Titanic Red China virus.

Image result for Photos of the Titanic about to hit the iceberg

I thank our dear friend Stephen Marc Pribut, MD for alerting as to this follow note.

Additionally, all prose and photos that follow are the property of The New York Times and I give appropriate and all due credit to that paper for its good work today.

~~

Tip of the iceberg:

“In several hours on Tuesday, Dr. Ashley Bray performed chest compressions at Elmhurst Hospital Center on a woman in her 80s, a man in his 60s and a 38-year-old who reminded the doctor of her fiancé. All had tested positive for the coronavirus and had gone into cardiac arrest. All eventually died.

Elmhurst, a 545-bed public hospital in Queens, has begun transferring patients not suffering from coronavirus to other facilities as it moves toward becoming one dedicated entirely to the outbreak. Doctors and nurses have struggled to make do with a few dozen ventilators. Calls over a loudspeaker of “Team 700,” the code for when a patient is on the verge of death, come several times a shift. Some have died inside the emergency room while waiting for a bed.

A refrigerated truck has been stationed outside to hold the bodies of the dead. Over the past 24 hours, New York City’s public hospital system said in a statement, 13 people at Elmhurst had died.

Image result for Photos of the Titanic about to hit the iceberg

“It’s apocalyptic,” said Dr. Bray, 27, a general medicine resident at the hospital.

Across the city, which has become the epicenter of the coronavirus outbreak in the United States, hospitals are beginning to confront the kind of harrowing surge in cases that has overwhelmed health care systems in China, Italy and other countries. On Wednesday morning, New York City reported 16,788 confirmed cases and 199 deaths.”

Image result for Photos of the Titanic about to hit the iceberg

 Image may contain: one or more people

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
####################################################################
I wear the chain I forged in life.
 article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

      unnamed (1) blue hats 3

       10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

      550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
          clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.
          ~~
          Finis Origine Pendet…
          The escape commences…
          ~~
          September, 1957
          ~~
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
          ~~
          September, 1966
          ~~
          The Cathedral Latin School
          ~~
           Finis Origine Pendet
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~
          clip_image002MA9982782-0001
          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
          ~~
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
          ~~
          26th March, Thursday,  Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

          http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
          http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

          http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

          http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

          http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

          http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

          Tweets: @jtdbegg

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
          
          
          
          
          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

          11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

          “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

      Ne plus ultra

      be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

      10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

      11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

      Image may contain: 2 people, including Ellen Wolentarski Begg156587214Z

       

      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

There is no such thing as a Ruling Class In America, very much to my lamentation.

There is no such thing as a Ruling Class In America, very much to my lamentation:
50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
A Note to my brethren on the hard right wing.
 
President Trump Speaks To The Nation From White House Amid Coronavirus Pandemic : News Photo
 
There is no such thing as a ruling class in America and were there such a ruling class, Anthony Fauci is certainly not part of it.
 
House Oversight And Reform Committee Holds Hearing On Government's Preparedness And Response To Coronavirus : News Photo
Fauci is a scientist and a medical man. He is also a government employee which means that there is nothing even remotely ruling class about him.
US-HEALTH-VIRUS-TRUMP : News Photo
Fauci is likely a Democrat, from my reading of his life, but we do not need him as a politician.
Vice President Pence And Coronavirus Response Coordinator Debbie Birx Brief Press : News Photo
Fauci is a DOCTOR. Of the very first order of magnitude.
White House Coronavirus Task Force Holds Daily Briefing : News Photo
Lastly, if Fauci is a “stooge of the ruling class,” just who would you have stand in for Fauci as the medical man at the helm, daily with President Trump, imparting medical observations on The Red Chinese flu pandemic, to the American people?
President Trump Speaks To The Nation From White House Amid Coronavirus Pandemic : News Photo
WHO????
I asked you:
WHO????
House Holds Hearing On U.S. Response To Zika Virus Epidemic : News Photo
This commentary responds to notes left today from @POLITICO, whom I  thank and allow all requisite credit due:
~~~

CORONAVIRUS

Anthony Fauci becomes a fringe MAGA target

The cues from right-wing media, as split as they are, could influence how much Trump listens to his infectious disease expert in the coming weeks.

Anthony Fauci

To the vast majority of Republicans, the entire medical community and the country at large, Fauci is the government’s leading infectious disease expert, respected for providing Americans with consistent, factual information about the coronavirus pandemic — even if it means contradicting President Donald Trump while he hovers feet away.

But to a vocal minority of right-wing blogs and pro-Trump pundits, Fauci is the embodiment of the establishment forces that have been arrayed against the president since he came to Washington.

And those voices are getting louder amid rumblings about Fauci’s standing with Trump as the president itches to get the economy restarted in the coming weeks.

“A Deep-State Hillary Clinton-loving stooge,” read a Saturday headline on the American Thinker, a far-right website, latching on to a WikiLeaks-released email that showed Fauci praising Clinton for her Benghazi testimony as secretary of State.

“Guy was a Hillary mole,” pro-Trump podcaster Bill Mitchell tweeted on Monday.

“Disrespectful,” read a Monday headline on the right-wing Gateway Pundit, comparing Fauci to ousted general Stanley McChrystal.

The narrative has even started to migrate to Fox News, a key source of information for the president.

“He’ll still have a job at the end of this, whatever happens,” Fox News host Steve Hilton argued during his Sunday night monologue on “The Next Revolution.” “Our ruling class and their TV mouthpieces whipping up fear over this virus, they can afford an indefinite shutdown.”

Fauci’s portrayal in conservative media circles could play a crucial role in the coming days as the country comes to the end of a 15-day period of social distancing and business closures intended to slow the coronavirus outbreak. While public health officials like Fauci have cautioned that the country will likely have to extend that period, Trump and his team are signaling that they want to get people back to work soon, by mid-April if possible. The cues from right-wing media, as split as they are, could influence how much Trump listens to Fauci.

“He obviously has the backing of the president right now, but a lot of people on the right in the grass roots are extremely skeptical of this entire coronavirus thing,” said Lee Stranahan, the host of “Fault Lines” on Sputnik Radio, a Russian government-backed media outlet. The coronavirus has killed hundreds in the United States and almost 20,000 worldwide, according to researchers and government officials, overwhelming hospitals and straining global medical supplies. Cases and deaths are expected to keep rising in the coming days.

For the moment, Fauci — director of the National Institute Of Allergy and Infectious Diseases since 1984 — still has the respect of large swaths of Trump’s supporters, reflecting the unique fissures that have emerged in the MAGA movement during the coronavirus. Trump supporters who praise Fauci also tend to believe the president should employ swift, severe measures — and keep the economy shuttered — as long as necessary to keep coronavirus under control.

In past, non-pandemic times, the right would have likely unified in rallying against a government official publicly quibbling with the president. But this time, reliable Trump boosters like Breitbart and the majority of the Fox News stable are leaving him alone.

“I think he’s obviously excellent at his job, and I think he’s aware that he’s on that stage to offer detail and help finesse language, and he seems cool with it,” said Raheem Kassam, the former editor of Breitbart London and host of the podcast “War Room.”

Fauci’s criticism of palace intrigue reporting on his relationship with Trump has endeared even more to this crowd.

“Mainstream media and several journalists, especially as it pertains to the White House press corps, are purposely trying to get Fauci to contradict Trump for a juicy conflict in the middle of a pandemic,” said Stephen Miller, a conservative media columnist who contributes to The Spectator USA, the American division of the long-time conservative British outlet.

The New York Times published an article Monday suggesting the president was losing patience with Fauci’s willingness to oppose him in public and in interviews, even as the NIAID director has gone out of his way to praise Trump to more conservative outlets.

Miller noted Fauci had implicitly rebuked reporters for asking questions that Fauci said were “pitting one against the other,” calling it “just not helpful” in the middle of the pandemic.

Fauci, Miller said, “doesn’t appear to want to take the bait.”

Instead, it’s the right-wing fringe that has been going after Fauci, largely due to the fact that he tamps down Trump’s excitement over quick-fix solutions, such as the antimalarial drug hydroxychloroquine, his desire for stringent restrictions on gatherings and his publicly dire predictions about the potential death toll that are at odds with Trump’s more optimistic outlook.

These figures have been latched on to Fauci for weeks, even if their comments weren’t initially gaining much traction.

“The guy has been around for 50 years yet never thought to prepare for something like this?” griped John Cardillo, a pundit for the Trump-friendly Newsmax, in a March 13 tweet. “Every time he speaks he makes things worse. Maybe he is the problem, not the solution.”

“I think a lot of people at this point are looking for an explanation for the very confusing, unprecedented events going on in the world,” said Stranahan, who vehemently opposed attacking Fauci.

Trump on Tuesday tried to quell any rumors of dissatisfaction with Fauci, who was noticeably absent at Monday’s White House coronavirus briefing and a Tuesday afternoon virtual town hall on Fox News.

But then Fauci was there again, at the president’s side, Tuesday night during the latest coronavirus briefing. And Trump praised Fauci early in the day, calling his performance as “very good,” and even appearing to make light on Twitter of a much-shared meme showing Fauci facepalm as the president jokingly used the term “deep State Department.”

Regardless, Trump does have a history of sidelining administration officials who disagree with him, from former White House counsel Don McGahn to ex-Secretary of State Rex Tillerson.

In this case, however, much of the conservative world, including many Trump supporters, would prefer to keep Fauci in his role.

“What I would say to the president is that we’re all in this thing together and people have come to recognize Fauci alongside Trump as a solid team up there, so why change it?” Kassam argued.

That won’t stop the hardcore MAGA fanbase from going after Fauci. Hours before Trump praised Fauci on Tuesday, Mitchell, the Trump-friendly podcaster, tweeted a fresh Fauci-bashing article from the far-right site Big League Politics.

“Dr. Fauci Wants America to Become a Police State Like China in Order to Stop Coronavirus.”

~~

~~
I here cease to quote @POLITICO and thank them for their note to me today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
####################################################################
I wear the chain I forged in life.
 article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

      unnamed (1) blue hats 3

       10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

      550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
          clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.
          ~~
          Finis Origine Pendet…
          The escape commences…
          ~~
          September, 1957
          ~~
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
          ~~
          September, 1966
          ~~
          The Cathedral Latin School
          ~~
           Finis Origine Pendet
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~
          clip_image002MA9982782-0001
          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
          ~~
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
          ~~
          25th March Wednesday,  Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

          http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
          http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

          http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

          http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

          http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

          http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

          Tweets: @jtdbegg

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
          
          
          
          
          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

          11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

          “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

      Ne plus ultra

      be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

      10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

      11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

      Image may contain: 2 people, including Ellen Wolentarski Begg156587214Z

       

      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Red Chinese flu pandemic is the metier of medical men. 

Image may contain: 2 people, people standing, suit and indoor

Ike and Jonas Salk–the man who cured Polio.
@The New Yorker magazine

 

Setting the course for ending this Red Chinese flu pandemic business is, in the main, down to medical men.

As such, the men you mention, generals, politicians, industrialists,  are not the sorts we need on the pitcher’s mound here–a man such as Jonas Salk is the sort most needed.

A man such as Jonas Salk.  A man who conquered Polio:

Image result for jonas Salk in photos

President Trump has made a rash and reckless proposal today.

No alternative text description for this image

President Trump has made a rash and reckless proposal today.

It is terribly rash, reckless and irresponsible of President Trump to issue an arbitrary date~~~Holy Easter Sunday Morning~~~to “Open America back up again.”

Image result for Ladies vintage photos in Easter bonnets

This Red Chinese flu is getting worse in America, not better, and the end of it is a long way off.

We all wish this business would end tomorrow, but one cannot simply wave a wand in a medical pandemic and make it go away as it is inconvenient economically.

Wall Street Crash : News Photo

Leave medical problems where they belong:

With Medical Men

Anthony Fauci - Director of Nat'l Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases Discusses Global Health Threats

Image result for jonas Salk in photos

~~~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
####################################################################
I wear the chain I forged in life.
 article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

      unnamed (1) blue hats 3

       10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

      550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
           clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

           

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
          
          ~~
           
          Finis Origine Pendet…
           
           
          The escape commences…
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1957
           
          ~~
           
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
           
           
           
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
           
           
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
           
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1966
           
          ~~
           
          The Cathedral Latin School
           
          ~~
           
           
           
           
            Finis Origine Pendet
           
           
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

           

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

           

           

          clip_image002MA9982782-0001
          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
           
          ~~
           
           
           
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
           
           
           
          ~~
          24th March Tuesday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

           http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
          
           http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

          http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

          http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

          http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

          http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

          Tweets: @jtdbegg

           http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
          
          
          
          
          
          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
           
          
          
          
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

          11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America
           

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

           “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
           

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

      Ne plus ultra

      be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

      10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

      11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

      Image may contain: 2 people, including Ellen Wolentarski Begg156587214Z

       

      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Kenny Rodgers’ Second Edition

Image result for Kenny Rogers photos
All His chips are now counted
Image result for Kenny Rogers photos
The Gambler has gone and left the table
And home to Jesus.
Image result for Jesus in classical paintings
Kenny Rodger’s Second Edition
Image result for Kenny Rodgers first edition in pictures
Now Playing in Eden Garden
Image result for pictures of kenny rogers on pinterest
We lost a swell fella today
Image result for pictures of kenny rogers on pinterest
A real swell fella.
Image result for Kenny Rodgers first edition in pictures
To Answer Kenny’s first Edition question
WELP
Your condition now is in Eden Garden with Jesus Christ.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
####################################################################
I wear the chain I forged in life.
 article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

      unnamed (1) blue hats 3

       10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

      550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
           clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

           

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
          
          ~~
           
          Finis Origine Pendet…
           
           
          The escape commences…
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1957
           
          ~~
           
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
           
           
           
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
           
           
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
           
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1966
           
          ~~
           
          The Cathedral Latin School
           
          ~~
           
           
           
           
            Finis Origine Pendet
           
           
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

           

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

           

           

          clip_image002MA9982782-0001
          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
           
          ~~
           
           
           
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
           
           
           
          ~~
          21st March, Saturday,  Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

           http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
          
           http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

          http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

          http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

          http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

          http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

          Tweets: @jtdbegg

           http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
          
          
          
          
          
          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
           
          
          
          
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

          11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America
           

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

           “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
           

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

      Ne plus ultra

      be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

      10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

      11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

      Image may contain: 2 people, including Ellen Wolentarski Begg156587214Z

       

      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Opening Day.

Try to Fail
Image result for vintage baseball photos
 
One learns nothing from success.
Image result for vintage baseball photos
One can learn, all life’s useful lessons, from failure.
Image result for vintage baseball photos
Failure means one is trying.
Image result for vintage baseball photos
If one is not trying, one is not living.
Image result for vintage baseball photos
Every day, keep trying.
Image result for vintage baseball photos
To fail, to learn, to live.
Image result for vintage baseball photos
~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
####################################################################
I wear the chain I forged in life.
 article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

      unnamed (1) blue hats 3

       10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

      550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
           clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

           

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
          
          ~~
           
          Finis Origine Pendet…
           
           
          The escape commences…
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1957
           
          ~~
           
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
           
           
           
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
           
           
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
           
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1966
           
          ~~
           
          The Cathedral Latin School
           
          ~~
           
           
           
           
            Finis Origine Pendet
           
           
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

           

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

           

           

          clip_image002MA9982782-0001
          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
           
          ~~
           
           
           
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
           
           
           
          ~~
          11th March Saturday,  Wednesday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

           http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
          
           http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

          http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

          http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

          http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

          http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

          Tweets: @jtdbegg

           http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
          
          
          
          
          
          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
           
          
          
          
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

          11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America
           

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

           “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
           

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

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      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

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      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

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      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Echo of Youth

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Darlings, well we recall our myths and legends, the most compelling of which is the story of Narcissus.
 
At The Imperial City, operatives, stare narcissistically, not moving, into any mirror they pass, for long periods and likely would not withdraw from that glass were there not pressing Imperial business to conduct.  They also likely are unaware that they are captive of the same supreme self-absorption as was Narcissus himself.
 
Consider dears that for most of mankind’s sojourn here, most people never saw their image. They’d no idea what they looked like.  They looked at others and I guess thought they must look something like the others.
 
Mirrors, in general use, are very recent forms of hypnosis.
 
But not so for our Narcissus.  He saw his image in ancient legend.
 
I haven’t the faintest idea as this is written if I am now dying or not. I know I will die someday, as will we all.
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When I was about 4 years old, Grandpa Maternal took my sweet brother and I to the Bronx Zoo where I remember we sat on a bench and Grandpa said to me, ignoring my brother who was, very cruelly, considered socially maladroit:
 
“Little Giovanni, never go to the veterinarians.  If you do go to the veterinarians, they will find something wrong with you–they aren’t being mean–finding something wrong with you is what veterinarians do–it’s their job.  When they discover what is wrong with you, they give you pills and then send you to see other veterinarians, who are their friends, who give you other pills.
~
  This, by extension, is how the veterinarians get their daughters into Smith~~the home of “the four year lesbians.”  Why so?  Here so:  Have you ever been to Northampton, MA–in WINTER–only the 82nd Airborne but why would they bother?  So the little daughters are left to their own devices.
Or, maybe send them here:
 
My sainted brother, who now works for the Holy Rex Papas at The Eternal City, who Grandpa ignored, was then about aged 7 and to my best knowledge and belief, has never seen a veterinarian of any kind from that day to this.
 
I on the other hand have spent a almost incalculable amount of time in the office of also incalculable veterinarians, all of whom give me pills, or surgeries and I eat pills all day.
 
Pills from the veterinarians are my sole diet.
 
The pills make me worse, not better.
 
This is dismal business so let us return to our friend Narcissus.
 
What you may ask dears is the connection between my fast-advancing years, my ceaseless trips to the veterinarians, my living on pills provided by them and our little friend Narcissus?
 
You see, as the myth, the legend of Narcissus unfolds, Narcissus has, as mentioned was then very commonplace, never seen himself.  He entertained himself gaily in the forests, without a care in the world and ate fruit from the trees.
 
As with all famous myths and legends, Narcissus then encountered that which would bring him to ruin–a GIRL.  Yes, a GIRL. 
He would not be the last and he, most assuredly, was not the first:
“Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
The Mother of All Mankind"
~~
Paradise Lost
Book One
 Verse 35
 Our Mr Milton
 
The girl’s name was Echo and she was enraptured by Narcissus, bowled over–in LOVE with our boy.
 
Narcissus, in a response au current to today, snapped at Echo:  “What’s up little girl, I ain’t got time to play?”  He then gaily danced away.
 
Echo was crushed. She went to a canyon where, for the rest of her little life, she plaintively called out her name “Echo, Echo, Echo, Echo.”
 
Utterly unknown to Narcissus, baby Echo had a potent and powerful friend who had undisputed dominion over a vast lake and could use her “Siren’s Song” to call out to anyone she desired–for good or for ill.
 
Much put upon by the ill-treatment of her little friend Echo, Siren sent up her song, luring Narcissus to Her Lake.
 
Once at waterside, Narcissus bent over and beheld the absolutely, amazingly beautiful sight he had ever seen–HIMSELF.
 
