Give’em an inch and they’ll take it ALL.

 


Given these tax rates, why would anybody bother to do anything at all????

When the Beatles were the biggest band in the world, they were in a 95% tax bracket

Modern Income Tax

The Modern Income Tax started in 1913 at a modest 1% rate​ and that 1% tax applied only to Rockefeller types.​

By 1918  it was 77% to finance WWI which the US should never have been involved in​, the war to end all war, that ended up being the war that never ended at all​.

In the name of “fairness” President Franklin D. Roosevelt idiotically proposed a 100% tax on all incomes over $25,000.

In the wake of WWII marginal rates got as high as 94% on incomes above $200,000.

Rates have generally been falling since 1964 when the top rate was lowered to 70%.

​70%.

Gee, thanks.​

  • Oremus pro invicem

    Always Faithfully,

    Jack Begg

    No alt text provided for this image
    No alt text provided for this image
    No alt text provided for this image

    Oremus pro invicem

    In the name of God

    Amen

    No alt text provided for this image

If one shoots at the King, one daren’t miss.

Saudi Prince Turki bin Abdulaziz Al Saud 11 passes away.  Being a Prince can be risky.
Saudi Prince Turki bin Abdulaziz Al Saud 11 passes away. Being a Prince can be risky.

Saudi Hard Ball

john begg

Status is online

john begg

For God. For King. For Country.
Oremus pro invicem ~~
I Wear The Chain I Forged In Life

We very much are in the debt of Vanity Fair Magazine and the named writers who tell us today of a troublesome business in a very strange Kingdom. From here out, we will quote from that very good article and will until, noted by us “Cease Quoting.”

SAUDI ARABIA

“THIS PLANE IS NOT GOING TO LAND IN CAIRO”: SAUDI PRINCE SULTAN BOARDED A FLIGHT IN PARIS. THEN, HE DISAPPEARED

Prince Sultan bin Turki II was cut off from the Saudi royal family’s cash flow after criticizing the regime. So he appealed to Prince Mohammed bin Salman for help—and was never seen again.

BY BRADLEY HOPE AND JUSTIN SCHECK

AUGUST 25, 2020

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Photo credit BY BANDAR ALDANDANI/GETTY IMAGES. 

Something wasn’t right about Captain Saud. Sitting on a fine-grained leather couch in the custom wood-paneled cabin of his Boeing 737-800 in Paris, he had the outward appearance of a pilot. His uniform was crisp, his demeanor confident and friendly. He cracked jokes and showed pictures of his children to staffers of the VIP he was supposed to fly to Cairo, a Saudi prince named Sultan bin Turki II.

But little things seemed off. One member of the prince’s entourage was a recreational pilot, and Saud couldn’t keep up with his small talk about 737 pilot training. The captain’s plane had a crew of 19, more than double the usual number of staffers. And the crew was all men, some a little burlier than you’d expect. Where were the leggy European blondes who were fixtures on Saudi Royal Court flights?

Then there was the watch. Saud was fascinated by the Breitling Emergency watch the prince’s companion wore. “I’ve never seen one of these,” he said, in perfect English.

The $15,000 watch, with a radio beacon to summon help in a crash, is a favorite indulgence of pilots with disposable income. What kind of airplane captain had never seen one? And what kind of pilot wore the Hublot that Saud had on, a showy hunk of metal that would cost three months’ salary for most pilots?

The watch, the 19 men, the lack of flying knowledge—the dissonances added up. Sultan’s security detail warned the prince: Don’t get on the plane. It’s a trap.

But Prince Sultan was tired. He missed his father, who was waiting for him in Cairo. And Mohammed bin Salman, the son of the king, had sent this plane. Sultan figured he could trust his newly powerful first cousin, who had maneuvered himself out of obscurity to become the most powerful member of the royal family after the king.                       

Sultan bin Turki II, like Prince Mohammed, is a grandson of Saudi Arabia’s founder. Sultan was born on the family’s troubled fringe. His father, Turki II (named because the founder had two sons named Turki), seemed a potential heir to the throne until he married the daughter of a Sufi Muslim leader. Many in the royal family consider Sufis’ mysticism an affront to their conservative strain of Islam, and they shamed Turki into exile. He moved into a Cairo hotel where he remained for years.

Sultan, though, maintained relations with powerful relatives in Saudi Arabia. He married his first cousin whose father, Prince Abdullah, would become king. But in 1990 she died in a car accident, and the 22-year-old Sultan adopted the life of a libertine.

On his generous allowance from his uncle, then King Fahd, Sultan traversed Europe with an entourage of security guards, models, and fixers. The aging king had a tolerance—even a fondness—for high-living princes, and enduring affection for his nephew. When Fahd left a Geneva hospital after a 2002 eye surgery, Sultan was right behind his wheelchair, a privileged position among royals jostling for physical proximity to the king.

Sultan didn’t have a government role, but liked to be seen as a person of influence. He spoke with foreign journalists about his views on Saudi policy, taking a more open stance than most princes but always supporting the monarchy. In January 2003 he veered onto a different tack. Sultan told reporters that Saudi Arabia should stop giving aid to Lebanon, and claimed Lebanon’s prime minister was corruptly using Saudi money to fund an extravagant lifestyle.

Internationally, the statement didn’t seem like a big deal. Sultan was hardly the first to accuse Prime Minister Rafic Hariri of corruption. And the prince didn’t criticize the kingdom as much as Lebanon.

Inside the Royal Court it amounted to a Molotov cocktail. The Hariri family had deep ties to Saudi Arabia’s rulers, and especially to King Fahd’s powerful son Abdulaziz. Sultan’s statement seemed directed at antagonizing Abdulaziz. A few months later Sultan faxed a statement to the Associated Press saying he had started a commission to root out corruption among Saudi princes and others who “pillaged the nation’s wealth over the past 25 years.”

About a month later, Abdulaziz sent Sultan an invitation: Come to King Fahd’s mansion in Geneva. Let’s work out our differences. At the meeting, Abdulaziz tried to coax Sultan to return to the kingdom. When he refused, guards pounced on the prince, injected him with a sedative, and dragged him onto a plane for Riyadh.

Sultan weighed about 400 pounds, and either the drugs or the process of dragging the unconscious man by his limbs damaged nerves connected to Sultan’s diaphragm and legs. He spent the next 11 years in and out of Saudi prisons, sometimes in a locked-down government hospital in Riyadh.

In 2014 Sultan contracted swine flu, and later life-threatening complications. Assuming the prince, now a semiparalyzed, wheezing shadow of his antagonistic younger self, was no longer a threat, the government let him seek medical care in Massachusetts. As far as Sultan was concerned, he was free.

Massive change swept the House of Saud during Sultan’s captivity. King Fahd died in 2005, and his successor Abdullah—the father of Sultan’s late wife—had less tolerance for ostentatious displays of princely wealth. Abdullah trimmed handouts to princes and censured the most profligate and ill-behaved.

But Sultan seemed not to grasp that shift or the bigger one in early 2015, after he’d recovered from his acute health problems, when even-more austere King Salman assumed the throne. Instead of fading into a low-key life, Sultan got liposuction and cosmetic surgery and started getting the band back together to resume his life of vagabond opulence.

Sultan reached out to security guards and old advisers, people he hadn’t spoken to since his kidnapping more than a decade earlier. With the entourage reunited, Sultan set out for Europe like a Saudi prince of the high-flying 1990s.

With armed guards, six full-time nurses and a doctor, rotating “girlfriends” hired from a Swiss modeling agency, and an international assortment of hangers-on, Sultan spent millions of dollars a month. From Oslo to Berlin, Geneva, and Paris, the modern-day luxury caravan ate only the finest food and drank only the best wine. After a few days or weeks in a city, Sultan would order butlers to pack his bags and call the Saudi embassy for an escort to the airport. They’d hop on a rented plane and set out for the next city.

In mid-2015, Prince Sultan took over a luxurious hotel on Sardinia’s most picturesque beach. Swimming in the Mediterranean, Sultan’s partially paralyzed lower legs could support his weight. It was the closest he got to moving freely.

Along the way, the Royal Court kept depositing money in Sultan’s bank account. The prince realized the payments would eventually stop, and he didn’t have other income. So he developed a plan: Sultan decided the Saudi government owed him compensation for the injuries from his 2003 kidnapping. They made it difficult to start a company or an investment fund the way his other princes could.

Sultan appealed to Mohammed bin Salman. He didn’t know Mohammed well. He’d been locked up since the younger prince was in his late teens. But he heard from family members that Mohammed had become the most powerful person in the Royal Court, and asked Mohammed for compensation for his injuries

It didn’t work. Mohammed was unwilling to pay someone who had brought about his own troubles by airing family grievances. What kind of lesson would that teach other royals? So in the summer of 2015, Sultan did something unprecedented: In a Swiss court, he sued members of the royal family for the kidnapping.

His confidants were worried. “They abducted you once. Why wouldn’t they abduct you again?” warned Sultan’s lawyer in Boston, Clyde Bergstresser. Sultan often followed the advice of Bergstresser, a blunt New Jersey native who was referred to Sultan during his medical treatment in Massachusetts. The lawyer didn’t have the baggage of other Saudi connections, and spoke to Sultan more directly than members of the prince’s retinue would. But on this point Sultan was obstinate. He insisted on filing the suit. A Swiss criminal prosecutor started investigating. Newspapers picked up the story. Sultan’s payments from the Royal Court abruptly stopped.

Sultan’s entourage didn’t realize the problem for weeks, until the prince one day ordered room service in his Sardinian hotel. The restaurant refused to serve them.

It fell to a member of the entourage to tell Sultan why. “You’re absolutely broke,” his staffer explained.

The hotel would have just evicted the prince but couldn’t afford to write off $1 million or more in unpaid bills from the prince’s weeks-long stay. Sultan told his staff he could get the Royal Court to restore his payments. The hotel reopened the line of credit, and Sultan took a gamble: He tried to outmaneuver Mohammed bin Salman.

In the Saudi royal family the brothers of the king have a say in the line of succession. If a king proves inept, his brothers can remove him. So Sultan sent two anonymous letters to his uncles. Their brother King Salman, he wrote, is “incompetent” and “powerless,” a puppet of Prince Mohammed. “It is no longer a secret that the most serious problem in his health is the mental aspect that has made the king the subject of his son Mohammed.” 

Mohammed, Sultan wrote, is corrupt and has diverted more than $2 billion in government funds to a private account. The only solution, Sultan wrote, was for the brothers to isolate the king and “convene an emergency meeting of senior family members to discuss the situation and take all necessary measures to save the country.”

Sultan’s letters leaked to the U.K.’s Guardian newspaper. Though the letters were unsigned, Royal Court officials quickly identified the author.

Sultan awaited the fallout. Perhaps his uncles would try to rein in Mohammed. Or maybe Mohammed would offer money to stop making trouble. It could be a situation like his father’s, Sultan reasoned: He could live in well-funded estrangement from his more powerful cousins.

Amazingly, it seemed to work. Not long after the letters were published, more than $2 million from the Royal Court appeared in Sultan’s bank account. He paid the hotel and renewed his travel plans. Even better, he got an invitation from his father to visit Cairo and hopefully patch up their relationship. As a bonus, his father told him, the Royal Court was sending a luxury jetliner to fly the prince and his entourage to Cairo. It seemed that Mohammed bin Salman was bringing his wayward cousin back into the fold.

Sultan’s staff was dumbfounded. Some had been around the last time he criticized the Al Saud and found himself on a Royal Court plane. Then, it had led to kidnapping and a lifetime of health problems. How could the prince even consider getting on the flight?

But Sultan seemed eager to believe a reconciliation was afoot. Perhaps Mohammed bin Salman was a new kind of leader who wouldn’t solve a family dispute with an abduction.

The Royal Court sent a specially outfitted 737-800—a plane that fits 189 passengers in commercial use—and Sultan ordered his staff to meet the crew and suss out the situation.

The crew members looked more like security officials than flight attendants. “This plane is not going to land in Cairo,” one of Sultan’s staffers warned.

“You don’t trust them?” Sultan asked.

“Why do you trust them?” the staffer responded. Sultan didn’t answer. But he wavered until Captain Saud offered to ease his fears by leaving 10 crew members behind in Paris, as a good-faith gesture to show this wasn’t a kidnapping. That was enough for the prince.

He told his entourage to start packing. With the butlers, nurses, security guards, and a “girlfriend” hired from a modeling agency, the retinue numbered more than a dozen.

The plane left Paris uneventfully, and for two hours its flight path to Cairo was visible on screens around the cabin. Then the screens flickered and shut off.

Sultan’s staffers were alarmed. “What’s happening?” one asked Captain Saud. He went to check and returned to explain that there was a technical problem, and the only engineer who could fix it had been among the crewmen left behind in Paris. There was no need to worry, Saud said; they were on schedule.

By the time the plane started descending, just about everyone aboard realized it wouldn’t land in Cairo. There was no Nile snaking through the city below them, no Pyramids of Giza. Riyadh’s sprawl was unmistakable.

By the time Kingdom Centre Tower, a skyscraper with a huge hole in the center that cynics said resembled the Eye of Sauron from TheLord of the Rings, came into view, pandemonium had broken out. Non-Saudi members of Sultan’s entourage demanded to know what would happen to them, landing in Saudi Arabia without visas and against their will. “Give me my gun!” shouted Prince Sultan, weak and wheezing.

One of his guards refused. Captain Saud’s men had guns, and a shoot-out on a plane seemed worse than whatever would happen on the ground. So Sultan sat silently until they touched down. There was no way to fight, and Captain Saud’s men shuffled the prince down the Jetway. It’s the last time anyone in his entourage saw him.

Security guards herded the staff and hangers onto an airport holding area and eventually to a hotel. They stayed for three days, unable to leave without visas.

Finally, on the fourth day, guards brought the retinue to a government office. One by one, the foreigners were summoned into a sprawling conference room with a huge table in the middle. At the head was Captain Saud, now in an ankle-length thobe instead of his pilot’s uniform. “I’m Saud al-Qahtani,” he said. “I work at the Royal Court.” 

Saud al-Qahtani had previously been known to Saudis as “Mr. Hashtag,” a social media presence who extolled Prince Mohammed’s virtues on Twitter and belittled his critics. With Sultan’s abduction, Saud had become a central player in the Royal Court’s security apparatus, someone Mohammed could rely on to accomplish sensitive, aggressive tasks.

Sitting at the conference-room table, Saud asked the foreigners to sign nondisclosure agreements, offered money to some, and sent them back home. The operation silenced an irritating critic, teaching a lesson to any other would-be dissidents in the royal family.

Almost five years later, the full context of Prince Sultan’s abduction would become more clear in another unlikely court case against royal family members. 

Saad al Jabri, a former Saudi spymaster living in exile in Canada, sued Prince Mohammed in federal court in August of 2020, claiming the prince tried to have him killed by an international hit team called “Tiger Squad.” 

The squad’s roots go back to 2015, the ex-spy chief alleged. Prince Mohammed, the lawsuit says, asked him to deploy a Saudi counterterrorism unit “in an extrajudicial operation of retribution against a Saudi prince living in Europe” who criticized King Salman. 

Jabri claims in the lawsuit that he refused because the operation was “immoral, unlawful” and bad for Saudi Arabia. So Prince Mohammed created the Tiger Squad and put Qahtani in charge, the suit says. Two years later, it was Tiger Squad that would kill dissident journalist Jamal Khashoggi in the Saudi embassy in Istanbul, U.S. officials say, an incident that threatened Mohammed’s international standing—and reminded Saudis what can happen when they criticize him. Qahtani hasn’t been charged in Saudi Arabia.

Adapted fromBLOOD & OIL: Mohammed bin Salman’s Ruthless Quest for Global Powerby Bradley Hope and Justin Scheck. Copyright © 2020. Available from Hachette Books, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.


