Friday, January 29, 2010
I know some of you will not understand this message, but I bet you know someone who might.
I came across this phrase yesterday. 'FENDER SKIRTS.'
A term I haven't heard in a long time, and thinking about 'fender skirts' started me thinking about other words that quietly disappear from our language with hardly a notice like 'curb feelers.'
And 'steering knobs.' (AKA) 'suicide knob,' 'neckers knobs.'
Since I'd been thinking of cars, my mind naturally went that direction first..
Any kids will probably have to find some older person over 50 to explain some of these terms to them.
Remember 'Continental kits?' They were rear bumper extenders and spare tire covers that were supposed to make any car as cool as a Lincoln Continental.
When did we quit calling them 'emergency brakes?' At some point 'parking brake' became the proper term. But I miss the hint of drama that went with 'emergency brake.'
Often times years ago, the car brakes didn't always function well because of negligent maintence, so the emergency brake would be used in its place to stop the car. During the war, many cars became what was known as a 'clunk' because it was nearly worn out or just let go due to lack of repair parts since metal was scraped for war use.
I'm sad, too, that almost all the old folks are gone who would call the accelerator the 'foot feed.' Many today do not even know what a clutch is or that the dimmer switch used to be on the floor.
Didn't you ever wait at the street for your daddy to come home, so you could ride the 'running board' up to the house? Often times a hitch hiker would ride on the running board to where ever they were goind just down the road.
The running board was also a place to tie on over sized items to take to the store. Often times the egg case would be tied to the running board to take the eggs to sell.
Here's a phrase I heard all the time in my youth but never anymore - 'store-bought.' Of course, just about everything is store-bought these days. But once it was bragging material to have a store-bought dress or a store-bought bag of candy. We felt really special and GOOD to wear a store bought dress! Hand me downs were often the case. Home made was more often what we wore....and yes, made out of feed sacks....sometimes more than one sack was bought to have enough material for a garment. These were 100% cotton, dyed, and would fade out more quickly when hung out in the sun to dry, so Mother turned colored clothes wrong side out, plus hung them in the shade if at all possible.
'Coast to coast' is a phrase that once held all sorts of excitement and now means almost nothing. Now we take the term 'world wide' for granted. This floors me.
On a smaller scale, 'wall-to-wall' was once a magical term in our homes. In the '50s, everyone covered his or her hardwood floors with, wow, wall-to-wall carpeting! Today, everyone replaces their wall-to-wall carpeting with hardwood floors.
I was thinking of this the other day!
When was the last time you heard the quaint phrase 'in a family way?' It's hard to imagine that the word 'pregnant' was once considered a little too graphic, a little too clinical for use in polite company, so we had all that talk about stork visits and 'being in a family way' or simply 'expecting.'
Those with scruples NEVER talked about being in the family way in front of the opposite sex. It was just unheard of or you were looked down on for your lack of couth.
Apparently 'brassiere' is a word no longer in usage. I said it the other day and my daughter cracked up. I guess it's just 'bra' now. 'Unmentionables' probably wouldn't be understood at all.
I always loved going to the 'picture show,' but I considered 'movie' an affectation.
Most of these words go back to the '50s, but here's a pure '60s word I came across the other day 'rat fink.' Ooh, what a nasty put-down!
Here's a word I miss - 'percolator.' That was just a fun word to say. And what was it replaced with 'Coffee maker.' How dull... Mr. Coffee, I blame you for this.
I saw a percolator for sale the other day with the comment, 'like the ones sold years ago.' I still have one given to us as a wedding present in 1961 and it works!
I miss those made-up marketing words that were meant to sound so modern and now sound so retro. Words like 'DynaFlow' and 'Electrolux.' Introducing the 1963 Admiral TV, now with 'SpectraVision!'
Our preacher used to sell Electrolux vacuums and Mother and Dad bought one after much contemplation. They knew he was newly married and needed the money, and wanted to help him out.
Food for thought. Was there a telethon that wiped out lumbago? Nobody complains of that anymore. Maybe that's what castor oil cured, because I never hear mothers threatening kids with castor oil anymore.
Some words aren't gone, but are definitely on the endangered list. The one that grieves me most is 'supper.' Now everybody says 'dinner.' Save a great word. Invite someone to supper. Discuss fender skirts.
