Editor & Publisher of the St. Croix Review.
It was cold again overnight so I
Wore a warm shirt and put my phone in
A pocket for convenience and I was
Crabby because I had to scrape the ice
Off my windshield my nose was running and
I felt a cold coming on and moving
Was difficult and then my phone started
Ringing and I grumbled — who’s calling me
Now and I’m not unzipping my coat to
Get to the phone — and then I realized
Because my ringtone is the singing of
A robin — I was wrong — it wasn’t the
Phone but a robin I was hearing on
A chilly morning on the verge of spring.
And with a woozy
head a sloppy nose and moving
I felt a little foolish
and a little happier.
I don’t consider there’s more computing
Power in the phone I carry in a
Pocket than in the Apollo rockets
That took astronauts to the moon — when I
Routinely talk to people across the
Country while walking along the street or
Get directions by using satellites
Or download wisdom accumulated
Through centuries by connecting with the
Internet — all by using a phone — I
Don’t give technology a second thought
And even become frustrated with a
Slow connection as I’ve grown accustomed
To the magic people have provided.
And it’s easy to
forget beyond the blue sky
and apart from the
reemergence of the leaves
another star’s exploding.
Even if I’m driving down the same streets
Everyday there’s a chance I’ll discover
Something I’ve never seen before if I
Pay attention to the flowing world as
I believe there’s always more than I can
Absorb in the moment as my habits
And preoccupations get in the way
And today I saw the willow trees at
The chilly beginning of spring and the
Profusion of drooping limbs were hanging
Limply looking like yellow strings with leaves
Emerging and my imagination
Jumped with the sight of willow leaves flowing
In the resurgence of summer breezes.
I’ve seen the willows
for almost sixty years —
the flowing world better than
willow leaves in summer wind.
Roses in poetry have become trite
As everyone has written of the folds
Within folds within folds and contrasted
Petals with thorns as if the beauty and
The sharpness had a point but during most
Of the year the rose bush consists of stems
And little leaves and yes the bloom in spring
Is lovely emerging in a shower
Of sunlight within a season bursting
With growth and for some reason poets do
More than the chrysanthemums keep writing
About roses as if a rose were a
Sight to behold like the sun and the moon
And in beholding a rose I am caught.
So there is something
about the bloom of a rose
like the sun and moon
eyes capable of seeing.
I won’t say it’s age as I remember
It happening in my thirties and I
Rely on my memory but sometimes
I would enter a room and realize
I’d forgotten why I came — and I think
It’s the result of an active mind that’s
Processing too much information and
There’s calculation going on and as
My mind is juggling several things at once
Such as the immigration policy
Of the United States and my desire
For toothpaste — naturally my mind would
Drop the ball concerning the paste and that’s
OK because my capacity for
It was inspiring
scintillating even and
I was on the verge
of a pronouncement but then
the brilliant point escaped me.
Don’t you love . . . really just love-love-love the
tactile words . . . those you need to repeat
because they make your tongue and palate tickle,
make you lips quiver, your whole mouth grow
huge as a wind tunnel while they bounce around and resound . . .
words like marshmallow or bamboozle . . . words
to make your ears twitch and your feet flutter up and
off this stick-mud world, words to let you hum
and hover-hover-hover awhile?
Today my favorite word is
epididymis: an epic word, manly word to stash
under one’s breath or utter while your eyes blur and
turn to heaven . . . to enjoy for its drummy-yummy
rhythm. It’s not a party-talk word, not available for How’s your
epididymis today? So I sing it alone in my kitchen,
whisper it while thumping for ripe melons, say it
fast — epididymis-epididymis-epididymis —
as I jump up, jump down, jump out on this limb.
— Bev Bonn Jonnes
The following is a summary of the April/May 2017 issue of The St. Croix Review:
Jigs Gardner, in “The Dualism of Donald Trump,” presents one key to Donald Trump’s success in the election — his assault on politically correct speech.
Allan C. Brownfeld, in “Assaults on Free Speech Continue as Many Young People Seem Indifferent to Permitting Dissenting Voices,” believes the violence of protesters to a speech given by Charles Murray at Middlebury College in Vermont demonstrates the fragility of free speech in America; in “Conservatism May No Longer Have a Home in the Republican Party,” he criticizes the Trump administration and offers examples of conservative thought; in “Nat Hentoff, 1925-2017: An Eloquent Voice for American Freedom,” he remembers the life of his friend who was a fierce defender of free speech.
