April 14, 2017

Our 120th Wedding Anniversary

by Ed Chasteen

The latest date ever for Easter is April 25, last occuring in 1943 and next in 2038. Easter came on April 21 in 1957, making April 19 Good Friday that year. In more ways than one. For on that day in her church, First Baptist Church, Humble, Texas, Bobbie Marion Amos became the bride of Edgar Ray Chasteen.

Both bride and groom were students at Sam Houston State Teacher’s College, little more than an hour’s drive away in Huntsville, the groom’s home town. They had met that day Bobbie came to register as a freshman. Edgar was a sophomore. He was on assignment from the Baptist Student Union (BSU) to register new Baptist students. He saw her come into the room and said to himself: “I hope she’s Baptist.”

“Are you a Baptist?” is not in any of the dating handbooks recommended as a pickup line. But 18 months later it led to marriage. Sixty years have now passed. Three children—all born on a Friday—live nearby. In the same house where they grew up that bride and groom still live and the now grown children often come from their nearby hoimes.

Every April this bride and groom celebrate their wedding twice: once on Good Friday and once on April 19. Not once since they were married has Good Friday come on April 19, meaning that bride and groom have celebrated their marriage 120 times.

April 7, 2017
I’d Rather Be Dead
© 1996 by Ed Chasteen
I’d rather be dead than live in a world where I can’t speak to everyone I see and go to see anyone I choose.
The founders of all the faiths taught that we all are one, members together of the human family, meant by God to commune with one another.
Some mistaken followers of all the faiths would have us believe that our faith should separate us. They say we must do certain things certain ways.But the founders of all the faiths were not so limited in their vision. The circle they drew around themselves was as big as the world.
There is deep within me a yearning to be a world class person, one who can go any place at anytime and talk to anyone about anything and feel safe. I must resist all those people and powers that would restrict me to a faith, a nation, a color, a sex, an age, a particular place on the planet.
There are no boundaries on my soul. It is at home among all people. Peace, power, purpose, and joy flow thorough it in an ever deeper and wider stream of life-giving water. I know not what course others may choose, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death. The liberty to move freely about the earth. The liberty to relate peacefully and productively to people of all colors, cultures, and creeds.The liberty to go where my conscience tells me I must. The liberty to live the dream of Don Quixote and King Arthur and Martin Luther King, Jr. and Mahatma Gandhi.
I am not content to read about these noble souls.As often as I refer to them in the classes I teach, as much as I urge them upon my students as inspiration for their lives, as much as I draw upon them for guidance in my own life–still there is more I must do. I must live as they lived. I must think as they thought, teach as they taught, act as they acted.
How easy it would be to surrender our ideals.To hear them taught and preached is necessary but by no means sufficient to keep them alive. Unless ordinary people like me demonstrate their power to overcome evil, we will all sooner or later lose the little confidence in them we now have. To help prevent our long slide into the dark night of fear and ignorance and hate, I hereby offer my puny self.
Do not tell me it is hopeless. Do not caution me to lower my sights and take on a less ambitious task. Do not think that the horrors of Bosnia or Somalia can persuade me to abandon the quest. The inn keeper tries to reign in Don Quixote’s impossible dream with his observation: “I’m afraid wickedness wears thick armor.” Don Quixote rouses himself from his death bed to proclaim: “And for that wouldst thou have me surrender? Nay, let a man be overthrown ten thousand times, still must he rise and do battle.The Enchanter may confuse the outcome, but the effort remains sublime.”
In the word’s of Winston Churchill, I will “Never, never, never give up. Ten two letter words will not let me rest, and in spite of all the evidence I see that no one individual can have any far reaching or long lasting influence, these ten words bring me back to the fight each time I am tempted to quit. The ten words: “If it is to be, it is up to me.
I’d rather be dead than abandon this quest. Should I abandon it, then I will be dead in all the ways that really matter. Dead inside. Life as a soul-less manikin is no life at all.
HateBusters Bulletin is a publication of HateBusters, Inc. Box 442, Liberty, Missouri 64069, phone 816 803-8371: e-mail: hatebuster@aol.com

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?


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


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?


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


I ain’t afraid of no hate

Don’t be afraid of no hate

Who ya gonna call?


All alone

Pick up the phone

And call


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?


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


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

I think ya better call…


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!!!



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


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?


Teaching People How To Like People

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

www.greaterliberty.org www.hatebusters.com


March 23, 2017


2017 by Ed Chasteen

The Pedalin’ Prof


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.


March 21, 2017

Mill Inn as a Standby


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