Supper will always be what I eat for the evening meal. Dinner is the noon meal and lunch is something you take along in a paper sack to school, work or other wise while you are away.
Someone forwarded this to me. I thought some of us of a 'certain age' would remember most of these.
Just for fun, pass it along to others of 'a certain age.' :-)
IF YOU AREN'T OF A CERTAIN AGE, YOU MUST KNOW SOMEONE WHO IS.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
She still, however, loves to cuddle up, lay her head on my shoulder, and enjoy the warmth of my body.
I stroke her hair . . . and think pleasant thoughts. How this fine, once elegant lady is moving into the final part of her life on this earth. She is not quite as elegant as she once was . . . not quite as nimble or quick on her feet, or as agile.
But, then, neither am I.
Her hair is turning a bit on the grey side. She still loves affection and whenever I sit down on the couch, she's right there next to me. I kinda think she likes me a little bit. In a matter of seconds, her head finds my shoulder and rests there.
In truth, we like each other. A lot.
We've had some good times together. We've played a bit . . . but mostly we just enjoy each other . . . we enjoy the warmth of each others body.
I fear she will leave this earth before I do . . . and I shall miss her.
It's been a good relationship. I shall hate to see her pass. But she's getting more and more frail with each passing day. Her hair is not as pretty as it once was. It doesn't have the same sheen it once did, not as dark . . . old age has set in and she'll soon be but a memory.
Oh, excuse me! Did you think I was talking about Evelyn?
Sorry. No. I was talking about Missy, our cat of about 18 years of age.
'I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.' My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him a bout his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics Listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, 'I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.' I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. 'Can you tell me about him?' The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
'He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him, that was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. 'You mean you're going to kill him?'
'Ma'am,' he said gently, 'that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed Dog.'
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. 'I'll take him,' I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.
'Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!' I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. 'If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one.. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it' Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples..
'You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!' Dad ignored me. 'Did you hear me, Dad?' I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.'
'I've often thanked God for sending that angel,' he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article.
Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . .his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
The Arctic ocean is warming up, icebergs are growing scarcer and in
some places the seals are finding the water too hot, according to a
report to the Commerce Department yesterday from Consul Ifft, at
Bergen , Norway. Reports from fishermen, seal hunters and explorers
all point to a radical change in climate conditions and hitherto
unheard-of temperatures in the Arctic zone. Exploration expeditions
report that scarcely any ice has been met as far north as 81 degrees
29 minutes. Soundings to a depth of 3,100 meters showed the gulf
stream still very warm. Great masses of ice have been replaced by
moraines of earth and stones, the report continued, while at many
points well known glaciers have entirely disappeared. Very few seals
and no white fish are found in the eastern Arctic, while vast shoals
of herring and smelts, which have never before ventured so far north,
are being encountered in the old seal fishing grounds. Within a few
years it is predicted that due to the ice melt the sea will rise and
make most coastal cities uninhabitable.
I'm sorry, I neglected to mention that this report was from November
2, 1922 as reported by the AP and published in The Washington Post ...
Monday, January 25, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
This is an absolute must see, this is more of a reason why music
should not be taken from the school system there is real
talent yet to be discovered!
You may never have heard the full rendition of I Silenzioa,
otherwise known as "Taps". This is a most beautiful rendition. The girl's name is Melissa Venema and is playing with maestro Andre Rieu from
Maastricht in the Netherlands. She is 13, has been performing for years. This performance is in 2008 Maastricht where city officials sealed off the town square and closed everything down so they get perfect noise
But that was long before my time. I lived in Omaha long after the tents and wikiups and hogans of the Indian were gone. We lived in a very hoity toity part of Omaha called Benson, a northwestern suburb. Benson also had a high school which some very creative person had named Benson High School. Being in the hoity toity part of Omaha it attracted a great many rich kids.
My family and I were not rich, but middle class. My valet, for example, was not particularly well trained, not even knowing how to mix a decent martini (sniff). I only had one valet, most Benson High School students had at least two. Unlike many other of my fellow students, I did not have an entourage. Couldn't afford it, being of modest means.
