text:
The End of Devil Hawker
The End of Devil Hawker is a short story written by Arthur Conan Doyle first published in The Saturday Evening Post on 23 august 1930.
3 The End of Devil Hawker
3.2 II
in The Saturday Evening Post (23 august 1930 [US]) 3 illustrations by Orison MacPherson
in The Strand Magazine (november 1930 [UK]) 5 ill. by F. E. Hiley
Illustrations by Orison MacPherson in The Saturday Evening Post (23 august 1930)
There is a full-length coloured print which shows him to be tall and magnificently proportioned, with broad shoulders, slim waist, clad in a tightly-buttoned green coat, buckskin breeches and high Hessian boots.
With a bitter curse, he realised that however imprudent Jakes had been, he had not been such a fool as to carry his papers about with him.
"To wait until the oaks are cut," said Hawker. "In September I shall present my little bill. Meanwhile, perhaps a note of hand—"
Illustrations by F. E. Hiley in The Strand Magazine (november 1930)
"My God!" cried Trevor, and staggered as he rose from his seat. "I thought I had cleared myself, and now it is six thousand."
Jakes pulled a pack of cards from his pocket and singled one out. "That's the pack. Look at the ace. You can see the mark yet."
The Duke drew the pen across the page. Hawker sprang frantically to his feet. "Good Go, sir, you cannot mean it! Consider, sir, this is social ruin!"
The Saturday Evening Post (23 august 1930, p. 3)
The Saturday Evening Post (23 august 1930, p. 67)
There is a fascinating little print shop around the comer of Drury Lane. When you pass through the old oaken doorway and into the dim dusty interior, you seem to have wandered into some corridor leading back through time, for on every side of you are the pictures of the past. But very specially I value that table on the left where lies the great pile of portrait prints heaped up in some sort of order of date: There you see the pictures of the men who stood round the throne of the young Victoria, of Melbourne, of Peel, of Wellington, and then you come on the D'Orsay and Lady Blessington period, and the long and wonderful series of H.B., the great, unknown John Doyle, who, in his day, was a real power in the land. Farther back still you come on the bucks and prize fighters of the Regency — the pompous Jackson, the sturdy Cribb, the empty Brummel, the chubby Alvanley. And then you may chance upon a face which you cannot pass without a second and a longer look. It is a face which Mephistopheles might have owned; thin, dark, keen, with bushy brows and fierce, alert eyes which glare out from beneath them. There is a full-length coloured print which shows him to be tall and magnificently proportioned, with broad shoulders, slim waist, clad in a tightly-buttoned green coat, buckskin breeches and high Hessian boots. Below is the inscription: "Sir John Hawker" — and that is the Devil Hawker of the legends.
In his short but vivid career, the end cf which is here outlined, Hawker was the bully of the town. The bravest shrank away from the angry, insolent glare of those baleful eyes. He was a famous swordsman and a remarkable pistol shot — so remarkable that three times he starred the kneecap of his man; the most painful injury which he could inflict. But above all, he was the best amateur boxer of his day, and had he taken to the ring it is likely that be would have made a name. His hitting is said to have been the most ferocious ever seen, and it was his amusement to try out novices at Cribb's rooms, which were his favorite haunt, and to teach them how to stand punishment. It gratified his pride to show his skill, and his cruel nature to administer pain to others. It was in these very rooms of Cribb that this little sketch of those days opens, where, as on a marionette stage, I would try to show you what manner of place it was and what manner of people walked London in those full·blooded, brutal and virile old days.
First as to the place. It is at the corner of Panton Street, and you see over a broad, red-curtained door the sign, "Thomas Cribb. Dealer in Liquor and Tobacco," with "The Union Arms" printed above. The door leads into a tiled passage which opens on the left into a common bar behind which save on special evenings, a big, bull·faced, honest John Bull of a man may be seen with two assistants of the sparring-partner type, handing out refreshment and imbibing gratis a great deal more than was good for their athletic figures. Already Tom is getting a waistline which will cause his trainer and himself many a weary day at his next battle: if , indeed, the brave old fellow has not already come to the last or his fights, when he defended the honor or England by breaking the cast-iron jaw of Molyneaux, the black.
If, instead of turning into the common bar, you continue down the passage, you find a green-baize door with the word "Parlour" printed across one upper panel of glass. Push it open and you are in a room which is spacious and comfortable. There is sawdust on the floor, numerous wooden armchairs, round tables for the card players, a small bar presided over by Miss Lucy Stagg, a lady who had been accused of many things, but never of shyness, in the corner, and a fine collection of sporting pictures round the walls. At the back were swing doors with the words "Boxing Saloon" printed across them, leading into a large bare apartment, with a roped ring in the centre, and many pairs of gloves hanging upon the wall, belonging, for the most part, to the Corinthians who came up to have lessons from the champion, whose classes were only exceeded by those of Gentleman Jackson in Bond Street.
It was early in the particular evening of which I speak, and there was no one in the parlour save Cribb himself, who expected the quality that night, and was cleaning up in anticipation. Lucy wiped glasses languidly in her little bar. Beside the entrance door was a small, shriveled weasel of a man, Billy Jakes by name, who sat behind a green-baize table, in receipt of custom as a bookmaker, dog-fancier or cock supplier — a privilege for which he paid Tom a good round sum every year. As no customers had appeared, he wandered over to the little bar.
"Well, things are quiet tonight, Lucy."
She looked up from polishing her glasses.
"I expect they will be more lively soon, Mr. Jakes. It is full early."
"Well, Lucy, you look very pretty tonight. I expect I shall have to marry you yet."
"La, Mr. Jakes, how you do carry on!"
"Tell me, Lucy; do you want to make some money?"
"Everyone wants that, Mr. Jakes."
"How much can you lay your hands on?"
"I dare say I could find fifty pounds at a pinch."
"Wouldn't you like to turn it into a hundred?"
"Why, of course I would."
"It's Saracesca for the Oaks. I'd give you two to one, which is better than I give the others. She's a cert it ever there is one."
"Well, if you say so, Mr. Jakes. The money is upstairs in my box. But if you can really turn it into—"
Fortunately, honest Tom Cribb had been within earshot of this little debate, and he now caught the man roughly by the sleeve and twirled him in the direction of his table.
"You dirty dog; doing the poor girl out of her hard-earned savings!"
"All right, Tom. Only a joke! Only Billy Jakes' little joke!... I wouldn't have let you lose. Lucy!"
"That's enough," said Tom. "Don't you heed him, Lucy. Keep your money in your box."
The green swing-door opened and a number of bucks, in black coats, brown coats, green coats and purple, came filing into the room. The shrill voice of Jakes was at once uplifted and his clamour filled the air.
"Now, my noble sportsmen," he cried, "back your opinions! There is a bag of gold waiting, and you have only to put your hands in. How about Woodstock for the Derby? How about Saracesca for the Oaks? Four to one! Four to one! Two to one, bar one!"
The Corinthians gathered for a moment round the bookie's table, for his patter amused them.
"Lots of time for that, Jakes," said Lord Rulton, a big bluff county magnate and landowner.
"But the odds are shorter every day. Now's your time, my noble gamesters! Now's the time to sow the seed! Gold to be had for the asking, waitin' there for you to pick up. I like to pay it. It pleases me to see happy faces round me. I like to see them smiling Now's your time."
"Why, half the field may scratch before the race," said Sir Charles Trevor — the imperturbable Charles, whose estate has been sucked dry by its owner's wild excesses.
"No race, no pay. The old firm gives every gamester a run for his money. The knowing ones are all on to it. Sir John Hawker has five hundred on Woodstock."
"Well, Devil Hawker knows what he is about," said Lord Annerley, a dashing young Corinthian.
"Have fifty on the filly for the Oaks, Lord Ruffton. Four to one?"
"Very good, Jakes," said the nobleman handing out a note. "I suppose I shall find you after the race."
"Sitting here at this table, my lord. Old established place of business. You've got a certainty, my lord."
"Well," said a young Corinthian, "if it is as certain as that, I'll have fifty too."
"Right, my noble sportsman I book it at three to one."
"I thought it was four."
"It was four. Now it is three. You't lucky to get before it is two. Will you take your winnings in paper or gold?"
"Well, in gold."
"Very good, sir. You'll find me waiting at this table with a bag of gold at ten by the clock on the day after the race. It will be in a green-baize bag with a grip, so you can easily carry it. By the way, I've got a fighting cock that's never been beat. Would any of you gentlemen—"
But the door ad swung open and Sir John Hawker's handsome figure and sinister face filled the gap. The others moved towards the small bar Hawker paused a moment at the bookie's table.
"Hullo, Jakes; doing some fool out of their money as usual?"
"Tut, tut, Sir John, you should know me by now."
"Know you, you rascal! You have had a cool two thousand out of me from first to last I know you too well."
"All you want is to persevere. You'll soon have it all back, Sir John."
"Hold your tongue, I say. I have had enough."
"No offense, my noble sportsman. But I have a brindled terrier down at the stable that's the best of rats in London."
"I wonder he hasn't had a nip at you then. Hullo, Tom."
Cribb had come forward as usual to greet his Corinthian guests.
"Good evening, Sir John. Going to put them on to-night?"
"Well, I'll see. What have you got?"
"Half a dozen up from old Bristol. That place is as full of milling coves as a bin is of bottles."
"I may try one of them over."
"Then play light. Sir John. You cracked the ribs of that lad from Lincoln. You broke his heart for fighting."
"It may as well be broke early as late. What's the use of him if he can't take punishment?"
Several more men had come into the room; one of them exceedingly drunk, another just a little less so. They were two of the Tom-and-Jerry clique who wandered day and night on the old round from the Haymarket to Panton Street and St. James, imagining that they were seeing life. The drunken one — a young hawbuck from the shires — was noisy and combative. His friend was trying to put some term to their adventures.
"Come, George," he coaxed, "we'll just have one drink here. Then one at the Dive and one at the Cellars, and wind up with broiled bones at Mother Simpson's."
The name of the dish started ideas in the drunken man's head. He staggered in the direction of the landlord. "Broiled bones!" he cried. "D'you hear? I want broiled bones! Fetch me dish — large dish — of broiled bones this instant — under pain — displeasure."
Cribb, who was well accustomed to such visitors, continued his conversation with Hawker without taking the slightest notice. They were discussing a possible opponent for old Tom Shelton, the navvy, when George broke in again.
"Where the devil's those broiled bones? Here, landlord! Ole Tom Cribb! Tom, give me large dish broiled bones this instant , or I punch your old head." As Cribb still took not the faintest heed, George became more bellicose.
"No broiled bones!" he cried. "Very good! Prepare defend yourself!"
"Don't hit him, George!" cried his more sober companion in alarm. "It's the champion."
"It's a lie. I am the champion. I'll give him smack in the chops. See if I don't."
For the first time Cribb turned a slow eye in his direction.
"No dancin' allowed here, sir," he said.
"I'm not dancing. I'm sparring."
"Well , don't do it, whatever it is."
"I'm going to fight you. Going to give old Tom a smack in the chops."
"Some other time, sir, I'm busy."
"Where're those bones? Last time of asking."
"What bones? What is he talkin' of?"
"Sorry, Tom, but have to give you good thrashing. Yes, Tom, very sorry, but must have lesson."
He made several wild strokcs in the air, quite out of distance, and finally fell upon his knees. His friend picked him up.
"What d'you want to be so foolish for, George?"
"I had him nearly beat."
Tom looked reproachfully at the soberer friend. "I am surprised at you, Mr. Trelawney."
"Couldn't help it, Tom. He would mix port and brandy."
"You must take him out."
"Come on, George; you've got to go out."
"Got to go! No, sir; round two, Come up smilin'. Time!"
Tom Cribb gave a sign and a stalwart potman threw the pugnacious George over his shoulder and carried him out of the room, kicking violently, while his friend walked behind. Cribb laughed.