Which circles us back to the men of The Imperial City, who have never seen anything as pretty and wonderful as themselves.
Which in addition of course, brings us back to BEGG 
 
It has often been said of Begg that “nobody in this City knows more about politics than does Begg–NOBODY”  This is meant as a compliment–can you even believe that? 
In earlier, better times, to say such a thing would bring out the gloves, the slap, the call-out and the next morning, pistols at ten paces.
Jimmy Gleason once said to me :”Johnnie, why does all your work seem to be about you somehow?” I said: “Jimmy, of all the things in this world to write about, what better thing to write about then Begg?” 
I say: My Word.

Never you mind that many of the men in Congress, most particularly in The Lower House, are dumpy, drunken, failed insurance salesmen to whom one day a bartender somewhere said: “Say, boy, why don’t you run for Congress?”  The failed insurance agent, looking up from his drink, asked the bartender “What do I gotta do there?”  The bartender said “Get re-elected and thereafter: Nothing at all–except steal lots and lots of money.”

 
This exposition explains why these guys come here and never leave:  They can’t do anything else and they, after 40 years time, have, on a comparatively small, naked, taxable salary, net worths that are literally not legally possible.  
 
I SAID: NOT POSSIBLE.
 
Yet the men of The Imperial City are, above all, most enchanted with looking at themselves in mirrors.  As with our Narcissus.
 
Rejoining our hero by the lake, we find that Narcissus literally could not tear himself away from his image in the lake and so died there of starvation.
 
But what a way to go.  To die young and pretty.
 
Now, to Begg.
Recently, I’ve written notes about the poets Shelley and Keats and Lord Byron, all of whom were simply gorgeous men, all of whom so wonderfully, so luckily,  died in their 20’s.
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When young, I was myself, simply gorgeous and WILD. Wild perhaps well beyond the near comprehension of most readers here.
 
Yet, I never met a mirror I didn’t simply fall into. Nobody and I do mean nobody has stared, longer or more lovingly into  mirrors then myself.
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Most expected that my WILD behaviour would kill me me very young, but I gave that no thought at all.
 
I concentrated on being WILD and falling into mirrors.  Lads would pull me out and say now and then, “I think Begg has married that last mirror.”
 
I was, from youth, the latter day Narcissus.  Many the time that fellows would ask where is Begg now and the answer would come either with another girl or fallen into a mirror–many times I had to be lifted out by my fellows.
 
Never, in youth, was I more enchanted by anything–no girl, no money, no social prospects to any degree as near as much as I was with myself.
Image result for Pictures of James  Dean from the movie GIANT
Of our lifetimes, Jimmy Dean, as with the romantic poets, died so wonderfully young.
JFK:
 
So did Jack, of whom the playwright Tennessee Williams, ever handy with a quip said, when asked Jack’s prospects for the White House, while shooting with him in Florida:
Image result for A photo of JFK shooting with Tennessee Williams
“Entirely too good looking for the American people, hunney.”
 
So now Begg eats pills for a living–given him by sundry veterinarians.
 
My beauty now faded, my youth long fled I face that most awful of all prospects:  OLD AGE and its attendant infirmities.
 
And MORE PILLS from more veterinarians.
 
One such veterinarian, Pribut, you know old Pribut, mystifies me not because he is “Proudly Independent politically,” when he is from New York and has never even met a Republican.  Proudly Independent, much like young Daniel–about whom, the less said the better except that he has never even heard the name of a Republican.
 
What truly leaves me at a misunderstanding about Pribut is that he tends professionally as a veterinarian to his patients feet and yet expresses not an iota of interest in my passion–The Sport Of King’s~~thoroughbred horse racing.  Why so Pribut?  Here so, Pribut.  These horses weigh about 1200 pounds and run at 45 miles an hour but if one were to look at their feet, one would, casually, notice that where the leg meets the ankle, the horse’s leg is about as wide as my wrist.  My wrist.
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Why does this subject not enchant Pribut? 
His is, I realize, a small animal practice, a small animal practice primarily, I understand, I do—mostly pups–but even still–Pribut is a veterinarian.
Image may contain: 1 person, dog, outdoor and nature
 
At this late date, I am not getting outta here romantically young like Shelley, Keats, Byron,  Jack and Jimmy Dean. 
Or, to catch a lucky break in our modern days and get out beautifully young like Jack and Jimmy Dean:
Image result for jfk in dallas--photos
Image result for photo of james dean's sports car at the crash site where he died
 
Old Age now stares hard back at me through the window and all day I eat:
 
PILLS
PILLS
PILLS
and still MORE PILLS.
from the veterinarians.
 
And to think that at age 4, in the Bronx Zoo, Grandpa Maternal told me, his voice now yet aging in my ear:
 
“Little Giovanni, never go to the Veterinarians.”
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IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
####################################################################
I wear the chain I forged in life.
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How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

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 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

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      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
           clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

           

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
          
          ~~
           
          Finis Origine Pendet…
           
           
          The escape commences…
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1957
           
          ~~
           
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
           
           
           
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
           
           
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
           
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1966
           
          ~~
           
          The Cathedral Latin School
           
          ~~
           
           
           
           
            Finis Origine Pendet
           
           
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

           

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

           

           

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          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
           
          ~~
           
           
           
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
           
           
           
          ~~
          7th March Saturday,  Monday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

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          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
           
          
          
          
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

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          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America
           

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

           “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
           

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

      Ne plus ultra

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      Image may contain: 2 people, including Ellen Wolentarski Begg156587214Z

       

      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Henry J. Kaiser: A truly great American man who treated his people well and took very good care of their needs, to  include health care, when he was under no compunction, save moral duty, to do so.  

1954 Kaiser-Darrin Convertible

With attribution and thanks to Gary Hoover and the Archbridge Institute.

~~

I commence to quote and will continue quoting until noted here cease quoting

~~

Henry J. Kaiser: California Dreamer, Workers’ Friend

Despite being often forgotten today, Henry J. Kaiser was one of the most unusual and diverse entrepreneurs in American history. Quitting school at the age of thirteen, Kaiser started out in the photography business in New York State. But like many others, he was drawn by the lure of the American West. First building roads in Washington State, he soon helped build the western infrastructure, including Hoover Dam and Grand Coulee Dam. He played a key role in America’s victory in World War II by building hundreds of warships at an unprecedented pace. He also created aluminum and steel industries on the West Coast, doing more to bring manufacturing to California than anyone else.

His breadth was impressive as he ventured into housing, Hawaiian resort development, and the automobile industry. His engineers designed huge projects worldwide. Throughout his long life, Kaiser was always full of ideas, looking for a new project, and usually saw the future more clearly than others. His most lasting monument is Kaiser Permanente, the health plan he developed to help his valued workers. Today, Kaiser Permanente has revenues of almost $80 billion. This is Henry Kaiser’s story.

Beginnings

Henry Kaiser was born May 9, 1882, in Sprout Brook in upstate New York, to Frank and Mary Kaiser, both of whom had migrated from Germany in the mid-nineteenth century. Frank Kaiser was a never-prosperous shoemaker and reportedly an alcoholic. The family’s limited income led Henry to drop out of school at thirteen to get a job and help his father, mother, and three older sisters. The country was still recovering from the financial crisis of 1893, so it took three weeks of searching to land a job as a clerk in a Utica Dry Goods store as a stockroom and delivery boy at $1.50 a week. His mother insisted he keep learning, however, and the two read books to each other each evening.

Utica was four miles from the family home: unable to afford trolley fare—Henry walked to and from work each day. Kaiser was a “lively” youth, fun to be around. He demonstrated tricks at parties and was a “natty” dresser. With three sisters, he was comfortable around girls and reports are that they were comfortable around him.

In the next three years, Henry was promoted to sales clerk and then to traveling salesman. He took a correspondence course in salesmanship and learned quickly. But after three years, he was tiring of the dry goods business. When Henry was sixteen or seventeen, he unsuccessfully sought work in New York City. Fortunately, he had another interest: photography. This began when, at age twelve, he acquired his first Kodak Camera (from nearby Rochester). He found work successively at two photography supply companies, traveling New York State selling for them. Kaiser was convinced that photography would be his life’s work.

In 1899, sixteen-year-old Henry’s mother died at the age of fifty-two. Legend has it that she died in his arms, and that he later blamed her death in part on poor healthcare. Since his father was going blind, her death put even more pressure on Henry to support his family. Well informed about the burgeoning photo industry in upstate New York, in 1901 he learned that a part interest in a photo studio in the beautiful, small New York resort town of Lake Placid was for sale. By some accounts, Henry offered to work for no pay for a year, just room and board. But if he tripled the studio’s business in a year, he would get a half-interest. Owner W. W. Brownell accepted Kaiser’s offer.

Henry Kaiser, as he did all his life, worked more hours than anyone else. He sold, he waited on customers, he touched up pictures. At the end of a year, he had earned his half-interest. After another year, he bought out Brownell. The shingle on his studio read, “Henry J. Kaiser: The Man With the Smile.” But he was not satisfied: Lake Placid had a relatively short summer season. Business dried up in the winter. So Henry opened a photo studio in Daytona Beach, Florida, the perfect winter destination. After an initial struggle there, he opened shops in Jacksonville, St. Augustine, and Palm Beach. Traveling between the cities, he often slept on hard train seats, later saying, “I haven’t liked railroads since then.”

Henry stayed at least one slow summer season in Florida. Scratching out a living, he worked as a tour guide on a boat, selling rolls of film to the visitors. Then he developed the film overnight and delivered the finished prints to the visitors’ hotels the next morning.

In 1905, pretty nineteen-year-old Bess Fosburgh, vacationing at Lake Placid, wandered into the twenty-three-year-old Kaiser’s photo studio. Henry soon asked her wealthy father, a Virginia lumberman, for permission to marry Bess. Edgar Fosburgh, leery of the embryonic photography business, said that he would permit no wedding until Henry had saved $1,000, earned at least $125 per month, and built a house for his daughter. He also suggested that Henry go west in pursuit of opportunities. Henry soon sold his photo studios, which continued in business for many years, to his employees and relatives.

In the summer of 1906, Henry Kaiser boarded a westbound train, looking for work in several cities before settling in Spokane, Washington. He marveled at the scenic beauty along the way, falling in love with the West. Henry used his finely-honed sales skills to convince someone to hire him. After being turned away by over one hundred businesses, he decided to focus on the place he most wanted to work: McGowan Brothers Hardware, which sold at both retail and wholesale. Henry proved himself to James McGowan after the store had a fire, leaving much inventory as rubble. Henry hired people to polish the remnants and make them saleable. He joined McGowan Brothers as a clerk at $7 dollars a week. Soon enough, he was promoted to store manager, then put in charge of wholesale sales for Spokane. After several raises, by the spring of 1907, he was on a train back east to marry Bess, having fulfilled his promises to her father. The newlyweds soon moved into a nice, new Spokane home that Henry helped build.

The twenty-six-year-old hardware salesman put in twelve- to fifteen-hour days. Whenever a major new construction project was announced, Henry acted quickly, grabbing the order for the needed hardware, steel, and other supplies. He was earning $250 per month.

On Saturday nights, Bess and the other wives would come down to help close the store, then socialize until the wee hours Sunday morning. Both Henry and Bess were known for their affability. Henry also turned to Bess for business advice, especially about personnel, throughout the years of their marriage. Son Edgar came along in 1908, followed by Henry Jr. in 1917. A baby daughter was lost at birth in the intervening years.

For most men, this would have been a comfortable life. But Henry saw opportunities all around him and was known throughout his life for acting fast. His customers included the leading construction companies of the area, and in 1911 he joined a paving and road contractor, the J. F. Hill Company. He was soon supervising construction projects around the Pacific Northwest. He learned to accurately but aggressively price bids for contracts. By 1913 he was making over $650 per month.

In an internal power struggle at the Hill Company, the emergent victors demanded that Kaiser fake some reports or be fired. He was incensed at the idea. His paychecks stopped coming, but he stayed on the job for four months anyway, to make sure his projects were finished and his customers satisfied. His integrity was impeccable.

Thus in 1914, Henry found himself without a job but with a family to support and a mortgage to pay. Nevertheless, his optimism never flagged.

Building a Construction Empire

Henry Kaiser then bid on a street paving project in Vancouver, British Columbia, besting the experienced competition. But he had no money to buy or rent the required equipment. He went to a Canadian banker and outlined his plans in detail, asking for a $25,000 loan. The banker leaned over his desk, and said, “You mean to sit there and inform me, young man, you want me to loan you $25,000 and you don’t even have a company, you don’t even have any equipment, you don’t have any men? All you have is a contract and an idea that you think might work, and it might make a profit and you want me, on that sort of a basis to loan you this sum of money?” The banker then leaned back and wrote a note on a piece of paper, telling Kaiser to show it to the head cashier of the bank. Henry thought it probably said to kick him out of the building, but instead it said to give him $25,000. Henry Kaiser was at his best as a salesman.

One of his first employees was construction foreman Alonzo Ordway. Ordway said that in their first meeting, Kaiser “applied his vacuum cleaner and learned more about me in the next hour than I knew about myself. . . . I went away amazed and starry-eyed.” Ordway, like many others, stayed with Henry for decades.

Working up to twenty hours a day, Henry got job and after job. His record of bidding low, beating budget, and finishing jobs ahead of schedule became well known. On big contracts, he partnered with other contractors he knew from his years of selling supplies. Some larger older firms provided capital for Kaiser’s projects. Many of these partners became friends for life and worked to help Henry win contracts. His business grew and grew.

Kaiser had always followed opportunity wherever he saw it—from New York to Florida to Spokane to Vancouver—never sitting still. Between 1916 and 1921, he and his family moved to Seattle, then Portland, and then to Oakland, California, which became the seat of his ever-expanding business interests.

During those years, Henry built road after road in the growing Pacific Northwest, including over eighty miles in Washington alone. Model T’s were selling fast and the “good roads movement” captured the attention of politicians everywhere. Known as an incredibly hard worker, Kaiser was also unafraid to jump in on any job. He grabbed a shovel or operated a bulldozer many times—whatever it took to beat deadlines and budgeted costs. Workers appreciated their boss (who developed his long tradition of treating them well), especially when compared to many others in the rough-and-tumble, highly competitive construction business. Once established in Oakland in 1921, Henry took on larger contracts, often in the range of $250,000 to $500,000 each. During the 1920s, his Kaiser Paving Company built over 150 miles of roads in California, including extensive sections of US highways 99 and 40. His focus on doing things fast and well led him to become an innovator, always trying new machines and techniques. He bought the patent rights on one of the first “earth movers” and invented equipment improvements himself. He replaced old-fashioned iron-rimmed wheelbarrows with more expensive ones with rubber tires to ease the effort required to move loads across rocky or muddy ground. Making life easier for his workers meant jobs were finished sooner, accidents were fewer, and workers were more loyal.

The man loved new challenges, new things to figure out. His most famous quote was, “Problems are only opportunities in work clothes.” In 1926, Henry took on his first dam building project, the small Philbrook Dam in Northern California. He continued to work with partners. Large paving company Warren Brothers invited Henry to join them in building a massive road project covering the length of Cuba. In 1927, he took on a subcontract for two hundred miles of road and about five hundred bridges. The almost-$20 million Cuban subcontract was worth more than all the work Kaiser had done since going into business for himself. But when he found bribes were required and suppliers cheated him, he vowed never to work overseas again, a promise he later had to break. His most important partner was likely Warren “Dad” Bechtel, founder of one of the world’s biggest construction and engineering firms. Bechtel was so impressed by the younger Kaiser that he began inviting him to share in big projects. Between 1930 and 1933, Bechtel and Kaiser laid almost one thousand miles of pipeline in contracts totaling about $4 million.

Over these years, Henry built an organization of trusted subordinates. He could not be at every project every day. He valued and rewarded their contributions. Those men found Henry’s work ethic and tireless energy hard to keep up with, but he continually inspired them to do more and do everything better and faster.

In 1931, Henry Kaiser and Dad Bechtel formed a partnership that joined five other big construction firms to form the “Six Companies” group to bid on the huge Hoover Dam project on the Colorado River. At $48.9 million (over $600 million in today’s money), the Six Companies’ bid was $5 million less than two other groups. This project was a breakthrough for Henry.

As part of a large team of experienced construction companies, he was assigned to be the project’s liaison in the nation’s capital. Thus began a long career of dealing with bureaucrats and politicians. He gradually learned the ins and outs of Washington: who had the power, who to pitch, who to curry favor with. Over his life, these skills earned him big jobs but also substantial criticism from his competitors who were less skilled or less fortunate in their dealings with Washington. He ultimately became the target of congressional investigations when his friends lost elections to the opposite party.

The Hoover Dam project was big news everywhere, one of the largest construction efforts in American history. Between March of 1931, when the contract was officially awarded, and the following December, the crew rose from 106 men to 2,745, eventually reaching 5,251. The enormous site was in the desert south of Las Vegas, where one-hundred-degree temperatures were the norm. With no housing or feeding facilities nearby, the Six Companies had to build Boulder City to hold the men and their families. Working conditions were brutal and dangerous. Enormous amounts of cement and concrete had to be produced and delivered as spillways were cut through the mountain rock. But the nation celebrated when the 726-foot high dam was completed in 1936, defeating flooding and delivering over 2 megawatts of power from the harnessed Colorado River.

Henry Kaiser, Dad Bechtel, and others formed another consortium to win the construction contract for the Bonneville Dam even before they had finished at Hoover. In 1938, another Kaiser-formed group bid $34 million to win the contract to build the massive Grand Coulee Dam (4,173 feet long, creating a lake 151 miles in length). Each project had different challenges. Each was a learning experience for Henry.

While not nationally known to the general public, Henry J. Kaiser had become a major figure in the American heavy construction industry. In 1938, he was a wealthy fifty-six-year-old man. Many men would have slowed down or retired. Not Henry.

Beyond Roads and Dams, Master Shipbuilder

As an expert in every part of the construction process—from politicking and bidding to digging and moving earth—Kaiser saw other opportunities. Henry and his partners had to buy many materials from eastern suppliers, requiring long lead times and high shipping costs. Heavy industry was rare on the West Coast, but the needs were booming. Kaiser had purchased millions of barrels of cement from his suppliers but was not satisfied with the prices he paid. He drew surprised reactions when he bid on a big government cement project without having ever built or operated a cement plant. His first venture outside construction was a cement plant at Permanente near limestone deposits in Santa Clara County, south of San Francisco. Permanente Cement won the $6.9 million contract to provide the cement for the large Shasta Dam project, beating out several established cement companies, which had tried to keep Kaiser out of “their” industry. The first bag of cement came out of the plant on Christmas Day 1939. (Kaiser became well known for ignoring holidays, weekends, and vacations.)

Henry had been a boating enthusiast since his days near the Erie Canal and at Lake Placid. But few could have predicted his next move. As the nation moved toward war, even before Pearl Harbor, he saw the need for more ships for the navy. The big eastern shipbuilders told Washington that they could meet any need the military might have, but they were slow to expand. There were no shipyards on the West Coast. Henry saw an opportunity, but forces aligned against him: the existing shipbuilders and established politicians and military leaders in Washington. He had never built a ship or operated beyond construction and cement. The odds were against him.

