BUFFALO OR BISON?

I’m working with a great company in Plano, Texas who adhere to the olde traditions of Texas. Along with the land on which they built their new and very impressive corporate headquarters on Legacy Drive, they acquired the adjoining large section which is now a pasture for a small herd of Texas Longhorns (yea-ha!) and three seemingly forlorn bison. Yes, I said bison, not buffalo.

It is apparent that in that particular bovine community, the pecking order first includes all the Longhorns and then the bison. They are second class citizens and exist literally at the pleasure of the states favorite breed. Indeed, we are told that once upon a time there used to be four bison until one of the more aggressive longhorns apparently ticked off, tragically gored the critter to death.

Many of the folks with this company call the noble bison, buffaloes, much to the chagrin of this writer who wants to use this platform to once and for all and to the credit of one of the greatest of our native icons, set the record straight.

Scientifically, the term “buffalo” is incorrect for the North American species. Its proper Latin name is Bison bison. Admittedly in American Western culture, the bison is commonly referred to as "buffalo"; however, this is a misnomer. Though both bison and buffalo belong to the same family Bovidae, the term “buffalo” properly applies only to the Asian Water Buffalo and African Buffalo.

So how could this happen? In the seventeenth century, French explorers in North America referred to the new species they encountered as “les boeufs,” meaning oxen or beeves. The English, arriving later, changed the pronunciation to “la buff.” The name grew distorted as “buffle,” “buffler,” “buffillo,” and, eventually, “buffalo.” (We can thank J. Albert Rorabacher and his The American Buffalo in Transition for this clarification.) Makes you wonder what would have happened had the French won the Seven Year’s War?

Naturalists have estimated that in the time of Columbus there were from 60 to 100 million bison in North America ranging on the Great Plains north to south from Great Slave Lake in Canada all the way to Mexico and west to east from Oregon almost to the Atlantic. They were part of the largest community of wild animals ever known to exist on planet Earth. Indeed, Bison were the most numerous single species of large wild mammal on Earth.

Good Friend Chinnubbie MacIntosh of the Muscogee Nation (Creek) and the Scottish Clan MacIntosh near Tulsa, Oklahoma told me of a time when the Osage Hills north of Tulsa were literally blackened by millions and millions of stampeding bison spilling over their gentle slopes.

In 1800 it was estimated there were forty million bison in the United States alone. Then we had the incursion of European settlers into the American West. Most startling, by 1883, there were few wild bison left in the United States. The majority of the forty million animals were killed in a fifty-five year period, beginning in 1830. By 1900, there were less than six hundred wild or domesticated bison left in North America.

While many people including Buffalo Bill Cody denounced the slaughter; no one really did anything to stop it as it was perceived as one of the main food sources for the Native Peoples who the United States Government was bent on eradicating. It just didn’t fit the government’s less than benevolent model. If I had been born native they would have shot and killed me years ago…

Today we are faring a bit better with the American Bison population estimated at 350,000. Though many of them are not genetically pure, having been crossbred, the trend is to reestablish and maintain more purebred populations. There are four genetically pure, free roaming herds on public lands in North America to include the herd at Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, Montana and Idaho; the herd in the Henry Mountains in Utah; the herd at Wind Cave National Park in South Dakota and the one on Elk Island in Alberta, Canada. It seems fitting that we have a population at the Wind Cave National Park herd in South Dakota as the Lakota People believe that the location where Man first ascended from the underworld.

The herd at Yellowstone National Park numbers around 3,500 and is descended from the Pelican Valley herd in Yellowstone that sought refuge there from the plains slaughter of the 1800’s.

This herd’s migration to lower elevations outside the park during the winter has caused all sorts of concerns by local ranchers who fear that their livestock may be infected with brucellosis though there has never been a documented case of such a transfer. There have long been differing management perspectives between Yellowstone Park Staff and local ranchers recently exacerbated with the reintroduction of the wolf. We all need to recognize the heroic work by such stalwarts as the now retired Norm Bishop who continues to fight the good fight.

So the fight to preserve this species goes on to even include the efforts of Captain Outrageous aka Ted Turner who raises a herd believed to exceed 45,000 bison on fourteen of his fifteen ranches in seven western US states. That makes it the largest privately held herd in the United States. Turner is serious in his effort to perpetuate the species not only for commercial but also philanthropic reasons.