Mark Hendrickson in “Medicine That Hurts,” writes that no matter what Republicans do, there is no avoiding massive upheaval in America’s healthcare system — millions will lose coverage; in “Globalization, Not Globalism, Improves Human Lives,” he defines his terms and identifies “Globalism” as the connivance of international bureaucrats and global élites; in “Five Ways the Minimum Wage Isn’t as ‘Moral’ as Some Claim,” he reveals the negative incentives and burdens on the poor imposed by minimum wage laws; in “The Inestimable Importance of Econ 101,” he points out that many of our political problems are founded in the denial of basic economic fact.
Paul Kengor, in “Going Red for International Women’s Day,” reveals the Marxist-revolutionary history of the Women’s March on March 8; in “Neil Gorsuch on Life, Liberty, and the Natural Law,” a question posed to Neil Gorsuch during his confirmation hearings set the stage for an exploration of natural law: in “Socialism Attacks the Family, Just as Its Inventors Intended,” he reveals the long history of leftist assaults on marriage and the family.
Herbert London, in “Weighing Aspirations, Trump Argues for Increased Defense Spending,” lays out complex considerations in formulating a defense budget; in “Change in Our Time,” he suggests that advancing technology added to social media added to crumbling institutions presages unpredictable change; in “Revanchism and Crisis Management,” he notes the difficulties involved when nations make claims on other nation’s territories based on history or falsehoods; in “What Social Epidemiology Means for Foreign Policy,” he considers how the unraveling of healthy American institutions and the rise of narcissism will effect American leadership in the world.
John Anderson, in “Health Care at the Brink,” considers how American health care came to its precarious condition.
Timothy Goeglein, in “How World War I Changed America, 100 Years On,” he marks the consequences of America’s entry on the world’s stage.
Philip Vander Elst, in “Revolutionary Socialism and Sexual Politics,” shows how the political left for decades has been using “gay rights,” feminism, “sexual equality,” and abortion as methods to undermine the free economy and advance socialism.
Jigs Gardner, in “Letters from a Conservative Farmer — Comedies of the 60s,” describes the way-out characters that only the 1960s could have engendered.
Jigs Gardner, in “Writers for Conservatives, 64: Thomas Sowell: A Great Teacher,” provides a splendid example of Thomas Sowell’s incomparable insight.
June is a memory in November
As I remember the roses and the
Lilacs blooming and the persistence of
The rain the fresh air and the insistence
Of the sun coaxing the season of growth
Along and all the leaves are pristine the
Birds are melodious with the dawn and
The roots of the grass are absorbing the
Rain but now a bitter wind surges through
The trees that stand starkly bare a frosting
Has hardened the ground and the night has grown
Wings and is overshadowing daylight
But none of it matters to me because
Your ebullience overcomes the darkness.
The overcast sky
in November is glowing
because the sun is
always dispensing light and
every day you’re radiant.
There are moments of awakening that
Aren’t altogether enjoyable in
The winter months of Minnesota and
When walking on the asphalt or concrete
After a drizzling that froze into
An almost invisible layer of
Ice we learn to look for a glint of light
Reflecting off the walkway because a
Second’s carelessness leads to a quirky
Jerk to discombobulation to an
Impactful connection with a very
Hard surface after which we’re completely
Awake realizing penetrating
Insight into the quality of now.
Because I’m spry I
jerk discombobulate but
sometimes I’m able
to catch myself before the
fall discovering balance.
Circumstances coordinate outcomes
Not always to my satisfaction as
I encountered the invisible ice
While driving down a sloping street and if
Only I hadn’t tried to turn I’d have
Been OK but I did and the car slid
As my frantic gestures with the steering
Wheel were operatic but quite useless
So I smacked into a parked car leaving
Minor damage on both vehicles and
Though it’s not catastrophic I’d rather
Have nothing to regret but that’s life as
Once in a while I fall through a trap door
Of an uncontrollable circumstance.
The spitting freezing
rain is no excuse said the
as the fact remains I lost
control of the vehicle.
Like a basset hound with droopy skin and
Ears baying so mournfully at the moon
And disturbing my sleep I’ve tossed about
With worry and during the day the hound
Gets his teeth into a rag and won’t let
Go no matter how I pull to free myself
From cogitating over offensive
Words and it’s useless to ruminate with
Sad eyes with my hound’s head between outstretched
Paws on the floor because wherever my
Thoughts go my paws are sure to follow so
I’ve learned to throw the dog a bone to let
Myself chew joyfully on projects that
Channel enthusiastic energy.
