I began a major endeavor this month to re-edit all of the Blog posts that I had written over the years, and it has re-opened many of the hopes and dreams that I once shared while writing and sharing messages at Contoveros.Wordpress.com.
It all started with a dream I had about Socrates and Plato which connected with my “active imagination” that the eminent psychologist Carl G. Yung had wrote about in hisPsychology of the Unconscious.
It’s been six months since I entered the hospital and got transferred from one rehabilitation center to another, but I think I may have finally licked the worst of my ailments and am ready to join my old household. I still have trouble walking from one room to another, and I need assistance from someone walking behind me while climbing up the stairs.
What a joy grandkids provide us, particularly when they share their daily lives with you as a family. I’m talking about my 6-year-old grandchild, Denalia, and my rambunctious 8-year-old grandson, Jameson Contos.
What’s the oldest thing you own that you still use daily?
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This was a question that appeared on what I thought was Facebook but ended up getting onto my Blog Post. Yes, I still have my boonie hat from 1970 and 1971 when I was a combat infantry platoon leader in the Vietnam War. I wear it at veterans meetings and retreats, and sometimes during work holidays if I need to cover my head.
My boonie hat that I wore in the Vietnam War when I served there from 1970 to 1971. I have it hanging in my bedroom right next to my television so I can see what my life has been more than 50 years ago.
It still fits and easily recognized by veterans of all ages.
For the first time in my life, a bird greeted me outside my bedroom window as I contemplated whether to get out of bed earlier today.
It was 6 a.m. in the morning! A little too early for my taste, so I just rolled over and rested my head against the two pillows I had piled up on one side of the bed. (They help prop me up when I watch television many hours later.)
I will be off to Washington DC next month on an excursion strictly for veterans to participate in what has been designated as an “Honor Flight” for those who served in World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.
The program was created some years ago and even provided airfare for those living on the West Coast and living too far to make a trip to the nation’s capital by vehicle. That is where it got its name “Honor Flight” and in my bailiwick, that would be “Honor Flight Philadelphia.”
I was escorted from my home by a Uber driver for the first time in my life when I learned the Veterans Administration provides the service free for disabled veterans.
I believe that I am finally cured of pneumonia, rhino virus bacterial pneumonia that is, which I believe I got after Covid struck me for the second time in October and stayed with me through what I thought was nothing more than a persistent cough and excess phlegm problem.
It tired me out so much that I stopped walking my daily 10,000 steps and was lucky to step 3,000 times a day, according to my Fitbit, needing tissue paper and a makeshift handkerchief for the congestion that had developed. I live with my son Nicholas and his family which includes four children which I had to take extra care while in their presence. I always wore a mask and and covered my mouth when I felt a cough coming while in the kitchen or dining room.
Consistent coughing was a sure sign of my pneumonia
And then it hit me. Getting out of bed around 10 pm on January 21st I got dizzy, fell toward the floor near my bathroom, and my son me ordered an ambulance to rush me to the hospital. I had suffered no bodily injury, thank God, but the intake personnel at Bryn Mawr Hospital discovered that I had pneumonia.
Spent five days with feeding tubes of antibiotics being pumped into my body and a bunch of pesky little attachments to my chest and stomach. The food wasn’t bad but it often got stuck in my teeth and I had no toothpicks to remove the pieces. No one offered to help me with any floss and I had to use a broke-off piece of a plastic fork to get a little relieve.
And then the indigestion kicked in. I suffer from acid reflux and my daily medicine from the VA hospital was stopped by the doctors because it would interfere with their antibiotics. Ah man, how I suffered. And not just for the five days in the hospital but a whopping nine more days upon arriving home and being directed to take antibiotic pills twice a day.
(I couldn’t believe the nurses at the hospital had to get the doctors to officially prescribe Tums to help me while I was in their hospital bed. They were not authorized and only the doctors could do it! Order Tums, man Tums.)
And where does that leave us upon this viewing? Well, I ate pepperoni pizza with extra cheese in preparation for the Philadelphia Eagles Super Bowl game Sunday night and had no negative aftereffects. A sausage, egg and cheese sandwich from a nearby ALDI store was easily digested the next morning and today I can gleefully shout from my Conshohocken home “Free at Last, Free at Last, thank God Almighty I am Free at Last.”
The month of January will always bring a sad feeling when I recall what happened on the first day of the year in 1953 to one of the greatest Country and Western singers of all time.
Hank Williams died of a heart attack while traveling in the back seat of a vehicle enroute to a performance he never was given by Fate to accomplish. He was only 29 years old, but had provided more than many lifetimes to the wonderful world of music.