The Caprock Canyons State Park bison herd, isolated in the Texas Panhandle for over 100 years, has never had a new infusion of (to use a polite term) energy. Turner donated three of his purebred bison bulls in order to counter what has been diagnosed as "inbreeding depression" by the Caprock cows. The bulls came from Turner’s ranch in northeastern New Mexico. We’ll just have to monitor the Caprock herd.

Not that bison aren’t appreciative of our efforts (they aren’t), they are among the most dangerous animals encountered by visitors to the various U.S. and Canadian National Parks, especially Yellowstone National Park. I remember Norm Bishop telling me years ago that they were the most dangerous animal at Yellowstone even more so than the legendary Grizzly bear. Norm recounted curious foreign (especially Japanese) tourists who with limited fluency in English didn’t totally understand the warnings posted in the park. Many were seriously injured or even killed when they ventured too close to the bisons. It took a creative comic book with graphic illustrations to better educate those tourists and minimize the inevitable gorings.

We need realize that bison have a testy disposition and are capable of leaping over fences and other barriers and can run as fast as 35 miles per hour. As validated by Norm Bishop, between 1978 and 1992, over four times as many people in Yellowstone National Park were killed or injured by bison as by bears (12 by bears, 56 by bison). Yikes!

I was aware of that when in 1980 while cross country skiing with Norm in Yellowstone we encountered a huge lone bull. Norm was breaking trail and I was dutifully trying to keep up with this outstanding tri-athlete. Norm had just skied down a short embankment near a stand of pine and stopped at the top of the next rise and was frantically motioning me to stop. Well, I couldn’t and skied past that bull who fortunately could have cared less that we were invading his territory. I didn’t see him until I was literally right next to him. As I skied past I caught his musty smell and snort and looking into his right eye could have literally touched him with my left hand! What a majestic animal though Norm at that time was probably pondering just how he was going to evacuate my carcass back to Ranger headquarters.

So, you see I have a great reverence for the bison and feel that he may be my sprit animal. I certainly appreciate what the company has done there in Plano. One of the recruiters known affectionately as Buffalo Bob now monitors the population of our small bison herd via our monthly Bison Metrics Chart to the delight of all company employees. Given our recent close scrutiny we now fear that we have three bulls somewhat limiting our potential to grow the herd. I wonder if we might convince Ted Turner to loan us a couple of ladies from his ranch in New Mexico?

Aye,

Ned Buxton

BIRDS, BIRDS, BIRDS

I was pulling into the parking lot of a local supermarket in far north Dallas the other day when I noted with disdain a now typical winter scene that included a huge flock of grackles and catbirds sitting in the trees, on phone and power lines, cars and any surface that would afford them an easy ingress and egress. It was like one of the more macabre scenes from Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. No car was safe from the defecatory recreation (yea, it seems they sometimes do it just for fun) of these little beasties. What were usually prime parking places under trees and lamp poles are now ignored by customers in favor of more remote and uncovered spaces. When I first arrived back in Dallas I took advantage of an open parking space (eureka!) under a tree and near the entrance of the store only to return to a car peppered with bird poop. Why didn’t anyone warn me? You know what that stuff does to car paint? Guess as the new kind on the block, that was my initiation. I headed for the nearest car wash.

Now, despite the fact that the local landlords were now playing the recording of raptors to include eagle and hawk calls, nothing seems to faze these noisy winged wanderers who are, by now, quite comfortable with us humans. The ultimate symbiotic relationship between bird and Homo Sapiens might just be with these two species. I guess I can’t say symbiotic as we humans really don’t derive any benefit from them (OK, they eat Japanese beetles and grubs) as they cause millions and millions of dollars in agricultural damage every year and other damage recounted in the body of this piece.

As I was getting out of my Endeavor much to my delight I noted a rather large female red-tailed hawk settle into a crowd of these birds alighting atop one of the light poles in the parking lot. As soon as she landed there was a flurry of activity that saw the thousands and thousands of grackles and catbirds in the lot scurrying and flying away in a magnificent roar that I’m sure exceeded 100db. They all didn’t just fly to the next lot either; they got the heck out of there, maybe to the next county. It was a sight to see and the hawk just stayed put slowly looking first left then right before she started preening herself. She had a look of good humor about her and I am convinced that she was laughing. It was quite a scene…. I watched the hawk for another ten minutes until out of boredom she once again rose up and flew away as dusk approached. Those birds didn't return that evening.

