“Excuse me, sir…I’m here for the clipboard job.”

Now that the Colt’s season is over, your Straight Gospel, No Chaser writers  can finally tell you what we were up to the week prior to the Super Bowl.  We feel totally comfortable in telling you that we, like many other starving artists, musicians and writers, felt the crunch of the economy as we fell into the role of Indiana’s unemployed.

Indiana’s unemployment rates have been hovering around 10 percent for a while now but that didn’t stop Charles and I from hitting the pavement in search of whatever gainful employment we could find.  We got a tip from an Indiana Workforce Development counselor to follow up on the dream job of a lifetime.  He said that he was telling us about this cush job in confidence, but when we arrived at the work-site there were nearly 400 people standing outside braving the cold.  He said the job was for men only, but we when we got there and surveyed the applicants, some of these men looked pretty suspicious.  That is to say, some of these supposed men forgot to take their pumps off, and we could have swore we saw a couple of these fakers breastfeeding.  Once, they got near to the front of the line they were found out by the facility staff  and were quickly whisked away.   We felt sorry for these women because they weren’t allowed to apply for the position.  We knew that the facility was practicing discrimination but neither Charles or I were about to raise any stink about it because we needed this job. There were only two positions available.  “Damn the women!” we thought to ourselves,”we need the money!”

The base salary for this position was unbelievable: a cool $900.000 with another bonus of $280,000 just for doing a good job. On top of this, the employer would furnish all our meals, air fare, hotel and other transportation cost,  if we went anywhere they wanted us to go.  Who on earth would turn down a job like this.  Charles and I did the numbers in our head; “That’s  about$1,180,000.”  We were so excited we could hardly keep our breakfast down.

“But, what do they want us to do?” Charles asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but unless they want us to smuggle dope, high grade uranium, or strap a freakin bomb to our chest, I’m in!”

“I’m with you, brother.”

The closer we got to the front door of the building, we could see name of the building coming more into focus:

Indianapolis Colts Complex 7001 West 56th Street

The facility was beautiful.  A young man smiled as we approached the desk.

“We’d like to apply for the clipboard positions,” I said.

“The job requires that you be able to stand on your feet for long periods of time,” he said. “Can you do that?”

“Yep.”

” How good are you acting abilities?”

“huh?”

“I mean, can you pretend like your doing something when you’re not?”

“We make a living at pretending like we’re doing something when we’re not, sir,” Charles said.

The man looked impressed.  There’s only one more test.  He gave us each of script to read and told us to make up our own hands signs.  I went first.

“Yabba- dabba Do, red-dog, red dog, doin the coal minor’s  daughter on 10.”

“Wonderful” he exclaimed.  “Your turn.” He motioned to Charles.

“Shimmy-shimmy, got jimmies, got jimmies,  knockin boots, on 1″

“Outstanding,” he said.  “I think you two are exactly what we’re looking for.  We’re looking to free up money for Peyton next season.  Anybody can do Sorgi’s and Painter’s job.  He paused for a second a thought over what he had just said, and then he added, “Well, not Painter’s job. He took one hell of a beating those last couple of games of the season.  We might keep him around next year. Anybody who can eat turf like that will take a bullet for you.  His face tightened up a bit. “But, that freakin Sorgi,” he said, “never got his uniform dirty.  The contract clearly states that the clipboard carrier must get his uniform dirty at least once a season.  Do you think you can handle eating dirt at least once?”

“We most certainly can, sir.”

“All right then,” he said.  This doesn’t mean you’ll get the jobs, but I will send your names on to management; they do the hiring.  Have a good day gentlemen.”

We left the Colt’s headquarters more excited than we had been in years.  “Stop here,” Charles said. He was pointing to Payless Liquors store.  “I want to celebrate this occasion with a drink.”  He was unusually giddy, grinning from ear to ear.”

“What are you smiling about,” I asked.

He pulled the clipboard from inside his jacket.  I couldn’t believe it.

“You kept their clipboard?”

“Sure,” he smiled.  “Just feel it.”  I ran my hands over the smooth plastic and shiny metal pen holder.

“You’re right,” I said.  “Feels like gold to me.  We’ll take turns walking around with it.  We might as well get use to it.  Something tells me, Sorgi might be out of a job.”

Your Straight Gospel, No Chaser writers

C.H. Wyatt & L.E. Coleman

*Done in the Spirit of Fun*

The Electric Car was no Hhhmmmbug… but who would listen?

His name is, Jacob Ziegler, and very few people in the U.S. are even aware of his existence. However, in 1976, Detroit Diesel Allison, a Division of the General Motors Corporation, and it’s Detroit and Indianapolis Operations facilities were very much aware of him because of his innovations in creating the first fully functional electric car in the Midwest and possibly the U.S.