Though the United States had not entered the war, the British had a problem: German submarines were sinking their ships as fast as the Brits could build them. Henry formed a partnership with Todd Shipyards, one of the rare industry participants willing to give Kaiser a chance. In December 1940, the partnership got a British contract to build thirty ships on the West Coast at cost plus $160,000 per ship. The idea was that Kaiser would build the new shipyards at Richmond, California, near Oakland, and Todd would operate them. But Henry soon found Todd unprepared to work as hard and fast as Henry did, and within a year Todd was out and Kaiser was on his own.

Henry soon proved, as he had in construction, that he could work faster, better, and cheaper than anyone thought possible. As the war ramped up, he ramped up. Richmond was completely transformed with the new shipyards, with thousands of workers pouring in from across the country. Housing and schools were built; a credit union for workers was formed.

Finding healthcare inadequate for his workers, leading to too many absences, Kaiser partnered with Dr. Sidney Garfield to create a system of hospitals and affordable services to take care of them. This was the nation’s first big Health Maintenance Organization (HMO). Established doctors and the American Medical Association fought this development at every turn, as it threatened lucrative private practices. Never a fan of government health plans, Henry thought his private approach could help other employers and workers across the nation.

The Richmond shipyard laid its first keel in December 1941. Between then and the end of the war, 747 ships were built there. Moving fast, Henry added shipyards in the Portland area in early 1942, which built another 743 ships. The total cost of these ships was about $4 billion. The most famous of the thirteen types of ships Kaiser built were 821 ten-thousand-ton “Liberty Ship” merchant vessels. Henry urged the yards to compete with each other in speed and efficiency. In November 1942, the Portland yard, under Henry’s son Edgar, built a ship in four days, fifteen hours, and twenty-six minutes. All together, the Kaiser shipyards employed almost two hundred thousand people at the war’s peak.

Henry (2nd from left) and Edgar Kaiser (standing) with President Roosevelt

Sixty-year-old Henry Kaiser was now among the most famous men in America, with the press calling him “The Miracle Man.” Few businessmen had contributed more to America’s victories in the war.

Next Moves, More Opportunities in Old Industries

Henry continued to be frustrated by the lack of manufacturing on the West Coast. Always a student of trends, he came to believe that the US economy would boom after the war. His friends said he had “a preoccupation with the future.” Henry urged American steelmakers to expand their plants, but they and the government experts said they had plenty of capacity to meet post-war needs. After the Depression of the thirties and the war boom, they were more short-sighted in their projections of demand than Kaiser. But Henry turned out to be right.

Not willing to wait for the war to end, Henry moved ahead. In 1941, he opened a magnesium plant at Permanente. Against major industry opposition, he borrowed over $100 million from the federal government to build a steel plant at Fontana, California. Operations there began in December 30, 1942. The Kaiser Steel Company gradually became a moderate-sized steel producer but an important factor in western industrialization. He also created new businesses in gypsum and in sand and gravel.

On April 1, 1946, Henry entered the aluminum business. Industry insiders were sure he would fail, as he had no experience in this industry, which required specialized skills, advanced technologies, expensive factories, and enormous amounts of electrical power. Experts thought April Fool’s Day was the perfect day to begin, before his “assured failure.” When a colleague told Henry that Rome wasn’t built in a day, Kaiser replied, “I don’t know about that; I wasn’t working on that job.” During the first year, his aluminum plant in Mead, Washington, turned out almost 110 million pounds. He went on to open a massive plant at Chalmette, near New Orleans, and to acquire the required bauxite sources in Jamaica. Kaiser Aluminum went on to become America’s third-largest aluminum producer and the most profitable of all the Kaiser companies; in 1966 generating $59 million in profits on revenues of $781 million.

In all these industries, Kaiser’s reputation for taking care of his workers served him well. He generally paid higher wages than his competitors. Henry also became an increasingly familiar face in Washington, gaining the ear of President Franklin D. Roosevelt. Unlike most business leaders, Kaiser supported many New Deal initiatives. These moves did not earn him friends in the established business community or among Republican leaders. Corporate executives accused him of being too friendly with the government, the beneficiary of powerful friends in the capital. Some labeled him “the dimpled darling of the New Deal.” While a distraction, none of this slowed Henry down or stopped him from seeking new opportunities.

Henry Kaiser was a master delegator and leader of men. While he trained and developed trusted lieutenants, including his son Edgar, he was always involved in major decisions in every industry and around the globe. He was in continual communication, generating “tons” of telegrams. In 1942 alone, his telephone bill was $250,000. No one was surprised by a phone call from him at 3 a.m. Some believed that he never slept. He would entertain until the wee hours, then be back at his desk before eight the next morning.

It was said that Kaiser had about twenty new ideas a day, and always had talented associates to evaluate each opportunity. He listened to everyone, but made the final decisions, sometimes overriding his own experts. He had little patience for bureaucracy and long meetings. He did believe in thinking and planning, but where most big companies would do months of study, he’d tell his teams to “get back to me with the answer in three or four days.” Two days later, he was pressing them for their analysis. He was always in motion, as were his key people. One top executive claimed he moved forty times while working for Henry. It appears that the only major hobby Kaiser had was speedboat racing, where he designed and built boats which broke several speed records. Famed bandleader Guy Lombardo was sometimes at the helm.

Not all of Kaiser’s dreams succeeded. He wanted to be “the Henry Ford of housing,” mass-producing ten thousand homes a month, but between 1946 and 1950 Kaiser Community Homes built less than ten thousand homes in total. He considered creating a shipping line to Asia, where he saw great opportunity. Henry was interested in aviation and worked briefly with Howard Hughes on the giant “Spruce Goose” project. He proposed building five thousand cargo planes for the military during the war, to no avail (although one of his companies made some cargo planes for the air force after the war). Another plan to build six thousand airports for small planes across America failed to attract government support. He dabbled in fiberglass and geodesic domes (with Buckminster Fuller). His research and development laboratory in Emeryville, California, tested an “endless stream” of his ideas—including dishwashers, air-conditioners, washers, dryers, lawn mowers, and vacuum cleaners. But Kaiser never achieved the success in consumer-oriented products that he did in heavy industry.

Despite his consumer failures, even his big construction projects worked toward his avowed goal of raising “everybody’s standard of living,” whether it was via cheap hydroelectric power or better housing and healthcare for workers.

His biggest failure was his attempt to enter the auto industry. As in housing, Henry thought he could build a better, cheaper car. He leased the huge former defense plant at Willow Run, Michigan, for five years from the federal government. He partnered with Joseph Frazer, who had led the Willys–Overland Motors company to moderate success. In 1946, the Kaiser-Frazer company launched its first cars, which were well designed and met with some early success. However, post-war inflation prevented them from being as inexpensive as Henry had hoped. Kaiser-Frazer sold stock to the public and it soon hit a high.

As the “Big Three” car makers gradually retooled from war production to consumer needs, and spent heavily on new models, Kaiser-Frazer could not keep up. Henry’s relationship with the slower-moving Frazer ended in 1951. In 1953, the company bought Willys-Overland, the company which produced Jeeps. A major plant was opened in Argentina, with local majority ownership. Plants in Mexico, Japan, Israel, and the Netherlands followed. Despite valiant efforts, including creating the highly regarded Kaiser Darrin sports car and selling the smaller Henry J as the Allstate auto at Sears stores, the company could not achieve enough sales to be profitable. By 1956, Kaiser made only Jeeps, and folded Kaiser-Frazer into a new company, Kaiser Industries, so that the shareholders would not lose everything. (Kaiser Jeep was later sold to American Motors in 1970; the Jeep line continues to be successful today as part of the Fiat Chrysler organization.)

Henry also developed a major engineering operation, Kaiser Engineers, which planned and designed major projects in fifty nations. These projects included the expansion of the Panama Canal, training thousands of engineers and equipment operators in India, a hydroelectric project in Ghana, and one of the world’s largest water development projects in Australia.

By the mid-1960s, Kaiser had three companies: Kaiser Aluminum and Chemical, Kaiser Industries, and Kaiser Steel. Their combined revenues exceeded a billion dollars, which would rank their combined size among the fifty largest American companies, larger than such familiar names as Eastman Kodak and Coca-Cola. Presidents Kennedy and Johnson turned to Kaiser for advice on economic issues. But with the decline of America’s industrial advantages in global markets, most of his empire went into decline in the 1970s and 1980s. Today, Kaiser Aluminum is the only remaining public company, with annual revenues of less than $100 million.

Henry Kaiser Slowing Down? Never!

As the aging Kaiser turned over his companies to son Edgar, one would think he might have slowed down and relaxed. But there is no indication that Henry knew how to do that.

In March 1951, his wife, Bess, died after a long illness. Within a month, the sixty-eight-year-old Kaiser married Bess’s thirty-four-year-old nurse, Alyce “Ale” Chester. This quick marriage sent tongues wagging, but Henry was never held back by convention or by what more conservative people said about him. The new marriage lasted happily until Kaiser’s death sixteen years later.

With Ale at his side, Henry took a great interest in Hawaii. He built a large home there and believed that Hawaii had great tourism potential. In 1955, he dug out new lagoons and beaches near Honolulu to create a large resort, Hawaiian Village. In 1959, the new state attracted only 250,000 tourists. Henry thought that number could rise to a million in ten years, but the actual number of 1969 visitors was 1.5 million (and over 4 million twenty years after that). He worked hard to convince the airlines to offer better service and promote Hawaiian tourism. He personally visited American travel agencies with a slide projector in hand to show off Hawaii.

Kaiser spent $7 million backing the #1 television show Maverick with James Garner, where Hawaiian tourism was advertised. While the Hawaiian Village took off slowly and was not profitable for Kaiser, it contributed to the rise of Hawaii as a tourist destination. He later sold it to Hilton and it served as the setting for the Elvis Presley movie Blue Hawaii. Kaiser also tried to develop a six-thousand-acre community in Hawaii, but met with mixed success. He operated television and radio stations there, which not only succeeded but led to more TV stations in Boston, Detroit, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles.

Despite being overweight (up to three hundred pounds) and having multiple heart attacks, Henry Kaiser continued to work twelve-hour days into his eighties. By late 1966, at the age of eighty-four, he was confined to a wheelchair. Yet he told a visitor, “My, aren’t you lucky—you’ve got so many problems!” On August 24, 1967, eighty-five-year-old Henry J. Kaiser died in his sleep.

Few businesspeople in American history have been as diversified in their interests as Henry Kaiser. While others bought out existing companies to create “conglomerates,” he dreamed up and created every business in his empire. Few have matched Kaiser in their passionate visions of the future. Few have done more for their workers. And few are as little-known today.

Over time, his healthcare plan expanded to all his companies, and later opened to the public. Kaiser Permanente became one of the largest healthcare organizations in America. Long separated from the Kaiser companies, in 2018 the giant healthcare consortium generated $79.7 billion in revenues. Henry Kaiser also endowed the Kaiser Family Foundation beginning in 1948, which continues to fund research on healthcare in America today. Despite building so much and helping win the war, Henry’s efforts in healthcare are his most visible remaining legacy.

Source: This short biography is based on the excellent detailed biographical book Henry J. Kaiser: Builder in the Modern American West, by Mark S. Foster, published in 1989.

I here cease to quote from the fine work of Gary Hoover and the Archbridge Institute and thank them for their swell undertaking:

Of Note in addition:

Gary Hoover has founded several businesses, each with the core value of education. He founded BOOKSTOP, the first chain of book superstores, which was purchased by Barnes & Noble and became the nucleus for their chain. He co-founded the company that became Hoover’s, Inc. – one of the world’s largest sources of information about companies, now owned by Dun & Bradstreet. Gary Hoover has in recent years focused on writing (multiple books, blogs) and teaching. He served as the first Entrepreneur-In-Residence at the University of Texas’ McCombs School of Business. He has been collecting information on business history since the age of 12, when he started subscribing to Fortune Magazine. An estimated 40% of his 57,000-book personal library is focused on business, industrial, and economic history and reference. Gary Hoover has given over 1000 speeches around the globe, many about business history, and all with historical references.
################################################################################################
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
~~
I wear the chain I forged in life.
~~
 article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

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Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

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      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
           clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

           

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
          
          ~~
           
          Finis Origine Pendet…
           
           
          The escape commences…
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1957
           
          ~~
           
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
           
           
           
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
           
           
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
           
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1966
           
          ~~
           
          The Cathedral Latin School
           
          ~~
           
           
           
           
            Finis Origine Pendet
           
           
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

           

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

           

           

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          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
           
          ~~
           
           
           
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
           
           
           
          ~~
          7th March Saturday,  Monday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

          http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

           http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
          
           http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

          http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

          http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

          http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

          http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

          Tweets: @jtdbegg

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          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
           
          
          
          
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

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          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America
           

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

           “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
           

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

      Ne plus ultra

      be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

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      Image may contain: 2 people, including Ellen Wolentarski Begg156587214Z

       

      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

PBR Street Gang

Image result for pabst blue ribbon on pinterest
From a time, not too very long ago in America, in which things were vibrant.
Image result for vintage photos of young boys and girls on the street in nyc 1950s
 
A time before our time when America is no longer vibrant.
Image result for vintage photos of young boys and girls on the street in nyc 1950s
That change constitutes a very real shame.
Image result for pabst blue ribbon on pinterest
A terrible shame.
Image result for vintage photos of young boys and girls on the street in nyc 1950s
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
~~
I wear the chain I forged in life.
~~
 article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

      unnamed (1) blue hats 3

       10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

      550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
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          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

           

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
          
          ~~
           
          Finis Origine Pendet…
           
           
          The escape commences…
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1957
           
          ~~
           
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
           
           
           
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
           
           
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
           
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1966
           
          ~~
           
          The Cathedral Latin School
           
          ~~
           
           
           
           
            Finis Origine Pendet
           
           
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

           

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

           

           

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          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
           
          ~~
           
           
           
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
           
           
           
          ~~
          7th March Saturday,  Monday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

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          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
           
          
          
          
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

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          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America
           

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

           “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
           

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

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      Ne plus ultra

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      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

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      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

A great poem is man’s highest achievement short of Heaven Herself.

I here commence to quote from The Poetry Foundation for their wonderful article on young Mr Keats and will continue to quote from that Foundation until noted:

“I here cease quoting.”

“Death at 25 years is about as romantic as one can get, but if one were to consider the flowers of young Keats’ poems, bromidic romance stands fully suspended.”

An observation on reading by John Daniel Begg

Vivien Leigh: Classic Scorpio

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

John Keats

1795–1821

 

John Keats was born in London on 31 October 1795, the eldest of Thomas and Frances Jennings Keats’s four children. Although he died at the age of twenty-five, Keats had perhaps the most remarkable career of any English poet. He published only fifty-four poems, in three slim volumes and a few magazines. But over his short development he took on the challenges of a wide range of poetic forms from the sonnet, to the Spenserian romance, to the Miltonic epic, defining anew their possibilities with his own distinctive fusion of earnest energy, control of conflicting perspectives and forces, poetic self-consciousness, and, occasionally, dry ironic wit.

Although he is now seen as part of the British Romantic literary tradition, in his own lifetime Keats would not have been associated with other major Romantic poets, and he himself was often uneasy among them. Outside his friend Leigh Hunt‘s circle of liberal intellectuals, the generally conservative reviewers of the day attacked his work as mawkish and bad-mannered, as the work of an upstart “vulgar Cockney poetaster” (John Gibson Lockhart), and as consisting of “the most incongruous ideas in the most uncouth language” (John Wilson Croker). Although Keats had a liberal education in the boy’s academy at Enfield and trained at Guy’s Hospital to become a surgeon, he had no formal literary education. Yet Keats today is seen as one of the canniest readers, interpreters, questioners, of the “modern” poetic project-which he saw as beginning with William Wordsworth—to create poetry in a world devoid of mythic grandeur, poetry that sought its wonder in the desires and sufferings of the human heart. Beyond his precise sense of the difficulties presented him in his own literary-historical moment, he developed with unparalleled rapidity, in a relative handful of extraordinary poems, a rich, powerful, and exactly controlled poetic style that ranks Keats, with the William Shakespeare of the sonnets, as one of the greatest lyric poets in English.

Keats was said to have been born in his maternal grandfather’s stable, the Swan and Hoop, near what is now Finsbury Circus, but there is no real evidence for this birthplace, or for the belief that his family was particularly poor. Thomas Keats managed the stable for his father-in-law and later owned it, providing the family an income comfortable enough for them to buy a home and send the older children, John and George (1797-1841), to the small village academy of Enfield, run by the liberal and gifted teacher John Clarke. Young Tom Keats (1799-1818) soon followed them. Although little is known of Keats’s early home life, it appears to have been happy, the family close-knit, the environment full of the exuberance and clamor of a big-city stable and inn yard. Frances Keats was devoted to her children, particularly her favorite, John, who returned that devotion intensely. Under Keats’s father the family business prospered, so that he hoped to send his son, John, to Harrow.

At the age of eight Keats entered Enfield Academy and became friends with young Charles Cowden Clarke, the fifteen-year-old son of the headmaster. He was not a shy, bookish child; Clarke remembered an outgoing youth, who made friends easily and fought passionately in their defense: “He was not merely the ‘favorite of all,’ like a pet prize-fighter, for his terrier courage; but his high-mindedness, his utter unconsciousness of a mean motive, his placability, his generosity, wrought so general a feeling in his behalf, that I never heard a word of disapproval from any one, superior or equal, who had known him.” On the night of 15 April 1804, when Keats had been in school less than a year, an accident occurred that would alter his life and proved to be the first in a series of losses and dislocations that would pursue him throughout his brief life. His father was seriously injured when his horse stumbled as he rode home, and he died the next day. The shock to the family was great, emotionally and financially. Within two months of her husband’s death, Frances Keats had moved the children to her mother’s home and remarried; but the marriage soon proved disastrous, and it appears that, after losing the stables and some of her inheritance to her estranged husband, William Rawlings, the poet’s mother left the family, perhaps to live with another man. She had returned by 1808, however, broken and ill; she died of tuberculosis (as had her brother just a few months before) in March 1809. John became the oldest male in his family, and, to the end of his life, felt a fiercely protective loyalty to his brothers and sister, Fanny Keats. His most thoughtful and moving letters on poetry’s relation to individual experience, to human suffering and spiritual development, were written to his brothers.

At school, Keats drew closer to the headmaster, John Clarke, and his son, Cowden. He became, in fact, one of Clarke’s favorite pupils, reading voraciously and taking first prizes in essay contests his last two or three terms. In some part this new academic interest was a response to his loneliness after his mother’s death. But he had by then already won an essay contest and begun translating Latin and French. Keats’s love for literature, and his association of the life of imagination with the politics of a liberal intelligentsia, really began in Clarke’s school. It was modeled on the Dissenting academies that encouraged a broad range of reading in classical and modern languages, as well as history and modern science; discipline was light, and students were encouraged to pursue their own interests by a system of rewards and prizes. Clarke himself was a friend of the radical reformers John Cartwright and Joseph Priestley and subscribed to Leigh Hunt’s Examiner, which Cowden Clarke said, “no doubt laid the foundation of [Keats’s] love of civil and religious liberty.”

