الجزيرة، مع السلامة Ma'a s-salāma Al-Jazeera

الجزيرة،  مع السلامة  Ma'a s-salāma Al-Jazeera

KENNETH E. HALL April 12, 2016 SINGAPORE

The Kuwait-based news channel Al-Jazeera announced on the air in Singapore in April of 2016 that it will shut down its USA operation, called Al-Jazeera America. Although It could hardly be classified as "fair and balanced" especially when it came to Middle East news, it did provide an alternative to the mostly fluff and commercials that was passed off as news to the American people on the other major news networks. 

Although largely propagandistic in many areas and sporting clear anti-American undertones, Al Jazeera did in fact concentrate on NEWS instead of mindless exchanges on whatever subject, taking up time rather than actually presenting the news.

I wrote my thoughts about the impending loss of Al-Jazeera America:.

The death-knell is ringing quietly for an all-news cable TV channel called Al-Jazeera.

Ever heard of it? It seems, at least according to CNN (and we all know whatever CNN says is Gospel!), that, of all things, the price of OIL is to blame for its demise!

The IRONY of it all!

Al-Jazeera, a middle-east-based news station, quietly signed on some time ago, (August 20, 2013) and, as far as I'm concerned, had the makings of a fine news organization.

As a somewhat regular viewer at the beginning, I was impressed with their dedication to news, particularly INTERNATIONAL news. I would turn it on, and, for better or for worse, they actually had news reports on! (Unlike pretty much all of the others, who concentrate on editorial opinions, psychics cats, lost puppies, fluff, and pure crap, mixed with a heaping helping of commercials, interrupted only by, well, more commercials! They tell you something interesting, then, here it comes: the "BUT FIRST..."

I try not to walk around with my,,, butt first. But they do!

Turn on Al-Jazeera and it was news all the way, with no commentators who truly believe their opinions are the ONLY ones that count.

CNN claims that Al-Jazeera is the victim of "low oil prices."

Well, heck, I thought they'd say something almost as stupid, like "aliens" or sunspot activity was making them shut down. The truth is that Al-Jazeera never really caught on in the USA. No, it wasn't the "Arabic-sounding name." I doubt that many viewers knew or cared about that. It wasn't like 'Ahab the Arab' comes riding onto the screen on a camel, talking some foreign language while waving a scimitar. That, I believe, would scare the bejesus out of half the population.

Al-Jazeera was, at least at first, very thorough in reporting the news, albeit with a noticeable anti-Israel bias. I think that one thing that helped shut this station down is that, well, the truth be known, they were very anti-American.

Now, anti-Americanism is a fad, and practiced very well by the likes of *Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. Although she is sometimes considered a "journalist" - especially by herself, she, in fact, is simply a COMMENTATOR. Just to the left of Bernie Sanders, her commentary is biting, totally and unapologetically biased, and 100% American. She isn't a foreigner who comes from overseas, sets up shop in our country, and then devoted its entire programming toward putting down the USA by whatever means necessary. as does RT (Russia Today)

Al-Jazeera reporters don't say lies, they only report on what serves their anti-USA agenda. I can see it, and so can the American public, and public silence has spoken volumes.

And that is a shame!

When one voice is silenced, we all lose a little of our freedom.

When one opinion is no longer voiced, another's grows increasingly louder.

When one news source goes dark, so does some of our insight into world affairs.

I did not agree with most of what they stood for, but it is a loss to us all that, for good or for bad, they will not be able to stand at all.

Nothing can now be believed which is seen in a newspaper. I will add, that the man who never looks into a newspaper is better informed than he who reads them ----  Thomas Jefferson - 1805

NOTES:

Ma'a sala'ama ( مع السلامة ) means good-bye in Arabic - it literally means '(go) in peace.'

*Rachel Maddow was born, coincidentally, on April 1, 1973 (APRIL FOOLS' DAY) quite appropriately in Castro Valley, California, USA, and is often listed as an "actress."

WIKIPEDIA STATES:

"Al Jazeera America (AJAM) was an American basic cable and satellite news television channel owned by the Al Jazeera Media Network. The channel was launched on August 20, 2013 to compete with CNN, HLN, MSNBC, Fox News, and in certain markets, RT America. The channel was Al Jazeera's second entry into the U.S. television market, after the launch of beIN Sport in 2012. The channel, which had persistently low ratings, announced in January 2016 that it would close on April 12, 2016, citing the 'economic landscape.'"

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al_Jazeera_America

This Blog article was published 17 September, 2018 Houston

HOMEWORK! Why All That Stress?

HOMEWORK! Why All That Stress?
                                                            KENNETH E. HALL         SEPTEMBER 12, 2012            HOUSTON    



Student: Mrs. X, do you think that someone should be punished for something they didn't do?

Teacher: "I should say NOT!"

Student: "WHEW! I'm glad you feel that way, 'cause I didn't do my homework!"

                                                                                   -------OLD GRAMMAR SCHOOL JOKE

Today is Tuesday; we're just coming off of a long holiday weekend. Mom, Dad and the kids are tired and sunburnt, but today, as I mentioned, is Tuesday, and it's a school day.
At the breakfast table, Johnny just pipes up that he has a "project" due (SURPRISE!) TODAY and, (more surprises) it's a major part of his grade! 

What teacher gives an assignment over a holiday weekend, when families are likely to have people over, or go to the beach, or camping trips, etc.?? Now, at 7:55 a.m. Johnny has to re-connect to the WiFi, and put that EXTRA-LONG password on. If that wasn't hard enough, the the time-consuming, complicated process of him logging on to his site began, using up what little time he had. He's aggravated, stressed, and unhappy, and that's the way he begins his day. He also upsets the household with all the scurrying around and worrying that went into this assignment. 

8:35 a.m. - Johnny finally finished his work, which was neither instructional nor helpful in his overall goal of becoming a better person. It was an inane assignment carefully engineered and timed to cause the schoolkids to miss an assignment, much as a "speed-trap" always comes with a traffic cop with a radar gun laying in wait for some hapless motorist to not see the tiny speed-limit sign carefully placed in an obscure location. 

Mommy took him to school late because of the foolishness of the assignment, and Johnny probably got a "tardy" for today. Ant this is how he begins the school day.

So much stress! And what did all that accomplish?

It's not like I never forgot to do my homework, or anything like that! Quite the contrary! In my day, the grammar school I attended actually would've given me a PADDLING for not handing in an assignment on time, complete, and well-written to boot!

Homework is an anathema to so very many schoolchildren.