I’m a city-boy from the Philadelphia region but was exposed to his unique sound by my mother who was raised on a New Jersey farm and introduced her children to Hank through what were called “33 and 1.3” or LP albums. (Long Playing – 33 and 1/3 revolutions per minute.) The music made me happy and a little sad particularly when I listening to a song “Kaw-Liga.” Give a listen to the lyrics:
“Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian, standin’ in the door
He fell in love with an Indian maid, over at the antique store
Kaw-Liga, ooh
Just stood there, and never let it show
So, she could never answer yes or no”
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Poor ol’ Kaw-Liga, he never got a kiss
Poor ol’ Kaw-Liga, he don’t know what he missed
Is it any wonder, that his face is red?
Kaw-Liga, you poor ol’ wooden head.
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“Hey Good Lookin,’ What You Got Cookin?”
Of course, he is remembered more readily by songs such as “Cold Cold Heart,” “Hey Good Lookin,” “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” “I Can’t Help It, If I’m Still in Love with You.,” “You Win Again,” “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” “You Win Again” and “Jambalya (On the Bayou.)”
My favorite singer of all time, Bobby Darin, sang a Hank Wiliams song during the last showing of his television variety show in 1973. It was called “Lonesome Whistle.”
Here’s a list of some of the other artists who sang his songs: Frankie Laine, Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles, Bill Haley and his Comets, Tony Bennett, Jimmie Rodgers, Del Shannon, Johnny Burnette, Andy Williams, Roy Orbison, Ricky Nelson, Jack Scott, Guy Mitchell, Rosemary Clooney, Dinah Washington, Fats Domino and the Rolling Stones.
Next time you’re in Cleveland, Ohio, check out the Rock & Roll Hall Fame. Hank Williams was inducted into the group in 1987 and there is a colorful picture of him just as you enter. He was also inducted into the Rockabily Hall of Fame in 2023, the 100th anniversary of his death.
(Click on the blue-colored songs for Kaw-Liga and Lonesome Whistle to hear them offered on You-Tube.)
I believe that is what the Universe is telling me as I have gotten older and time has caught up with this aging body that – for the life of me – can’t physically handle everyday chores and activities I routinely completed some six months ago.
Slow down. Yes, you are getting tired when you ascend the steps to get into your Conshohocken home and then many more steps to get to your second-floor bathroom and/or main bedroom. So, take a break. You have nothing to prove or to “carry-on” as us veterans used to say while serving in the military.
Was the 2024 presidential election rigged somehow by some unsavory characters with a history of such actions from the last presidential election?
I don’t know. But I wouldn’t put it pass some Republicans who tried to steal the election away from Biden and Harris in 2020. They may have perfected some of their dastardly ways and avoided media coverage but possible further investigation by my former journalism buddies who – like me – may sense that something just doesn’t seem right about this election.
I cast my ballot today for the 2024 election in the United States in the hopes and joyful expectations that Kamala Harris will win and be declared president.
I will be participating this Sunday in a gathering sponsored by a group presenting a woman I have followed for more than 10 years on a spiritual journey. Lorna Byrne is a woman from Ireland who has been seeing and speaking with angels since she was two years old and written several books on how we can open ourselves to the angelic realm that exists for our benefit.
I never thought that words I wrote on a slip of paper and dropped into a suggestion box would somehow enlighten me.! The senior center I’ve attended for the past two years has agreed to hire a teacher, or what I would call a “guru,“ to show seniors how to meditate at the Upper Merion Senior Citizen Center.
Five or six people had signed up for further information at the facility and a librarian from the local library who teaches meditation has contacted someone to come to the center near King of Prussia, PA, and guide us. It will start on the third Wednesday of September, according to the Center’s president who arranged it all.
The Pottstown Mercury Newspaper – where I served as cub reporter during the Bicentennial Year – will have a reunion as one of my mentors and great news reporters has scheduled a meeting this weekend.
Michael Sangiacomo, who worked the last 30 odd years at the Cleveland Plain Dealer, is returning to his native home in Norristown, PA, and has invited fellow Mercury staffers who were present when the Montgomery County paper won its first and second Pulitzer Prizes. It’s the only small newspaper in the United States that has won more than one of journalism’s grandest awards.
I got a kick out of introducing my grandson to one of the most enduring and well-liked comedians of all time. Six-year-old Jameson came out swinging at the television characters in my master bedroom after I called him from adjoining room and watched him view an outragiously funny scene from one of my all-time favorite Charlie Chaplin movies “City Lights.” Chaplin, also known in silent motion pictures as the “Tramp,” fell in love with a blind girl who sold him flowers and wanted to get money to help her. He ends up in a boxing ring where he dodges one blow after another by hiding and running behind the much larger referee who blocked his opponent from landing any punches. It is hilarious to see both fighters box each other around and then get “saved by the bell” before one of them is eventually knocked down in the old-time boxing ring and cannot get up by the count of 10. Jameson wanted the bell to ring each time he swung with what I considered to be a roundhouse punch with both arms flaring and a bright little smile arising out of the corner of his mouth.
