Back in 1989 I worked the door at the Bataclan nightclub in Paris.
Every Sunday for Serge Kruger.
We all went there.
It was a place for everyone and I let anyone in who was looking for a good time.
There were a lot of us.
Better the Bataclan than any house of worship.
And the Bataclan shall rise again.
Last week Paris was systemically attacked by a gang of Islamic militants from the French and Belgium ghettos. Three teams armed with AK-47s and explosive suicide belts struck the Stade de Paris, the Bataclan nightclub, and several cafes in the 11th arrondisement. Paris was a battle zone for several hours until the police had killed the final gunmen. The city was horrified by the toll of dead (130) and wounded (368 ). Presidente Hollande declared war on ISIS and ordered nearly a 100 jets to strike targets in Syria and Iraq. A day of vengeance and 11.14.15 will exist in the world's mind like 9/11/01.
During the 1980s I lived in Paris. I even worked at the Bataclan. I loved the vie Parisienne, but in 1985 Palestinians bombed the city to free a comrade.
The prisoner was released after four bombs shocked the government to go back on its vow to not deal with 'terrorists'.
If only things were so easy with ISIS.
They will fight to the last man and woman.
Die.
And in death rebirth.
And why?
Because they know there is no talking with the West.
At least not now, but one day someone will have the courage to say peace instead of war.
At least that is my hope.
After being appointed Canada's Prime Minister Justin Trudeau named a cabinet of 50% women and 50% men. When asked why, the young leader simply said, "Because it's 2015."
He also included four Sikhs, one of whom will run the Ministry of Defence.
Veteran Harjit Singh Sajjan was declared a badass by the media.
The Sikh have earned that reputation as a warrior religious caste from the Punjab.
They believe in peace through strength.
Unlike the US War Czar Ashton Carter, another suck-up for the Pentagon Military-Industrial Complex.
War at any cost is their motto.
And why?'
Because in the USA it's still 1951.
Last week the Montreal Canadians previewed their Winter Classic uniforms.
The Habs will be playing the Bruins in Fenway Park on New Year's Day 2016.
The 'Ruins also revealed their outfits.
May the best team win the game and otherwise the Bs rock the Snowbacks in the fights.
Movies were more than movies in the 1970s. Producers and directors sought to change the audience with films about life rather than escapism. John Cassavetes was the king of American realism and in 1970 released HUSBANDS about three suburban family men waking their dead friend with a Manhattan drinking bout. Upon their return to their houses one of them fights with his wife and the three flee to London to continue the funeral bash. A night with three women turns out wrong. Two men fly back to New York, but one stays behind. He was the one I liked best.
Strangely I saw HUSBANDS at the Neponset drive-in on a double-bill with KELLYS HEROES.
As I said the 70s were a different time.
Here's the race scene from Husbands https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lW0_3pMB6xk
The Fleet in the Dardanelles.
April 25, 1915.
The British Empire versus The Ottoman Empire.
Bloody disaster for Ireland.
Only one Dubliner officer survived the landing and of the 1,012 Dubliners who landed, just 11 survived the Gallipoli campaign unscathed.
And the rest of the Anzacs fared no better.
Fucking tea bag General Staff.
Peace.
No more wars.
Only fistfights.
To hear the Pogues' WALTZING MATHILDA, please go to the following URL
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPFjToKuZQM
My father, Frank A Smith II came from Maine. His mother and father met during WWI.
Edith Hamlin had been a nurse with Royal Canadian Medical Expedition.
My grandmother had been trying to make a troopship to France. The gangway was being pulled and a man extended his hand to pull her aboard. That man was my grandfather, Frank A Smith I, who had been serving with the RCMEF since 1915.
Both of them saw the horrors of trench warfare.
Their pacifism hadn't prevented my father from joining the US Army Air Force in 1942.
His war was testing B25s over Kentucky. The casualty rate was 25%, but he surviving to marry my mother, who he had met in Boston. The Irish girl said he wasn't his type, until he said he owned a convertible.
They started having kids.
Four was not enough.
Neither was five.
They stopped at six.
We were a happy family living on the South Shore of Boston. My father worked for the phone company. He was an executive. His two loves were his family and my mother.
'Angie' liked to wear her hair in a bouffant.
Me too.
Sadly in 1996 my mother passed a year after my younger brother Michael.
My father and I took trips. He loved traveling.
To Ballyconeeley in Ireland.
France.
Northern Quebec.
Thailand.
The West.
In 2008 he was diagnosed with Alzheimers.
He forgot us one by one.
I was the last, even though I only saw twice a month.
"Why can you remember me?"
"Because you still like you, whoever you are."
All his friends were gone.
As much as he loved his grandchildren, he was ready to go.
'Angie' and Michael were waiting for him.
I wasn't ready to join them.
My family was waiting for me in Thailand.
And anytime I go there.
So does Poo Frank.
He will live in my heart forever.
For one simply reason.
Poo Frank is my best friend.