We very much are in the debt of Vanity Fair Magazine and the named writers who tell us today of a troublesome business in a very strange Kingdom. From here out, we will quote from that very good article and will until, noted by us “Cease Quoting.”

We here cease quoting and once again thank Vanity Fair and Her writers for a well done job.

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The founding father of the modern Kingdom, Ibn Saud with FDR during the war.

Oremus pro invicem

Always Faithfully,

Jack Begg

No alt text provided for this image
No alt text provided for this image
No alt text provided for this image

Oremus pro invicem

In the name of God

Amen

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The King had such a pretty little wife. Such a shame all ’round.

Ex-Spanish King Juan Carlos had nearly 5,000 lovers: retired colonel

We thank the NEW YORKER Magazine and their swell writer today about King Juan Carlos and now quote them in full until note “Cease Quoting.”

Juan Carlos’s Fall from Grace in Spain and the Precarious Future of the World’s Monarchies

A person wearing a face mask removes a painting of former King Juan Carlos I from the wall while a group of people...
A portrait of the disgraced Juan Carlos I was recently removed from a Spanish Parliament building.Photograph by Jesus Diges / EFE / Alamy

It has been a hundred years since the bloodbath of the First World War finished off several of Europe and the Middle East’s most iconic monarchies—including the Russian, the Austro-Hungarian, and the Ottoman. Along with them went the sacrosanct notions of God, king (or queen), and country that had buttressed them through centuries of dynastic rule and, indeed, driven millions of young soldiers to their deaths in the trenches as cannon fodder. A dozen royal houses have endured since then, but these are decorative fripperies. The ongoing pomp of kings and queens and their offspring may be entertaining to American and Chinese tourists, and help sell copies of Hello!, but the royalist fire in the belly is long gone for most Europeans.

The one monarchy with any punch left is the British Crown, mainly thanks to the fact that Queen Elizabeth II, who is now ninety-four, is an authentically historic figure and has been in the public eye since the hallowed days of Winston Churchill and the Blitz. In the diminished Britain of the Boris Johnson era—amid the bungled coronavirus-pandemic response and the never-ending chaos of Brexit—the Queen is practically the only remaining national institution. The same cannot be said for her children or their spouses.

After a bad patch following the tabloid-chronicled divorce of Prince Charles and Princess Diana, and Diana’s subsequent death, the House of Windsor had in recent years recovered a patina of stability and decorum. But much of that has gone over the parapets with the noisome evacuation (“Megxit”) from the royal circle by Meghan and Harry and the abominable spectacle of Prince Andrew, accused of being a participant in Jeffrey Epstein’s sexual abuse of underage girls. (Andrew has denied the allegations.) In the economically depressed Little Britain of the near future—with Elizabeth II’s death likely over the next decade and the future integrity of the United Kingdom itself in doubt, thanks to Brexit—will there really be room for a new generation of Windsors on the throne? Perhaps not. In the end, reruns of “The Crown” and “Downton Abbey” may be all that’s necessary to satisfy the lingering British appetite for blue-blood porn.

With the remaining European monarchies so inconsequential as to beg credulity (Luxembourg, Monaco, and Belgium, among others), the only other royals with a whiff of modern relevance have, until recently, been Spain’s Bourbons. But, after the country’s once venerated King Juan Carlos I announced, on August 3rd, that he was leaving Spain in the midst of a spiralling corruption scandal, their future also looked increasingly precarious.

Yet, by bolting the country, Juan Carlos was, in fact, upholding a long-standing, if sometimes conveniently forgotten, Bourbon family tradition of subterfuge, flight, and exile. In 1931, Juan Carlos’s grandfather, Alfonso XIII, fled the royal palace, in Madrid, and Spain itself, just two days after a municipal election overwhelmingly won by republicans ended the monarchy and established Spain’s Second Republic.

The First Republic had lasted a mere ten months, from February 11, 1873, to December 29, 1874. Along with the Napoleonic invasion of 1809 and an 1868 uprising called the “Glorious Revolution,” it was one of the shorter interruptions to Bourbon rule in Spain since the dynasty’s beginnings, in 1700. The interruption in the Spanish monarchy that followed Alfonso XIII’s downfall would be the longest ever, lasting forty-seven years.

After leaving Spain, Alfonso XIII moved to Mussolini’s Italy, where he remained, eventually abdicating the throne, a month before his death, in 1941, in favor of his son and heir, Don Juan de Borbón—Juan Carlos’s father. But Don Juan’s claim to the throne was thwarted by Spain’s Fascist dictator, General Francisco Franco, who had seized power, in 1939, after destroying the Second Republic in a bloody three-year civil war that he had waged with the help of Mussolini and Hitler.

Franco disliked Don Juan, whom he suspected of being an Anglophile (Franco despised the British and referred to Great Britain as “perfidious Albion”); he was also determined to be the sole arbiter of Spain’s destiny. And so he was. For the next thirty-six years, Franco remained the country’s unchallenged caudillo, or strongman, and although he declared Spain a monarchy once again, in 1947, he kept the throne empty, leaving Don Juan to languish and fret in neighboring Portugal, even as Franco himself assumed the role of dispenser of noble titles. In a cruelly Shakespearean twist, Franco asked Don Juan to send him his son, Juan Carlos, who was then ten, to be educated and groomed under Franco’s supervision. In 1969, when Juan Carlos was thirty-one, Franco summoned him and informed the young man of his decision to make him his successor, with the title of King of Spain.

To accept Franco’s decision meant that Juan Carlos had to step in line in front of his father, which he did, participating in a formal ceremony with Franco in which the caudillo announced his intentions. Juan Carlos didn’t tell his father about the usurpation beforehand, and the breach caused by his betrayal was long-lasting. Despite—or perhaps, in part, because of—his act of filial betrayal, the young and dashing king, who assumed the throne after Franco’s death, in 1975, became a beloved national figure. He went out of his way to promote a democratic transition that reduced his own powers but turned Spain into a constitutional monarchy. Later, in 1981, he personally stood down a right-wing military coup, the leaders of which had evidently hoped he’d back them. His biographer Paul Preston, musing about Juan Carlos’s true motivations, described the monarch as a man who knew how to seize his opportunities. “Considering that Juan Carlos had been brought up and brainwashed in Francoist thinking, it’s a valid historical question to ask why he opened the way for democracy. It wasn’t like he was a democrat,” Preston told me. “At the time, they were all predicting that he’d be known as Juan Carlos the Brief, and the only way for him not to be that was to turn Spain into a constitutional monarchy, which he did.”

Over the course of the next several decades, despite persistent rumors of his philandering and corruption, Juan Carlos could officially do no wrong. Successive Spanish governments, whether conservative or left-wing, stood firmly by him, and Spain’s media also exercised self-censorship on news about the King. Probing stories were routinely suppressed. In 1998, I wrote a Profile of Juan Carlos for The New Yorker in which I mentioned rumors about his receiving commissions on international business deals involving Spanish companies. Afterward, one of the King’s senior minions at the Palacio de la Zarzuela, the royal palace, called the editors of a major Spanish magazine to warn them not to republish the article in Spanish. They obeyed.

One day, during my time on the edges of the royal circle, a courtier showed me around the palace—a mansion set in rolling parkland outside Madrid. As she walked with me, she remarked that it could “hardly be called a palace, it’s really just a big house,” and, in a sympathetic whisper, she added that, unlike some of the other European royals, Spain’s royal family was not very wealthy; their budget was “really quite modest.” In subsequent years, I’ve often thought back to that conversation and wondered whether the courtier was subtly trying to tell me something.

The King’s downfall began, in 2012, when it was revealed that he had flown with a lover to Botswana on a private jet for a luxury safari that had been organized and paid for by a Saudi lobbyist. After breaking his hip in a fall during the trip, Juan Carlos had been rushed back home for surgery. With Spain deep in a recession and suffering one of the worst unemployment rates in Western Europe, the King’s profligacy felt like a betrayal, and his public popularity plummeted. When photos were published showing him posing with a gun in front of a dead elephant, it symbolized more than the monarchy’s being out of touch with the plebeian mood. At the time, he was the honorary president of the Spanish branch of the World Wildlife Fund.

After his surgery, an abashed-looking Juan Carlos made a brief public appearance in which he said that he was sorry, had made a mistake, and that it wouldn’t happen again. The World Wildlife Fund removed him from its roster, and, in 2014, with the royal family under continuing close scrutiny, Juan Carlos abdicated the throne in favor of his son and heir, Felipe Juan Pablo Alfonso de Todos los Santos de Borbón y Grecia—King Felipe VI to us plebs.

Even after his abdication, however, Juan Carlos—who had retained the title of “Rey Emérito”—continued to live large, jetting around the world to posh resorts owned by ultra-rich friends, and he was often spotted in the company of one or another of his known lovers. (He and Queen Sofía, who is a princess in the unseated Greek royal family, have, by all accounts, been estranged for many years due to Juan Carlos’s chronic infidelities.) There were additional contretemps along the way: In 2017, his son-in-law Iñaki Urdangarin, a former sports star married to his daughter, Princess Cristina, was sentenced to six and a half years in prison after he was found guilty of using a charitable fund as a private slush fund. More recently, it emerged that Juan Carlos had accepted a previously undeclared “gift” of a hundred million dollars from Saudi Arabia’s late King Abdullah—allegedly a bribe in return for his help in arranging a lucrative fast-rail-construction contract.

Further roiling the public, one of Juan Carlos’s former lovers, a Danish-born events organizer named Corinna zu Sayn-Wittgenstein—who had accompanied him on his Botswana safari—has acknowledged that Juan Carlos had given her, some years ago, sixty-five million euros (worth about eighty-four million dollars at the time). This “gift” is believed to have come out of the funds given to Juan Carlos by King Abdullah.

In a first step toward damage control, King Felipe VI announced that he would renounce his personal inheritance from his father and that his father would no longer receive his royal allowance. After Felipe VI’s announcement, things remained in a tense limbo until a letter that Juan Carlos wrote to his son was released to the public. In it, Juan Carlos declared that, “for the good of the country” and “because of public repercussions certain occurrences of my past life are having,” he was leaving Spain for an undisclosed foreign location—and then he vanished.

Initial rumors held that Juan Carlos had fled to the Dominican Republic, where his friend the Cuban exile and Domino Sugar magnate José (Pepe) Fanjul owns a vast estate. But this turned out to be untrue. Then came reports that he had gone to ground in Abu Dhabi, where he was holed up in a ten-thousand-dollar-a-night suite at one of the world’s most luxurious hotels (reportedly with yet another longtime friend, Marta Gayá, of Majorca). Finally, this past week, Spain’s government confirmed Juan Carlos’s presence in the United Arab Emirates.

It is difficult to recall a modern-day monarch who has fallen into disgrace more precipitously and entirely than Juan Carlos. His downfall has thrown the future of the Spanish crown into question. Leftists in Spain have called for a public referendum on the future of the monarchy. Spain’s Prime Minister, the Socialist Pedro Sánchez, has called for national unity and reaffirmed his government’s support for “national institutions,” including the monarchy. But the story is not over—and it seems a fair question to ask whether or not Felipe VI will be the last king of Spain.

Preston, Juan Carlos’s biographer, told me that he could not rule out the possibility. “Felipe has a lot stacked against him,” he said. A less affable and charismatic figure than Juan Carlos, Felipe VI has taken an uncompromising posture toward pro-independence forces in Catalonia, including signing off on harsh police tactics there. This has made him a highly unpopular figure in Catalonia, and, on his latest visits, he has been booed and jeered by waiting crowds. “The King of Spain has to show that he represents all the country’s communities, not just Spaniards,” Preston said. Even so, Preston pointed out, widespread support for constitutional reform would be required to turn Spain back into a republic.

Looking beyond Spain and Europe, one wonders whether this, after all, might finally be it—the end of monarchy everywhere. Even in faraway Thailand, where it remains a sternly enforced criminal offense to insult the King or any member of his family, the royals are having trouble. In March, while the country’s people were under coronavirus lockdown, the Thai monarch was not even in the country but enjoying himself at a resort in Germany. In April, he flew home to celebrate the coronation day of his ruling dynasty, then promptly returned to Germany. Street protests from the beginning of the year calling for political reform evolved into full-blown anti-monarchy protests in July.

Whether from the onward march of Western-style secularism and global consumer culture or from public revulsion at the kinds of corruption that social media helps reveal, monarchy seems under increasing threat of extinction. It could be that economic decline and the unrelenting public exposure of contemporary figures via cell-phone images, Twitter, and TikTok have finally done for the institution of the monarchy what the First World War’s blood-soaked trenches left unfinished a century ago.

I’ve a check to write today.

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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Finis Origine Pendet…

 

 