I thought for a moment that she was part of some control mechanism as recommended by the good folks over at the Blackland Prairie Raptor Center who have recommended raptors as the answer to the conflagration of birds in Dallas. They have advised setting up nesting boxes for owls and hawks so that our problem can be solved the natural way - bird vs. bird - grackles and catbirds vs. our raptor Friends. Medical City Hospital in Dallas has installed owl and hawk boxes in an effort to scare off the grackles and catbirds. In order to speculate on the ultimate winners all we need do is look at the fantastic job turned in by the peregrine falcons in New York City against their famed rats-with-wings (pigeons).

Flocks of these grackles and catbirds easily number in the thousands and experts like Dr. Ken Steigman late of the Heard Natural Science Museum & Wildlife Sanctuary, in Mckinney Texas and now Director of the Lewisville Lake Environmental Learning Area, says grackle flocks can measure several miles long. Yikes! Aside from their noise they are one of the more insidious pests in our environment today. Humanitarian issues aside, I have seen them literally overwhelm trees, buildings and bridges. Their droppings contain ammonia and uric acid that corrodes stone, metal, masonry and paint finishes and can even spread histoplasmosis, a respiratory disease that can be fatal to man. Before the final word came in on the I-35 bridge collapse in Minneapolis-St. Paul, inspectors had speculated that bird droppings could have corroded the beams. Bottom line: these birds pose a very real problem.

Local pest control companies have been contacted frequently to provide bird control for bridges and overpasses in north Texas. While these companies have apparently put in many bids to control these pests, we have yet to see any aggressive programs implemented. If the municipalities engaged as much bird control as private and commercial property owners, we may not have a problem of the magnitude we have now.

Any sense of urgency should be heightened by the existence of the Avian Flu (H5N1) in other parts of the world and the threat of pandemic. The most recent January 2008 outbreak of bird flu in India's densely populated state of West Bengal (24M) could spiral out of control, according to Indian officials.

While grackles and catbirds are apparently immune to the West Nile Virus which is inexplicably more prevalent in north than south Texas, they remain highly susceptible to H5N1. This somewhat explains why populations of these birds have exploded in the Dallas metropolitan area and offers an even more ominous scenario should a pandemic outbreak occur.

I say let nature take its course and turn our good raptor Friends loose on this scourge. An aggressive predator deterrent would mean the expansion of a greater symbiosis and the opportunity to once again grab a really great parking space…

Aye,

Ned Buxton

DAVID CROSBY’S BETTER HALF AND THEN SOME

I just saw a profile on David Crosby of Crosby, Stills & Nash (and Young) (CSNY) fame on CBS’s Sunday Morning. Included in the interview was the appearance of Crosby’s bride of twenty years, Jan Dance. That little vignette brought me back many years to memories especially of Ms. Dance who had a role to play in the life of this writer. If she ever sees this narrative she might be surprised, but then again, probably not.

It all started out in 1975 when four Friends with a passion for the outdoors joined in a business venture called High Country Outfitters in Atlanta, Georgia. Those enthusiasts included Denny Mays, a pharmaceutical salesman from the Tidewater of Virginia; Gerald Marshall, paddler extraordinaire and outdoor store manager from central Georgia, Danny “Bubba” Sloan, accountant with the Royal Globe insurance company and yes, yours truly who was then a training manager with Equifax in Atlanta. High Country Outfitters is still a going and very successful business enterprise thanks to Bubba’s leadership.

The glue that bound us together was Denny Mays, a man of slight build though great strength who was one of the best rock climbers anybody had ever seen. He was one of the elite climbing fraternity captained by that brilliant misanthropic curmudgeon Yvon Chouinard (with whom I totally agree). With a balding pate and an ever present though apologetic smile, he was the leader and the best people person of the Team. His clipped Tidewater accent and demeanor just beamed sincerity and good times. Those qualities blended nicely with the rest of us who all hung out at Horace Holden’s American Adventures, the same store that became High Country in 1975.