"There's seldom an evening that I don't have that sort of nuisance."
"They would not do it twice to me," said Hawker. "I'd send him home, and his wench wouldn't know him."
"I haven't the heart to touch them. It pleases the poor things to say they have punched the champion of England."
The room had now begun to fill up. At one end a circle had formed round the bookie's table, On the other side there was a group at the small private bar where very broad chaff was being exchanged between some of the younger bucks and Lucy, who was well able to take care of herself. Cribb had gone inside the swing doors to prepare for the boxing, while Hawker wandered from group to group, leaving among these fearless men, hard-riding horsemen of the shires and dare-devils at every sport, a vague feeling of repulsion which showed itself in a somewhat formal response to his brief greetings. He paused at one chattering group and looked sardonically at a youth who stood somewhat apart listening to, but not joining in, the gay exchange of repartee. He was a well-built young man with a singularly beautiful head, crowned by a mass of auburn curls. His figure might have stood for Adonis, were it not that one foot was slightly drawn up, which caused him to wear a rather unsightly boot.
"Good evening, Hawker," said he.
"Good evening, Byron. Is this one of your hours of idleness?"
The allusion was to a book of verse which the young nobleman had just brought out, and which had been severely handled by the critics.
The poet seemed annoyed, for he was sensitive on the point.
"At least I cannot be accused of idleness today," said he. "I swam three miles downstream from Lambeth, and perhaps you have not done so much."
"Well done!" said Hawker. "I hear of you at Angelo's, and Jackson's, too. But fencing needs a quick foot. I 'd stick to the water if I were you." He glanced down at the malformed limb.
Byron's blue-gray eyes blazed with indignation.
"When I wish your advice as to my personal habits, Sir John Hawker, I will ask for it."
"No harm meant," said Hawker carelessly. "I am a blunt fellow and always say what I think."
Lord Rufton plucked at Byron's sleeve. "That's enough said," he whispered.
"Of course," added Hawker, "if anyone does not like my ways, they can always find me at White's Club or my lodgings in Charles Street."
Byron, who was utterly fearless, and ready, though he was still only a Cambridge undergraduate, to face any man in the world, was about to make some angry reply in spite of the well-meant warnings of Lord Rufton, when Tom Cribb came bustling in and interrupted the scene.
"All ready, my lords and gentlemen. The fighting men are in their place. Jack Scroggins and Ben Burn will begin."
The company began to move towards the door of the sparring saloon. As they filed in, Hawker advanced quietly and touched the reckless baronet, Sir Charles Trevor, upon the shoulder.
"I must have a word with you, Charles."
"I want to get a ringside seat, John."
"Never mind that. I must have a word."
The others passed in. Devil Hawker and Sir Charles had the room to themselves, save for Jakes, counting his money at his distant table, and the girl, Lucy, coming and going in her little alcove. Hawker led Sir Charles to a central seat.
"I have to speak to you, Charles, of that three thousand you owe me. It pains me vastly, but what am I to do? I have my own debts to settle, and it is no easy matter."
"I have the matter in hand, John."
"But it presses"
"I'll pay it all right. Give me time."
"What time?"
"We are cutting the oaks at Selincourt. They should all be down by the autumn. I can get an advance then that will clear all that I owe you."
"I don't want to press you, Charles. If you would like a sporting flutter to clear your debt, I'm ready to give It to you at once."
"Well, double or quits. Six thousand or nothing. If you're not afraid to take a chance, I'll let you have one."
"Afraid, John. I don't like that word."
"You were always a brave gamester, Charles. Just as you like in the matter. But you might clear yourself with a turn of the card, while, on the other hand, if all the Selincourt timber is going, six thousand will be no more to you than three."
"Well, it's a sporting offer, John. You say the turn of a card. Do you mean one simple draw?"
"Why not? Sudden death. Win or lose. What say you?"
"I agree."
A pack of cards was lying on a near-by table. Hawker stretched out a long arm and picked them up.
"Will thee do?"
"By all means."
He spread them out with a sweep of his hand.
"Do you care to shuffle?"
"No, John. Take them as they are."
"Shall it be a single draw?"
"Will you lead?"
Sir Charles Trevor was a seasoned gambler, but never before had three thousand pounds hung upon the turn of a single card. But he was a reckless plunger, and roared with laughter as he turned up the queen of clubs.
"That should do you, John."
"Possibly," said Hawker, and turned the ace of spades.
"I thought I had cleared myself, and now it is six thousand," cried Trevor, and staggered as he rose from his seat.
"Do you doubt my word, John!"
"No, no, Charles, but business is business. Who knows what may happen? I'll have a note of hand."
"Very good. You'll have it by the post tomorrow. Well, I bear no grudge. The luck was yours. Shall we have a glass upon it?"
"You were always a brave loser, Charles." The two men walked together to the little bar in the corner.
Had either looked back he would have seen a sight which would have surprised him. During the whole incident the little bookmaker had sat absorbed over his accounts, but with a pair of piercing eyes glancing up every now and then at the two gamblers. Little of their talk had been audible from where he sat, but their actions had spoken for themselves. Now, with amazing, but furtive, speed he stole across, picked up one card from the table and hurried back to his perch, concealing it inside his coat. The two gentlemen, having taken their refreshment, turned toward the boxing saloon; Sir Charles disappearing through the swing-door, from behind which came the thud of heavy blows, the breathing of hard-spent men, and every now and then a murmur of admiration or of criticism.
Hawker was about to follow his companion when a thought struck him and he returned to the card table, gathering up the scattered cards. Suddenly he was aware that Jakes was at his elbow and that two very shrewd and malignant eyes were looking up into his own.
"Hadn't you best count them, my noble sportsman?"
"What d'you mean?" The Devil's great black brows were drawn down and his glance was like a rapier-thrust.
"If you count them you'll find one missing."
"Why are you grinning at me, you rascal?"
"One card missing, my noble sportsman. A good winning card, too — the ace of spades. A useful card, Sir John."
"Where is it, then?"
"Little Billy Jakes has It. It's here" — and he slapped his breast pocket. "A little playing card with the mark of a thumbnail on one corner of the back."
"You Infernal blackguard!"
Jakes was no coward , but he shrank away from that terrible face. "Hands off, my noble sportsman! Hands off, for your own sake! You can knock me about. That's easily done. But it won't end there. I've got the card. I could call back Sir Charles and fill this room in a jiffy. There would be an end of you, my beauty."
"It's all a lie — a lie."
"Right you are. Say so, if you like. Shall I call in the others, and you can prove it a lie? Shall I show the cards to Lord Rufton and the rest?"
Hawker's dark face was moving convulsively. His hands were twitching with his desire to break the back of this little weasel across his knee. With an effort, he mastered himself.
"Hold on, Jakes. We have always been great friends. What do you want? Speak low or the girl will hear."
"Now, that's talking. You got six thousand just now. I want half."
"You want three thousand pounds. What for?"
"You're a man of sense. You know what for. I've a tongue, and I can hold it if it's worth my while."
Hawker considered for a moment. "Well, suppose I agree."
"Then we can fix it so."
"Say no more. We will consider it as agreed."
He turned away, his mind full of plans by which he could gain time and disavow the whole business. But Jakes was not a man so easily fooled. Many people had found that to their cost.
"Hold on, my noble sportsman. Hold on an instant. Just a word of writing to settle it."
"You dog, is my word not enough?"
"No, Sir John, not by a long way... No, if you hit me I'll yell. Keep your hands off. I tell you I want your signature to it."
"Not a word."
"Very good then. It's finished." Jakes started for the door of the saloon.
"Hold hard! What am I to write?"
"I'll do the writing." He turned to the little alcove where Lucy, who was accustomed to every sort of wrangling and argument, was dozing among her bottles.
"Here, my dear; wake up! I want pen and ink."
"Yes, sir."
"And paper?"
"There is a billhead. Will that do? Dearie me, it's marked with wine!"
"Never mind; that will do."
Jakes seated himself at a table and scribbled while Hawker watched him with eyes of death. Jakes walked over to him with the scrawl completed. Hawker read it over in a low mutter:
"'In consideration of your silence—'" He paused and glared.
"Well, that's true, ain't it? You don't give me half for the love of William J akes, Esquire, do you now?"
"Curse you, Jakes! Curse you to hell!"
" Let it out my noble sportsman. Let it out or you'll bust. Curse me again. Then sign that paper."
"'The sum of three thousand pounds, to be paid on the date when there is a settlement between me and Sir Charles Trevor.' Well, give me the pen and have done. There! Now give me that card."
Jakes had thrust the signed paper into his inner pocket.
"Give me the card, I say!"
"When the money is paid, Sir John. That's only fair."
"You devil!"
"Can't find the right word, can you? It'll not been invented yet, I expect."
Jakes may have been very near his death at that moment. The furious passions of the bully had reached a point when even his fears of exposure could hardly hold him in check. But the saloon door had swung open and Cribb entered the room. He looked with surprise at the ill-assorted couple.
"Now, Mr. Jakes, time is up, you know. You've passed your hours."
"I know, Tom, but I had an important settling-up with Sir John Hawker. Had I not, Sir John?"
"You've missed the first bout, Sir John. Come and see Jack Randall take a novice."
Hawker took a last scowl at the book-maker and followed the champion into the saloon. Jakes gathered up his papers into his professional bag and went across to the little bar.
"A double brandy, my dear," said he to Lucy. "I've had a good evening, but it's been a bit of a strain upon my nerves."
IT WAS late in September that the grand old ancestral oaks of Selincourt were given over to the contractor, and that their owner, having at last a large balance at his bankers', was able to redeem the more pressing of his debts. It was only a day later that Sir John Hawker, with Sir Charles' note of hand for six thousand pounds in his pocket, found himself riding down the highroad at Six-Mile Bottom near Newmarket. His mount was a great black stallion as powerful and sinister as himself. He was brooding over his own rather precarious affairs, which involved every shilling which he could raise, when there was the click of hoofs beside him and there was Billy Jakes upon his well- known chestnut cob.
"Good evening, my noble sportsman," said he. "I was looking out for you at the stables, and when I saw you ride away, I thought it was time to come after you. I want my settlement, Sir John."
"What settlement? What are you talking of?"
"Your written promise to pay three thousand. I know you have had your money."
"I don' t know what you are talking about. Keep clear of me or you will get a cut or two from this hunting crop."
"Oh, that's the game, is it? We will see about that. Do you deny your signature upon this paper?"
"Have you the paper on you?"
"What's that to you?"
"It was not wise, Billy Jakes, to trust yourself alone upon a country road with one of the most dangerous men in England. For once your cupidity has been greater than your shrewdness."
A quick glance of those deadly, dark eyes to right and to left, and then the heavy hunting crop came down with a crash upon the bookmaker's head. With a cry, he dropped from the cob, and he had hardly reached the ground before the Devil had sprung from the saddle, and, with his left arm through his bridle rein to hold down his plunging horse, he was rapidly running his right hand through the pockets of the protrate man. With a bitter curse, he realised that however imprudent Jakes had been, he had not been such a fool as to carry his papers about with him.
Hawker rose, looked down at his half-conscious enemy, and then slowly drew his spur across his face. A moment later he had sprung into his saddle and was on his way London-wards, leaving the sprawling and bleeding figure in the dust of the highway. He laughed with exultation as he rode, for vengeance was sweet to him, and he seldom missed it. What could Jakes do? If he took him into the criminal courts, it was only such an assault as was common enough in those days of violence. If, on the other hand, he pursued the matter of the card and the agreement, it was an old story now, and who would take the word of the notorious bookmaker against that of one of the best-known men in London! Of course, it was a case of forgery and blackmail. Hawker looked down at his bloody spur and felt well content with his morning's work.