Oremus pro invicem

~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
Praying Hands Personalized Prayer Card (Priced Per Card)
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Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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.

~~~~~~~~~~~

November 2003 event 012
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~
  • ~~
    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~~
    Friday, 14th Aout,~Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, 2020
    
    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."~~
    French actor~~Alain Delon

    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~~

    The escape concludes…

    ~~

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

    ~~

    1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

    ~~

    Acta Est Fabula.

    ~~

    Deus Vult.

    Image

    ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

    The Queen~~

    Our Ruler now 68 years on~~

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

     

    Oremus pro invicem
     
    Always Faithfully,
     
    Jack Begg

 

Social Cessation

A society that countenances abortion, nay, celebrates, nay worships, abortion, has long since ceased to be a society and there are no other things to discuss, simply nothing else to say.
John Daniel BEGG.
2020
No photo description available.

Oremus pro invicem

~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
Praying Hands Personalized Prayer Card (Priced Per Card)
####################################################################
Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~

November 2003 event 012
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~
  • ~~
    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~~
    Friday, 14th Aout,~Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, 2020
    
    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

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    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."~~
    French actor~~Alain Delon

    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~~

    The escape concludes…

    ~~

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

    ~~

    1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

    ~~

    Acta Est Fabula.

    ~~

    Deus Vult.

    Image

    ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

    The Queen~~

    Our Ruler now 68 years on~~

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

    Oremus pro invicem
     
    Always Faithfully,
     
    Jack Begg

 

Golden Crucifixion

As the presidential election year of 1896 began, things were looking rosy for the Republicans. But the emergence of a brash, young politician, William Jennings Bryan, soon turned the tide. Bryan’s campaign laid bare the diverging interests of those whose livelihoods were linked to urban institutions and those who lived by the land in rural America.

With the nation mired in the aftermath of a serious economic depression and a deeply unpopular Democrat incumbent—Grover Cleveland—in the White House, the GOP had surged back in the most recent midterms to win control of both the House and Senate. Governor William McKinley of Ohio easily won the Republican presidential nomination, and seemed poised for a smooth ride to the White House on his platform of economic protectionism and support for the gold standard, which defined the value of the nation’s currency in terms of how much gold it had in reserve.

But in an unexpected turn of events, the young Democratic Nebraska lawyer and former congressman Bryan challenged McKinley in 1896. Bryan’s appeal to America’s farmers and the working class, his passionate support of the free silver movement and his powerful speaking style galvanized both disaffected Democrats and members of the People’s (or Populist) Party, turning the election into one of the most hard-fought and consequential in the nation’s history.

READ MORE: Populism in the United States: A Timeline

Backdrop: Panic of 1893

The battle between McKinley and Bryan took place during an economic downturn that had begun in 1893, when two of the nation’s biggest employers, the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad and the National Cordage Company, collapsed, setting off a stock market panic. Thousands of businesses closed, and the nation suffered more than 10 percent unemployment for more than five straight years.

While President Cleveland favored the gold standard, many in the Populist Party and the rural, agrarian wing of the Democratic Party—including many farmers in the South and West—supported the Free Silver Movement. Rather than rely on gold to back the nation’s money supply, they believed the country should use silver, which was much more abundant at the time. This would inflate the currency, increasing the prices farmers would receive for their crops and helping them pay back their debts more easily.

READ MORE: How the Gold Standard Contributed to the Great Depression

William Jennings Bryan and the ‘Cross of Gold’

William Jennings Bryan

William Jennings Bryan was a dominant force in the populist wing of the Democratic party in 1896.

Universal History Archive/Universal Images Group/Getty Images

When the Democrats convened in Chicago to choose their presidential candidate in July 1896, they repudiated Cleveland and changed courses dramatically, making free silver a central plank of their platform. At 36 years old, with two terms in Congress and a failed 1894 run for Senate under his belt, Bryan was the party’s most outspoken and effective champion of silver. During the convention, he delivered what would become one of the most famous political orations in U.S. history, known as the “Cross of Gold” speech.

Bryan’s eloquent call for an end to government favoritism toward business interests and the wealthy at the expense of farmers and the working class, and his defense of agrarian democracy against a backdrop of the nation’s growing urbanization, would resonate for generations to come. The most electric moment of his speech came at the end, when he drew on his evangelical Christian faith.

“We will answer their demand for a gold standard by saying to them: You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns,” he cried, placing an imaginary crown on his head. “You shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.”

The crowd of more than 20,000 at the Chicago Coliseum went wild, and Bryan went on to clinch the nomination, becoming the youngest presidential nominee in history. The Populists, who had won several states in the 1892 election, also nominated Bryan, who shared their free silver views.

WATCH: America’s Book of Secrets: The Gold Conspiracy

Bryan’s Barnstorming vs. McKinley’s Front Porch

President William McKinley

Archive/Getty ImagesWilliam McKinley, the 25th President of the United States, on the porch of his home in Canton, Ohio. During the 1896 election, McKinley campaigned from his porch while his opponent, William Jennings Bryan, toured the country. 

Spencer Arnold Collection/Hulton 

Bryan traveled nearly 20,000 miles by rail around the country during his campaign and gave hundreds of speeches, often out of the back of his railroad car. Huge crowds greeted him, drawn by his oratorical skills and the passion he inspired in his supporters.

For his part, McKinley stayed home in Canton, Ohio, addressing large delegations of Republican supporters from his front porch. His campaign mastermind, Cleveland businessman Mark Hanna, attracted 750,000 people to Canton during the campaign and enlisted thousands of speakers to stump elsewhere on McKinley’s behalf. Foreshadowing a new style of campaign financing, Hanna solicited major contributions from fellow industrialists, raising some $4 million in total.

In the end, despite Bryan’s best efforts, his campaign failed to broaden its support beyond its Populist, agrarian Democratic base. More conservative Democrats, who favored the gold standard, split from the party to nominate their own National (Gold) Democratic candidate, or even threw their support to McKinley. Republicans managed to attract some urban progressive voters by attacking Bryan as a religious fanatic, in addition to painting a dire picture of what abandoning the gold standard would mean for the economy.

McKinley’s Decisive Victory

On Election Day, voter turnout topped 79 percent, reflecting the high stakes of the contest. McKinley won some 600,000 more popular votes than Bryan, the widest margin since 1872, while his win in the electoral college (271 to 176) was even more decisive. In addition to his core support in the urban Northeast, McKinley gained strength from prosperous Midwestern farmers, industrial workers, and many ethnic voters. For his part, Bryan swept most of the South, the only region of the country where the economy remained predominantly agricultural; he also did well among farmers in the West and Midwest.

Like the elections of 1800, 1860 and 1932, the presidential election of 1896 marked a fundamental shift in American politics, and the emergence of a new political reality to reflect the nation’s changed circumstances. McKinley’s win began an era of Republican dominance, and economic prosperity, that would last for nearly four decades. It also spelled the beginning of the end for the Populist Party, which didn’t dissolve entirely but would never regain its former level of success. 

Perhaps most importantly, the 1896 election marked the decisive triumph of the nation’s urban interests—banking, manufacturing and industry—over its agrarian past. With Americans migrating to cities at a rapidly increasing rate in the last decade of the 19th century, Bryan would be the last candidate to run by appealing exclusively to the country’s rural population. 

I thank Miss Sarah Pruitt, and History.com, both of whom I now cease to quote until noted “I cease quoting.”

Oremus pro invicem

~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
Praying Hands Personalized Prayer Card (Priced Per Card)
####################################################################
Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~

November 2003 event 012
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~
  • ~~
    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~~
    Tuesday, 11th Aout,~Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, 2020
    
    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

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    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."~~
    French actor~~Alain Delon

    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~~

    The escape concludes…

    ~~

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

    ~~

    1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

    ~~

    Acta Est Fabula.

    ~~

    Deus Vult.

    Image

    ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

    The Queen~~

    Our Ruler now 68 years on~~

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

 

clip_image002MA9982782-0001

William Jennings Bryan

Oremus pro invicem

Amen

President William McKinley

 

 

Oremus pro invicem
Amen

Take ALL Momma’s money out of the Southern Trust

Chuck Berry Special of All-Star Performances Coming to PBS | Best ...

Chuck Berry’s music has transcended generations. He earns respect to this day because he is truly an entertainer. Berry, also known as “The Father of Rock & Roll,” gained success by watching the audience’s reaction and playing accordingly, putting his listeners’ amusement above all else. For this reason, tunes like “Johnny B. Goode,” “Maybellene” and “Memphis” have become anthems to an integrated American youth and popular culture. Berry is a musical icon who established rock and roll as a musical form and brought the worlds of black and white together in song. Born in St. Louis on October 18, 1926 Berry had many influences on his life that shaped his musical style. He emulated the smooth vocal clarity of his idol, Nat King Cole, while playing blues songs from bands like Muddy Waters. For his first stage performance, Berry chose to sing a Jay McShann song called “Confessin’ the Blues.” It was at his high school’s student musical performance, when the blues was well-liked but not considered appropriate for such an event. He got a thunderous applause for his daring choice, and from then on, Berry had to be onstage.

GUITAR LESSONS

Berry took up the guitar after that, inspired by his partner in the school production. He found that if he learned rhythm changes and blues chords, he could play most of the popular songs on the radio at the time. His friend, Ira Harris, showed him techniques on the guitar that would become the foundation of Berry’s original sound. Then in 1952, he began playing guitar and singing in a club band whose song list ranged from blues to ballads to calypso to country. Berry was becoming an accomplished showman, incorporating gestures and facial expressions to go with the lyrics.

It was in 1953 that Chuck Berry joined the Sir John’s Trio (eventually renamed the Chuck Berry Combo), which played the popular Cosmopolitan Club in St. Louis. Country-western music was big at the time, so Berry decided to use some of the riffs and create his own unique hillbilly sound. The black audience thought he was crazy at first, but couldn’t resist trying to dance along with it. Since country was popular with white people, they began to come to the shows, and the audience was at some points almost 40 percent white. Berry’s stage show antics were getting attention, but the other band members did their parts as well. In his own words: “I would slur my strings to make a passage that Johnnie (Johnson) could not produce with piano keys but the answer would be so close that he would get a tremendous ovation. His answer would sound similar to some that Jerry Lee Lewis’s fingers later began to flay.”

SOME GOOD ADVICE

Later in 1955, Berry went on a road trip to Chicago, where he chanced upon a club where his idol, Muddy Waters, was performing. He arrived late and only heard the last song, but when it was over he got the attention of Waters and asked him who to see about making a record. Waters replied, “Yeah, Leonard Chess. Yeah, Chess Records over on Forty-seventh and Cottage.” Berry went there on Monday and discovered it was a blues label where greats like Howlin’ Wolf and Bo Diddley recorded. He didn’t have any tapes to show, but Chess was willing to listen if he brought some back from St. Louis. So Berry went home and recorded some originals, including the would-be “Maybellene,” then called “Ida May,” and drove back to Chicago later that week to audition. Much to Berry’s surprise, it was that hillbilly number that caught Chess’ attention. Berry was signed to Chess Records and in the summer of 1955, “Maybellene” reached #5 on the Pop Charts and #1 on the R&B Charts. Through Chuck Berry, Chess Records moved from the R&B genre into the mainstream and Berry himself was on his way to stardom.

THE REST IS HISTORY

Berry continued his success with such hits as “Brown-Eyed Man,” “Too Much Monkey Business,” “Memphis,” “Roll Over, Beethoven!” and “Johnny B. Goode.” “Johnny B. Goode” is Berry’s masterpiece, as it brought together all the elements of Berry’s unique musical sound. It cemented his place in rock history and led to fame in the 1950s. His popularity garnered him television and movie appearances and he toured frequently.

Berry’s incredible success is due to his ability to articulate the concerns and attitudes of his audience in his music. At the height of his success, Berry was a 30-year-old black man singing to a mostly white, teenage audience. Dubbed the “Eternal Teenager,” Chuck Berry’s knowledge of the pop market made it possible for him to break color barriers and play to an integrated audience.

In the 1960s and 1970s, Berry’s music was the inspiration for such groups as the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. Berry had a number of comeback recordings and in 1972 had the first and only #1 Pop Chart hit of his career with “My Ding-A-Ling. 1986 fittingly saw him inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as the very first inductee in history. As a tribute to his pervasiveness in the realm of rock, a clip of “Johnny B. Goode” was chosen played in the Voyager I spacecraft, proving Chuck Berry and his rock legacy are truly out of this world.

Requiescat in pace

Charles Edward Anderson Berry (October 18, 1926 – March 18, 2017)

Oremus pro invicem

~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
Praying Hands Personalized Prayer Card (Priced Per Card)
####################################################################
Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~

November 2003 event 012
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~
  • ~~
    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~~
    Monday, 10th Aout,~Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, 2020
    
    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

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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."~~
    French actor~~Alain Delon

    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~~

    The escape concludes…

    ~~

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

    ~~

    1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

    ~~

    Acta Est Fabula.

    ~~

    Deus Vult.

    Image

    ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

    The Queen~~

    Our Ruler now 68 years on~~

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

 

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Oremus pro invicem

Amen

 

Oremus pro invicem
Amen

Accidents can happen~~they’re only hit and run.

The annals of history are full of fateful moments which scholars refer to as the great “what if’s” of history, where if events had taken only a slight deviation the course of human affairs would have been dramatically different.

Such a moment occurred in the last moments of the Great War in the French village of Marcoing involving 27 year old Private Henry Tandey of Warwickshire, UK, and 29 year old Lance Corporal Adolf Hitler of Braunau, Austria.

Henry Tandey was born in Leamington, Warwickshire, on the 30th August 1891, son of former soldier James Tandey.  After a difficult childhood, part of which was spent in an orphanage, he became a boiler attendant at a hotel in Leamington before enlisting in the British Army, joining the Green Howards Regiment in August 1910 and embarking on a ‘Boys Own’ adventurous life.

“Private Tandey served with the 2nd Battalion in South Africa and Guernsey before the outbreak of war in 1914, he fought in the 1st Battle of Ypres in October 1914, two years later he was wounded in the leg during the Battle of the Somme and when discharged from a military hospital in England transferred to the 9th Battalion in Flanders and wounded at Passchendaele in November 1917.

Once out of hospital he joined the 12th Battalion in France in 1918, his unit was disbanded in July 1918 and he was attached to the 5th Duke of Wellington Regiment from 26th July to 4th October 1918.  It was at this time Private Tandey was awarded the DCM for determined bravery at Vaulx Vraucourt on August 28, the MM for heroism at Havrincourt on September 12th and Victoria Cross for conspicuous bravery at Marcoing on 28th September 1918.

After the Great War he was posted to the 2nd Duke of Wellington Regiment in Gibraltar, Turkey and Egypt on 4th February 1921.  He was discharged from the army on 5th January 1926 at the rank of Sergeant.” [1] Leaving the highest decorated private soldier in the British Army during the Great War, had he been a member of the officer class there is little doubt a knighthood would also have been one of his rewards.

Tandey was mentioned five times in dispatches and certainly earned his VC during the capture of the French village and crossing at Marcoing, his regiment held down by heavy machine gun fire Tandey crawled forward, located the machine gun nest and took it out.

Arriving at the crossing he braved heavy fire to place wooden planks over a gaping hole enabling troops to roll across and take the battle to the Germans, the day still not over he successfully led a bayonet charge against outnumbering enemy troops which helped bring hostilities to an end.

As the ferocious battle wound down and enemy troops surrendered or retreated a wounded German soldier limped out of the maelstrom and into Private Tandey’s line of fire, the battle weary man never raised his rifle and just stared at Tandey resigned to the inevitable.  “I took aim but couldn’t shoot a wounded man,” said Tandey, “so I let him go.” [2]

The young German soldier nodded in thanks and the two men took diverging paths, that day and in history.  Hitler retreated with the remnants of German troops and ended up in Germany, where he languished in the humiliation of defeat at wars end.

Tandey put that encounter out of his mind and rejoined his regiment, discovering soon after he had won the Victoria Cross.  It was announced in the London Gazette on 14th December 1918 and he was personally decorated by King George V at Buckingham Palace on 17th December 1919, in newspaper reports a picture of him carrying a wounded soldier after the Battle of Ypres was published, a dramatic image which symbolized a war which was supposed to have put an end to all wars and immortalized on canvas by Italian artist Fortunino Matania.

Leaving the army in 1926 at the rank of sergeant the 35 year old settled in Leamington where he married, settling back into civilian life he spent the next 38 years as Commissionaire, or plant security chief, at Triumph, then called the Standard Motor Company.  He lived a quiet life and although regarded as a hero by all and sundry wasn’t one to brag or boast, wouldn’t mention the war unless asked about it.

In 1938 Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain (1869-1940), Conservative PM from 1937-40, made his gloomy trip to Munich to meet Chancellor Hitler in a last ditched effort to avoid war which resulted in the ill-fated ‘Munich Agreement’.  During that fateful trip Hitler invited him to his newly completed retreat in Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, a birthday present from Martin Bormann and the Nazi Party.

Perched 6017 feet up on Kehlstein Mountain it commanded spectacular views for 200 kilometers in all directions.  While there the Prime Minister explored the hill top lair of the Fuehrer and found a reproduction of Matania’s famous Marcoing painting depicting allied troops, puzzled by the choice of art Hitler explained, “that man came so near to killing me that I thought I should never see Germany again, providence saved me from such devilishly accurate fire as those English boys were aiming at us”. [2]

Chamberlain’s thoughts aren’t recorded, World War II irrupted soon after and he lost power to Winston Churchill, dying of stomach cancer within months of that event.  Although I feel safe in assuming he wished Tandey had pulled the trigger, ridding the world of a venomous creature.

Hitler seized the moment to have his best wishes and gratitude conveyed to Tandey by the Prime Minister, who promised to phone him on his return to London.  It wasn’t until that time Tandey knew the man he had in his gun sight 20 years earlier was Adolf Hitler and it came as a great shock, given tensions at the time it wasn’t something he felt proud about.

The story first broke in 1940 but no one gave it much thought at the time, however in recent years it has generated greater interest.  Some historians are doubtful as it sounds too good to be true, however it has an unmistakable ring of truth to it.  No one in their right mind would make up a story about having spared the life of a tyrant who at that time had just fire bombed Coventry, was Blitzing London and mass murdering people on the continent.

Hitler’s regiment was in the Marcoing region at the time although his presence cannot be verified, a great deal of German records for the Great War were lost in WWII due to allied bombing of Berlin which resulted in the destruction of a significant amount of the State Archives.  So documents showing Adolf Hitler’s exact whereabouts on 28 September 1918 are not available, Hitler biographers have differing opinions.

However there is irrefutable evidence that Hitler possessed a copy of the famous Matania painting featuring Tandey as early as 1937, acquiring it from Tandey’s old regiment.  “Colonel Earle said that he had heard from one Dr. Schwend that Hitler had expressed a wish to have a large photograph of the Matania painting.  Obviously one was sent because Captain Weidmann, Hitler’s Adjutant, wrote the following to Earle:

“I beg to acknowledge your friendly gift which has been sent to Berlin through the good offices of Dr. Schwend.  The Fuehrer is naturally very interested in things connected with his own war experiences, and he was obviously moved when I showed him the picture and explained the thought which you had in causing it to be sent to him.  He has directed me to send you his best thanks for your friendly gift which is so rich in memories.” [3]

The Tandey family were in no doubt of the story’s authenticity, they were present when Prime Minister Chamberlain phoned, “Tandey’s nephew, William Whateley, from Thomaby, calls to mind a mysterious phone call almost 60 years ago, when the storm clouds of war were brewing and Prime Minister Chamberlain was futilely appeasing Herr Hitler.

One evening the telephone rang and Henry went off to answer it, when he came back he commented matter-of-factly that it had been Mr Chamberlain.  He had just returned from a meeting with Hitler and whilst at Berchtesgaden had noticed the painting by Matania of the 2nd Green Howards at the Menin Cross Roads in 1914.  Chamberlain had asked what it was doing there and in reply Hitler had pointed out Tandy in the foreground and commented, “that’s the man who nearly shot me” [4]

One crucial aspect of the event which historians have overlooked is the fact that Adolf Hitler and Henry Tandy both fought at the Battle of Ypres in 1914, a far more significant event in the life of Hitler.  He distinguished himself in combat several times and saved the life of a seriously wounded officer, his heroism resulted in him being promoted to Lance Corporal.

The famous picture by Matania depicting Tandy carrying a wounded comrade to the first aid station at the Menin Cross Roads was painted based on that battle not Marcoing.  It’s possible that places got mixed up, it may well have been Ypres not Marcoing where Hitler and Tandey crossed paths and parted on amicable terms.

Tandey told a journalist that during the Great War he had as a rule spared wounded and disarmed German soldiers, so Marcoing wasn’t the first or last time he performed a humane deed in inhumane circumstances.  The fact he was awarded the illustrious VC for heroic deeds at Marcoing may have affected Prime Minister Chamberlains recollections of Hitler’s war story, which may have included Tandey’s having won the VC at Marcoing, a fact which would have undoubtedly impressed Hitler.

One thing which is clear and certain is that there must have been some significant connection between Hitler and the Fortunino Matania painting featuring Tandey, the Fuehrer of the demonic Third Reich wasn’t a collector of British wartime iconography and if he wanted propaganda images of the Battle of Ypres he would have chosen one in which the German not the enemy troops were depicted as valiant heroes.

At the outbreak of the Great War Adolf Hitler (1889-1945) joined the 16th Bavarian Infantry Regiment as a Dispatch Runner.

He proved himself a capable and brave soldier, was twice wounded, once almost fatally gassed and awarded the Iron Cross in recognition of his bravery.  Raised a Roman Catholic he considered entering the priesthood, mystically minded he didn’t share National Socialism’s nihilist credo.  He had a deep sense of destiny entwined with delusions of grandeur and a warped view of the world, influenced by melodramatic Wagnerian operas he cast himself as the saviour of the Germanic race.

He believed Private Tandey’s benevolent action was part of the grand scheme of things, the god’s were watching over their emissary, which was also his sentiment upon surviving assassination attempts later on.  Hitler never forgot the moment he stared down the barrel of death, nor the face of the man who spared him, he stumbled across a newspaper featuring the famous image of Private Tandey which noted his being awarded the VC for bravery.

Hitler kept it and on becoming Chancellor of Germany ordered government officials to obtain a copy of his service record and reproduction of the Matania painting, which he hung and pointed out to loyal disciples with pride.

The reproduction was destroyed or stolen by allied troops who ransacked, looted and badly damaged the Eagles Nest as the war approached its end.  British troops were preparing a truck load of explosives to blow it off the face of the earth when American officers arrived on the scene appalled by the waste of time and munitions, and ordered them back to the real war.

Tandey was haunted the remainder of his life by his good deed, the simple squeeze of a trigger would have spared the world a catastrophe which cost tens of millions of lives.  He was living in Coventry when the Luftwaffe destroyed the city in 1940, sheltered in a doorway as the building he was in crumbled and city burned like a scene from Dante’s Inferno.

He was also in London during the Blitz and experienced that atrocity first hand, he told a journalist in 1940, “if only I had known what he would turn out to be.  When I saw all the people, woman and children he had killed and wounded I was sorry to God I let him go”. [2]

When war erupted the 49 year old tried to rejoin his regiment to see to it that, “he didn’t escape a second time”, [2] but failed the physical due to wounds received at the Battle of the Somme.

Nonetheless he did his bit on the home front, volunteering wherever he could be of service but was always haunted by an act of decency to an indecent man.  Henry Tandey VC DCM MM died without issue in Coventry in 1977 aged 86, in accordance with his wishes he was cremated and interred at the British Cemetery in Marcoing alongside fallen comrades and close to where he won his Victoria Cross 60 years earlier.

His widow sold his medals three years later for a record £27,000 and on Armistice Day 1997 they were presented to his old regiment, the Green Howards, by Sir Ernest Harrison OBE at a special ceremony at the Tower of London and are displayed with great pride at the Green Howards regimental museum.

References:
1.  Beyond Their Duty, by Roger Chapman
2.  Sunday Graphic, Coventry, UK. December 1940
3. Colonel Earle, The Green Howards Gazette, UK. June. 1937
4. The Evening Gazette, Middlesbrough. UK

Sources:
The Green Howards. Alexandra, Princess of Wales’s Own Yorkshire Regiment
The 19th Regiment of Foot. By whose grace Tandey related images are reproduced.
Mr. Edward McKillop Nicholl
The Berchtesgaden Tourist Board
The International Express

Contributed by John Godl

Our many thanks, Mr. Godl

Oremus pro invicem

~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
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Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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

1147013_363612750432676_183433089_o

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

