WIRE: Trump mesmerizes followers…
Southaven (United States) (AFP) – Donald Trump closed his speech with a lofty call against fear and division in next month’s midterm elections — having just spent an hour stirring exactly that. Like an angry rock star, Trump whipped up the crowd of more than 10,000 in Southaven, Mississippi this week with warnings that a Democratic retaking of Congress on November 6 will lead, pretty much, to the United States’ collapse.
Democrats will “plunge our country into chaos,” he told the southern Republicans.
Democrats will end border controls. They’ll invite in “deadly drugs and ruthless gangs.” They’ll destroy savings accounts and “turn America into Venezuela.”
The apocalyptic warnings — each time drawing a massive, synchronized “boo” from the almost uniformly white crowd — were a master class in sowing division.
Trump has been repeating that message relentlessly in MAGA, or “Make America Great Again,” rallies around the country ahead of the midterms.
And in Mississippi, his audience was mesmerized.
“A vote for Republicans is a vote to reject the Democrat politics of anger, destruction, chaos, and to come together as neighbors, as citizens, as Americans,” Trump told the arena.
In fact, what the crowd had come for was to express that very same anger — the anger fueling Trump’s self-declared mission “to save America from socialism, to save America from decay.”
One man in a cowboy hat and T-shirt from the NRA gun lobby group listened with both hands held aloft, as if in rapture at a Pentecostal prayer service.
– Bogeymen –
Foreigners and even many Americans struggle to understand the appeal of a president who has disrupted everything from international alliances to social niceties in a nearly two-year populist and nationalist tornado.
But the billionaire real estate magnate clearly knows his working class voters, tapping into their red-blooded patriotism and responding to grievances over what they see as a liberal-left assault on traditional white values, jobs and identity.
In Mississippi, he ran through an ever-growing litany of right-wing bogeymen, prompting theatrical choruses of boos and hisses from around the arena — not that any prompt was needed.
“There’s a group called globalists,” he said in a kind of conspiratorial whisper. “Boo!”
“Fake news,” “dishonest” journalists. “Boo!”
Fiercest derision was reserved for Democratic senators trying to stop Supreme Court confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh, a distinguished conservative judge, over allegations that he sexually assaulted a fellow teen while a schoolboy.
Trump had previously toed a relatively nuanced line, insisting on support for his nominee, while accepting that the accuser, Christine Blasey Ford, gave “credible” and moving testimony of the alleged assault in a Senate hearing.
This time, he ditched the presidential demeanor, mocking the California professor for not being able to remember important details surrounding the alleged assault — even if her description of the attack itself was searingly specific.
Over and over, he goaded the woman, speaking darkly of a time when unsubstantiated rape allegations will ruin the lives of men everywhere.
The crowd clapped and cheered.
– Savior –
Opponents rarely take into account that Trump can be genuinely funny, going off script with impromptu, self-deprecating jokes about his ego.
At an event with electrical engineers in Philadelphia, also this week, he wondered whether a hard hat given to him by the union would mess up his famously intricate blond hair.
“Am I having a good hair day?” the possibly most powerful man in the world mused to laughter.
But even the humor serves mainly to remind everyone that Trump and Trump alone matters.
As he told supporters all this week, the big reason Republican legislators are in trouble at the midterms is that he’s not on the ballot.
“They say if I was on the ticket, everybody would vote and it would be a landslide,” he claimed in Mississippi.
And while he’d come to Southaven ostensibly to speak on behalf of a local Republican Senate candidate, he made clear that the real motive was his own reelection in two years.
“2020 is looking really easy,” he said in the opening line of his speech.
Passionate supporters are unlikely to disagree.
“God, we thank you for Donald Trump,” a preacher said in a mass prayer just before the president stepped through blue curtains.
“Amen,” the crowd boomed, then chanted: “USA, USA.”
Physicist Who Coined ‘God Particle’ Dies. And a Great Voice for Science Is Stilled.
Physicist Who Coined ‘God Particle’ Dies. And a Great Voice for Science Is Stilled. By Don Lincoln, Senior Scientist, Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory; Adjunct Professor of Physics, University of Notre Dame | October 4, 2018 08:09pm ET MORE Nobel Prize-winning physicist Leon Lederman speaks at the panel discussion “Pioneers in Science” at the World Science Festival on May 29, 2008, in New York City. Credit: Amy Sussman/Getty Images for World Science Festival
It is a sad “day” in science. Dr. Leon Lederman has passed away at the age of 96.
Leon was a legend in the world of particle physics. Known perhaps most for coining the phrase ” The God Particle ,” in his book of the same name, Leon had a distinguished scientific career. From humble beginnings as the son of immigrants, whose father operated a hand laundry, Lederman rose to the very pinnacle of scientific achievement.
After a stint in the Army during World War II, Lederman received his Ph.D. from Columbia University in 1951, eventually becoming faculty, and finally head of Nevis Laboratories at Columbia from 1961 to 1978. From 1978 to 1989, he served as director of Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory , the laboratory where I am currently a senior scientist.
