Mountain Views News          Saturday, January 21, 2012

11

OPINION

 Mountain Views News Saturday, January 21, 2012 

HAIL Hamilton My Turn

CURBING BAD BEHAVIOR: By Ron Carter 

Mountain 
Views

News

PUBLISHER/ EDITOR

Susan Henderson

CITY EDITOR

Dean Lee 

EAST VALLEY EDITOR

Joan Schmidt

SALES

Patricia Colonello

626-355-2737 

626-818-2698

PRODUCTION 

Richard Garcia

PHOTOGRAPHY

Lina Johnson

Ivonne Durant

WEBMASTER

John Aveny 

CONTRIBUTORS

Jeff Brown

Pat Birdsall

Chris Leclerc

Bob Eklund

Howard Hays

Paul Carpenter

Stuart Tolchin

Kim Clymer-Kelley

Christopher Nyerges

Peter Dills 

Hail Hamilton 

Rich Johnson

Chris Bertrand

Ron Carter

Rev. James Snyder

Bobby Eldridge

Mary Carney

La Quetta Shamblee

Katie Hopkins

Deanne Davis

Despina Arouzman

Greg Wellborn

Dr. John Talevich

Meaghan Allen

Sean Kayden

IS IT RIGHT?


Bad Trip


Today, Tuesday, January 17, 2012, the day after Dr. Martin 
Luther King‘s Birthday, I am inspired to post one of his many 
profound remarks as this week’s blog. Below is the text.

“On some positions, Cowardice asks the question, ‘Is it safe?’ 
Expediency asks the question, ‘Is it politic?’ And Vanity comes 
along and asks the question, ‘Is it popular?’ But Conscience asks 
the question, ‘Is it right?’ And there comes a time when one must 
take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he 
must do it because Conscience tells him it is right.”

Enough said.

Please forgive me if 
I’m raining on someone’s 
parade, but if you’re thinking 
of taking your family on a 
winter Caribbean cruise on 
Holland America? Think 
again... particularly if it’s a 
Westerdam cruise. 

This was our third cruise so we thought we 
knew what to expect, but our two prior voyages 
were with Princess. However, I knew we were 
in trouble when we boarded the Westerdam. It 
was mid-December the skies were permanently 
overcast and there was a freezing--almost gale-
force--breeze that never stopped blowing. The 
temperature ranged from the mid-50s in the day 
to the low-30s at night -- definitely not cruising 
weather.

Our two cabins were nice enough and our 
stewards were outstanding. My wife and I had 
an eighth floor extra large balcony veranda. My 
kids shared an interior on the fifth floor. We 
figured they’d be out and about most of the time 
and wouldn’t need a view. We had five hours to 
kill before the ship sailed so after unpacking we 
decided to try the Lido Restaurant’s luncheon 
buffet.

If the bad weather was a harbinger of things 
to come, the buffet was a loud gourmet alarm 
bell telling us that things were going to get 
worse. What a disaster. For precautionary 
purposes, only the staff can put food on your 
plate and provide you with drinks. This caused 
massive lines with people cutting in and out of 
lines making the whole “all you can eat” buffet 
experience miserable.

This went on for the first 48 hours of the cruise. 
By the time you got your drink, your food was 
cold. Worse the food was tasteless and about as 
appetizing as you’d expect from a high school 
cafeteria. Holland America provides food with 
lots of starch and the food selection is the same 
every day with a few minor differences. Good 
luck finding a table during peak hours. Forget 
finding one by a window.

The sail away is no big deal to Holland America. 
No poolside music, no fan fare, no streamers, 
just a couple of toots from the ship’s horn and 
off you go. Heck, there was more activity on the 
yachts passing us as we made our way out of the 
Ft. Lauderdale harbor. I will never know whether 
those sailors were wishing us a fond bon voyage 
or just making fun of us for being such suckers in 
choosing the Westerdam. Little did we know that 
we had chosen a ship from hell.

