From the sublime to the ridiculous
Our first president; our second amendment; Prioleau and the USAF take aim at a few troubling spheres [or just being absurd for third]; all in our first February edition
Your Mercury team is feeling a bit mercurial 😂 this week. Since that pesky Punxsutawney Phil predicted six more weeks of winter, we’ve been on a proverbial rollercoaster in terms of our weather … and our emotions. (Does anyone know when rodent-hunting season begins in Pennsylvania?) While we’re a bit foggy on what the day will bring, it’s easy to spot the optimist among us … the man at the breakfast counter at Page’s Okra Grill wearing a pair of wrinkled shorts he just dug out of his bottom bureau drawer and sipping sweet tea as he taps his Birkenstock-clan foot to the rhythm of the restaurant noise. Our “Lowcountry Phil” gets it. He’s ready for anything when the warm weather finally holds, attitudes lift and the little piece of the world in which we are so privileged to live once again invites us to the party.
If you missed Lowcountry Phil during your last visit to the breakfast counter, we urge you to look up Joey D’Amico of Tekton Game Calls. A blood relation to Phil, Joey ran smack dab into his future in the woods, fields and waterways of the South Carolina Lowcountry. Read all about his incredible journey in the current issue of the Charleston Mercury.
Then be sure to stop by Grady Ervin & Co. during SEWE to shake his hand and admire his gorgeous game calls … maybe even buy a few.
Onward to our other stories. First up, our original wretch will pay tribute to our original president of the United States with a call (a Tekton Game Call will do nicely) to re-establish Washington’s Birthday. Then the Mercury Team will give you a serious update on a recent armed robbery in the city, with a solution to prevent such crimes in the future. So incredulous were we regarding the Chinese balloon downed off our coast this week that we called upon our Mercury correspondent, Possibility Possum, for his wisdom on the matter. As always, we’ll end with a few chuckles (in the face of that negative Keystone woodchuck mentioned above) with Prioleau Alexander’s hunting misadventures and a few Ramblers to keep the blood moving.
Warm up those fingers and mash that Share button below.
Photo by Adam Nemeroff of unsplash.com.
Let our holiday be George Washington’s birthday
By Charles W. Waring III
February arrives and the mass media and pundits remind us yet again that we should take a day off and remember all our presidents, which means that the average citizen gets the message that there may be some equivalence among all presidents in terms of statesmanship and value to our nation. In the words of the bard of Amtrack, come on, man.
Politics got in the way of integrity, so the third Monday of February has become a public misnomer; to its credit, the federal government officially declares this day correctly as celebrating George Washington’s birthday. Congress first created a holiday back in 1879 and did so for Feb. 22, which is his actual birthday. The legislative branch moved the holiday to the third Monday back in 1968.
Since the holiday moved away from President Washington’s actual birthday, it opened the barn door to discussion among lawmakers, pundits and advertising firms to broaden the holiday to include all presidents. This has been a long and messy process, but the chattering has not changed the fact that the holiday honors only G.W. Got that, Abe?
What happened to discernment? The common name of President’s Day is truly what your mother warned you not to be: common — even as common as pig tracks. G.W. was anything but ordinary. He was never part of a political party and warned against them in his farewell address; he stood tall in reality and in his actions. He was the man who only had to show up at the Constitutional Convention to give the deliberations gravitas; he served as president of the convention.
The “Father of Our Country” is the sole identity of one man of extraordinary courage, as all adult Americans should know and believe. However, one youngster objected, as readers may recall. My grandfather and father were visiting Mount Vernon exactly 88 years ago, and my grandfather was so tickled by the experience that he wrote to tell his brother in Charleston about it; subsequently, Tom Waring penned the exchange in the Evening Post. Standing next to the grave of G.W., this was the classic moment:
Father: Son, there is the father of your country.
Boy: He’s not the father of my county.
Father: Why not, son?
Boy: I am from Charleston.
Enjoy your George Washington birthday and try to make time to read about what made him the man of the moment again and again. After all it would take quite a character of fortitude to keep Charlestonians in a party mode for the entire week of early May 1791. Cheers!
Charles W. Waring III is publisher and editor-in-chief of the Charleston Mercury. He is a graduate of Porter Gaud, The University of the South, and the higher education one gets attentively listening to older gents on long car rides and happy hunting trips.
Alleged Wagner Terrace armed robbers arrested Textbook case of need for armed citizenry
By Charleston Mercury Staff
Now and then we get a textbook case of why those able should take advantage of our state’s concealed carry law. You go out with a friend for a walk just after sunset and then two jerks stick a pistol in your face and demand your valuables. Had the circumstances below been different, the alleged assailants could have caused bodily harm to the victims.
