In my boyhood, I spent only limited time around horses. I did, however, have spurs.
You must have a little bit of age to remember the movie, a Thanksgiving season treat about nuclear annihilation.
In our locked-down boredom, Americans now risk an untold number of beanstalks reaching into the clouds.
Long ago, I worked for a fellow devoted to the writings of Ayn Rand. He did not take part in this fraternity by himself.
A monument to human grotesquerie stands in the eastern part of Missouri, about 300 miles to St. Joseph's east.
Booms roll across the night sky, the sound of freedom this time each year. Americans like the idea of blowing things up in a semi-controlled way.
In the first part of my life, I spent a lot of time in Kentucky. My parents had a cabin there on Kentucky Lake.
The American infantryman crossed the Ludendorff railroad bridge in darkness, crawling on his hands and knees, his gear dragged along on the chance, if he fell in the Rhine River below, that it would not pull him like an anchor to the bottom.
Missouri’s own Harry Truman, faced with the Founding Fathers’ insistence on three co-equal branches of government, discovered the system to be maddening at times.
The French have a saying, Pas de statue pour les vaincus! It means, “No granite for blockheads.”
In a less entertaining way, I consider advanced mathematics in the same manner as professional athletics … which is to say, I’m not capable of either.
The language of isolation continues to evolve. Americans had been exhorted a couple of months ago to practice discipline and help “flatten the curve.” We hear more often these days a more uplifting phrase, “when all this is over.”
One day late last week, I had the television tuned to a cable news show as a parade of public officials stepped to a microphone to lament the death of George Floyd and the unrest that ensued.
A lifetime ago, I interviewed a guy named Tom French. I noted his infectious optimism. The story I wrote also mentioned he had one of those super-sized bottles of aspirin on his desk.
Consuelo Velazquez wrote the song “Besame Mucho” before the age of 20. It would be her biggest hit.