Among other attributes we mostly shared one thing – a love of life and the great outdoors. I was pleased that, motivated by them, I conjured up the name High Country and the now famous twin peaks logo. I still have our original business cards and our tee shirt with our new logo that educated, “Chocks Protect Your Rocks.”

When I left work at 1600 Peachtree Street at 4:00 pm (closely followed by Bubba Sloan who worked across the street), we wound our way to Powers Ferry Landing to work the evening at the store, drink a few beers (which we readily shared with our customers) and used our stone fireplace as a climbing wall well before that concept was ever commercially conceived.

Denny and Jan were great Friends during this time and Jan would regularly visit the store. She had an infectious smile and demeanor that always said welcome. To me her eyes always seem to reflect an innate wisdom and some hidden truth like the location of the Holy Grail. She was one of those folks you just liked to hang with.

High Country was involved with the Georgia Canoeing Association and those who eventually went on to form the Atlanta Whitewater Club. These folks which included me assisted with the coordination and administration of the annual slalom & downriver races in Helen, Georgia and the now famous (yea, legendary) 100 mile Helen to Atlanta whitewater race on the Chattahoochee River and across Lake Sidney Lanier (then full of water).

The late great Dave Gale of The Wildwood Shop in Helen was the primary organizer of the Helen to Atlanta whitewater race with its unique LeMans start that saw serious competitors like Payson Kennedy and Robin Oscar of the Nantahala Outdoor Center and Gerald Marshall and Tom Bolen of High Country. There were fourteen other teams though most were weekend (sunshine and beer) warriors.

I remember that Payson and Robin as well as Gerald and Tom paddled flat water canoes (with lots of flotation) anticipating that the difference in the race would be that stretch across Lake Lanier. If they could survive the modest whitewater of the upper and lower Chattahoochee above Atlanta then they had a good chance to win. They were right as those with keel-less whitewater boats weren’t really competitive.

I had a fully tricked Toyota Land Cruiser station wagon with a million candlepower of headlights on the front and a full PA system that good Friend Dave Gale used to start many of the races. I accompanied my Land Cruiser and on one occasion Jan spent the day helping and assisting me with some of the more mundane race tasks. I got to really know her and we even had a chance to play and frolic in and out of the river. One of my favorite photos is me carrying all ninety pounds (maybe - soaking wet) of Jan across the Chattahoochee River on my back. That photo is safely tucked away (yes, I can’t find it) though that day and photo are forever etched in my mind. I think that I learned to laugh that day.

Jan later left the Atlanta area (seemed sudden) to pursue her dreams that apparently included the record business on the west coast where she eventually partnered with David Crosby. Though I heard that she successfully fought her own demons, I am assured that she provided much of the stimulus to Crosby to ultimately try to clean up his act – something he stated that he had accomplished after he got out of prison in 1986. Jan and David were married in 1987. Apparently while he needs Jan’s continuing ministrations and counsel, they looked content in the CBS interview.

By the way, it was Jan who facilitated Crosby’s donation of sperm used to produce two children through artificial insemination for friend and rock musician Melissa Etheridge and her then partner Julie Cypher, who carried the two babies. Etheridge and Cypher have since split up much to Crosby’s dismay.

Moving on, Denny found another special Lady in Hope and lived the great life until his untimely and premature passing because of brain cancer. His memory remains strong and the Conference Center at the High Country Whitewater Center on the Ocoee River in Tennessee proudly bears his name.

By the way that 1975 Helen to Atlanta race that wound its way down the upper Hooch and across Lake Lanier and again to the river to Powers Ferry Landing in Atlanta was won by Gerald Marshall and Tom Bolen of High Country in a time of 18 hours and thirty minutes. Their closest competitors were the now legendary Payson Kennedy and Robin Oscar who finished a distant second with a time of twenty-one hours and thirty minutes. Only two other teams finished and well in back of the two front runners.

Yes, Jan was there at the finish line in all of her glory to greet, congratulate and minister to the exhausted winners. I was recently reminded of David Crosby’s attempt many years ago to describe Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young though that statement seems to best sum up my feelings for Jan Dance and all she meant to Denny and the whole High Country crowd. Yes, she was “seven pounds of stuff in a three pound bag.” I will never forget her. You go Girl!