~~~~~~~~~~~

November 2003 event 012
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~
  • ~~
    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~~

    Wednesday, 5th Aout,~Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, 2020

    
    Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com

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

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

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    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."~~
    French actor~~Alain Delon

    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~~

    The escape concludes…

    ~~

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

    ~~

    1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

    ~~

    Acta Est Fabula.

    ~~

    Deus Vult.

    Image

    ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

    The Queen~~

    Our Ruler now 68 years on~~

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

clip_image002MA9982782-0001

Oremus pro invicem

Amen

Hitler and the man who spared him:

Henry Tandey

Oremus pro invicem
Amen

American toddler’s latest lamentations.

Quo Vadis?
~~
That is, for the unlettered, to ask:
~~
Whence?
~~
I am taken very ill and Mrs Begg denies me access to the electronic toys of the toddler’s which, on having taken a peek today, inform that the Americans, as ever, love a good riot and they are having many such in States and cities ruthlessly controlled by The Children’s Party.
~~
I recall Mr Hedrick Smith, a swell guy and not a bad writer for a corespondent on that aging yellow rag, The New York Times, but then Rick is a fellow Scot and old like myself and men like Rick and I were ever gentlemanly.
~~
Rick was born under the reign of George V while I was born under that King’s son, George VI.
~~
During the last Democratic Party riots called, I think, Occupy Wall Street, Rick put these questions to the rioters in the pristine manner of our joint class and background:
~~
Quo Vadis?
~~
Again for the unlettered, that means:
~~
Where are you kids going with this riot?
~~
Which is, again, to ask:
~~
Whence?
~~
That is to ask~~if you succeed in Occupying Wall Street, after that:
~~
What are you going to do?
~~
Where are you going after your victory?
~~
Other then, that having made the starling discovery that there are rich guys and poor guys:
~~
After the toddlers secure the victory, just what will that victory mean?
~~
After the victory, what comes next?
~~
As, again, Hedrick so pithily put it:
~~
Where’s the follow through?
~~
To which I add only this in the case of the instant riots:
~~
Just what do you children want?
~~

Oremus pro invicem

~~
IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
Praying Hands Personalized Prayer Card (Priced Per Card)
####################################################################
Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~

November 2003 event 012
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~
  • ~~
    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~~

    Friday 31st July,~Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, 2020

    
    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."~~
    French actor~~Alain Delon

    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~~

    The escape concludes…

    ~~

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

    ~~

    1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.

    ~~

    Acta Est Fabula.

    ~~

    Deus Vult.

    Image

    ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

    The Queen~~

    Our Ruler now 68 years on~~

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

clip_image002MA9982782-0001

Oremus pro invicem

Amen

 

Advertising man are, far and away, the smartest men in the world.

Famous car adverts from 1920-1950 – European CEO

Americans read and remember, often for life:

Advertising signs that:

Annual model change was the result of affluence, technology ...

Con you into thinking:

1951 Camels Ad - John Wayne Picture - Ad

You’re the ONE:

Study reveals secret tobacco industry deals with Hollywood

Who can win what’s never been WON:

Seven decades of Coca-Cola advertising shows how the soft drink's ...

Who can do what’s never been DONE:

Meanwhile, the dreary hustle and bustle of life:

Goes on all around you.

IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
Praying Hands Personalized Prayer Card (Priced Per Card)
####################################################################
Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~

November 2003 event 012
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~
  • ~~
    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
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84 Best Doris n Buck Duke images | Doris duke, Duke, Dory
James Buchanan Duke and baby daughter and sole heiress, Dee-Dee
Doris Duke - heiress to the tobacco tycoon James Buchanan Duke ...
******I here commence to quote from the fascinating work today of Mr Peter Lance for The Vanity Fair Magazine*****
FROM THE MAGAZINE
JULY/AUGUST 2020 ISSUE

Homicide at Rough Point

In the fall of 1966, billionaire Doris Duke killed a close confidant in tony Newport, Rhode Island. Local police ruled the incident “an unfortunate accident.” Half a century later, compelling evidence suggests that the mercurial, vindictive tobacco heiress got away with murder.

Image may contain Doris Duke Head Face Human Person Art Drawing Photo Photography and Portrait
An undated glamour portrait of Duke.HILTON ARCHIVE/GETTY IMAGES

On the last full day of his life—October 6, 1966—Eduardo Tirella flew into Newport, Rhode Island, the storied summer colony of the country’s old money families. He was met at the airport by Doris Duke, the richest woman in America, and they drove to Rough Point, her 10-acre estate on Bellevue Avenue—Newport’s Millionaire’s Row. Eddie, as friends knew Tirella, had just told intimates that after a decade as the artistic curator and designer of Duke’s estates in New Jersey, Bel Air, Honolulu, and Newport, he was planning to sever his professional ties with her, for good. Now, it was time to let his patron and constant companion know, face-to-face.

The handsome Tirella, a war hero and Renaissance man, had just finished advising on a new Tony Curtis film, Don’t Make Waves, and was amping up his Hollywood career. Anxious to move to the West Coast full-time, he intended to load his effects into a rented Dodge station wagon, drop them at his family’s home in New Jersey, and then fly back to California. But nobody left Doris Duke without consequences. Notoriously jealous and known for her violent temper, she’d once stabbed her common-law husband with a butcher knife when he’d angered her. And Tirella, who was gay, had been warned by his lover and friends that Duke might overreact to his pending departure.

Late the next afternoon, Tirella and Duke had a heated argument, overheard by the estate’s staff. Moments later, the pair got into the station wagon with Tirella behind the wheel and headed off for an appointment. Approaching the property’s immense iron gates, Eduardo stopped the car and got out to unlock the chain that held them closed.

OPPOSITES ATTRACT    Interior designer and Hollywood insider Eduardo Eddie Tirella Doris Dukes trusted adviser circa 1960.
OPPOSITES ATTRACT
Interior designer and Hollywood insider Eduardo “Eddie” Tirella, Doris Duke’s trusted adviser, circa 1960.
COURTESY OF DONNA LOHMEYE.

Suddenly, Duke slid into the driver’s seat, released the parking brake, shifted into drive, and hit the accelerator. The two-ton wagon sped toward Tirella, burst through the gates, smashed a fence across the street, and crashed into a tree. As Duke sat stunned behind the wheel, Tirella’s body lay crushed under the rear axle.

With massive injuries to his lungs, spinal cord, and brain, he died instantly. Ninety-six hours later, with no inquest—and basing their account of the crash entirely on the word of Duke—Newport police chief Joseph A. Radice declared the death accidental. Case closed.

If Doris Duke is remembered at all today, it is as an eccentric tobacco heiress and philanthropist who, through her civic largesse, helped Newport regain much of its architectural glory of old. Down through the years, she acquired a curious assortment of friends, such as Imelda Marcos and Michael Jackson, along with a trail of lovers. Possessed of a voracious sexual appetite, she had rumored affairs with many an alpha male, including General George Patton and actors Errol Flynn and Marlon Brando. But New Englanders associate her most of all with Rough Point, her Newport mansion visited each year by thousands, who tour the stately rooms while guides lavish praise on the late billionaire.

Adding to this largely laudatory portrait is a new biography by author Sallie Bingham, The Silver Swan: In Search of Doris Duke, which devotes only 15 paragraphs to the homicide and continues to perpetuate the theory that Tirella’s death was an accident. Drawing on previously undisclosed information from Duke’s personal papers, Bingham treats her subject with a reverence that borders on hagiography. She describes Duke as a renegade; a singular, spectacular character forged in the Jazz Age; and a business savant who tripled her father’s fortune—in short, as Bingham puts it, the very archetype of “the New Woman.”

That picture reinforces the adulatory narrative, one that conveniently marginalizes Eduardo Tirella, her trusted companion for more than a decade. Indeed, when Duke died at age 80, in 1993—leaving a fortune of $1.3 billion—her sprawling New York Times obituary mentioned him in only a single sentence.

The undercarriage of the vehicle  that killed Eduardo Tirella October 1966.
The undercarriage of the vehicle (note the bloodstain on the ground) that killed Eduardo Tirella, October 1966. 

BY ED QUIGLEY/COURTESY OF JOHN QUIGLEY.

To understand why, it helps to understand the events that followed the crash.

Just eight days later, Duke donated $25,000 (equal to $199,000 today) to restore historic Cliff Walk, the public promenade behind the mansions that line Newport’s shoreline. She also gave more than $10,000 to Newport Hospital, where she’d been sequestered on the night Tirella was killed. In the following months, she began to set up the Newport Restoration Foundation, which, in time, would renovate 84 Colonial-era buildings. And that’s not all. Seven months after Tirella’s death, Radice retired, eventually purchasing a pair of Florida condos. The inspector who had questioned Duke after the incident was named as Radice’s replacement, leapfrogging over his logical successor, the captain of detectives, to become the new chief. Another cop who had interviewed Duke was promoted to sergeant.

Townspeople were surprised by Duke’s sudden burst of philanthropy. Today, Tirella’s niece sees it not just as a cover-up but as something worse. “She killed him twice,” Donna Lohmeyer told me. “She destroyed his body and then she eviscerated his memory.” What’s more, Duke went on to wage a protracted court battle, refusing to settle with Tirella’s heirs, who had been willing to accept as little as $200,000 in damages—at a time when Duke was making $1 million a week in interest on her fortune.

Five years after “the accident,” a Providence courtroom was the setting for a 10-day, $1.25 million wrongful-death trial. According to the attorneys for the family, Tirella, 42, had earned $43,000 ($351,000 today) the year he died, and could have realized that sort of income for decades. Duke testified that she “always asked Eduardo’s advice before buying or planning anything for her estates.” He had counseled her on the purchase of art worth tens of millions and transformed the abandoned greenhouses on her New Jersey property into a spectacular botanical display. She had even set aside living quarters in each of her five estates to keep him close at hand.