Where I went to grammar school, homework was often assigned as a punishwork. That doing homework is closely linked with punishment, this is a clear indication that it is a CHORE and is something that is profoundly disliked. If it is so undesirable, why foist homework assignments upon children in the first place?


I have a son who hated homework so much he took the lower grade instead of doing it. No matter how much we badgered, cajoled, requested, threatened etc, he still did little of it - if ANY, and he was just that adamant that he almost NEVER did it.

Was all that fussing and harassment of this boy to do homework really conducive to a happy home life? Did NOT doing all those assignments effect IN ANY WAY his ability to learn?
Was all of the negativity WORTH IT?

In researching this theme, I have discovered that teachers have been bamboozled by school administrators and child psychiatrists into believing that homework is beneficial to the student.


Teachers claim that assigning homework somehow prepares the student for the next day's class. How? By antagonizing them until they cannot SEE straight? Stressing them so they have problem eating? Upsetting the whole household because of the school-induced chaos? -----  That seems a bit counterproductive. 

Teachers claim that assigning homework teaches responsibility! How? By causing unhappiness and stress that can only be alleviated by doing what the teacher said - and only for that reason? That is not teaching responsibility - that is teaching BLIND OBEDIENCE!

Teachers claim that assigning homework teaches working independently. This is like saying rain irrigates the plants naturally, so why water the garden? In the case of a larger research project, this sort of thing is perfect for outside assignments; but most homework is not an occasional project or a book chapter to read. It is a continual daily harassment of the student!

Teachers claim that assigning homework reinforces the skills students learn in their classes. This one is true, to an extent, but what little benefit that comes from a cursory review at home is lost in the anguish and unhappiness that the actual assignment causes.

Homework is stress-inducing, NOT GOAL ACHIEVING! 

WHY STUDENTS REALLY HAVE HOMEWORK:

Teachers work hard. Most of them sincerely do want to give their students a better start and a good education. This is true even of incompetent teachers. There might just not be time enough in a busy class period to complete a particular module - so the burden is, of necessity, shifted off of the teacher and onto the student - who needs to do the required work at home, rather than in the place built specifically for that purpose.

This is inevitable, but why is it inevitably HABITUAL? Can this really be that a teacher NEVER has enough time during class to get the point across? So every day, some coda is tagged onto each subject, costing the student some 12-40 minutes per day, per subject to do that which should have already been completed at school.

Sounds a bit far-fetched, right? So rather than bashing the already beleaguered instructors, perhaps there is another reason why homework is part of the schoolchild's daily routine.

Homework is assigned to fill a square, not to promote or inspire learning. School administrations thrive off of the ego gratification produced by an inordinate amount of scurrying around on their behalf. It makes them feel more important - and it is tangible "proof" to the Public-at-Large that the Administration is doing its duty, and doing it well. Just keep the paychecks coming. Assigning students quite a bit of homework means that poor academic performance is strictly the fault of the student. The child gets poor grades, and gets blamed for them as well. Little blame is left to pass around to the teachers, and most especially NONE is left for the school administration. 

THE SCHOOL ADMINISTRATION IS NEVER TO BLAME! 

Let us examine the MECHANICS of Homework: HASTE MAKES WASTE!
If something is done grudgingly and/or quickly, or at the last minute, it will usually be done poorly, and quite possibly incompletely. IF IN FACT the true motive of the assignment is that of actual LEARNING, the best that can be hoped from such a coerced task is "MINIMUM REQUIRED" - hence the end result of the assignment is INEFFECTIVE at best, and stressful and punitive at worst.

CONCLUSION: 

*HOMEWORK IS COUNTERPRODUCTIVE! Most homework assignments are simply silly busywork assignments, intended to encroach upon the precious family time the student may have, and is done mostly for administrative gratification - not as a learning tool. 



*This article is not intended to relieve the student of ANY responsibility when it comes to shoolwork! Teaching responsibility is one of the FIRST things a learning institution should impart upon its charges. 

If a parent likes homework because it keeps the children busy and out of their hair, perhaps there is a different problem that also needs to be addressed. 

Unfortunately, quite often parents, teachers, and school administrators forget that children are adults UNDER CONSTRUCTION, that they are not endowed at birth with intuitive knowledge of how things work. The overall school experience should be one of pleasant and positive ENCOURAGEMENT to allow the student to learn to the best of his or her ability, and not as draconian dens of negativity, teaching them to "fill squares" rather than to actually LEARN!

Cuando Salí de Cuba

Cuando Salí de Cuba - A Song of Exile
                                                             KENNETH E. HALL        SEPTEMBER 11, 2018     HOUSTON

From the Sandpipers album "Softly as I Leave You":

"It's the dream of every man to go back to the land where he was born;
And that's how it is with me.  
Every night I say a silent prayer for the day when I can go home again—
To feel the warm, morning sun, 
And to walk where I used to run. 
Many things can keep a man and his homeland apart,
But the years and the miles can't change what is in a man's heart, 
And someday, somehow, I will go back to the land I love."


It was October 26, 1967, and I had just turned 16. I was living in New Orleans and was just beginning to explore the wide world of music that exists outside of the USA. To be sure, the first examples of "foreign" music would arrive to my ears in a watered-down and quite Americanized form, but that did not prevent the essence of that music from touching me, peaking my interest, and causing me to reach out further and further - always seeking more and different sounds. 

The later Sixties was an era of many and varied forms of music, and it was all happening at the same time. There was rock, folk-rock, country, EZ-listening, pop, soul, blues, jazz, and other forms that sometimes are hard to categorize. Why must we always put music into categories, anyway??

In the "pop" genre, I guess, there came a group called The Sandpipers. They covered hit songs, but toned them down to soft, mellow harmony with orchestral backup. My grandmother liked this group very much, and saw that I did, too, so she began giving me Sandpiper albums for Christmases and birthdays. Little did she know the effect this would have on me.

The Sandpipers in a way mirrored the all-to-brief "open-minded" period of the mid- to late Sixties, a time before the all-powerful juggernaut of ROCK slammed all doors of musical diversity shut and riveted and welded them closed - perhaps forever. 

The Sandpipers not only sang American songs, they also performed "foreign" ones, and actually sang them in "foreign" languages!! This practice was a continuation of international hits made by folk groups. It later became taboo as xenophobic Americans retreated inward into a concrete ROCK bunker!!!