Those are the words that sprung from my heart and soul as I took in what the jury provided the entire world with their unanimous decision to convict a former USA president.
They say that “bad things happen in threes.” But I’m here to tell you that good things can happen in threes if you but open yourself to ’em.
Take today for example. I stopped at Lowe’s to get some of my walking steps in and felt proud to have parked in the spot designated with a sign that said “Veterans Parking.” I figured I might as well get some bird seed to feed my fine feathered friends who accumulate near the statues of both the standing St. Francis of Assissi and the seated Buddha.
The Defender Association of Philadelphia, of which I worked for 20 years as a public defender, is celebrating its 90th year of representing poor defendants today!
“The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”
That is what Mark Twain wrote in a cablegram he sent from Europe to a newspaper publisher in the United States that had published an obituary with false details of his death in a widely circulated newspaper one day more than a hundred years ago.
I am saying the same thing right now in the year 2024!
A Trivia game I played with senior citizens recently focused on musical songs that contained numbers in their titles. The experience stayed with me and later woke me at 3 am while I laid in bed unable to dismiss the songs not mentioned some 12 to 13 hours earlier at the Upper Merion Senior Service Centerin King of Prussia, PA.
While getting together all taxable income documents for 2023 to file with the IRS, I came across something that is quite amazing. The Social Security System keeps a list of all earnings you ever made starting with the first time you ever worked.
There are certain words and phrases in the English language that I just can’t relate to or understand and bug me whenever I am asked to respond to them.
“Heterosexual” is at the top of my list. I guess it is in cahoots so to speak with “homosexual” but I never heard it used until I was grown up and dating for a couple of years. The dictionary definition for heterosexual is someone who is “sexually or romantically attracted exclusively to people of the other sex.”
I am about to get one of those RSV shots at the VA Hospital of Philadelphia to prevent any lung infection, and I wanted to share my enthusiasm for all the work the Veterans Administration has provided me with most of my adult life.
It started a month after exiting the Vietnam War alive and receiving a GI Bill stipend to become a “first-generation” college student, and a few years later, to buy my first home. But it wasn’t until I got caregiver burnout in 2008 while taking care of my wife, who suffered a traumatic brain injury from a fall, as well as a “PTSD-suffering uprising” from my combat experience, that I first got life support help from a VA hospital.
Former US Lieutenant Michael J Contos and Captain John S Han, USN
You never know when an action from your past may catch up to you and remind you of what you once did in your previous life.
Take, for instance, my attendance last week at a Veterans Ceremony in Plymouth Township, which borders my hometown of Conshohocken, PA. They honored veterans who served in the municipality by placing their names in a brochure while a full-fledged US Navy Captain spoke at a memorial.
Does fate have anything to do with the day that a person is born? Can one person born on the same date years earlier have some sort of influence on someone born years and perhaps even centuries later?
I mean, I was born on December 1st and share a biorhythm with Woody Allen, Richard Prior, Lou Rawls, and Bette Midler, all of whom are or were older than me. I love to joke around and make people smile like the two famous comedians, and I loved singing Doo Wop as a young man and still believe I can carry a tune some times.
But I could not get over that the author of the horror book “Dracula,” an Irishman by the name of Bram Stoker who was also a theater manager, shares his birthday with a fellow born in Romania and was a prince in Transylvania by the name of Vlad the Impaler!
How strange or other worldly is that? Did the author know Vlad’s birthday when he wrote the book in 1897? The brutal and sadistic leader famous for torturing his foes and responsible for the deaths of some 80,000 people, was born more than 500 years before the novel’s publication. How crazy or ironic is that?
I check birthdays of famous people every day on a site called “Today’s Famous Birthdays.” For instance, singer Patti Page and “Gone with the Wind” author Margaret Mitchell share their birthday today. It is also the birthday of Edmond Halley, with whom astronomers have named “Halley’s Comet.”
But Bram and Vlad take the proverbial cake in my book. It’s weird man, weird!
Is it ironic that the leader of Russia today shares the same name as Vlad?
While attending the 10th anniversary of the Center for Contemporary Mysticism, a mystical experience opened my eyes to so many spiritual possibilities.
It has taken me three years to complete one study and a mere two years to finish the other, but I believe I have contributed to the scientific understanding of reseasrchers for possible heart ailments and changes in thinking and memory for adults.
I was thinking about a story I once wrote for a newspaper about the Philadelhia-born singer Jim Croce and I discovered so many stepping stones that guided me from one career choice to another with an almost mystical maneuvering.
While just starting to meditate, I could not get rid of thinking about the pains I was feeling in my body.
I had a major operation in May and am still suffering some aftereffects, including pain in my left side where a 12-inch incision was made to operate on an aneurysm. I was in the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania for six days.
Our Supreme Court is the worst judicial tribunal since the United States’ highest judiciary ruled in 1856 that blacks were not and could not be citizens.