In the end, Doris Duke was actually found negligent in Tirella’s homicide. And yet during the damage phase of the trial, her lawyer portrayed him as a ne’er-do-well. The verdict: After legal fees and expenses, each of his five sisters and three brothers received $5,620. “It was shameful, when you think of what he had done for her,” says Pola Zanay, 86, an artist and longtime friend of Tirella’s. “It was the worst kind of character assassination.” And what could have been Duke’s motive for killing Tirella? In Zanay’s view, it was simple: “She hated the idea of him leaving her.

Agay man in the 1960s, Tirella, and his lover, Edmund Kara, a prominent sculptor, had many friends in the arts, including designers, musicians, and actors, such as Richard Burton, David Niven, James Coburn, and Sharon Tate. Tirella himself had an impressive background. He’d been a performer in New Jersey nightclubs in the early 1940s, falling in with Frank Sinatra. Tirella’s niece Donna Lohmeyer says that her mother “remembered them coming home to eat Italian after some of Frank’s dates at the Meadowbrook, where [bandleader] Tommy Dorsey played. But the war changed all that.” In 1943, Tirella enlisted in the Army and shipped off to Europe, earning a Bronze Star for his service in the Battle of the Bulge.

Once he returned Stateside, he took a job running the millinery department at Saks, creating hats for gossip doyennes Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons. A talented interior designer as well, he was soon working on the houses of the well heeled and landing occasional parts in films. Tirella refurbished Peggy Lee’s L.A. home and created Elizabeth Taylor’s beach house for the 1965 Hollywood production The Sandpiper. Vogue even ran a piece featuring his design for the kitchen at Falcon Lair, the Duke mansion in Benedict Canyon, once owned by Rudolph Valentino.

Along with her estates, however, courtrooms were Duke’s natural habitat. She had accumulated many enemies across the decades and generated years of legal cases, several involving her butler Bernard Lafferty, who was later accused of hastening her death. “Doris was bent on controlling the narrative of her mangled legacy,” says her onetime business manager Patrick Mahn. As he told New York in 1993, “Litigation was her favorite foreplay.” Starting at age 13, when Duke sued her own mother for control of her inheritance, she was involved in more than 40 lawsuits. “She could be incredibly vindictive,” insists Mahn, who coauthored Daddy’s Duchess, a scathing Duke biography. After he stopped working for her, Mahn claims, “she went bonkers and sicced the legal dogs on me.” Her godson, Pony Duke, who cowrote another tell-all, Too Rich, put it this way: “Doris gave no second chances. She collected people and then she threw them away.”

Duke in a littleknown Cecil Beaton portrait from the early 1930s.
Duke, in a little-known Cecil Beaton portrait from the early 1930s.BY CECIL BEATON/CONDÉ NAST ARCHIVE.

Some attribute her authoritarian personality to her father, James Buchanan Duke, who had made his first fortune with the American Tobacco Company. On his deathbed, he had reportedly warned his daughter, “Trust no one.” She’d been famously paranoid ever since.

Dee Dee, as her close friends called her, took to hiring ex-FBI agents to intimidate disgruntled friends and lovers who might be sources for reporters or biographers. Ex-staffers were threatened and bullied. Mysteriously, the entire case file for Tirella’s wrongful-death lawsuit has vanished from the Rhode Island Judicial Archives. In 1990, the dossier on the police investigation of the case was reported missing from the Newport Police Department. Even the negative of the photograph of the crashed 1966 Dodge Polara station wagon, which made the front page of the Newport Daily News the next day, disappeared from the archives at the Newport Historical Society.

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The fire department’s logbook, however, still survives; it was recently discovered in the attic at headquarters. And its blunt description of the crash brings it all back into focus. According to the entry for that night, the first alarm came in at 5:07 p.m.: “Received call for auto accident…woman was hurt, car went (out) of control. Man…under car.” The 4,000-pound Dodge was so heavy that the power jacks on the ambulance couldn’t raise it, so a tow truck was summoned. By 5:40 p.m., in separate vehicles, Doris Duke and the lifeless body of Eduardo Tirella were speeding toward Newport Hospital.

Igrew up in Newport, the Colonial capital that thrived on the triangle trade of molasses, rum—and slaves. The riches from those ventures helped finance the American Revolution. A century later, Gilded Age families like the Vanderbilts, Astors, and Belmonts built a necklace of “summer cottages” around Newport’s famed Ocean Drive. But since 1723, when 26 sailors were hanged as pirates on a warm summer day before what historians called “a jubilant crowd,” Newport has always been a town steeped in moral ambiguity: a bastion of religious tolerance built on the scourge of slavery. Jackie Kennedy, whose mother’s estate was in Newport, would sign on as Duke’s No. 2 on the Newport Restoration Foundation and, given Duke’s ongoing efforts to refurbish the town, few on Millionaire’s Row or in the working-class waterfront streets raised too many questions about that “unpleasantness” up at Rough Point back in 1966.

Eight months after Tirella’s death, I got my first job in journalism as a cub reporter for the Newport Daily News. I would go on to a career as an investigative reporter and network news correspondent, later writing books on counterterrorism and organized crime. But the truth of what happened at Rough Point gnawed at me.

Then, in 2016, when candidate Donald Trump declared, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose any voters,” it took me back to that incident. Somehow, the notion of a billionaire openly bragging that he could get away with murder sent me home to the story I should have covered in the summer of ’67. I had to know: Was Eduardo Tirella’s death really an accident? Or did the heir to one of America’s great fortunes turn a vehicle into a murder weapon—then conspire with the local authorities to cover it up?

When I started to kick over rocks, I was surprised by the number of Newporters with passionate opinions about the “accident.” On one popular Newport Facebook group, members regularly dissect the details of the case. Using that portal as a starting point, I reached out to people who claimed to have personal knowledge of the crash or its aftermath. One was Denise Clement, whose late mother, Rosemarie, was Police Chief Radice’s secretary at the time. Today, she is adamant: “My mother always said Doris Duke bought the city of Newport and got away with murder. She read the full police report and knew that there was a cover-up. After she retired and we drove past those houses that Doris had restored, she’d say, ‘Blood money paid for all this.’ ”

Linda McFarlane Knierim’s Facebook entries stood out too. Her father had been the caretaker at Rough Point on what Linda called “that horrible night.” She posted: “The help were all in shock. When I came into the kitchen they were crying and holding each other. I believe they all thought it was an accident. I know others believe differently.”

The more I dug into the mystery, the more I saw it as a story about class, privilege, and the concentration of wealth—one that resonates more than ever in the Trump era.

Left Tirella in the early 1950s. Right Duke at Duke Gardens Hillsboro New Jersey 1968. Background harborside at Newport.
Left: Tirella in the early 1950s. Right: Duke at Duke Gardens, Hillsboro, New Jersey, 1968. Background: harborside at Newport.LEFT, COURTESY OF DONNA LOHMEYER; RIGHT, BY PHILIP HARRINGTON/ALAMY; BACKGROUND BY IAIN MCGILLIVRAY/ALAMY.
Clockwise from top left Duke returning from a trip abroad 1966 Duke in an undated glamour portrait Tirella with actress...
Clockwise from top left: Duke returning from a trip abroad, 1966; Duke in an undated glamour portrait; Tirella with actress Sharon Tate in Big Sur in the mid-’60s. Background: harborside at Newport.CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT, FROM BRIDGEMAN IMAGES, HILTON ARCHIVE/GETTY IMAGES, COURTESY OF DONNA LOHMEYE; BACKGROUND BY IAIN MCGILLIVRAY/ALAMY.

On Saturday, October 8, 1966, the morning after Eduardo Tirella’s death, the lead story in the Newport Daily News would soon make international news: “Newport police this morning refused to indicate when they would question Doris Duke, who was at the wheel of a station wagon that killed her 42-year-old male friend yesterday afternoon.… The only witness was Miss Duke who was admitted to Newport Hospital suffering from facial cuts and severe shock.”

The article continued, “Dr. Philip C. McAllister, acting state medical examiner, said Tirella died instantly of brain injuries.” What the story didn’t reveal was that after Duke entered the hospital that night, McAllister, a Rhode Island official, agreed, then and there, to become her personal doctor. He promptly placed her in a secure, private room, which made it impossible for state investigators to question her. In effect, the man legally charged with determining the official cause of death had gone on Doris Duke’s payroll.

McAllister told a reporter for the New York Daily News he “doubted Miss Duke knew what had happened,” calling it a “freak accident.” Explaining why he’d decided to keep investigators at bay, he said, “It would have been inhumane to make her recall the tragedy so soon.” The reporter then asked if it could have been anything but an accident. “Unthinkable,” McAllister replied. “I think they were devoted.”

The first time the Newport PD was able to question Duke was on Sunday, October 9, two days after the crash. It was a brief interview conducted in her bedroom at Rough Point in the presence of her New York attorney, Wesley Fach, and her business manager. Lieutenant Frank Walsh took her statement along with Detective George Watts as Duke sat in bed, flanked by a pair of German shepherds.

That bedside encounter produced the first of two “official statements” by Duke. Both were contained in the formal police report, which had gone missing for decades. That is, until last fall, when a government official heard that I was digging into the Tirella matter and thought the truth should come out. Within a few days, the long-lost 16-page file was emailed to me.

The report, which I have since authenticated, contained two “interviews” with Duke. The first, dated October 9, was a brief, four-question transcript of the bedroom statement. The next day Chief Radice summarized that account for the Associated Press, adding that “Tirella…was crushed against the iron gates, and then dragged across Bellevue Avenue and pinned under the car.” Calling the incident “an unfortunate accident,” he declared the case closed.

TO THE MANOR BORN    Dukes Newport Rhode Island estate Rough Point.
TO THE MANOR BORN
Duke’s Newport, Rhode Island, estate, Rough Point.
FROM BRIDGEMAN IMAGES.

But almost immediately, Radice was criticized by the state’s attorney general, J. Joseph Nugent, who announced that he was “dissatisfied” with the weekend investigation. The chief also came under fire for releasing scant information to the press, as reflected in a front-page story in the New York Daily News, headlined: “COPS CLAM UP ON DORIS QUIZ.” So Radice quickly walked back his verdict, insisting that the probe was still open.

It was at that point, according to Newport attorney William O’Connell, that Radice told Duke’s Rhode Island lawyer, Aram Arabian, that he needed something more to close out the case. So Arabian suggested that the police “write something up” and if he approved, Doris would sign it. O’Connell—who practiced law with a close associate of Arabian’s—insisted (and the official file confirms) that the police then created what they represented as a three-page transcript of an interrogation of Duke, purportedly conducted at Rough Point the following day. In fact, it was a “script” made to appear as the Q&A of a real-time interview so contrived that it got Duke’s birth date wrong—an error that she had to correct and initial by hand.

Five days after the accident—with this second “interview” inserted into the record—the case was finally closed. On Wednesday, October 12, the New York Times reported that “the police termed today as ‘Definitely an accident’ the death of Eduardo Tirella…Chief Radice said.” That same day, the chief of detectives told the Providence Journal, “There was no evidence of foul play.”

For the volatile heiress, it was over. Doris Duke escaped any criminal liability. And the $75,000 in civil damages that she was later forced to pay to Tirella’s family didn’t even equal the cost of the Goddard Chippendale highboy she had bought a month before the trial, at Parke-Bernet, for $102,000—a record price at the time for a piece of furniture.

The police report, however, was not the only account of the crash. Hunting through the National Archives, I managed to find a 173-page interrogatory prepared for a parallel case involving Avis Rent-a-Car Systems, the owner of the station wagon. Filed in federal court and presumably unseen for 50 years, it reveals additional admissions from Duke herself:

Edward Tirella drove the automobile up to 12 or 15 feet from the north gate. I was sitting in the passenger’s seat. He got out to open the gate which was locked. I moved over to the driver’s seat. I put my left foot on the brake and moved the gear shift lever from “park” to “drive.” The car immediately moved forward through the gates and across Bellevue Avenue where it struck a fence and stopped. I was injured and dazed. I looked around for Mr. Tirella. I did not see him. I went back into the house to see if he was there. A man and a woman helped me.

A man and a woman. The first civilians on the scene were Lewis Thom of Milwaukee and his daughter Judith, a nurse who’d just been commissioned as an ensign at the Newport Navy base. They were sightseeing at the time.

I tracked down Judith Thom Wartgow, now retired after 30 years as a paramedic. “We were driving down Bellevue Avenue,” she recalls, “when we came upon this accident. The car was against a tree across the road from this open gate. When I got out, this tall woman was in the street, walking back and forth, hysterical. We started to look around the car to see if someone was hurt, when she took off for the house running, so I followed.”

Once inside the mansion, Wartgow remembers, Duke ran up to the second floor, calling for someone, but she soon circled back outside. “I was trying to get her to stop,” she says. She told police at the time that Duke “came down the stairs saying she had run over Ed.” That recollection ran counter to Doris’s claim in the Avis case that she’d rushed into the house in search of him. But by this point, Wartgow had gotten a good look at Doris’s face. In the New York Daily News coverage of the crash, McAllister stated that Duke needed 30 stitches; the Newport Daily News noted that the two strangers who had arrived on the scene had found her “bleeding from head cuts.” Five decades later, Wartgow disagrees emphatically. “No. She had a few bruises and scratches. But nothing where blood was running down her face.” The ex-nurse seemed surprised by that detail, since she’d left Newport the next day and had never read the press accounts.

“Very little about the way the Newport police handled this had anything to do with responsible homicide investigation,” says retired NYPD detective James Moss, who has cleared hundreds of murder cases for Brooklyn South Homicide. In 2018, I asked him to visit Newport to examine the evidence I’d uncovered. “You’d absolutely want to question witnesses in-depth on the relationship between the killer and decedent to determine if the death involved ‘intent.’ But they wrapped this one up on the basis of a fabricated Q&A requested by the person-of-interest’s own lawyers. Astonishing.”

SCENE OF THE CRIME    A view through the mansions smashed gates by news photographer Ed Quigley. At far right detective...
SCENE OF THE CRIME
A view through the mansion’s smashed gates by news photographer Ed Quigley. At far right: detective Fred Newton, who had a surprising theory about how Tirella died.
BY ED QUIGLEY/COURTESY OF JOHN QUIGLEY.

Prior to the crash, Chief Radice, like many locals, had had his own run-ins with Duke. For years, she had unleashed her German shepherds to roam the Rough Point grounds, causing multiple attacks on passersby. In May 1964, after two tourists on Cliff Walk were victimized in a single week, Radice ordered “the destruction or removal” of two of the dogs. Doris, in response, erected a chain-link fence, effectively placing an impassable barrier along the walkway, one of the state’s top tourist attractions.

Then, shortly after Tirella’s death, Duke’s foundation made that generous gift to restore Cliff Walk. The following May, Chief Radice retired after 42 years on the job. At the time, his annual salary had been $7,000. Four years later, he bought the first of two condo units in a new building in Hollywood, Florida.

Today, Radice’s granddaughter Elayne Paranzino says she’s lived ever since with rumors that Radice, who died in 1997, had been bought off by Duke. “I confronted my grandfather one day,” she contends. “I said, ‘Don’t you lie to me.’ He said ‘Elayne, none of these rumors are true. I didn’t get any money from her.’ Then, when I pressed him, he chuckled. ‘You think I was paid off? You can have it if we can find it.’ ”

Doris Duke’s two husbands disappointed her in different ways. First, there was Palm Beach socialite James Cromwell, 16 years her senior, whose check bounced when he tried to pay for their 1935 honeymoon. Next came Dominican playboy Porfirio Rubirosa, whose legendary male endowment was compared to a pepper mill. Duke showered Rubirosa with gifts, including polo ponies and an estate in France. But the marriage eventually soured and they divorced in 1948.

Then, in the early ’50s, Duke met a young jazz musician named Joseph Armand Castro, who would soon take her on the wildest ride of her long life. Fifteen years younger than Duke, Castro was a piano prodigy and band leader who played with everyone from Louis Armstrong to Zoot Sims. According to Stephanie Mansfield, author of the Duke biography The Richest Girl in the World, Joe first met Doris at a concert in Honolulu. She then invited him back to Shangri La, her Diamond Head estate. By 1953 they were living together at the Bel Air Hotel, and he later claimed that she bought Falcon Lair for the two of them.