When I’m searching for
the appropriate words and
images to fit
an emerging line of thought
I don’t know my tail’s wagging.
The Jogging Birder
I was jogging,
and the push had
was hanging onto my heels
and croaking like a frog,
and while I was begging the uphill
to pull me
to greater heights
(where near the crest
I could see a grassy bank
that looked more and more
like a bench)
over the hill flew a
beaky and goggled biker
with shoulders hunched and arms
akimbo — buzzard
on bicycle wheels —
and a bubble of laughter
carried me over the hill
headed for home.
—Bev Bonn Jonnes
Our Mission Is to Reawaken the Genuine American Spirit . . .
The Story of Dino Casali
Editor’s Note: Dino Casali was a long-time subscriber and supporter of The St. Croix Review. He died several months ago at the age of 87. This biography was sent to The St. Croix Review by Dino’s friend Thomas F. Wall who wrote: “I enclose a short biography of Dino’s life prepared, by his home city’s Torrington [Connecticut] Historical Society, which is most inspiring and shows how many older U.S. citizens accomplished so much in the old-fashioned way of working for it.”
Thomas Wall writes of Dino Casali: “He had a distinguished career, although his quiet demeanor would not indicate this. He made a deep impression on me.”
It is the mission of The St. Croix Review to reawaken the Genuine American Spirit of Living in a Good, Great, and Growing Nation as Free Individuals. The writers — and the subscribers — of The St. Croix Review cherish our American freedoms and we are ingenious and industrious people who are capable of solving whatever difficulties we encounter. We find strength in our families, in our neighborhoods, and in our faiths.
The bond that holds America together is a belief that ordinary people of whatever ethnicity or faith can accomplish extraordinary feats as long as American freedom is preserved. To preserve America as the land of opportunity it is necessary to oppose and reverse the growth of the federal government, including the onerous bureaucratic regulations of the various agencies, intended to render individuals subservient to the state.
America was founded as a nation of immigrants who arrived in America legally, who wanted to become Americans, and who were willing to play by the rules. That Dino Casali was a long-time subscriber to The St. Croix Review was not an accident — his story embodies the ethos we promote. Indeed, Dino Casali’s father immigrated to America from Italy, just as my father, Angus MacDonald, came to America from Australia following W.W. II — Angus founded The St. Croix Review in 1968.
Immigrants who come to America, and who want to become American, are able to see America with fresh eyes — they are able to appreciate this nation as a land of opportunity — because they can compare America to wherever they came from.
I would never have learned of Dino Casali’s story if his friend Thomas Wall hadn’t sent me Dino’s biography. I’m grateful for Thomas Wall and for the Torrington Historical Society. And I’m grateful for all of the subscribers of The St. Croix Review. I haven’t been able to meet very many of you — though I have been typing your names over and over again in thank you notes year after year. I suspect we all have much in common.
If you, the subscribers to The St. Croix Review, would send us memoirs or biographies we will reserve a place for you within our pages — we’d like to foster a sense of community among us. —Barry MacDonald
Carlo Casali emigrated to the U.S. in 1907 after hearing stories of great opportunity there. Upon his arrival in 1907, he was refused admission because of a hernia. He returned to Italy, had the hernia corrected and promptly returned to the U.S. [and was admitted into America].
He had to return to Italy in 1914 because of World War I.
After arriving in Italy in 1914, he married and established a family. Carlo Casali and Giovanna Guarnieri Casali were born in the province of Piacenza, Commune (town) of Mofasso in 1885 and 1890, respectively. Morfasso at that time had a population of about 3,000, now about 6,000. They were married in Morfasso on February 13, 1915 and made their home in a section of Morfasso called Sperongia. They farmed the land in an area owned by Carlo called Brandolino. To this day, the heirs may still own the title to this property, but they have allowed their relatives to occupy the property, farm it, and probably have title to it.