Keats’s sense of the power and romance of literature began as the Clarkes encouraged him to turn his energy and curiosity to their library. Cowden Clarke recalled his reading histories, novels, travel stories; but the books “that were his constantly recurrent sources of attraction were Tooke’s ‘Pantheon,’ Lamprière’s ‘Classical Dictionary,’ which he appeared to learn, and Spence’s ‘Polymetis.’ This was the store whence he acquired his intimacy with the Greek mythology.” On his own, Keats translated most of the Aeneid and continued learning French. Literature for him was more than a dreamy refuge for a lonely orphan: it was a domain for energetic exploration, “realms of gold,” as he later wrote, tempting not only as a realm of idealistic romance but also of a beauty that enlarges our imaginative sympathies. All through his life his friends remarked on his industry and his generosity: literature for Keats was a career to be struggled with, fought for, and earned, for the sake of what the poet’s struggle could offer humankind in insight and beauty. This impression recurs often in accounts of Keats, this pugnacity of one who fought his way into literary circles, and this compassion for others that justifies the literary career.

Of course, at this point, when Keats was only fifteen or sixteen, a literary career was not a serious thought. In 1810 Alice Whalley Jennings, Keats’s grandmother, was seventy-five, and in charge of the four orphaned children, John, George (then thirteen), Tom (eleven), and Fanny (seven). She had inherited a considerable sum from her husband, John Jennings (who died in 1805), and in order to ensure the children’s financial future turned to Richard Abbey, a tea merchant who, on the advice of her attorney, she appointed to act as trustee. Most of Keats’s later financial misery can be traced to this decision. If Abbey was no villain, he was nevertheless narrow-minded and conventional, and, where money was concerned, tight-fisted and often deceitful. He dispensed the children’s money grudgingly and often lied or freely interpreted the terms of the bequest: it was not until 1833, years after Fanny Keats came of age, that she finally forced a legal settlement. It has been estimated that by the time of Keats’s death in 1821 either Abbey had withheld from him, or Keats had failed to discover, about £2,000, a considerable inheritance (in those days £50 per year was at least a living wage, and £100-200 would provide a comfortable existence). Keats left Enfield in 1811, and, perhaps at Abbey’s urging—though Clarke remembered it as Keats’s choice—he began to study for a career as a surgeon. He was apprenticed to a respected surgeon, Thomas Hammond, in a small town near Enfield, Edmonton, where his grandmother lived.

We know little of Keats’s life during these years 1811-1814, other than that Keats assisted Hammond and began the study of anatomy and physiology. Surgery would have been a respectable and reasonable profession for one of Keats’s means: unlike the profession of medicine, the job of surgeon in Keats’s day did not require a university degree. A surgeon, licensed by examination, was a general practitioner, setting bones, dressing wounds, giving vaccinations. Keats always maintained he was “ambitious of doing the world some good.” It is likely that he began his career with enthusiasm, but living in the small rooms over the surgery, Keats grew restless and lonely; he began to wander the woods and walk the four miles to Enfield to see the Clarkes. He completed his translation of the Aeneid, and, according to Cowden Clarke, he “devoured rather than read” books he borrowed: Ovid’s Metamorphosis John Milton‘s Paradise Lost, Virgil’s Eclogues, and dozens of others. But the book that decisively awakened his love of poetry, indeed shocked him suddenly into self-awareness of his own powers of imagination, was Edmund Spenser‘s Faerie Queene.

This was a turning point. Certainly this close teacher-pupil friendship with Cowden Clarke, these evenings at the headmaster’s table, and the long late-night rambles discussing books borrowed from the library, were crucial in making John Keats a poet. His friend Charles Brown believed Keats first read Spenser when he was eighteen, in 1813 or 1814: “From his earliest boyhood he had an acute sense of beauty, whether in a flower, a tree, the sky, or the animal world; how was it that his sense of beauty did not naturally seek in his mind for images by which he could best express his feelings? It was the ‘Fairy Queen’ that awakened his genius. In Spenser’s fairy land he was enchanted, breathed in a new world, and became another being.” Soon, wrote Brown, he “was entirely absorbed in poetry.” (Brown subsequently struck out the word entirely.) Clarke recalled Keats’s exuberant joy, “he ramped through the scenes of that… purely poetical romance, like a young horse into a Spring meadow.” Some time in 1814 Keats wrote his first poem, “In Imitation of Spenser.” What is remarkable about this first poem is its vitality, its appropriation of the Spenserian rhyme scheme and richly compressed imagery to evoke a romantically voluptuous dream world. It is a youthful piece. But the poetic ear is acute, the natural description delights in itself, and the verse dares with naive persistence to draw attention to the power of poetic image to set a dreamy scene (“Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle / That in that fairest lake had been / I could e’en Dido of her grief beguile.” And of course he does attempt to tell).

But there was more than “pure poetry” involved in Keats’s turn, over the next year or two, to poetry as a vocation. Politics played a role as well—in fact, a decisive one. As early as 1812 Cowden Clarke had met the radical publisher of The Examiner, Leigh Hunt; in 1814 he was a regular visitor to Hunt’s prison cell (he had been imprisoned in 1813 for libeling the Prince Regent), and Keats must have been enthralled by another kind of romance than Spenser’s—the romance of the London circle of artists and intellectuals who supported progressive causes and democratic reform, and opposed the aristocratic counterrevolution then waging war on Napoleon. Indeed, in these liberal circles of the Regency bourgeoisie, Keats might even hope to attract attention, even as an outsider, on the strength of his political enthusiasm and poetic talent. His next poems are political: in April 1814 the kings of Europe had defeated Napoleon, but amid the general optimism in England, liberals, including Keats in “On Peace,” called on the victors to support reform. The sonnet, his first, is clumsy and shrill. But it does show how Keats meant to get attention. In February 1815, Hunt was released, and Keats offered a sonnet, “Written on the Day That Mr. Leigh Hunt Left Prison,” through Cowden Clarke, whom he stopped on his way to meet Hunt: “when taking leave, he gave me the sonnet,” said Clarke, “… how clearly do I recall the conscious look and hesitation with which he offered it!” The publication of this sonnet in the Poems of 1817 would have been noted by the conservative reviewers who would later attack him as an associate of Hunt’s. To take a political stand so early in his career was a bold act: in those turbulent times political passions ran deep.

It may have been over political matters that Keats quarreled with Dr. Hammond. We know that he did and that for some reason he left his apprenticeship early. On 1 October 1815, Keats moved to London and registered at Guy’s Hospital for a six-month course of study required for him to become a licensed surgeon and apothecary. This move to the dreary neighborhood of the Borough, just south of London Bridge, was exciting for Keats. He could be near his family now: his grandmother had died in December 1814, and George and Tom moved to Abbey’s countinghouse where they were apprenticed (Fanny went to live with the Abbeys at Walthamstow). Before the move, Keats in 1815 seems to have been moody and at times deeply depressed. In the February 1815 poem “To Hope” he speaks of “hateful thoughts [that] enwrap my soul in gloom,” and “sad Despondency.” This was perhaps only a fashionable literary pose—he had recently written a sonnet in praise of Byron’s “sweetly sad” melody—and it takes a political turn, looking to “Hope” as a principle of social liberation. But his brother recalled this time as one of brooding uncertainty, his grandmother’s death no doubt having increased his anxiety to bring some stability to what remained of a family so shaken by death and dislocation. More pressing, perhaps, was his growing eagerness, in the exciting political climate of Napoleon’s brief return from March until the Battle of Waterloo in June, to make some contribution as a poet to the liberal cause. He was fully committed to a career as a surgeon but was still determined to find time to write verse.

His brother George, to ease John’s troubled moods, introduced him to his friends Caroline and Anne Mathew and their cousin, would-be poet, George Felton Mathew. Keats’s friendship with Mathew was brief but stimulating. With the two sisters Keats maintained a conventional literary friendship, addressing to them some stilted anapests (“To Some Ladies,” “On Receiving a Curious Shell …,” “O Come, dearest Emma!”) in the style of the popular Regency poet Thomas Moore. The friendship with George Mathew, though, buoyed his spirits and encouraged him in his poetic purpose. Here at last was a poet, who—initially at least—seemed to share his literary tastes and encouraged his verse writing. If his brother remembered Keats’s emotional distress, Mathew, writing to Keats’s biographer Richard Monckton Milnes more than thirty years later, remembered that Keats “enjoyed good health—a fine flow of animal spirits—was fond of company—could amuse himself admirably with the frivolities of life—and had great confidence in himself.” Mathew was reserved, rather conservative, and earnestly religious; the friendship soon cooled. But in November 1815 Keats addressed to him his longest poem yet, “To George Felton Mathew,” in heroic couplets modeled on the Elizabethan verse epistle. Despite the stiffness of the verse, the style, colloquial yet descriptively lush, is becoming recognizably Keats’s own though clearly developed from his reading of Hunt and Wordsworth; and, most interestingly, the themes would become characteristic, though here they are only suggested: that poets associate in a “brotherhood” of the “genius—loving heart”; that they represent, as much as political figures, fighters for “the cause of freedom”; and that poets bring “healing” to a suffering world, often hostile to their genius, by evoking a world of escape and timeless myth.

Few English authors have ever, in fact, had as much direct observation and experience of suffering as John Keats. Until the early summer of 1816 he studied medicine at Guy’s Hospital, and he did so well he was promoted to “dresser” unusually quickly. His duties involved dressing wounds daily to prevent or minimize infection, setting bones, and assisting with surgery. He took to the work well, lodging with two older students at 28 St. Thomas Street, attending lectures by the foremost surgeon of the day, Astley Cooper, as well as courses in anatomy and physiology, botany, chemistry, and medical practice. Yet by the spring of 1816 he was clearly becoming restless, even defensive, about poetry. He was increasingly excited by the new modern poetry of Wordsworth (whose 1815 Poems Keats had obtained just as he entered Guy’s), its naturalism and direct appeal to the secular imagination so different from Spenser’s romance. And, once again, there was the influence of Hunt, whose homey poetic diction with its colloquial informality, seemed daring to the twenty-year-old Keats, who would have associated Hunt’s 1816 poems in The Examiner with a politically antiauthoritarian movement of which modern poetry was a part. He began to speak about poetry, and little else, to his fellow students, with a kind of insecure arrogance. “Medical knowledge was beneath his attention,” said his fellow student and roommate, Henry Stephens, “no—Poetry was to his mind the zenith of all his Aspirations—The only thing worthy the attention of superior minds…. The greatest men in the world were the Poets, and to rank among them was the chief object of his ambition…. This feeling was accompanied with a good deal of Pride and some conceit; and that amongst mere Medical students, he would walk & talk as one of the Gods might be supposed to do, when mingling with mortals.” We need not, perhaps, take this memory too seriously, but clearly Keats wanted to think of himself as a man of literature. Flushed with enthusiasm for Hunt’s poetry, he sent to The Examiner in March a sonnet that he had written the previous autumn, “Solitude.” It was published 5 May 1816. Stephens recalled, “he was exceedingly gratified.”

However lofty his conception of the poet in 1816, Keats chose an unfortunate model in Leigh Hunt. The typical Hunt idiom was a highly mannered luxuriance, characterized by an abundance of –y and –ly modifiers, adjectives made from nouns and verbs (“bosomy,” “scattery,” “tremblingly”), as well as a jaunty colloquialism. Surely we can hear this Huntian influence in the little verses Keats scribbled on the cover of Stephens’s lecture notebook: “Give me women, wine and snuff, / Until I cry out ‘hold, enough!’”; or in some verses he began in the style of Hunt’s Story of Rimini (1815), “Specimen of an Induction to a Poem”: “Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry; / For while I muse, the lance points slantingly / Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet … Hails it with tears.” The reader notes in this poem the frequent enjambment for which Hunt himself had argued, against the masculine (strong-syllable) rhymed, end-stopped couplets of Alexander Pope; Hunt also disliked median caesurae, arguing for the fluidity of lines that paused later, after “weak” syllables. This argument (however arcane it may appear now) had political resonance for Hunt, since it promised to break the “aristocratic” sound of the heroic couplet so pleasing to conservative tastemakers. (Lord Byron, who objected to Hunt’s theories, never completely forgave Keats for his attack on Pope in “Sleep and Poetry.”)

But if these elements in Hunt’s poetry seemed declassé to his and Keats’s critics, today one cannot say that Hunt’s influence on Keats was in any simple sense bad. For one thing Hunt was not Keats’s only model. Spenser was a more serious and enduring influence, as were Browne, Drayton, Milton, Wordsworth, and later, Shakespeare. Most twenty-year-old poets need a model of some sort, and there were certainly more banal models in his day from which to choose. On the other hand (as Walter Jackson Bate suggests), to attempt to have written like a greater and more popular poet, like Byron, would not have had the energizing effect on Keats’s verse that Hunt had. Hunt enabled Keats to write and, eventually, to surpass him. For a young middle-class liberal with no university training, a healthy dislike of Pope and an enthusiasm for Hunt and Wordsworth provided an enabling sense of identity. Finally, Keats was by no means, even in 1815-1816, a slavish imitator. His works have a troubled sense of self-consciousness completely absent from Hunt’s. Keats’s are also poems of escape to nature, and in these tropes we can sense as much Keats’s very shrewd (and early) understanding of Wordsworth’s poetic project as of Hunt’s. In poems such as the fine sonnet “How many bards gild the lapses of time!” or the “Ode to Apollo,” or the lovely (summer 1816) sonnet “Oh! how I love, on a fair summer’s eve,” one finds an important Keatsian trope: the poem about the poet’s own sense of himself as a modern, preparing to write from his experience a new poetry to match that of England’s great writers.

On 25 July 1816 Keats took, and passed, the examinations that allowed him to practice surgery, and left London for the fashionable seaside resort of Margate. It had been a trying year (and a difficult exam: Stephens flunked), and Keats needed to escape the hot, dirty streets of the Borough to collect his thoughts. Here, for the first time really, he confronted, in a long poem of generally self-assured verse, his own struggle to become a poet, in the Epistle to My Brother George, inspired by verse epistles Hunt published in The Examiner but interesting in its own right. For here Keats explored what it would mean to him “to strive to think divinely,” to have a poet’s imaginative vision while absorbing the sights and sounds of nature in a kind of Wordsworthian “wise passiveness.” As so often in Romantic poetry, a poet’s complaint at being unable to have a vision itself becomes a vision of what he might see if he were a true poet. After fifty lines or so of such inspiration, though, Keats breaks off—”And should I ever see [visions], I will tell you / Such tales as must with amazement spell you”—in favor of a long, discursive speech by a dying poet who celebrates the joy he has brought the world. Despite the sketchiness of the effort, and Keats’s obvious frustration with himself, this poem and the other Margate epistle, “To Charles Cowden Clarke,” are remarkable for their brave and serious tone of self-exploration. Keats, confronting his indebtedness to other poets and his hopes for himself, had found a theme that would launch his career.

He returned to London in late September and took rooms near Guy’s Hospital, 9 Dean Street, and amid the gloomy little alleys began again his work as a dresser until he could formally assume the duties of a surgeon on his twenty-first birthday in October. Dreary as this beginning must have seemed, the month would be fateful for the young poet.

Cowden Clarke had been living in London, and this warmhearted schoolmaster was excited to receive the long epistle from Keats. One night in early October, Clarke invited Keats to his rooms in Clerkenwell. He especially wanted to show Keats a volume that was being shown around Hunt’s circle, a 1616 folio edition of George Chapman‘s translation of Homer. The two friends pored over the volume until six in the morning, and when Keats reached home he sat down immediately to compose a sonnet, titled in manuscript “On the first looking into Chapman’s Homer.” With obvious pride and excitement he sent it to Clarke by a post that reached him at ten that morning. Surely Keats felt, as critics today would agree, that this was the most perfect poem, the most beautifully written and sustained verse, he had yet written.

As he would so often, Keats wrote the “Homer” sonnet in response to the power and imaginative vision of another poet. And again, that power is perceived as an absence, a gap between Keats’s small voice—or the concrete experience of any individual—and the sublime limitlessness of a great and distant imagination (this tension reappears in the more complex relation of the poet to the Grecian urn and the nightingale). Unlike his first sonnets, inspired by the natural charm of Hunt’s sonnets, this sonnet is based on a structural principle that he would later bring to perhaps its greatest fulfillment in English poetry in his odes, the expression of the irresolvable contrarieties of experience in the interplay of verse elements—quatrain, octave and sestet, rhymes, words, and even sounds. In this sonnet, the energy and excitement of literary discovery—Keats, in reading Homer, feels not bookish pleasure but the awe of a conquistador reaching the edge of an uncharted sea—is presented as direct emotion, not, as it had been in the epistles, a disabling and self-conscious pose. The emotion is, for the first time, sustained and controlled throughout the verse, with a sureness of diction, and even sound, that never falters: for example, the sense of openness to a vast sea of wonder is suggested by long vowels (“wild,” “surmise,” “silent”), tapering off to hushed awe in the weak syllables of the final word, “Silent, upon a peak in Darien.” As published (with line 7 altered, in The Examiner , 1 December 1816), the sonnet takes its place with Wordsworth’s and some of Keats’s own, as among the finest of the nineteenth century.

Keats carefully copied out this sonnet, along with some other poems including the sonnet “How many bards,” and gave them to Clarke to take to Hunt at his Hampstead cottage. Hunt, of course, had published a Keats sonnet, but now was anxious to meet the man himself. Keats responded to Clarke, in a letter of 9 October, “‘t will be an Era in my existence.” It proved to be.

Some time that month he met not only Hunt, but also men who were to be close friends and supporters all his life: John Hamilton Reynolds and Benjamin Haydon. Within a few weeks he would meet Shelley‘s publisher Charles Ollier, who would bring out Keats’s first volume. Hunt recalled of this first meeting “the impression made upon me by the exuberant specimens of genuine though young poetry that were laid before me, and the promise of which was seconded by the fine fervid countenance of the writer. We became intimate on the spot, and I found the young poet’s heart as warm as his imagination.” It was, said Clarke, “`a red-letter day’ in the young poet’s life, and one which will never fade with me while memory lasts… Keats was suddenly made a familiar of the household, and was always welcomed.” This was so to the last months of his life, when the ill poet made his way back to the Hunts’ even though by then Keats had come to judge him egotistical and manipulative and had long since rejected his poetical influence on his career.

However trying Keats may have found Hunt, throughout his life he could think of Hampstead as a refuge, Hunt’s pleasant domesticity in his beautiful surroundings harmonizing with the easy urbanity of high Regency culture, of books, paintings, music, liberal politics, and literary conversation with the great talents of the age. Keats himself had moved, in November, to lodgings at 76 Cheapside, with his brothers, George and Tom. Until Tom’s death two years later broke it up, this would be the happiest household Keats would know. He traveled often to Hunt’s in these months, his friendship growing with the witty young Reynolds and the crotchety, energetic egomaniac Haydon. Reynolds, about Keats’s age, was a not too successful poet and essayist, but had a quick mind and literary polish; in the next few weeks he would introduce Keats to John Taylor and James Hessey, who became his publishers after Ollier dropped him; to Charles (Armitage) Brown, the rugged, worldly businessman who was one of Keats’s most loyal friends, traveling with him through Scotland in the summer of 1818, and sharing rooms with him at his home at Wentworth Place, Hampstead (now the Keats House and Museum), from December 1818 until May 1820; Charles and Maria Dilke, who built the double house in Hampstead with Brown; and Benjamin Bailey, an Oxford student with whom Keats stayed the following fall. Haydon’s vast canvases and blustering (later in life, sadly manic), often pugnacious self-assurance impressed Keats with his notion that modern artists could produce great works of epic dimensions; he introduced Keats to William Hazlitt, whose notions of poetic energy, “gusto,” and of imagination as an intensification of sensory experience enabling us to transcend self, were to begin Keats’s own meditations on aesthetics.

