Henry Ford, a Nazi supporter, said that history is bunk, and indeed it is. But a trip down the aisles of Barnes and Noble shows that most works of history are written to reinforce the official stories of our wars and other mechanizations.

Two well-known names are Allen and John Foster Dulles. They worked for Sullivan Cromwell, highly influential Wall Street law firm, and were drafted into public service by Dwight Eisenhower in his first term. John Foster headed State, and Allen CIA.

They are not the names I am highlighting, but Allen Dulles was instrumental in the rescue of one highly placed Nazi, enlisting him as an American intelligence asset. It was part of a much larger operations called “Paperclip” wherein thousands of ex-Nazis were brought in to help with rocket science, mind control experiments, and intelligence. His name ought to be a household word, but is not. He is General Reinhard Gehlen.

A picture of Gehlan reminds me of Deputy Barney Fife without the humanity. He was a scrawny man, 130 pounds, who possessed a large amount of arrogance and a nasty temper. Gehlen was given control of $200 million to spy on the Soviets. He ran about 4,000 agents in Europe on behalf of the US, as our own intelligence operations were fledgling. When he retired in 1968, Allen Dulles gave him a Swiss chalet, reinforcing my belief that old Nazis never die, but rather retire in luxury. The US shepherded many of them to exile in South American, Argentina a prime destination.

Carl Oglesby wrote about Gehlen in his book The Yankee and Cowboy War: Conspiracies from Dallas to Watergate. He claimed that Gehlen’s role was primarily to protect Odessa, and relocate tens of thousands of ex Nazis throughout Europe, and South and North America. He did this at the expense of US taxpayers.

Gehlen died in 1979. His legacy lives on in CIA, State, throughout Latin American and Europe, but he is never mentioned. How many people of curious mind, once they learned of this man, would go on to read and wonder about the origins of the CIA, the JFK execution, and all that has followed.

Ergo, there’s no mention of Gehlen in our history books.

The Harper Bone Fragment (Source: HSCA). This bone fragment, measuring 2-1/2” by 2” was found at the rear and to the left of the location of the [JFK] presidential limousine when the fatal head shot occurred. It was found by medical student Billy Harper the day after the assassination. He took it to his uncle, Dr. A.B. Cairns, who was the chief pathologist at Methodist Hospital in Dallas. Dr. Cairns examined it, along with another pathologist, and they both stated that it came from the occipital* region of the skull. The fragment was photographed in the Methodist Hospital photographic lab. The bone fragment was then sent to Dr. George Burkley, the White House physician. From that time on, no one knows what happened to the Harper fragment. It has vanished completely and has not been seen since. The Harper fragment is strong evidence of a shot from the front, perhaps explaining its strange disappearance. If it were available today, it could be analyzed and scientifically identified as to its location in the skull. (Noel Twyman, Bloody Treason, page 222)

What are the implications here? One, the Harper evidence is the strongest evidence available that President Kennedy was shot from the front.

Two, it is very strong evidence that the x-rays of the president’s skull on file in the National Archives are forgeries. The region of his skull from which the fragment came is intact in those.

Implications, anyone?
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*Take your hand and place it across the back of your head, above your neck but below the top, where you would rest it if you were learning back on a pillow. That is the “occipital” region.

In attempting to understand American politics, it is wise to ignore received information – the stuff we are given by mainstream media. We tend to internalize it without question. It could be just fluff, or cover.

One aspect of the career of Barack Obama that simply does not fit with his beliefs and personality is a stint he did in Chicago in the 1980’s as a “community organizer.” It is plain to see from his record in the White House that he is neither a leftist nor an idealist. He is cagey, smart and secretive. What then was he up to?

There is so much mystery around this man that it is hard to know, but safe to assume, that he was doing something other than what we were told. During this time he formed relationships with Bill Ayers, Bernadine Dohrn and the Rev. Jeremiah Wright.

Ayers and Dohrn bear the hallmarks of agents provocateur:

• Their activities in the 1960’s were widely publicized. Like another agent provocateur of that time, John Kerry, they were moved to the front of the line in media coverage of dissent.
• They became magnets for true radicals of the era.
• They led them it acts of violence, which discredited their movements.
• They faced minimal consequences for their behaviors, having charges dropped and jail sentences minimized.
• Most importantly, unlike so many other radicals of the era, they are still alive. Neither has been run over by a car.

The Rev. Wright seems a genuine man of great influence in the black community. Obama struck up a friendship with him that he described as almost familial.

From this sketchy beginning, I would venture forward on the theory that Obama was not a “community organizer,” per se, but rather a mole, or infiltrator. In this role he would follow in his mother’s footsteps, as she apparently did similar work in Indonesia in the 1960’s prior to the violent purges in that country that left hundreds of thousands dead.*

The US Government has long had an active interest in ground-level organizing in the black community. If there is ever to be an uprising in this land, it is there. So it is no coincidence that black leaders are routinely spied on, compromised, framed, jailed and murdered, and befriended by moles and infiltrators.