We know this because the Charleston Police Department sent us a press release, and these are the key parts:
De’Keyvies Kavontre Hamilton, 18, of Charleston, and a juvenile, 17, were taken into custody by CPD officers. Both were charged with two counts of armed robbery and one count of possession of a weapon during the commission of a violent crime.
Charleston Police Chief Luther Reynolds said, “We are thankful no one was seriously injured, and the community can rest easy knowing the suspects are in custody. I want to recognize our officers’ hard work and dedication, which led to these violent offenders’ swift identification and apprehension.”
On February 6, 2023, at 6:23 p.m., CPD officers responded to the intersection of Alberta Avenue/Piedmont Avenue for the report of an armed robbery. The two victims informed officers that they were walking in the area when they were approached by the two suspects, who pointed what appeared to be handguns at them and demanded their property. They complied with the demands, and the suspects ran away after obtaining about $300 cash, an iPhone and various other items. They described the suspects as wearing dark clothing and black masks.
Restoring law and order to Charleston requires effective policing and an engaged citizenry. Remember the guy who was walking with his wife early one morning near Birlant’s Antiques? Live Five reported it this way July 17, 2020:
Provost and Executive Vice President of Academic Affairs Suzanne Austin and her husband, Tom DiLorenzo, were targeted in an attempted robbery near King and Clifford Streets, several blocks south of the main campus, C of C President Andrew Hsu said in a statement sent to the campus Friday afternoon.
Mr. DiLorenzo died of a gunshot wound as a result.
Who wants to be a victim? Facts matter; be prepared, readers.
Chinese spy balloon spotted over the Lowcountry. Photo courtesy of depositphoto.com.
Up, up and away … Red Dragon dies in S.C. waters
By Charleston Mercury Staff
“You really have to have the brain of a possum to believe them Chinese fellers was looking for a better weather forecast. Naw, sir.” That is the take of our esteemed correspondent named Possibility Possum.
He is actually much better than that. He saw the postings on Facebook of the good old boy and his girlfriend who were hurling beer bottles at the spy balloon and knew quick like that someone was making fun of our people.
Then, he found reports the York County sheriff had actually issued a warning against firing at the Friendly Skies of the Red Dragon. Just across the border, the police of Gastonia, N.C., advised their citizens to just let that white whale float by peacefully in our Carolina blue skies.
By the time the Panda Express reached the Pee Dee, the first youth duck hunt had largely concluded the morning portion of the day-long event — but a couple of Florence boys at a truck stop in Santee said a trophy swan was there for the taking for the youngsters. They went so far as to pass out Skittles and Coca-Colas to the sleepy chaps to keep them awake for the afternoon hunt.
One lad went to install the full choke in his double gun but was convinced by cooler heads that 60,000 feet is far bit for #3 shot.
Mr. Possum reports he was a bit surprised the military used a $400,000 missile to bring the balloon to bay, but noted in his reported, “That balloon never had a Chinaman’s chance once that decision was made.”
Hey, Prioleau. How’s it going? Photo by Jonathan Kemper @ unsplash.com.
Crab Pot
Maybe someone took the pellets out of my shells …
By Prioleau Alexander
As our last Pluff Mud was about fantasy hunts, I figured this would be a good time to ponder real hunts — good and bad.
For a year, I was a member of the Middleton Hunting Club — an esteemed organization well known to the wretch, as I believe his father paid for his first year’s dues while Charles was still in utero. The hunt club was best described by Jay Keenan, who said, “If someone offered you a job that required you to arrive every Saturday at 5 a.m., remain outside all day despite the weather, and do so every weekend for five months, what salary would you demand? Because we pay to do it.”
Although I am a fair shot with a rifle and pistol, those skills do not transfer to the occasions when I’m holding a shotgun … and when it comes to hitting a running deer, I am possibly the worst shot in South Carolina. Perhaps the world. Did someone take the pellets out of my shells — all of them? That must be the answer because the alternative is not very cool for a Marine who is a devoted hunter.
One Saturday morning, the deer dogs got off track and ran into a swamp. As it happens, old bucks remain old bucks because a) They become entirely nocturnal and b) They live in places hunters simply can’t access … like in the middle of a swamp.
The dogs weren’t in the swamp for long, but they scared up the biggest buck I’ve ever seen — I’m not kidding when I say he was the stuff of state records. He was very grumpy at being bothered by the dogs, and he ran towards me. It was a shot so easy one of Real Housewives of Miami could’ve made.