When Keats stayed at the Hunts’, a cot was set up in the library for him, and it was here, in November and December 1816, he planned his two long poems “I stood tip-toe” and “Sleep and Poetry.” Though the diction of these rhymed couplets is often adolescent, and the syntax turgid, these were the first serious long poems Keats intended for publication, and their themes introduce enduring concerns. Clearly, by November, Hunt had begun to plan a volume of his new protégés verse, with the Olliers as publishers. “I stood tip-toe” was filled out for this purpose, Keats having begun it sometime in the summer as a treatment of the myth of Endymion. In this poem, Keats begins with lush natural description, although his purpose is Wordsworthian, to write poetry inspired by nature that will rise to myth: “For what has made the sage or poet write / But the fair paradise of Nature’s light?” Nature inspires poets to sing sweet songs of mythic figures; but the poet is called by “unearthly singing” from a resting place of the divine, “Full in the speculation of the stars.” This meeting of the divine with the human is symbolized by the marriage of the mortal Endymion with the moon, Cynthia, and initiates a regenerated world of art and poetry: “Was there a Poet born?” in this marriage, the poem asks. Keats finished this poem in December, and tentatively called it “Endymion,” his first poetic use of the myth.

“Sleep and Poetry,” written in December, is the more serious poem of the two. It lays out a poetic project and manifesto for the young poet. Poetry here is distinguished from mere sleep, or dream, in engaging “the strife of human hearts,” the sorrow of life, as well as proceeding from an immersion in the joys of sensation. Keats boldly aligns himself with Wordsworth’s naturalism, attacking the “foppery” of neoclassicism: he will begin his poetic education in nature in order to comprehend the human heart. The “great end” of poetry is “that it should be a friend / To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man.” The poem ends with the notion of a “brotherhood” of literary cultivation as the poet returns to his evening in Hunt’s library, an ideal union of natural grace, liberality, and poetic tradition. Although these thoughts began with the verse epistles, this poem is his most earnest attempt yet to find a purpose for literature within modern life, and he boldly asserts that a new poetry has begun, a modern humanism with roots in nature and myth. Contemporary critics immediately understood, and condemned, this young poet’s radical associations—more offensive to them than the poem’s occasional Huntian lapses and adolescent posturing.

On 1 December, Hunt published in The Examiner a brief notice of “Young Poets”—Shelley, Keats, and Reynolds—extolling a “new school” that would “revive Nature” and “‘put a spirit of youth in everything.’” He quotes in full the “excellent” “Homer” sonnet. At about this time Keats was determined to give up medicine and devote himself to poetry. Stephens believed that this notice “sealed his fate,” and that he immediately changed his mind, but Stephens may not have known the whole story. Charles Brown remembers Keats becoming disillusioned with his career as a surgeon and becoming fearful that he might not be a good enough surgeon to avoid inflicting needless suffering. The truth was undoubtedly a complex mixture of these, but certainly the excitement of these months, and the promise of a published volume, gave him confidence and determination. In December Haydon took his life mask of Keats, as a study for including him (standing behind Wordsworth) in his large painting Christ’s Entry Into Jerusalem, completed in 1819.

Later that month, the Hunt household was set into commotion by the arrival of Shelley, whose wife Harriet’s suicide provoked a crisis, as Shelley arranged to marry Mary Godwin (with whom he had eloped in 1814) and fight for custody of his children. The pride and fuss over Keats’s forthcoming volume was shared with the attention Shelley demanded. The two poets walked together across the Heath frequently that winter, and at least once Shelley cautioned Keats to wait for publication until he had a more mature body of work from which to compile a volume. It was perhaps good advice, but Keats never warmed to Shelley as Shelley did to him, and he seems to have been annoyed at Hunt for moving to Marlow for an extended visit with Shelley that spring.

Keats’s first volume, Poems, appeared on 3 March 1817, with its dedicatory sonnet to Leigh Hunt. It begins with “I stood tip-toe,” ends with another long poem, “Sleep and Poetry,” and includes youthful poems as well as some recent, good work, “Keen, fitful gusts”; the poem to Wordsworth, Hunt, and Haydon, “Addressed to the Same [Haydon]”; and the three long verse epistles, to Mathew, George Keats, and Clarke. It received about half a dozen notices, half from Keats’s circle. In October 1817 a polite review, warning the young poet to “Cast off the uncleanness of [Hunt’s] school,” appeared in the Edinburgh Magazine, and Literary Miscellany. Months later, in the 1-13 June Examiner, Hunt extolled Wordsworth’s revolutionary modern poetry and placed Keats as an emerging new poet of a second wave, though his praise of Keats’s actual poetry was rather reserved. The volume was no success, and few copies were sold. “The book might have emerged in Timbuctoo,” recalled Clarke. One of the Ollier brothers wrote to George Keats (who perhaps had written to complain about the book’s promotion), “We regret that your brother ever requested us to publish his book… By far the greater number of persons who have purchased it from us have found fault with it in such plain terms, that we have in many cases offered to take the book back rather than be annoyed with the ridicule which has, time after time, been showered upon it.”

On 1 March Hunt had invited Keats home to celebrate the publication. After dinner Hunt wove a laurel crown for Keats; Keats wove an ivy one for Hunt; and Hunt then suggested a fifteen-minute sonnet-writing contest to commemorate this event. Keats dashed off a poor, rather silly sonnet, which Hunt published to Keats’s dismay. Horribly embarrassed, angry at Hunt’s frivolity, he sought out Haydon the next day, and the two went to see the Elgin Marbles, which Haydon had been active in persuading the government to buy. Keats wrote his sonnet “On Seeing the Elgin Marbles“ that evening; it is a splendid evocation of the grandeur of monumental art set against the aspirations of the individual artist, of human weakness and pain poised against an aesthetic vision of the gods.

Keats was not deterred by the book’s poor sales. He determined to begin a large poem, on the great theme that he so cannily saw had produced his most serious thought, the striving of man to be one with his ideals, his gods. He resolved to get away, to return to the seaside. Before he left on 14 April for the Isle of Wight, he and his brothers moved to Hampstead, to a home in Well Walk, hoping the country air might be good for young Tom, who was becoming ill. He also arranged for John Taylor, of Taylor and Hessey, to become his new publisher, and this association was, both emotionally and financially, to be a source of real support for years to come.

On the Isle of Wight he sat alone for some weeks, writing to Haydon of his new passion for Shakespeare, whom Haydon had read to him with inspiring gusto, whose works he had brought along, and whose portrait he hung up over his desk (he took this portrait with him everywhere all his life). His goal was to write a four-thousand-line poem, Endymion, by autumn. It was an unrealistic, though bold, project, and he sat for weeks anxious and depressed, though moved by the beauty and power of the sea. His friends back home had faith in him, which sustained him: Reynolds wrote a fine review of his Poems in the radical Champion (9 March 1817); Haydon wrote to him, “bless you My dear Keats go on, dont despair… read Shakespeare and trust in Providence”; and Taylor kindly advanced him money—having written to his father, “I cannot think he will fail to become a great Poet.”

He did, by the end of April, manage to write part of book I, the “Hymn to Pan.” Yet he was lonely, nervous, and blocked. He fled the Isle of Wight for Margate, where he had been so productive the previous summer. In May he went to Canterbury with Tom, hoping “the Remembrance of Chaucer will set me forward like a Billiard-Ball,” as he wrote to Taylor. By June he was back at Well Walk, Hampstead, spending many days with the quiet, shy, by no means intellectual painter Joseph Severn, who would be with Keats to his last moments in Rome; and also with Reynolds, with whom he read Shakespeare. By August his first extended narrative poem was half finished, a total of two thousand lines.

Severn remarked that during these days he noticed the development of Keats’s power of sympathy, of a kind of imaginative identification valued in Keats’s day as the hallmark of poetic sensitivity (William Hazlitt’s teachings reflect this view). Keats was moved to an unusual degree toward almost sensory identification with things around him: “Nothing seemed to escape him, the song of a bird and the undertone of response from covert or hedge, the rustle of some animal,” said Haydon. “The humming of a bee, the sight of a flower, the glitter of the sun, seemed to make his nature tremble!” This power of overcoming self through loving the world’s beauty became a crucial doctrine for Keats—he found his feeling here confirmed by Hazlitt’s theories of imagination—that evolved into a moral principle of love for the good. This doctrine would become Keats’s ultimate justification for the aesthetic life, and it would be implied even as early as Endymion.

He worked on the poem throughout the late summer and fall of 1817, writing on a strict plan of at least forty lines a day, a remarkable project for a beginning poet that ultimately, of course, did not produce consistently good poetry. But as an exercise it was both stimulating and courageous, and he emerged a mature, thoughtful, self-critical poet for this effort. During these months, his friendship with Benjamin Bailey deepened, and he saw little of Hunt. “Every one who met him,” Brown recalled of Keats, “sought for his society, and he was surrounded by a little circle of hearty friends.” As Bailey remembered him in those days, thinking back over thirty years, “socially he was the most loveable creature, in the proper sense of that word, as distinguished from amiable, I think I ever knew as a man.” Bailey invited him up to Oxford in September, where amid the beautiful autumn foliage and academic camaraderie of Magdalen College, Bailey crammed for his exams and Keats sat writing daily the third book of Endymion. With Bailey he read and discussed Wordsworth, Hazlitt, Milton, Dante. Bailey, the methodical but energetic scholar, and Keats, lively and intuitive, were excellent study mates, and Keats was able to write with ease and find time in the afternoons for boating on the Isis, strolling in the countryside, and once visiting Shakespeare’s birthplace at Stratford-upon-Avon.

He returned from Oxford in October with a new seriousness of thought and purpose; he was weary of Endymion, and though he plodded along with it, he was already planning another long poem. But in London, trouble vexed him: Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine (October 1817) published “On the Cockney School of Poetry,” the first of several vicious attacks on Hunt by John Gibson Lockhart and John Wilson, which boded ill for Keats. Keats’s brother Tom was now clearly consumptive, and a trip to the Continent was planned for him; George was out of work and needing money; and Keats himself was ill and being treated with mercury for what was almost surely venereal disease. In late November he left London for the pleasant suburb of Burford Bridge, and there he completed Endymion .

Endymion is in many ways a response to Shelley’s Alastor (1816), where a young poet dreams of an ideal mate, in fruitless pursuit of whom he quests across the world, only to die alone and unloved. Keats’s poem begins with a mortal, Endymion, discovered restless and unhappy with the pastoral delights of his kingdom, for he has become enraptured with a dream vision, the moon goddess Cynthia. After a series of adventures, he abandons his restless quest, which by book 4 has come to seem illusory, in favor of an earthly Indian maid, who is eventually revealed to have been Cynthia all along. Although the actual narrative will hardly bear much scrutiny, the themes evoked here would haunt Keats all his life. Only through a love for the earthly is the ideal reached, the real and the ideal becoming one through an intense, sensuous love that leads to a “fellowship with essence.” The theme of a mortal’s love for an ideal figure that proves either illusory or redemptive would be a continuing source of philosophical exploration and ironic play for Keats, as would the paradox of redemption or transcendence evolving from a fuller engagement with human suffering and finitude.

The poetry of Endymion varies widely from some thoughtful speeches and lovely description to some of the most awful and self-indulgent verse ever written by a mature major English poet. The story is tedious and the point often obscure. Most of Keats’s circle, including Keats himself, recognized its weaknesses. Yet as a long, sustained work that would broach Keats’s most serious concerns, as a romance that itself attempts to reconsider that genre’s own polarities of human and divine, finite and ideal, erotic love and spiritual transcendence, it was a breakthrough for Keats’s career.

The critical reaction to Endymion was infamous for its ferocity. The poem appeared in late April 1818; there was a supportive notice by Bailey in the Oxford University and City Herald (30 May and 6 June 1818) and an extremely perceptive review (by Reynolds or perhaps John Scott) in the Champion (7 and 14 June 1818): “Mr. Keats goes out of himself into a world of abstraction:—his passions, feelings, are all as much imaginative as his situations…when he writes of passion, it seems to have possessed him. This, however, is what Shakespeare did.” But these reviews lacked the sensationalist power of the attacks on Keats, who was associated with Hunt and “the Cockney School.” The two most vicious, written in cool, satiric tones, were John Gibson Lockhart’s in Blackwood’s (dated August 1818, appeared in September) and John Wilson Croker’s in the Quarterly Review (dated April 1818, appeared in September). For Lockhart, who had learned something of Keats’s background, the poem was another sad example of an upstart poet in an age when the celebrity of Robert Burns and Joanna Baillie has “turned the heads of we know not how many farm-servants and unmarried ladies; our very footmen compose tragedies.” He attacked the 1817 Poems and then reacted with horror at the “imperturbable drivelling idiocy of Endymion,” inspired, he thought by Hunt, “the meanest, the filthiest, and the most vulgar of Cockney poetasters,” compared to whom Keats was but “a boy of pretty abilities.” Croker, in the Quarterly, was unable to “struggle beyond the first of the four books,” whose diction and forced rhyme he found absurd.

In the years that followed it was common to believe that these attacks had shaken Keats’s resolve and broken his health: Shelley, for reasons of his own, exaggerated the effect of the conservative reviewers’ savagery (he himself wrote, but did not send, a balanced defense of Endymion, which he privately disliked, although he recognized Keats’s genius). Byron was at first scornful of Keats’s weakness, as Shelley portrayed it to him, but refused to criticize him publicly after his death. Charles Brown, too, spread abroad the notion that Keats had been dealt “his death-blow.”

Keats was indeed hurt but not in fact crushed: the nineteenth-century melodrama of Keats’s life being “snuffed out by an Article” (Byron, Don Juan, Canto II, 1823), his frail constitution wrecked, consumption immediately shaking him, is simply false. He showed no signs of tuberculosis for another year, his constitution was by no means frail (he was stocky and athletic), and he was not overly sensitive to criticism. He wrote to James Hessey on 8 October, “My own domestic criticism has given me pain without comparison beyond what Blackwood or the Quarterly could possibly inflict…J. S. [who had written to defend Keats in the 3 October Morning Chronicle] is perfectly right in regard to the slip-shod Endymion…—The Genius of Poetry must work out its own salvation in a man…That which is creative must create itself—In Endymion, I leaped headlong into the Sea, and thereby have become better acquainted with the Soundings, the quicksands, & the rocks, than if I had stayed upon the green shore, and piped a silly pipe, and took tea & comfortable advice.”

The fact was that Keats had grown beyond Endymion even before it was completed, nearly a year before these reviews. His association with Bailey in the fall of 1817, and his reading of Hazlitt, contributed to a new seriousness in his thinking about art; on 22 November 1817 he wrote to Bailey the first of his famous letters to his friends and brothers on aesthetics, the social role of poetry, and his own sense of poetic mission. Rarely has a poet left such a remarkable record of his thoughts on his own career and its relation to the history of poetry. The struggle of the poet to create beauty had become itself paradigmatic of spiritual and imaginative quest to perceive the transcendent or the enduring in a world of suffering and death. For Keats, characteristically, this quest for a transcendent truth can be expressed (or even conceived of) only in the terms of an intense, imaginative engagement with sensuous beauty: “I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of Imagination—What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth—whether it existed before or not—for I have the same Idea of all our Passions as of Love they are all in their sublime, creative of essential Beauty.”

The imagination’s “sublime,” transcending activity is a distillation and intensification of experience. Writing to his brothers at the end of December, he criticized a painting by Benjamin West: “there is nothing to be intense upon; no women one feels mad to kiss; no face swelling into reality. the excellence of every Art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with Beauty & Truth—Examine King Lear & you will find this examplified throughout.” The intensity of beauty in art here is not identical to the intensity of actual life—although there is a tendency in all Romantic theory to equate them. Keats emphasizes that the artist remains aloof from single perspectives on life, because truly to paint life’s intensity is to reveal its fiercely dual nature and the precariousness of all attempts to fix or rationalize it: “it struck me, what quality went to form a Man of Achievement especially in Literature & which Shakespeare possessed so enormously—I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.”

Keats’s best-known doctrine, Negative Capability, implies an engagement in the actual through imaginative identification that is simultaneously a kind of transcendence. The artist loses the Selfhood that demands a single perspective or “meaning,” identifies with the experience of his/her object, and lets that experience speak itself through him/her. Both the conscious soul and the world are transformed by a dynamic openness to each other. This transformation is art’s “truth,” its alliance with concrete human experience; its “beauty” is then its ability to abstract and universalize from that experience the enduring forms of the heart’s desires.

But troubling questions remained, to be worked through not only in letters but, more important, in Keats’s poetry: What does it mean to experience both the intensity of the actual and the beauty of its distilled essence? Does the artist not demand more answers from real life than the disinterestedness of Negative Capability can offer? And, most urgent, is not aesthetic distillation really a kind of a falsification, a dangerous and blind succumbing to enchantment? Is the “truth” of experience only that pain accompanies all joy and cannot be transcended? Certainly without the transforming power of art, at least, growing self-consciousness implies knowledge of loss and death; perhaps even art does no more than deflect our attention. In early December 1817 Keats had written one of his most compressed lyrics on this theme, “In drear-nighted December,” where the passing of the seasons brings no pain to nature but only self-conscious sorrow to humanity. And in January 1818, in the sonnet “On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again,” he resolves to leave wandering in the “barren dream” of “golden-tongued Romance” to be “consumed in the fire” and reborn as a poet of tragic insight.

In these months, the winter of 1817-1818, Keats returned to Shakespeare and to Wordsworth with renewed interest and a real deepening of aesthetic judgment and complexity, spurred by his attendance at William Hazlitt’s lectures on poetry at the Surrey Institution. In the course of his own poetic development he would challenge Hazlitt’s ideas of poetic “gusto” and aesthetic disinterestedness with questions like those above. But with what sympathy and excitement he must have heard Hazlitt say of Shakespeare that a great poet “was nothing in himself: but he was all that others were, or that they could become…When he conceived of a character, whether real or imaginary, he not only entered into all its thoughts and feelings, but seemed instantly, and as if by touching a secret spring, to be surrounded with all the same objects.” At the end of January 1818 he wrote his first Shakespearean sonnet, “When I have fears that I may cease to be,” one of his finest: even in this first line one hears the Shakespearean counterpoint of sound, which is sustained throughout with a sure mastery of vocalic music. As he had before, Keats developed this sonnet along lines of antithesis, here taking off from the Shakespearean theme of time, death, and art; but Keats transformed these into a struggle along a borderline of vision (“the shore / Of the wide world”) between a poet’s aspiration after “high romance” and his fear of sinking into obscurity and death.