Yes, Supreme Court Justice Roger B. Taney has gone down in history for his ruling in Dred Scott v. John Sanford. It stated that a black man had no rights under the Constitution and that the Founders’ words in the Declaration of Independence, “all men were created equal’ were never intended to apply to blacks.
The name change has finally occurred, and I am happy to report that every US Army base where I was stationed has had its Confederate Army soldier’s name removed and replaced with more admirable names.
That’s the word that everyone in the United States can call four of the Proud Boys who were found guilty by a jury of their peers for taking part in the insurrection conducted in the Capital on Jan. 6, 2021. They reached the verdict on 31 of 46 counts following seven days of deliberation in Washington DC and nearly 15 weeks of courtroom proceedings.
“Gabriel’s Messages” opened my heart to so many truths not only about life but of the transition of death, and I hope that others can read this wonderful book by my friend, Cyndi Smith, a fellow member of the Center for Contemporary Mysticism of Chestnut Hill, Philadelphia.
It offers hope to a world that seems so weary about bad news for it predicts a new order of things 25 years from now. For instance, a “food tax” will be developed and help to send food to all corners of the world to end hunger; fossil fuels will no longer be used and be replaced by battery power or renewable energy. and medicine will become universal – we will be able to see any doctor in any part of the world.
Fox News should be curtailed on all military bases and facilities to prevent men and women in uniform to be lied to about stories and events shaping our nation, particularly the political world around us.
This month marks the 50th anniversary of when the Vietnam War finally ended. A Peace Accord was reached on January 27, 1973, making way for the complete removal of all troops by March 29th of the same year.
Many of us remember the chaotic pictures of persons trying to flee Saigon on the last day reminding me of the chaos that erupted when the United States ended The Afghanistan War on August 2021. The Vietnam War was America’s longest war ever until Afghanistan overtook it. Both wars became highly unpopular and some believe that politics had a lot to do with both battlefronts.
Fifty years ago the Vietnam War finally ended, but for many like myself, it feels like it was only yesterday.
This has been the coldest winter I have ever experienced. Weather forecasters on news stations are calling it the “Once in a Generation Winter Storm.” They reported that more than 800,000 households lost power nationwide. And the frigid conditions continue as I write this the day before Xmas.
The worst of the freeze occurred after I parked my car at the Conshohocken PA train station yesterday en route to the VA Hospital of Philadelphia for a scheduled MRI. I thought things couldn’t get any worse after completing the medical procedure that was highly uncomfortable, but when I got back to the train station lot I faced another painful circumstance. I could not open the driver’s side door of my Toyota Corolla.
One of my all-time favorite authors – a veteran who was a POW and a staunch anti-war advocate – would have celebrated his 100th birthday this month.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr., who turned me on to science fiction mixed with auto-biographical recalls, was born on Veterans Day in 1921, just three years after Armistice Day, which was the original veterans’ day. It commemorated the end of the European war “Over There” and was called “the war to end all wars.”
Voting has been made easier for many of us in Pennsylvania and the state provides links for checking on your voting status as well as any request seeking a mail-in ballot. I took part in a Zoom connection entitled “MontCoVotes” and learned how to maneuver through the government channels and wanted to share them here.
The world is celebrating the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi today! Francesco di Bernadone, whose real name was actually Giovanni (John), was born some 800 years ago. He came from a wealthy family. But turned his back on his mercantile father and gave up all worldly goods to help the poor as well as the animals.
Before I ever went to a community college, I had to make up several deficits in my learning. I had to take remedial math as well as remedial English. I passed both and was then permitted to take regular classes which include journalism studies and just as important, the school’s extra-curricular activity of working on the college newspaper.
I began as a reporter for The Communitarian. The paper used my by-line on every story I wrote, and by my second year at DCCC, I was named editor. Well, I believe my military training must have kicked in because I started to publish an edition on a weekly basis. You were lucky to have it published once a month until I took over.
Delaware County Community College will always be my favorite school despite the many degrees I obtained elsewhere and the things I learned about myself and my somewhat hidden potential.
I was the first in my family to go to college. My mother, whose own parents came from Hungary, was the first to graduate high school. My father, who immigrated from a Greek island when he was 15, never went beyond sixth grade.
For the life of me, I cannot remember the first time I ever danced.
You know, get out on the floor of somebody’s home, a schoolroom, or even a dance floor and move around to music or some make-believe dance sound. My mind simply can’t dig up that moment that should be among my most precious memories.
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I got a new pair of hearing aids, and a new world of sounds has opened for me!
I wore ‘em outdoors during a walk on my 10,000-steps-a-day journey, and the first thing I noticed was the sound of birds chirping merrily in the trees I walked under. They had to have been communicating with each other because as soon as one stopped chirping, another one seemed to follow up in response.
