Random Thoughts From a Frazzled Mind

By Tom Morrow
 By this time next week I should have a new web site up and 

running, complete with a blog page. I don't exactly know (at this time) 

how this will work, but when I notify you that my latest column is 

available, like in the past, I'll provide a link that will take you directly to my web site and the column. Again, I'm not sure this will work. Right 

now, all I understand is the "Black Box Theory." Old Navy vets will know what that means: "You plug it in and it works, or not." It isn't really necessary that I understand it, I just need 

to know which buttons to push.

IN THEIR COURT -- Elected officials, both Republicans and Democrats, 

better get off the dime in Congress and straighten out the budgetary and the debt ceiling 

debacle before the next deadlines hit us a few weeks from now. In case they haven't noticed, the next deadline comes within weeks of the 2014 Primary Elections. 

GET THINGS FIXED -- Maybe the leadership on both sides of the aisle of the Senate and the House should take some advice I heard from a couple of talking heads yesterday: 

"Appoint an all-female Super Committee." They said that "...men run for office to get 

elected; women run for office to fix things." Maybe it's time to listen to the ladies. Personally,though I'd hope it would be sans the three Witches of the West.

ENJOY THE READ -- While I'm in the business of selling books, there are some who've 

never read me before, so I'm going to run, chapter by chapter, a novella I wrote a year ago. 

It's a murder mystery set in Oceanside, featuring the two homicide detectives I've created for my first mystery novel, "Haunted Bones." That book now is available at my publisher's 

web site, www.inkwellproduction.com, or at Amazon.com

 Enjoy the first chapter of "Dark Angel" beginning this week:

Dark Angel

By Tom Morrow

Chapter

1

       The murder happened in Oceanside’s Mission
Valley on the city’s east side, baffling police. It certainly appeared to be the work of a sniper. Judging from this particular shot, it was accomplished by a skilled marksman.

          The twilight hour of the July afternoon was fast approaching as the sun was finding its way into the Pacific’s horizon.

        Police officers had cordoned off the entire front yard of an aging, middle-class bungalow.

          “Good riddance,” a woman’s voice was heard from a growing crowd.

          Detective Daniel “Danny” Saenz looked around, but couldn’t identify the source among the spectators.

          “I’m sorry, did someone say something?”

          “Yeah, I did,” a woman standing at the front admitted. “The son-of-a-bitch was a child molester!”

          Danny didn’t say anything, but turned back to the investigation at hand. He motioned to a nearby uniformed patrol officer to get the woman’s name and address. As he continued taking his own notes of the crime scene, Detective Saenz could see the woman was eager to comply. She had a sense of defiance about her and provided the requested information to the young officer.

          Murders occurred nearly every month in Oceanside, but it had been nearly a year since the last such sniper-style killing. Danny’s gut was telling him this was no ordinary murder. The killer was methodical, patient, and skilled at being a sniper. This was the work of a real artist of death.

          In his 10 years on the Oceanside Police Department, Danny Saenz had seen a lot of violence and killings, but nothing like this one. It was too precise – very pre-mediated.

          “Maybe that gal’s onto something if this guy was a child molester,” Patrol Sgt. Lynn McCallister said, walking up to the detective.

          “It just may be,” Danny replied, slipping his notebook into the inside breast pocket of his coat.

          There wasn’t much for the forensics team to do other than examine the body. The weapon and the sniper were a long way from this place. There was a small hole in the center of the victim’s forehead and not much left of the back of his skull.

          “Put a request in for the coroner to look especially careful to see if he can determine the trajectory of the bullet,” Danny directed the lead forensic specialist.

          “Right-Ohh,” the technician acknowledged.

          Danny determined the victim, Hans Schlicter, lived at the home in front of which he was found. A neighbor confirmed the man reportedly had been in prison for child molestation, but had been out for the past year. And, even though it appeared Schlicter had been living a quiet, model life, no one in the neighborhood would have anything to do with him.

          “Someone sure didn’t want him around,” Danny thought to himself.

          Back at the station the homicide detective, who had just celebrated his 33^rd birthday, began writing and filling in the blanks of a seemingly endless, but ubiquitous report, which accompanied any violent death. Even though there wasn’t much to go on or write about, a certain number of blanks had to be filled with verbiage. Given the choice, paperwork is one aspect of police work this homicide detective would eliminate, even if most of it was done on a computer. The detective bureau had a secretary to do those tasks.