As I mentioned, for my birthday in 1967 I got one of the Sandpipers record albums, "Softly as I Leave you". The first cut featured an exile's lamentation for his lost land.  I listened to the strange song, written about Cuba by an Argentine and backed up by what sounds suspiciously like the *Tijuana Brass Band! It was about as Cuban as "I Love Lucy" - so I have some 'splainin' to do: although the author was not Cuban and the overall sound was Cali-Mexican, the MESSAGE was what was important, and the words were paraphrased into English so that that it would reach the ears of English speakers.

This was during a time of the great exodus from Cuba: From 1960 to 1979, hundreds of thousands of Cubans left the island, and most thought it would be a temporary departure. As their stay dragged on and the years went by, it was clear to most that the Cuban influx would be something more permanent than simple "exile." This song sings about the Cuban HEART - that which was in them before they left, and about that same heart which remains buried in the palm-lined beaches of Cuba. They may have reached a foreign shore for refuge, but the love they had for their native land will go on no matter what - only from afar.

It is for this reason that this song became a big hit within the Cuban Exile community in 1967-1968. though not necessarily by the Sandpipers.

There is a saying which I often quote: "What's bred in the bone, you cannot knock out of the flesh." What you once were is what you are and what you WILL be - regardless of your circumstances, and you should admit to that fact and accept it. Cuando Salí de Cuba contains the essence of this saying.

I listened to this song so many times it is a wonder I did not wear out the record!! But I thought: If there are people who feel like this, they must be deeply patriotic. I wanted to get to know them, their music, and their culture better, so I set off to the local record shops in search of the true Cuban sound - and found it and more - so much more!

Over the years I began to understand the Cuban Exile experience - to see things through their eyes, as it were. I listened to their stories and songs, and realized that when a person leaves his or her native land, so much comes, but so much is left behind. Cuba is only 90 miles from the U.S., but it might as well be on the other side of the world, if those born there cannot return to it. 

Many years later, I found myself living in Houston - far away from my native New Orleans. It was not too far away - only 300 miles - and I could go home to visit. Then Hurricane Katrina hit, and flooded and destroyed so much of what I loved about that city, that what I remember as a youth is hardly recognizable. I realize that now I, too, am an exile in time and place, and know what it is like to live far away from a place I can never ever really call home again - but I do call home in my heart. 

 Here are the words in Spanish: 

Nunca podré morirme 
Mi corazón no lo tengo aquí 
Alguién me está esperando 
Me está aguardando que vuelva aquí

Cuando salí de Cuba
Dejé mi vida dejé mi amor 
Cuando salí de Cuba
Dejé enterrado mi corazón

Late y sigue latiendo 
Porque la tierra vida le da 
Pero llegará un día 
En que mi mano te alcanzará

Cuando salí de Cuba
Dejé mi vida dejé mi amor 
Cuando salí de Cuba
Dejé enterrado mi corazón

Una triste tormenta 
Te está azotando sin descansar 
Pero el sol de tus hijos 
Pronto la calma te hará alcanzar

Cuando salí de Cuba
Dejé mi vida dejé mi amor 
Cuando salí de Cuba

Dejé enterrado mi corazón.

Songwriters: Luís Aguilé (Luis María Aguilera Picca)

Cuando Sali De Cuba lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell 

English translation of the words:

I will never be able to die
My heart, I do not have it here
Over yonder it is waiting for me
It is awaiting until my return;

When I left Cuba,
I left my life, I left my love;
When I left Cuba,
I left my heart buried 

It beats, and is still beating,
Because the earth gives it life,
But one day will come
In which my hand will finally reach you;

A sad storm
It is lashing you without respite
But your children's sun
Soon the calmness will make you reach

When I left Cuba,
I left my life, I left my love;
When I left Cuba,
I left my heart buried 

---------------------
*Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass Band was a popular Cali-Mexican pop group that had a great following during approximately the same time as the Sandpipers did. The two groups also released albums on the same label, A&M Records, so the possibility is great that it was indeed an uncredited Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass Band that backed up the Sandpipers on "Cuando Salí de Cuba."


♪♫ Cuando Salí de Cuba - sung by the Sandpipers:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2EOo-jxF2Q

Above Us Only Sky

Above Us Only Sky

                                                         SEPTEMBER 11, 2018                      KENNETH E. HALL                 HOUSTON

It all started out as just another ordinary day. I really remember nothing special about it that would cause it to stand out in any way in my memory.

My hotel room phone rang at the appointed time, and I was already up and getting ready for my flight back to Houston. Our crew bus came to pick us as usual, and we had an ordinary drive up to Charles de Gaulle Airport, where our plane was on time and pretty near full.

Boarding went well - again, nothing out of the ordinary. There was a nice lady in Business First who was a bit chatty, and after all the rush of boarding had died down, we talked a while.

We were running a bit late... that was nothing strange, especially for Paris. There was always one late-arriving passenger or two, one last load of freight or baggage for the cargo hold, some paperwork the pilots had to complete - the usual. But the delay lasted quite a bit longer than the usual ten minutes. We were told it was some sort of "security" hold.

One French gentleman in Business First was a bit jovial about it all: "What happened? Did the Captain order out for pizza?"

Of course, me, being my usual jokester self, I answered him in the same jovial vein: "Yes! Would you like some, too?"

Now, French people ordinarily have a good sense of humor. They love a good blague or gag, and they are usually a pleasant lot, but there's always one or two who eat gunpowder for breakfast, or have the sense of humor of a pre-cooked escargot. The man next to my pizza-lover snapped at me: "You know, SOME of us might just have connections to make!"

That snide remark was un-called-for, so I did not grace it with a response. I just walked away without showing a reaction.

The security delay over, we took off and headed east towards Houston - - - or so we thought.

We finished up the first meal and beverage service and had just finished picking up. My next task was to report to our International Service Manager and we would do our in-flight Duty-Free service.  I was just about to do that when a gentleman from Mexico asked me in Spanish about our our new Estimated Time of Arrival (ETA) in Houston. He had a flight to Mexico City to connect with.

I replied that I did not know, and that I did not hear the new time - and that was strange. I bid him wait a minute while I call the flight deck and ask, which I did. Our First Officer answered and after I asked him about our arrival, he said, in a lowered, subdued voice: "Ken, I think you'd better come up to the cockpit. There's something going on."

I hung up the phone, a bit perplexed, and told the gentleman that they were still working on it and that I'd get back with him in a little while. My next task was to see what in the world the First Officer was talking about. Then I'd do Duty Free, and then have a bite to eat. That was my plan.

It was the last routine thing I did for some time to come.

I gained access to the flight deck and Steve tells me to have a seat: "Kenny, you aren't going to believe what's happening!" He explained: "There's been an airplane crash over New York City. We're getting the news from a radio station in Dublin. Seems the plane hit the World Trade Center!"