Jakes was raised to his feet by some kindly traveler and was brought back, half-conscious, to Newmarket. There, for three days, he kept his room and nursed both his injuries and his grievance. Upon the fourth day he reached London, and that night he made his way to the Albany and knocked at a door which bore upon a shining brass plate the name or Sir Charles Trevor.
It was the first Tuesday of the month, the day on which the committee of Watier's Club was wont to assemble. Half a dozen of them had sauntered into the great board-room, decorated with heavy canvases on the walla, and with highly polished dark mahogany furniture, which showed up richly against the huge expanse of red Kidderminster carpet. The Duke of Bridgewater, a splendid, rubicund old gentleman, grey-haired but virile, leaning heavily upon an amber-headed cane, came hobbling in and bowed affably to the waiting committee-men.
"How Is the gout, Your Grace?"
"A little sharp at times. But I can still get my foot into the stirrup. Well, well , I suppose we had better get to work." He took his seat in the centre of a half-moon table at one end of the room. Raising his quizzing-glass he looked round him.
"Where is Lord Foley?"
"He is racng, Sir. He will not he here."
"The dog! He takes his duties too lightly. I would rather be on the heath myself."
"I expect we all would."
"Ah, is that you, Lord Rufton?... How are you, Colonel D'Acre!... Bunbury, Scott, Poyntz, Vandeleur, good-day to you! Where is Sir Charles Trevor?"
"He is in the members' room," said Lord Rufton. "He said he would wait Your Grace's pleasure. The fact is that he has a personal interest in a case which comes before us, and he thought he should not have a hand in judging it."
"Ah, very delicate! Very delicate indeed!" The Duke had taken up the agenda paper and stared at it through his glass. "Dear me, dear me! A member accused of cheating at cards! And Sir John Hawker too! One of the best-known men in the club. Too bad! Too bad! Who is the accuser?"
"A bookmaker named Jakes, Your Grace!"
"I know him. Has a stand at Tom Cribb's. A rascal if ever I saw one. However, we must look into it. Who has the matter in hand?"
"I have been asked to attend to it," said Lord Rufton.
"I am not lure," said the Duke, "that we are right in taking notice of what such a fellow says about a member of this club. Surely, the law courts are open."
"I entirely agree with Your Grace," said a solemn man upon the Duke's left. He was General Scott, who was said to live on toast and water, and win ten thousand a year from his more sober companions.
"I would point out to you, sir, that the alleged cheating was at the expense of Sir Charles Trevor, a member of the club. It was not Sir Charles, however, who moved in the matter. There was a violent quarrel between the man Jakes and Sir John Hawker, and this is the result."
"Then the bookmaker has brought the case before us for revenge," said the Duke. "We must move carefully in this matter. I think we had best see Sir Charles first. Call Sir Charles."
The tall red-plushed footman at the door disappeared. A moment later, Sir Charles, debonair and smiling, stood before the committee.
"Good day, Sir Charles," said the Duke. "This is a very painful business."
"Very, Your Grace."
"I understand from what is on the agenda paper that on May third, of this year, you met Sir John at Cribb's Parlour and you cut cards with him at three thousand pounds a cut."
"A single cut, Your Grace."
"And you lost?"
"Unfortunately."
"Well, now, did you in any way suspect foul play at the time?"
"Not in the least."
"Then you have no charge against Sir John!"
"None on my own behalf. Other people have something to say."
"Well, we can listen to them in their turn. Won' t you take a chair, Sir Charles? Even if you do not vote, there can be no objection to your presence. Is Sir John in attendance?"
"And the witness?"
"Well, gentlemen, it is clearly a very serious matter, and I understand that Sir John is a difficult person to deal with. However, we can make no exceptions, and we are numerous enough and have, I trust, sufficient social weight to carry this affair to a conclusion." He rang for the footman.
"Place a chair in the centre, please! Now tell Sir John Hawker the committee would be honoured if he would step this way."
A moment later the formidable face and figure of the Devil had appeared at the door. With a scowl at the members present, he strode forward, bowed to the Duke, and seated himself opposite the semicircle formed by the committee.
"In the first place, Sir John," said the Duke, "you will allow me to express my regret and that of your fellow members that it should be our unpleasant duty to ask you to appear before us. No doubt the matter will prove to be a mere misunderstanding, but we felt that it was due to your own reputation as well as to that of the club that no time should be lost In setting the matter right."
"Your Grace," said Hawker, leaning forward and emphasising his remarks with his clenched hand, "I protest strongly against these proceedings. I have come here because it shall never be said that I was shy of meeting any charge, however preposterous. But I would put it to you, gentlemen, that no man's reputation is safe if the committee of his club is prepared to take up any vague slander that may circulate against him."
"Kindly read the terms of the charge, Lord Rufton."
"The assertion is," he read, "that at ten o'clock on the night of Thursday, May third, in the parlour of Tom Cribb's house, the Union Arms, Sir John Hawker did, by means of marked cards, win money from Sir Charles Trevor, both being members of Watier's Club."
Hawker sprang from his chair. "It is a lie — a damned lie!" he cried.
The Duke held up a deprecating hand. "No doubt — no doubt. I think, however, Sir John, that you can hardly describe it as a vague slander."
"It is monstrous! What is to prevent such a charge being leveled at Your Grace? How would you like, sir, to be dragged up before your fellow members?"
"Excuse me, Sir John," said the Duke urbanely. "The question at present is not what might be preferred against me, but what actually is preferred against you. You will, I am sure, appreciate the distinction. What do you propose, Lord Rufton?"
"It is my unpleasant duty, Sir John," said Lord Rufton, "to array the evidence before the committee. You will , I am sure, acquit me of any personal feeling in the matter."
"I look on you, sir, as a damned mischievous busybody."
The Duke put up his pudgy many-ringed hand in protest.
"I am afraid, Sir John, that I must ask you to be more guarded in your language. To me, it is immaterial, but I happen to know that General Scott has an objection to swearing. Lord Rufton is merely doing his duty in presenting the case."
Hawker shrugged his broad shoulders.
"I protest against the whole proceedings," he said.
"Your protest will be duly entered in the minutes. We have heard, before you entered, the evidence of Sir Charles Trevor. He has no personal complaint. So far as I can see, there is no case."
"Ha! Your Grace is a man of sense. Was ever an indignity put upon a man or honor on so small a pretext?"
"There is further evidence, Your Grace," said Lord Rufton. "I will call Mr. William Jakes."
At a summons the gorgeous footman swung open the massive door and Jakes was ushered in. It was a month or more since the assault, but the spur mark still shone red across his sallow cheek. He held hie cloth cap in his hand, and rounded his back as a tribute to the oompany, but his cunning little eyes, from under their ginger lashes, twinkled knowingly, not to say impudently, as ever.
"You are William Jakes, the bookmaker? " said the Duke.
"The greatest rascal in London," interpolated Hawker.
"There is one greater within three yards of me," the little man snarled. Then, turning to the Duke: "I'm William Jakes, Your Worship, known as Billy Jakes at Tattersall's. If you want to back a horse, Your Worship, or care to buy a game-cock or a ratter, you'll get the best price—"
"Silence, sir," said Lord Rufton. "Advance to this chair."
"Certainly, my noble sportsman."
"Don't sit. Stand beside it."
"At your service, gentlemen."
"Shall I cross-examine, Your Grace?"
"I understand, Jakes, that you were In Cribb's back parlour on the night of May third of this year?"
"Lord bless you, Sir, I 'm there every night. It's where I meet my noble Corinthians."
"It is a sporting house, I understand."
"Well, my lord, I can't teach you much about it." There was a titter from the committee, and the Duke broke in.
"I dare say we have all enjoyed Tom's hospitality at one time or another," he said.
"Yes, indeed, Your Grace. Well I remember the night when you danced on the crossed 'baccy pipes."
"Keep your witness to the point," said the smiling Duke.
"Tell us now what you saw pass between Sir John Hawker and Sir Charles Trevor."
"I saw all there was to see. You can trust little Billy Jakes for that. There was to be a cutting game. Sir John reached out for the cards, which lay on another table. I had seen him look over those cards in advance and turn the end of one or two with his thumb nail."
"You liar!" cried Sir John.
"It's an easy trick to mark them so that none can see. I've done — I know another man that can do it. You must keep your right thumb nail long and sharp. Well, look at Sir John's now."
Hawker sprang from his chair. "Your Grace, am I to be exposed to these insults?"
"Sit down, Sir John. Your indignation is most natural. I suppose it is not a fact that your right thumbnail—"
"Certainly not!"
"Ask to see!" cried Jakes.
"Perhaps you would not mind showing your nail?"
"I will do nothing of the kind."
"Of course you are quite within your rights in refusing — quite," said the Duke. "Whether your refusal might in any way prejudice your case is a point which you have no doubt considered... Pray continue, Jakes."
"Well, they cut and Sir John won. When be turned his back, I got the winning card, and saw that it was marked. I showed it to Sir John when we were alone."
"What did he say?"
"Well, my lord, I wouldn't like to repeat before such select company as this some of the things he laid. He carried on shocking. But after a bit he saw the game was up and he consented to my having half shares."
"Then," said the Duke, "you became, by your own admission, the compounder of a felony."
Jakes gave a comical grimace.
"No breaks here! This ain't a court, is it? Just a private house, as one might say, with one gentleman chatting easy like with other ones. Well, then, that's just what I did do."
The Duke shrugged hie shoulders. "Really, Lord Rufton, I do not see how we can attach any importance to the word of such a witness. On his own confession he is a perfect rascal."
"Your Grace, I'm surprised at you!"
"I would not condemn any man — far less the member of an honorable club — on this man's word."
"I quite agree. Your Grace," said Rufton. "There are, however, some corroborative documents."
"Yes, my noble sportsmen," cried Jake in a sort of ecstasy, "there's lots more to come. Billy's got a bit up his sleeve for a finish. How's that?" He pulled a pack of cards from his pocket and singled one out. "That's the pack. Look at the ace. You can see the mark yet."
The Duke examined the card. "There is certainly a mark," he said, "which might well be made by a sharpened nail."
Sir John was up once more, his face dark with wrath.
" Really, gentlemen, there should be some limit to this foolery. Of course these are the cards. Is it not obvious that after Sir Charles and I had left, this fellow gathered them up and marked them so as to put forward a blackmailing demand? I only — I only wonder that he has not forged some document to prove that I admitted this monstrous charge."
Jakes threw up his hands in admiration.
"By George, you have a nerve! I always said it. Give me Devil Hawker for nerve. Grasp the nettle, eh? Here's the document he talks about." He handed a paper to Lord Rufton.
"Would you be pleased to read it?" said the Duke.
Rufton read: "'In consideration of services rendered, I promise William Jakes three thousand pounds when I settle with Sir Charles Trevor. Signed, John Hawke.'"
"A palpable forgery! I guessed as much, cried Sir John.
"Who knows Sir John's signature?"
"I do," said Sir Charles Sunbury,
"Is that it?"
"Well, I should say so."
"Tut, the fellow is a born forger!" cried Hawker.
The Duke looked at the back of the paper, and read: "'To Thomas Cribb, Licensed Dealer in Beer, Wine, Spirits and Tobacco.' It is certainly paper from the room alluded to."
"He could help himself to that."
"Exactly. The evidence is by no means convincing. At the same time, Sir John, I am compelled to tell you that the way in which you anticipated the evidence has produced a very unpleasant impression in my mind."
"I knew what the fellow was capable of."
"Do you admit being intimate with him?"
"Certainly not."
"You had nothing to do with him?"
"I had occasion recently to horsewhip him for insolence. Hence this charge against me."
"You knew him very slightly?"
"Hardly at all."
"You did not correspond!"