In 1988, he received the Nobel Prize in physics , for work he completed in 1962 with his collaborators Mel Schwartz and Jack Steinberger.
Leon was not only a fantastic scientist, he was also passionate about communicating science to students and the public. He established the Saturday Morning Physics program at Fermilab, a 10-week series of lessons about particle physics given on, you got it, Saturday mornings. It is free to high-school students who live in the Chicagoland area, and it continues to this day. He worked with Illinois politicians to make the Illinois Math and Science Academy, a residential high school for gifted youngsters from across Illinois. He also wrote the book “The God Particle” in 1993, which told the story of the Higgs boson particle and many of Lederman’s adventures during his physics career. Much to the chagrin of physicists everywhere, the name stuck .
Lederman’s achievements are many, and I recommend that you read his formal obituary to learn much more about the life and career of this very accomplished scientist. But I want to talk more about Leon the man.
I knew Lederman well, albeit the difference in our ages meant that we lived quite different lives. When I first came to Fermilab in 1987, I was a graduate student, a callow youth still finding my way in the world of science. In contrast, Leon was the director of the lab and obviously not one to be bothered with the likes of youngsters like myself. But that’s not the kind of guy he was. Case in point: In the Fermilab cafeteria, in addition to the typical seating areas, there are a couple of large round tables around which it is customary for senior scientists to gather and discuss the topics of the day; there is no rule though that others can’t join in. Lederman, being the director, would often eat there. Quite a few times, I’d sit at the table and talk with the group, occasionally conversing with Lederman. He never made anyone feel uncomfortable and he was happy to talk shop, tell a joke, or ask about how one’s experiment was going. Sometimes, he’d help you brainstorm solutions to problems you were having with your measurement. He was a jovial and fun guy.
When his Nobel Prize was announced in 1988, my first thought was, “What for?” That wasn’t because I couldn’t think of an accomplishment of his worth the prize, but rather, I couldn’t decide which one. Leon discovered “parity violation” in the decay of subatomic particles called pions and muons, which, in a roundabout way, ties to differences in matter and antimatter. (All particles have strange siblings called antiparticles that have the same mass but the opposite spin and charge.) He discovered a long-lived neutral subatomic particle called a kaon, which was the first real laboratory for studying how matter could morph into antimatter and back again. He discovered that there was not a single type of neutrino , but rather that there were two (and eventually three). He also led a team that found the bottom quark , which proved that there were not two families of subatomic particles called quarks and leptons, but rather there were three.
It turned out that the Nobel was awarded for his discovery of another type of neutrino.
On the day that Leon’s Nobel was announced, we had a huge party at Fermilab. I had only been at the laboratory for a year, but the staff fashioned him a pretend medal and crown made of tinfoil and he wore them good-naturedly as he wandered around the Fermilab atrium, accepting congratulations from well-wishers. I got to shake his hand…the first time I had ever met a Nobel laureate.
During his tenure as Fermilab director, Lederman would give public lectures. In fact, his lectures were legendary, full of interesting stories, corny jokes and a repartee that made a non-expert listener appreciate the fascinating world of frontier physics. Every time I heard of a talk he was giving, I’d be sure to attend. It’s not that I went to learn physics…after all, those talks weren’t aimed at scientists, but rather members of the public. But I learned a lot about public speaking by watching him. If you’ve ever seen me give a talk and found my humor to be a trifle on the side of making you facepalm, you can thank Leon for setting me on that path.
And Lederman wrote books for the public, the most famous of which was ” The God Particle .” An autographed copy of it has an honored place in my library. The book is a fun read — his personality really comes through — I recommend you read it if you’d like to get a sense of the voice of the man. And when I read it, I began thinking, “Hey, I can do this too.” It took about a decade, but I eventually joined him as a writer of scientific books for the public. And I was very grateful when Leon agreed to write a foreword for my second book . He was a gracious man, willing to help others.
I have not seen Leon much this past decade, as illness made it difficult for him to travel. However, his influence on me and many, many, others will live on. He was a great man and we will all dearly miss him.
The Chicken Runs at Midnight | Dan O’Donnell | News/Talk 1130 WISN
The Chicken Runs at Midnight posted by Dan O’Donnell – Oct 5, 2018
The remarkable story of how the lives of Brewers manager Craig Counsell and former Brewers third base coach Rich Donnelly intersected in the most amazing way.
It’s a story of life, death, love miracles…and a chicken.
Rich Donnelly was never a man of faith; in fact, he was never a man of anything except baseball. He lived it, breathed it, and gave everything he had to it.
“Nothing was going to get in the way of me getting to the big leagues,” he recalls. “It took me a long time to get there. It took me 37 years to get there, and at that time, I wasn’t going to let anything—including my family—sidetrack me from getting there.”
In the spring of 1992, he had finally made it as the third base coach for the Pittsburgh Pirates. But along the way, he had lost his family. He and his wife divorced, and he was living thousands of miles away from his three sons and his daughter Amy.