I recall many a morning when my baby blue T-Bird would face the daunting challenge of climbing the steep hill on Maple Street from about 69th to 63rd, before finally reaching that lovely level stretch of land through downtown Benson. I have to compliment my chaufeurr, Nicky, for the always comfortable, sometimes very scenic drives. I always enjoyed viewing the colorful Benson Baptist Church (where I was later to marry a Countess from Scotland, the lovely Mary (sorry, don't quite recall her last name. I'm bad on names). I also recall the excitement as I passed Kremer Funeral Home, the Benson Post Office, Steve's Grill, Feierman Jewelers, and the Benson Theater (where we used to always scrape together $0.09 cents for every Saturday morning and see both cartoons as well as exciting adventure movies, including my favorite hero, Lash Larue). Those were wonderful times.
Arriving at Benson High School, I was met every morning by a smiling John "Pinky" Aronson, the Vice Principal, who would open the door to my T-Bird, shake my hand, wave at Nicky, and welcome me to the school. I remember one day I suggested to my fellow classmates that we all honor "Pinky" Aronson by dressing in completely pink clothing. I wore pink trousers, pink socks, a pink shirt, white belt and white shoes. I was a sight to behold. The entire school turned out in pink that day.
Mr. Aronson, I'm sure, was amused.
As we walked together up the sidewalk leading to the building I was often approached by other students who did not have transportation and had to walk to school. They would compliment me on my T-Bird and mention how it would be nice if, maybe sometime, I could give them a ride, seeing as how I was going in the same direction. I always made it a point to shake their hand or give them a friendly wave, show a warm smile and say, "what a perfectly grand idea. Do let me give it some thought and get back to you!" (I have always found it to be a good idea to treat those of a different social class kindly. Even though a majority of us were middle class, some of these forsaken kids didn't have so much as a valet to their name. I tried to brighten their lives by being kind to them and favoring them with, at the very least, with my wonderfully contented smile).
I soon joined the rest of those from my social class and we would tell marvelously funny stories, describe our valet's hilarious shortcomings and/or great accomplishments. Being of modest means, my valet, Nicky, had to double as my chauffeur. Several times I thought of giving Nicky notice but she was such a strikingly lovely creature that I found it hard to part with her. Besides, she was often of great comfort to me in times of sorrow, like when our cook would forget both Brie and a sufficient amount of caviar in my box lunch she had prepared for me daily. Nicky (short for Nicole) would put her arms around me and murmur soft things in my ear. I always felt so much better; sometimes, to the point of skipping school for several hours to be with Nicky, the more to enjoy her comforting.
In late morning I would always head for gym class, presided over by Art Harris, our football coach. Mr. Harris was a strapping 3' tall but he was a human dynamo, often running around in circles, clapping his hands and yelling, "Let's go! Let's go!" to no one in particular. I was very fond of Mr. Harris, however. I suppose it might have been because I went to him one day, very sad, and told him my favorite pet rabbit, which I had called "Bunny" had passed away. I suggested to Mr. Harris that we might memorialize Bunny by naming the school, and in particular, its football team, the Benson High School Bunnies.
Mr. Harris slapped his thighs, and exclaimed, "that's a wonderful idea! It shall be done!"
And so, to this day, members who attended, and who still attend, my alma mater, are known as The Benson High School Bunnies.
All good things, however, must come to an end. After four years of absolute bliss, my high school days came to an end. I graduated (flipped my tassle, as we say) and went on to a brilliantly successful career in business and also became a highly successful and adored international spy.
That, too, is all behind me now. Nicky is still with me. She stays in the spare bedroom here at the Madison Mansion, still chauffeurs me about town, still mixes me my martinis, still performs as a valet, and is always there to offer me comforting words, thoughts and deeds whenever mean ol' Evelyn says or does something to wound my sensitive ego.
Mrs. Madison recognizes that Nicky is simply my valet, nothing more, (at least, that's what she believes) someone with whom I would find living life to be particularly difficult.
Nicky was even with me during my exciting and adventuresome years as an international spy.
But that, as we say, is another story.
Buy me a drink sometime . . . maybe I'll tell you. (Some parts, however, are still classified. Those parts would take two drinks).
