The Evenin' Shadders

They're dangerous and they're old. They come out of hiding late in the afternoon and they lurk on the spice aisle. They start out alone but once at the store, they travel in packs. They are the Sage Ladies and they don't take no for an answer. They arrive in their Sedan DeVilles or their Contentials. Their hair is a remarkable shade of blue not normally found in nature; it matches the attitude. And any man — absolutely any man — who is under the age of 50 is fair game. "Excuse me sonny," one ancient leader of the Sage Tribe asked. "Can you direct me to the spice aisle?" "Your standing on it," I replied. "Well aren't you a smart one," she snorted. I kept waiting for her to hop and broom and zoom out of site; she didn't. So, I began to push my cart east, toward Mecca and the produce aisle. "Well...?" she snorted again. "Pardon me?" "I asked you a question." "I'm sorry, I guess I didn't ...

It’s no secret the 1950s were a time of great economic revival and growth for the United States. The USA had won World War II. Hitler was dead; Germany and Japan were defeated. Our troops had come home. Babies were being born. Ike was president. On the surface, things looked great. But underneath all this starched, white prosperity, a fear grew. This fear festered and seeped until it infected the core of society. It was a fear which pushed neighbor against neighbor and friend against friend. It was a fear which forced family member against family member. It was a fear which started the Cold War. And while most people have a pretty good understanding of that era in history, fewer realize just how the fear of Communism spread, and what effects it had on society and freedoms. Enter David Everitt. A former magazine editor, Everitt — who writes on entertainment and media issues for The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, Biography and other publications — understands this fear better than...

Being a Watergate junkie, last Saturday's assignment was to die for. My boss, Andy, wanted me to cover the ACLU's annual Bill of Rights banquet in Oklahoma City. I was being asked to go becasue Daniel Ellsberg was the guest speaker. Okay, you remember who Daniel Ellsberg is, don't you? The Pentagon Papers? Watergate? Richard Nixon? I jumped at the chance. Karen, my wife, went with me. The bash was being held at the Clairon in Oklahoma City and dinner was included. Hey it doesn't get any better. We got their early for the interview—and for about 30 minutes I had Daniel Ellsberg all to my self. We sat in the lobby outside the room where the dinner would be and talked. I got to ask him several questions I'd always wanted to, then the weirdness started. Behind me, in another of the hotel's room, a group of people were dancing — and just as Ellsberg began to speak about Watergate the band started playing The Chicken Dance. Yeah, the Chicken Dance. So, my interview w...

Most people don’t remember him. He served as a United States Senator. He was from Oklahoma — a native son. He was born poor, but smart. He attended the University of Oklahoma and, eventually, earned a Law Degree. His name is Fred Harris. And he came damn close to being President of the United States. With the 2008 presidential election finished, former Senator Fred Harris’ memoir, Does People Do It? offers political junkies (who didn’t get enough of the recent presidential campaign) a chance to visit the past and discover a vivid, personal, and at times touching portrait one of Oklahoma’s most successful politicians. A child of the Great Depression, Harris grew up in Walters, Oklahoma. He hit the political scene early, running for and getting elected to the Oklahoma Legislature. From there, at 33, he went on the United States Senate, filling the seat formerly held by “the uncrowned king” Robert S. Kerr, who had died. Elected during the time of the Kennedys, Nixon and Watergate, Harris...

Jack and I used to work together. He's taller than me, bald and very smart. Every morning we'd hit the break room for coffee and some conversation — which usually lasted throughout the day. Often it was religious. Jack's very well read and if the they gave out PhDs in Theology for just a general, rock-solid knowledge of Christianity, Jack would have several. I miss him. Oh, it's not that anything is wrong. Jack and his family are fine. But I simply miss him. I miss the conversation, the lunches, and the friendship. I miss hearing about his family and what he was planning for the weekend. I miss a conversation between two men about something more than football. Funny thing, too, Jack and I work in the same town. He's my friend and, over the past several months I've let that friendship slide. And that's wrong. I need to call Jack. I need to tell him I miss him. I need to be a better friend.

Driving from north Oklahoma City to Norman daily, you begin to notice things. The guys on the road. New construction. New buildings. Stuff like that. But Thursday, Sept. 11, was different. The road was slick with rain and the sky, dull and gray. I drove alone, listening to Simon and Garfunkle. It was at the 23rd Street overpass, that my trip became more than just the daily trek to Norman. There, standing alone on the overpass was an elderly man. He looked, say, about 60. Jeans. Large checked shirt. Ball cap. He stood silently. In the rain. Holding a large American Flag. It was obvious that for him, this date had some importance. I reached over and turned off the radio — the silence of the car broken only by the slap of the windshield wipers against the glass. I slowed and, acknowledged him with a sort of salute-wave. He saw me and, in return, nodded his head. I'm still not sure how I felt, but I know the day somehow seemed better because of that brief exchange. Someone else had giv...

I was tired. It had been a long, long day. School. Work. Latin. More Latin. Homework. Then the, "Honey can you pick up the kids?" phone call. Thankfully, the parking lot of Incredible Pizza is big and they don't mind if you hang out in the fire lane (at least as long as you stay in your car). So I waited. And waited. And waited. The kids didn't want to leave. Karen went back inside for a meeting, and Zach wasn't happy. More waiting. Then, the storm. For some unknown reason, the youngest Carter — now sporting a bad attitude and three teeth — started crying. The cries quickly became a scream. A real, loud, destroy-your-hearing scream. Seriously, Zach was not happy — he went from screaming to crying and wailing, then he broke out the soul-wrenching, window shattering unhappy screams. Now I understand why some parents murder their children. Nothing I did, absolutely nothing, could make Zach happy. The screaming -- at several decibels higher than the average Van Halen ...