Still, Rich thought he was on top of the world. Until a phone call changed his life forever.
“Amy called and I said, ‘Hey Ames, what’s up?’ and she goes, ‘Dad, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.’ I said, ‘Oh boy, what’s this one?’” Rich says. “She said, ‘Dad, I have a brain tumor and I’m sorry.’ When she said the words ‘I’m sorry,’ it floored me that she was more concerned about me because she knew how badly it would affect me and make me hurt.”
Even though she was given just months to live, Amy didn’t want to get in the way of her dad’s dream and his new life’s mission—to win the World Series. The Pirates were one of the best teams in baseball then, and made the National League Championship Series against the Atlanta Braves.
And for the first time ever, Amy saw her dad coach in the Majors.
“She flew up for one day when she was getting chemotherapy in Dallas and she flew up to Pittsburgh and after the game, driving home, she put her arms around my neck from the back seat and she said, ‘Dad, when you get in that stance with a man on second and you cup your hands, what do you tell those guys, ‘The chicken runs at midnight,’ or what?
“All my kids laughed hysterically and I’m going, ‘Where did you come up with that?’ And she said, ‘I don’t know, it just came out: The chicken runs at midnight.’”
It was so nonsensical, so silly, so perfectly Amy that the phrase became a family motto. They would say it everywhere, write it in notes to one another, and even end phone conversations with “The chicken runs at midnight.”
The months passed, and Amy’s condition worsened. She slipped into a coma in January of 1993 and never woke up. She was just 17 years old.
But her sense of humor and her nonsensical phrase lived on.
“We chose to honor her by putting ‘The Chicken Runs at Midnight’ on her tombstone,” Rich says with a laugh. “We said, ‘Man, she would have loved this’ because everybody is going to walk by and go ‘What the heck is that?’”
The years went by but “The chicken runs at midnight” remained the Donnelly family motto; they said it often if only to keep some small part of Amy alive.
By the spring of 1997, Rich was able to move closer to his sons by taking a job as the third base coach of the Florida Marlins. Two of the boys, Tim and Mike, became the team’s batboys, and their favorite player was a young, skinny infielder named Craig Counsell.
“Couns was our second baseman and when he hit, he held his hands real high and flapped his left arm like a chicken,” Rich remembers. “So my sons Tim and Mike called him The Chicken Man and we never thought anything of it. He’s a chicken!”
That summer proved magical for the Marlins. An expansion team just five years earlier, they played their way into the World Series against the best team in baseball that year, the Cleveland Indians.
Amazingly, the upstart Marlins took the series to a decisive seventh game in Miami.
“The place is going crazy,” Rich says. “You can’t even spit, you can’t even breathe. This is the pinnacle of your baseball career—the seventh game of the World Series, extra innings, 70,000 people were roaring. You couldn’t even hear. Craig Counsell is standing on third base and I’m standing right next to him. Edgar Renteria gets a base hit up the middle, Counsell scores the winning run, and it’s pandemonium!
“I was trying to find Tim or Mike, my sons, and I finally saw Tim halfway between first and second base and he’s running at me screaming bloody murder and I’m going, ‘What’s going on? Your face is red. What are you crying about?’
He said, ‘Dad, Dad, look at the clock!’ I turned around and looked at the stadium clock and it was 12:02. He said, ‘Dad, the chicken ran at midnight.’
“I lost it,” says Rich, his voice wavering slightly. “A phrase that she just came up with happened just like she said five years later. A phrase which had no meaning all of a sudden had more meaning than anything I’ve ever come across in my life.
“I fell to my knees and I put my head down and all I could think of was that she was there. I wanted her to be at the World Series and she wanted me to be at the World Series and when I fell to my knees and hugged Tim that we were all hugging each other.
“I had kept a note from her five years earlier in that Atlanta series that said, ‘Good luck Dad. The chicken runs at midnight’ and I kept that note with me in my little phone book. I went in after all the celebration was over at about 5:00 in the morning and I grabbed that note and I read it: ‘Good luck Dad. The chicken runs at midnight’ and I just said to myself, ‘Yes Amy, it sure did. The chicken ran at midnight.’”
Rich Donnelly was never a man of faith; he was a baseball man. He had lived it, breathed it, given everything he had to it. But now he saw that baseball wasn’t everything; his dreams of material success in it weren’t what his life was really all about. They were just a means to a far deeper end.
“I cannot believe that this happened. I don’t believe in miracles, I wasn’t a big miracle believer, but after this, I believe.”
Tom Friend’s new book, The Chicken Runs at Midnight: A Daughter’s Message from Heaven that Changed a Father’s Heart and Won a World Series, is available now wherever books are sold and at TheChickenRunsAtMidnight.com . Dan O’Donnell Common Sense Central is edited by WISN’s Dan O’Donnell. Dan provides unique conservative commentary and analysis of stories that the mainstream media often overlooks. Read more Contact