"Frankly, I don't know what it is about California, but we seem to have a strange urge to elect really obnoxious women to high office. I'm not bragging, you understand, but no other state, including Maine, even comes close. When it comes to sending left-wing dingbats to Washington, we're number one. There's no getting around the fact that the last time anyone saw the likes of Barbara Boxer, Dianne Feinstein and Nancy Pelosi, they were stirring a cauldron when the curtain went up on 'Macbeth'. The three of them are like jackasses who happen to possess the gift of speech. You don't know if you should condemn them for their stupidity or simply marvel at their ability to form words."
--columnist Burt Prelutsky
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
hated everyone, except her loving boyfriend. He was always
there for her. She told her boyfriend, 'If I could only see
the world, I would marry you.'
One day, someone donated a pair of eyes to her. When the bandages
came off, she was able to see everything, including her
He asked her, 'Now that you can see the world, will you marry me?' The
girl looked at her boyfriend and saw that he was blind. The
sight of his closed eyelids shocked her. She hadn't expected
that. The thought of looking at them the rest of her life
led her to refuse to marry him.
Her boyfriend left in tears and days later wrote a note to her
saying: 'Take good care of your eyes, my dear, for before
they were yours, they were mine.'
This is how the human brain often works when our status changes.
Only a very few remember what life was like before, and who
was always by their side in the most painful situations.
Life Is a Gift
Today Don't judge people for a mistake made and think about when you were judged when you made one and how good you felt when you were forgiven!
Today before you say an unkind word - Think of someone who can't
Before you complain about the taste of your food - Think of someone
who has nothing to eat.
Before you complain about your husband or wife - Think of someone
who's crying out to GOD for a companion.
Today before you complain about life - Think of someone who went
too early to heaven.
Before whining about the distance you drive Think of someone who
walks the same distance with their feet.
And when you are tired and complain about your job - Think of the
unemployed, the disabled, and those who wish they had your
And when depressing thoughts seem to get you down - Put a smile on
your face and think: you're alive and still around.
look at and admired for their lines...
How many times have you heard: “Wish they would make cars the way they used to”.
This video dispels that myth.
Interesting video to watch. You know how we always think about what big huge
tanks the old cars of the 50's and 60's were for size?
And how we talk about how there is so much plastic on the new cars that if
one of the old tanks ever collided with a new car, the new car would be
Well, someone in the insurance industry put that theory to the test.
Be sure to watch toward the end to see the overhead view - and the assessment
of driver injury. Those crumple zones do work.
Monday, January 18, 2010
... over virgin entitlement in afterlife
Muslim suicide bombers in Britain are set to begin a three-day strike on
Monday in a dispute over the number of virgins they are entitled to in
the afterlife. Emergency talks with Al Qaeda management have so far
failed to produce an agreement.
The unrest began last Tuesday when Al Qaeda announced that the number of
virgins a suicide bomber would receive after his death will be cut by
25% next January from 72 to only 54. The rationale for the cut was the
increase in recent years of the number of suicide bombings and a
subsequent shortage of virgins in the afterlife.
The suicide bombers' union, the British Organization of Occupational
Martyrs (or B.O.O.M.) responded with a statement that this was
unacceptable to its members and immediately balloted for strike action.
General Secretary Abdullah Amir told the press, "Our members are
literally working themselves to death in the cause of jihad. We don't
ask for much in return, but to be treated like this by management is a
kick in the teeth."
Mr Amir accepted the limited availability of virgins, but pointed out
that the cutbacks were expected to be borne entirely by the workforce
and not by management. "Last Christmas Abu Hamza alone was awarded an
annual bonus of 250,000 virgins," complains Amir. "And you can be sure
they'll all be pretty ones too. How can Al Qaeda afford that for members of the
management, but not 72 for the people who do the real work?"
Speaking from the shed in the West Midlands where he currently resides,
Al Qaeda chief executive Osama bin Laden explained,
"We sympathize with our workers' concerns but Al Qaeda is simply not in
a position to meet their demands. They are simply not accepting the
realities of modern-day jihad, in a competitive marketplace. Thanks to Western
depravity, there is now a chronic shortage of virgins in the afterlife.