Thanks, Jan. All the best to you and David.

Aye,

Ned Buxton

SELL, SELL, SELL

During all the recent insane volatility in the U.S. and world financial markets I’ve been wondering about the mental stability of some of our illustrious investors, market managers and traders. Aside from the recent angst over the sub-prime mortgage market losses, the economy has been with some ripples, mostly robust. After earlier losses, last Friday the market lost 177.44 points or 1.38% all after the previous day’s gain of almost 300 points up from a -300 point start?

This week as a response to rising interest rates and to counter fears of an impending credit crunch the Fed lowered the Funds interest rate by .75% and is expected to do so again next week. The White House just announced a substantial stimulus package. On Friday Caterpillar announced a better than anticipated performance matched by other positive earnings reports from several companies including MicroSoft which reported a 79 percent rise in quarterly profits.

All this excellent news would appear to benefit the consumer and give them easier access to money and fuel some positive spending. Despite all the good news some only heard the bad hence the huge losses.

These same investors, market managers and traders all seem to delight in reacting to their negative perception of the world. Oh reality where art thou? This pea in the mattress perception seems to be everything in the marketplace right now. We now hear that this august group will be carefully studying the wording of the Fed's upcoming announcement this next week. Carefully studying? God knows what they will read into that announcement. Our economists now have to be counseled by psychologists and linguists lest they be misinterpreted.

I guess that we shouldn’t be surprised that traders are paid by transaction and in this flurry of buying and mostly selling, they stand to make a bundle. Hmm. Now they wouldn’t manipulate the market would they? Can you say sub-prime mortgage securities?

In order to infuse more confidence (not) I thought to include a recent comment from the New York Times who quoted Jim Cramer, hedge fund manager turned television stock picker who commenting on loss aversion stated that drugs tended to reinforce traders' inability to spot a looming downturn, "Prozac and all those other drugs banish the 'this is the end of the world' thoughts. Which means you are not as anxious as you should be about an obvious downside." Other studies reflect that traders who suffer losses tend to speculate more in order to make up these losses. Inspires confidence, eh?

A recent headline screamed,

Analysts warn that markets could remain volatile for a number of weeks!

That said, some believe it and it becomes so (could or might now equals will be). This self-fulfilling prophecy is typical of the headlines we see these days. Instead of paying realistic attention to the nuts and bolts of our economy, we hear the likes of former U.S. Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan, who recently stated that, “a recession in the U.S. was "possible" later this year”! With that statement, the markets around the world tanked. Smart man, maybe, but let’s get him a gag for the time being or lock him up without a phone or ability to communicate with the outside world. Gees!

Panic and the lack of rational thought have prompted even more panic and a huge overreaction. The smart folks are now out there looking for bargains and they should be aplenty. On the other side, however, if enough people buy into the negative scenario and believe that something is true, then they can make it happen in our world. So, while many flock to gold, bonds and treasury notes most of the smart money stays put and waits for calm.

OK, I’ll admit that this is an oversimplification of the situation and there are other factors to be considered. All things being equal, however, let’s give the market a fair chance to recover without the unfounded and ill advised blather from doom sayers about a possible recession.

Maybe we should all contact our congressmen/women and senators and ask them for a bill in Congress to require background checks, drug screening (full panel) and psychological profiles for all market managers, traders and, yes, analysts too! Sadly, it probably wouldn’t hurt.

Just ask the French Societe Generale Bank about rougue trader Jerome Kerviel who unexplicably held fraudulent positions that cost the bank tens of billions of dollars.

Aye,

Ned Buxton

TRYING TO BE MORE SENSITIVE

More moderate Muslims who are engaging and managing their assimilation into American Society are alarmed at the most recent trend among orthodox Muslims to make what they feel are arrogant, unrealistic demands that put an extraordinary burden on our society. Their concern is mirrored by many other Americans though not seemingly by many in our society who seem hell bent on leather to totally compromise our values and security by accommodating the beliefs of this small minority, no matter how absurd or how high the cost.

