Mass shootings & minorities. From National Conservatist

Two mass shootings, a week apart, have been committed by minorities here in the US. These senseless shootings have been benchmark cases for the police in the US as well as the mainstream media. In both cases, the narrative of “minorities are treated differently” has been proven to be truer than ever.

On February 15th, Anthony Dwayne McRae opened fire on two different parts of Michigan State University. In this shooting, three MSU students lay dead, and five more were left wounded. Inside the shooter’s pocket was a note that indicated that two public schools in Ewing, NJ could become targets next. However, as police closed in on him, he shot himself, and thus never went to NJ.

Precisely a week later, on February 22nd, Keith Moses turned a small section of Orlando, FL into a drawn-out mass shooting. A 20-year-old woman on Hialeah Street was the first casualty of the shooting at 11 am.

Despite the initial investigation, there was no immediate motive for the killing. Around 4 pm, a local news outlet was there reporting on the shooting. Without provocation, Moses appeared and shot both men inside the unmarked work vehicle, where one died. He then went to a home on nearby Harrington Street where he shot a 9-year-old girl who later died, as well as her mom.

In both cases, the shooters had previously been arrested on charges in 2021. And in both cases, the state decided not to pursue the charges and each of these men walked free. While Moses knew the first woman he killed, the rest of his victims were complete strangers, much like all of McRae’s. With a manifesto but no suicide note left by McRae, and no statement from Moses or his family so far, nobody knows why they decided to turn like this.

Despite these horrific shootings that have rattled their respective communities, there is minimal outcry in the mainstream media. The traditional Don Lemon cries of “He would have been killed if he was black!!” has already been disproven with Moses, as he was arrested and hauled into jail without incident. Happily sneering at the cameras, the lack of remorse was completely evident.

Yet, looking to CNN, MSNBC, USA Today, and even Fox News, all are largely silent on these cases. Unlike white mass shooters, the media is more than happy to downplay these shootings and to try and keep them on the back burner. It doesn’t fit their racially based divisive narrative.

Even the Chat GPT bot recognized this obvious division.

Being fed information with a large basis in news, the bot wrote an email about the MSU shootings for Vanderbilt University’s Peabody School. Sent out to all students and staff, the email claimed “The recent Michigan shootings are a tragic reminder of the importance of taking care of each other, particularly in the context of creating inclusive environments.” Discovered only due to the little AI disclaimer at the end, the student outrage was more about the use of AI for such a sensitive topic to the students.

What they should be even more upset about is the fact that this is unadulterated proof that the mainstream media is hell-bent on pushing the narrative that it is the white many that are responsible for these mass shootings. Add in their usual message that cops are more violent with minorities, and that white privilege is what does it, and it becomes a perpetual cycle of hate.

Now with a minority being charged, the narrative has changed drastically. These mainstream media outlets will need to find another group to blame because singling out a white man just won’t work anymore. Unfortunately, they’ll never look at the left-wing policies and identify them as the real problem. God knows the writing is on the wall to pin this on them. It goes nicely with the blood on their hands.

You talking to me?

Born in the late 30’s?

The 1% Age Group

This special group was born between 1930 & 1946 = 16 years.

In 2022, the age range is between 76 & 92.
Are you, or do you know, someone “still here?”

Interesting Facts For You . . . .

You are the smallest group of children born since the early 1900’s.

You are the last generation, climbing out of the depression, who can remember the winds of war and the impact of a world at war that rattled the structure of our daily lives for years.

You are the last to remember ration books for everything from gas to sugar to shoes to stoves.

You saved tin foil and poured fried meat fat into tin cans.

You can remember milk being delivered to your house early in the morning and placed in the “milk box” on the porch.

You are the last generation who spent childhood without television; instead, you “imagined” what you heard on the radio.

With no TV until the 1950s, you spent your childhood “playing outside.” There was no Little League.

There was no city playground for kids.

