. I started drinking coffee when I was a sophomore in high school. The first coffee I ever bought was at Leonard’s drugstore. This was back in the days when pharmacies had soda fountains and lunch counters. They had a sign behind the counter that said, “Our coffee may not be very good, but it is only 5 cents”. But they were wrong though, their coffee was great. It tasted just like being a grown up.
I had to join the Navy to find out how really dreadful coffee could be while at the same time being absolutely necessary. I checked onto my first ship as the junior corpsman assigned to the dispensary. My first job was making coffee. We had one of the old fashioned 30 cup percolators so that our Chief Petty Officer wouldn’t have to walk down to the Chiefs’ galley to get his coffee.
I got up early, went into the dispensary, and got the coffee urn. When I opened it up to start making coffee, I discovered it was really dirty. So, I set to scrubbing it until it shined. I then made the coffee exactly like the instructions that were given to me.
The Chief came in and got a cup of coffee. He stopped midway through his first sip and a strange look came over his face. He looked at me and said, “What the hell did you do to this coffee?” I was stunned, I just looked at him and said, “Well, I started out washing the pot“. He cut me off right there and said with dismay, “You did what? You ruined it! You never wash the coffee pot!”
At first, I thought it was some type of practical joke. Then I discovered that Navy Chiefs do not joke about coffee. He was deadly serious that washing the pot would ruin the coffee. And it wasn’t just the pot that was never washed. Those heavy mugs that every Chief Petty Officer constantly carried were never washed and hardly ever even rinsed out. The inside of his mug was stained a deep black. I’m sure he could have brewed a cup of coffee simply by pouring boiling water into the empty mug.
But for truly bad coffee, nothing could hold a candle to the thick black liquid brewed in the crew’s galley. I’m not sure exactly how large those coffee urns were but they looked like they must have held at least 20 gallons. They weren’t emptied until all the coffee had been drunk and that might take hours. If you were drawing the last of the coffee from the bottom of the urn it oozed into your cup. You could stand your spoon in it. But when you had the midnight watch it would keep you awake. This was the only time that I’ve ever drunk sugar in my coffee. I think that it actually turned it into molasses given the consistency of it.
After college I discovered that the Marine Corps also ran on coffee. A Marine Corps breakfast was a cigarette and a cup of black coffee. However, for those of us in the infantry, most of our coffee was instant and made in a canteen cup. We often added some powdered cocoa to it to make it palatable. I guess you could have called that Marine Corps mocha. Now more than 40 years later I still cannot abide instant coffee.
I remember once seeing a poster of a Marine Sergeant holding a cup of coffee and saying, “Latte is French for you paid too damn much for that cup of coffee.” Although I have to admit, at times I venture to the dark side. I still avoid syrups and flavors, but I do like my Cafe Americano, a double shot of espresso with an equal amount of hot water. And it does taste like coffee, a whole lot like coffee. It would certainly keep me awake on the midnight watch, and probably for another two days as well.
One sure sign of getting old is the frequent use of “When I was a kid”. This is part of that golden mist of age that makes everything from your youth seem better, and the longer ago it was, the better it was. While things may be much better in my memory than they actually were, I’m not so far gone as to think that my memories are a true reflection of the past. Let’s start with the thing that men love above all others, cars.
Even the most nostalgically oriented of us must recognize cars have never been better than they are today. The engineering is fantastic. Cars handle better, are safer, more comfortable and are more efficient than they ever have been. I only have to look back at my first car to feel an affection for the past. It was a 1957 Ford Fairlane with a 6-cylinder engine, a 1 barrel carburetor and a two speed automatic transmission. (if you even know what a carburetor is, then you’re in the nostalgia zone.)
I loved that car, but it was certainly mechanically challenged. It had power nothing, and that included the motor. It had a zero to 60 speed that was best timed in minutes not seconds. If I stepped on the gas pedal the windshield wipers would stop. If the brakes got wet I was lucky if the car would stop. It had hand rolled windows, no air conditioning, and no radio. A sound system, you must be kidding.
The first thing I did when I got that car was take off the hubcaps and paint the wheels metallic silver and the lug nuts black. Then I drilled a couple of holes in the muffler and advanced the timing just a little bit to make it rumble like a race car (at least in my imagination). But even I’m not so naïve as to believe that it comes close to anything like the vehicles we have now.
As much of a mechanical marvel as today’s cars are, they are in large part boring. Particularly with the rise of the SUV’s, they are not much more stylish than a box on wheels. The 1950s and 60s were the heyday of car design. What car made today has the style and the elegance of a Cadillac El Dorado convertible or has the stunning beauty of the Jaguar XKE? OK, so maybe we do have to overlook tailfins, but then no one is perfect.
But there is one thing that I do miss, and there is nothing now that can compare to it. And that is the service station. Of course, now we have mini marts and convenience stores with gas pumps out front. While you’re pumping your gas, you can get an overpriced coffee, a hot dog, a Slurpee, and any variety of snacks, beer or soft drinks. But the one thing you can’t get is service.