From the start it was obvious that the the 
Westerdam had too few crew per passenger 
to render all but minimal services. Clearly, it 
makes its money on booze, crummy bazaar-
like jewelry stores, the innumerable “extras” 
they hawked at you relentlessly. Consider the 
$100 for a piece of “Jackie Kennedy” jewelry that 
probably cost no more than $10, or the $99 junk 
watches from China “sale-priced” at $9.99.

Dinner in the main dining room, the Vista, 
was very disorganized, understaffed and 
disappointing. We were consigned to “free-
style” dining which meant each night you had 
to wait in line to eat early or eat late and be 
satisfied with leftovers -- especially desserts. 
There were four formal nights for which the 
captain never showed up. The rest of the time 
the dress code was “smart-casual” which for 
some meant T-shirt and sandals. But what 
you wore really didn’t add or detract from the 
mediocre food.

Of course no one complained about the food 
the first eight days because the ship was tossing 
and rolling so much just keeping your dinner 
down was a major effort. Twice I noticed barf on 
the floor by the maitre d’s station. I also smelled 
barf in our hallway one night. Seasickness was 
epidemic. Passengers were bouncing off the 
bulkheads like pool balls night and day. Thank 
God there was enough Dramamine and saltine 
crackers on board, for just about everybody 
needed it.

After eight days of rough cruising the southern 
Caribbean to overblown destinations like Half 
Moon Cay in the Bahamas (owned by Holland 
America), Aruba, Curacao, and Bonaire we were 
happy to see Ft. Lauderdale again, if only for an 
afternoon. That evening we departed for Grand 
Turk, San Juan, St. Thomas, and Half Moon Cay 
(again!). This is when the horrors of an already 
bad trip became intolerable.

On the second night out my wife (who suffers 
from fibromyalgia) was accidentally struck 
in the arm by a heavy plate being carelessly 
carried by a waiter after eating dinner in the 
main dining room. This event immediately 
caused a severe and very painful flair-up of 
her fibromyalgia. She was wheeled to the ship’s 
doctor to be treated -- EXCEPT he refused to 
treat her pain. Instead, he gave her an ICEPACK! 

The next morning I confronted him about his 
ignorance of fibromyalgia. He even refused to 
talk to my wife’s rheumatologist in Pasadena, 
whom we had telephoned from the ship and 
was waiting for his call. He told us that there 
was nothing more he could do and that if we 
were so dissatisfied with the ship’s medical care 
we should to DISEMBARK in San Juan. We 
returned to our room and called the San Juan 
paramedics instead. They advised us that if we 
went to the city hospital we would very likely 
miss the ship’s sailing that night. 

The next day we arrived in St. Thomas and I 
took her to the hospital there, which my wife’s 
doctor recommended. About 40,000 people live 
on St. Thomas compared to more than 5 million 
in San Juan. Fortunately, my wife got the care 
she needed and she was able to resume our trip 
pain-free. Unfortunately, the 2-day medical 
hiatus aboard ship cost her to miss the two 
ports-of-call she most wanted to see -- San Juan 
and St. Thomas (except what little she saw on 
the way back to the ship from the hospital).

“Bad trip” doesn’t begin to describe our 
damned voyage on the Westerdam. All I can say 
is this will be the last Holland America cruise 
we ever go on.

STUART Tolchin......On LIFE 


FAME

It’s Tuesday 
morning and 
I just finished 
racing around 
Sierra Madre 
trying to 
find Senator 
Feinstein. A 
few minutes earlier we were just 
pulling out of the gas station at 
Sierra Madre and Baldwin when 
my wife exclaimed, “there’s Di 
Fi”. “Huh, who”, I muttered and 
my wife patiently explained, as 
she continued to pull away from 
the station, that she had spied the 
rich and famous Senator Diane 
Feinstein pulling in to the other 
side of the pump we were just 
vacating. I looked up and damn if it 
didn’t look like the elegant Senator 
herself driving alone in a cheap 
car with some sort of logo on the 
side. “Stop, stop”, I said, knowing 
that my wife would not stop. How 
did I know? Well, before we knew 
one another, my wife had worked 
in radio and T.V. and the News in 
San Francisco and already had met 
everybody worth knowing and she 
had done it long ago.