The following is Gabriel’s Message as channeled by my good friend Cyndi Smith:
Your soul does not completely fit inside your body. Some of your soul remains in Heaven in what you call your higher self. Much of it is here inside of you but the part that overflows your body is called your aura.
The authentic human voice is a thing many writers strive to capture. Few can claim to have succeeded. Contos, however, very much has earned that badge of honor. The text is home to an authentic and powerful narration that still, in its honest humanity, grounds itself in the humble approach to one man’s life and what that life means.
I don’t often cry over books. It’s not that I can’t, it’s just something that very rarely happens.
For the first time in our nation’s history, an attorney who once practiced law as a public defender will serve on the U.S. Supreme Court.
Ketanji Brown Jackson was confirmed by the Senate and will take her seat this summer when Justice Stephen Breyer steps down. She will be the first former criminal defense lawyer since Justice Thurgood Marshall, who served on the bench more than 30 years ago.
“Potential Spam” is the innocuous term that Verizon classifies as one of several phone calls I get each day on my cell phone.
I immediately delete them, but have had an accident or two when I’d click the wrong button and end up dialing that number. I quickly stop any further progress at that number and click on delete. I got a feeling, however, that some “son-of-a-b” got a recording of my mistake and will log it into their account, but I really don’t know.
“The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated . . .”
This quote from Mark Twain touched my very soul yesterday when I got a message from one of my old colleagues who said that he had read something “disturbing.” The exact quote via Messenger was: “Michael, are you okay? I saw something disturbing for your name.”
My reply: “Disturbing? I haven’t done anything to warrant that since I made an illegal turn into the senior citizen center in Upper Merion Township last week, and a cop stopped me.”
I have been honored this Veterans Day through a recorded interview about my book on the Vietnam War for a program called “Good Morning Conshy,” where I share the broadcast with two companion pet managers for what is known as PACT. Many of the animals had assisted veterans who could no longer care for their pets and needed help for animals they viewed as their children.
We all had contacts with Conshohocken, a small borough just outside of Philadelphia, and learned that the interview would be recorded and made available on YouTube. Watching it, I noticed how white-faced I look after recovering from a stomach illness. I am glad I wore my “boonie hat” that I had saved from the Vietnam War. It shows one silver bar that was subdued to prevent the enemy from spotting an officer. I wore it only once before, and that was at Omega Institute at a five-day meditation retreat for veterans with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).
One of my favorite jobs was serving as an intern for the Defender Association of Philadelphia. I went to the jails, the Courtrooms, and the training rooms to learn how to properly defend persons charged with various crimes.
The prison was tough. You never knew if the defendant was telling the truth or not. You simply interviewed him for the basic information and wrote up his story for a trial lawyer to review before speaking to the suspect and going to trial. You never saw the person again, and you had no idea how he may have fared.
[Following is an official OnlineBookClub.org review of “Vietnam War Recall”
Like many other young men of the time, author Michael Contos found himself in the military, headed to a turbulent region of the world to protect democracy. After completing Officer Candidate School, Michael was deployed to Vietnam to lead a platoon of infantrymen on missions while evading the formidable Viet Cong forces. Here, he describes the worst day of his life that led to post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), a debilitating condition that would threaten to consume his life and linger for decades; a day so jarring that he would not talk about it, even with his family.
Upon returning home, his experiences in combat haunt him, so he seeks the help of spiritual leaders to relieve the symptoms of PTSD. The story is told in the first person through flashbacks, introspection, and excerpts from the author’s blog. Through the narration, readers get a glimpse into the personal turmoil that many of our veterans face after combat.
———– The best part of this book is the intimate and emotional description of PTSD; a young leader, not afforded time to grieve or debrief from his experiences, lives with the nightmares, flashbacks, and anxiety that seem to permeate every facet of his life. These intense feelings are captured clearly by the author.
I also love the way the daily humdrum of military life is portrayed, and the descriptions sure bring back memories for this veteran. The cadences, the euphoric feeling when you realize your parachute is perfect, and the anticipation of the return to the United States (DEROS) are very real indeed! A little humor, typical of military camaraderie, is also peppered into the pages of the story; I had to chuckle when I read about some familiar but important advice: never crap alone in the field!
Although the messages are powerful, the book does seem a bit repetitive at times. Other than this, there is nothing negative to say about the story; its purpose and voice are truly a gift to an audience who does not truly understand the realities of war and its crippling effects on our young servicemen, not only the ones who gave their lives but also those who returned bearing unseen scars.
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I happily give Vietnam Recall: The Best and Worst Days of My Life a count of 4 out of 4 stars for these reasons. The book appears professionally edited and is divided into chapters of appropriate length.
I particularly recommend this book to readers who love historical accounts of war and those who seek insight from a primary source about mental illness. Those with family members in the military will appreciate the insightful glimpse into the psyche of those who have chosen to defend our way of life. There is some moderate profanity, along with explicit descriptions of trauma and wartime peril; those sensitive to these topics may not want to read the book.