One night while sleeping in their home with their two children, August and Domenica (Mae), [Carlo and Giovanna] were frightened by a loud crack in the walls (which was a continuing problem). An investigation determined that the house was unsafe. Having had a favorable experience in the U.S. during his 1907-1914 residence, Carlo decided to return with the objective of paying off debts accumulated in the building of the house which was now a big liability. He, therefore, decided to return to the U.S. in 1919. From 1919 to 1928, he worked in the construction industry and worked for Perini Bros. in Framingham, Massachusetts, for about seven years. He was able to earn enough to pay his debts in Italy and move Giovanna and the two children to the U.S. in 1928. They rented a home on Laurel Hill in Torrington, Connecticut, where Dino was born in 1929. Then in a typical display of courage and confidence for the future, Carlo built a large two-family house at 250 Hillside Avenue in 1932, at the depth of the Great Depression. It was a struggle to maintain the house and provide for his family, but Carlo and Giovanna lived there until their deaths in 1950 and 1974, respectively. His search for permanence was completed on Hillside Avenue but not until the children, August and Mae, were required to leave school at early ages, of necessity, to work and contribute vitally to insure that the house would not be lost. The home is now owned by Carlo and Giovanna’s grandson, Alfred Bonvicini.
Dino went to the East School grammar school (now the Glass Building) where his classmate was his future wife, Corinne Zoli. Starting at age seven he delivered the Torrington Register six days per week door to door to the residents of Hillside Avenue. This early experience of dealing personally with customers, keeping track of their payments and paying the Torrington Register weekly for his newspapers introduced him to the basics of business and laid the foundation for future business achievements. At age fifteen he got a break that would forever change his life. He was hired by Fahnestock & Co. (now Oppenheimer & Co.) by Bob Bligh, manager of the Torrington office and future mentor, as an office boy. His duties varied from marking a blackboard holding 120 stock abbreviations, whose price changes he had to mark with every quarter point change (no computers) to washing and waxing the floor every Friday afternoon. However, in this environment he became fascinated with the stock brokerage business and he decided rather quickly that his life work would be dedicated to this business, a decision that he has never regretted.
Having saved his earnings, and, encouraged by his family and Bob Bligh and his wife, Alice, he was admitted as a freshman to the School of Commerce and Finance of New York University in 1947. He went to daily class from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. and walked the ten blocks to the Loft’s Candies store off Union Square where he worked from 2 p.m. Because of this grueling schedule, and because NYU had no dormitories, he enrolled at Babson College in 1949, and was graduated in 1951. Upon graduation, he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force (during the Korean War) and served until February 1956. On March 5, 1956, he started work (thanks to Bob Bligh’s influence and efforts) with the New York office of Fahnestock & Co. as a security analyst. He learned about the securities industry in depth, but he yearned to be back in Torrington with his new family (he married his childhood classmate, Corinne Zoli on April 30, 1955, and their first child, David, was born on July 26, 1956). They eventually had three more children: Paul, Dina, and Carla. With Bob Bligh’s encouragement, and subsequent help, he made the move [to Torrington] and has never experienced any doubts. As proof of this, not counting his high school employment with Fahnestock, he has, as of March 5, 2014, been continuously employed by one company: Oppenheimer and its predecessor Fahnestock for 58 years. Upon his discharge from the Air Force, he realized that he was eligible under the GI Bill for further education and proceeded to enroll at NYU for the MBA program and completed the requirements in 1961. In accomplishing this feat, he drove to New York from Torrington three nights a week for classes and made a late night return to Torrington, all while working full time for Fahnestock.
Looking back on his 84 years of life, as the sole surviving member of his original Casali family, with appreciation and gratitude for his parents’ dedication and sacrifice, it is evident that whatever success Dino has had in life can be largely attributed to his parents. Their courage in starting a new life in a foreign land with a different culture and customs, with a strange language, in successfully confronting unforeseen challenges and financial difficulties, inspired in Dino an indestructible faith of optimism and confidence for the future. *
The following is a summary of the February/March 2017 issue of The St. Croix Review:
In introducing “The Story of Dino Casali,” a biography of a long-time subscriber of The St. Croix Review, Barry MacDonald points to American liberty as the foundation of the American dream.
Allan Brownfeld, in “America Is Exceptional — But Now There Is an Effort to Make It Ordinary,” presents historical visions of American Exceptionalism and questions whether the Trump Administration has gone astray; in “The Strange Assault on Thomas Jefferson at the University He Founded,” he describes the disparagement of Thomas Jefferson by campus progressives who judge historical figures by present-day standards; in “Thomas Sowell Ends His Column, But His Intellectual Legacy Will Only Grow,” he presents a sample of Sowell’s excellent scholarship on the correlation of race, behavior, and economic success, using international data; in “Washington Once Again Shows Us That ‘Congressional Ethics’ Is an Oxymoron,” reveals the first action taken by House Republicans was to eliminate an office that investigates ethics.