When hunting non-migratory animals, automatic shotguns may be loaded with five shells, and mine was … so I shot once, twice, three times, four times, and fifth to ensure my humiliation was complete. As that monster scampered off into parts unknown, the oldest buck I’ve ever seen came by — at a trot, because I think that’s all the steam he could muster. Having no shells in my gun, all I could do was wave.
I think about that buck from time to time — and although I would’ve enjoyed the praise from my fellow hunters, that fellow was the king of the forest. It’s best he went on to live out his days in peace.
Another hunt at Middleton had a similar result, although this time it was by choice. Non-hunters are largely unaware of this, but wild hogs are a huge problem in many of S.C.’s woodland areas. They are tremendously destructive, but, as an invasive species, they have no predators, so their numbers continue to multiply exponentially. Middleton has more than its share of hogs, so club policy was to take them when the opportunity arose.
One morning I was standing in the middle of nowhere, and I heard the dogs at bay. They didn’t sound like they were pushing anything my way, but I readied myself. Then, from about 50 yards away, a boar emerged. This animal was so fat, it would’ve been a shoo-in for The Biggest Loser. I don’t think it could’ve gotten fatter if it lived its life on sandwiches comprised of mayo, lard, and ranch dressing.
I exaggerate zero, here: His max speed was a brisk walk for a human. When he saw me, his pace increased zero mph. He didn’t even change route. I remember thinking, “That old fellow is so exhausted, he’d rather die than expend the energy to prevent it.”
Then, I saw the real issue: Extending below his rump were two “appendages” the size of cantaloupes. He couldn’t speed up because he wouldn’t be able to withstand the pain of doing so.
I thought for a moment how I’d the hero-hunter of the day if I brought this beast back to base camp, but I started laughing — filled with respect and awe. This was a boar so “manly” it became unthinkable to take him.
He trotted by me, maybe 10 feet away. Standing alone in the forest, I snapped to attention, saluted, and said aloud, “Carry on, pig. Today is not your day.”
Prioleau Alexander is author of You Want Fries With That?: A White-Collar Burnout Experiences Life at Minimum Wage and Dispatches Along the Way: An American Humorist Staggers Across Spain in Pursuit of Happiness, Truth, and a Cold Beer, both of which are very good and may be found at local bookshops for a reasonable price. A graduate of Auburn University, he once drove a tractor (an amphibious one, anyway) for a living; he is the owner of a damn fine dog.
Stiff upper lip virtue signaling
BBC reporter Laura Trevelyan and her family recently learned their ancestors owned more than 1,000 slaves — for which they were compensated $32,000 when slavery was outlawed — $3 million by today’s money. They have heroically announced they are donating “reparations” to a charity … to the tune of $120,000. Apparently compound interest doesn’t count when calculating how virtuous you are.
So bad it is evil
“Musician” Sam Smith appeared at the Grammys dressed as satan on a satan-themed stage to perform his new single “Unholy.” After the number, the screen cut to an ad for Pfizer, proclaiming their proud sponsorship of his act. Some Ramblers just write themselves.
Intellectual baby steps at the AP
The latest AP Style Guide has a problem with “crisis pregnancy centers,” and has decided they should instead be called anti-abortion centers. As a result, they offer their typists these instructions: If using the term anti-abortion center, explain later that these often are known as “crisis pregnancy centers” (with quotation marks) and that their aim is to dissuade people from getting an abortion.
What’s in a name, Gamecocks?
USC spent $238,000 on the research and development needed to re-brand themselves as UofSC. When the laughing failed to die down after three years, they’re back to being USC. Costs for signage changes have reached $100,000 and climbing. When asked for a comment, a USC spokesman said, “Big deal. We make that selling one gender studies degree.”
Chicago-style wings
What does $1.5 million in chicken wings look like? That’s about 11,000 cases of the rich-tasting, protein-filled delicacy served regularly at social events across the nation. That number of wings was stolen during a period of 19 months from the Harvey School District 152 in south Chicago. Apparently, the district’s food service director, Vera Liddell, is accused of serving herself, rather than the district’s children, many of whom are underprivileged. The 66-year-old woman (old enough to know better) is facing felony charges. In other news, your Rambler has learned that Chicago’s latest restaurant franchise, Chicken Liddell’s, is doing well.
Hate to tell you but …
As we go to press, we received the word that 94-year-old composer and singer Burt Bacharach has gone to the great cocktail lounge in the sky. In his honor, do grab your loved one and have a listen to this classic:
Until next week, stay warm (or cool) and keep your chin up (or your head down).
Mercury Team out.