"Strange, then, that he should have been able to copy your signature if he had no letter of yours."
"I know nothing of that."
"You quarreled with him recently?"
"Yes, sir. He was impertinent and I beat him."
"Had you any reason to think you would quarrel?"
"No, sir."
"Does it not seem strange to you then that he should have been keeping the cards all these weeks to buttress up a false charge againt you, if he had no idea that an occasion for such a charge would ever arise?"
"I cannot answer for his actions," said Hawker in a sullen voice.
"Of course not. At the same time I am forced to repeat, Sir John, that your anticipatilon of this document has seemed to me exactly what might be expected from a man of strong character who knew that such a document existed."
"I am not responsible for this man's assertions, nor can I control Your Grace's speculations, save to say that so far as they threaten my honour, they are contemptible and absurd. I place my case in the bands of the committee. You know, or can easily learn, the character of this man Jakes. Is it possible that you can hesitate between the words of such a man and the character of one who has for years been a fellow member of this club?"
"I am bound to say, Your Grace," said Sir Charles Dunbury, "that, while I associate myself with every remark which has fallen from you, I am still of the opinion that the evidence is of so corrupt a character that it would be impossible for us to take action upon it."
"That is also my opinion," came from several of the committee, and there was a general murmur of acquiescence.
"I thank you, gentlemen," said Hawker, rising. "With your permission, I shall bring this sitting to an end."
"Excuse me, sir; there are two more witnesses," said Lord Rufton.
"Jakes, you can withdraw. Leave the documents with me."
"Thank you, my lord. Good-day, my noble sportsmen. Should any of you want a cock or a terrier—"
"That will do. Leave the room." With many bows and backward glances, William Jakes vanished from the scene.
"I should like to ask Tom Cribb one or two questions," said Lord Rufton. "Call Tom Cribb."
A moment later the burly figure of the champion came heavily into the room. He was dressed exactly like the pictures of John Bull, with blue coat with shining brass buttons, drab trousers and top-boots, while his face, in its broad, bovine serenity, was also the very image of the national prototype. On his head he wore a low-crowned, curly-brimmed hat, which he now whipped off and stuffed under his arm. The worthy Tom was much more alarmed than ever he had been in the ring, and looked helplessly about him like a bull who finds himself in a strange enclosure.
"My respects, gentlemen all!" he repeated several times, touching his forelock.
"Good morning, Tom," said the Duke affably. "Take that chair. How are you?"
"Damned hot, Your Grace. That is to say, very warm. You see, sir, I do my own marketing these days, and when you've been down to Covent Garden and then on to Smithfield, and then trudge back here, and you two stone above your fighting weight—"
"We quite understand. The chief steward will see to you presently."
"I want to ask you, Tom," said Lord Rufton, "do you remember the evening of May third last in your parlour?"
"I heard there was some barney about it, and I've been lookin' it up," said Tom. "Yes, I remember it well, for it was the night when a novice had the better of old Ben Burn. Lor', I couldn't but laugh. Old Ben got one on the mark in the first round, and before he could get his wind—"
"Never mind, Tom. We'll have that later. Do you recognise these cards?"
"Why, those cards are out of my parlour. I get them a dozen at a time, a shilling each, from Ned Summers of Oxford Street; the same what—"
"Well, that's settled then. Now, do you remember seeing Sir John here and Sir Charles Trevor that evening!"
"Yes, I do. I remember saying to Sir John that he must play light with my novices, for there was one cove, Bill Summers my name, out of Norwich, and when Sir John—"
"Never mind that, Tom, Tell us, now, did you see Sir John and the bookmaker, Jakes, together that night? "
"Jakes was there, for he says to the girl in the bar, 'How much money have you, my lass?' And I said, 'You dirty dog—'"
"Enough, Tom. Did you see the man Jakes and Sir John together?"
"Yes, sir; when I came into the parlour after the bout between Shelton and Scroggins. I saw the two of them alone, and Jakes, he said that they had done business together. "
"Did they seem friendly?"
"Well, now you ask it, Sir John didn't seem too pleased. But, Lord love you, I'm that busy those evenings that if you dropped a shot on my head I'd hardly notice it."
"Nothing more to tell us?"
"I don't know as I have. I'd be glad to get back to my bar."
"Very good, Tom. You can go."
"I'd just remind you gentlemen that it's my benefit at the Five Court, St. Martin's Lane, come Tuesday week." Tom bobbed hill bullet-head many times and departed.
"Not much in all that," remarked the Duke. "Does that finish the case?"
"There is one more, Your Grace. Call the girl Lucy. She is the girl of the private bar."
"Yes, yes, I remember," cried the Duke. "That is to say, by any means. What does this young person know about it?"
"I believe that she was present." As Lord Rufton spoke, Lucy, very nervous, but cheered by the knowledge that she was in her best Sunday clothes, appeared at the door.
"Don't be nervous, my girl. Take this chair," laid Lord Rufton kindly. "Don't keep on curtsying. St down."
The girl sat timidly on the edge of the chair. Suddenly her eyes caught those of the august chairman.
"Why, Lord bless me!" she said. "It's the little Duke!"
"Hush, my girl, hush"" His Grace held up a warning hand.
"Well, I never!" cried Lucy, and began to giggle and hide her blushing face In her handkerchief.
"Now, now!" said the Duke. "This is a grave business! What are you laughing at?"
"I couldn't help it, sir. I was thinking of that evening down in the private bar when you bet you could walk a chalk line with a bottle of champagne on your head."
There was a general laugh, in which the Duke joined.
"I fear, gentlemen , I must have had a couple in my head before I ventured such a feat. Now, my good girl, we did not ask you here for the sake of your reminiscences. You may have seen some of us unbending: but we will let that pass... You were in the bar on May the third?"
"I'm always there."
"Cast your mind back and recall the evening when Sir Charles Trevor and Sir John Hawker proposed to cut cards for money."
"I remember it well, sir."
"After the others had left the bar, Sir John and a man named Jakes are said to have remained behind."
"I saw them."
"It's a lie! It's a plot!" cried Hawker.
"Now, Sir John, I must really beg you!" It was the Duke who was cross- questioning now. "Describe to us what you saw."
"Well, sir, they began talking over a pack of cards. Sir John up with his hand, and I was about to call for West Country Dick — he's the chucker-out you know, sir, at the Union Arms — but no blow passed and they talked very earnest-like for a time. Then Mr. Jakes called for paper and wrote something, and that's all I know except that Sir John seemed very upset."
"Did you ever see that piece of paper before?" The Duke held it up.
"Why, sir, it looks like Mr. Cribb's bill-head."
"Exactly. Was it a piece like that which you gave to these gentlemen that night!"
"Could you distinguish it?"
"Why, sir, now that I come to think of it, I could."
Hawker sprang up with a convulsed face. "I've had enough of this nonsense. I'm going."
"No, no; Sir John. Sit down again. Your honour demands Your presence... Well, my good girl, you say you could recognise it?"
"Yes, sir, I could. There was a mark, sir. I drew some burgundy for Sir Charles, sir, and some slopped on the counter. The paper Wall marked with It on the aide. I was in doubt if I should give them so soiled a piece."
The Duke looked very grave. "Gentlemen, this is a serious matter. There is, as you see, a red stain upon the side of the paper. Have you any remark to make, Sir John?"
"A conspiracy, Your Grace! An infernal, devilish plot against a gentleman's honour."
"You may go, Lucy." said Lord Rufton, and with curtsies and giggles, the barmaid disappeared.
"You have heard the evidence, gentlemen," said the Duke. "Some of you may know the character of this girl, which is by all accounts excellent."
"A drab out of the gutter!"
"I think not, Sir John; nor do you improve your position by such assertions. You will each have your own impression as to how far the girl's account seemed honest and carried conviction with it. You will observe that had she merely intended to injure Sir John, her obvious method would have been to have said she overheard the conversation detailed by the witness, Jakes. This she has not done. Her account, however, tends to corroborate—"
"Your Grace," cried Hawker, "I have had enough of this!"
"We shall not detain you much longer, Sir John Hawker," said the chairman, "but for that limited time we must insist upon your presence."
"Insist, sir!"
"Yes, sir, insist."
"This is strange talk."
"Be seated, sir. This matter must go to a finish."
"Well!" Hawker fell back into his chair.
"Gentlemen," said the Duke, "Slips of paper are before you. After the custom of the club, you will kindly record your opinion and hand to me. Mr. Poyntz? I thank you. Vandeleur! Bunbury! Hurton! General Scott! Colonel Turton! I thank you."
He examinded the papers. "Exactly. You are unanimous! I may say that I entirely agree with your opinion." The Duke's rosy kindly face had set as hard as flint.
"What am I to understand by this, sir" cried Hawker.
"Bring the club book," said the Duke. Lord Rufton carried across a large brown volume from the side-table and opened it before the chairman.
"C, D, E, F, G — Ah, here we are — H. Let us see! Houston, Harcourt, Hume, Duke of Hamilton I have it — Hawker. Sir John Hawker, your name is forever erased from the book of Watier's Club."
He drew the pen across the page as he spoke. Hawker sprang frantically to his feet.
"You cannot mean it! Consider, sir; this is social ruin! Where shall I show my face if I am cast from my club? I could not walk the streets of London. Take it back, sir! Reconsider it!"
"Sir John Hawker, "we can only refer you to Rule 19. It says: 'If any member shall be guilty of conduct unworthy of an honourable man, and the said offense be established to the unanimous satisfaction of the committee, then the aforesaid member shall be expelled the club without appeal.'"
"Gentlemen," cried Hawker, "I beg you not to be precipitate! You have had the evidence of a rascal bookmaker and of a serving wench. Is that enough to ruin a gentleman's life? I am undone if this goes through."
"The matter has been considered and is now in order. We can only refer you to Rule 19."
"Your Grace, you cannot know what this will mean. How can I live? Where can I go? I never asked mercy of man before. But I ask it now. I implore it, gentlemen. Reconsider your decision!"
"Rule 19."
"It is ruin, I tell you — disgrace and ruin!"
"Let me resign. Do not expel me."
It was hopeless, and Hawker knew it. He strode in front of the table.
"Curse your rules! Curse you, too, you silly, babbling jackanapes. Curse you all — you, Vandeleur, and you, Poyntz, and you, Scott, you doddering toast-and-water gamester. You will live to mourn the day you put this indignity upon me. You will answer it — every man of you! I'll set my mark on you. By the Lord I will! You first, Rufton. One by one, I'll weed you out! I've a bullet for each. I'll number 'em!"
"Sir John Hawker," said the Duke, "this club is for the use of members only. May I ask you to take yourself out of it?"
"And if I don't — what then?"
The Duke turned to General Scott. "Will you ask the hall porters to step up?"
"There! I'll go!" yelled Hawker. "I will not be thrown out — the laughing stock of Jermyn Street. But you will hear more, gentlemen. You will remember me yet. Rascals! Rascals everyone!"
And so it was, raving and stamping, with his clenched hands waving above his head, that Devil Hawker passed out from Watier's Club and from the social life of London.
For it was his end. In vain he sent furious challenges to the members of the committee. He was outside the pale, and no one would condescend to meet him. In vain he thrashed Sir Charles Bunbury in front of Limmer's Hotel. Hired ruffians were put upon his track and he was terribly thrashed in return. Even the bookmakers would have no more to do with him, and he was warned off the turf. Down he sank, and down, drinking to uphold his spirits until he was but a bloated wreck of the man that he had been.
And so, at last, one morning in his rooms in Charles Street, that dueling pistol which had so often been the instrument of his vengeance was turned upon himself, and that dark face, terrible even in death, was found outlined against a blood-sodden pillow in the morning.
So put the print back among the pile. You may be the better for having honest Tom Cribb upon your wall, or even the effeminate Brummell. But Devil Hawker never, in life or death, brought luck to anyone. Leave him there where you found him, In the dusty old shop of Drury Lane.
Retrieved from "https://www.arthur-conan-doyle.com/index.php?title=The_End_of_Devil_Hawker&oldid=93212"