The lack of television in your early years meant that you had little real understanding of what the world was like.

Telephones were one to a house, often shared (party lines), and hung on the wall in the kitchen (no cares about privacy).

Computers were called calculators; they were hand-cranked.

Typewriters were driven by pounding fingers, throwing the carriage, and changing the ribbon.

‘INTERNET’ and ‘GOOGLE’ were words that did not exist.

Newspapers and magazines were written for adults and the news was broadcast on your radio in the evening.

New highways would bring jobs and mobility.


The radio network expanded from 3 stations to thousands.

Your parents were suddenly free from the confines of the depression and the war, and they threw themselves into working hard to make a living for their families.

You weren’t neglected, but you weren’t today’s all-consuming family focus.

They were glad you played by yourselves.

They were busy discovering the postwar world.

You entered a world of overflowing plenty and opportunity; a world where you were welcomed, enjoyed ourselves and felt secure in your future although the depression poverty was deeply remembered.

Polio was still a crippler.

You came of age in the ’50s and ’60s.

You are the last generation to experience an interlude when there were no threats to our homeland.

The second world war was over and the cold war, terrorism, global warming, and perpetual economic insecurity had yet to haunt life with unease.

Only your generation can remember both a time of great war and a time when our world was secure and full of bright promise and plenty.

You grew up at the best possible time, a time when the world was getting better…

You are “The Last Ones.”

More than 99% of you are either retired, and you feel privileged to have “lived in the best of times!”

Roads Taken

Born in the late thirties?

New highways would bring jobs and mobility.


The radio network expanded from 3 stations to thousands.

Your parents were suddenly free from the confines of the depression and the war, and they threw themselves into working hard to make a living for their families.

You weren’t neglected, but you weren’t today’s all-consuming family focus.

They were glad you played by yourselves.

They were busy discovering the postwar world.

You entered a world of overflowing plenty and opportunity; a world where you were welcomed, enjoyed ourselves and felt secure in your future although the depression poverty was deeply remembered.

Polio was still a crippler.

You came of age in the ’50s and ’60s.

You are the last generation to experience an interlude when there were no threats to our homeland.

The second world war was over and the cold war, terrorism, global warming, and perpetual economic insecurity had yet to haunt life with unease.

Only your generation can remember both a time of great war and a time when our world was secure and full of bright promise and plenty.

You grew up at the best possible time, a time when the world was getting better…

You are “The Last Ones.”

More than 99% of you are either retired, and you feel privileged to have “lived in the best of times!”

Amsterdam Graffiti 3 – Hunter’s Bar

Amsterdam Graffiti Wall 1 2022

Click on Image

Ramblings from The Old Man in the Attic 27 April 2022

I’ve been talking to my friend George, about my father’s ability to control difficult high school students, the ability to control, to be the boss. He was a straight shooter, totally honest, and people knew it which helped, but more than that. George mentioned a friend much like my dad, some a teacher, also undedicated beyond a few years of public grade school. Could be some kind of unappreciated and unnoticed bond between the working class, of men who come home dirty.

Women get dirty. I’ve worked beside them on assembly lines. Hot sweaty days and busy work that did not stop. Work is doing something you would rather not be doing if there was a choice. Conveyor passing never stopped unless you screwed things up. I did that only once. The others on the line were seriously pissed at me. Production must be made, hard work for bottom wages.

I was truck driver’s helper for a few nights, midnight starting all-nights, unloading more than a hundred-fifty, heavy boxes at fourteen Burger Kings in and around Tacoma, Washington. The driver helped unloading and did more than me. I’ve never been so tired as I was those nights and the mornings after. I was in my thirties, only passing through these worlds, but most of them were in it for their lifetimes. They’re invisible. We do not see them and we could not do without. If only we could get together. We’re the vast majority but a few of us are doing their best to keep us apart, using money, race, religion, color or whatever works. It’s been working.