"Naww," I told him, "That just doesn't happen... What was it, anyway, a Cessna?"

"They don't know what sort of a plane it was - just that it hit the building..."

"Crap!" I exclaimed, thinking about all those people sitting in traffic in the streets below getting pelted with airplane debris and glass from the building. "Somebody's liable to get killed!'

I asked them to let me know what develops, and that I'd be back just after doing Duty Free Sales.

I did my duty and checked on my crewmembers in the back. I told them something funny was going on in New York City -- that there had been some sort of a plane crash, and that I'd be in the cockpit for awhile so I could figure out what was happening."

They looked at me sort of annoyed. Why annoyed? I had no idea at the time, but I left.

I returned to the flight deck, and closed the doors. There was more bad news: ANOTHER PLANE had crashed, so at first the speculation was that it was a midair collision. Imagine: a MIDAIR COLLISION over New York City!!!   Oh my God!

Reports now were coming in fast and furious - about both towers getting hit by TWO SEPARATE AIRPLANES, and that they were LARGE, COMMERCIAL airliners --- FULL OF PEOPLE!! And it was getting worse: Airplanes -  plural - were being hijacked - one out of Pittsburgh, one our of Philadelphia another they thought out of Boston.... There was a rumor of some Senators being kidnapped - another airliner was thought to have crashed somewhere else.

Then the Pentagon gets hit!!!  The friggin PENTAGON gets hit!!! Next thing I hear is that the President is heading to the bunker!

We knew then that we were at war.

Our Captain hadn't said much up to now, but it was clear he was very concerned. All became quiet in the cockpit, and the lights were dimmed to low. The Captain was trying to raise someone on the radio, and was frustrated because of a lack of response.

This next few minutes I will never forget:  The Captain was trying to call Houston Operations, and up till now was getting no response. He got one now.

He slowly lowered his headset and said: "Get this: They've just CLOSED NORTH AMERICAN AIRSPACE............NOW where do we go??"

The HAIR stood up on the back of my neck. Here we were, in a plane; flying 35,000' above the mid-Atlantic - and we had NO PLACE TO GO!!

I looked out of the cockpit window and got another sight to behold: We were not alone! There were four other large commercial passenger planes flying alongside of us ... in échelon!!! We were a part of a flight of five full-sized airliners, flying in military formation! This was something none of us had ever seen before, and more than likely would never see again.

The next few minutes were spent calculating fuel, and awaiting instructions as to where we should, would, or COULD land. There was talk of Gander, Newfoundland, Goose Bay, Labrador and the like, but I told the captain that those small towns were not equipped to handle large airliners full of people such as ours. If we had enough fuel, Paris would be the best location to land. The Captain agreed and requested we return to Paris.

I looked out to my right at the échelon formation to see the airliners peel off one-by-one, likewise returning to European cities to land. Now came the sad duty to inform the passengers about the disaster that was befalling our country. With all of our scurrying around, they KNEW something was sadly amiss.

I emerged from the flight deck to find some of my coworkers beginning to congregate just outside the cockpit door. The International Service Manager called a meeting, and decided to put the aircraft on lockdown. We would pass with soft drinks and coffee only - no liquor would be distributed. We would then position ourselves strategically so as to avoid commandeering of the aircraft by any potential hijackers that may be on board. Before heading into our tasks, we all stood in silent prayer together. Among the group was a Muslim, a Jew, and an Atheist - all three becoming my friends forever.

Back to work: I had my eye on a group of six Russian-speaking Chechens who were sitting in Business First. They were extremely excited and nervous since we took off, but there was nothing alarming in their demeanor to get me worried.

The nice lady with whom I spoke earlier stopped me and asked what was going on. I told her that I was not at liberty to say at the moment, but that we'd be making an announcement soon. She was very upset. She told me that her daughter, also on the flight, and with whom I had spoken during the service, was recently engaged to be married. Her fiancé worked on the 100th floor of the World Trade Center.  She wanted to know what happened to the WTC - she had heard that there had been some sort of accident.  I took her aside and tried as gently as I knew how, to inform her that "there was no more World Trade Center." She thanked me and then she went into the restroom for awhile.

The nasty French businessman looked at me as if I was the cause of all this, je ne sais quoi, so I stopped and told him, quite matter-of-factly: "Sir, you are going to miss your connection," and walked off without a further word.

Then came the announcement as to what happened and that we were returning to Paris. Immediately there was a minor riot in Business First as the previously-mentioned Chechen gentlemen were talking very loudly and gesturing wildly. They were most upset. One explained to me that they had no visas for France. I assured them that this was an irregular situation and that because of International Law, there would be no visa problems for them under these circumstances.

Other than that brief outburst, I have never seen a more quiet, subdued full flight in my 22 years of flying. Not a call-bell went off, and nobody made any requests for anything. I made special briefings to certain passengers who only spoke Spanish and Italian of our situation, not forgetting the gentleman from Mexico City.

We landed in the late evening back at Paris - Charles de Gaulle Airport. I opened the cabin door and there were French police there to meet the flight. They asked me where we were coming from. I replied seriously: "De ce qui reste des États-Unis." - from what is LEFT of the United States. I got the strongest look of sympathy I have ever seen on the face of another human being.

"Do not worry, monsieur," the police officer assured me in French, "You will be well-treated by us!"

We said our goodbyes to the passengers - and were escorted by several heavily-armed French police. I knew all of our bus drivers from having made so many trips back and forth to Paris, but tonight we had a new one, and he was highly agitated, jumping up and down in his seat like a kangaroo! He kept saying over and over: "Mais avez-vous vu les reportages?" Have you seen the news reports? I kept trying to explain that we have seen nothing, since we were in the air. I asked him to please put on the radio so I could hear the news, and he did so.

I was straining to hear over the engine noise and all the jibber-jabber in the bus from the crew,  and I was concentrating so hard on listening g to the reports that I forgot it was in French. Everyone was asking me to translate what they were saying. We were all a bundle of nerves!

We were taken to a hotel in a different part of Paris - certainly not the one we were accustomed to staying. We pulled in front of the door of a multi-story modern structure. Standing in the front at the curb awaiting our arrival was the hotel manager, some assistant managers, and the head of hotel security. They assured us that we were safe and would be well-treated.

All I wanted to do was to get to my room, turn the TV on, and especially call home to tell my wife I was OK.  I made it to my room, but learned that both the TV and the phone were broken!!! How frustrating that was!!! That was a first for all my travelling that such a thing happened. The technician arrived quickly, though, and got both apparatus up and running.