With all this talk about revitalizing the automobile industry and the push toward inexpensive electric cars, we wonder if politicians are truly serious about taking the U.S. to the next level in the automobile and manufacturing industries.

For example, there was an article written earlier this month by Indianapolis Star writers, Ted Evanoff and Bruce Smith, titled, ‘Indiana’s plugged in to an auto revival.’ The article talked about the deal that was struck between the state of Indiana and Think City, a European car maker, to build an assembly plant in Elkhart Indiana which would create 415 new jobs.   Indiana Governor, Mitch Daniels, when speaking about how the state could become national center for the electric car revolution, said, “We’re here at the moment the revolution became clear.”  Actually, the revolution became clear before any of us ever heard of Mitch Daniels, Think City, clean fossil fuels or hybrids.   Even Popular Mechanics wrote about Jacob Ziegler and his amazing innovations in the electric car as early as March of ’77.’

At this point we want to take you back to November of 1976 where Jacob Ziegler gave an interview in Power News, a Detroit Diesel Allison plant newspaper.

Electric car no Hhhmmmbug

In the beginning, there was no Volectra.  There was, however, a Jake Ziegler, lathe operator at Maywood Plant 5, a man with energy and enthusiasm, who has always tinkered with things electronic, and who decided he would like to build an electric car.

“I don’t give up,” he says—and with two years and some help from his friends, he succeeded.

It’s registered as a “1976 model, two-door hardtop.”  The body, made of aluminum and conduit tubing, is painted bronze, with yellow lightning streaks on both sides.  Later it will have a “Hhhmmmbug” painted on the back because it was once a Volkswagen.  (You’d never know it now, Ziegler, who says he hates to follow plans anyway, likes to salvage the pieces for his projects from unlikely places—so a youth bed frame holds the windshield, and the headlights are set in fondue pots.)

“I don’t know how much it cost to make,” Ziegler says.  “Some parts were expensive—others were cheap, or free.  Some parts didn’t work out, and had to be replaced—often more than once.  Ziegler tried three motors before he found one that worked the way he wanted.  He had to try different sets of fuses, different kinds of pulleys, different batteries…

“I bought all the parts, and about two-thirds of the ideas were mine, but my neighbor helped.  He’s a welder, and on Saturdays we were able to get into the plant where he works and use some of the equipment.  We couldn’t have done it without that.”

Now,” it turns on a dime,” Ziegler points to a special button on the dashboard, “that lets me go slow.  Otherwise it’s quick as scat.”  He uses the button mostly in parking lots. “The motor’s so quiet, people don’t hear me coming.  It can be dangerous.  All they  hear is the sound of the tires on the pavement.”

There are gauges for amperage, voltage, and miles per hour on the dashboard too, and Ziegler also has a horn, radio and windshield wipers.

The Volectra shifts gears like any other car.  Ziegler estimates that in first gear the car gets up to 12 miles an hour, 20 in second gear, 30-33 in third, and 40-43 in fourth.

“Forty-six is the fastest I’ve driven it,” he says.  “but [performance] depends on a lot of things—the condition of the road, how much air is in the tires, the temperature (it’s always slower in the cold), how much I start and stop—but I always get home.  It’s not like a car that runs out of gas.  It goes more slowly, but I just keep shifting down, and I always get there.”

The batteries (6 volt, 225 amps each) take five of six hours to recharge with a standard AC-110 transformer.  Ziegler notes that his household electricity bill didn’t increase at all with the addition of his car.  He lives about 8 miles from Plant 5, and figures that the round trip might cost 15¢ if depreciation of the car is figured in with the cost of the electricity.

Ziegler finds his electric car “a lot more interesting than a regular car—and a pack of fun.”

“I get a lot of stares.  One day a little boy ran down the street after me, shouting, “did you build that?  Did you build that?’  Another time, I was driving to the bowling alley.  It still looked like a Volkswagen then, and every time I shifted, a relay light would spark beneath the car.  Since the bottom was open, people could see the flash.  All the cars stayed about a half block behind me, thinking I was going to explode!”

Ziegler is married, and has four daughters and one grandson.  A few of his daughters, and of course his grandson, have ridden in the Volectra—but not his wife.

As successful as he considers the Volectra, Ziegler is already thinking about building a new—and better—electric car, and he has a lot of ideas for it.  It seems like he’s thought of everything—even the use of solar energy (“too expensive right now”).

He explains himself with a reference to the eight years he spent working on a stereo system for his home: “ I sit around the house and watch that durn silly television.  I just want something else to do.” And he adds with a grin, “ I don’t drink; I don’t smoke; I don’t run around.”

Ziegler will have been in service with DDA 27 years in April.

