I’m so tired of reading dumb comments from Boulder snowflakes suffering terribly from White Guilt. Let me tell you what happened in my perfect world of White Privilege one summer night back in 1972, when I was a lad of 16:
There was a rock concert featuring local talent being held in the parking lot of one of the old hometown’s supermarkets. Hundreds of kids were there, from Lexington, MO and surrounding towns. A black kid my age from LHS decided to try and rob me.
Some background on young Josh during his brief time in Lexington, MO: His daddy was president of one of the local banks, the family was active in the United Methodist Church there, and Josh NEVER attended Lexington High School — instead commuting all the way to private Rockhurst High School in Kansas City, MO (40 miles each way).
He has led a charmed life, so far . . .
I happened upon it today, and can’t honestly say I’m surprised that Lexington, MO — a small rural town that has always celebrated its Confederate heritage — attracts an extremist like this guy:
Anti-immigrant activist Craig Nelsen resurfaces in Missouri, attempting to start boxing club for opioid addicts.
The Southern Poverty Law Center is a resource I don’t check as often as I should. As to why Mr. Nelsen came to Lexington, that’s because s*** draws flies. Lest you doubt what the upper crust in my old hometown is all about:
Civil War Ball in Lexington, MO
Okay, I admit adding the caption to a photo taken by someone else, but it points out the hypocrisy of cherry-picking only romantic aspects of antebellum life, which was BRUTAL AND DEGRADING for the African slaves who built the wealth of prominent families there. The descendants of those slaveholders continue to be high profile residents, more than 150 years after the Confederacy’s ignominious surrender to Gen. Grant, and many other white folks can hardly bear to acknowledge the fact that the state of Missouri NEVER seceded to join the traitors.
Now, some benighted residents act surprised at the chickens coming home to roost.
Come to think of it, this BS was taking place while I was recuperating from my heart attack in December of 2017, and also lacked access to the Internet. (Rather than edit the title of this post, I’ll put my creeping memory deficit on full display.)
I’ll presume that the City of Lexington rejected Nelsen’s crackpot scheme . . .
I was in high school back in my small Missouri hometown when this film came out in the early 1970s. We immature guys thought this scene was hilarious, and I mean falling-on-the-floor FUNNY, and we tormented one poor kid for months by pinching his ear and making him squeal.
I never again went into the woods hunting mushrooms or camping overnight without a firearm, however.
SNOW ICE CREAM
1) Raw pasteurized eggs
2) Granulated sugar
3) Whole milk
4) Real vanilla extract
5) Dash of salt (optional)
Enough fresh, clean snow to give desired consistency; heavy, wet snow works best!
Use blender to cream together eggs and sugar, then slowly add milk and vanilla with salt (I always omitted this last ingredient as a concession to healthy eating). You can chill this mixture in the freezer while going outside to gather snow.
Add snow to large bowl containing beaten ingredients and fold in just until blended. (I don’t recommend pouring your beaten ingredients over the snow.)
Eat right away, and store remainder in freezer at zero degrees.
I don’t give amounts of various ingredients, because that will very greatly according to how much Snow Ice Cream you can consume. Use commonsense proportions of each.
I first made this TREAT when I was a kid back in Missouri, about the same time I learned to make that artery-clogging staple of American cuisine, Meatloaf.
Yes, I know a lot about W.L. Weller, and a little about his father Samuel Weller, but not that much about his grandfather Daniel Weller from Maryland. Interesting tidbits!
(Photo is, of course, a generic representation of what a farm distillery looked like before photography was invented.)
If you made this stuff up, nobody would believe it; BUT, the info above is from our Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.
The Caucasian was published after the Civil War had ended, and represented the worst of backward thinking shared by most white folks in Lexington, MO at that time. Today, they still celebrate a sanitized version of antebellum life among the slaveholding gentry:
Civil War Ball in Lexington, MO
It’s no wonder the old hometown is slowly fading away . . .