The TV turned on and the very first image I saw was that of a person falling down from a burning WTC building. Something sort of snapped inside me - this was wrong - this can't be happening - this isn't true! It can't be. It wasn't real.  I changed the channel - the same horrible images came on the screen - only the languages changed - from English to French - to German - to Arabic - to Italian - and back to French.

I pulled myself away - I just had to call home!

I made attempt after attempt but it was no use - I could not complete my call. So I went to our crewroom upstairs. There were not just ours, but other air crews besides - and many people were crying or at least very upset. Some were drinking, others were talking and many wereglued to the TV set. Nobody was laughing or joking.

I couldn't take not being able to tell my wife I was OK. I returned to my room. With the TV droning in the background I made try after try after try - but to no avail. After nearly two hours of repeated efforts, I grabbed my wallet and went down to the front desk.

I was a mess - I was tired and upset and desperate. I went up to the desk clerk and pulled out $100.00 from my billfold and handed it to her. "This is for you if you can get a call through to my wife in the USA. "

She smiled at me sweetly and said: "sir, put away your money - I cannot help you - all the lines to America are down."

The rest of the evening and night was spent talking and commiserating with my coworkers. At about 3am I returned to my room to sleep - and there was a note under my door: "The company has notified your wife that you are safe."

I slept well after that.

The next couple of days were a blur - I ate very little and did not leave my room. I was very afraid that more things would happen - and they did. There was the Anthrax scare, Also, some guy attacked a Greyhound bus and slit the driver's throat and caused all the busses to cease operations.

I feared more major attacks by terrorists, or by local revolutionary groups, or by copycat cells, or just by crackpots - the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. But nothing more happened.

Some of my crew knocked on my door, and one guy, Jim, said: "Ken, if you don't come out willingly, we will go in and take you out BODILY!" This was the only time I left my room - and we went to a nice Chinese restaurant.

The streets of Paris were strangely deserted and quiet. It was an eerie feeling about the place.

After a couple of days, things calmed down to where we were allowed to take off. Our flight was so full we had people sitting in our crew rest areas, I went up to the cockpit to say hi to the guys, and noticed that the skies were completely EMPTY! Not another plane - not even a contrail crossed the sky. I asked the Captain had he heard any chatter - anyone on the radio at all - like, other panes, etc. He just shook his head NO.

My wife met me at the airport, and we just hugged each other for what seemed like a half-hour.
She told me that on the first day of the attacks, our daughter had been frantic at first because I had been on Flight 10, the number of one of the hijacked planes.

It was so good to be back home. On our way, I noticed the ordinarily annoying, antagonistic Houston traffic was subdued and mellow. Not a plane or helicopter flew overhead.

Just before we got to our exit, the last thing I remember seeing was a man standing atop the overpass waving a large American flag.

THAT meant home to me.

EPILOGUE:

The next day I had some trips to Mexico. People were antsy and one passenger even walked off a flight, causing us to evacuate the aircraft for fear he may have left a bomb or weapon on board.
My last flight to Monterrey, I bought a small U.S. flag and stuck the little flagpole in my lapel. It was not regulation - not part of my uniform - but I would not take it off. "Let them TAKE it!"  I told a coworker who told me I might get in trouble. (I didn't.)

As we were boarding in Monterrey, a well-dressed American who was boarding saw my flag, and asked if he could touch it. When I willingly agreed and he did, he began to sob. That was another moment I will never forget.

Almost everyone who was alive back then remember exactly where they were and what they were doing on that fateful day.... the day when there were no more planes flying overhead, and above us was only sky.

Le Moustique et Jayne Mansfield

Le Moustique et Jayne Mansfield
                                                                                      KENNETH E. HALL            8 JUILLET, 1999            HOUSTON



La ville de la Nouvelle-Orléans a été fondée au sein d’une plaine alluviale marécageuse qui, il ya des millions d’années, faisait partie des Grandes Everglades, les mêmes que les Everglades qui existent encore dans le sud de la Floride. La nature a fait son chemin depuis l'aube des temps. Mais l'homme, dans sa soi-disant sagesse, a cherché à changer cet arrangement. Ce faisant, il a souvent bouleversé l'équilibre délicat de l'écologie. Il tire des bénéfices à court terme de sa myopie et, à long terme, des conséquences terribles pourraient bien se produire pour l'humanité.

Depuis l'arrivée des humains dans cette partie de l'Amérique du Nord, il y a quelques dizaines de milliers d'années, la cohabitation de l'homme, de la plante et de l'animal a été relativement facile. Les premiers arrivants dans le "Nouveau Monde", les Amérindiens, semble-t-il, étaient plus en mesure de s'adapter à leur environnement, plutôt que de chercher à le changer pour leur convenir.

Avec l'arrivée des Européens à la fin du XVe siècle, des changements ont commencé à se produire pour accueillir les "nouveaux venus". Les forêts ont d'abord été abattues pour la construction de logements et la construction de wagons, et ont été brûlées pour faire place à des terres agricoles. Les broussailles et les prairies ont été débarrassées de toute trace de vie pour faire place à ses villes - comme nous l’a dit John Denver: «plus de gens, plus de cicatrices sur la terre». Les animaux étaient chassés, certains au bord de l'extinction, pas seulement pour la nourriture, mais parfois seulement pour leur fourrure; d'autres fois, ils ont été massacrés juste pour le sport.

Avec l'avènement de la révolution industrielle, les «moteurs de l'ingéniosité» dont il se vantait tellement, ont commencé à laisser un héritage de déchets, d'épuisement des combustibles fossiles, de pollution de l'eau et de l'air. Le ciel bleu et clair que nos ancêtres ont vu s’est transformé en une brume écoeurante. Les niveaux de CO2 ont atteint des sommets spectaculaires.

Des canaux ont été creusés pour la navigation et plus tard pour l'exploration pétrolière, laissant l'eau salée pénétrer dans les marais d'eau douce, tuant la végétation. Les marais étaient donc en danger. Les rivières étaient damées, créant des lacs où aucun lac n'avait été, alors que d'autres lacs étaient remplis pour créer davantage de terres. Même le puissant Mississippi a été confiné dans un système de digues, empêchant ainsi les inondations naturelles de déposer des aluvions fertiles sur la terre.


L'intrusion d'eau salée dans les marais a provoqué une érosion irréversible du sol dans le sud de la Louisiane. Cela, ajouté à la privation annuelle de gisements d’aluvium dans les rivières et à la subvention naturelle des sols sans remplacement naturel, a entraîné la submersion progressive des zones côtières basses de la Louisiane.