We thought this story worth mentioning because maybe, just maybe, the Governor of Indiana, the general assembly of Indiana, the city council of Indianapolis and the wonderful citizens of the great state of Indiana might once and for all come to an agreement about what’s truly important not only for Indiana’s economic future but for the economic future of every state in our union.  EDUCATION!

Like him or hate him, we heard the president give a magnificent speech in his State of the Union address as he touched on our need to reinvest in our legacy, our children, by making education a top priority. We agree.  However,  in spite of our need to financially support K through 12 programs,  higher learning institutions and community college programs, the Governor of Indiana has took an completely opposite stance that does not really move us in the right direction.  If  Indiana needs spending cuts, anyone in their right mind knows that any freeze or cut cannot come at the expense of your children, your future innovators, your future taxpayers, your future college professors, engineers and the like.  Your Straight Gospel writers  believe our leaders must be both fiscally and morally responsible to our future generation.   In our opinion,  resting on the laurels of bringing 415 jobs into a city is like spray painting a glossy color over a rusty bicycle frame; pretty soon you’ll be right back at trying to cover the rust again, this time with a new color.  That is to say, the frame, the foundation, is your culprit– not the color of the cycle.  We’d like to see the governor and our legislative body get serious about educating our children, because we know our children are the innovators, the creators of a better tomorrow, a better Indiana.

Jacob Ziegler  is one of Indiana’s own and was born in Evansville Indiana.  He  has Alzheimer now and he is going on 90 years old.  He has an eighth grade education and he didn’t read his first novel  until around the age 67 or so.  He’s a “right brain” thinker, who learned to blend his faculty of comprehension and logic (characteristics  generally thought to be associated with the left brain hemisphere,)  beautifully for his creation of an electric car.  This, we believe, ties in perfectly to our little discussion here about  politics,  the president’s speech,  education, and spending cuts at the expense of children.

The state of Indiana is full of right brains thinkers.  These are they, like Jacob, who use their feelings and intuition more. In other words, they see the “big picture. Their imagination is uncanny, and they seem to know how objects function and have excellent spatial perceptions, they’re risk takers, believers, people with a firm grasp of the possibilities of making something out of a few parts, or something  out of nothing.  Jacob, with only an eight grade education, is a genius, and we wonder how many more geniuses are hidden in urban and rural areas across Indiana and the U.S?  We believe more than you can ever imagine.  However, we may never get to know their true genius or benefit from anything they have to offer if any program or curriculum associated with the arts and creativity are butchered.   If Indiana truly wants to be on the leading edge of any kind of revolution, the leaders of this great state must learn to invest in their own.   We cannot boast of bringing 415 jobs from overseas to Elkhart Indiana to build an electric car when we were sitting on top of  one of the greatest minds in Indiana who long prepared the way for the electric car revolution.  How long will we chew on the fat, the sizzle, and not the steak?  At this point, we’re not sure of whether our political leaders are right brain or left brain–perhaps there’s no brain at all.  We’re still waiting to see signs of cognition.

Your Straight Gospel, No Chaser writers

L.E. Coleman & C.H. Wyatt

GIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Link to Donate: http://www.redcross.org

Pat Robertson and his Amazing SeerSucker Teleportation Suit

“What’s this?!  Are you kidding me?!  I’m terribly offended by the title of this blog and your remarks, sir “one woman said. She continued, “Pat Robertson doesn’t speak for me, and I’m a Christian!”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” I said, “you Christians are too touchy-feely.  But,answer me this, my good lady: You do believe in the devil, don’t you?”
“Yes, I believe in the Devil. The bible says there’s a devil,” she said.
“Ever met him?”
“No, I’ve never met him. What kind of question is that?”
“I was just wondering, that’s all.”
” Do you believe in aliens, mind control, teleportation,  and things that go bump in the night… those kinds of things?”
“What are you trying to get at?”
“Pat Robertson believes in those kinds of things–well at least, the teleportation thing.”
“I’m not listening to any more of this,” she said.
” Just hold on a minute,” I said. I coaxed her into staying with me a little longer.
“Did you know that Pat Robertson has been around since the 1700’s?”
“I told you, I don’t have time for this.”
“Listen,” I said, “Pat teleported himself back to the time of Napoleon during the French’s occupation of Haiti. He hung there in the sky in a shining white Seersucker suit. No Haitian could see him because of the brilliance of the suit and his glory. He was given a panoramic view of the whole country, and it was there, from the lofty peaks of the gods, that he witnessed the coming together of about 700,000 Haitians (actually African slaves). They emerge from their huts at the bewitching hour. These people, according to Pat, invoked Lucifer that day. As Pat puts it: (because he can remember it so clearly as if it were yesterday)”…they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said,’we will serve you if you get us free from the French.’ True story,” he said.
“I don’t believe that nonsense,” the woman said.
“There’s more,” I said.
“Lucifer,” according to Pat, said, ‘Okay, it’s a deal’.  “Clearly,” I said, “the devil is no fool when it comes to capitalistic business ventures. I might have took that kind of deal myself.”
“That’s a preposterous story!” the woman exclaimed.
“What’s preposterous;that the devil has keen intellect and shrewd business sense, or Pat’s teleportation and paranormal abilities?”
“Everything,” she said, “I’m almost ashamed to call myself a Christian.”
“Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water,” I said. The teachings of Jesus will last forever. Unfortunately some of his children are insane, but us unbelievers still love them.”