 There are pictures of my wife and 
the young Robin Williams hugging 
one another and more pictures 
of her parties in San Francisco 
where in attendance were all the 
soon to be rich and famous. My 
wife is anything but a braggart but 
she does carry with her a certain 
amount of that kind of “Been 
there-done that – and I can’t be 
bothered to do that again”. “If you 
want to talk to her so much then 
you’ll have to do it by yourself”. I 
know my wife is not a Di Fi fan 
(that is my wife’s pet name for 
the Senator) as she had seen the 
then-Supervisor Feinstein nimbly 
step over the dying, assassinated 
Mayor Moscone on her somehow 
unforgiveable, determined march 
to microphone, future Mayorhood, 
and eventual Senatedom. Well, I 
did want to talk to her and as soon 
as we got home I moved into the 
driver’s seat and of course couldn’t 
find my own keys. Knowing my 
wife thought me insane, I didn’t 
even bother asking her where my 
keys were. After angrily scurrying 
up and down the stairs and getting 
out of breath I found the keys 
hidden deep within my front pants 
pocket. Down to the car I raced, 
down the S turns to the gas station 
and of course Di Fi was gone, if she 
had ever been there..

 I asked the workers and the 
operator of the Station if they had 
seen the Senator and attempted a 
description. No one understood 
what I was talking about; that’s 
happening a lot lately. I learned 
no more and returned home 
crushed. What’s going on? Is there 
something I really want to talk to 
the Senator about? What is this 
strange business about being next 
to celebrities anyway?

 It’s sort of like real life only takes 
place on television. Most of us—
maybe it’s the famous 99%, only 
have the roles of spectators and 
voyeurs. Real life is only for the 
famous and the rest of us believe 
that this true existence is somehow 
contagious—that is, if only we 
can get close enough to fame then 
we can catch the bug and then 
WE WILL REALLY EXIST. Of 
course this is nonsense and mere 
mortals, like my wife who have 
met the famous, know that it is 
nonsense. Still I can remember 
about fifteen years ago when my 
wife and son were sitting in a 
restaurant on Wilshire Blvd. and 
lo and behold there appeared the 
giant Chinese Basketball Player 
Yao Ming walking to an elevator 
with a couple of other very tall 
men. Zoom, gone were my wife 
and son into the elevator and 
soon back with stories about how 
gigantic was Yao Ming’s Camel 
Hair Coat. What’s so amazing 
about it? Well, it’s fifteen years 
later and I, who never even saw the 
Camel Hair Coat in the first place, 
can still picture it and here I am 
still writing about it.

 Is it that my and your own meager 
lives are not enough—that we need 
some connection to the famous, 
even the momentary famous, 
to find life bearable? Really 
it’s strange. Recently, the News 
described a situation wherein the 
parents of newborns were unable 
to see their infants because the use 
of the floor was reserved for the use 
of a celebrity couple or something 
like that. Really it’s not surprising 
and perhaps Herman Kane was 
right. Life is about becoming 
rich and famous and if we are 
not rich and famous—let’s face 
it—we have failed. So we should 
get out of the way, go back to our 
couches and thank the Successful 
Ones for creating some jobs and 
allowing us to have a roof over our 
heads. Is this the way it feels to be 
a Republican? 

 Well, come November be sure to 
vote for the millionaire Harvard 
Law Graduate of your choice. 
This is all supposed to be funny 
and ironic but somehow I’m not 
laughing very hard. 