          Detective Danny Saenz was a fifth-generation Mexican-American. His ancestors came to the United States in the mid-1800s as merchants, settling in Los Angeles

          Danny was a tall, slender man with a light olive complexion. While he spoke fluent Spanish learned from his grandparents, he could neither read nor write the language proficiently. His English was impeccable with not a hint of an accent.

          He had piercing green eyes, which set him apart from the average Latino man. While he was proud of his Mexican heritage, he was pure American – through and through.

          Danny thought to himself: “What else is there to say? The guy’s name, address, age, date. Person or persons unknown blew half his head off. Dead! End of story.”

          Danny recalled the sniper killing of last year was also a “head shot.” That victim was a known gang leader, drug dealer, and suspected of running guns from south of the border north to affiliated gangs in Los Angeles. The gun-running charge was dropped when he copped out to a drug charge.

          “In their own right, both were less-than-stellar citizens,” Danny grunted to his partner, Joe Stein, who joined him in the office while the report was being filled out.

          Stein was a likeable fellow. Always neatly dressed and wore a necktie each and every day. Danny and most of the other officers in the “dick’s” bureau wore sports jackets if it wasn’t too hot, but a necktie? Never, unless it was to a funeral or retirement party.

          Stein was the grandson of a German Holocaust survivor from World War II. He had heard the horror stories of how the Nazis forced Jewish citizens like his grandfather into the death camps. Joshua Stein survived only because he was a good diamond cutter. Nazi officers had a need for such talents after plundering nearly every nation in Europe. Stein maintained a quirky and dry sense of humor, which everyone secretly liked, but wouldn’t admit it to his face.

          “Is anyone gonna miss that clown?” Joe queried.

          “Hey, partner, no matter how much of an asshole a guy is, there’s always someone out there who loves ‘em.” Danny could feel his tongue touching the inside of his cheek. A sinister smile was forming.

          “Joe, you remember another sniper shooting we had sometime back – maybe a year or more ago?”

          Stein thought a minute.

          “Yeah, right. Didn’t O’Rourke work that case with you before he retired?”

          Shamus Alonzo O’Rourke is a retired homicide detective. He spent nearly 30 years with the OPD, half of them investigating murders. A Vietnam veteran, O’Rourke came to the department after serving eight years in the Marine Corps. While he was a detective, Shamus would never have been accused of being a slave to fashion. He bought most of his clothes at Walmart, and what he couldn’t find to fit him there, could be obtained for a small fee at Goodwill or Brother Benno’s.

Even though one murder is too many, this year Oceanside enjoyed a very low homicide rate for most years, this one being no different. There were more bicycles stolen than any other notable crime in the city. Middleburg and San Martinez, as well as Hidden Valley, nearly always surpassed Oceanside in violent crime statistics. The Mexican gang element was entrenched throughout the larger cities of SoCal and growing in the poorer sections of Oceanside where it was difficult to tell the players without a program – undocumented or legal residents.

Undocumented aliens seemed to have the edge of responsibility for crimes committed throughout Southern California. But, not too many years ago that wasn’t the case. Nearly all of the folks heading north from Mexico and points south were poor, but hard-working, honest farm workers who just wanted to make a good living. Most of them returned home as soon as they had saved enough money to live well in their homeland.

          In recent years, however, more and more of the criminal element from big Mexican cities were migrating Estados Unidos infiltrating large and medium-sized cities, organizing or taking over gang elements. Drugs were the big draw, and the gang ‘bangers were quick to seize upon that aspect. The Gringo thirst for illegal substances was the perfect reason for coming to Estados Unidos. While the vast majority of those undocumented people were here to do honest labor, a growing criminal element throughout Southern California was overshadowing them. Yet, the homicides were usually among the gangs and other criminal element who killed each other. However, those numbers now were down dramatically. The reason? The gang lords behind prison walls directed their young gang-’bangers on the free side of the wall to “cool it.” Too many murders were bad for business – the drug business, so the edict was passed by the mentors to their young followers.

          “Do you remember who the victim was on that murder last year?” Saenz asked of his partner.