text:
package twigkit.insights;

import twigkit.insights.model.Insight;

public interface InsightFactory {

    Insight insight();

}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
import { checkUserPin, getUserTransactions, getUserTransactionsAsQIF } from 'Service/UserService';
import Router from 'koa-router';
import TransactionModel from 'Model/TransactionModel';

const router = new Router();

router
  .prefix('/transactions')
  .get('/all', async ctx => {
    ctx.body = await TransactionModel.fetchAll();
  })
  .get('/:id', async ctx => {
    const { id }: { id: number } = ctx.params;
    const pincode = ctx.request.header['X-User-Pincode'];
    await checkUserPin(id, pincode);
    ctx.body = await getUserTransactions(id);
  })
  .get('/export/:id/transactions.qif', async ctx => {
    const { id }: { id: number } = ctx.params;
    const pincode = ctx.request.header['X-User-Pincode'];
    await checkUserPin(id, pincode);
    ctx.type = "text/qif";
    ctx.body = await getUserTransactionsAsQIF(id);
  });

koa.use(router.routes());


Fresh and fruity flavour with a slight hint of herbs, almond and yellow fruit. Initial comprehensive sweet taste becomes stable bitterness that evokes dried fruits aromas. Spiciness is stable with retro aromas of green fields with only noticeable hint of white pepper. It suits best with raw fish and seafood delicacies but works perfectly with grilled meat dishes.


text:
Authors trace Soviet women's Jewish lives
By Michele Alperin	September 15, 2014, 12:00 am Edit
Jewish Luck: A True Story of Friendship, Deception and Risky Business (Salt Mine Books)
During a visit to Leningrad in the summer of 1996, what became a lifelong friendship began between Leslie Levine Adler and Vera, a Soviet woman who eventually became a successful entrepreneur but largely followed her family's penchant for repressing any connection with Judaism.
In the recently published Jewish Luck: A True Story of Friendship, Deception and Risky Business (Salt Mine Books), Adler and her sister, Meryll Levine Page, trace the lives of Vera and her very Jewishly identified best friend, Alla, who bought a marriage with a Swede in order to escape Russia and preserve her Jewish identity.
On Aug. 18, at the Jewish Center in Princeton, Adler traced the evolution of Jewish identity in Russia using the story of these two women as a lens.
In the late 19th century Jews in Russia were forced to live in the Pale of Settlement, explained Adler. With the onset of communism and the establishment of the Soviet Union, Jews were "included" in the larger society, but at a price. "They had to give up religion, spirituality, and language, that is, Hebrew," said Adler.
She said that as a result, for many Soviet Jews, Jewish identity became difficult baggage. "When they were adolescents, for many of them, if there was a conflict, either they go deeper or leave it behind," Adler said.
Being openly Jewish in Russia could also interfere with employment possibilities, as it did for Vera's father, who lost a senior position in the military because someone in the family had gone to Israel.
Neither Vera nor Alla was able to go to their college of choice, Leningrad State University; both ended up at the School of Economics and Finance, a good school but one in which the subject areas interested neither of them. They met in line at registration because both looked Jewish.
"Our identity is formed through learning, associations, peers, and synagogues — we have something telling us we are Jews," said Adler, who then asked, "What if we took that all away?"
The Soviet Union did its best to take away everything but Yiddish, which it used for cultural propaganda, said Adler. Talking of Alla and Vera, she said, "Their grandmothers would have had Yiddish culture but not associated with Jewish history or learning."
Yet even that was not so simple a notion. When Adler met Vera's grandmother (who Vera thought had thrown off any Jewish identification), she recalled, "Her grandmother embraces me and says 'Shalom aleichem,' talking to me in Hebrew and Yiddish and telling me stories."
For Vera, her grandmother's reaction was a shock. She told Adler, "I had no idea that my Grandma Luba had any sentimental attachment to being Jewish."
Alla's grandmother, who grew up in the same shtetl as Vera, had, on the contrary, kept her identity as a Jew. "Her home was less Russian, but more Jewish," recalled Adler, yet even there the Jewishness was muted.
They did have a seder, "with matza and gefilte fish, on the right day," Adler said. "They knew they should be together and be with family and friends, but they didn't remember the service."
Adler, a clinical psychologist, and Page, a retired high school history teacher, live in Minneapolis.
Audience members related to the author's stories of identity and alienation.
"I grew up in Brooklyn with my parents and grandparents, and my first language was Yiddish," said Irv Newman. "In Brooklyn I was Jewish by osmosis — the principal, vice principal, and three students were the only ones in school on the High Holidays."
At the same time, even in an environment that Roz Dayan called 99 percent Jewish, on the Lower East Side where she grew up, they sang Christmas carols in school.
For Adler's husband, Harry, who grew up in Virginia and had to perform in Christmas shows as an elementary school student, Jewishness meant feeling different. "You would be Jewish by feeling like you don't belong," he said.
Readers can learn more about the book at morejewishluck.com.
Princeton Mercer Bucks News

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Italy Wants to Send Teens to Rehab to Treat Phone Addicts Like Drug Addicts
The legislation is drawing both supporters and opponents, as Italy's government attempts to confront what it sees as a widespread addiction.
New legislation pitched by Italy's populist Five Star government would seek to identify and treat phone-addicted teens.
Whether it would prove to be good or bad policy is yet to be seen, but the bill once again casts a light on some of the pitfalls of teens' attachment to technology.
One of the party's members, Vittoria Casa, who submitted the bill, likened excessive phone use to gambling, saying there's a pressing need to send kids to counseling, or even to rehab.
"We agree with studies showing that expecting 'likes' for posting on social media triggers the chemical dopamine in the brain. It's the same as gambling," Casa said.
Cell phone accounts would be monitored, to flag who they deem are at-risk teens.
"Half of Italians aged 15-20 check their phones at least 75 times a day and 62 per cent of teenagers are messaging late into the night," according to The Sun.
Casa, a former teacher from Sicily, said the sleep deprivation leaves students fatigued, with lackluster attention spans, as they attend class early in the morning.
However, according to Business Insider:
"Oxford psychologist Andrew Przybylski said the proposed law was a bad idea, and pointed to tech 'addiction boot-camps' in China."
The fate of the bill will be decided in the coming weeks.
ISDA Staff
Study: Chocolate Boosts Brain Activity
Two Italian authors just published their research that details the good news.
Italian Food Overwhelmingly Preferred by Just About Everyone, Study Finds
25,000 people across 24 nations were surveyed, and 84% of them pointed to Italian food as their favorite.
2020 U.S. Census Will Ask About Your Italian Origin
The upcoming census will ask those who identify as "white" to write in their country of origin.