In Hazlitt’s lectures Keats would have heard the critic both praise and attack the new naturalism of Wordsworth, forcing him in his letters to consider his own position. In late December 1817 Keats met Wordsworth himself, through Haydon, who the year before had sent him a Keats sonnet, “Great spirits now on earth are sojourning,” which Wordsworth admired. One of these meetings was social gathering Haydon dubbed his “Immortal Dinner,” attended by Keats, Wordsworth, Lamb, Reynolds, and others. Here Keats read his “Hymn to Pan” from Endymion, Wordsworth pronouncing it “a very pretty piece of Paganism.” Although it is not clear that Wordsworth meant to belittle the verse, the tone of condescension was not lost on Keats or his friends. Keats was not overly hurt, however, since he saw Wordsworth several times more in London, dining with his family on 5 January 1818. That Wordsworth had revolutionized poetry Keats never doubted; but his sense of the man’s egotism did enforce his fear that contemporary poetry, however truer to experience than the assured mythmaking of a Milton, ran the risk of trivial or “obtrusive” self-absorption. In a letter to Reynolds written 3 February 1818 after a visit to the famous Mermaid Tavern (frequented by Ben JonsonJohn Fletcher, and Sir Francis Beaumont), he longed for a poetry of “unobtrusive” beauty, “Let us have the old Poets, & Robin Hood.” He enclosed his own “Lines on the Mermaid tavern,” and “Robin Hood“; but he knew that in fact the modern situation worked against poetry of unself-conscious grandeur.

For the time being, he was perplexed, and his poetry proceeded slowly. He continued to prepare Endymion for the press. The winter months were full of social activity, with visits to Haydon, dinner at the Hunts with the Shelleys and Peacock, and evenings at the theater. In early March, however, his brother George arrived in London to see Abbey, leaving Tom ill and unattended. Keats departed at once to stay with him in Teignmouth, Devonshire, where he remained until May. With Tom feverish and coughing, with the news that George had decided to immigrate to America, with his sense of being obliged to be far from the stimulation of London but fearful of losing both his brothers, these were sad months. Poetically, as Endymion was finished and a new poem, Isabella, begun, it was a time of intense introspection and transition marking Keats’s emergence as a poet whose most authentic subject would be the difficulties of writing romance itself, the genre paradigmatic for Keats of the transforming power of art, of the simple wonder of storytelling. Romance also implies a quest for closure, for a realized (or at least clearly envisioned) dream, and Keats questioned whether modern poetry can embody such belief.

The romance he wrote in March 1818, Isabella, based on a tale of Boccaccio, is an uneven poem, and though some of his contemporaries (including Lamb) admired it, Keats came to dislike it. It is best thought of as an experiment in tone, teetering uneasily between poignant, romantic tragedy and a dry, uneasy, narrational pose. This poem is a first attempt—and an interesting one—at that extraordinary poise he would achieve between romance and disillusionment almost a year later in The Eve of St. Agnes. But his mood in March is reflected in a letter to Reynolds on the twenty-fifth, containing a verse epistle, “Dear Reynolds,” in which he is most deeply suspicious of “Imagination brought / Beyond its proper bound,” that makes real life seem painful and cold, “spoils the singing of the Nightingale.” He can no longer be lifted by romance: “I saw too distinct into the core / Of an eternal fierce destruction.” He was uneasy with the tale he is telling in Isabella. The story from Boccaccio is simple, and Keats made few changes: Isabella, living with her two merchant brothers, loves Lorenzo, a clerk. The brothers, vile and materialistic, murder Lorenzo and bury him in the forest. Guided by Lorenzo’s ghost, Isabella discovers the body, exhumes it, severs the head, buries it in a pot of basil, and, weeping over the plant until her brothers take it from her, she dies mad. Again, the interest here is in Keats’s tone: he resists the tendency to sentimentality, displaying real compassion for the victim of greed, but also lingering with bizarre interest (“Ah! wherefore all this wormy circumstance?” he asks at one point) on the realistic elements of physical decay and psychological derangement. And the lamentations (“O Melancholy, linger here awhile!”) are carried on with an excess that borders on arch humor. Keats later dismissed Isabella as “mawkish”; most likely he soon saw that the poem revealed awkwardly his growing self-consciousness about the complexity of romance to the modern sensibility. But did this realization mean the modern poet could not write poetry of “vision” or “grandeur?”

This question is the challenge to his career, as he takes it up in a long, remarkable letter to Reynolds on 3 May 1818. The letter is critical for understanding Keats’s mature thought. The letter takes for granted the general view of the Hunt-Shelley circle of progressives that there is “a grand march of intellect,” that the arts advance with the development of knowledge, and that both art and science, “by widening speculation… ease the Burden of the Mystery.” Like Hunt and Shelley, Keats expressed ambivalence about Wordsworth, whose great genius had expressed the modern, secular sensibility yet seemed too “circumscribed” to celebrate either the era’s buoyant optimism or its new scientific skepticism in a visionary myth. (Keats, of course, knew the Wordsworth of the reactionary Excursion, published in 1814, but not of The Prelude, first published in 1850.) Keats was uncertain “whether Miltons apparently less anxiety for Humanity proceeds from his seeing further or no than Wordsworth: And whether Wordsworth has in truth epic passion, and martyrs himself to the human heart, the main region of his song.” Keats felt that for Milton religious faith came easily, with the great “emancipation” of the Reformation; but Wordsworth’s poetry had greater potential depth if perhaps more limited scope, the awakening of the soul to knowledge of its suffering. “Here,” wrote Keats, “I must think Wordsworth is deeper than Milton,” though perhaps that depth is forced on him by his place in intellectual history. Keats saw the working through of this challenge as his place in history as well.

If this conception of “modern” literature derived from progressives such as Hazlitt, Hunt, Shelley, and Peacock, nevertheless, Keats brought to it his own distrust of their utopianism and his sense of tragedy cutting across the Promethean aspirations of the individual artist. Moreover, his goal was a kind of aesthetic detachment or “disinterestedness” that could transform pathos into a real, tragic vision, the Negative Capability he suspected Wordsworth lacked. He seems to have discovered that the way to Negative Capability was an arduous one, a descent into pain rather than ascent into romance. Using one of his best-known metaphors, he described human life as both he and Wordsworth perceived it: “I compare human life to a large Mansion of Many Apartments, two of which I can only describe…—The first we step into we call the infant or thoughtless Chamber, in which we remain as long as we do not think…” From this state of innocence we are impelled into the “Chamber of Maiden-Thought,” where knowledge is exhilarating but soon discloses that “the World is full of Misery and Heart-break, Pain, Sickness and oppression,” and the chamber darkens. The Wordsworth of “Tintern Abbey” explored the dark chambers of experience, and “Now, if we live, and go on thinking, we too shall explore them.” As for the aesthetic result, the possibility of such humanizing producing great poetry, that can be judged only by experience itself, for “axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.” The letter is remarkable indeed for its sense of poetic “mission,” but equally striking is Keats’s sense that poetry in his era would become a questioning of its own processes of interpreting and articulating concrete experience.

On these matters he would meditate the better part of the summer, and though he wrote little throughout these months, these would now be his dominant concerns. One can see them in his great poem Hyperion, begun in October. In June Tom seemed better, and Keats decided to accompany Charles Brown on a walking tour of the Lake District and Scotland. Keats hoped this would be the first of a series of travels in England and abroad to prepare him to write. The trip through the Lake country was invigorating; Keats and Brown energetically hiked in the mountains around Rydal and Ambleside. In the evenings Keats wrote long journal letters to Tom filled with natural detail and excited purpose: “I shall learn poetry here,” he wrote amid the rocks and waterfalls, “and shall henceforth write more than ever…” In Scotland the weather turned rainy and chill, and Keats became ill with a sore throat that would plague him for months after. This illness was not connected to his later tuberculosis, but for the next year he would have occasional recurrences of the sore throat. Though he was always aware of the consumption that seemed to curse his family, and his bouts with illness this year were often depressing, there is no reason to believe he thought at this time that these sore throats were dangerous or that his poetic career would be cut short.

In early August, leaving Brown in Scotland, Keats returned home to Hampstead to find his brother Tom seriously ill with tuberculosis. In June, George, now married, had immigrated to America to try his luck as a farmer (after several inevitable disasters he did prosper, in the 1830s, as a miller in Louisville, Kentucky); Keats was now alone with Tom, almost constantly, until his death on 1 December. But throughout the autumn of 1818 he began composing his most brilliant work yet, a poem even his critics saw as a major achievement, Hyperion.

Keats’s biographer Walter Jackson Bate has observed that the year that began with the fragment epic Hyperion “may be soberly described as the most productive in the life of any poet of the past three centuries.” One senses, too, in this annus mirabilis, an unprecedented engagement with three centuries of literary convention, a stretching out and probing of the limits of epic, ode, pastoral, and romance that realigns these forms with Keats’s modern sense of an uncanny reciprocity between myth and history, fantasy and experience, noble aspiration and tragic disillusionment. This is the stuff of Hyperion, and its interest is its fresh engagement with these issues, as they cluster around a traditional Western icon: the fall into suffering of the mighty or good and the hope for compensatory redemption. Hyperion tells the story of the fall of the Titans and their replacement by the Gods, more beautiful than the Titans by virtue of their superior knowledge, and, so, by implication, their insight into the suffering of humanity.

The epic begins not with the battle between Titans and Gods but with its aftermath. The opening lines are as solemn and subdued as any Keats wrote: “Deep in the shady sadness of a vale / Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, / Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star, / Sat grayhaired Saturn, quiet as a stone.” All the Saturnians have fallen into a dark, still world, where time itself creeps slowly into their dawning senses. All but Hyperion have fallen, and some hope he will lead a revolt against the upstart Jove and prevent Apollo from directing the sun’s course. Like so many romantic epics, however, this one begins with an extraordinary sense of stasis, of emotional confusion, pain, and paralysis from which there is no apparent exit. The speeches of the fallen Titans are useless. Saturn is helpless and confused; Thea, his wife, can only grieve; Enceladus counsels war but can do no more than bluster; and Oceanus delivers a key speech (modeled on Ulysses’ speech on degree in Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida) in which he sees history as an ordered, inevitable progress that leaves behind much that is beautiful in favor of a greater beauty and perfection. Hyperion tries in vain to force the sun to rise but falls back in impotent grief. Finally, Apollo is born a god through the most painful vision of tragic knowledge, and “with fierce convulse / Die[s] into life.” The fragment breaks off here.
The most direct source for this council of fallen Titans is, of course, Milton‘s Paradise Lost (1667), and Keats’s blank-verse epic is, at least partly, “Miltonic.” But the differences are great; Keats’s verse does not often, in its densely beautiful descriptions, subtle assonances, and emphasis on the verse line, resemble the heavier Latinate Miltonic syntax. But more important, Keats’s victims begin unable to define their plight or even comprehend how they differ from gods and came to fall. Their fall is in the nature of some cosmic process, echoing the Romantic age’s fascination with historical revolutionary forces (the parallel to Napoleon and the French Revolution has been suggested), with lost golden ages succeeded by self-conscious, demythologized modernity. The reader also understands the personal relevance to Hyperion of Keats’s conception of the modern poet, born to Apollo’s radiance by his identification with human suffering. The fall into self-consciousness would itself be redemptive if it formed the soul of a poet, whose creation of beauty is the more intense for his having felt and transcended tragic pain and the loss of faith.

Yet the poem proved too problematic, and for many reasons by April 1819 Keats had given it up. As many critics have noted, Keats may have attempted a cool, “disinterested” sympathy with both Hyperion and Apollo, but there were elements of himself in the suffering of both that were hard to overcome. If Apollo’s knowledge deifies him, Hyperion’s more passive suffering and dark bewilderment are tragically compelling. What would be the dramatic focus of the poem? As Keats nursed his consumptive brother Tom, he must have felt the difficulties of rising to Negative Capability—even its moral impossibility in the face of Tom’s dying agony. What good, really, to speak of either inevitable human progress or the birth of a poet in the face of such pain? This indeed would be the subject of Hyperion when Keats attempted to revise it in summer 1819 as The Fall of Hyperion.

Keats had spent the autumn almost constantly with Tom and saw few of his friends. On 1 December 1818, the day of Tom’s death, Charles Brown invited Keats to come live with him at Wentworth Place, now the Keats House, Hampstead. It was a double house Brown had built with his friend Charles Dilke, who lived with his wife in one half. In the previous summer while he was away, Brown rented his side of the house to a widow, Mrs. Frances Brawne, and her three children, the oldest of whom, Fanny, was just eighteen. They later continued to visit the Dilkes at Wentworth. Here, probably in November, Keats met Fanny. This house, with Brown a constant companion, and the Dilkes and later Fanny and her mother renting next door, would be Keats’s last real home in England.

Keats’s relationship to Fanny Brawne has tantalized generations of lovers of his poetry. Unfortunately, some key aspects of that relationship are, and will likely remain, obscure. It seems that on 25 December 1818 they declared their love; they were engaged (though without much public announcement) in October 1819. But Keats felt he could not marry until he had established himself as a poet—or proved to himself he could not. What Fanny felt is hard to know. Keats burned all but her last letters, which were buried with him. She later married and lived most of her life abroad; her written remarks about Keats reveal little about her feelings. From Keats’s letters we get a picture of a lively, warm-hearted young woman, fashionable and social. She respected Keats’s vocation but did not pretend to be literary.

Readers of Keats’s letters to her are moved—or shocked—by their frank passion, their demands upon a sociable young girl for seriousness and attention to a suffering, dying, lonely man, insecure in all his achievements, asking only for her saving love. But it would be wrong to judge Keats (or Fanny) by the letters of 1820, written by a Keats at times desperate and confused, feverish and seriously ill. Almost certainly, as would have been conventional in their day for a couple so uncertain of their future, their relationship was not sexual. But it was passionate and mutual, certainly becoming the central experience of intense feeling in both their lives. It was to Fanny he addressed one of his most direct, passionate love poems, “Bright Star,” which she copied out in a volume of Dante that Keats gave her in April 1819, but which may have been written four or five months earlier. Even here, however, the intensity of experience is not simple: humans may desire the “stedfastness” of the stars only in a paradoxical “sweet unrest,” an ecstasy of passion both intense and annihilating, a kind of “swoon to death,” fulfilling but inhumanly “unchangeable.”

Keats explores these antinomies of human desire in one of his finest and best-loved long poems, The Eve of St. Agnes, a romance in Spenserian stanzas written in January 1819. The story recalls Romeo and Juliet, though its details are based on several traditional French romances (see Robert Gittings, John Keats, 1968). In Keats’s hands the story itself is less important than what, through a highly self-conscious art, it becomes, a meditation on desire and its fulfillment, on wishes, dreams, and romance. It is framed by the coldness of eternity, by an ancient Beadsman whose frosty prayers and stony piety contrast with the fairytale-like revelry and warm lights within. The heroine, Madeline, does not mix with the company but ascends to her own kind of dream, the superstitious wish that, by following various rites on this St. Agnes’ Eve, her future husband will appear in her dreams. Porphyro, of some feuding clan, has crept into the party, and is aided by Angela, the old nurse, in a “strategem”: he will sneak into her room and fulfill the dream, wakening her to his warm, real presence. He does so, after watching her undress and sleep, spreading before her a feast of delicacies (rather magically), and easing her into a wakefulness instinct with romance. The lovers flee into the cold storm; and suddenly the poem shifts to a long historical vision, the tale acknowledged as a story far away and long ago, the Beadsman himself cold and dead.

The moment of Madeline’s awakening is a crucial one, pointing out the poem’s central dilemma. Porphyro must waken her to his real presence, but his fulfillment also depends on his “melting” into her dream. The moment is typical of so many romantic “falls” from innocence to experience: the consummation of their love “is no dream,” says Porphyro, but Madeline weeps in fear that he has betrayed her. “Sweet dreamer!” Porphyro then responds, “‘tis an elfin storm from faery land,” into which he will carry her to be his bride, “o’er the southern moors.” In the nineteenth century, Hunt and others admired the rich pictorial beauty, the beautiful contrasts of warmth and chill, sensuality and religion, color and gray. Today we see the poem more as a great achievement not only in style but also in thoughtful and carefully balanced tone. Some modern critics, including Earl Wasserman, have the story arguing for success of imagination and warm love over cold piety; others, such as Jack Stillinger, have argued that Keats meant to debunk the conventions of fairy tale by suggesting that Porphyro’s motive is a rather sinister seduction. But most critics today see the poem as an extraordinary balance of these opposing forces, shrewdly and at times playfully self-aware of its own conventions, leading the reader to a continuous series of mediations between artifice and reality, dream and awakening. Finally, waking life seems to require some degree of enchantment to be humanly fulfilling; yet dreaming, being “taken in”—as one is by the rich tapestry of The Eve of St. Agnes—is precarious, and the deeper one sleeps the ruder one’s awakenings.

This dialectical probing of enchantment, of the always-threatened artifice by which imagination seeks its fulfillment in the world, initiates Keats’s most profound meditations in the spring of 1819. The dangers of enchantment deepen in the haunting, beautifully suggestive ballad, “La Belle Dame sans Merci,” written 21 or 28 April 1819, and published in a slightly altered version by Hunt in his Indicator of 10 May 1820. Here a knight-at-arms is seduced by a strange, fairylike woman, reminiscent of Morgan Le Fay or Merlin’s Niniane, and in the midst of this enchantment a warning dream comes to him from other lost princes and warriors. But his awakening from her does him little good; he wanders “palely” on “the cold hill’s side,” where “no birds sing,” a world as empty of charm as the fay’s was empty of real life. The poem has been seen as allegorical of Keats’s ambivalent feelings for Fanny Brawne or for poetry itself. More fundamental, though, is Keats’s growing sense, here and in his letters, of the dark ironies of life, that is, the ways in which evil and beauty, love and pain, aspiration and finitude, are not so much “balanced” as interwoven in ways that resist philosophical understanding. The more we imagine beauty the more painful our world may seem—and this, in turn, deepens our need for art.

The great odes of the spring and fall—Ode to PsycheOde to a NightingaleOde on a Grecian UrnOde on MelancholyTo Autumn (written in September), Ode on Indolence (not published until 1848, and often excluded from the group as inferior)—do not attempt to answer these questions. They rather explore the ironies of our attempts to answer them and of poetry’s attempts to articulate them. The order of the odes has been much debated; it is known that Ode to Psyche was written in late April, Ode to a Nightingale probably in May, and To Autumn on 19 September 1819, but although Ode on a Grecian Urn and Ode on Melancholy are assumed to belong to May, but no one can be certain of any order or progression. In style and power the odes represent Keats’s finest poetry; indeed, they are among the greatest achievements of Romantic art.

The myth of Psyche—the mortal who is loved by Eros himself and who, after many trials, is deified—was well known in Peacock and Hunt’s circle, its allegorical implications much discussed. Briefly, for Keats, who read the tale in Apuleius and in a contemporary poem by Mary Tighe, Psyche, the human spirit, becomes a goddess late, after the older gods, the Olympians, have already “faded.” In Keats’s Ode to Psyche the poet initially has a vision that seems to be a dream: as he wanders “thoughtlessly” he comes upon Psyche and Eros making love. But for a modern poet such visions do not come unself-consciously—”Surely I dreamt to—day, or did I see / … ?” For Keats, as for Shelley and Peacock, Christianity had destroyed the naive visionary power of a mythic relation to nature. But, perhaps, a new kind of humanist paganism was possible to a modern world of self-consciousness and secular knowledge, emptied of Christian orthodoxy. Psyche, the human soul, is deified “Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,” but perhaps may be made present to the poet through the hard, painful work of growing self-awareness. The poem concludes with the goddess humanized and internalized, her temple now to be built, “In some untrodden region of my mind.” There the poet will labor amid “branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain” in a garden prepared for her appearance. Thus the poem turns from its questioned but spontaneous vision to a hope for a return of Psyche in a prepared consciousness. While Apuleius’s Psyche met Eros in a darkened room, Keats will provide “A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, / To let the warm Love in!” Ode to Psyche has been understood in the context of Keats’s earlier notions of the modern poet, for whom Christian faith in otherworldly rewards can no longer provide a justification for human suffering. Now an openness to nature and erotic love, and a sense of the value of self-consciousness to the spirit can alone produce mature art: “Do you see not how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul?” he wrote to his brother in the letter of 21 April 1819 in which he enclosed this ode.