It's a straight choice between reducing expenditure and laying people
off. I don't like cutting wages but I'd hate to have to tell 3,000 of my
staff that they won't be able to blow themselves up." He defended
management bonuses by claiming these were necessary to attract good
fanatical clerics. "How am I supposed to attract the best people if I can't compete with
the private sector?" asked Mr. Bin-Laden.
Talks broke down this morning after management's last-ditch proposal of
a virgin-sharing scheme was rejected outright after a failure to agree
on orifice allocation quotas (OAQ). One virgin, who refused to be
named, was quoted as saying "I'll be buggered if I'm agreeing to
anything like that ... it's too much to swallow".
Unless some sort of agreement is reached over the weekend, suicide
bombers will set down explosives at midday on Monday. Most branches are
supporting the strike. Only the North London branch, which has a
different union, is likely to continue working. However, some members of
that branch will only be using waist-down explosives in order to express
solidarity with their striking brethren.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Minneapolis Star-Tribune published a letter from Satan to evangelist Pat Robertson, responding to his comment that Haiti's persistent troubles, including the earthquake, are due to a pact the nation made with Mephistopheles.
Actually, it wasn't Satan who wrote the letter but Lilly Coyle of Minneapolis writing in the persona of the hellish one.
I think she got it down pretty well. What say you?
Dear Pat Robertson,
I know that you know that all press is good press, so I appreciate the shout-out. And you make God look like a big mean bully who kicks people when they are down, so I'm all over that action.
But when you say that Haiti has made a pact with me, it is totally humiliating. I may be evil incarnate, but I'm no welcher. The way you put it, making a deal with me leaves folks desperate and impoverished.
Sure, in the afterlife, but when I strike bargains with people, they first get something here on earth -- glamour, beauty, talent, wealth, fame, glory, a golden fiddle. Those Haitians have nothing, and I mean nothing. And that was before the earthquake. Haven't you seen "Crossroads"? Or "Damn Yankees"?
If I had a thing going with Haiti, there'd be lots of banks, skyscrapers, SUVs, exclusive night clubs, Botox -- that kind of thing. An 80 percent poverty rate is so not my style. Nothing against it -- I'm just saying: Not how I roll. You're doing great work, Pat, and I don't want to clip your wings -- just, come on, you're making me look bad. And not the good kind of bad. Keep blaming God. That's working. But leave me out of it, please. Or we may need to renegotiate your own contract.
To view, go here:
The Auschwitz Album
About Yad Vashem | The Holocaust | Digital Collections | Education & E-learning | Exhibitions | Remembrance | Righteous | Visiting | YV Worldwide
The Auschwitz Album is the only surviving visual evidence of the process of mass murder at Auschwitz-Birkenau. It is a unique document and was donated to Yad Vashem by Lilly Jacob-Zelmanovic Meier.
The photos were taken at the end of May or beginning of June 1944, either by Ernst Hofmann or by Bernhard Walter, two SS men whose task was to take ID photos and fingerprints of the inmates (not of the Jews who were sent directly to the gas chambers). The photos show the arrival of Hungarian Jews from Carpatho-Ruthenia. Many of them came from the Berehovo Ghetto, which itself was a collecting point for Jews from several other small towns.
Early summer 1944 was the apex of the deportation of Hungarian Jewry. For this purpose a special rail line was extended from the railway station outside the camp to a ramp inside Auschwitz. Many of the photos in the album were taken on the ramp. The Jews then went through a selection process, carried out by SS doctors and wardens. Those considered fit for work were sent into the camp, where they were registered, deloused and distributed to the barracks. The rest were sent to the gas chambers. They were gassed under the guise of a harmless shower, their bodies were cremated and the ashes were strewn in a nearby swamp. The Nazis not only ruthlessly exploited the labor of those they did not kill immediately, they also looted the belongings the Jews brought with them. Even gold fillings were extracted from the mouths of the dead by a special detachment of inmates. The personal effects the Jews brought with them were sorted by inmates and stored in an area referred to by the inmates as "Canada": the ultimate land of plenty.
The photos in the album show the entire process except for the killing itself.
The purpose of the album is unclear. It was not intended for propaganda purposes, nor does it have any obvious personal use. One assumes that it was prepared as an official reference for a higher authority, as were photo albums from other concentration camps.