> Has _Proceratosaurus_ ever been considered a maniraptor?
paper, a Proceratosaurus-Ornitholestes clade comes out within Maniraptora.
I'm guessing this is using Gauthier's definition of Maniraptora (= all taxa closer to Neornithes than to _Ornithomimus_), and followed by Holtz (1996), rather than Sereno's newer definition (= all descendants of the most recent common ancestor of _Oviraptor_ and Neornithes).
I don't want to sound cheeky, but does this analysis take into account the exclusion of the referred manus (AMNH 587) from _Ornitholestes_?
Prev by Date: My new webpage and goodbye ... temporarily!


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Corbula porcella är en musselart som beskrevs av Dall 1916. Corbula porcella ingår i släktet Corbula och familjen korgmusslor. Inga underarter finns listade i Catalogue of Life.

Källor

Korgmusslor
porcella

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


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If life's a pain, music brings relief.
"Impressive blog you have (loved Free).
Bev Wills (@CoreCritical), England/Miami, November 8, 2013.
is definitely not turning into a blog on musical market research findings
(after the last post), but since a new survey shows the beneficial effects of
music upon people suffering chronic pain, it's certainly worth mentioning here.
know from experience how standing with a solid-body electric guitar around your
neck can make your lower back hurt, especially when you reach a certain age.
Even young musicians in fledgling bands aren't spared when it comes to the back
pain lugging heavy amps and equipment around can
All Right Now. Free's Paul Kossoff
cause. You'd be surprised how
many people wear back braces under their stage clothes.
Non-guitar players might also be surprised just how heavy some guitars are. The Gibson that Paul Kossoff is playing, left, weighs in at 12 to 13 pounds. That's heavy in anybody's language, almost a stone in English.
To digress for a moment, Paul Kossoff, as some will know, was the guitarist responsible for the solo in Free's all-time-great rock-blues classic, 'All Right Now'. Actually, there were two solos: the cut-down one on the single and the full-length one on the album. Paul's dad, some old timers might remember, was the famous English TV and film actor, David Kossoff, who became an anti-drug campaigner after Paul died of an overdose in 1976, aged just 25.
But back to pain of the body rather than the soul. The
good news is: listening to music relieves 41 per cent of all people living with
physical pain, according to the latest survey by UK pharmacy group, Lloyds.
And, with younger people, music helps stop pain for almost seven out of ten 16
to 24-year-olds, 66 per cent of the 1,500 young people surveyed said.
music is the most potent pain reliever, helping to relieve 21 per cent of
people in pain. Classical music helps 17 per cent, narrowly ahead of rock or
indie music which alleviates pain for 16 per cent of those surveyed. It seems
soothing songs help you most, with Simon and Garfunkel's chart-
The single alone sold over six million copies.
dominating 1970
smash 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' topping the pain relief chart as well as the all-time pop chart.
The Top Five pain-relieving songs.
'Bridge Over
Troubled Water' – Simon and Garfunkel
2. 'Angels' –
3. 'Albatross' –
4. 'Candle In The
Wind' – Elton John .
5. 'Easy' –
Lloyds Pharmacy, "After speaking to many people living with pain we were
interested to learn just how many found music beneficial, which is why we're
now trialling the use of music within our pain service in some of our pharmacies.
It's nice to get a chance to show the original Fleetwood Mac.
Bradshaw, an Assistant Professor at the U.S.'s University of Utah Pain
Management Centre, backed this up saying: "If you can get absorbed in the music
this can help with your pain. Choose music you like and know well, humming or
singing along can help you engage in listening and distract you from your
the good news. The bad news is four out of five people will suffer chronic back
pain at some time in their life, so maybe it's time to start stockpiling those soothing songs.
And on the off-chance that not knowing how blues came about causes you pain, why not purchase the E-book 'How Blues Evolved'.
There are two volumes, both going for a song, at Amazon on the links below.
How Blues Evolved in the UK is on the following link:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital- text&field-keywords=how+blues+evolved+volume+one
In the USA, please follow this link:
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=how+blues+evolved
Are you at an Intense, Contemporary or Sophisticated musical age?
Getting their kicks pre-66. Drug references in old songs
How Blues Evolved
How Blues Evolved An Illustrated History of the genre that gave us jazz, rock & roll, pop and rock music. By Paul Merry Did you know that last year, 2012, marked the 100th anniversary of the first blues sheet music ever published? Unless you are a blues historian, you probably didn't, because this significant milestone…
Read More How Blues EvolvedContinue
Celebrate 40 years of AC/DC. Help make 'Highway To Hell' the UK's Christmas No. 1
ByPaul Merry November 20, 2013
" Love that blog! 🙂 AC/DC are one of the best bands to work for too. They definitely get my vote over X-factor!" Bev Wills (@CoreCritical), Miami, USA and Leeds, UK, November 21, 2013. If you're reading this in the States, let me explain. The song topping the charts on Christmas Day is a…
Read More Celebrate 40 years of AC/DC. Help make 'Highway To Hell' the UK's Christmas No. 1Continue
Ten rock & roll records that pre-empted rock & roll
ByPaul Merry August 8, 2013
"Since reading the blog, I have been amazed at the amount of plagiarism that went on from old black blues music." PrivatePerson3, UK "Love your blog on RnR Trail Blazers." Noah Seidenberg @noahzark58, 20 August 2013, Chicago, USA. Expand Treat yourself to these ten pre-rock & roll songs linked below. Rock & Roll, as a…
Read More Ten rock & roll records that pre-empted rock & rollContinue
Glastonbury's just too posh, says Iron Maiden
ByPaul Merry June 24, 2014
I'm pleased to report blues and blues-rock is being reasonably well-represented at this year's "sold How Glastonbury looks from the air. Over 100,000 will attend out" Glastonbury music festival, kicking off tomorrow (Wednesday June 25). Before the festival started in 1970, you might be interested to know Glastonbury's main claim to fame was the visit…
Read More Glastonbury's just too posh, says Iron MaidenContinue
Hoochie coochie was in the water long before Muddy emerged.
ByPaul Merry September 18, 2013
"Fascinating!!! Where do you research this stuff???" Richard Wall @writinblues, September 20, 2013. "Awesome research." nora j mckiddie @mckiddie_j, September 21, 2013. UPDATED October 15, 2021 BLUESMUSE35. Just like rock & roll, hoochie coochie was old-time African-American slang for sex. To most blues aficionados, the term is synonymous today with the blues great Muddy Waters,…
Read More Hoochie coochie was in the water long before Muddy emerged.Continue
Did George Bernard Shaw write the world's first anti-rock music review?
Admittedly, it wasn't a good review, but one of the earliest descriptions of the wild pre-blues African-American-style music heard in London during 1890 came from no less a source than the celebrated Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw. The photograph below was taken around the time Shaw wrote his damning account of being forced to listen…
Read More Did George Bernard Shaw write the world's first anti-rock music review?Continue


I came across www.OpenEd.io looking for science videos. My stuents are smart, but extremely bored with current curriculum presentation, which is why most teachers are on a perpetual hunt for engaging instruction. The science video library of opened.oi is awesome, engaging, and there are benchmark standards and grade levels already noted for teachers. The site is interactive and it supports differentiated instruction for all learners. You can create your own class list and share videos, lessons, assessments and games with your students. This goes not only for science, but for math, language arts, social studies. The material is common core aligned with each video noting the benchmark addressed. This is so needed for teachers, students and parents.
This is what educational technology tools should look like!


Since I am my own boss now and working from home, I need to get some things in order. I don't have an office, but I do have a corner desk in the family room. I think it takes a certain person with a specific work ethic to be able to work from home because there are a lot of distractions. My problem: How can I work from home without having a home office?
Start with a clean slate. There is a lot of stuff in this area that's not relevant to your everyday work. Box up or move to another location anything that is not directly related to your daily business and office tasks. (ie. all those James Patterson books!) Yes, she is making me relocate my obsession, my James Patterson books!
Add functional accessories. Pen holders, paper, and file organizers, etc.
Use vertical wall space. Use the space directly behind the computer monitor as a chalk board , white board, or tack board to organize big ideas, current to do lists, and inspirational images. Creating a tack board out of fabric would be a nice way to add color and interest into your space.
Define the space as a separate work zone. It's tough when your work space is just part of another room. Take measures to visually divide the space to help create a mental separation between work and play. By differentiating the two it will help you stay motivated and focused on relevant work tasks when you are in the space. In this area you could do it by adding a small hanging light fixture to anchor this area or even create a small scale room divider that is the same width as the desk to help divide it on the side near the fridge.
It took some time and the process was time consuming and messy. It made me feel like a bit of a hoarder!
This is what I've turned my new office into… and I love it! It is much more functional and more like an actual office now instead of a corner in the family room to work.
Now, I feel compelled to explain the excess of James Patterson books. Besides the fact his books are amazing and I can read them in one sitting, I hope someday to have a home library like the one the beast gave Belle – built in bookshelves with a sliding ladder and all. That's why I buy all my JP books and keep them. But, as I look at them all and do the math in my head – it adds up to a lot of money when the public library is free. Now, most of my other books come from the public library, but I am still holding on to my sliding ladder dream.
Home office organization is key when it comes to writing, blogging, and doing everything else I do here! Want to learn more? Here are some project details on creating a his and her home office on a budget.
If you need home design tips, like Curio Design Studio on Facebook.
I thought it looked fine to start with… until I saw the AFTER. WHOA! Looks sooo good!
Haha. I didn't think I looked like a hoarder until I cleaned it off!
Looks great! My problem is where to put all the stuff I take off the desk. Brian loves JP also. We have many of his books.
I like the organization. I find that if my space is cluttered, so is my mind!!
A mess gives me anxiety and I can't focus!
I'm with you on the organization. Everything has to be aestheticly pleasing to my eye or I feel unproductive and distracted. Great job and thanks for the tips.
Thank you Lisa! I got my desk cleaned, and last night you and the rest of the #mediabloggers helped organize my brain! Haha.