But despite the sense of achieved conclusion, Ode to Psyche begins with a question and ends with a hope. The unself-conscious and delightful initial vision can only be expectantly invoked. The whole notion that art or imagination may provide some middle ground between the gods and humanity is questioned in the greatest and most complex of Keats’s lyrics, Ode on a Grecian Urn and Ode to a Nightingale. Though Keats had worked hard and long on Ode to Psyche, the Nightingale ode, if Charles Brown’s memory is correct, was written with amazing speed. He recalled that Keats, one morning in the spring, on hearing a nightingale’s song, “took his chair from the breakfast table to the grass—plot under a plum tree, where he sat for two or three hours.” Brown later saw him stuff behind his books some papers which proved to be his poem. In a sense the spontaneous joy of the bird’s song recalls the visionary realm of Ode to Psyche; but in this poem, the “pleasant pain” of self-awareness is not so pleasant, and the transcendent is both elusive and perhaps inapplicable to the human. Ode to a Nightingale begins not with a vision but with a dull, unexplained pain, not a pain at all but a vague “ache” of emptiness and “drowsy numbness.” Although we expect the bird’s joyful singing to inspire and regenerate the poet, it does not, or at least not in any simple way. Instead what follows is a troubled meditation, one of the richest and most compressed in English poetry, on the power of human imagination to meet joy in the world and transform the soul.

In Ode to a Nightingale, the poet attempts to flee the “weariness, the fever, and the fret,” of our tragic existence, “Where youth grows pale, and spectre—thin, and dies,” first through an ecstasy of intoxication and then “on the viewless wings of Poesy,” through imagination itself. In the crucial and difficult middle section of the poem, the mind attempting both to transcend life and remain aware of itself becomes lost in a dark wild, an “embalmed darkness” of fleeting sensations that suggests not escape but its very opposite, death. But the nightingale—or, rather, its song as the imagination elaborates upon it—is immortal, and in “ancient days” belonged to a world of enchantment. It is the same song, “that oft—times hath / Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam / Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.” With these beautiful words the poem turns about, the word forlorn shocking the poet into awareness. The beauty of an imagined “long ago” suggested by this word (forlorn = “long ago”) turns by a sad pun (forlorn = “sad”) into a remarkable moment of pained self-consciousness. The bird flies off, and “the fancy cannot cheat so well / As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf. / … / Was it a vision or a waking dream? / Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?” The poem ends by dismantling its own illusion.

That illusion, or trope, is that imagination, by creating permanence and beauty, may allow the individual himself a transcendence of the mind’s fleeting sensations, like the bird’s song. But imagination needs temporality to do its work. It then tantalizes us with a desire to experience the eternity of the beauty we create. But again, no real experience is possible to us—as the central stanzas suggest—apart from time and change. Imagination seems to falsify: the more the poet presses the bird to contain, the more questionable this imaginative projection becomes. For Keats, an impatience for truth only obscures it. If art redeems experience at all it is in the beauty of a more profound comprehension of ourselves (not of a transcendent realm), of the paradoxes of our nature. To expect art to provide a more certain closure is to invite only open questions or deeper enigmas. In Ode on a Grecian Urn this theme is explored from the perspective not of a natural and fleeting experience (the bird song) but of a work of pictorial art, a timeless rendering of a human pageant.

Perhaps more has been written on this poem, per line, than any other Romantic lyric. And today it is perhaps the best—known and most—often-read poem in nineteenth-century literature. No one knows whether Keats had in mind a particular urn: it is known that he drew or traced a vase portrayed in a volume of engravings, Musée Napoléon , that he saw at Haydon’s; and certainly his visits to the British Museum provided other examples as well. The poem seems to be an imaginative creation of an artwork that serves as an image of permanence. Though the urn depicts a passionate scene of dance and erotic pursuit, it itself remains a “still unravish’d bride of quietness,” transcendent and calm. Probing the apparent timelessness of pictorial art is the action of the poem’s speaker, as he attempts to force some meaning from the form. But it is in the nature of poetry, unlike painting—a distinction we know Keats often debated with Haydon—to create its meaning sequentially. The poet thus imagines a narrative, albeit one frozen by the pictorial medium: “Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave / Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare.” This seems to be a moment, like that of the “Bright Star” sonnet, of eternal consummation: “More happy love! more happy, happy love! / For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, / For ever panting, and for ever young; / All breathing human passion far above….” And yet, as most critics would agree, the mawkishness of the repeated “happy” reveals the strained paradox by which the imagined narrative develops. Human happiness requires fulfillment in a world of process and inevitable loss. The lovers are “forever panting,” since fulfillment outside of temporal process is a contradiction forced on the urn by the very logic of the speaker’s questioning. The further the questions are pushed the more they seem to reveal only the artifice of the questioner, not the urn’s hidden truth.

In the poem’s fourth stanza the poet imagines a deserted town whose people had provided the urn its images but who are themselves forever silent, dead, unknown. As in the Nightingale ode, the poet’s attempt to imagine a timeless realm ends in his facing a desolation, an absence of human life. And again, wordplay restores a thoughtful distance between speaker and object, in this case the oxymoron “Cold pastoral!” and the witty puns on “brede” and “overwrought” revealing the paradox informing the poem all along. There follow, however, the most debated lines in Keats’s poetry, the sudden, concluding speech to the suffering generations of mankind from the silent urn,” ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,’—that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know” (the punctuation of the lines is significant for interpretation but disputed: see Stillinger’s edition). Because the urn has revealed more of the mysterious incommensurability between human truth and eternal beauty, the lines have seemed to some critics an awkward intrusion on the poem’s studied indeterminacy. Others see the lines dissolving all doubts in an absolute aestheticism that declares the power of art to transform painful truths into beauty. Still others have found them an appropriately riddling oracle to questions that art cannot answer with consecutive reasoning, thus calming the speaker’s anxious probing. This critical debate itself testifies to the dramatic richness of the poem’s debate, for the poet, with wit and irony, has imagined a response fully appropriate and articulate from the urn’s eternal perspective, but nonetheless from the human perspective riddling and as elusive as the initial silence.

In the Ode on Melancholy the subject is not the ironies of our experience of art but of intense experience itself. Melancholy is not just a mood associated with sad objects; in this poem, it is the half-hidden cruel logic of human desire and fulfillment. In our temporal condition the most intense pleasure shades off into emptiness and the pain of loss, fulfillment even appearing more intense as it is more ephemeral. Keats’s thinking, then, had matured with remarkable speed from the poet of Endymion, for whom a poetry of intense sensation was itself a model of transcendence. His maturing irony had developed into a re-evaluation and meditative probing of his earlier concerns, the relation of art and the work of imagination to concrete experience. But the odes also show supreme formal mastery: from the play of rhyme (his ode stanza is a brilliantly compressed yet flexible development from sonnet forms), to resonance of puns and woven vowel sounds, the form itself embodies the logic of a dialogue among conflicting and counterbalancing thoughts and intuitions.

It has often been pointed out that the thinking in Ode on Melancholy on the paradox of desire emerges as much from Keats’s experience as from abstract meditation. By May 1819 Keats’s relationship to Fanny Brawne was strained by her again moving next door, intensifying his frustration and anger at himself that he could not provide for her and marry her. He must have felt that he could never have a sexual relationship with her or a “normal” married life while his career, and soon his health, was so uncertain. Adding to this concern, in June, were severe financial pressures, including news that George’s wife was pregnant and the couple in dire need as they tried to establish themselves in America. Keats considered giving poetry a last try, but returned all the books he had borrowed and thought of becoming a surgeon, perhaps on a ship. Brown persuaded him to make one more attempt at publishing, and he wrote to Haydon, “My purpose now is to make one more attempt in the Press if that fail, `ye hear no more of me’ as Chaucer says…” In July he left for Shanklin, the Isle of Wight, where he would stay with his ailing friend, James Rice, to begin his last and most intense session of writing.

Keats was ill this summer with a sore throat, and it is likely that the early stages of tuberculosis were beginning. His letters to Fanny Brawne became jealous, even tormented. But throughout the summer he wrote with furious concentration, working on his rather bad verse tragedy Otho the Great, which Brown had concocted as a scheme to earn money, and completing Lamia, his last full-length poem.

The plot of this difficult poem came from Robert Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), which Keats had been reading in the spring. The treatment, however, fraught with double-edged ironies, is Keats’s own. A young man, Lycius, falls in love with a beautiful witch, Lamia, who is presented with real sympathy. She leads Lycius away from his public duties into an enchanted castle of love. But at their marriage banquet Lamia withers and dies under the cold stare of the rationalist philosopher Apollonius, who sees through her illusion, and Lycius, too, dies as his dream is shattered. The issues, of course, recall The Eve of St. Agnes, but here the balance of beautiful but destructive enchantment / harsh but public and solid reality is portrayed with dramatic directness and power. One’s sympathies are divided between two characters, the extremely rational and the extremely enchanted, and one’s feelings about Lamia herself are divided, depending on whether one adopts her immortal perspective or Apollonius’s human one. To many readers, it has seemed that these unresolvable ironies imply a bitterness about love and desire. It is clear, though, that Keats sought to present his story without sentimentality or the lush beauty of romance.

Yet Keats was striving for some sense of resolution in these months, as autumn approached. He turned back to Hyperion with the thought of justifying the life of the poet as both self-conscious and imaginative, committed to the real, public sphere even while his imagination soothes the world with its dreams. This strange, troubling, visionary fragment, The Fall of Hyperion (unpublished until 1856), is his most ambitious attempt to understand the meaning of imaginative aspiration. It is a broad Dantesque vision, in which the poet himself is led by Moneta, goddess of knowledge, to the painful birth into awareness of suffering that had deified the poet-god Apollo in the earlier version. Moneta’s tragic wisdom challenges the poet in his vision with his own deepest fears, that imagination is the source of misery, conjuring ideals that for mortals only cause pain. If so, the whole “modern” romantic conception of imaginative life would be a snare, leaving mankind empty of real belief in favor of fragile illusions. Better not to “fall,” to remain an unself-conscious laborer for human good. But while the poet accepts that poets are not as exalted as the socially committed who directly reform the world, he argues that surely “a poet is a sage; / A humanist, physician to all men.” Moneta distinguishes the poet from the mere “dreamer” whose imagination feeds only on its own idealisms (like Lycius in Lamia); true poets have awakened their imaginations to tragic pain while yet striving to redeem sorrow with visionary acceptance and compassion. Yet the climactic vision of the poem, the poet’s parting of Moneta’s veils, reveals a withered face of continuous dying, of unredeemed tragic knowledge. A far darker poem than HyperionThe Fall of Hyperion achieves no resolutions but rather presents both Keats’s most tragic vision and his fragile but most clearly expressed hope for the redemptive imagination.

Both this poem and his last great lyric, To Autumn, seem, in their nearly opposite ways, to summarize the themes of Keats’s entire career. Written 19 September 1819, at Winchester, where he and Brown had moved in August, it was inspired by a walk in the chill, crisp countryside: “I never lik’d stubble fields so much as now—Aye better than the chilly green of the spring. Somehow a stubble plain looks warm”—he wrote to Reynolds of that day. The ode is Keats’s most perfect poem; as Bate says, generations of readers “have found it one of the most perfect poems in English.” Written with the same controlled visionary power in the face of death as The Fall of Hyperion, the tone of the ode is, however, an acceptance of process, setting the human experience of time within the larger cycles of nature. Notably, the speaker here never appears as a subject, except implicitly as a calming presence, asking questions but allowing the sights, sounds, and activities of the season itself to answer them. The poem’s three stanzas move through a process of ripening, then reaping and gleaning and pressing, to a final vision of “soft-dying day” still alive with sounds of bleating lambs and singing birds. The richness of sound creates an intensity of ripeness: “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, / Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun”; note too the words swell, plump, budding, and o’er-brimmed. But the intensity here, unlike that of Ode to Melancholy, does not end in extinction and painful memory. Such subjectivity is avoided; the season is mythologized and imagined as herself a part of the rhythms of the year. The final stanza momentarily recalls the feeling of loss: “Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?” But in immediate response, the poet soothes the goddess figure herself with the injunction, “Think not of them, thou hast thy music too.” No singular loss is without recompense, in the larger, essentially comic vision of nature’s transforming, renewing power. In the last lines, the present-tense verbs give a sense of an intense present that gathers up the past and is impelled toward the future: “The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; / And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.” Here, for the first time in the odes, intense experience and mythological vision achieve a poised, dialectical balance within a purely natural context.

This poem would effectively mark the end of Keats’s poetic career. He lived to see his new volume, which included the odes, published as Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems in early July 1820. The praise from Hunt, Shelley, Lamb, and their circle was enthusiastic. In August, Frances Jeffrey, influential editor of the Edinburgh Review, wrote a serious and thoughtful review, praising not just the new poems but also Endymion. Other reviews, particularly John Scott’s in the September 1820 London Magazine, were suddenly respectful of the new power of his verse, particularly of the odes and Hyperion, this last considered, in Keats’s generation, his greatest achievement. The volume sold slowly but steadily and increasingly in the next months. His odes were republished in literary magazines. But by summer 1820, Keats was too ill to be much encouraged.

The story of Keats’s last year makes sad reading. In the winter of 1819 he nearly decided to give up poetry and write for some London review. He was often confused and depressed, worried about money, often desperate with the pain of being unable to marry Fanny Brawne, to whom he became openly engaged about October. Dilke, Brown, and visitors to Wentworth Place became concerned for his health and his state of mind: “from this period,” wrote Dilke, “his weakness & his sufferings, mental & bodily, increased—his whole mind & heart were in a whirl of contending passions—he saw nothing calmly or dispassionately.” He even, on the verge of concluding publishing arrangements with Taylor in November, declared he would publish no more until he had completed a new, greater poem (probably The Fall of Hyperion) or perhaps a drama. But Keats continued to prepare his poems for publication, and to work on The Fall of Hyperion and a new satiric drama, The Jealousies (first published as The Cap and Bells), never completed. Then, in February 1820, came the lung hemorrhage that convinced him he was dying. Brown’s account is simple and moving: “one night, at eleven o’clock, he came into the house in a state that looked like fierce intoxication. Such a state in him, I knew, was impossible.” Brown helped the feverish Keats to bed, “and I heard him say,—‘That is blood from my mouth… Bring me the candle Brown; and let me see this blood.’ After regarding it stead-fastly, he looked up in my face, with a calmness of countenance that I can never forget, and said,—‘I know the colour of that blood;—it is arterial blood;—I cannot be deceived in that colour;—that drop of blood is my death warrant;—and I must die.’” He would live little more than one year.

Despite some remissions in the spring, he continued to hemorrhage in June and July. His friends were shaken, but in those days there was no certain way to diagnose tuberculosis or to gauge its severity, and there were hopes for his recovery. In the early summer he lived alone in Kentish Town (Brown had rented out Wentworth Place), where the Hunts, nearby, could look in on him. But living alone, fearful and restless, trying to separate himself from Fanny Brawne because of the pain thoughts of her caused him, he became more ill and agitated. The Hunts took him in, as they had years before at the beginning. He often walked past Well Walk, his last home with his brothers; once, Hunt remembered, he wept “and told me he was ‘dying of a broken heart.’” He thought bitterly about the disappointments of his brothers, writing to Brown in November, “O, that something fortunate had ever happened to me or my brothers!—then I might hope,—but despair is forced upon me as a habit.” He soon left the Hunts’ after a quarrel and tried to return to the house in Well Walk. But he was taken in, desperately ill, by Fanny and Mrs. Brawne, and he spent his last month in England being nursed in their home. He was advised to spend the winter in Italy. In August, Shelley—who would write his beautiful elegy Adonais for Keats and who himself would die in 1822, drowned in the Gulf of Spezia with a copy of Keats’s 1820 poems in his pocket—invited him to stay with him in Pisa. He declined, but hoped to meet Shelley after a stay in Rome.

Keats left for Rome in November 1820, accompanied by Joseph Severn, the devoted young painter who, alone in a strange country, nursed Keats and managed his affairs daily until his death. They took pleasant rooms on the Piazza di Spagna, and for a while Keats took walks and rode out on a small horse. He tried to keep his friend’s spirits up, and it is characteristic of the man that he was always concerned for poor Severn. In his last weeks he suffered terribly and hoped for the peace of death. He was in too much pain to look at letters, especially from Fanny Brawne, believing that frustrated love contributed to his ill health. He asked Severn to bury her letters with him (it is not clear he did). Yet he thought always of his friends and brothers. His last known letter, 30 November 1820, asks Brown to write to his brother, and “to my sister—who walks about my imagination like a ghost—she is so like Tom. I can scarcely bid you good bye even in a letter. I always made an awkward bow. / God bless you! / John Keats .”

On the night of 23 February 1821, Keats died, peacefully, in Severn’s arms. His last words were to comfort Severn: “Severn—lift me up—I am dying—I shall die easy—don’t be frightened—be firm, and thank God it has come!” He was buried in the Protestant Cemetery. He had requested that the stone bear no name, only the words “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” Severn and Charles Brown honored his wishes but added these words above Keats’s own epitaph: “This Grave contains all that was Mortal of a YOUNG ENGLISH POET, Who on his Death Bed in the Bitterness of his Heart at the Malicious Power of his Enemies, Desired these Words to be engraven on his Tomb Stone.” Brown later regretted the addition.

Keats’s dying fears of persecution and eternal obscurity were proved wrong in the generations to come. Even in 1820 and 1821 there were a few positive notices, such as the influential Francis Jeffrey’s approving, if belated, essay in the Edinburgh Review, and the obituary in the London Magazine (April 1921), which noted, “There is but a small portion of the public acquainted with the writings of this young man, yet they were full of high imagination and delicate fancy.” His friends, particularly Hunt and Brown, continued to collect materials and publish memoirs. In 1828 Hunt wrote the first of his several biographical sketches, in his Lord Byron and Some of His Contemporaries. The most complete offering yet of Keats’s poetry, The Poetical Works of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats (1829), published in Paris and Philadelphia, contains a long memoir drawn from Hunt’s.

But most important to establishing Keats’s reputation was the biography produced in 1848 by Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton, a minor poet and essayist known and admired in literary circles of the 1840s and 1850s. Brown, Severn, Clarke, Reynolds, and others all contributed to his Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats, which, whatever its flaws as a reliable scholarly biography, was widely read and respected. Keats was thought of as a poet whose talent, though its development was cut short, was the equal of Shelley’s and Byron‘s.