It’s all cursory at this time, of course. But all of the above, taken together with the intense secrecy surrounding Obama’s background, place of birth and education, his “community organizer” stint in Chicago smells bad. There is much to learn, much hidden from view. I operate now on one premise only, something I know to be true: Prior to our presidents being elected, they are selected.
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*Indonesia was a bloody massacre during the time that the one in Indochina occupied center stage. Perhaps due to restraints of troop commitments in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, the US relied on internal forces to murder 500,000 or more people there, and reform the country more to western liking. The CIA provided the lists, the Indonesian military, in Phoenix style, went about killing the people on that list.

I have often written here that if a person seriously undertakes and examination of the research done around the assassination of John Kennedy in 1963, that he or she will gain a better and deeper understanding of our country and how it is run. It is largely a criminal enterprise with department store windows masking the corruption.

We may never know who did shot poor old John, just as we do not know to this day the machinations and agents that brought about such events as the Reichstag fire, the blowing up of the Maine, the attack on the USS Liberty by Israel, Jonestown, the murders of Sadat, Benazir Bhutto, Milošević, David Kelly, Bruce Ivins … on and on.
Continue reading “Of worthy and unworthy” →

This part of Italy is called “Cinque Terre”, or five towns. They are primitive tourist towns near a national park with miles of hiking trails, part of the Italian Riviera on the west side of the peninsula.

We had some bad luck – there was a rail strike on Sunday, which delayed our arrival, and then rains the night before last which caused them to close all the trails. The hillsides can be very dangerous.

Consequently, we rode the train yesterday to the five towns, Rigamortis, Corningware, Motorola, Vernazza  and Monty Python. Those are not the real names (Vernazza, where we stayed, is the actual name), but that was the only way I could remember them.

Today we travel to Milan, and from there fly home tomorrow. It has been so much fun, but we’ve been gone so long. Italy is like a drug, with its climate and food and wine. The people are beautiful to look at and friendly. The place is affordable. unions are strong, and jobs like bus and train work, waiters and cooks are all held by Italians. There is no need for tipping, as the jobs pay well enough to support them, due to the unions. The trains run on time (when not on strike). The water is clean and fresh, the European coffee is a treat by itself. We don’t eat much, and locals don’t seem to either, so we don’t see too many overweight people (except Luca).

I hope you all have a chance to travel, as we have. We know we are fortunate souls.

Among the many ghastly offerings given us by PBS, America’s answer to how to stay uninformed and really, really not know it, is a guy named Rick Steves. He is to travel as Doris Kearns Goodwin is to history, all over it like the Rio Grande – a mile wide and one inch deep. His shows offer a brief glimpse of various places, most often in Europe. It’s all done with aging white people in mind, with excellent tips on how to pack (he sells a line of travel books and luggage).

My favorite scenes are those where he pretends to have walked a long staircase to a monument (more often restaurant), gasping for breath after having done the last five as the camera waits. The end of each show is outtakes, or bloopers. Goodness gracious, the humor.

Anyway, we are in Ljubljana, Slovenia, victims of Rick Steves. We bought it, and even rented a car to drive here.

Slovenia is a pretty place, Ljubljana (pronounced “all right Rick, you got us”) is a moderate large city that has awoken in the last 25 years to cars and western dress. At the center of it is an area where cars are not allowed, and which contains fancy clothing stores, restaurants, one of them damned cathedrals (a small one), and three bridges over Ljubljanica River (designed by a famous local architect – if you want to know more, consult Steves. He’s all over Giolvanni Picco.)

Not to be too hard on Ljubljana, a nice place, a bustling city with a long history and many nice things to see and do. But the concept of our trip here, to see the area at the City Center with its shops and restaurants, was Stevism, silliness, a mistake. It is like deciding to visit Colorado, and instead of spending time in the Rockies, spending your whole trip at the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder.

Today we are heading north, if we can find our way out of here. This is the first time we’ve rented a car while traveling abroad. It is a mixed bag … we have freedom, but not really. We are bound to roadways with thousands of other cars. We waited for long periods yesterday due to line painting crews at work, backing up traffic for miles. I think that is known as “the illusion of progress.” Steven Weinberg, the astrophysicist, mentioned this. He noted that it takes as long now to drive from one side of Manhattan Island to the other as it did in the old days of horse and buggies.

We’ll head up to Lake Bled, another Steves recommendation, and with that in mind, will drive by it without stopping. We are all caught up on modern dress and modes of dining. Ideally, we’ll wander through the less well-known parts of The Julian Alps and Northern Italy, stopping who knows where for the night.

One very favorable thing to report to anyone wanting to travel Europe: Once we got out of Switzerland, it got very affordable. Fifty euros will get you through a whole day, including meals. Lodging is cheap. Yesterday we stopped at a grocery store and bought two bottles of wine, crackers and vegetables, and the bill was nine euros (about $7 $11). The wine is not top-shelf, but for my palate, fine wine is overkill. I cannot distinguish between a Cabernet and a Chevrolet. And frankly, in this part of the world, bad wine is a rarity.

Sorry, no photos to show. Consult Steves.

Morning in Cortina, Italy. A waiter last night asked me what a sophisticated urbanite like myself was doing in a rustic setting like this. I told him we’d be trekking in the nearby mountains. Also, I asked, where are your women?