          Joe sat down at his desk and skimmed through a computer file, searching the perp’s name.

          “You ain’t gonna believe this,” he said, staring at the computer screen. “That guy last year was an accused child molester. The charge was dropped when he copped out to the selling of drugs.”

          Shamus O’Rourke had been a training officer for Danny. Since retiring, Danny didn’t get to see his old partner as often as he’d like, but figured it was time to pay a visit.

         

Random Thoughts From a Frazzled Mind

By Tom Morrow

   AGE DISCRIMINATION? -- In my effort to sign up for a popular computer video calling program, my information kept being "rejected," saying that they "couldn't register" me. After a number of attempts I started looking closely at my stats. I knew my name was correct; my e-mail address was okay. I was pretty sure my sex was right, and I certainly knew my date-of-birth. So I started playing with my stats. Finally, I changed my year of birth from "1939" to "1959." Voila! It went through. I guess if you're 74, they figure you're to dotty to negotiate their video program. I realize that my mug probably won't come over on the receiving screen as handsome as I would if I were 20 years younger.

   LET IT SINK OR SWIM -- The Republicans are making a big mistake by being so stubborn over this mess in Washington. We all know they'll cave in the end. Meanwhile the voters are getting P.O.ed at them. I say leave the so-called "ObamaCare" alone and let it run it's course. If it works or fails, it was the Dems that shoved it through and the Supreme Court signed off on it. It's the law of the land. If it fails big time, which I believe it, it'll be the Dems who'll take the heat. As time draws closer to the 2014 Mid-Term elections, the GOP is likely to be remembered as "obstructionists" instead of "constructionists" -- to their determent.

   NEW MYSTERY NOVEL -- My latest novel, "Haunted Bones," has just been released and is available at Amazon.com and Inkwellproductions.com. The story is set in Oceanside where a series of mummified bodies are discovered in an old seaside resort hotel that is being torn down. Okay, so I stretched things a bit. There were two old seaside resorts built in the late 19th century and early 20th century, but both have been gone for many years. Still, it makes for an interesting murder mystery to be solved by two of Oceanside Police Department's homicide detectives.

   ADD BOOKS -- Speaking of books, you can find the works of more than 80 authors, yours truly included, online at www.inkwellproductions.com. If you go to that website, click on the "Affiliate" button at the top of the Home page and learn how anyone can earn money with no investment. If you're interested in the program and sign up, use my name as the "Referring Affiliate."

Until next time, stay tuned...



 

Random Thoughts From a Frazzled Mind

By Tom Morrow

  A Republican friend of mine recently sent a scathing e-mail to his Congressman, blasting the lack of compromise and progress in Washington, D.C. My friend pointed out: "You don't represent the Republican Party, rather you represent me, the taxpayer."

  TOO MUCH TOO SOON? -- There's a lot of positive goals for the so-called "ObamaCare" program, but it is obvious that proponents supporting the President were in such a hurry to get this into the law books careful planning to overcome unforeseen problems is sorely lacking. Whether we like it or not, ObamaCare is the law of the land. However, to what degree that law could or will be adjusted in the coming months or years can only be speculated. Better planning was needed two years ago for implementation. It should at least be put into force in small steps. This is obvious no matter which side of the issue you're on.

  DON'T HOLD YOUR BREATH -- With the 2014 elections a year away, I wouldn't worry about the government shutting down -- or if it does, it won't last very long. The Republicans are hoping to hold onto the House and pick-up those five or six needed Senate seats to control the Congress. Voters have a long memory, or at least one that probably will last until next November. It's fairly obvious that Republicans would be further ahead if they just quit being the problem and try to compromise some solutions. Some simple good public relations will be better remembered come election time.

  MY CRYSTAL BALL -- Anyone who doesn't think Hillary Clinton will run for President in 2016, is not paying attention. Given the almost certainty she will be the Dems flag-bearer, the GOP needs to come to grips that they don't have any real star among their male sector, but they have at least two female governors who could be very interesting and formidable candidates to head the ticket for both President and Veep. They are South Carolina's Gov. Nicci Haley and New Mexico's Gov. Susana Martinez. These two women would be attractive alternatives to Hillary for those who don't like her; those who think it's time for a woman in the White House, but not Hillary; and providing a candidate that will be attractive to the growing ethnic population. Governor Halley's parents immigrated from Punjab, India before her birth in South Carolina; Governor Martinez was born in El Paso to a middle-class Mexican-American family and worked her way through college.