Up through the early ’60s, they were often in a booze-and-drug-fueled haze. Pony Duke observed that even though Duke believed Castro “to be a musical genius, perhaps the greatest jazz pianist in the world,” over time she became envious of the attention he got onstage. Desperate he might leave her, Duke had frequent bouts of depression, deepened by alcohol, barbiturates, and Castro’s temper. Their fights got more violent, and one night in 1963 at Shangri La, while Doris was playing a jazz piece, Castro supposedly made a crack, so she grabbed a butcher knife and slashed his arm.

On New Year’s Day 1964, she threw him out of Falcon Lair. He soon filed the first of three lawsuits, including one for assault and battery, alleging that she’d “attempted to kill” him, causing “a large permanent scar” that prevented him from working. He asked for $150,000. But within weeks, Castro was strong-armed by Duke’s attorneys, who held him incommunicado in Honolulu, persuading him, against his own lawyer’s advice, to renounce his litigation.

Within a year or so, Duke coaxed Castro back to Falcon Lair, set up a recording company for him, and promised to include him in her will. She’d already bought him a Mercedes 300 SL 300, worth the equivalent of $100,000. For the next year, things between them seemed to stabilize.

Then in the summer of 1965, her ex-husband Rubirosa was killed when he crashed his Ferrari 250 GT in Paris, and Doris lapsed into another depression. With Castro unable to console her, she spent more and more time with Tirella. By the following March, Duke, then 53, was growing angrier at Castro, after he was spotted with Loretta Haddad, a beautiful young singer.

 

In May 1966, Duke abruptly pulled the plug on Castro’s record company, where Peter Brooke was an executive. Not long after, in author Mansfield’s account, Brooke was awakened at 3 a.m. by a desperate Duke, begging him to rush over to Falcon Lair. When he got there, a maid led him into the kitchen where, as Mansfield tells it, “the room had been ransacked, broken dishes thrown on the floor. Standing in the open frame of a French window, wearing a T shirt, though naked from the waist down, was Castro, urinating over the railing into the garden below.” Brooke reportedly found Duke in her bedroom with a broken jaw. “The next morning,” Mansfield writes, “Doris fled Hollywood for Newport, accompanied by Eduardo Tirella.”

By the mid-1960s, after toiling for Duke for years and getting routinely underpaid, Tirella had finally broken out. He got an up-front credit for his design work on The Sandpiper. His partner, Edmund Kara, sculpted the bust of Elizabeth Taylor that was a plot point in the film. Taylor’s love interest was played by Charles Bronson, with whom Tirella appeared in a short scene shot at Nepenthe, a legendary restaurant high above the coast. “Between Big Sur and the house they shared in Laurel Canyon, Eduardo and Edmund had a full life,” says Kara’s friend Glen Cheda. “By 1966, they’d arrived at the epicenter of the West Coast art-and-music scene.”

In the book Canyon of Dreams, critic Kirk Silsbee describes how “Tirella’s renowned home parties [were] gatherings for creative people,” including actors Alan Ladd and Dennis Hopper. “He had a little Morgan sports car,” says his friend Pola Zanay, “and we’d drive up to Big Sur on Fridays. He and Edmund lived on an old Boy Scout camp near Nepenthe. On weekends they’d throw musicales—Eduardo loved to sing, so he’d have Bobby Short playing the piano. Kim Novak lived up there. She and I would lie in a loft above the living area sipping Champagne. It was a fabulous time.”

Around this period, Tirella was making the transition to set design, writes Silsbee, and that “didn’t sit well with Doris Duke.” After he went to work on his next film project, Don’t Make Waves, costarring his close friend Sharon Tate, the tensions escalated. “Doris was panicked,” observes Pony Duke in Too Rich. “Her entire life revolved around [Tirella’s] ability to make things [for her] look beautiful. She pleaded with him not to leave her… [But] Tirella was tiring of Doris Duke’s mood swings. He was worried that his motion picture design career was suffering because all of his time was being monopolized.”

The antique that Tirella was en route to appraise the night he died.
The antique that Tirella was en route to appraise the night he died. 

BY ADAM FITHERS.

Events came to a head in the late summer of ’66. “He was going back to Newport to tell her in person that he was leaving her employ,” says Cheda. “Edmund felt strongly that he shouldn’t go. He was fearful, because of his knowledge of what Doris was capable of.” His niece Donna concurs, “He told us the same thing. But Uncle Eddie felt he could control Doris. It was going to be this final curating job, and he’d be out.”

Zanay also recalls Tirella’s reservations about making the trip. As a precaution, she says, he consulted a clairvoyant named Dr. Jacques Hondorus, nicknamed the Psychic to the Stars: “Eduardo really wanted to extricate himself from Doris’s clutches. But it turned out that he needed major dental work that ran into the thousands of dollars. The only source he had to get that kind of money was by doing a job for her. So he went to Jacques to have a reading and Jacques advised him absolutely not to go back to Doris.”

“What makes this story such a tragedy,” she adds, “is that Eduardo was literally killed on the night before the rest of his life.”

There have been various theories about where Tirella and Duke were headed that fateful Friday. Chief Radice maintained that they were on their way to dinner. And yet Linda McFarlane Knierim, the caretaker’s daughter, insists, “My mom told me that they were going to meet somebody. A brief meeting. Because the cooks were preparing a meal for when they came back.”

Harle Tinney, a neighbor of Duke’s in the 1960s, supplies the answer. “One of my family’s very best friends,” she says, “was John Perkins Brown, an antique dealer in Newport. He approached us and said, ‘I’ve acquired an extraordinary piece; the bust of a woman, 15th or 16th century.’ ” It was a reliquary, one of a number of artworks created over the centuries to contain the bone of a saint—in this case, Saint Ursula, who had been martyred in the fourth century A.D.

“John Brown offered to sell it for $2,500,” says Tinney, “but it was too rich for our blood. So, he said, ‘I’ll sell it to Doris.’ ” It took months to restore the piece and, before Duke took possession, she wanted it appraised. “She never bought a work of art without consulting Eduardo, and that’s why she’d coaxed him back to Newport. They were on their way to John’s shop, The Blue Cat, late that afternoon to pick it up.”

And what about the staff at Rough Point, who were working in or around the 30-room mansion? Over the years, one theory of the crash stood out among the help. Some believed that because the estate’s iron gates opened inward, Duke, unfamiliar with the rental car, had to put the vehicle in reverse to allow the gates to swing open freely, but, in her confusion, she hit the gas.

Johnny Nutt, Duke’s former gardener, says that other staffers had a different take on the crash. “Miss Duke and Mr. Tirella,” he told me, “had a big argument that night as they left the house. He wanted to go back to Hollywood to resume his career. They got in the car. Mr. Tirella was driving. He got out to open the gate, but he left it in drive with the emergency brake on. He was going to come back and get in the car, drive it through, and lock it behind him. But for some reason, Miss Duke decided to drive. She was a big woman, a lot taller than him, and as she slid across the seat to drive it out, her knee hit the brake release. The car jerked forward. She went to slam on the brake, but she hit the gas. That’s the way I heard it.”

Nutt’s explanation is puzzling. First, because it suggests that Tirella intended to return to the vehicle and drive it after opening the gates. In her first statement to police, Duke had said that it was routine for her to slide over behind the wheel; something she’d done “a hundred times before.”

Moreover, in many vehicles of that era the driver engaged the parking brake with his left foot and released it by pulling back on it. Still, it was difficult to believe, knowing Duke as well as he did, that Tirella would leave the car in drive—and turn his back on her—whether the parking brake was on or not. In fact, the owner’s manual of the 1966 Dodge Polara clears things up. The parking brake on that model could only be disengaged by pulling a release lever located on the left side of the dashboard by hand. Not only would it have been impossible to release the brake on the floor by foot, but in some Polara models there was also an optional warning signal that flashed red when the brake was engaged.

As noted earlier, in the case against Avis, Duke stated that when Tirella got out to open the gate, “I moved over to the driver seat. I put my left foot on the brake and moved the gear shift lever from ‘park’ to ‘drive.’ ” In the wrongful-death trial, Tirella family attorney Edward Friedman had declared that “Miss Duke released the brake.” Since releasing the brake would have been a conscious act, was it somehow possible that Duke mistook the gas for the brake? “Not likely,” says ex-detective James Moss, “when you consider the size of the brake and accelerator pedals in that model wagon. The brake was horizontal, and the gas pedal was vertical. It defies belief that anyone could confuse them.”

That conclusion was later confirmed by a state official who appeared on the scene that night. At 10:30 p.m., Lewis Perrotti, an investigator for the Rhode Island Registry of Motor Vehicles, arrived at the mansion, having driven from Providence. “I was by myself,” says Perrotti, now 86. “It was dark. Using a flashlight, I saw tire marks in the driveway gravel inside the gate. Later that morning, my partner Al Masserone and I tried to question Doris Duke when she got back from the hospital, but a battery of lawyers had arrived, and they wouldn’t let us see her.”

By law, the registry’s investigators were supposed to question all drivers in vehicular homicides. “They put us off all day and then the police said we could be present when they interviewed her on Sunday.” But Perrotti says that when he and Masserone returned the following morning, they were told at the police station that the interview was already in progress.

“So, we rushed up to the estate. When we got there, they were just about finished. She was in bed with lawyers around her and two big dogs on either side. Lieutenant Walsh and the detective [Watts] were wrapping it up. We were allowed to observe, but we didn’t get to ask her any questions. It was almost like the fix was already in.”

The morning after Perrotti’s first visit, Tirella’s brother-in-law Robert Aughey, an engineer and former Marine captain, arrived at Rough Point with his teenage son, Robert Jr. They had driven from New Jersey, and at 6:30 a.m. the sun was just coming up. Aughey later testified under oath that he’d photographed tire-width “gouges” in the driveway, an inch and a half to 2 inches deep, 30 feet from the gate. “I remember those gouges clearly,” Robert Jr. told me. “It was like someone was sitting in the car, stomped on the gas, and made deep impressions in the gravel.”

Under Rhode Island criminal law, the degree of culpability in a homicide hinges on the issue of intent. Apart from Murder One—typically reserved for the killing of law enforcement officers—second-degree murder is a function of “malice aforethought.” Traffic deaths are usually associated with “manslaughter” because they involve accidents, which are, by definition, unintended. So what happened in this case? We know that Tirella got out of the car and walked to the gates. From Duke’s October 9 bedroom statement, we know that Tirella had just enough time to reach the lock when the station wagon “leaped forward.” The damage to the gates shows that they were struck virtually head-on at a point when they were still closed.

With the help of Donna Lohmeyer, I managed to ferret out Tirella’s official autopsy report, which had been misfiled in the basement of the Rhode Island medical examiner’s office for five decades—under the name “Tirella, Edmund” (not Eduardo). It shows that his injuries were entirely inconsistent with the official theory of the crash. Although Duke had at first told the authorities that Tirella “was crushed against the iron gates,” the report filed by the pathologist, Dr. James J. Flanagan, notes that except for a right hip fracture, all of Tirella’s other injuries were to his upper body. He sustained zero damage to his legs.

The Polara wagon was six-and-a-half feet wide. It was idling 15 feet back from the gates, more than enough room to open them without Duke having to put the vehicle in reverse. Then, in an instant, it hurtled toward Tirella from a dead stop. And yet, all the damage to the gates occurred in an area below the level of Tirella’s waist. So, if Doris Duke had crushed him against those gates, as she’d told police, why were there no injuries to his lower body?

The answer began to emerge when I got hold of an unpublished photo taken by a news photographer who’d shot the scene. It came to my attention courtesy of Jane Maguire. Her husband, John Quigley, was the stepson of the late Ed Quigley, who had been a photographer for the Newport Daily News when I worked there. I reached out to the Quigleys, who searched their basement and found some of Ed’s old negatives and prints. Within that cache was a wide-angle shot of the crash scene. Visible near a bicycle, at left, are three of the five balusters that had snapped off the gates as they were bent outward, over the metal-covered “stop,” embedded in the driveway to hold the gates in place.

Joseph G. Silvia, the 88-year-old blacksmith who’d repaired the gates, remembers that “they were exceptionally heavy. Wrought iron. It would have taken quite a bit of force for them to go up and over that stop.”

The picture reveals something else significant: the man in the fedora at the lower right-hand of the frame. His name was Fred Newton, a detective sergeant. I went back and found a profile of him that I’d written in 1967 on how he’d trained all of the Newport PD’s recruits. He was known as a straight shooter, who always conducted himself by the book. Over the years, I had lost touch with Fred, who’d died in 1999. But 14 years after Tirella’s death, he’d become chief of the Newport PD himself, and my sense was that if anyone had discovered what really happened at Rough Point that night, it would have been Fred Newton.

And so he did. I finally learned what he’d learned after I located the first officer who showed up on the scene while Duke was still in the car, wedged against that tree.

CRASH COURSE    From top The next day the homicide dominated the local paper Dukes bedroom where detectives questioned...
CRASH COURSE
From top: The next day the homicide dominated the local paper; Duke’s bedroom, where detectives “questioned” her. Background: the mansion’s gates.
TOP, NEWPORT DAILY NEWS, OCTOBER 8, 1966; BOTTOM, BY ADAM FITHERS.
Clockwise from top The wrecked Dodge wagon the estates gates were damaged in the crashbut tellingly Tirellas legs were...
Clockwise from top: The wrecked Dodge wagon; the estate’s gates were damaged in the crash—but, tellingly, Tirella’s legs were not; the New York Daily News reported that Newport police withheld information. Background: the mansion’s gates.CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT, NEW YORK DAILY NEWS, OCTOBER 10, 1966, BY ED QUIGLEY/COURTESY OF JOHN QUIGLEY, BY JERRY TAYLOR/COURTESY OF MARK TAYLOR.

Edward Angel had been a rookie patrolman assigned to “The Avenue” beat, along mansion row. On October 7, he’d just gone on duty at 5 p.m. Within minutes, the radio in his patrol unit crackled with word of an accident. He hit the roof lights and sped to the scene. “There was a woman inside the vehicle,” he says. “She was extremely upset. I looked down and found someone underneath the car, all rolled up. I was inexperienced and young, so I blurted out, ‘He’s under the car.’ That sent her into shock. She jumped out and, thank God, there was a young Navy nurse there”—Judith Thom Wartgow—“and I asked if she could help her. I was focused on whoever was under the vehicle, whether he was still alive.”

A short while later, after Tirella’s mangled frame was extricated, Angel pulled out a pad to make a sketch of the scene. “I walked into the middle of Bellevue [Avenue], looked down, and I saw some skin and blood,” he says. “I drew a diagram of what I thought had been the point of impact between the subject and the vehicle—where I thought he’d been run over.” In Angel’s drawing, the impact—based on the blood and human remains he’d found—occurred not at the gate but out in the street.

Unclear as to who Tirella was—or his relation to the woman he now realized was Doris Duke—Patrolman Angel’s first thought was that she’d hit a pedestrian crossing the avenue. “I submitted my findings,” he recounts, “and the next day, I got called in by Sergeant Newton. He took me back up to the scene and showed me markings on the gates that suggested somebody had been forced up on the hood of the car. Then he walked me into the middle of Bellevue, explaining that the blood and the skin I’d found were from when the victim rolled off and fell in front of the car.”

According to Angel, Fred Newton believed that Tirella went up on the hood of the wagon before it hit the gate. “That was his theory of the crash,” he says. “Then at some point after the gates blew open, she hesitated, tapped the brakes and he rolled off. At that point he was run over by the vehicle and dragged to the point where he was still underneath it when it hit the tree.” That would account for why the lower gates were pulverized but Tirella’s legs were undamaged.