By 1853 Matthew Arnold could speak of Keats as “in the school of Shakespeare,” and, despite his weak sense of dramatic action and his overly lush imagery was “one whose exquisite genius and pathetic death render him forever interesting.” Yet it was just this quality of lush, “pictorial” imagery that Victorians admired in Keats, as reflected in popular paintings from his works by Pre-Raphaelites such as Dante Gabriel Rossetti and poets such as Alfred Tennyson and Algernon Charles Swinburne, who wrote of Keats’s mastery of visual detail, his “instinct for the absolute expression of absolute natural beauty.” Fascination with the sensuous surface of his verse and a sentimental belief that Keats was a subjective lyricist of sensitive feeling contributed to the Victorians’ admiration of his poetry. Indeed, in 1857, Alexander Smith, in the Encyclopædia Britannica (eighth edition) entry on Keats, could proclaim, with some exaggeration, that “With but one or two exceptions, no poet of the last generation stands at this moment higher in the popular estimation, and certainly no one has in a greater degree influenced the poetic development of the last thirty years.”

Keats brought out the warmest feelings in those who knew him, and that included people with a remarkable range of characters, beliefs, and tastes. One can say without sentimentality or exaggeration that no one who ever met Keats did not admire him, and none ever said a bad—or even unkind—word of him. His close friends, such as Brown, Clarke, and Severn, remained passionately devoted to his memory all their lives. “On his deathbed in great emotion at his cruel destiny he told me that his greatest pleasure had been the watching the growth of flowers,” Severn remembered, more than twenty years later. “There was a strong bias of the beautiful side of humanity in every thing he did.”

“I have lov’d the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered,” Keats wrote to Fanny Brawne in February 1820, just after he became ill. In Keats’s work the struggle with aesthetic form becomes an image of a struggle for meaning against the limits of experience. His art’s very form seems to embody and interpret the conflicts of mortality and desire. The urgency of this poetry has always appeared greater to his readers for his intense love of beauty and his tragically short life. Keats approached the relations among experience, imagination, art, and illusion with penetrating thoughtfulness, with neither sentimentality nor cynicism but with a delight in the ways in which beauty, in its own subtle and often surprising ways, reveals the truth.

 

Jesus Christ is King God forever. Amen.

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My Beloved:
~~
 
You and I live in The Age of Intolerant Toleration in which The WORD of Jesus Christ is simply NOT welcome:
~~
This is a detestation of Jesus that is very new and very, very dangerous to civilized society.
~~
Kindly attend to this video about the, nearly universal, denial of The Word of Jesus Christ:
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~~
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~~
Mortal Men speak and write about my subjects, but the only subject of any consequence is:
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THE WORD of JESUS CHRIST
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD. AMEN.
~~
I wear the chain I forged in life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

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Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, suit

 At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.

      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.
      ~~
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.

      unnamed (1) blue hats 3

       10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

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      • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
          • ~~
          • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
          • ~~
          • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

          ~~

          The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
           clip_image002MA9982782-0001

          CIRE PERDUE~

          ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
          ~

          ~~La crema y nata~~

          ~

          ~~Artista de la conquista

          ~~

           

          In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
          
          ~~
           
          Finis Origine Pendet…
           
           
          The escape commences…
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1957
           
          ~~
           
          Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
          ~~
          My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
          ~~
           
           
           
          Non Sibi
          The declaration that:
          “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
          “I am here to rule mankind.”
           
           
          50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
          The escape continues…
           
           
          ~~
           
          September, 1966
           
          ~~
           
          The Cathedral Latin School
           
          ~~
           
           
           
           
            Finis Origine Pendet
           
           
          ~~
          Κύριε ἐλέησον
          ~~

          Rejoice and Glad!!

          ~~

          Amen~~

           

          CUA_Cardinal_2008

          ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

           

           

          clip_image002MA9982782-0001
          ~~EX LIBRIS~~
           
          ~~
           
           
           
          THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
           
           
           
          ~~
           16th February,  Sunday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
          
          Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

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          “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
           
          
          
          
          Alain Delon~~Actor
          
          
          
          
          
          
          $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

          John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

          ~~

          In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

          ~~

          “Oh, he raises cotton.”
          ~~
        • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

          11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

          CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

          THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
          Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
          Seal of The Catholic University of America
           

          Motto:

          ~~

          Deus Lux Mea Est

          ~~

          Acta Est Fabula

          The escape concludes…

          The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

          ~~

          1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

           “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
          Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
          Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
          The Mother of All Mankind"
          ~~
          Paradise Lost
          Book One
           Verse 35
           Our Mr Milton
          
           https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
          10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
          How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
           

          Acta Est Fabula.

          ~~

          Deus Vult.

          image002 (20)

      Ne plus ultra

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      Image may contain: 2 people, including Ellen Wolentarski Begg156587214Z

       

      Our Ubiquitous Presence

      ~~

      Our Queen

      Image result for photos of truman and princess elizabeth

      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

       

       

​.

DONNIE JOHN TRUMP~PERFECT IMPERFECTION

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When we hate others, we can always find ways to denigrate their actions and ideals~~~Trump is the,  flawed, Imperfect Messenger with the Perfect Message for America

~

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Positivism

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Happiness

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American Supremacy

Image result for pictures of trump through the years

All men are Imperfect–all men are Sinners–Trump’s harshness is just what was needed to stem the tide drawing us ever out to sea to communism.

~

It was said to me the other day that the automaker Henry Ford hated Jews and he did–but we and history do not remember Henry Ford because he hated Jews.

~

We remember him because he turned American manufacturing on its head and paid his workers very well.

~

He improved the economy of millions just as Trump is so doing today.

~

IN THE NAME OF GOD.

 

AMEN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

IN THE NAME OF GOD.  AMEN

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

 

 

 

 

  • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
       

      CIRE PERDUE~

      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

       

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
      
      ~~
       
      Finis Origine Pendet…
       
       
      The escape commences…
       
      ~~
       
      September, 1957
       
      ~~
       
      Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
      ~~
      My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
      ~~
       
       
       
      Non Sibi
      The declaration that:
      “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
      “I am here to rule mankind.”
       
       
      The escape continues…
       
       
      ~~
       
      September, 1966
       
      ~~
       
      The Cathedral Latin School
       
      ~~
       
       
       
       
        Finis Origine Pendet
       
       
      ~~
      Κύριε ἐλέησον
      ~~

      Rejoice and Glad!!

      ~~

      Amen~~

       

       

      ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

       

       

      
      
      ~~EX LIBRIS~~
       
      ~~
       
       
       
      THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
       
       
       
      ~~
       16th February,  Sunday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
      
      Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

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      “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
       
      
      Alain Delon~~Actor
      
      
      
      $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

      John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

      ~~

      In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

      ~~

      “Oh, he raises cotton.”
      ~~
    • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

      11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

      CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

      THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
      Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
      Seal of The Catholic University of America
       

      Motto:

      ~~

      Deus Lux Mea Est

      ~~

      Acta Est Fabula

      The escape concludes…

      The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

      ~~

      1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

       “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
      Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
      Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
      The Mother of All Mankind"
      ~~
      Paradise Lost
      Book One
       Verse 35
       Our Mr Milton
      
       https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
      10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
      How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
       

      Acta Est Fabula.

      ~~

      Deus Vult.

      image002 (20)

Ne plus ultra

be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

156587214Z

Image

Our Ubiquitous Presence

~~

Our Queen

~~

Our Queen now 68 years on

~~

Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

Where is the Roaring 2020’s Babe Ruth

Image result for babe ruth on pinterest
Where is our own Roaring 2020’s icon?
Image result for babe ruth on pinterest
Where is our own Babe Ruth?
Image result for babe ruth on pinterest
~~ 
Image result for babe ruth on pinterest
Image result for babe ruth on pinterest
Image result for babe ruth dies newspaper headline pinterest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD. AMEN.
~~
I wear the chain I forged in life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave?

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

10841906_610727652387850_2108055030589106490_o

unnamed (1) blue hats 3

 10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

  • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
      clip_image002MA9982782-0001
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.
      ~~
      Finis Origine Pendet…
      The escape commences…
      ~~
      September, 1957
      ~~
      Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
      ~~
      My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
      ~~
      Non Sibi
      The escape continues…
      ~~
      September, 1966
      ~~
      The Cathedral Latin School
      ~~
       Finis Origine Pendet
      ~~
      Κύριε ἐλέησον
      ~~

      Rejoice and Glad!!

      ~~

      Amen~~

      CUA_Cardinal_2008

      ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~
      clip_image002MA9982782-0001
      ~~EX LIBRIS~~
      ~~
      THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
      ~~
      6  February, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
      
      Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

      http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

      http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
      http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

      http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

      http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

      http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

      http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

      Tweets: @jtdbegg

      http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
      
      
      
      
      “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
      Alain Delon~~Actor
      CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)
      THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
      Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
      Seal of The Catholic University of America

      Motto:

      ~~

      Deus Lux Mea Est

      ~~

      Acta Est Fabula

      The escape concludes…

      ~~

      The Catholic University Of America, Washington, District of Columbia.

      ~~

      1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

      “The Infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,

      Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived

      The mother of mankind.”

      Paradise Lost
      Our Mr Milton
      ~~

      Acta Est Fabula.

      ~~

      Deus Vult.

      Image result for princess elizabeth with president truman

      ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

      The Queen~~

      Our Queen now 68 years on~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have~~

      image002 (20)

​.

10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

 

DONNIE JOHN TRUMP~PERFECT IMPERFECTION

Image result for pictures of trump through the years

When we hate others, we can always find ways to denigrate their actions and ideals~~~Trump is the,  flawed, Imperfect Messenger with the Perfect Message for America

~

Image result for pictures of trump through the years

Positivism

Image result for pictures of trump through the years

Happiness

Image result for pictures of trump through the years

American Supremacy

Image result for pictures of trump through the years

All men are Imperfect–all men are Sinners–Trump’s harshness is just what was needed to stem the tide drawing us ever out to sea to communism.

~

It was said to me the other day that the automaker Henry Ford hated Jews and he did–but we and history do not remember Henry Ford because he hated Jews.

~

We remember him because he turned American manufacturing on its head and paid his workers very well.

~

He improved the economy of millions just as Trump is so doing today.

~

IN THE NAME OF GOD.

Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, closeup

AMEN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

IN THE NAME OF GOD.  AMEN

day3
IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

10841906_610727652387850_2108055030589106490_o

unnamed (1) blue hats 3

 10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

  • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
       clip_image002MA9982782-0001

      CIRE PERDUE~

      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

       

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
      
      ~~
       
      Finis Origine Pendet…
       
       
      The escape commences…
       
      ~~
       
      September, 1957
       
      ~~
       
      Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
      ~~
      My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
      ~~
       
       
       
      Non Sibi
      The declaration that:
      “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
      “I am here to rule mankind.”
       
       
      50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
      The escape continues…
       
       
      ~~
       
      September, 1966
       
      ~~
       
      The Cathedral Latin School
       
      ~~
       
       
       
       
        Finis Origine Pendet
       
       
      ~~
      Κύριε ἐλέησον
      ~~

      Rejoice and Glad!!

      ~~

      Amen~~

       

      CUA_Cardinal_2008

      ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

       

       

      clip_image002MA9982782-0001
      ~~EX LIBRIS~~
       
      ~~
       
       
       
      THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
       
       
       
      ~~
       24th January,  Friday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
      
      Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

      http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

       http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
      
       http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

      http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

      http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

      http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

      http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

      Tweets: @jtdbegg

       http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
      
      
      
      
      
      “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
       
      
      
      
      Alain Delon~~Actor
      
      
      
      
      
      
      $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

      John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

      ~~

      In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

      ~~

      “Oh, he raises cotton.”
      ~~
    • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

      11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

      CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

      THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
      Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
      Seal of The Catholic University of America
       

      Motto:

      ~~

      Deus Lux Mea Est

      ~~

      Acta Est Fabula

      The escape concludes…

      The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

      ~~

      1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

       “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
      Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
      Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
      The Mother of All Mankind"
      ~~
      Paradise Lost
      Book One
       Verse 35
       Our Mr Milton
      
       https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
      10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
      How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
       

      Acta Est Fabula.

      ~~

      Deus Vult.

      image002 (20)

Ne plus ultra

be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

156587214Z

Image

Our Ubiquitous Presence

~~

Our Queen

~~

Our Queen now 68 years on

~~

Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

Image may contain: 1 person, closeup

DEMOCRATS ARE THEIR OWN BEST REWARD.

Image result for starving, homeless dog photos
Democrats are their own best reward.
 
They are always angry–win or lose.  Who he even bothers to kick at a snarling, mangy dog?  It’s cruel and ungentlemanly to do so. 
 
We ought show the dog pity and give it a needle to end the suffering.  To end the pain.  Of being a Democrat.  I can’t even imagine the misery. Poor darlings. Poor dears.
 
Oh! to have to wear their chain. The burden of it. The ceaseless weight of it–that chain.
 
We gaze into the tortured eyes of hell itself come to earth
Old Bayer ad for heroin
bayer heroin bottle
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
day3
IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

10841906_610727652387850_2108055030589106490_o

unnamed (1) blue hats 3

 10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

  • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
       clip_image002MA9982782-0001

      CIRE PERDUE~

      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

       

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man. 
      
      ~~
       
      Finis Origine Pendet…
       
       
      The escape commences…
       
      ~~
       
      September, 1957
       
      ~~
       
      Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
      ~~
      My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
      ~~
       
       
       
      Non Sibi
      The declaration that:
      “I am here to save mankind,” means that:
      “I am here to rule mankind.”
       
       
      50574a838cafa7db2d6ff9751819c753
      The escape continues…
       
       
      ~~
       
      September, 1966
       
      ~~
       
      The Cathedral Latin School
       
      ~~
       
       
       
       
        Finis Origine Pendet
       
       
      ~~
      Κύριε ἐλέησον
      ~~

      Rejoice and Glad!!

      ~~

      Amen~~

       

      CUA_Cardinal_2008

      ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~

       

       

      clip_image002MA9982782-0001
      ~~EX LIBRIS~~
       
      ~~
       
       
       
      THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
       
       
       
      ~~
       26th January,  Sunday,   Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
      
      Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

      http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

       http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
      
       http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

      http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

      http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

      http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

      http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

      Tweets: @jtdbegg

       http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
      
      
      
      
      
      “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
       
      
      
      
      Alain Delon~~Actor
      
      
      
      
      
      
      $T2eC16J,!)sE9swm(wv0BRPCJh43uQ~~60_57

      John Daniel Begg raises cotton.

      ~~

      In the Old South, the real Southland, we had a charming expression, when asked what an idle man did for a living:

      ~~

      “Oh, he raises cotton.”
      ~~
    • Which meant, he did absolutely nothing at all, as cotton,  “the white gold,” raises herself.

      11900068_728996890560925_4010112541193348700_n

      CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)

      THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
      Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
      Seal of The Catholic University of America
       

      Motto:

      ~~

      Deus Lux Mea Est

      ~~

      Acta Est Fabula

      The escape concludes…

      The Catholic University Of America, Washington, The Federal District of Columbia.

      ~~

      1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

       “Who first seduc'd them to that foul revolt?
      Th' infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
      Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv'd 
      The Mother of Mankind"
      ~~
      Paradise Lost
      Book One
       Verse 35
       Our Mr Milton
      
       https://johndanielbegg.com/2016/03/09/the-infernal-serpent-he-it-was-whose-guile--stirred-up-with-envy-and-revenge-deceived-the-mother-of-mankind
      10325217_484127205047896_7255341654839362288_n.jpgbegg2
      How short the list one could compile of those of whom it can be said that fame and money did not deprave? 
       

      Acta Est Fabula.

      ~~

      Deus Vult.

      image002 (20)

Ne plus ultra

be21c107-c314-4fb3-a2e1-1bc2a6375f93

10273429_475642092563074_3006900326038764208_n

11825782_910686702310728_7422264639390513425_n

156587214Z

Image

Our Ubiquitous Presence

~~

Our Queen

~~

Our Queen now 68 years on

~~

Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Willard Mitt Romney is no gentleman.

A sad lesson for us to consider:
~~
 
Governor Romney marketed himself to us as a Christian gentleman–much as his Father George had taught him to be.
~~
 
Young Mr. Romney’s behaviour yesterday in a purely political Senate vote, constituted a remarkable act of bitterness and poor sportsmanship by a man many of us supported, to our later chagrin.
~~ 
 
One does not turn one’s back on one’s Party and President–it is just not gentlemanly.
~~~
Willard Mitt’s daddy, George, was a remarkable Governor and would have made a suburb President and yet when the Party nominated Goldwater, in 1964, George worked tirelessly in the hopeless cause for Goldwater’s election–hopeless cause, yet George rolled up his sleeves and supported his Party’s choice to the hilt.
~~
Daddy George Romney was a gentleman.  His son, sadly, has proven to not be a gentleman.
~~
As for young Willard, I anticipate him becoming an old and bitter, largely friendless, man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wear the chain I forged in life
article-2253237-00BCBB6C00000190-350_634x715

Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

day3

IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

10841906_610727652387850_2108055030589106490_o

unnamed (1) blue hats 3

 10374522_787949381332342_5064879056003089982_n

550773_191188294341790_1993333795_n

  • At Washington, capital city of the terminally self-absorbed, mortal man holds to fleeting, feeble and fallible opinion, God immutable fact.
      • ~~
      • It is my assessment that America is dying inside, being eaten away by the horror of the collapse of the middle orders, the attendant societal and religious values and customs of those orders and the ubiquity of war making for dubious purpose.
      • ~~
      • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.

      ~~

      The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~
      clip_image002MA9982782-0001
      ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~
      ~

      ~~La crema y nata~~

      ~

      ~~Artista de la conquista

      ~~

      In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man.
      ~~
      Finis Origine Pendet…
      The escape commences…
      ~~
      September, 1957
      ~~
      Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
      ~~
      My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
      ~~
      Non Sibi
      The escape continues…
      ~~
      September, 1966
      ~~
      The Cathedral Latin School
      ~~
       Finis Origine Pendet
      ~~
      Κύριε ἐλέησον
      ~~

      Rejoice and Glad!!

      ~~

      Amen~~

      CUA_Cardinal_2008

      ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~
      clip_image002MA9982782-0001
      ~~EX LIBRIS~~
      ~~
      THEOS EK MĒCHANĒS
      ~~
      6  February, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, the 2020th
      
      Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

      http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=tab_pro

      http://www.facebook.com/JohnDanielBeggPublicAffairs
      http://www.tumblr.com/blog/theoldsoldiershome1952

      http://www.facebook.com/john.begg.33

      http://www.pinterest.com/johnbegg33/boards/

      http://independent.academia.edu/johnbegg/Papers?s=nav#add

      http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/jtdbegg

      Tweets: @jtdbegg

      http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=122865699&trk=hb_tab_pro_top
      
      
      
      
      “Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he’s the only one who’s sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own.”~~
      Alain Delon~~Actor
      CONCEPT OF THE CATHOLIC AND ROYAL ARMY OF AMERICA (CRAA)
      THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA
      Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
      Seal of The Catholic University of America

      Motto:

      ~~

      Deus Lux Mea Est

      ~~

      Acta Est Fabula

      The escape concludes…

      ~~

      The Catholic University Of America, Washington, District of Columbia.

      ~~

      1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

      “The Infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,

      Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived

      The mother of mankind.”

      Paradise Lost
      Our Mr Milton
      ~~

      Acta Est Fabula.

      ~~

      Deus Vult.

      Image

      ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

      The Queen~~

      Our Queen now 68 years on~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have~~

      image002 (20)

​.

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