All around the country taxi cab drivers of the Islamic persuasion are refusing to pick up passengers who may have alcohol in their luggage or carrying it on their person. In this day of duty-free airport shops, this conflict has been viewed with disdain by most airport authorities who vow to punish cabbies who persist in this refusal.

Whether these Muslims are doing it on religious grounds seems to have little effect on municipal authorities dedicated to providing transportation services to their visitors and citizens. Some might say if these Muslims cannot provide a service basic to their occupation, they need to find another job. I guess we should be happy that the Amish didn’t demand that automobiles be banned…

This strongly relates to my sensitivity to female Muslim drivers and specifically the niqab clad Ladies in my neighborhood who in the morning at a five miles per hour frenzy and with a green light, turn a one minute trip up Abrams from Walnut to Centennial into a twenty minute (or more) angst as they allow all drivers in side streets to cut into traffic ahead of them as they generally head for the local mosque. While the niqab serves as the ultimate reminder to the wearer that they are Muslim and moves them closer to God, geopolitics relates that this is still to some an unmistakable sign of female oppression and feudal custom. Compared to the shroud of the burqua, however, the eye revealing niqab is perceived by many as a less than fundamentalist statement of female emancipation though (and here’s the point) it would appear to also (like the burqua) impede their vision? It gets worse.

The Might of Right recently learned that Muslims employed in some food markets are now refusing to sell or even handle pork products (including bacon) given the prohibition of these products by Islam. Our Jewish Brothers and Sisters aside, this certainly puts them in a head-on collision course in our Western, mostly Christian majority society. Again, some might say that they need to find another job that they can perform without such restrictions. Handling these products is a bona fide occupational qualification / requirement in the retail grocery industry

Perhaps like the Sepoy Indian Rebellion of 1857 these Islamic citizens once they meet that critical supermarket majority will like the Sepoys, mutiny over the directive that they will have to handle pork or be fired.

It gets even worse. We recently heard about a Muslim student at the Minneapolis Community and Technical College who slipped and hit her head while trying to wash her feet in a bathroom sink as part of an Islamic religious ritual (just picture this one). There is now a move afoot (ahem) to install ritual foot washing basins in its bathrooms. The foot basin trend seems to be catching on at other universities nationwide and will require the expenditure of millions and millions of dollars in order to install these special foot baths. Whatever happened to those nice portable plastic basins (just asking)?

The Rev. John C. Blackford, Religion Columnist for the Forest Lake Times of Minnesota relates a recent Canadian report which recommends outright educational grants for Islamic students because Islam, “opposes usury and involvement with interests-bearing loans.” Notwithstanding the current sub prime mortgage loan crisis, there goes the old economy! Sign me up!

The Reverend Blackford further reflects that this same Canadian report also, endorses, “women-only” time in athletic facilities, and urges schools to “provide curtains or screens over the observation windows” when women are using the pool.” I guess that means they wouldn’t consider sharing a lane… Might of Right wouldn’t be surprised if the author of this report wasn’t none other than often controversial Canadian imam, Ally Hindy.

This gets even more ridiculous as the characterization of illegal immigrants via Mexico as merely “desperate, humble and hard-working people seeking the American dream” now includes Islamic terrorists. It is conceivable that members of Al Qaeda can continue to cross the border illegally, get their driver’s licenses or IDs at any number of state and local entities (say hello San Francisco) and then enjoy the American dream until like the Walter Wager 1977 novel, Telefon they are activated and sent on their nefarious missions.

Perhaps they will be little niqab or even burqua-clad Muslim Ladies driving slowly and politely down our main streets. They will soon bring us to an absolute standstill.

Aye,

Ned Buxton

SPIN, SPIN, SPIN

I’ve always been told by those I perceived as cynics that history is that version of events rewritten to serve the interests of the winners. As a foil to that cynicism I have (perhaps naively) always counted on objective historians and people of good faith to ultimately engage the truth, right those wrongs and bring balance to our world.

In that interim we could always expect to see some folks motivated out of ignorance or political-speak to deny, for example, that the Holocaust ever happened. Needless to say, the evidence in all its myriad forms is overwhelming and any attempt to rewrite history here has been met with an equally aggressive effort to preserve and teach that truth.

This reality, however, has recently been taken to a new level with many apparently dedicated to engaging what is now an extraordinary resurgence of political correctness.