For all others, the book is a penetrating account of one man’s journey towards healing and peace. All who read this story will undoubtedly be moved by the author’s gripping words as he relives the most difficult moments of his life. He speaks for the countless others who remain silent.
I knelt at the gravesite while bowing my head and closing my eyes to pray yesterday morning. I was visiting Calvary Cemetery of West Conshohocken, the burial site for Father William E Atkinson, an Augustinian priest who passed away in 2006 and is now being considered for canonization by the Catholic Church to be named a saint.
I felt like a Boy Scout as I found a young woman’s lost wallet and marched it to the police station while another person walking outdoors helped to notify the owner.
By the time I got to the borough hall building and spoke to a police spokesperson, the woman had called the station and was on the phone the moment I walked into the headquarters’ dispatch center.
It took me more than 50 years, but I finally published my Vietnam War story and the toll it took on me after leading a combat infantry platoon when I was just a 21-year-old first lieutenant in the US Army.
I self-published with the help of editors who wrote the back cover description. They used a mug shot I had taken some ten years ago while attending a PTSD meditation clinic at Omega Institute for veterans and their families. The clinic introduced me to different forms of meditation that allowed me to eventually deal with the trauma and view the war experience in a more benign and compassionate light.
I got a call from my doctor at the VA Hospital of Philadelphia after having blood drawn earlier in the day. He was concerned about an increase in some bad things involving my prostate.
Whatever those things were, I knew they weren’t any good, and he advised me to have a test done to ensure that I was not developing prostate cancer.
That is, the Veterans of Foreign Wars. I could’ve joined it right out of the VietnamWar, but at that time of my life, I didn’t want to help support the war that I had just left.
My reality took a major hit when I learned of a book that reveals the famous battle at the Alamo in Texas was not what Walt Disney had broadcast on TV but was a nefarious cover-up of an expansion of slavery in the Lone Star State.
Santa Anna’s Mexican troops were trying to stamp out slavery in its territory, and the 180 persons fighting at the old Spanish mission in San Antonio were trying not only to retain slavery, but to make it grow for the production of cotton.
I complained to USAA, the American Veterans Car Insurance Company, when I learned that it was advertising on the Tucker Carlson show. As a subscriber of USAA for more than 50 years, I threatened to seek insurance elsewhere after the Fox News host called the Joint Chiefs of Staff general “stupid” and followed that up by describing him as a “pig.”
“I do think it is important for those of us in uniform to be open-minded and well-read,” he told the House Armed Services Committee. “I want to understand white rage . . . and I’m white. . . I want to understand it. So, what is it that caused thousands of people to assault this (the Capital) and try to overturn the Constitution?”
Stop supporting white supremacists and serve veterans, please!
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I salute this military leader, a four-star general who is also “airborne infantry,” and cannot for the life of me understand how someone who never put on a uniform or faced a single day in combat could say such drivel about such a soldier.
Nor can I understand how USAA could continue spending advertising dollars on the Fox program. I know they want to reach veterans and our families, but the money is also propping up a mouthpiece for white supremacy and anti-democratic conspiracy theories.
I experienced one of those “holy shit” moments the other day.
You know the type of experience you get from something you see, hear, or read, and you just have to say to yourself, out of earshot of everybody else, something like: “holy shitoli!”
Synchronicity is a term I have come to cherish since being introduced to it by my favorite psychologist, Carl G Jung. It refers to deeply meaningful coincidences that mysteriously occur in one’s life. Jung proved by the law of probability that they were not mere coincidences but insights into our rich and worthwhile lives.
I have found so many little treasures on my daily walk as I strive each day to achieve my goal of 10,000 steps.
Yep, I log all of my paces on a skinny Fitbit wrapped around my wrist, which also tells me the time of the day as well as the number that is calling my cell phone.
Walter Mondale, the Minnesota resident and former candidate for president of the United States, was a staunch advocate for providing legal services to poor people charged with crimes, and I firmly believe that his legacy will live on.
I remember Mondale through my wife, who took a leave of absence from her work as a copy editor at The Inquirer Newspaper of Philadelphia to work for Geraldine Ferraro, the first woman endorsed by a political party to run for vice president. Wendy, who passed away three years ago this month, drove in a cavalcade of volunteers assisting celebrities who met and supported the congresswoman from New York.
She met Mary Travers – of Peter, Paul and Mary – who asked for a side trip to eat a cheese steak at Pat’s Steaks in South Philadelphia, which Mary claimed she had heard so much about!
Even though Mondale served as vice president under Jimmy Carter and ran against and lost to Ronald Reagan for president, he also served as the Attorney General for the state of Minnesota. It was in 1962 that he encouraged more than 20 attorney generals throughout the country to join in an amicus brief in support of a poor man from Florida who asked for but was denied the assistance of a lawyer for his criminal trial.