Mark Hendrickson, in “Obama’s Shocking Historically Weak Economic Performance,” sizes up the former president’s overall performance; in “President Obama’s Parting Economic Shots,” he faults his removal of millions of acres from energy use, and his taking of millions of acres as a national monument; in “A Salute to Thomas Sowell,” he congratulates a “brilliant economist, erudite scholar, prolific and wide-ranging author”; in “Why Bashing the MSM Is a Win-Win for Trump,” he applauds President Trump’s feisty approach to the media; in “Six Surefire Ways Trump Can Unleash the American Economic Machine,” he identifies stupid government policies and points to solutions; in “Trump on Trade: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” he reveals where our new president’s policies are counterproductive.
Paul Kengor, in “Rating the Presidents — and Obama,” he struggles to explain President Obama’s high ranking in a C-SPAN survey of presidential scholars; in “Women’s Marchers, Unite,” he reveals the hard-left sponsors of the Women’s March in Washington D.C. in January, including the Communist Party USA and the notorious Angela Davis; in “Barack Obama’s Fundamental Transformation,” he writes that President Obama succeeded in revolutionizing sexual orientation, gender, and family issues in America; in “George W. Bush: Deadlier Than Stalin? Our Profound Ignorance of the Crimes of Communism,” he documents American ignorance of and the failure of our schools and universities to teach the murderous history of Communism; in “Remembering Two Christian College Presidents—Charles MacKenzie and Michael Scanlan,” he relates the successful defense of Christian heritage at two universities, by Catholic and Protestant presidents, amidst a radical onslaught.
Herbert London, in “The Swiss Handshake and Muslim Disapproval,” asserts the necessity of Western nations to defend Western culture when confronted by Muslim immigrants who are imposing Sharia law within Western countries; in “Considering the Real Russia Under Putin’s Authority,” he reveals Vladimir Putin’s real character through a detailing of his brutal deeds; in “The Indefensible Obama Policies,” he reviews the many failings of President Obama’s foreign policy; in “The End of Liberal Internationalism: Reductive Materialism and the Will to Power,” he depicts the emerging economic chaos of Europe and the greater assertiveness of China and Russia as post-W.W. II arrangements are disintegrating.
Thomas Drake, a long-time subscriber of The St. Croix Review, in “Why I Am Supporting Donald Trump,” explains his reasoning.
Jigs Gardner, in the concluding half of “Varieties of Religious Experience,” describes the people of faith he encountered in the “Backlands” of Cape Breton.
Jigs Gardner, in “The Forgotten President,” presents the biography of Warren G. Harding by Francis Russell, who reveals a good but flawed person betrayed by officials in his administration.
This winter I’m seeing the naked trees
And remembering I will be sixty
Years old in November but I’m lucky
Because I don’t feel my age and because
Of my exercise I’m as spry as a
Teenager but I have wrinkles about
My eyes and I have memories also
And as I’m driving and seeing the bare
Branches of the trees overhanging the
Street I remember the cathedrals in
England I saw when I was a student
And realize that the stone tracery
In those churches are meant to represent
The graceful lines of trees in the winter.
Nothing is like an onrushing cold for
Grabbing attention as I felt it in
My throat in my voice when I tried to speak
Especially in my nose which began
To run and mostly in my noggin which
Became seasick and then there were the times
When I rose from bed once the congestion
Had taken hold and my back and shoulders
Felt sore my head throbbed as I went to the
Rest room but there is a lighter side to
Getting sick as it took me out of my
Daily routine separating me from
The hamster wheel of doing the same things
Day after day exertion without thought.
quite like returning from a
vacation but it
is a rediscovery
of marvelous energy.
A word carries a meaning and a string
Of words make a sentence carrying a
More composed meaning making a point that
May be worth remembering and saying
Hippopotamus makes me wonder why
This pell-mell collection of syllables
Is stuck to that creature because the word
Hippopotamus can’t be said primly
Or lackadaisily without losing
Dignity and if you’re serious when
You say hippopotamus you have to
Use a neutral inflection and also
The cadence should be a bit quicker than
An ordinary word — so be careful.
don’t have to enunciate
or also rhinoceros —
But when I do I’m ready.