Lilly never hid the album and news of its existence was published many times. She was even called to present it as testimony at the Auschwitz trials in Frankfurt during the 1960s. She kept it all the years until the famous Nazi-hunter Serge Klarsfeld visited her in 1980, and convinced her to donate the album to Yad Vashem.
In 1994 the album was restored in Yad Vashem's conservation laboratory and information on each one of the photos was typed into the computerized databank of the archive. The staff of the archive was able to compare and match the pictures with aerial photos taken by the US Army Air Force on several occasions in 1944-45. In 1999 the entire album was scanned with the highest quality digital equipment.
There are 56 pages and 193 photos in the album. Some of the original pictures, presumably those given by Lilly to survivors who had identified relatives in the photographs, are missing. One of these pictures was recently donated to Yad Vashem.
Encyclopedia of the Holocaust, Tel-Aviv, 1990.
Gilbert, Martin, Auschwitz and the Allies, New-York, 1981.
Greif, Gideon, We Wept without Tears, Testimonies of the Jewish Sonderkommando from Auschwitz
Yale University Press and The Sue and Leonard Miller Center for Contemporary Judaic Studies, University of Miami, 2005.
Hoess, Rudolf, Commandant of Auschwitz, Cleveland, 1959.
Klarsfeld, Serge (ed.), The Auschwitz Album, Lilly Jacob's Album, New-York, 1980.
Kraus, Ota & Kulka, Erich, The Death Factory: Document on Auschwitz, New-York, 1966.
To purchase the Auschwitz Album from Yad Vashem Publications, click here
Introduction | The Album | Multimedia | Aerial Photos
Copyright © 2009 Yad Vashem The Holocaust Martyrs' and Heroes' Remembrance Authority
Thursday, January 14, 2010
From: Aleksandra Rebic [mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org]
Sent: Tuesday, January 12, 2010 9:11 PM
Subject: "Israel's Muslim Problem is Not Unique" by Daniel Greenfield Jan. 12, 2010
Found on Canada Free Press at:
and on Free Republic at:
Thanks to Michael Papich for bringing this to my attention.
Israel’s Muslim Problem is Not Unique
By Daniel Greenfield Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The visit of Bulgarian Prime Minister Boiko Borissov to Israel this week is a timely reminder that Israel’s problems with Islam are not unique. Like Israel, Bulgaria was ruled over by the Ottoman Empire, which exported their population to Bulgaria, oppressed the native Bulgarians, seized their lands and attempted to become the dominant majority. And when the Ottoman Empire lost control over Bulgaria, it left behind a huge Muslim population in Bulgaria.
The key difference between Bulgaria and Israel, is that Bulgaria since the 1870’s forced much of its Turkic Muslim population to leave. As a result millions of Turkic Muslims left Bulgaria, leaving it a quieter place than neighboring Yugoslavia or Russia, or for that matter modern day France. Muslim clothing was banned, mosques were torn down and lands held by the Ottoman Muslim settlers were returned to native Bulgarians.
Today Bulgaria still has a troublesome Muslim minority of under a million, led by Ahmet Dogan, and backed by Turkish intelligence, which under Islamist PM Erdogan has branched out into promoting Jihad, much as Pakistan had. But despite Turkish attempts to intervene in Bulgaria, the country’s Prime Minister, Boiko Borissov is a staunchly anti-Muslim leader, who has challenged Turkey’s EU bid over its expulsion of Bulgarian in the 1920’s.
Bulgaria is an example and a warning not just to Israel, but to Europe, Russia, Australia, America and many other parts of the world as well. Had Bulgaria not made life uncomfortable for Muslims, its fate in the 1990’s would have probably resembled that of Yugoslavia, torn apart by foreign backed civil war and then carved up by Clinton and Albright. That same fate is now overtaking Israel and will overtake Europe as well.
That is because Israel’s Muslim problem is not unique. Israel, like so many other lands, was overrun by Muslim conquerors who repressed the native Jewish population and settled their own population in its stead. The only unique thing about Israel’s dilemma is that when the Ottoman Empire was defeated, Israel did not receive its freedom. Instead a British Mandate that was supposed to create a Jewish state, instead tried to create an Arab client state by expanding Arab immigration to Israel, while restricting Jewish immigration.
