Many years ago - even longer ago than the time that I referred to in starting a recent blog, which was to a time in the early Sixties; this reference goes back to the mid-Fifties - I was living, for a year, in New York City, and more precisely in mid-town Manhattan; and even more precisely (in this version of a Google map being homed in on) in a cheap hotel a couple of blocks west of Times Square. I understood later that the area was, is called Hell’s Kitchen. In the event, I didn’t have a kitchen, was living in a single small room. Fit for what I found out after I had been living there for awhile was apparently mostly a ‘quickie' trade, or at the most, an overnight. I am talking hookers here, in an at-the-time unbeknownst-to-me Red Light District. Which I have a tale to tell about as well. But for this particular blog, I just referred to all this to indicate that My Year In Manhattan was a very down-and-out one, in which, for pertinent example, I didn’t have enough money to be able to afford going to the Broadway Shows that littered the area, with their classy entertainment. Instead, I would do such things as catch the occasional cheap movie on 42nd Street, or spend a quarter or two listening to the jukebox of all operatic music in an alcove of shops leading to the subway on that street, or either walk or take the subway down to the southern tip of the island and ride - for twenty-five cents - the Staten Island ferry over and back (passing close to the Statue of Liberty on the return trip; and enjoying the feeling of the salty wind in my face on both legs of the short journey). Or - as I usually did - spend the evening in the nearby Main Library, reading everything I could locate in their stacks of a religious or spiritual (or ‘Spiritism’) or ancient history nature, supplemented with whatever they had regarding ESP and UFOs.* All of which was the reason not only for my locating close to what is apparently known as the Tenderloin District, within walking distance of said library, but for going to NYC in the first place. All the way across the continent, from my home in Southern California. Wanting, after having dropped out of my pre-Med studies in university (at Stanford U, in upstate California), from a ‘spiritual experience,’ to go to what I figured must be ‘the largest public library in the Western world;’ to read everything that it had in its stacks on said subject areas. (Which I did, for said year. And then the U.S. government caught up with me, on my spiritual odyssey, and, er, invited me to spend two years of military service with, and for, Uncle Sam. Another story.) But to get to another of my ‘cheap entertainment’ options during my time in that period of time, which gets me back to the subject of this blog.
As background to this part of this story: When I was back in my hometown planning my trip all the way across the country to do my investigatory ‘thing,’ I happened to find out that one of my former high school fraternity mates, a year ahead of me, was going at that time to Columbia U, in NYC, for some particular course or other, and I was given his phone number, for help when I arrived in The Big Apple. Which I did, and which he did; and in the course of his giving me a short tour of the campus before I went My Way, he, for some reason or other that I have forgotten, showed me where there was a sort of siting room where nobody asked questions of whoever was there, using the facilities, including watching the telly. One evening, taking advantage of that ’offer,’ I got watching a drama series with weekly guest stars, this one featuring Jack Lemmon, then close to the beginning of what would turn out to be his illustrious career. In the story he portrayed a kidding-around type of guy, friendly - all-around Nice Guy, who somehow got involved in being a suspect in a murder. The script - and his part - portrayed him as a totally innocent person in the matter, which fact would, sooner or later, become confirmed, and he would be able to go on his merry way. But the detective on the case was a very thoughtful kind of guy, who doggedly kept on asking the Lemmon character questions about his movements relative to the crime in question. To the point where the Lemmon character, somewhat startingly to the watching audience, got unmasked in The End.
We come now to this time and place, and the ‘character’ known to the world as Barack Hussein Obama. All-around Mr. Nice Guy. Innocent as heck. Which observation turns out, on closer inspection, to be, rather,
guilty as hell.
As various facts come out, regarding his time in the Oval Office, and before he went out that door for the last time.
.
Facts, of a very traitorous nature.
Very.
What?! Barry?! I hear the response.
Yes. Barry. Whatever his real family name is. That Barry.
Who will get his, in The End. Because
the universe has Purpose. And that purpose is
Good.
And we will live by
Truth.
And compassion, yes.
But Truth above all. Because that is the very nature of
The Point of it all.
—
* And alternative treatments for cancer. Even at that early time. A sore subject if there ever was one.
But to continue.
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