   INTERESTING BOTTOM LINE -- Hilary and Susana both have law degrees; Nicci has a degree in accounting. Susana is a strong advocate of the 2nd Amendment because she carried a .357 magnum as she patrolled for an El Paso security company while working her way through college; Nicci was an executive as she helped grow a multi-million dollar family clothing firm. On the other hand, Hilary knows where all the light switches are in the White House.

   The next presidential election could be an interesting page in American history.

Stay tuned...
 
 

New Column Running in 'The Paper'

Historically Speaking: 

Oil: The Cause of War(s)

By Tom Morrow

   This is my first weekly column to be published in Editor Lyle Davis' The Paper weekly publication out of Escondido. Copies are available throughout North County.
   
   For years, I've noted that among our young people, there is a serious lack of knowledge or interest regarding our history and geography. Past events that most of us have witnessed and places we have visited seem to be boring and ancient information; exotic places seem to be mostly unknown. Finding cities and countries that would be routine to most of us often bring a glazed look or one of puzzlement among our younger generations. If such information isn't on Facebook or Twitter, it doesn't seem to be of much importance to the young.

   History is a window into our past. It's a subject that bores many people, no matter to what generation they belong. But, over the years I've learned that people who are bored with history are those who had boring history teachers. How in the world will anyone know where they're going if they don't know where we've been? Nearly everything in history often is repeated. The trick is to recognize it and, when possible, do something if change is called for.


  Oil is a good example of how one singular subject can cause so much upheaval and war. Oil -- it's a subject of controversy in today's world. It's one of the oldest of reasons for war: those who don't have it, want it, and will do anything to get it from those who have it. It ranks a close second behind religion as a cause of conflict between peoples and nations.

   In the late 1930s, Japan began invading its neighbors in search of natural resources that the rocky, volcanic island nation doesn't possess. There was a vital supply of oil coming from the United States, but when President Franklin Roosevelt realized the Japanese were spreading their tentacles of war throughout the western Pacific, China, French Indo-China, (now Vietnam), Dutch Indonesia, and dozens of South Pacific islands. Roosevelt cut off the oil, which ultimately resulted in Japan attacking the United States Naval Base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii on Dec. 7, 1941.


   On the other side of the world, World War II had already started. On Sept. 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Led by Adolf Hitler, Germany conquered most of western Europe. The Baltic nations of Romania and Bulgaria willing joined Hitler, who coveted their manpower , but more importantly the oil fields of Polesti, Romania. Germany, like Japan, had no oil fields of their own.


   As simplistic as it sounds, many of the reasons why World War II began could be reduced down to the need for oil. It's a discussion that has been debated for the past half century. And, it's a subject to be re-visit another time.

  Hot off the Press!  My latest novel, "Haunted Bones," has just been printed and will be available at all bookstores and Amazon.com within the next few weeks. This is a murder mystery set here in Oceanside. Now, I realize we never have any murders here in our little paradise by the sea, but for you mystery fans, I hope you'll enjoy it. I'll let you know when it's available.

How Did We Get From There To Here?

By Tom Morrow

  Most of you reading this probably had a relatively quiet and safe childhood. Those who grew up with a lot less in life than they have today appreciate where they are and how they got here.
  Back in "the good old days" when I was growing up in rural Iowa, my Sister and I really had no idea what our family financial situation was. If we needed new shoes, clothes, or money for school lunch, our parents made sure we had what we needed. Dad was a meat market proprietor; Mom was a housewife. Most moms in those days were housewives. Divorces were rare, and bankruptcy was even rarer. There was one man in our little town who didn't have many friends. I asked my Dad why that was, and he replied, "Well, he claimed bankruptcy a few years ago." Dad later said that bankruptcy was back in 1935 during the Great Depression. It was 1956 when I asked the question. But, I understood many of the towns folks' attitudes. The man always drove a new Cadillac, which might of had something to do with the town's attitude.