Mountain Views News 
has been adjudicated as 
a newspaper of General 
Circulation for the County 
of Los Angeles in Court 
Case number GS004724: 
for the City of Sierra 
Madre; in Court Case 
GS005940 and for the 
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is published every Saturday 
at 55 W. Sierra Madre 
Blvd., No. 302, Sierra 
Madre, California, 91024. 
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OUT TO PASTOR A Weekly Religion Column


IN LIFE, AN “ACCOUNT AT THE 
BANK” CAN BE A RELATIVE THING

by Rev. James L Snyder

God does not make 
grandmothers like He 
once did. At least not 
like MY grandmother. 
Grandmother never trusted such things as 
banks with her money. Someone once told my 
grandmother, “If you would put your money in 
the bank, they would pay you interest.”

With a confused look on her face she 
responded, “I have enough interest in my money, 
nobody else needs to bother about it.” That was 
that!

After my grandfather died, my wife and I had 
the opportunity to take grandma out for supper. 
It was a delightful restaurant and we thought it 
would be a real treat for her. More than once, 
I had to keep her from getting up and serving 
coffee to the rest of the people in the restaurant. 
After all, she did that at the church suppers. Why 
not here? “I’ve got two good legs,” she protested.

Then came time to pay the check and the 
waiter brought the check and laid it in front of 
me. I immediately took a credit card out of my 
wallet and laid it on the check.

I could tell grandma had never seen a credit 
card before.

“Put that away,” she said. “I believe that man 
wants you to pay for our supper. Don’t you have 
any money?”

“I’m paying for our supper with my credit 
card,” I explained.

“Oh, dear,” she moaned. “You know I don’t 
believe in cards. Cards are of the devil, and I 
have never had a deck of cards in my house. I’m 
a little surprised that you, a minister, would be 
fooling around with such things of the devil.”

She insisted we tip the waiter in “good ole 
American cash.” I am not sure if grandma ever 
really understood the credit card. She bought 
nothing on credit and did not accept credit. 
Everything had to be done in cash. She often 
quoted the scripture verse that says, “Owe no 
man any thing . . .” (Romans 13:8 KJV), which 
she took quite literally.

As grandma got older, she began to rethink 
the business of opening a bank account. Without 
telling anyone, she decided to go to the bank and 
open an account. She had saved up $50 for this 
purpose. Grandma nervously entered the bank 
and walked up to the man sitting at the desk 
marked “New Accounts.”

“Good morning, Ma’am. I’m Gary Goodman. 
How can I help you today?”

The man seemed pleasant enough, and 
grandma thought entrusting him with the 
delicate job at hand was probably safe.

“I wanna open an account,” she mumbled.

“Fine. I’ll get you all set up. It won’t take but a 
few minutes.” With that, he took out some papers 
and laid them on his desk in front of grandma.

“Now,” he said, “let’s begin. What is your 
name?”

She told him.

“O.K. What is your address?”

“What?”

“What is your address?”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“I’m just filling out the form, Ma’am.”

The young man a little confused with her 
hesitancy said, “We can come back to that. What 
is your date of birth?”

Grandma’s face turned a little red. “What do 
you want to know that for,” she gasped?

“I’m just filling out the forms. Can you give 
me your telephone number?”

That did it for grandma. She got up from her 
seat and looked him right in the face and said, 
“Young man, I don’t know who you think you 
are, but I am not interested in your advances. I’m 
old enough to be your mother. You ought to be 
ashamed.”

Just then the manager of the bank walked by.

“Mary, what are you doing here?”

The manager quickly assessed the situation 
and told the young man he would take care of this 
customer and tried to console my grandmother.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into young folk 
these days,” she whispered.

Barely concealing his smile, “I’ll take care 
of you, Mary,” he assured her. He knew all the 
information about her and quickly filled in the 
paper work and walked grandma to the teller for 
her first deposit.

Grandma handed the teller a crumpled $50 
bill. The teller took it and gave her a deposit 
receipt.

“Where’s my money?” grandma demanded.

“It’s safe in the bank, Ma’am.”

“How do you know my money from everyone 
else’s?”

“The money is all deposited in the bank, and if 
you need any, all you do is write a check.” 