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Clarence Earl Gideon was found guilty when he went to trial and was sentenced to five years in jail. The pool hall owner claimed the defendant stole $5 in change, along with some beer and soda, and $50 from a jukebox.
While in prison, he used prison stationery and a prison-approved pencil to write an appeal to the US Supreme Court. (The actual hand-written appeal is on display at the Constitution Center in Philadelphia!)
Mondale convinced 22 other attorneys general throughout the United States to join in the amicus brief in support of Gideon. Some believe it helped to sway the court, which decided unanimously to grant relief to the poor Gideon, who was in his early 50s and considered to be a drifter when convicted in 1961. (He had no more than an 8th-grade education and ran away from home when he was in middle school.)
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The landmark decision – in a case cited as Gideon v Wainwright – led to the creation of the vastpublic defender system in the United States. I served as a criminal defense lawyer for 20 years in Philadelphia and owe the creation of my job to Gideon.
Well, what happened after the court case? Gideon – such an unlikely hero – was appointed a lawyer to represent him at another trial, and he was found Not Guilty! In 1980, Henry Fonda played the part of Gideon in a made-for-television movie called “Gideon’s Trumpet.”
Thank you, Walter Mondale, for your support of the underdog and your compassion for the poor in our society.
Walter Mondale, a truechampion for the poor and underprivileged in the USA
Any veteran who took part in the January 6th Insurrection at the US Capitol should be stripped of his or her VA benefits and labeled a “traitor”
There is a disturbing number of current and former military personnel identified among those who broke into the Capitol to overturn the election. About 20 percent of the nearly 300 arrested, according to NPR. They should no longer receive treatment at VA hospitals, get the GI Bill for attending school, or obtain a mortgage loan.
I look forward to eventually reading the news of an indictment against the former president and/or an update on all of the civil lawsuits against him.
You know they’re coming. All the highly experienced lawyers need to do is simply confirm their concrete and rock-solid facts before going to Court and contacting the News Media for reporters to share the information on the law with the entire world.
Stagger Lee, a song about a murder over a dice game and a StetsonHat, was the number one song in America this week in 1959. Listening to it, I was reminded of how I won a jury trial by using its lyrics for my closing argument.
The song, recorded by New Orleans native Lloyd Price, told of two men who “gambled late.” One accused the other of cheating, which led to the shooting death of the other. I represented a client who told me he was shooting dice outside of a Philadelphia bar when he won all the money from a fellow who had gambled late outside the bar.
Having felt sick, I contacted an Urgent Care unit in Conshohocken just outside of Philadelphia. Within minutes, a nurse scheduled an appointment and placed long-stemmed items up both nostrils after confirming my identity with a glance at my driver’s license and a cell phone confirmation.
Today, I am a Georgia boy once again. And if we try hard enough, all of us could be Georgians!
Over the next several weeks, I hope Americans join with me in offering positive intentions to convince the universe to focus and raise up the wonderful State of Georgia.
Holidays ain’t what they used to be when you were a kid. Particularly, if you ended up in the military and spent some of your formative years in a war zone like the Vietnam War.
I could not celebrate Thanksgiving Day this year. It was the 50th anniversary of a comrade of mine named Victor Lee Ellinger, a first lieutenant who was shot and killed by an enemy sniper just three days before the holiday. (See Cost of War.)
Some sombitch broke into my Internet connection and must have sent dozens of messages to who knows how many people I have gotten to know through Facebook and possibly Messenger.
First Lieutenant Victor Lee Ellinger was no ‘loser’, Mister Trump.
He was shot and killed by an enemy sniper during the Vietnam War, and I forced marched my platoon to come to his aid, only to find out we got to him too late to help.
He was no “sucker,” having enlisted the same year that you miraculously developed bone spurs on one of your feet, getting your fifth deferment to keep you out of the military and any chance of being in harm’s way. It was the same year I was drafted and later commissioned to lead a bunch of other young men into battle.
I want to unmask my true feelings about the Masking of America and how to get people to care enough for one another to be a little more considerate while walking outdoors.
What’s it like to be young and wanna go out on a date nowadays?
I mean, there just ain’t a good place to go, no good place to meet someone, no good activity that will allow two mostly young people to get together and see if they can make some sparks to fly.  Continue reading →
The Fourth of July is upon us, and I wanted to share some independent facts that many Americans may not have learned in history books or inside their classrooms.
The Declaration of Independence was first printed in a German-speaking newspaper and not an English one. The Colony of Pennsylvania once had a large German population, and when people of what became the Keystone State voted on which language to use, German lost by only one vote. Continue reading →
As a veteran of several military bases, I would vote to change the names of all the facilities named for generals who fought for the Confederate army during our nation’s Civil War.