Israel’s Freedom, British Mandate, Arabs transformed into Palestinians
Had Israel received its freedom after WW1 when its Ottoman overlords departed, it would have never been overrun by Egyptian and Syrian Arabs who were magically transformed into “Palestinians” in the 70’s at the behest of the KGB. Nor would the Holocaust have claimed a fraction of the lives that it did, had Israel existed as an independent nation capable of taking in refugees, instead of having its ports shut to refugees by a British Empire more interested in appeasing Muslims and using them to establish client states under their control. And the worldwide Jihad and Oil for Terror are the aftereffects of British and American appeasement and coddling of Muslim desert sheiks then.
But the past is in the past. The challenge of the future is to learn from it. The long term effects of Muslim expansionism around the world has embedded Muslim minorities in countries across Eastern Europe, Africa, Asia and the Middle East. Those minorities have always served as a local powder keg, which is now being lit with the help of Saudi petrodollars. Now a new wave of Islamic expansionism through immigration and Jihad is spreading even into regions that had never known the tyranny of Islam such as Australia, North and South America; as well as Europe where Islam had not succeeded in taking root before.
The toxic brew of religious supremacism and nationalist racism represented by Islamic expansionism is a threat to nearly every country in the world, whether they choose to admit it or not. And while Israel’s troubles with Islam are more likely to become front page news, because its presence some 700 miles from Mecca is a perennial thumb in the eye of the Jihad—it is also the canary in the coal mine for the rest of the world.
Islamism insures that Muslims cannot co-exist with non-Muslims except under a harsh dictatorship. Which leaves free nations with a choice between tyranny and removing the Muslim minority within its borders. The absence of Islam within one’s borders does not guarantee peace, but the presence of Islam insures that conflict will come sooner or later. The examples of that are unfortunately all too numerous across the globe, across entire hemispheres where blood is being spilled in the name of Islam. From suicide bombings to honor killings, from Muslim insurgencies in the countryside to Islamist parties creeping in from within, from Sharia at the point of a sharpened knife to riots in the streets—where there is Islamism, there can be no peace.
Israel’s great mistake was its belief that it could co-exist with Muslims, and for its entire existence has bent over backward to accommodate them. From accepting the UN Partition Plan to sending troops to urge fleeing Arabs to return to Israel, to leaving the Temple Mount in Muslim hands, to the entire disastrous attempt to negotiate a peace with terror by agreeing to the creation of a terrorist state within its borders—Israel’s folly has been to seek peace with an ideology that uses the promise of peace as a lure to convince you to cut your own throat.
Where Islam exists in a nation, it will sooner or later either be suppressed or it will come to dominate. That is a scenario that every nation with a Muslim minority must understand and address, or it will become a Muslim nation with the native population reduced to an oppressed minority or butchered in the night. A totalitarian ideology cannot be made peace with. Either you will defeat it, or it will defeat you.
Daniel Greenfield Most recent columns
Daniel Greenfield is a New York City based writer and freelance commentator. “Daniel comments on political affairs with a special focus on the War on Terror and the rising threat to Western Civilization. He maintains a blog at Sultanknish.blogspot.com.
Daniel can be reached at: email@example.com
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Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved." Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross." The English have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to a "Bloody Nuisance." The last time the British issued a "Bloody Nuisance" warning level was in 1588 when threatened by the Spanish Armada.The Scots raised their threat level from "Pissed Off" to "Let's get the Bastards." They don't have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide". The only two higher levels inFrance are "Collaborate" and "Surrender." The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability. It's not only the French who are on a heightened level of alert: Italy has increased the alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing." Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides."The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbour" and "Lose".
The Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels .
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Canada doesn't have any alert levels.
And in the southern hemisphere .....
New Zealand has also raised its security levels - from "baaa" to "BAAAA". Due to continuing defense cutbacks (the airforce being a squadron of spotty teenagers flying paper aeroplanes and the navy some toy boats in the Prime Minister's bath), New Zealand only has one more level of escalation, which is "I hope Australia will come and rescue us".
Australia , meanwhile, has raised its security level from "No worries" to "She'll be al'right, mate". Three more escalation levels remain: "Crikey!', "I think we'll need to cancel the barbie this weekend" and "The barbie is cancelled". So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.