Archive for March, 2017

March 24, 2017

HateBusters Theme Song

(inspired by GhostBusters)

words by Jos Linn and Lance Venable,

When there’s hate growin’ in your neighborhood, who ya gonna call?

HATEBUSTERS!!!

When it’s gettin’ mean and it don’t look good, who ya gonna call?

HATEBUSTERS!!!

I ain’t afraid of no hate

I ain’t afraid of no hate

When you’re seein’ hate runnin’ all around, who ya gonna call?

HATEBUSTERS!!!

You’re lookin’ for help, but it can’t be found, who ya gonna call?

HATEBUSTERS!!!

I ain’t afraid of no hate

Don’t be afraid of no hate

Who ya gonna call?

HATEBUSTERS!!!

All alone

Pick up the phone

And call

HATEBUSTERS!!!

I ain’t afraid of no hate

I hate the likes of hate

Don’t be afraid of no hate

Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah

Who ya gonna call?

HATEBUSTERS!!!

Let me tell ya something

Bustin’ makes me feel good

I ain’t afraid of no hate

Don’t be afraid of no hate

You are not alone, no no

HATEBUSTERS!!!

When hate comes through your door, unless you just want some more,

I think ya better call…

HATEBUSTERS!!!

Who ya gonna call? HATEBUSTERS!!!

Who ya gonna call? HATEBUSTERS!!!

Who ya gonna call? HATEBUSTERS!!!

Who ya gonna call? HATEBUSTERS!!!

I can’t hear you!

Who ya gonna call? HATEBUSTERS!!!

Louder!

HATEBUSTERS!!!!!!

Who ya gonna call? HATEBUSTERS!!! 816-803-8371

http://www.hatebusters.com

With hate rearing its ugly head just about everywhere right now, the time is here for HateBusters to give our book, How To Like People Who Are not Like You free of charge to everyone, everywhere. An early review of the book called it “profoundly simple and simply profound, a formula for building human beings.” An E-copy of How To Like People Who Are not Like You is attached.

The first thing readers of the book are asked to do is to turn to page 127 and take the self-scoring test. This test makes plain to readers the importance of taking the three steps described in the book in the order they are given. The test also makes plain to readers their present skill level and where in the book they might most profitably start to read.

HateBusters’ goal in giving our book free of charge to all is to move us all closer to that time when we all can see ourselves as World Class Persons, able to go anyplace at anytime and talk to anyone about anything and feel safe.

If this is a journey you wish to take, who you gonna call?

HateBusters

Teaching People How To Like People

Box 442 Liberty, MO 64069 816-803-8371 hatebuster@aol.com

www.greaterliberty.org www.hatebusters.com

https://hatebusters.wordpress.com

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March 23, 2017

Ineffable

2017 by Ed Chasteen

The Pedalin’ Prof

from

William Jewell College

Before I read John Sexton’s book about baseball, I don’t remember ever seeing the word that entitles this little piece of writing. But sometimes more than once on a page and seemingly in each of its nine chapters (called Innings), this book, Baseball as a Road To God, makes use of the word: ineffable. After encountering it the first few times, I wrote down the word on a piece of paper, intending to look it up. But never doing so.

From seeing the word used sometimes with another word unknown to me, hierophany (and hierophanic), I developed a vague sense that ineffable is a conjuring word, referring to something that stirs within each of us which none of us has words to describe. I still have not looked up the word. And as much as I love words, I don’t think I ever will. For to the extent I’m right in what I have inferred, seeking a more precise definition is to me an uncalled for attempt to be rigorous about uncertainty.

When I went years ago to China to teach oral English to Chinese English teachers, I was less than half-joking when I told my students that I was teaching Texan. My Texas drawl once prompted the president of a Canadian university to get up and leave a lecture I was giving, saying to an associate as he left, “No one smart talks like that.” He may well have been right. My mother, though, taught me to say nothing about a person if I had nothing good to say.

To become a national anchor on CBS News and a regular on 60 Minutes, Dan Rather wrote in his book, The Camera Never Blinks, how he worked to lose his Texas accent. Dan and I were two years apart as students at Sam Houston State Teacher’s College in Huntsville, Texas. Dan grew up in Houston. I grew up in Huntsville. Though I moved from Texas when I was 26, I never tried to lose my accent.

As is my custom, I went this morning at 6:30 to breakfast at Ginger Sue’s, just a half block east of our town square here in Liberty, Missouri where I’ve lived and taught since grad school. Listening to NPR on my drive home, the word ineffable came to mind when I heard the morning traffic report announce “a stalled car on the ramp to Lamar.” And I smiled at this probably unconscious demonstration that we are all poets. And don’t even know it.

The ineffable works its way with us and in us and when we try in words to let loose in the world all that it IS, we inevitably fall short. Music and math, poetry and prose, inelegant and exhaulted: all reveal a part. None capture the whole.

INEFFABLE!!

March 21, 2017

Mill Inn as a Standby

3-18-17

by Ed Chasteen

From the table for eight at Mill Inn I make the call. When she answers I say; “I called this morning at seven-thirty to say we’d have six bikers there by nine. But we had a problem on the road and won’t be there at all. Some other Saturday we’ll come.”

We were just a few miles out on H, not yet to the country club, when I drove up behind a cluster of riders stopped beside the road. Mike had a nose bleed. I didn’t have the needed tissue. They rode on. I waited a few minutes. When the two bikers behind me passed, I drove on.

All the way to Mill Inn! Expecting around every bend, over every hill to spot the five bikers I knew were ahead of me. But I never saw them. So I pulled into Mill Inn’s parking lot and called Steve, our ride leader. I didn’t really expect him to answer. His voice mail picked up. I left a message, telling him I had lost them and was coming back to look.