I have always been proud to be a product of the “English education system” witnessed by the practices of the best New England prep schools and my very own Lenox School. Perhaps the best aspects of that system are being preserved in the United States, especially when we hear of some incredibly stupid, irrational educational trends in the UK.

We have recently been advised that there are some UK teachers who are sensitive (even unwilling) to teach students in certain age groups subjects that are considered highly charged, controversial and contrary to what they may be taught at home. For example, some UK schools have opted to teach subjects like the Holocaust in religious, social studies or other venues rather than in history classes.

Despite the fact that the national UK Department of Education and Skills recently took these schools to task assuring everybody that this subject is compulsory and will be taught, it appears that we are, indeed, in the midst of a renewed attempt to rewrite or reprioritize history. The Holocaust and all the other horrors that mankind has chosen to inflict on itself should be raised up in our collective consciousness so that we will never repeat them. These subjects should be taught to all students at all levels.

Should we be surprised to learn this last summer that curriculum advisors to the UK Department of Education and Skills decided that Winston Churchill was now “irrelevant” in school history lessons? That revisionist ban, by the way, also includes Hitler, Gandhi, Stalin and Martin Luther King. Some have proposed that the removal of numbers from math class is surely the next step? To the credit of the school board, a fight in earnest is now ongoing.

That said, I strongly believe that the folks at the UK schools who suggested these changes or decided to alter their curriculum because of sensitivity to certain groups, namely Muslim, are full of crap and should be censured and lose their licenses and positions. In an open society and an environment of higher education the only standard is the truth, period. Anything less is a totalitarian society like the old Soviet Union or the Catholic Church (before Gutenberg) that refused to teach Latin to the masses for generations understanding that the ability to read unlocked the minds of the populous.

We are now in the midst of those who are trying to again make up or eliminate the past. One journalist recently commented that, “It is beyond brazen to think that one can get away with inventing not only ancient history but what everyone saw and read with their own eyes just a few years ago. And yet sometimes brazenness works.” It appears if you have the stones to offer an alternative history, however absurd, there are those who will embrace whatever you have to offer so long as it promotes their agendas.

It seems that we can’t just depend on the historians anymore. For the most part, they have already done their jobs. In this ratcheted, hyper-extended PC environment where even recent inherent truths are being attacked, it’s going to be up to the rest of us to guarantee that history will not be scrambled or rewritten. We have already seen that in the likes of those who choose not to embrace the truth, rather their own agendas.

If you care, let your voice be heard. God knows, the World needs you now, more than ever.

Aye,

Ned Buxton

SPAM®, BEAUTIFUL SPAM®

My Mother, Elisabeth Alden Littlefield Buxton of Tuckahoe, Bristol, Pawtucket and Providence was a great cook and maintained an impressive portfolio of meals that she could prepare at the drop of a hat. Her Chicken Elisabeth and post-Thanksgiving Turkey Slop (recently successfully resurrected by Brother John) were two of my personal favorites, among many. She may have been the original 30 minute Rachael Ray though I suspect that Mothers across the land with kids (there were three of us) were and are equally proficient. It’s called survival.

I remember when she single-handedly prepared a meal for Brother John’s Williston Academy Wrestling Team in 1961, with apparent ease. They were in Providence, RI for the New England Championships, their last big tourney of the year so after the meet, it was no more starvation diets. They were ravenous and she probably served them several cows, a couple of sheep, a boar, fourteen chickens and all the trimmings (no alcoholic beverages). It was a seemingly prodigious task that she pulled off without mussing one hair on her head though I remember a little smudge of flour on her cheek.

Mother coordinated and hosted small intimate dinner parties to gala functions held by Rhode Island Governors Chris DelSesto and John Chaffee at the Marble House in Newport. Mother entertained presidents, senators, governors, royalty and the common man with equal aplomb and respect. She was the epitome of The Littlefield Family and what Colonel G. Edward Buxton, Jr. referred to as Rhode Island Aristocracy. Mother was well educated, highly motivated and had a great sense of obligation to Family on the local, state and national level.

She instilled that same sense of Family in all of her three children and her extended Family and many Friends. She educated us and encouraged a never-ending learning process which started by instilling in us an innate curiosity about all things. We were educated in the best New England prep schools and eventually developed an erudite approach to life.