L'état de la Louisiane est en train de disparaître - et à un rythme rapide!

Et puis il y a le moustique. Cet insecte embêtant a été sur la planète beaucoup plus longtemps que l'homme lui-même. Les moustiques fossiles trouvés dans l'ambre remontent jusqu'à l'âge jurassique. Il a sa part dans la nature. --- Mais l'homme moderne ne pouvait pas supporter cette créature humble.

Peut-être ailleurs, cet insecte ailé est-il légèrement écarté, mais à la Nouvelle-Orléans, même jusqu'à nos jours, cette mouche sanglante est prise au sérieux. Quand mon grand-père était un garçon, il parlait des jours passés aux anciens. Les "bons vieux jours" étaient vieux, d'accord, mais ils n'étaient pas bons du tout. Au milieu des années 1800, la ville de Crescent a été visitée presque chaque année par "Bronze John" - la terreur des marais connue sous le nom de Fièvre jaune!

(Appelé "Bronze" à cause de la couleur de la peau quand on était atteint de la maladie presque toujours mortelle, et Jean a été utilisé parce que cela ressemblait au mot français jaune.)

Mon grand-père m'a raconté qu'un jour, alors qu'il était jeune, il a parlé à un ex-esclave, qui conduirait un chariot ouvert dans les rues de la ville pendant les épidémies, en criant: "Sortez vos morts!" Les gens apparaissaient devant leurs portes avec un ou parfois plus de corps, et après avoir chargé son chariot avec sa cargaison macabre, les gens disparaissaient rapidement dans leurs maisons. La plupart des corps se retrouveraient enterrés dans des fosses communes tapissées de chaux vive, sans pierres tombales ni marqueurs, et parfois seulement avec le minimum de sacrements.

Il y avait juste trop de morts à la fois!

Des centaines de personnes sont mortes horriblement sous les griffes de "Bronze John," les morts étaient un mystère. Finalement, le médecin cubain Finlay et le médecin américain Walter Reel ont découvert sa cause: c'était le MOUSTQUE qui portait cette maladie mortelle! Les moustiques Aedes Aegypti qui transportent la fièvre jaune vivent dans les marécages. Par conséquent, le moyen de se débarrasser de la maladie était de détruire l'habitat du moustique. Les marécages et les bayous ont été drainés et remplis, et d'autres ont été recouverts d'huile pour empêcher les larves de moustiques d'éclore.

Bientôt l'épidémie était terminée. Les taux de mortalité de la fièvre jaune ont rapidement chuté à zéro. L'homme, semble-t-il, a gagné cette bataille, mais a causé des dommages irréversibles à l'environnement, tuant des poissons, des oiseaux, etc. Heureusement pour les habitants de la ville de la Nouvelle-Orléans, aussi, disparu, pour ne plus jamais être vu à la Nouvelle-Orléans.

Cependant, une autre race de moustique, Aegis Egypti, apparut bientôt. D'autres types de moustiques provenant d'ailleurs ont également proliféré dans certaines des zones marécageuses restantes non habitées par les porteurs de la fièvre jaune.

En 1960, 100 ans après l'éradication de la fièvre jaune, les moustiques étaient encore abondants, surtout après les pluies printanières. Un total de 68 espèces sont connues pour habiter la Louisiane seule. Des produits tels que le 6-12 et le OFF étaient une aide, mais les campeurs comme les scouts devaient apporter une "barre anti-moustiques" en tôle pour leurs tentes. Il y avait aussi un répulsif de fumée qui était une bobine qui brûlait à une extrémité, de l'encens, appelé PIC. Pour les piqûres déjà reçues, il y avait l'ancien stand-by de la Nouvelle-Orléans: l'antiseptique du Dr Tichenor.

Je me souviens d'avoir roulé sur mon vélo dans notre quartier de la Nouvelle-Orléans et d'avoir été suivi par une COLONNE noire des choses horribles! Je ne suis pas le seul à être bouleversé par les essaims: les poissons et les oiseaux qui contrôlaient jadis ces insectes ont eux-mêmes été victimes de la solution finale de Man pour le moustique.

Le pendule a basculé dans l'autre sens, maintenant.

Au milieu des années soixante, cette peste épidémique a pris une telle ampleur qu’un groupe de travail sur les moustiques a été créé à la Nouvelle-Orléans pour combattre les créatures ailées. Une flotte de jeeps de l'armée était équipée d'un générateur de fumée modifié, la fumée étant mélangée à un insecticide. Ces véhicules se répartissent dans chaque quartier et chaque subdivision.

Je me souviens de la première fois que j'ai entendu ce bruit étrange de moteurs de voitures, je suis sorti pour enquêter et j'ai regardé pour voir un brouillard dense arriver vers moi. C'était impossible à voir et la respiration était difficile aussi. Et la substance sentait répugnant! C'était difficile de dire si les moustiques étaient pulvérisés - ou NOUS étions!

Ces instruments d’aggravation et de consternation sont devenus monnaie courante pendant les mois d’été de la seconde moitié des années soixante. Chaque fois que nous voyions ou entendions l'un de ces engins arriver, nous rentrions à l'intérieur et fermions toutes les portes et fenêtres. Personne ne leur a donné une seconde idée: les moustiques étaient sous contrôle. Nous étions heureux.

29 JUIN 1967

Il était tôt le matin - vers 3 heures du matin, selon des témoins. La voiture se trouvait sur l’autoroute US 90, venant de l’est à une vitesse élevée. Les choses se passaient si vite, ont-ils dit, que la voiture faisait des étincelles alors que son train d'atterrissage rebondissait sur la chaussée inégale de l'autoroute 90 en grattant.

Ce qui s'est passé ensuite a été enregistré dans le journal Times-Picayune du New Orleans et j'ai lu les gros titres du lendemain sur la mort de l'une des plus belles stars du cinéma, Jayne Mansfield, dans cette horrible épave!

Il est devenu évident que la vitesse était un facteur majeur dans l'accident. Le pilote de Miss Mansfield était très négligent en ne conduisant pas plus lentement. Cependant, l’enquête a par la suite conclu qu’un nébulisateur de moustiques, opérant durant ces petites heures du matin, non seulement contribuait, mais était la principale cause de l’accident.

En conséquence, les procédures d’embuage ont été modifiées par la suite, d’autres avertissements ont été publiés et, avec la construction de l’Interstate 10, l’ancienne autoroute américaine. 90 est devenu juste une autre bande d'asphalte et de béton utilisée par le trafic local.