For those of you not old enough to have experienced the service station I’ll give you a brief synopsis of a visit at a top service station. You would pull up to the pump and the service station attendant would come out to your car. He would clean your windshield, check the oil, check the water in your radiator, check the air in your tires and pump your gas. You never had to leave your car.
Now I know what some of you are thinking; my new car never has to have the oil or the water checked and it also has self-monitoring for my tire pressure. But I just have to tell you, there’s nothing like sitting back and having someone else take care of your car. For the cost of a tank of gas you felt like you were getting top line treatment. I’ve never seen a mini mart that can give me that.
I was born in West Virginia and spent my first 18 years living in its capital, Charleston. In 1966 I left the state to go to college and didn’t return for more than a few months at a time until, at age 41, I brought my family back to West Virginia so that I could attend medical school. It was then that I began to understand what growing up in Appalachia meant and how my experience differed from a great many Appalachians. In fact, I don’t believe that I really understood the concept of Appalachia as anything other than a geographic area until I was able to view it from the perspective of more than 20 years of living in various parts of the United States and in three different countries.
Charleston in the 1950s and 60s was a prosperous place and I had a comfortable middle class home life. I had a vague awareness that there was poverty in the state, but it didn’t intrude on my life and I didn’t go looking for it. It wasn’t just me, most of my friends shared this willful ignorance as we went on blissfully with lives untouched by depravation or despair. In those years, the social activism that would arise among young people in the late 1960s was not yet born. We were, as The Saturday Evening Post described, living in an oasis of luxury surrounded by poverty. Though none of us would have described our lives as luxurious, I have come to realize that everything is relative.
It’s not as though we stayed in Charleston. We spent a lot of time camping, hunting and fishing. We drove all over the state but somehow never managed to really see it. At most we may have thought “What in the world do the people who live here do for fun?” For most of us, West Virginia was a place to leave just as soon as we could and never look back.
My first year in college was at the University of Kentucky so I was still in the Appalachian environment. It wasn’t until 1967 when I enlisted in the Navy then I spent much time out of Appalachia and got to know people from all over the country. But I couldn’t help feeling vaguely defensive about being from West Virginia. I always felt that I was being thought of as the big dumb hillbilly. Nobody was seeing me; they were only seeing a stereotype. I’m sure that I was far more sensitive to this then any actual occurrence. I also know that there are many people who have suffered a whole lot more discrimination than what I imagined for myself. No matter how misguided or self-centered my concerns were, I was left with the feeling of being not quite good enough or not quite being at the same level as other people. It wasn’t a feeling of intellectual or physical inferiority, it was more of a feeling of social inadequacy.
My late teens and early 20s were a time of mixed emotions. I had periods where I felt there was no point in bothering to try because I just wasn’t good enough mixed with periods where I intended to show those SOBs that I was better than they were. It wasn’t until I met my wife of now almost 50 years that I realized that if she loved me I must be a worthwhile person and I really didn’t require any other validation.
This is enough brooding remembrances for one setting. I’ll be back in the future more the reflections on growing up in Appalachia. But the next post is going to be more grumpy opinions.
It is a generally believed that one way to keep your mind active and to forestall Alzheimer’s to become actively involved mentally in learning new things. A lot of people do this using crossword puzzles and other forms of problem-solving. I tried crossword puzzles, but they didn’t work for me. I usually know the word, but my spelling is so horrible I can’t quite get them to fit. I downloaded a crossword puzzle app onto my iPad that has spellcheck build in, but that just seemed like cheating.
One of the things I decided to do was to start this blog. I thought all of the learning would be involved in creating content. Doing research, structuring the content and the editing the results. I didn’t realize how wrong I was.
The real learning has been in trying to figure out the technical aspects of creating this website. There is a whole lot more to it than I ever expected. Beginning with the fact that you need to have a web host. I have always been more of a user than a tech guy and I guess I just assumed that you would go online and start typing.
The web host gives you my structure or foundation upon which to build your website. In essence programs like Facebook or Twitter might be considered Web hosts where someone else created the structure. I was just never familiar with that term. One of the problems I faced is that the instructions assume a level of familiarity with social media and other online functions that I don’t have. But, for better or worse, I’m plowing on.
I haven’t quite figured out yet how to structure this site to leave feedback. Twice I thought I had it set up and neither time did my posts allow for feedback. Hopefully, when I post this one, I’ve gotten it figured out. If so, I would love to hear from you.
The Word
By John Turley
On May 25, 2021
In Commentary
Biblical:
In the beginning was the word. The word was with God. It was good. The people were pleased.
Political:
In the beginning was the word. The word was changed. The change was revised. The revision was amended. The amendment was edited. The edit was deleted. The deletion was suspended. The suspension was removed. The removal was superseded. It was confusing. The people were not pleased.
Take what you will from the insights of The Grumpy Doc.