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Q: Strange behavior : set vector profiler i have a strange profiler cpu usage on the code below : i set different variable in a vector the same way but they have a completely different CPU Usage.
sf::VertexArray vertices;

for (int y = 0; y < map->mapSize.y; ++y) {
    for (int x = 0; x < map->mapSize.x; ++x) {
        int index = y * map->mapSize.x + x;

        vertices[index * 4].position = sf::Vector2f(x, y); //5% CPU Usage
        vertices[index * 4 + 1].position = sf::Vector2f(x, y);//30% CPU Usage
        vertices[index * 4 + 2].position = sf::Vector2f(x, y);//15% CPU Usage
        vertices[index * 4 + 3].position = sf::Vector2f(x, y);//36% CPU Usage
    }
}

Thanks for your help !

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


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2000s >> 2000 >> no-1150-june-2000
Editorial: Who can buck the market?
The recent turmoil surrounding the future of the Rover car plant at Longbridge and of Ford at Dagenham has once more brought into sharp focus the fundamental rule of economic life in the market system—no profit, no production.
Despite the concerted pleas of the government, the trade unions and even Ken Livingstone, Ford looks set to pull out of Dagenham causingover 2,000 jobs to be lost directly and more still indirectly. At Longbridge, BMW was no longer prepared to subsidise a loss-making plant by creaming off the profits from its more successful operations elsewhere and decided to cut and run. After a period of uncertainty when it looked like the entire plant would close, BMW now appears to have done a deal with the Phoenix consortium led by former Rover chief executive John Towers, a deal which the unions and the government hope will keep redundancies down to manageable levels.
But whether Rover ultimately survives at Longbridge will have little to do with any emotional attachment executives at Phoenix may have about Rover or whether workers at the plant work diligently in an attempt to ensure its survival. What will ultimately determine Rover's future will be the ability of its new owners to sell Rover cars at a sufficient profit on the world market. Unfortunately for them, this is a market place where monetary demand for automobiles (the only sort of demand that counts) is already at near saturation point, with cutbacks in production and plant closures taking place not just in Britain but in the US, across Europe and in the Pacific Rim.
Margaret Thatcher was not right about many things in life but she rarely spoke truer words than when she said you can't buck the market". As workers in car plants all over the world discover the wisdom of this particular remark the hard way we would add only one caveat to it—"you can't buck the market by working within the market system". The only real way to buck the market is to chuck it altogether, and thereby create a future we could all look forward to without apprehension.


How is your organization seen by the types of employees you wish to attract and recruit? The development of your employment branding will help you establish your reputation and image as an employer of choice to these target groups. Employment branding goes well beyond a careers page on your website or company profiles in employment search sites. This marketing focus includes the multitude of ways you present your identity and the opportunities within your company to top recruiting prospects.
Let's build an employment brand that will help your organization attract, recruit and retain talented employees.
At 24 Communications, our work with you includes the development of recruiting materials to attract ideal employees and employment materials for bringing new team members on board as well as the implementation of communications tools to keep your team connected.


text:
Wardens Resign After Prison Abuse Revealed
Wardens from California's two largest women's prisons retired early amid allegations of rampant inmate abuse. One of the institutions faces serious allegations of physical and sexual abuse, while the other has a suicide rate eight times the national average for female prisoners.
The nonprofit Prison Law Office, which investigates prison abuse, worked in tandem with a number of attorneys representing inmates to conduct joint interviews and investigations of the Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla. Don Specter, director of Prison Law Office, pushed for the major leadership changes after their investigations found a host of systematic problems at the facility.
"There are serious problems there, including verbal abuse of prisoners, failure to protect them from other prisoners, contraband, sexual abuse — mostly in the form of: 'If you do me a favor, I'll do you a favor' — that kind of thing," Spector said in an interview with the LA Times. "There's a lot of fear, and fear of retaliation for reporting misconduct."
The investigation also revealed a history guards permitting fights between inmates, use of unneeded force and demeaning names, and retaliation against those inmates who stand up.
Meanwhile, investigations are ongoing at the California Institution for Women as Sen. Connie Levya (D-Chino) is demanding for the state auditor to look into the institution's high rate of suicides and suicide attempts, some of which have been completely unexpected for the families of the deceased.
Take for instance the April suicide of Erika Rocha. After 22 years of incarceration, Rochna had a hopeful parole hearing schedule for the day after she was found dead in her cell. Her body was discovered hung with a noose fashioned from a bedsheet and tied to the cell's heating vent. Rohna left no suicide note and, according to family, had been in good spirits.
The warden of the facility, Kimberly Hughes, retired last week along with Deborah Johnson, warden at the Chowchilla facility. While initially state corrections officials called the retirements routine, the head of the Department of Corrections and Rehabilliation has since told The Associated Press that due to identified problems it had been "determined that change in the leadership at those prisions is necessary."
Spokesman Jeffrey Callison did not detail those problems but continued on to say that the group is committed to making the necessary changes in its prisons "to comport with our vision of safe, rehabilitative environments for inmates."
For some, the changes come too late.
If you, or someone you love, have been abused, please contact our office today at 888.212.0440 or through the form below for a free case review.