If Newton was correct, Doris Duke had killed Tirella with intent. In fact, according to the cumulative evidence, she engaged in four voluntary acts before she hit him. First, she slid behind the wheel. Next, she released the parking brake by hand. She then moved the shift lever from park to drive. Finally, she hit the accelerator. The wagon surged forward and struck Tirella, who went up on the hood. But instead of “crushing” him against the gates, as Chief Radice had claimed, Tirella remained on the hood, alive, as the Dodge blew through the gates and roared onto Bellevue Avenue. At that point, according to what Sergeant Newton told Patrolman Angel, Tirella rolled off the hood, and she ran him over. In fact, in the official police report, Newton wrote that “tire marks…indicated” that Duke had “steered” the vehicle, which moved “with tremendous…acceleration.”

The deep, parallel, tire-wide gouge marks that Robert Aughey had photographed from 30 feet back support Newton’s sequence of events. The ’66 Dodge Polara was 18 feet long. The rear tires were three feet from the back bumper, so the math would have been right: the front bumper 15 feet from the gate—the tire gouges in the gravel 15 feet back from there. The distance from the gates to the tree was just under 80 feet.

Edward Friedman, the attorney for the Tirella family, had stated at trial that “Tirella was dragged about 40 feet and was pinned beneath the car when it stopped.” In other words, he was dragged from the middle of Bellevue Avenue—the very point where Angel had first noticed the blood and the skin. In the Quigley photo that depicts Newton at the gate, no residue of blood or remains is visible between the gate stop and the middle of the street. But another shot by Quigley, taken from under the Dodge, shows what looks like a large bloodstain

 

Curiously, it was the negative of that very photo (shown at the beginning of this story) that went missing from the Newport Daily News archives at the historical society. And yet John Quigley’s wife, Jane, found a print, made in 1966. What’s more, Robert Aughey Jr. recalls that the morning after the crash he noticed a sticky substance near where his uncle’s body had come to rest. “I remember kneeling down and putting my fingers in it,” he says. “Lifting them up, they were bright red with blood.”

Newport police detective Al Conti, a retired 28-year veteran of many investigations along Bellevue Avenue, believes Fred Newton’s theory of the crash to be entirely plausible. “If it was me that night and I heard her coming and I’m facing the car,” he told me, “my first instinct would be to jump up on the hood. What happened to Mr. Tirella was outrageous, no matter what the cause, but to think that he might have seen his own death coming”—facing Duke from the other side of the windshield—“is an awful prospect to consider.”

I submitted all of this evidence to Harm Jansen, a senior staff engineer with Collision and Injury Dynamics, one of the nation’s top forensic consulting firms. This is his conclusion: “Based on my analysis of Sergeant Newton’s own diagrams in the police report, it’s clear that Doris Duke was on the accelerator for at least three seconds before the vehicle went through the gates. There is no evidence that Mr. Tirella was pinned against them. It’s clear that he went up on the hood, fell off, and got run over, mid-street. This was a multi-sequence event in which the driver made a number of affirmative decisions in the course of the incident. The analysis of his injuries, limited to upper body, the head-on damage to the lower sections of the gates, the account of Edward Angel, the first officer on the scene, and the contemporaneous investigation by the senior police accident investigator, Sergeant Newton, lead me to conclude that the event did not occur as described by Doris Duke.”

For months after Eddie’s death, according to Tirella’s niece Donna Lohmeyer, Doris Duke would call her mother (Tirella’s sister) late at night and weep with her over the phone. As Lohmeyer remembers, “Mom said Doris told her she kept a picture of him in a sterling silver frame next to her bed in every one of her estates.” But no such photo was on display in Duke’s bedroom at Rough Point when I recently visited there on the 52nd anniversary of Eduardo’s death.

In fact, in the 20 years that the estate has been open as a museum, Eduardo Tirella’s name was left out of the Duke narrative. Then in April 2019, after word circulated in Newport about this Vanity Fair investigation, a display was added to one wall in a rotating exhibition space. Its title: “The Accident at the Rough Point Gate.” The text reiterated the official police explanation of Tirella’s death, and, in an accompanying video, Rough Point’s curator called any suggestions to the contrary “a local myth.”

But if one takes a closer look at the interior of Rough Point, there is another connection to Tirella worth noting. Within weeks of his funeral, Duke took possession of the Saint Ursula reliquary—the artifact she’d asked him to appraise the evening she killed him. Eventually, Duke positioned it on a table in the main hall at the foot of the mansion’s large staircase. Every evening thereafter, when she went up to bed, that statue was there to remind her of “that horrible night.”

After Duke died, the old staff remembered how she had referred to that piece not as Saint Ursula, but Saint Cecilia, patron saint of music, whose feast day was November 22. That happened to be Doris Duke’s own birthday. In the end, this narcissistic woman—with enough money and power to view the world entirely through her own distorted lens—had even managed to recast that last work of art into her own image.

******I here cease to quote from the fascinating work today of Mr Peter Lance for The Vanity Fair Magazine*****

IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
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Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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?

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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
          ~~
          19th Juin, Friday,  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
        • Catholic and Royal Army - Wikipedia
          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.

          Student walking across campus toward McMahon Hall

          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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      Our Ubiquitous Presence

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      Our Queen

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      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

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      May, 1963– Steve McQueen tooling around LA in his Jaguar XK-SS. — Photograph by © John Dominis/ Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images. Local legend holds that at least one L.A. law-enforcement agency had promised its officers that an “expensive steak dinner” awaited the guy who could nail McQueen and the Jag with a speeding ticket. The tale continues that, while he was spotted often and even pursued a time or two, he was never caught and never written. The steak dinner went unclaimed. Another story refutes the entire affair, alleging that McQueen was so awash in speeding tickets he nearly lost his license.

      May, 1963– Steve McQueen driving his Jaguar XK-SS down Sunset Blvd, Hollywood, California. — Photograph by © John Dominis/Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images

 

The Rainbow Sign

Noah's Flood – Foreshadowing Baptism (With images) | Noahs ark ...

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No fire, no flood today, Jimmie:
Letter from a Region in My Mind, by James Baldwin | The New Yorker
Jimmie wrote one readable book–The Fire Next Time–derivative of ‘The new Flood–‘God said to Abraham–I’ll show you a sign–No more water, the fire next time,” but then became lost both in himself–he tried to be a two penny philosopher and failed–and externally–he was very sad and could not adjust to being either Negroe or homosexual.
He was a lost boy who forgot he was supposed to be a writer.
So, we’ll never know if he was or no.
How should we interpret the Genesis flood account? - Common ...
****We thank the The New Yorker Magazine for their note today on Jimmie and recognize their good work****

The History That James Baldwin Wanted America To See

For Baldwin, the past had always been bent in service of a lie. Could a true story be told?
Illustration of MLK Baldwin and protestors toppling over a statue.
As both James Baldwin and Martin Luther King, Jr., insisted, America is an identity that white people will protect at any cost, and the country’s history—its founding documents, its national heroes—is the supporting argument that underpins that identity.

Illustration by Pola ManeliThe fire this time – the legacy of James Baldwin | Books | The ...

On March 16, 1968, James Baldwin walked to the podium at a fund-raiser, at Anaheim’s Disneyland Hotel, to introduce Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Baldwin had recently arrived in Los Angeles from New York, after Columbia Pictures had bought the rights to Alex Haley’s “The Autobiography of Malcolm X” and asked Baldwin to write the script. Though eager, he had ended up fighting desperately to bring his story of Malcolm to the screen. Baldwin wanted Billy Dee Williams to play the lead, but the studio had other actors in mind. There were even rumors that someone had suggested a darkened Charlton Heston.

The fund-raiser was meant to replenish the coffers of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (S.C.L.C.) and to help fund King’s latest project, the Poor People’s Campaign. King wanted to make the case for massive direct action, in Washington, D.C., on behalf of the country’s impoverished. To do so, he would need to marshal greater financial resources than ever before. Desegregating lunch counters didn’t cost much, but ending poverty would cost the nation billions of dollars.

King found that many who once supported his desegregation efforts were less than enthusiastic about his agenda on jobs and poverty. The idea of occupying the nation’s capital with poor people scared many activists—even some on the board of the S.C.L.C. For others, such as Bayard Rustin, a trusted adviser to King since the days of the Montgomery bus boycott, such an act of civil disobedience courted violence and threatened to turn even more white Americans against the civil-rights agenda. Rustin wanted the S.C.L.C. to focus on electing Democrats to political office, not on building a tent city or staging sit-ins at congressional offices.

How Baldwin ended up at the fund-raiser is unclear, although Marlon Brando, who organized it, may have invited him; the two were close. In any case, Baldwin had not been expecting to introduce King, and his short speech said little about the leader. Instead, he told a brief story about the promise of the early days of the civil-rights movement, a promise that was betrayed by the country. “What Rosa Parks was saying in Montgomery, in 1956, and what the Negroes were saying in their march . . . the country did not want to hear or did not hear,” Baldwin told the audience. “And as time rolled on and kids, including people like Stokely Carmichael, were being beaten with chains, going to jail, marching up and down those dusty highways, trying to change the conscience of this country, still nobody heard and nobody really cared.” Baldwin’s speech was all about the wall of white supremacy that stood in the way of fundamental transformation. His was an effort to jog the memory and, by extension, the morality of the audience, by telling a different story about what happened to a movement on the brink of failure.

When King reached the podium, he did not acknowledge Baldwin specifically, and instead offered a generic thanks to all those who had spoken before him. It was only later that the two men conferred privately. “We sat down in a relatively secluded corner and tried to bring each other up to date. Alas, it would never be possible. . . .” Baldwin recalled in his book “No Name in the Street,” from 1972. “We had first met during the last days of the Montgomery bus boycott—and how long ago was that? It was senseless to say, eight years, ten years ago—it was longer ago than time can reckon.”

Baldwin’s general sense of the encounter was that King was a bit skeptical of him. Although Baldwin had known King since his first trip to the South, in 1957, and had worked beside him over the years, he felt that King was discomfited by his presence. “Martin and I had never got to know each other well,” he wrote. “Circumstances, if not temperament, made that impossible.” In 1963, King was caught on tape, by the F.B.I., expressing concern about Baldwin. He didn’t want to appear on television with the writer, he said, because Baldwin “was uninformed regarding his movement.” To King, Baldwin was not a civil-rights leader; he was just one celebrity, among many, willing to lend his star power to the movement. It’s not impossible to imagine, too, that Baldwin’s queerness unsettled him.

By the time of the fund-raiser, the distance between the two men had been widened by Baldwin’s sympathies for the militancy of the younger generation. He was in Hollywood, after all, writing a screenplay on Malcolm X. And, just a month earlier, Baldwin had hosted a birthday party and fund-raiser for Huey P. Newton, the jailed leader of the Black Panther Party. In 1968, King felt intense pressure from such radical groups, and from recent shifts in the political climate. The nation had seemed to turn its back on his moral vision. Writing in The New York Review of Books, Andrew Kopkind, a white journalist of the New Left, declared that King had been “outstripped by his times.” A young black woman, who supported Carmichael’s Black Power philosophy, had even accused King of selling out the Selma movement, as he and other members of the S.C.L.C. board arrived for a meeting in Washington, D.C.

Baldwin had long seen this turn against King on the horizon. In 1961, he had written an article for Harper’s Magazine titled “The Dangerous Road Before Martin Luther King.” In it, he noted how King’s voice had changed from the heady days of the bus boycott, and detailed the challenges that King was destined to face as a black leader in a revolutionary time. “He was more beleaguered than he had ever been before, and not only by his enemies in the white South,” Baldwin wrote. “Three years earlier, I had not encountered very many people—I am speaking now of Negroes—who were really critical of him. But many more people seemed critical of him now, were bitter, disappointed, skeptical.”

Baldwin argued that King had to confront the meaning of a new, uncompromising spirit in the movement. Leaders like him were being challenged by their children, who rejected the underlying premise that made “the traditional black leader” necessary in the first place. As Baldwin put it, “These young people have never believed in the American image of the Negro and have never bargained with the Republic, and now they never will. There is no longer any basis on which to bargain.”

Even in 1961, Baldwin had sensed that these young people might have a point. By 1968, when he gave his speech in Anaheim, he saw clearly how the passage of the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts, a few years earlier, might offer white America the sense of self-congratulation that Black Power was now denying it. He knew that the civil-rights movement could easily be conscripted into the story of how Americans, in their inherent goodness, had perfected the Union. The history being made could be bent in service of the lie. For Baldwin, that lie had to be challenged at its root—which is why, perhaps, he devoted his introduction to telling a true story of the movement.

Surprisingly, after Baldwin had finished speaking, King gave a speech that echoed Baldwin’s account. It wasn’t a story of American triumphalism. Instead, King expressed concern that the movement was losing the battle for the soul of the nation. He conjured, without a hint of nostalgia, a history of people acting heroically against the odds, a history full of disappointment and trauma. He did not mince words: America was a decidedly racist country. “The problem can only be solved when there is a kind of coalition of conscience,” he said. “Now I am not sure if we have that many consciences left. Too many have gone to sleep.”

 

Like Baldwin, King struggled with America’s commitment to the belief that white people mattered more, and to the lie that made that belief palatable. “I must honestly confess that I go through those moments of disappointment when I have to recognize the fact that there aren’t enough white persons in our country who are willing to cherish democratic principles over privilege,” he said. “But I’m grateful to God that some are left.” As King brought his speech to a close, he tried, once more, to reach for the promise of America, vowing that the country would one day move forward because, “however much she strays away from it, the goal of America is freedom.” His sombre tone betrayed his words.

The importance of history had been in full view for both Baldwin and King just a few weeks earlier, at a Carnegie Hall event, in New York City, celebrating what would have been the hundredth birthday of W. E. B. Du Bois, the great African-American intellectual and the co-founder of the N.A.A.C.P. Du Bois, after seven decades of fighting for racial justice in the United States, had given up on America and died, in exile, in Accra, Ghana, on the eve of the March on Washington, in 1963. Although Baldwin had been working on an essay about Du Bois, he chose the occasion at Carnegie Hall to read a recently published piece, “Black Power.” Here, at this celebration of Du Bois, who dedicated his life to exposing America’s lies, Baldwin sought to shift the balance of concern from criticism of militancy among young black people to an honest assessment of the conditions that made such a turn necessary.

King disagreed with the rhetoric and symbolism of Black Power. He found no use for what he called a “mystique of blackness” or “the angry militant who fails to organize.” But he, too, was a student of Du Bois’s work, and he understood what Du Bois taught regarding “our tasks of emancipation.” “One idea he insistently taught,” King said in his speech at the event, “was that black people have been kept in oppression and deprivation by a poisonous fog of lies that depicted them as inferior, born deficient, and deservedly doomed to servitude to the grave.”

King’s remarks at Carnegie Hall, like his remarks in Anaheim, were shadowed by a note of despair. The country was in turmoil. “Negroes have heavy tasks today,” he said. “We were partially liberated and then reënslaved.” Although black people had been fighting for freedom “for more than a hundred years,” the only thing that was “explicitly certain is that the struggle for it will endure.”

Baldwin and King would be together one last time, at a fund-raiser in New York City. Baldwin didn’t have a suit for the occasion, so he ran out to have one fitted. Later, he returned to California to work on the Malcolm X film, the direction of which he was still debating with studio executives. On the night of April 4, 1968, Baldwin was sitting by his swimming pool with Billy Dee Williams, listening to an Aretha Franklin record, when the phone rang. It was his friend David Moses. “Jimmy,” Moses said. “Martin’s just been shot. He’s not dead yet, but it’s a head wound, so . . .” Baldwin dropped the phone and wept. A few days later, he wore his new suit to King’s funeral.