  The population of my hometown was around 1,500 if you counted all of the cats and dogs. Everyone knew everyone else. Few secrets were held. The fact many people were on telephone "party lines" might have been the source of much of the gossip. One day a friend of mine ran his car in the ditch about two miles east of town. By the time he got back on the road and into town, his Dad already knew it. There is something to the old adage, "It Takes A Village..." There was a number of small pranks I pulled when I was growing up, but somehow every one of them was soon discovered by my parents -- usually my Dad, who grew up in our town. There was a great number of older folks who remembered when my Dad was my age, so it was pretty hard to escape notice.

  Crime was something that happened in the big cities like Des Moines, Kansas City, or St. Louis. Burglaries, robberies, theft of any kind just didn't happen in Seymour, Iowa. The Wayne County Sheriff's office only had three or four deputies. None would hardly every come to town unless called in for a specific reason -- after all, it was a 14-mile drive from the County Seat. The area Iowa Highway patrolman breezed into town a couple of times a month, but that was just to visit and have a coke with our local car dealer. If there were any problems bordering on law breaking, it was handled by local businessmen, parents, and more likely, the school superintendent. He was a 6-2, 250-pound giant of a man and no one messed with him. He was well-liked by everyone. Most parents had the attitude that school teachers and officials could do no wrong. If you got in trouble at school, you had more trouble when you got home.

  Compare the 1940s and '50s with today. I still take the old hometown newspaper, and some of the reports are almost unbelievable. I would never guess that it was the same town. There's usually a crime report in each week's issue. Today, Seymour has less than 800 residents, but there's probably more crime in one month than there was all the years my Sister and I were growing up. This past year there was everything from murder to armed robbery, as well as quite a number of drug-related crimes.

  Now, I know what some of  you might be thinking. What's the big deal? Times have changed. Yes, but mostly not for the better. The difference, as I see it, boils down to one word: Respect. Probably all of you were taught about respect early in your lives. It's something that was earned or freely given. What we didn't learn at home, school, church, or scouts, many of us learned in the armed services. We were taught early in school the pledge to the flag and the importance of reciting it each day. We were taught about the flag, its importance, and the history of the nation. In school, we got a good grounding in state and national history, geography, and civics. Upon graduation from high school, we knew how our various levels of government worked, how we became a nation and the key players in it formation.

  We were taught respect that different people went to different churches. In our part of the state, we also were aware not everyone was a Republican. A few Democrats were tolerated, but respect was given and expected to all. At least 70 to 80 percent of the young men from our county served in the various services during World War II, and again during the Korean War. Respect to any man or woman in uniform was expected and freely given.

  A few years ago in one of his last interviews, Gen. Alexander Haig talked about his long military and government career. Regardless what you might have thought about him, he said one thing that I think can be traced to the beginning of the corrosion of respect throughout our nation. Haig was Richard Nixon's chief of staff and when Nixon was considering doing away with the draft, Haig pleaded with him not to do it. He maintained that spending at least two years of military service provided young men a good grounding of what our nation was all about -- how it worked, and why it was important to the nation and the world. In the interview, he pointed to the fact that hardly any of our elected leaders in Washington, D.C., had any military experience.

    As simplistic as this might seem, put respect back into our society and imagine how much better things would or could be changed. In Washington, alone, things would be better. Respect would be a precursor to compromise. Imagine what that would do to our everyday lives.

Stay tuned...


 

I Left My Heart In Nebraska

By Tom Morrow

  Let me say up front that I had an idyllic childhood in a small southern Iowa farming community. Our little town of Seymour was so close to Missouri (7 miles) that most folks on each side of the border called the area "Lapland," where the two states lapped over into each other. My small town education was among the best.

 I spent much of my teen years dreaming what it would be like living in the American West. The farthest I ever got until I graduated from high school was western Nebraska and eastern Wyoming. Those three family vacation trips were memorable. I have always been a history buff, so I knew about the great nations of Native Americans who called Nebraska home. The pioneers left their mark so vividly across the great plains of Nebraska. Landmarks such as Chimney Rock and Scott's Bluff were markers that told pioneers they were on course to Utah, Oregon and California. When I saw these great outcropping it was mesmerizing, even to a 14-year-old. After reading Buffalo Bill Cody's biography, I wanted to see his birth place near North Platte.

