BloggeRhythms

Items regarding today’s Progressives, centered on Woke theories of social justice poltics and critical race theory, are remindful of when at eighteen years old, employed as shipping manager by Carnival Toy Mfg. Corp., the family business was located in Bridgeport, Connecticut. At Wordin Avenue right alongside I 95. Products were plastic toy instruments; guitars, ukulele’s, banjo’s, violins and such.

My 20 year elder brother, GM of the business and myself, commuted together. He'd drive mornings, me at night. Manhattan homes three blocks apart, his with his young family on East 88th Street, mine with our widowed Mom on East 91st. Most often exhausted at workday's end, my brother would spread his long frame across the wide back seat, napping the entire trip home.

Summer always busiest, national chain stores, F.W. Woolworth, W.T. Grant, McCrory’s, McLellan’s, Sears and the like, stocked nationwide locations for the coming “back to school” sales surge, soon followed by the Christmas rush.

Personnel always brought on several more employees for the business onslaught, tasked with gathering freight, filling orders, loading trucks.

One busy day, a new hiree informed all in earshot that he was a bona-fide, actual, living, breathing American Indian, proudly able to prove it, quite a rare heritage in our particular neck of the woods. Shortly, a problem arose whereas, continually repeating his story about ethnic status and lineage, he performed no actual work at all, listeners tasks going unperformed as well.

Taking him aside, explaining we all had work to do, confirmation came that his job description and responsibilities had been clearly presented and if not performed, termination would occur poste haste because that's how my department ran, not to mention his deleterious disruption of those around him.

Responding quickly, surprisingly thorough, seeming almost rehearsed, he said that he, as an American Indian, member of a protected working class was impervious to the extent that termination was precluded until a thorough situational review had been conducted, unequivocally establishing his fault or occupational incapability.

Replying  “Okay,” picking him up by the collar and pants seat, I tossed him off the shipping platform. As he laid on the driveway, four feet below, I firmly informed him that if he returned, he’d meet a similar fate because there was no time for any kind of slackers, regardless of religion, lineage or ethnic heritage. Going back to work afterward myself as usual.

Later that evening, back on I 95, my brother sprawled across the rear car seat homeward bound, I told him what had taken place with Geronimo, or whatever his name was. Bolting upright behind me, my brother screamed “You can’t do that, the guy’s a protected hiree.” I calmly replied, “Yeah, but I did it.” He got louder, “But you can’t!” And me: “Uh-huh. But I did it.” The back and forth continued for the next few miles, my brother finally conceding to a circumstance far beyond his control, returned to sleep. To this very day, more than fifty years ago, I’m unaware of anyone in our organization ever hearing again from or about Cochise.

The point being, it was a far simpler time back then. Most often, payroll departments brought on personnel, saw to benefit needs, most importantly making sure everyone got paid on time. Human Resource specialists ensuring ethnic balances among personnel not being required at all, were non-existent. Situations like Geronimo’s were very rare, or in fact, happening just about never. Filling out fifty pages of fine print forms, holding hearings to justify suspension or termination, cadres of lawyers presenting both sides of cases was unheard of. One could simply pick up disruptive slackers and toss them off the platform. Case closed.

In its own way, while eon’s apart in magnitude, Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s attitude regarding Putin’s invasion is pretty much the same as what happened with Geronimo. While Putin mistakenly thought that surrounding Ukraine with 200,000 troops would result in almost immediate capitulation and surrender, he was met instead by an incredibly tough, dedicated, capable resistance.

One of the results is forty miles of Russian fuel, engineering and other supply units struggling to keep up with frontline forces, other vehicles left stranded on the road. That’s because, while the U.S., UN and NATO dither and blather about no-fly zones, military protocols and oil production, Zelensky told all Ukrainian males between 18 and 60 to find a weapon and then go kill some Russians.

That’s it for today folks.

Adios

PS: The bartender Congresswoman from the Bronx told her doctor that she broke her leg in two places. He told her to quit going to those places.