That included the responsibility to be the best that we could be with those duties extending even to dress. We were not allowed to tie our neckties with a plebian four-in-hand knot. I remember being chastised for doing so and the long and laborious lessons how to tie a double Windsor knot and the careful mentoring and counsel by Mom’s Dad, Alden Llewellyn Littlefield (you see, he was also left handed).

Mother gave me my copy of the 1961 edition of Larousse’s Gastronomique, the Bible of cooking that will never be equaled. It sets the standard for all that follow as witnessed by the first sentence, “The history of the table of a nation is a reflection of the civilization of that nation.” So, this, then, becomes the Bible of culture documenting the journey of man from the cave to the present day. Perhaps this was the motivation to earn my degree in anthropology? At any rate it gave me a sense of our world even before a global perspective was in vogue.

So the stage is set. You know that we were all well educated, erudite and with the depth, polish and civility to engage any social occasion. We were taught well at Mrs. Wilson’s Dance School and then tested on the dance floor of the Agawam-Hunt Club and then presented in the ballroom of the Sheraton-Biltmore Hotel, host for many years to all Providence Debutantes (white tie only, please!)

There was an occasion several years before Mother claimed her great, final reward in 1998 when she and I were musing on some of her gastronomical delights. We talked about her great pink grapefruit and avocado salad, her Dungeness crab dip and her many other culinary victories. I was misty-eyed when I thought to profusely thank her for one especially delectable offering that she regularly made for us in the 1950‘s and 60’s.

It was an open-faced sandwich that started out with lightly toasted rye bread, lightly buttered (hang on). You thinly slice some SPAM® and layer that on the toast slathering some Grey Poupon® or good brown deli mustard on the slices. Cover that with a rich beefsteak tomato (not too soft), sliced and salted, topping that off with several slices of a good, strong Swiss cheese. Pop that concoction into the broiler and when the cheese starts to melt and slightly brown, pull it out and consume. It was (and is) eating fit for a King or Queen.

I was waxing nostalgic and emoting as only a son can do. Mother draws herself up and looking right straight into my eyes, seemingly disgusted, obviously feeling that she had failed in all her teachings, told me, “Auch, the only reason that I fixed that for you was because we couldn’t afford anything else!”

Despite my Mother’s visceral disappointment, I remain (along with "Weird Al" Yankovic), unashamedly, a big fan of the culinary genius of Hormel Food’s SPAM® and regularly consume it to this day. In short, I really do like the quality pork shoulder and ham that constitutes this Hormel product. It isn’t road kill or mystery meat.

It was unfortunate that Monty Python’s 1970 Spam parody and skit contributed to the negative utilization of the word in its lower case identity. You see, some of my Viking cousins at the Green Midget Café in the English Borough of Bromley (which features a SPAM® oriented menu) exuberantly sang "Spam, lovely Spam, wonderful Spam, etc" in an ever increasing crescendo to the chagrin of the wait staff and other restaurant patrons. This skit along with a Digital Equipment Corporation (DEC now HP) employee’s 1978 unsolicited marketing e-mail helped to inspire the term spam as slang for not only unwanted e-mail but useless information that just takes up space. This practice soon became commonplace and the term spamming was born, describing all unsolicited commercial e-mail. The Brits especially remembered their WWII dependence on SPAM® thus the repetitive reference to Spam in the Python sketch (whew!). Enough of the negatives....

SPAM®, dubbed “Hawaiian Steak” in the islands, remains incredibly popular witness Hawaii’s Annual Waikiki SPAM® Jam held each May. SPAM® is even sold in Hawaiian Burger Kings! We should also note that 60 million Americans still consume SPAM® at the rate of 3.8 cans a second. I know Culinary Institute of America (CIA) chefs who love the product!

If it meant that I would be ejected from the Good Old Boys Club I would gladly turn in my resignation in favor of my beloved canned meat product. With its almost indefinite shelf life, it’s also a great hedge against emergencies including storms (tornado and hurricane), flood and even pandemic flu.

At the end of it all I think that Mother would be proud of me despite my affection for SPAM® making allowances – perhaps for a recessive gene on my Father’s side?

Thanks, Aye

Ned Buxton