 During World War II, we lived in Lincoln, the state's capital. Dad was a foreman at the Havelock Goodyear Rubber plant where they made rubber gas tank bladders for B-29 Super Fortress bombers. Rubber? Yes. They were "self-sealing" when hit by enemy fire. To this day, I never miss an opportunity to go through or better yet, spend a day or two in Lincoln, one of America's most pleasant cities.

 On our first family vacation trip was in 1950. When we passed through Kearney, which is located almost exactly equal distance between the West and East coasts, we stopped at a souvenir shop along U.S. 30 along the edge of town. It was (as I remember it) a giant covered wagon with two big wooden oxen out front. Dad bought my sister and me cowboy hats, complete with vests. Today, my sister lives in Kearney, so we went out to the west end of town where the oxen and wagon still stand. It's being restored, but it's so very small compared to what I remember.

 If you're wondering about the spelling of "Kearney," for that city's residents, it's correct. The town is named after the same general, who spent time here in San Diego. Gen. Stephen Kearny was commanding officer at Fort Kearny located south of Kearney. Why that extra 'e' you ask? Back in the late 1880s, the postmaster applied for an official U.S. Post Office misspelling the general's name. And, in the great Midwestern twang, they pronounced it as "Kar-nee."

 On one of our trips, we went through the town of Broken Bow, which is about 50 or 60 miles north of Kearney. What a neat name for a town, but then again there are lots of neat town names in Nebraska: Broken Bow, Red Cloud, Scottsbluff, Grand Island, North Platte, Fremont -- the list goes on and on. Many of the towns in Nebraska are named for Native American, landmarks, or famous people that helped pioneer the state.
 
The be sure, Iowa certainly has a rich history, but when you're a kid who wants to be anywhere but where you are, any sort of adventure in the West is alluring. Even 63 years after that first summer vacation past Chimney Rock, I still get that feeling of great adventure when traveling across Nebraska. As strange as it might sound, there's a certain aroma in the air and a feel to surroundings when I'm in the state. Now, don't get me wrong -- living here in Oceanside of San Diego County is ideal. The temperature seldom changes 20 degrees either way, so those bitter cold Nebraska winters and hot, humid summers are enough to keep me where I am. Still, my memories and an occasional motor trip through Nebraska is enough to satisfy.

 My first novel, "Nebraska Doppelganger," has the hero a young teenager from Broken Bow. It's available at any Barnes & Noble or Amazon.com, as well as in e-book formats at both.

Stay tuned...

There's A Difference Between Guys 'n' Gals!

By Tom Morrow

  Not so many years ago I wrote the following as an explanation of how us guys are different from you gals.
  Because I'm a guy, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I watch TV. If the thing has been misplaced, I'll miss a whole show looking for it, though one time I was able to survive by holding a calculator. 
   When the car isn't running well, I will pop the hood and stare at the engine as if I know what I'm looking for. If another guy shows up, one of us will say to the other, 'I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and stuff, I wouldn't know where to start.' We will then drink beer and lament the good ol' days of basic Ford and Chevy engines. 
   Because I'm a guy, when I catch a cold I need someone to bring me soup and take care of me while I languish in bed and moan. You  never get as sick as I do, so for you this isn't an issue. 
    Because I'm a guy, I don't think we're all that lost, and no, I don't think we should stop and ask someone.  Why would you listen to a complete stranger--how the heck could he know where we're going? 
   Because I'm a guy, I think what you're wearing is fine. I thought what you were wearing five minutes ago was fine, too. Either pair of shoes looks fine. Your hair is fine. You look fine. Now, can we just go?"

  GROANER -- A movie producer was planning his next blockbuster -- an action docudrama about famous composers, so he set up a meeting with such noted icons as Sylvester Stallone, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Arnold Schwarzenegger, offering each a chance to select which famous musicians they'd like to portray. 
  "I've always admired Mozart," Stallone said.  "I'd love to play him." 
  "Chopin has always been my favorite," said Van Damme.  "That's the part for me." 
  The producer turned to Schwarzenegger. "And you, Arnold?  Who do you want to 
be?" 
  There was a long silence, then Arnold replied, "I'll be Bach."  

  FINAL WORDS -- In Ruidoso, N.M., you'll find this on a tombstone: "Here  
lies Johnny Yeast, 'Pardon me for not rising.'" 

  Stay tuned...