 She showed grandma how to write out a check. 
By now grandma was confused and more than a 
little exasperated. Quickly grandma wrote out a 
check for $50 and handed it back to the teller.

“You’re withdrawing all your money?”

“Yes.”

The teller counted out $50 and handed it 
to her. Grandma looked at the teller and said, 
“No. I want MY money.” The teller retrieved the 
crumpled $50 bill and handed it to grandma.

As she walked out, the teller heard her 
mumble, “What a crazy way to run business. No 
wonder banks fail.”

There is only one sure account I can bank on. 
Jesus said, “Lay not up for yourselves treasures 
upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, 
and where thieves break through and steal: 
But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, 
where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and 
where thieves do not break through nor steal:” 
(Matthew 6:19-20 KJV). 

The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the 
Family of God Fellowship, PO Box 831313, 
Ocala, FL 34483. He lives with his wife, Martha, 
in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-
4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The 
church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.


RICH Johnson

 The Gospel 
of Matthew 
tells us 
Jesus said, 
“Truly I 
tell you, 
unless you 
change and 
become like little children, you 
will never enter the kingdom of 
heaven”. 

 I miss those early childhood 
days when I knew nothing of 
paying mortgages, light bills, 
buying food, washing clothes. 
School was the biggest pain 
most of us endured. It was 
like a job but, when we came 
home, we had some chores and 
the rest of the time was spent 
playing. One of the greatest 
differences between childhood 
and adulthood is children tend 
to not worry. Worry is defined 
as tormenting oneself with 
cares, anxieties, disturbing 
thoughts and fret. Do children 
do that? Certainly not to the 
extent that adults do.

 Let’s resolve to worry less this 
year. Whatever will be will be. 

A great alleviator of stress is 
humor. So, here are some actual 
letters or notes to God that you 
might find stress relieving. I 
hope so. 

Dear God: Thank you for my 
baby brother. But what I prayed 
for was a puppy. 

Dear God: In school they told 
us what you do. Who does it 
when you are on vacation? 

Dear God: Did you mean for 
the giraffe to look like that or 
was it an accident? 

Dear God: Who draws the lines 
around countries?

Dear God: I went to a wedding 
and they kissed right in the 
church. Is that okay? 

Dear God: What does it mean 
you are a jealous God? I thought 
you had everything? 

Dear God: Please send me a 
pony. I never asked for anything 
before. You can look it up. 

Dear God: Maybe Cain and 
Abel would not kill each other 
so much if they had their 
own rooms. It works with my 
brother. 

Dear God: You don’t have to 
worry about me. I always look 
both ways.

Dear God: If you watch me in 
church on Sunday, I’ll show you 
my new shoes. 

Radio Fishbowl is an internet 
radio station broadcasting out 
of Sierra Madre. And now, I, 
and my friends Barry Schwam 
and Lisa Bowman have started 
a 45 minute radio program 
airing once a week. It will 
include music from the 1960s 
and 1970s and bits of trivia like 
you read in my column. The 
program will also highlight the 
banter that takes place between 
the three of us which, hopefully, 
you will find enjoyable. The 
show is now scheduled to air 
at 12:00 noon on Tuesdays 
and possibly they will repeat 
it throughout the week. Go 
to www.radiofishbowl.com to 
access the station. Be well.

CHILDREN’S LETTERS TO GOD

Mountain Views News

Mission Statement

The traditions of the 
community newspaper 
and the concerns of 
our readers are this 
newspaper’s top 
priorities. We support a 
prosperous community 
of well-informed 
citizens. We hold in 
high regard the values 
of the exceptional 
quality of life in our 
community, including 
the magnificence of 
our natural resources. 
Integrity will be our 
guide. 

Mountain Views News 80 W Sierra Madre Blvd. No. 327 Sierra Madre, Ca. 91024 Office: 626.355.2737 Fax: 626.609.3285 Email: editor@mtnviewsnews.com Website: www.mtnviewsnews.com