Hundreds of times Mill Inn had been our destinaton. Today, as dozens of times over the years, this traffic light at the corner of St Louis and Kansas City Streets was to be the place where individual riders waited for the others in the group, before, together, they all navigated a meandering path through town and out to Salem Road on the other side of Excelsior Springs, past the intersecting road to the left about a mile out over to the pasta plant, then up and down some hills another eight miles to Lawson and breakfast at Catrick’s.

Maybe I should drive on. It’s nearing 8:30. Maybe they’re ahead of me. But that’s not possible. How they could be behind me I haven’t a clue. I would have passed them! I did not. They are lost. I lost them. How is that possible? No way they can be ahead. So I turn back.

About a mile I go. Not even to H. And here they come. All five. The ones who’d stopped beside the road. The ones I’d lost. They ride past me. I turn around to follow. We rendezvous at Mill Inn when they stop at the light. I’m thinking maybe we should just eat here when Steve comes up: “We’re ready to stop.” He says.

The six of us gather at the table for eight. That’s when I call Catrick’s to cancel our breakfast there. When Mary brings our water, coffee and ice tea I tell her that two more will soon join us. Bill and Greg told me back at the bike shop as we left that Lawson was miles too far this day and they would turn back at Mill Inn.

Events of the morning have transpired in such a way as to deliver us unexpectedly and all together to a familiar place where everybody knows our name and makes us welcome. Around the table as we talk the mystery is solved. In search of tissue for a bloody nose, the five riders had pulled off the road to ask for help at the country club. I had driven past.

The Greater Liberty Riders we’ve named ourselves. From Biscari Brothers Bicycles in Liberty to a small town cafe some 15-25 miles out we ride every Saturday morning of the year. Some two dozen mom and pop breakfast spots have lured us in the 16 years we’ve been riding. Mill Inn more than any other. Today even though unplanned.

Riders today: Dennis Helt, Stefanie Smith, Richard Woodruff, Mike Nason, Steve Hanson, Bill Hessel, Greg Snodgrass, Ed Chasteen

March 10, 2017

Crossing Guard

by Ed Chasteen

My high School was on the corner, a street in front and one beside. The principal called me to his office one day and asked me to be the crossing guard. “Stand in the intersection and help our students cross the street.” Years later in another town my church was on a corner. They asked me to be their Ambassador to Other Communities of Faith. A crossing guard I had been; a bridge builder I became.

Now with immigrants and refugees much in the news, I offer to my nation my services as a crossing guard and an ambassador. Fort America turns us inward, makes us fearful, suspicious and aggressive, the Ugly American writ large. The same materials used to make walls can be used to build bridges. Walls cut off. Bridges open up.

March 1, 2017

They Won the Green Card Lottery

2017 by Ed Chasteen

“Please, God, don’t let these dear people experience buyer’s remorse.” This is my silent prayer as eleven of us sit at the dinner table. Semih Ayaydin, his wife Sermin and their teenage son and daughter, Mustafa and Sude, were at home in Turkey until a few months ago. They had won the Green Card Lottery months earlier and passed all the background checks. Now they live in a duplex near Winnetonka High School in North Kansas City. Tom Dunn and I have been invited tonight to dinner.

Eyyup Esen is here. Eyyup, also from Turkey, is a naturalized American citizen with a doctorate from KU and directs the Dialogue Institute of the Southwest, based here in Kansas City. As part of the program the Dialogue Institute offers, Eyyup takes folks from Kansas City to visit Turkey. Jan and John Devaney have gone with Eyyup to Turkey and are here tonight. During dinner they discover they met the Ayaydin family in Turkey.

Winning the Green Card Lottery is not the same as being issued a Green Card. Those issued a Green Card receive it after being offered a job in the United States and securing a sponsor to ease their transition. The Green Card Lottery is a wholly different matter. Only in a few countries each year is it offered. Those who live in that country and learn of its availability may sign up. From those who sign up, names are randomly drawn and background checks are run. Those who make it this far get a Green Card and are allowed to come to America at their own expense, with no promise of a job and no certain place to live.

As the eleven of us sit around the table and dine on the delightful Turkish dinner prepared for us, my mind is churning, trying without success to understand what sinister forces ripped this winsome family from their home and brought them to a place they have never been, where people do not speak, worship or dine as they always have.

Across the table from me sit Mehmed and Irem Atik, a young Turkish husband and wife, also dinner guests here tonight. Mehmed’s father was a medical doctor in Turkey. In 2001 he moved with his family to the US, settling in Houston, where for five years he operated a Turkish grocery, before joining the medical staff at Baylor Medical Center in Houston. Mehmed and Irem have just moved from Houston to Kansas City so Mehmed can attend Kansas City Medical School and become a physician.

Semih sits on my right at dinner and fills my small glass with hot tea several times, but he speaks no English and I speak no Turkish. Mehmed, directly across from us both, relays my many questions to Semih. Thus I learn about the Green Card Lottery, how Semih found a job and a place to live, where Mustafa and Sude go to school. When I hear of Semih’s need to learn English, I tell him about my two sons, one on staff at Penn Valley Community College, the other on staff at Longview Community College, either of which might know where and how to put Semih in touch with needed language help.

Tom and I bid a reluctant farewell when dinner ends and we are drawn from this world as it should be, this blood transfusion for a patient on life support. Cloud nine has come down around us gathered at this table. We have come in from the cold on a winter’s night. Each of us is a part of all as we leave.

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