I’ve seen snips about ‘anti-intellectual’ attitudes. “You’ve been to college, had advantages, and money, more than me. You think your smarter than me and maybe you are. How can I trust that?” It’s so hard to know the truth in this photoshopped world, news stations someone bought, and internet. I don’t think a lot of people anti-intellectual, but there are more than enough. These are people who supporting us, who do things we cannot do without, who build things, and repair things, sometimes get killed doing things. Easy to see why they dig Trump. “This is the way we talk. We don’t care if you swear or make rude remarks. So do we. You’re one of us. You put it right out front. We get it without need to think. You may be a jerk but you’re our jerk.”

So it goes. I get it and keep reading, ‘It’s impossible to change someone’s mind set, their  point of view’. A grain of truth in that as well. Tell the truth, but tell it sideways. “Tell it slanted,” Emily Dickinson suggested. Well said. Put a spin on the truth, approach it from an angle of sorts rather than head on. Hard to do. If we can’t do it, might be better to say nothing.

Notes from The Old Man In The Attic – 25 April 2022

My thanks to all of your who sent birthday wishes.

I urned 85 this month and been thinking about my father, how he was and how I thought I would be when I was an adult like him. He always knew what he was doing, never afraid, a staunch Republican, which made no sense at all. Dad was a welder at Shell Oil and came home dirty. He thought Republicans were better people, smarter, better educated. Better than himself with less than 6^th grade education. He was great with kids and taught welding part time at a high school after, he retired. They were the toughest students, with poor grades. He could control them. There were never problems. I don’t know how he did it. Some come back to visit with him after graduation, some had welding jobs he’d put them on to. After a couple years the school board told him he could not be allowed to teach because of his lack of education. They gave him the chance of going to a local college which would make it okay for him to continue, but he could not hack it, from the first day he was totally embarrassed. Class started with the professor asking students what their educations had been. Dad only lasted that one day. So it goes.

I’ve had a very different life. Longest I ever held a job was for three years, the only job that I truly enjoyed, but they went out of business. For my last job I was I high school teacher, just like dad. I’d taken classes, how to teach, before I started, but never caught on to the control thing, and my subjects, mathematics and drafting not fun. Being an introvert made things more difficult. The first weeks were hell.

One day there was a student revolt led by a black girl named Angel. I’d told the class something that was said in one of my teaching classes. “I am not a teacher, I am someone showing you the way to a good life,” or s   something corny like that. Angel went nuts and started screaming at me.  

         “You’re not a teacher and we know it!”

Others joined her. One of the girls threw a perfume bottle. It missed and broke a hole in the slate blackboard behind me. It was pandemonium—twenty students, most involved with this. I had no idea what to do. There was a phone behind me and I called of help. There was a security guard on duty. He came and then the vice principle appeared. They took on Angle who give them and equally hard time, no respect. As the VP argued with Angle about my competence, or lack of it I was near tears, totally embarrassed and thinking, I can’t do this. But I did. Years later I learned there were bets wagered in the teacher’s lounge, bets on how long I would last. I lasted twenty years, the hardest job I ever had. The most time consuming. 

My dad complained a lot, I am the same I must admit. My favorite tomb stone epitaph: ‘He had a lover’s quarrel with life.’ My dad was hard on mom, nothing physical but frequent bitching about something she did or didn’t do. I’m not like that at all. My wife is Swedish.

Other things: I guess I’ve gained some confidence, save for some flirting worries about future years. I’d like to see ninety . . . I think. When will I be too old to drive? How many years are left? The Swedes have a pre-death clean-up thing, about not leaving a lot of stuff for survivors to take care of or get rid of. I’ve made a modest effort amidst spring cleaning, but so many useless, sentimental things I’ve kept with me for years. I’ve been throwing papers away, old magazines, and more than a dozen ball point pens that don’t work.

Whatever. So begins another year. I have been lucky, in good health and wife the same, nice place to live and nothing needed but a change in Swedish weather. Cold and windy here, last week of April.