I offer such action with a heavy heart because of the link I still have with the facilities that helped to create the soldier I had become, and the lessons learned in the US Army. Continue reading →
While I am still able to recall in some detail highlights of my early life before true adulthood, I decided to write them down for future generations and others who may want to commiserate with my adventures and misadventures.  Continue reading →
I meditated this morning and realized there were few, if any, sounds coming from the street outside my home. Traffic usually provides noise from cars and trucks as motorists make their way along the suburban road in Conshohocken, PA, some 14 miles outside of Philadelphia. Continue reading →
An American hero has fallen to the Coronavirus, and the world may never see the likes of him ever again.
Ninety-eight-year-old George Shenkle, a card-carrying member of the “Greatest Generation,” took part in the invasion of Normandy more than 75 years ago, freeing our universe from the evil of the Nazis.
He served as a paratrooper with three combat jumps – including D-Day – and he also fought in the Battle of the Bulge – and got a Purple Heart in return for the wounds he received after hitting the ground and running into enemy fire and explosions.  Continue reading →
Today is Vietnam Veterans Day, and the Year 2020 marks the 50th anniversary of my deployment in the war zone. I was a 21-year-old second lieutenant placed in charge of a platoon of some 25 men, many of them still in their teenage years and drafted like I had been.  Continue reading →
It is hitting me more and more lately, particularly since I decided to do my own taxes for the first time in my life and not pay out nearly $300 to have a professional do the work.  Continue reading →
I once worked in the Pennsylvania State Government, meeting and writing a speech for the governor, and broadcasting a news story about a new group of buses being introduced to the Keystone State. Continue reading →
I was kicked out of a Courtroom when I raised my voice to a judge who seemed to be favoring an assistant district attorney who wanted my client removed from hospice because hehadn’t died soon enough after I got him out of jail.  Continue reading →
“It’s snowing!” is whatPhoenyx happily announced to the household as the nine-year-old made her way up to the third floor at 6:58 am this morning.  Continue reading →
I was so proud of the Secretary of the Navy for his resignation in protest of a hideous act to cover up the atrocities of those in the military charged with war crimes.  Continue reading →
I have taken off the mask, and I can now sleep unencumbered once again!
A doctor advised me that I no longer have sleep apnea and don’t need the machine that has forced air into my nostrils over the last several years just to keep me breathing.  Continue reading →
It’s been 10 years since I wrote my first post for this “ContoverosBlogsite,” and looking back, I feel a little like Ken Burns, the producer of PBS specials on such things as war, music, and other all-American things. 
I started the Blog shortly after attending the funeral for my last surviving blood relative, Uncle Dominic Hagel, my mother’s brother, who, together with his wife, Aunt Frances, helped to raise me when sent from Philadelphia to Egg Harbor, NJ. My mother had postpartum depression after the birth, and I was sent to my grandmother, who shared her house with Uncle Dom.
Something clicked inside of me. I had just gotten help for PTSD from the Vietnam War and learned to meditate from a VA psychologist who taught veterans mindfulness meditation. I also finished a 6-week course of dream-journaling after reading about PsychologistCarl G Jung.
After meditating, I rose from the pew and stepped out as if I were going for Holy Communion. I walked backward and studied the various statues. Each had a story to tell, and I internalized that understanding and wanted to share my own story.
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On my return home, I began to write about what I was taught in second grade as the “purpose of life.” That is “To Know, Love and Serve God,” according to the Baltimore Catechism. I wrote about all three.
In between, I had a dream about Socrates and coupled it with what Jung called an “active imagination.” I saw people in my life as Angels or Guides who directed me in my path to include my teenage mentor who taught me to sing Doo Wop harmony, my oldest brother who guided me into Officer Candidate School and eventual service in the Vietnam War, and a Scottish neighbor of my parents who suggested I study journalism when he heard I took printing courses in the high school trade school I attended.
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I wrote about the war and PTSD, securing a not guilty verdict on my first jury trial and serving as a newspaper reporter covering Three Mile Island.
I shared my understanding of the Kabbalah and my journey to Jerusalem, my studies of WON Buddhism, and my trip to South Korea, and how I learned to dance a mean dervish whirl while learning about the Sufi and the Muslim faith.
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My total count is now 881 posts, something I never imagined I would reach way back then. I made so many good friends from all over the world to include Russia, Great Britain, Iceland, Greece, and Canada, not to mention my fellow countrymen and women.
It has been very therapeutic and enlightening, particularly when receiving comments from readers who shared my view and added to the discussion.
I hope I can continue for another 10 years and use the old Al Jolson line:
I was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant 50 years ago, and looking back, I see it as one of the greatest achievements of my life. Also, one of the luckiest ones, and I’m so glad to still be around to talk about it. Yes, by an Act of Congress, I was made “An Officer & a Gentleman.” I don’t know where that title came from — Great Britain, I guess — but I tried to live up to its “ideal” while in the army, and later when discharged, which career paths I should follow in my life.  Continue reading →