Finalement, les avions survoleraient la ville, pulvérisant des produits chimiques plus récents et plus puissants. Nous contrôlions le moustique - mais à quel prix? Qui sait quels effets futurs ces pesticides pourraient avoir sur les insectes utiles, tels que les abeilles mellifères, ou sur les animaux, tels que les oiseaux, --- ou sur les humains?

 ________________________

Malgré tous les efforts de l'homme pour lutter contre le faible moustique, et malgré tout le mal que l'homme a causé à l'environnement et à lui-même pour éradiquer le ravageur, la dernière fois que je suis sorti pour vérifier le moustique, il était toujours là !

Un Matin sur la Plage d'Ibiza

Un Matin sur la Plage d'Ibiza

KENNETH E. HALL                   HOUSTON.            le 3 juin, 2018 / revisé le 10 juillet 2018

Je logeais dans un hôtel en bord de mer agréable et très bon marché à Talamanca, à Ibiza, dans les derniers jours de septembre 1973. J'avais 21 ans et je suis allé bien au Grand Tour d'Europe de 9 mois. À l'époque, cette île était un rêve de randonneur, et pouvait en effet être réalisée sur le fameux budget "Europe on $ 5 a Day", célèbre --- mais douteux.

La plage était magnifique! L'eau méditerranéenne était claire et douce, et il y avait des nuances de bleu qu'on ne pouvait pas imaginer. Que vous ayez nagé dans l'eau ou posé sur les sables immaculés ne faisant qu'un avec la mer et le rivage, cela importait peu. C'était une expérience sur laquelle les gens écrivaient de la poésie et des chansons. Je me suis occupé à absorber chaque vue, le son, le goût, la sensation et l'odeur.

Tôt le matin, je me suis aventuré hors de l'hôtel pour marcher seul là où la mer rencontre la terre, et seul le martèlement des vagues et un appel occasionnel d'oiseaux ont perturbé le silence du lever du jour. Après avoir marché de haut en bas, je suis rentré à l'hôtel via cette même plage.

À un moment, j'ai remarqué que les zones de sable et d’eau étaient recouvertes de bouteilles de vin cassées. Une bonne chose que j'ai remarquée à temps, ou j'aurais sûrement déchiqueté la plante de mes pieds nus sur eux.

J'ai été surpris de voir à quel point ces morceaux de verre et ces fonds de bouteilles de vin cassés posaient un risque pour le nageur occasionnel qui se hasardait. Je me tenais là au milieu de toute cette beauté naturelle, mais je n'osais pas en profiter de peur de me couper.


Cela m'a énervé de plus en plus, mais la colère s'est transformée en action. Je savais que quelque chose devait être fait, mais qui devrait le faire? La réponse est venue immédiatement: j'étais le seul autour. Si je ne faisais rien et continuais à marcher, j'ignorerais simplement ce que je pourrais changer.

J'ai commencé à rassembler les tessons et les morceaux de verre un par un et à les empiler sur la berme. Après environ une heure, j'ai accumulé une pile respectable. À ce stade, j'avais fait très peu de différence dans la quantité de verre qui rendait cette partie de la plage pratiquement inutilisable.

C'était déconcertant, c'est le moins qu'on puisse dire!

Mais ici et là, quelques turistas, comme moi, profitant de la journée, m'ont commenté sur ce que je faisais. Certains se moquaient de moi, disant que je perdais juste mon temps. Certains m'ont donné un coup de pouce, mais ont continué leur chemin sans lever le petit doigt. Une fille me rejoignit, puis un couple allemand plus âgé, puis quelques autres. Finalement, j'ai eu environ une douzaine d'aides venant de presque autant de pays.

La journée était aussi belle que n'importe quelle journée sur une plage méditerranéenne. Le temps semble aller au ralenti les jours comme ceux-là. Mais il restait tellement de verre. Je suis resté avec ma petite armée de volontaires, ramassant un morceau de verre à la fois. Au cours de mon séjour là-bas, certains sont partis, mais d'autres se sont aussi rapidement joints à nous.

Au coucher du soleil, j'avais faim et j'étais fatiguée - mais c'était une bonne fatigue. Mes compagnons de voyage, à cette époque, m'avaient offert un adieu en allemand, français, espagnol et danois - et je suis resté seul pour voir le soleil se coucher. Et quel magnifique coucher de soleil c'était !!! Cette section de la plage, horriblement et dangereusement jonchée, avait été nettoyée jusqu’à ce que les baigneurs et ceux qui aiment marcher pieds nus dans l’eau soient en sécurité.

Il y avait tellement de plages encombrées dans le monde, mais comme l'étoile de mer proverbiale qui a été rejetée dans la mer, ce que nous avons fait ce jour-là a fait une différence à cette plage alors.

Ne vous attendez pas à sauver le monde entier. Faites de votre mieux pour sauver ce que vous pouvez.

Regardez le prix du passage du traversier à cette époque!!  Il n'y avait que 9 pesetas - quelques centimes d'euros!

A Musical Voyage Back in Time

A Musical Voyage Back in Time

KENNETH E. HALL           SEPTEMBER 6, 2018             HOUSTON

The 5pm news came on, and lead with all the murder and mayhem and nasty stuff that had taken place that day. After a seemingly endless string of commercials, and the sports and weather, also interrupted by more than just "a word from our sponsors," the program had arrived at the basement of the newscast. Here were five final minutes of airtime to be filled with dancing bears, psychic cats, and other fluff and stuff.

It was a perfect time to get a snack or to go to the bathroom before the venerable anchor man Walter Cronkite would come on for his half-hour to tell the country "the way it was," for that particular day.

As I got up to get some water, I heard the unfamiliar sounds of a Cajun accordion! I was curious, so I came back and watched in fascination how a Cajun master craftsman in Eunice, La. actually made Cajun accordions.

 My new job at that time was that of salesman, and I covered the entire state of Louisiana, southern Mississippi, and the Alabama Gulf Coast. I had not really gotten to know "Cajun Country" and was eager to hear the anachronistic country dialect of French still spoken in its native environment. I decided I would visit the towns of Ville Platte, Mamou, and Eunice, for strictly business purposes, but in my off time, I thought I'd pay a visit to Savoy's Music Shop, where the magic accordions were made.

After a long day on the road at work, I made my final sales call on a small, antiquated lumber company in Eunice, La. By this time I had forgotten about the music shop and accordions, but I didn't have to rely on my memory: there it was, right on the highway,  just ahead!