Your Straight Gospel, No Chaser writers leave you with the following excerpt taken from a dialog between Operation Blessing President, Bill Horan and CBN founder Pat Robertson, on the earthquake in Haiti.

Horan:”Pat, this is a calamity of cataclysmic proportions…I’m sure it’s the worst thing that has happened since the tsunami and its..its a mess Pat.”

Pat:”If all the building are down…I understand more are fallen than standing…this may be a blessing in disguise.There might be a massive rebuilding of that country, is that possible?”

“Wow!” Enough said.

Your Straight Gospel, No Chaser writers
C.H.Wyatt & L.E. Coleman

HAITI

Matthew:20….teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.

C H WYATT / L. E. COLEMAN

REQUIEM FOR ANGELS

Remember you are only what you feel my son. Pain lives in you as darkness exists, in night! BE STRONG!! Words to us are flowers on the wind.They are heard by us like prays, speak on. Believing that we care, senseless thoughts that happen just to us. Blood now runs form bodies crushed and broken. Under stones so heavy that their grace is that life goes so fast that the pain is gone. But the heartbreak endures.Sorrow is the wind that spreads the smell of death across the land, so we who can, remember them.LOST ON SOME FAR AWAY LAND WHERE MEN USE MY NAME AND CALL ME GOD, I SAY THESE WORDS!  ”NO MAN CAN KNOW THE MIND OF GOD!”  Tears fall down faces and run like rivers to the sea. The sea of shit that soars threw airwaves, about compassion is disingenuous at best. Hollow Cry’s of those who profit off the misery of fallen angels, their wings too soon broken now swimming in rivers of blood.The future casts, on all of us a shadow grim and long.To mourn things we could have done a long time ago, brave men in ivory towers with power looked on a poor and barren place and just said NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! CHWYATT/L.E.CLOEMAN

TIMES OUT!!

C H Wyatt 1992-copyrighted

Loving the Alien

C H Wyatt 2007

Sea Horses

C H Wyatt 2008

But was it a dream?

I try to be helpful around the house and late last night, I decided to help my girl out and do the laundry. I gathered up our basket of clothes and headed for the basement. As I reached the kitchen door that led down the stairs, I stopped momentarily to grasp the knob and it occurred to me she never washes clothes except in the daytime. Oh well maybe she just has more time then, and I dismissed the thought instantly. I stepped through the door frame down on to the first step, flipped the light on for the stairs, and closed the door behind me. Three more steps and I’m standing on the landing facing the back door. I reached over, flipped on the basement light, switched off the stairwell light, then turned to my right to start down the steps. 10 to go. Just as I reached the second one, all the lights in the basement went out. Standing there in the darkness, I started to reach for the light switch, when the air around me began to grow cold, very cold. About then I could sense something coming closer in the dark. Damn, what a freaking helpless feeling, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face right now. My skin began to crawl and the hair on my arms stood up. Right then I knew whatever it was, was right on steps with me. I could feel the air moving. Not like a breeze, but like someone or something breathing on me, within mere inches of me. I froze with fear, dropping the basket down the steps, only to hear the thing shuffle and grunt. Again I felt its breath, but this time it was much, much closer to my face, warm and moist like a panting animal, sniffing me like I was gonna be its next meal. I’m not even sure at this point I want the lights to come on. It stopped panting and sniffing. I closed my eyes. Dead silence ensued for what seemed forever, on that step. Then, without warning, it let out a vile, creature of Hell half scream, half growl, right in my face as its warm breath took my own breath away. The last thing I remember is my body crumpling under me.
When I awoke, I was in bed, my girl sitting on the edge next to me smiling. I asked her how I got there. She looked at me funny and said “You were in bed when I got home, but you must have been having a bad dream. You were rolling around and swatting at something, that’s what you get for eating pizza, Doritos, and beer, and then going right to sleep.”
The next day, I walked down into the basement with my girl.  At the bottom of the steps, she turned to me and said “If you don’t want to wash the clothes, that’s ok, but you don’t have to toss the basket down the steps”.  She turned back around, and went over and gathered them up. That’s when I knew it wasn’t a dream.  By the way, I no longer go in the basement after dark either!
C H WYATT and L E COLEMAN