Baldwin was hardly naïve about the human capacity for evil, especially in white folk. “If you’re a Negro, you’re in the center of that peculiar affliction,” he said, “because anybody can touch you—when the sun goes down. You know, you’re the target of everybody’s fantasies.” But what shocked him was that white America had killed someone who espoused love, an apostle of nonviolence. King’s death revealed the depths of white America’s debasement and the scope of black America’s peril. “Perhaps even more than the death itself, the manner of his death has forced me into a judgment concerning human life and human beings which I have always been reluctant to make,” he wrote. “Incontestably, alas, most people are not, in action, worth very much; and yet, every human being is an unprecedented miracle. One tries to treat them as the miracles they are, while trying to protect oneself against the disasters they’ve become.”

If King was the preacher, Baldwin was the poet, and he sought to account for his confusion by gathering up the pieces—of himself, of black folk—buried beneath the disaster that was the country. That work kept his despair at arm’s length. To be sure, King’s death, just like those of Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and all the others, did not stop time. White people did not stop being white people. Two days after King’s murder, the Black Panther Bobby Hutton was killed by Oakland police officers. Later, police rioted in Chicago, during the Democratic National Convention. The nastiness of the white world kept coming, and it gave black politics—and Baldwin’s voice—an edge. King’s death had revealed the bitterness at the bottom of the cup. What Baldwin saw on that dangerous road that led to King’s death, in Memphis, was the difficult question of whether or not the country had the courage to confront its demons. Could America tell itself the truth about how it had arrived at this moment? And did it have the moral stamina to surrender the comfort of its lies?

In July of 1968, just a few months after King’s assassination and against the backdrop of American cities burning, Baldwin gave an interview to Esquire. He set the tone of the exchange from the very start:

Q. How can we get the black people to cool it?

A. It is not for us to cool it.

Q. But aren’t you the ones who are getting hurt the most?

A. No, we are only the ones who are dying fastest.

The editors did not seem to grasp how the moral burden of America’s nightmare rested not on the black people rioting in the streets but on the white people who held tightly to the belief that they were somehow, because of the color of their skin, better than others. These people, Baldwin argued, had to see themselves otherwise. New laws, gestures of sympathy, and acts of racial charity would never suffice to change the course of the country. Something more radical had to be done; a different history had to be told. “All that can save you now is your confrontation with your own history . . . which is not your past, but your present,” Baldwin said. “Your history has led you to this moment, and you can only begin to change yourself by looking at what you are doing in the name of your history.”

On August 12, 2017, James Fields, Jr., a twenty-year-old self-proclaimed neo-Nazi from Kenton, Kentucky, floored the gas pedal of his 2010 Dodge Challenger and roared down a narrow street full of anti-racist protesters, during the “Unite the Right” rally, in Charlottesville, Virginia. Heather Heyer, who was raised in nearby Ruckersville, was in the crowd. According to people who knew her, Heyer, thirty-two, had spent much of her life “standing up against any type of discrimination.” As Fields’s speeding car sent shoes, cell phones, and bodies flying into the air, Ryan Kelly, a photographer for the Daily Progress, captured the carnage. Heyer is framed between a man falling behind the car’s back bumper, one Air Jordan-clad foot twisted horribly in the air, and the tattooed torso of a white man in mid-somersault. She is leaning to the side as the muscle car hits her and plows through the crowd. Heyer died at the scene, and dozens more were injured. Fields was eventually convicted of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison.

The occasion of this violence was a bitter battle over American history and how we ought to remember it. In March, 2016, Wes Bellamy, Charlottesville’s vice-mayor and a member of its city council, advocated for the removal of Confederate monuments to Robert E. Lee and Thomas (Stonewall) Jackson. Zyahna Bryant, a high-school freshman in Charlottesville, joined Bellamy’s effort. She circulated a petition demanding the removal of the Robert E. Lee statue in a local park and submitted it to the council. The council agreed to remove the statue by a vote of three to two.

Then, in 2017, all hell broke loose. Emboldened by the election of Donald Trump, who had often and overtly appealed to white identity, local white nationalists saw an opportunity to exploit the council’s decision. The nationalists believed that the actions of the council were an assault on white people. In their view, the soldiers of political correctness had disfigured and distorted American history, in general, and Southern history, in particular. Their outrage prompted the “Unite the Right” rally, the largest gathering of white nationalists and neo-Nazis in recent memory. That day ended with Fields’s murderous drive on Fourth Street.

It is telling that such brutality broke out over a fight regarding the symbols and uses of American history. As both Baldwin and King insisted, each in their own way, America is an identity that white people will protect at any cost, and the country’s history—its founding documents, its national heroes, its claim to be a moral force in the world—is the supporting argument that underpins that identity. This history is inseparable from the nation’s built environment; both monuments and the ways in which communities are spatially organized reinforce it. When King declared that the country’s moral vision had been clouded by “a poisonous fog of lies,” and when Baldwin said in Esquire that we needed to look at what we are doing in the name of our history, both were arguing that this history, the story we tell ourselves about what the country is, shapes the world we make going forward.

The debate over Confederate monuments makes this plain. For white nationalists, the Confederacy represents a triumph of a certain understanding of America, in which the superiority of white people in all social, political, and cultural arrangements is enshrined. From that perspective, open-air tributes to white supremacy make sense. The more complex question is what we do with those who are willing to condemn neo-Nazis but who still claim Confederate statues as part of their “heritage.” These are the people for whom Judge Richard E. Moore, of the Charlottesville Circuit Court, ruled, in April, 2019, that the Confederate statues must remain in the area. “While some people obviously see Lee and Jackson as symbols of white supremacy, others see them as brilliant military tacticians or complex leaders in a difficult time,” Moore wrote in his decision.

Moore was presenting a different narrative about the statues. After Charlottesville, though, American historians made clear that the monuments were not, in fact, erected as contemporaneous memorials of the Civil War. Most were built many years later, either between the eighteen-nineties and the first decades of the twentieth century, when most of the Confederate veterans began to die, or in the nineteen-fifties, when the demand for racial equality intensified. They were, in other words, monuments to an ideology, physical representations of the “Lost Cause” in public space. They insisted on the false claim that the Civil War centered not on slavery but on the heroic defense of the Southern way of life.

Black people challenged these monuments even as they were being built. In “Black Reconstruction in America,” from 1935, Du Bois exposed the lies at the heart of that era’s historiography, unmasking the influential works of the political scientist John W. Burgess and the historian William A. Dunning. The Dunning School, the first generation of trained historians to write about Reconstruction, told the story of the period as one of extensive overreach of federal power and the corruption of northern carpetbaggers; Dunning viewed the granting of political rights to former slaves as a monstrous mistake. Du Bois cast scorn on this attempt to write history as “pleasant reading for Americans.” For him, the Confederate statues represented the triumph of Dunning’s sensibility. The history that justified their construction banished, once and for all, the horrors of slavery, and left American identity safe and secure.

Nearly a century later, we are still trying to transcend such “pleasant reading.” Three days after the display of white supremacy in Charlottesville, the President held an infamous press conference in Trump Tower. He blamed “both sides” for the violence, and went on to flatly reject the idea of removing Confederate statues, employing a not-so-deft piece of moral relativism: “George Washington was a slave owner. . . . So will George Washington lose his statues? . . . How about Thomas Jefferson? . . . He was a major slave owner.” For Trump, celebration of the Confederacy—a region that committed treason to defend the institution of slavery—was American history. By playing on the knowledge that Washington and Jefferson were, to most Americans, unimpeachable, he sought to suggest that there was an argument for Lee, too, and to imply that taking down statues of the general was a slippery slope which would somehow unravel our most basic assumptions about America. His then chief of staff, General John Kelly, agreed, giving an interview, on Fox News, in which he said that protests of the statues showed “a lack of appreciation of history, and what history is.”

Trump’s and Kelly’s understanding of history is precisely what Baldwin critiqued in 1968. But Baldwin also insisted that such lies might enable us, if we’re honest, to tell the story of America differently. Trump, for all his bluster, asked a necessary question: What do we do with George Washington? For the President, this question was simplistic, binary: Do Washington’s statues stay up or come down? But that’s not how history works. We might ask, instead, what the story of slavery and Reconstruction—or of Washington and Jefferson—looks like when it neither glosses over the cruelty of this country nor rejects its potential for betterment.

Something like this question confronted the community of Princeton University, where I teach, in November, 2015. That month, the Black Justice League, a student activist organization on campus, staged a thirty-three-hour sit-in at the president’s office. The action was part of a national student movement in support of anti-racism protests at the University of Missouri. In one of the Black Justice League’s many demands, the students requested that the administration “publicly acknowledge the racist legacy of Woodrow Wilson,” rename the Wilson residential college and the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, and remove a mural of Wilson in one of the school’s dining halls.

This demand cut to the heart of Princeton’s self-understanding. Wilson was the president of the university from 1902 to 1910; much of what the school is, as a serious institution of higher learning, has been attributed to him. But the students wanted the university to complicate the story it told itself about Wilson, to acknowledge what his racist legacy meant to its black students, and to consider how that legacy, represented in public space, devalued them. There was indignity, they argued, in sleeping or eating in a building named after someone who thought you an inferior human being.

Spurred by the students’ protest, Princeton’s president, Christopher Eisgruber, and the school’s board of trustees established a committee to reëxamine the ways in which the university commemorated Wilson. Scholars, biographers, and members of the school community were invited to contribute to the conversation. Nell Painter, an emerita professor and the author of “The History of White People,” spoke to the heart of the matter. “It’s all about the questions we ask,” she said. “The questions have changed. I mean, the questions always change. That’s why we keep writing history.”

In the end, Princeton chose not to remove Wilson’s name from the buildings, but it did agree to deepen its story of Wilson. Signage around campus and within dormitories now gives a fuller sense of Wilson’s segregationist views, and of Princeton’s exclusionary history. The school also agreed to diversify representation across the campus. One of the administration’s most important decisions was to rename West College, which houses the dean of the college and the undergraduate admissions office, after Toni Morrison, who taught for many years at the university.

The issue is far from resolved. Black students at Princeton aren’t interlopers. They are not guests on campus or beneficiaries of charity who should be grateful to the school. They are, unlike in Wilson’s day, an integral part of the community. And, like all students on campus, they should feel a sense of possession of the university. Much more work needs to be done, but their protest brilliantly forced the university to reassess its past in the full light of its current values.

Their protest might also help us think about Trump’s and Kelly’s view of “what history is.” As a first principle, history cannot be equated with comfort, nostalgia, or a fixed arc of progress. We need to get the facts right; otherwise, we are trading only in what Du Bois called “lies agreed upon.” In particular, we can’t elide the facts that complicate how we might see a historical figure or event. Washington held slaves, and he didn’t treat them very well. Jefferson wrote brilliantly about democracy, and he also owned slaves, exploited Sally Hemings, the enslaved mother of his children, and wondered aloud if black people were biologically inferior. The record shows this to be true.

And yet the facts alone aren’t enough. What we do with them, the kinds of questions we ask about them, and for what ends, matter. For some, the fact that Washington and Jefferson owned slaves disqualifies them as moral exemplars. For others, the men may have been wrong in owning slaves, but that fact stands alongside other, more admirable aspects of their lives. William Dunning’s interpretation of Reconstruction was different from Du Bois’s. Each of these interpretations reveals something about what is valued, and about how the past as told speaks to the present. Our appeals to history can never be entirely objective; they aim, just as often, to clarify our commitments today.

This is why, in moments of revolution or profound cultural shifts, one of the first things that people remove are symbols of old values. Many of Lenin’s and Stalin’s statues, for example, had to fall. Since the murder of George Floyd, in May, by a white police officer, Confederate monuments across the country have been either toppled or removed. But it’s telling that Robert E. Lee continues to stand tall in Charlottesville, where Heyer died. We have the facts straight, and know what values Lee represented, but there remains, no matter the protests, disagreement on what story should be told. As Baldwin put it, in “No Name in the Street,” “One may see that the history, which is now indivisible from oneself, has been full of errors and excesses; but this is not the same thing as seeing that, for millions of people, this history . . . has been nothing but an intolerable yoke, a stinking prison, a shrieking grave.” If white people in America choose to accept the lie, Baldwin argued, others would never be free to reject it. And rejecting the lie was, for him, the precondition to progress.

This is not an easy conclusion to accept. One of the unique features of American nationalism is how closely interwoven the idea of America is with the identity of the white people who live in it. For those who cling to this idea, the fear is that admitting the evils of slavery, or the continued harms of oppression, will make the idea of America—and they themselves—irredeemable. They would rather find safety in the lie. But if the condition of our love for country is a lie then the love itself, no matter how genuine, is a lie. The idea may be irredeemable. That does not mean we are, too.

In August, 1965, Baldwin published an essay in Ebony called “The White Man’s Guilt.” It had been a difficult year. Malcolm X was assassinated in February. In March, the world witnessed the brutality of Alabama state troopers attacking protesters on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, in Selma. And, on August 11th, the Watts riots exploded across Los Angeles, largely in response to violence by the police. In his essay, Baldwin demanded a confrontation with a history that white America desperately avoided. “White man, hear me!” he wrote. “History, as nearly no one seems to know, is not merely something to be read. And it does not refer merely, or even principally, to the past. On the contrary, the great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us.”

An honest encounter with the past, then, had everything to do with the kinds of people we understood ourselves to be and the kinds of people we aspired to become. Baldwin wanted to free us from the shackles of a particular national story, so that we might create ourselves anew. For this to happen, white America needed to shatter the myths that secured its innocence. “People who imagine that history flatters them,” he wrote, “are impaled on their history like a butterfly on a pin and become incapable of seeing or changing themselves, or the world.” Trump and his followers stand in a long lineage of such people, who use a certain understanding of the past to reinforce the injustices of the present. Baldwin’s vision demanded a reckoning with this understanding—not to posit the greatness of America but to establish the ground upon which that greatness could be built.

In his reflections on King, Baldwin wrote that we were witnessing the death of segregation, and that the question was how long and how expensive the funeral would be. If only he knew. More than fifty years later, we are still marching in the procession and fighting in the streets. A world is dying, but we have been slow to put it in the grave, and the costs are mounting. How many of our loved ones are rotting in prisons and jails? How many are breaking their backs trying to make ends meet? And how many souls have been darkened from the effects of America’s original sin? True freedom, for all Americans, requires that we tell a better story, a true story, about how we arrived here. It is time to bury that old Negro, and the white people who so desperately need him, and to finally begin again.

This essay was drawn from “Begin Again: James Baldwin’s America and Its Urgent Lessons for Our Own,” which will be published, by Crown, in June.

****We thank the The New Yorker Magazine for their note today on Jimmie and recognize their good work****

IN THE NAME OF GOD.
AMEN
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Index Librorum Prohibitorum
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?

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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.~~
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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.”
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          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
          ~~
          19th Juin, Friday,  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
        • Catholic and Royal Army - Wikipedia
          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.

          Student walking across campus toward McMahon Hall

          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

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      Our Queen now 68 years on

      ~~

      Simply the best President we could ever hope to have.

      Queen Elizabeth II Through the Years - Photos of Queen Elizabeth II

      Regina ~ Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

       

      May, 1963– Steve McQueen tooling around LA in his Jaguar XK-SS. — Photograph by © John Dominis/ Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images. Local legend holds that at least one L.A. law-enforcement agency had promised its officers that an “expensive steak dinner” awaited the guy who could nail McQueen and the Jag with a speeding ticket. The tale continues that, while he was spotted often and even pursued a time or two, he was never caught and never written. The steak dinner went unclaimed. Another story refutes the entire affair, alleging that McQueen was so awash in speeding tickets he nearly lost his license.

      May, 1963– Steve McQueen driving his Jaguar XK-SS down Sunset Blvd, Hollywood, California. — Photograph by © John Dominis/Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images