The Geneva portion of our trip has two purposes, to reacquaint with our daughter, and get accustomed to the time change. We have done both, and have a good feeling about it. I now wake up as the sun rises, just like back home, my head full of surprises and ambition.

Yesterday we took a good long time to achieve the day’s goal, a swim in the Rhone. We managed to do other things, like a farmers’ market and long lunch eating food I’ve never eaten before. The menu was a wide variety of different things, like fish and shell food and weird things that grow here and there thrown them together with a spice or two. There was nothing familiar to fall back on so I ordered smoked salmon, uncooked, along with a mixture of salad, shrimp, tomatoes, avocado and other things I do not understand. It tasted good, took a long time to eat, and of course the wine complemented the meal to such a degree that I now better understand the popularity of wine. Club soda works as well, but wine is a complement to all the other favors and a relaxant. Only a small few drink it for its intoxicating powers.

The night before we sat with a view of Jet D’eau, Lake Geneva and Mount Blanc, with a full moon of course, and ate tapas – eight different dishes before us including figs, mangos, tuna, lamb, tofu … the meal was not to satisfy the appetite so much as the palate. American restaurants load you up with one or two things, pizza or beef and french fries, far more calories than we need. The French are more about dining than eating.

We did finally make it to the Rhone yesterday for a swim. I’ll add a photo or two later. It was an affair for the younger crowd, with hot young bodies displayed, swimsuits barely covering torsos, grabbing on to tight young asses and saying “naked” to the legal limit. The girls were pretty too.

I like to say things like that for my son’s benefit, getting all salacious only to disappoint him with latent homosexuality. Then he can cover his eyes and say “Dad! in the manner of Sylvester the cat’s son prior to putting a bag over his head and saying “Oh the shame if it.”

So we got to the place where the Rhone flows out of Lake Geneva, hit the water, icy cold, and quickly adapted and simply floated downstream to a dock where we climbed out, walked back and did it again. It was delightful. The water was clear and clean, the current fast enough to move us along without scaring us.

The average age was probably 22, hundreds of youth, so that our aging bodies were invisible to all but our own kind. There was one woman who was topless. She was everyone’s grandma, so used to being invisible that being topless in public seemed the natural thing to do. “Look away!” I thought.

We met a couple our age, Aussies, and much like us as possible. They are retired and traveling, fit and off to do the complete Mt. Blanc circuit, 100 miles over twelve days. They will be with a group. Both he and I eschew the group travel setting, as the slowest members always rule, but he was given no choice in the matter, and like me, will probably find the experience to be great fun. They are then off to Malta for “a change of pace” before returning to their home, a thirty hour journey by plane, including changes.

One more day here, and then we are off to Zermatt, the Matterhorn (for viewing, not climbing), and points beyond. The photos of yesterday’s event are on my wife’s iPhone. I’ll see if anything is worth reproducing later. I tried to avoid those tight young asses, and the young girls too, and capture the whole scene. We’ll see how it turned out.

We are off tomorrow on yet another journey of a lifetime. We have to do it while we can. This time we are off to Geneva, Zermatt, the Dolomites, Ljubljana, Florence, Cinque Terre, and finally Milan. It’s a return visit to Florence for us. That place, with its history and culture, is a magnet.

Once one the ground we’ll be using our favorite forms of transportation – our feet, and the amazing European train system.

I’ll probably be writing throughout. I don’t sleep a whole lot compared to other mortals and have time in the early morning for this purpose.
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This blog, more than anything, is my personal journal. I’ve been asked why I do not simply write and keep it under wraps, like a diary. I don’t get that at all. I have had to change my name to a nom de plume recently, as there are some nasty people out there. But understand, that has nothing to do with other bloggers or commenters, all of whom have good manners mostly, or just somewhat, like me.

Paul Marshall is my “porn name,” our middle name coupled with the street we were born on. If you were born on a numbered street, it’s a little more difficult, but do try it on your own … it usually sounds porny. I don’t know why.

My writings here go back to 2006, and the changes in my outlook during that time are a trip on a vine over a chasm – hoping like hell for a safe landing. Just asking a question leads to a whole new outlook. I know all about security in moderate views, how hiding from exposure to ugly truths leads to a more stable existence. However, once the question was asked, I was on the vine. The destination is no safer than a return journey.

I now have the ability to go back and review my own thoughts from 2006 to now, not knowing then where I was headed. I cringe at times, but am forgiving. It’s a journey.

Perhaps the greatest movie I have seen in my time was the Godfather, Part 2. But the best was Blazing Saddles, Mel Brooks’ masterpiece. Below is a scene encapsulating American politics. (Important back story for the viewer: the town is Rock Ridge, somewhere in the west. The townspeople are frightened by evildoers. Everyone in town shares the last name “Johnson,” and all of the Johnson’s support and agree all the other Johnson’s. There’s an ice cream store in the middle of the town with a large sign that says “Howard Johnson’s – One Flavor”.)

[Sorry about the ad, but this is The United States America, where advertisers are free to interrupt any gathering at any time for any purpose. Hell, they even get to target kids!]