I walked into the store and at the counter stood Marc Savoy, the owner. I recognized his face from the news show. He greeted me as I walked in, and I said: "Hi! I'm Kenny Hall!" 

Marc's eyes widened and a big grin came across his face, "Does your Dad play Bluegrass?"

I was flabbergasted by his unexpected question, and answered "Yes! Do you know him?"

He asked: "Does he play the mandolin?" 

I told him "yes, some, but mostly he plays steel guitar and especially the Dobro"

"Um - wait - " Mark stammered "Is your Dad blind?"

"BLIND?" I asked, even more surprised than ever, "No - although he might've gotten blind-DRUNK a time or two in his day..."

"Oh, sorry" Marc said apologetically - I thought you were the son of Kenny Hall the Bluegrass mandolin player. We both had a good laugh over that mixup, and I explained that I was just getting into Cajun music and had seen a piece the local TV station did on his accordion workshop I was curious and decided that when I'd be in the area that I'd stop in and say hi.

Now this should have been pretty much the end of the discussion, save for perhaps a small cursory glance at the workshop - if I was lucky - and I hadn't even expected that much. What came next was the biggest surprise of all: Marc said they were having a Cajun Jam Session that evening, and would I like to sit in?

I instantly agreed, but told him my guitar was in New Orleans. He looked at me straight in the eyes and said: "Kenny, I run a MUSIC store -  take your pick!" and he made a broad gesture showing off the long row of stringed instruments on display.

It was settled! I'd return in an hour after throwing my stuff into a nearby motel room and freshening up and changing.

When I returned, I instantly knew I was in good company: there was a crowd of some two dozen local folks who had come to hear the music, and a host of musicians were also filing in. There was. Marc on accordion - to nobody's surprise - and he was the only one in the place I knew. There were a few local musicians and to my surprise, two couples - one from Maine and the other from Washington State! I wondered what they were doing there, but I figured that they liked this kind of music just like I did.

Then in walked two very old gentlemen - most of the folks there seemed to know them well - we all sat down, tuned up, and then the soirée began.

I must confess something at this juncture: I am not a musician - not even an amateur. I am a very good listener, but my musical prowess was limited to rhythmical strumming of perhaps seven chords on a 6-string guitar. I had sat in on a Bluegrass jam session with my Dad, and would watch my fellow pickers for chord changes, and was able to play along without hitting any sour notes. Fortunately, most Cajun songs are limited because of the diatonic accordion that is an essential to this *"chank-a-chank" music.

We all faced the audience. The girls belonging to the two couples drew out fine fiddles and they took up seats next to each of the two old men, both of whom themselves produced fiddles that had been down the road a decade or two. Their boyfriends stuck to rhythm guitar like me, so I was covered if I messed up. One or two others sat in, and we got started.

Many of the songs we played I had never heard before, and it sounded quite different, too, almost a different type of music. I watched in awe as those venerable old gentlemen played Fiddle music that could have very well been born in some country villages of France two hundred hears ago. That was one wonder. The other was the two girls who were playing the fiddles: they were watching and playing alongside these two old men, carefully mimicking and learning from those old masters - measure-for-measure, note-for-note, they faithfully reproduced this wonderful music!!

So I think it is about time to introduce the two "old fiddlers": they were none other than the great musicians Dennis McGee and Wallace "Cheese" Read, two of the best-known fiddle players in Cajun music. Dennis McGee was born right there in Eunice in 1893, and the younger of the two, who went by the funny nickname "Cheese" was born in 1923 also in the Eunice area. There was no doubt that this was local music at its best. It was anything but modern - Dennis McGee, one of the earliest recorded Cajun musicians, learned to play the fiddle at the age of 14, from an old man. Like the two girls now learning from him, he practiced with his master until he had learned those old fiddle tunes. The tunes themselves were old when Dennis McGee's teacher was young. Doing the math, many of the songs I was listening to for the very first time were written and first performed in the late 1700's!!! 

Add to that the dialect of French that also dated back to that time, and the music transported the listener to that time period - and perhaps to an even earlier time still!!  There I was - in the unimaginable  and privileged position of actually sitting in a band and listening to these two revered fiddlers play French music from the 1700's!!! What wonderful sounds came from all of those instruments - playing the music of a culture that was soon to nearly die out.

What a great cultural experience - getting to immerse myself totally into Cajun culture - yes, of course there was some AWESOME FOOD!! And there was lots of French spoken, bien sûr! And the pleasure of seeing this wonderful but dying art form being passed on to younger folks who had a true love for it was something extra.

It was a wonderful night there in Eunice. I went back and sat in at another jam session, a few up years later, but this time, mercifully to all concerned, I played the 'tit fer - the iron triangle - that gives many Cajun songs a *"Chank-a-Chank" sound from the rhythm. Large triangles were originally made from the prongs of pitchforks, and in my opinion, are much more preferable than a set of drums clattering and cluttering up the accordion-fiddle-guitar arrangement. Traditional Cajun music was originally acoustic, of course, but in many present-day Cajun bands, fiddles and accordions are plugged in and electric basses added, so a drummer doesn't drown out the band, it actually works with it.

One day, perhaps a quarter century later, I caught up with Marc Savoy on a flight to Paris. I told him about the soirée and the musicians - at first he didn't remember, and that was to be expected - but then he remembered the blunder he made about thinking I was the son of a blind musician. I thanked him again for the invite, and told him how much that evening meant to me, and that I had begun collecting and listening to Cajun music. I was happy that someone like Marc Savoy was going to France to perform for people who were just as curious about their heritage as I was.

Every now and then I'll play one of those old recordings of that ancient fiddle music, and my thoughts will go off to the Cajun village of Eunice, where I made a musical trip back two hundred years in time, when young men and women danced to the tune of a master fiddler, and they had fun.

Mais, moi aussi, Chère!  But I did, too, Dear!

And the beat goes on!! Marc is still hosting his Jam Sessions, and loves every second of it:

http://youtu.be/U--9PGE5C6I

For information on Dennis McGee, please see:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dennis_McGee

For information on Wallace "Cheese" Read, please see:

https://www.allmusic.com/artist/wallace-cheese-read-mn0000813626

For information on Marc Savoy, please see:

https://www.arts.gov/honors/heritage/fellows/marc-savoy

The term "chank-a-chank" was once a derogatory term for Cajun music, but it has a more positive connotation Monday's thanks to Mulâte's Restaurant on Breaux Bridge, LA.:

https://www.upi.com/Archives/1988/10/02/Cajun-restaurant-grows-as-its-Chank-a-Chank-goes-corporate/6775591768000/