I relish being reinforced about the tangible blessings from our hazy past when our nation's founders secured our rights. But when I initially received my notice for jury duty. I hadn't expected the lesson. On a personal appointment popularity graph, being summoned for jury duty probably ranks somewhere between root canal and a colonoscopy. I joked with my regular Friday lunch gang whose company I would miss because of my appearance day, that I was planning to wear my "Guilty, Guilty, Guilty!" T-shirt in hopes of being eliminated for the estimated five-day trial.
If a former Minot Air Force Base commander has influence with a new book, UFO won't just stand for Unidentified Flying Object, but Undisclosed Federal Obfuscation, as well. Capt. David Schindele, a missile launch crew commander in 1966, claims a UFO disabled 10 nuclear-tipped missiles under his watch. If you're like me, you hate when that happens. But, it's a great excuse. The UFOs took my missiles has much more gravitas than the dog ate my homework.
This week I'm reminiscing about Yogi Berra's letter to me. Roger Maris, whose annual celebrity golf tournament is nigh in Fargo, is my story's central character responsible for that happy piece of mail from another New York Yankee great. In 1998, I had an ancillary role in a Forum team that was preparing to honor the Maris 37-year old home run record (overtaken from Babe Ruth in 1961) when it appeared sadly inevitable to be purloined by St. Louis Cardinal Mark McGwire.