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Daily Archive: 04/03/2013
by ek hornbeck
Brittney Griner Deserves A Real NBA Tryout, Not A Publicity Stunt
By Travis Waldron, ThinkProgress
Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban told ESPN this morning that his team would consider drafting Brittney Griner, the 6-foot-8 standout for Baylor University's women's basketball team, in the second round of June's NBA Draft.
"If she is the best on the board, I will take her," Cuban told ESPN's Tim McMahon Tuesday night. "I've thought about it. I've thought about it already. Would I do it? Right now, I'd lean toward yes, just to see if she can do it. You never know unless you give somebody a chance, and it's not like the likelihood of any late-50s draft pick has a good chance of making it."
That chance, however, should be a real one, not a publicity stunt aimed at selling tickets, as the Jazz selection of Harris admittedly was. The perception of female athletes is already too skewed by an inherently sexist world of sports to give Griner a cynical shot – or worse yet – a cynical spot on the team. Take, for instance, the immediate reaction ESPN received when it promoted Cuban's comments on Twitter with the hashtag #GrinerNBA.
The disgusting responses #GrinerNBA received aren't just aimed at Brittney Griner, though. They're emblematic of a sports culture, particularly among fans, that simultaneously objectifies the appearances of female athletes and rejects them as incapable athletes. It's no secret that the bodies of female athletes (and women in general) are objectified in ways that men's bodies rarely, if ever, are. And women like Griner who don't fit the "sexy" model are instantly judged as not sufficiently feminine. That helps foster stereotypes of female athletes that create problems in their own sports and drive women and girls not to sports but away from them. It also prevents us from seeing women like Griner as the phenomenal athletes they are, from appreciating their skills and accomplishments as athletic triumphs and not as diminished products because of how they look or because they aren't playing the men's game.
That we have so far to go in viewing Griner and other female athletes on their own merits, both as sportswomen and as people, is precisely why her NBA tryout, if it happens, can't be a cynical stunt. Her success or failure should be based on her merits alone, and if it is, neither Griner nor the NBA will be any worse because of it. Cuban seems sincere. That's good, because a real chance, no matter success or failure, will continue the fight to slowly break down the barriers and perceptions that face female athletes.
Tags: ek Politics
'Republican' Obstructionism?
Last time I looked the Veteran's Administration was part of the Executive Branch.
Run by…
Oh, you already guessed. You people are reading ahead.
Wednesday is Ladies' Day
Katrina vanden Heuvel: Lack of paid sick leave is unhealthy for America
More than 40 million Americans – disproportionately low-income, black and Latino workers – cook, clean, fold, and ring us up without any paid time off when they or their children are ill. On any given day, these workers must choose between caring for a sick child and their job. They handle our food and our purchases, coughing and sniffling through Kleenex, to avoid being handed a pink slip.
The absence of paid sick leave is a glaring injustice that puts American workers in the distinguished company of workers in Syria, Somalia and North Korea. It's an affront to our values and the dignity of a hard day's work. And it's a drag on our families, our businesses, and our society.
Valerie Strauss: Atlanta Test Cheating: Tip of the Iceberg?
It would be easy to think that the Atlanta cheating scandal by adults on standardized tests is the worst we have seen, given last week's startling indictment against former Atlanta schools superintendent Beverly Hall and 34 others under a law used against mobster
But you shouldn't.
In the past four academic years, test cheating has been confirmed in 37 states and Washington D.C. (You can see details here, and, here, a list of more than 50 ways that schools can manipulate test scores.) The true extent of these scandals remain unknown, and, as Michael Winerip of The New York Times shows here in this excellent article, it is very hard to get to the bottom of these scandals. In Atlanta, it took the will of two governors who allowed investigators to go in with a lot of time and subpoena power.
Joan Walsh: Mr. President, you won the election, not them!
Obama's new budget will reportedly include GOP's beloved entitlement cuts. Why he's overlooking the real solution
The Wall Street Journal reported Friday that the budget will likely include the chained CPI for Social Security. "We and all of the groups engaged on this are starting to feel it may well be in the budget," AARP vice president Nancy LeaMond told the WSJ. The same day the New York Times revealed that Obama and House Republicans are getting close to agreement on a package of Medicare cuts that would restructure Medicare parts A and B – one covers hospitalization, the other doctors' visits – to raise deductibles for the 80 percent of seniors who see doctors but don't require hospitalization in any given year. The Times reports that some version of the proposal might also find its way into the 2014 budget.
Including entitlement curbs would be notable, the WSJ's Damien Parella notes, "as Republicans often have criticized the White House for offering such steps in private negotiations but never fully embracing them as part of an official budget plan."
But if he's now embracing them publicly, doesn't that remove them as something to bargain over?
Allison Kilkenny: Thousands Protest the UK Government's Brutal Austerity
Britain's government has introduced sweeping changes to the country's welfare, justice, health and tax systems, including a "bedroom tax" that will reduce housing subsidies that primarily benefit poor people. The levy ostensibly aims to "tackle overcrowding and encourage a more efficient use of social housing," resulting in an estimated million "social housing" households losing 14-25 percent of their housing benefits.
The Guardian:
Critics say it is an inefficient policy as in the north of England, families with a spare rooms outnumber overcrowded families by three to one, so thousands will be hit with the tax when there is no local need for them to move. Two-thirds of the people hit by the bedroom tax are disabled
Thousands of trade unions, advocates for the disabled, leading churches, and anti-poverty protesters held marches against the changes over the weekend, calling the cuts "unjust." In a joint report released over the weekend, the Baptist Union of Great Britain, the Methodist Church, the United Reformed Church and the Church of Scotland criticized the government of perpetuating myths about poverty in an attempt to justify the cuts.
Tory Field and Beverly Bell: From Growing Profit to Growing Food: Challenging Corporate Rule
Just outside of the small town of Maumelle, Arkansas sits your run-of-the-mill American strip mall. And as in so many other box store hubs, a Walmart dominates the landscape. [..]
We are bombarded and manipulated by corporate name brands every day. A Coca-Cola annual report some years back stated, "All of us in the Coca-Cola family wake up each morning knowing that every single one of the world's 5.6 billion people will get thirsty that day… If we make it impossible for these 5.6 billion people to escape Coca-Cola…, then we assure our future success for many years to come. Doing anything else is not an option."
"Impossible" to "escape" sounds daunting, downright creepy. Yet people are escaping, in droves, a food system that is more obsessed with money than with sustenance.
Abby Rapoport: The People's Bank: Deep-Red North Dakota's Populist Bright Spot
When the financial crisis struck in 2008, nearly every state legislature was left contending with massive revenue shortfalls. Every state legislature, that is, except North Dakota's. In 2009, while other states were slashing budgets, North Dakota enjoyed its largest surplus. All through the Great Recession, as credit dried up and middle-class Americans lost their homes, the conservative, rural state chugged along with a low foreclosure rate and abundant credit for entrepreneurs looking for loans.
Normally one of the overlooked states in flyover country, North Dakota now had the country's attention. So did an unlikely institution partly responsible for its fiscal health: the Bank of North Dakota. Founded in 1919 by populist farmers who'd gotten tired of big banks and grain companies shortchanging them, the only state-owned bank in America has long supported community banks and helped keep credit flowing. The bank's $5 billion deposit base comes mostly from state taxes and funds. The money is leveraged so the bank can offer loans for local small businesses and infrastructure projects; the interest, rather than going to Wall Street banks, stays in the state. The Bank of North Dakota rarely makes direct loans; instead, when a community bank wants to give a sizable loan but lacks the capital, the state bank will partner on the loan and provide a backstop. Such partnerships help ensure that small-business owners, farmers, and ranchers can access lines of credit-and they strengthen community banks, which is why North Dakota has more local banks per capita than any other state.
Protecting Monsanto Risks Food Safety
A rider to protect the biotech giant Monsanto from litigation was anonymously slipped into the bill, HR933, that averted the shut down have the government and signed into law by Pres. Barack Obama. The rider, known as the "Monsanto Protection Act," has ignited a firestorm of protests not just from food safety advocates and environmentalists but from the right wing as well. Much of the ire has been directed at Sen. Barbara Mikulski (D-MD), chairwoman of the Senate Appropriations Committee, for not drawing attention to the rider. According the Amy Goodman, at Democracy Now, the rider was written by Sen. Roy Blunt (R-MO) with Monsanto's help and initially was backed by Sen. John Tester (D-MT), who realizing the pernicious aspects of the rider to farmers, attempted to have it removed from the bill before it was passed. Sen. Tester failed to get the rider removed. The bill passed with the rider intact and was signed into law by Pres. Obama. On the bright side of this, the rider is temporary since the act expired in six months. It does raise wider issues of genetically modified organisms (GMO), their safety and protecting the food chain as opposed to protecting the right of a multinational corporation that wants to dominate and control food through seed supplies.
Ms. Goodman and her co-host, Aaron Maté. discuss the "Monsanto Protection Act" and the safety of genetically modified foods with two guests: Gregory Jaffe, director of the Biotechnology Project at the Center for Science in the Public Interest, a nonprofit consumer advocacy organization that addresses food and nutrition issues; and Wenonah Hauter, executive director of Food & Water Watch and author of the book, "Foodopoly: The Battle Over the Future of Food and Farming in America."
Full transcript here
The IBTimes listed the most troubling aspects of the rider that was written by Monsanto lawyers:
1. The Monsanto Protection Act effectively bars federal courts from being able to halt the sale or planting of controversial genetically modified (aka GMO) or genetically engineered (GE) seeds, no matter what health issues may arise concerning GMOs in the future.
2. The provision's language was apparently written in collusion with Monsanto.
-Many members of Congress were apparently unaware that the Monsanto Protection Act even existed within the Bill they were voting on.
3. The President did nothing to stop it, either. On Tuesday, Obama signed HR 933.
4. It sets a terrible precedent…The message it sends is that corporations can get around consumer safety protections if they get Congress on their side.
The article also revealed that Sen. Blunt has received over $60,000 from Monsanto in campaign contributions. Sen. Mikulski issued a statement that she "understands the anger over this provision. She didn't put the language in the bill and doesn't support it either."
The controversial provision has also raised the ire of the right wing Tea Party
"It is not the purview of Tea Party Patriots to comment on the merits of GMOs — that is a discussion and debate for experts and activists within that field," wrote Dustin Siggins, who blogs for Tea Party Patriots, on the group's website. "From the perspective of citizens who want open, transparent government that serves the people, however, the so-called 'Monsanto Protection Act,' Section 735 of the Continuing Resolution, is one heck of a special interest loophole for friends of Congress."
Food Democracy Now has begun a petition that has already been signed by 250,000, demanding that President Obama to issue an Executive Order requiring the mandatory labeling of GMOs.
Late last night President Barack Obama signed H.R. 933, which contained the Monsanto Protection Act into law. President Obama knowingly signed the Monsanto Protection Act over the urgent pleas of more than 250,000 Americans who asked that he use his executive authority to veto it. President Obama failed to live up to his oath to protect the American people and our constitution.
Today we're calling on President Obama to issue an executive order to call for the mandatory labeling of genetically engineered foods.
Not only is GMO labeling a reasonable and common sense solution to the continued controversy that corporations like Monsanto, DuPont and Dow Chemical have created by subverting our basic democratic rights, but it is a basic right that citizens in 62 other countries around the world already enjoy, including Europe, Russia, China, India, South Africa and Saudi Arabia.
Join us in demanding mandatory labeling of GMO foods. Now's the time!
Call President Barack Obama (202) 456-1111 or if that line is busy, please call (202) 456-1414 – then ask at least 5 of your friends to join you!
Tags: Congress, environment, Food Safety, Genetically Modifide Organisms, GMO, Monsanto, Politics, TMC Politics
On This Day In History April 3
This is your morning Open Thread. Pour your favorite beverage and review the past and comment on the future.
Find the past "On This Day in History" here.
April 3 is the 93rd day of the year (94th in leap years) in the Gregorian calendar. There are 272 days remaining until the end of the year.
On this day in 1948, President Harry S.Truman signs Foreign Assistance Act.
President Harry S. Truman signs off on legislation establishing the Foreign Assistance Act of 1948, more popularly known as the Marshall Plan. The act eventually provided over $12 billion of assistance to aid in the economic recovery of Western Europe.
In the first years following the end of World War II, the economies of the various nations of Western Europe limped along. Unemployment was high, money was scarce, and homelessness and starvation were not unknown in the war-ravaged countries. U.S. policymakers considered the situation fraught with danger. In the developing Cold War era, some felt that economic privation in Western Europe made for a fertile breeding ground for communist propaganda.
The Marshall Plan (officially the European Recovery Program, ERP) was the large-scale economic program, 1947-1951, of the United States for rebuilding and creating a stronger economic foundation for the countries of Europe. The initiative was named after Secretary of State George Marshall and was largely the creation of State Department officials, especially William L. Clayton and George F. Kennan. Marshall spoke of urgent need to help the European recovery in his address at Harvard University in June 1947.
The reconstruction plan, developed at a meeting of the participating European states, was established on June 5, 1947. It offered the same aid to the Soviet Union and its allies, but they did not accept it. The plan was in operation for four years beginning in April 1948. During that period some US $13 billion in economic and technical assistance were given to help the recovery of the European countries that had joined in the Organization for European Economic Co-operation. This $13 billion was in the context of a U.S. GDP of $258 billion in 1948, and was on top of $12 billion in American aid to Europe between the end of the war and the start of the Plan that is counted separately from the Marshall Plan.
The ERP addressed each of the obstacles to postwar recovery. The plan looked to the future, and did not focus on the destruction caused by the war. Much more important were efforts to modernize European industrial and business practices using high-efficiency American models, reduce artificial trade barriers, and instill a sense of hope and self-reliance.
By 1952 as the funding ended, the economy of every participant state had surpassed pre-war levels; for all Marshall Plan recipients, output in 1951 was 35% higher than in 1938.[8] Over the next two decades, Western Europe enjoyed unprecedented growth and prosperity, but economists are not sure what proportion was due directly to the ERP, what proportion indirectly, and how much would have happened without it. The Marshall Plan was one of the first elements of European integration, as it erased trade barriers and set up institutions to coordinate the economy on a continental level-that is, it stimulated the total political reconstruction of western Europe.
Belgian economic historian Herman Van der Wee concludes the Marshall Plan was a "great success":
"It gave a new impetus to reconstruction in Western Europe and made a decisive contribution to the renewal of the transport system, the modernization of industrial and agricultural equipment, the resumption of normal production, the raising of productivity, and the facilitating of intra-European trade."
George Catlett Marshall (December 31, 1880 – October 16, 1959) was an American military leader, Chief of Staff of the Army, Secretary of State, and the third Secretary of Defense. Once noted as the "organizer of victory" by Winston Churchill for his leadership of the Allied victory in World War II, Marshall served as the United States Army Chief of Staff during the war and as the chief military adviser to President Franklin D. Roosevelt. As Secretary of State, his name was given to the Marshall Plan, for which he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1953.
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NCAA Women's Basketball Tournament 2013: Regional Final Midwest
Ok, so it was a big upset, but the biggest EVAH!?
Total Perspective Vortex.
It's all about the Zaphod baby.
Seed Score Team Record Seed Score Team Record Region
(2) 74 Tennessee 27-7 (6) 59 Oklahoma 24-11 Midwest
(1) 82 Baylor 34-2 * (5) 81 Louisville 26-8 Midwest
Time Network Seed Team Record Seed Team Record Region
9 ESPN (2) Tennessee 27-7 * (5) Louisville 26-8 Midwest
Tags: NCAA Basketball Tournament 2013, NCAA BasketballTournament, NCAA Women's Basketball Tournament, NCAA Women's Basketball Tournament 2013
NCAA Women's Basketball Tournament 2013: Regional Final South
(1) 93 Notre Dame 34-1 (12) 63 Kansas 20-14 South
(2) 53 Duke 32-2 (6) 45 Nebraska 25-9 South
7 ESPN (1) Notre Dame 34-1 (2) Duke 32-2 South