Imagine a crystal glass of water
Holding the glass and seeing the water
Lifting swallowing and following it
In your mouth throat and chest and isn’t the
Cool water transparent and isn’t it
The taste of no taste but doesn’t it taste
Like nourishment like the essence of health
And while attending to the water it’s
Easy to take a breath to draw the air
In your nostrils feel it in your throat and
Enjoy the swelling of the chest and the
Dissipation of the breath through your nose —
The simple rhythms of life resemble
The wind in the leaves the waves on the sand.
I need to know words
because I need a worthy
direction but then
I want to go further and
live in the place of no words.
I’m grateful for the asphalt because if
My driveway were gravel I’d be blowing
It away bit by bit and I’m happy
To have my sturdy snow blower because
No matter how prodigious the dump it
Plods along spewing the snow to the side
And I can swivel the direction of
The spray by turning a handle because
I don’t want to blow into a fierce wind
Because my face would get crusted with the
Snow and as long as the temperature
Stays well below freezing I’ll be OK
Because if the air is around freezing
The snow blower clogs and then I shovel.
It’s not much fun
thrusting away with
a loaded shovel
with snow sticking
to the metal.
When the wind blows through the bare branches of
The trees on a morning in December
When there’s a chill rising from the snow on
The ground when the sky’s predominately
Cloudy with scattered stretches of blue there’s
A bleakness about the moment as the
Trees epitomize the absence of the
Sun as in stark nakedness they’re swaying
In a fierce wind that’s not leavened with the
Soothing sound of the leaves and yet there’s a
Warmth in my heart and a kind of austere
Beauty about this day that reminds me the
Sun’s not really absent life endures and
I discover fortitude in winter.
Suddenly there’s a
on the cottonwood
Striking the tree with its beak —
its scarlet head is lovely.
A Tribute to Terry J. Kohler
Editor’s Note: Terry Kohler has been a long-time supporter of conservative causes, and a generous donor to the St. Croix Review, for many years.
Terry J. Kohler, 82, of Sheboygan, Wisconsin, passed away Tuesday afternoon, September 20, 2016, at his residence.
Born May 14, 1934, in Sheboygan, Terry Kohler was the only son of the late former Governor Walter J. Kohler, Jr. and Marie Celeste McVoy Kohler. In 1952, Terry graduated high school from the Admiral Farragut Academy. He served his country in the U.S. Air Force from 1955 to 1959 where he earned his pilot’s wings and flew T-33 fighter jets and also B-47 bombers with the Strategic Air Command, including missions over Russia. Kohler achieved the rank of Captain.
In 1962, he received a Bachelor of Science degree from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, majoring in industrial management. A year later, he earned an MBA in the same field from the MIT Sloan School of Management.
On January 2, 1981, Kohler was united in marriage to Mary Stewart Simpson at St. Boniface Church in Mequon, Wisconsin. Together, they were active members of Grace Episcopal Church in Sheboygan.
Kohler started working in the family business, The Vollrath Company, in 1963. In 1976, he became the seventh President of the company. He became Chairman of the Board and Chief Executive Officer in 1982, and under his leadership the company expanded dramatically. In July 1984, Kohler purchased North Sails, a leading global manufacturer of racing and cruising sails, from its founder, Lowell North. In January 1989, North Sails and The Vollrath Company became separate corporations under Windway Capital Corp., a holding company. Kohler was President and Chairman of the Board of Windway Capital Corp., Chairman of The Vollrath Company, and past Chairman of North Technology Group.
Kohler loved the outdoors and was a sports enthusiast, racing sports cars in the mid 1960s, and spending six years on the National Ski Patrol. Kohler was a life member and supporter of Ducks Unlimited, Trout Unlimited, the National Rifle Association, Experimental Aircraft Association, and the International Crane Foundation. Kohler and his wife Mary were instrumental in the ultra-light led Whooping Crane Recovery Project between Wisconsin and Florida. In 2009, they were awarded the Charles Lindbergh Award, which is given annually to individuals whose work over many years has made significant contributions toward Lindbergh's concept of balancing technology and nature.
Following his service in the U.S. Air Force, Kohler continued his love of flying by owning and piloting many types of aircraft, including helicopters. He was also a founding member of the Aviation Heritage Center of Wisconsin. Kohler and his wife Mary have been advocates for strong families and started several organizations including Great Marriages for Sheboygan County.
Kohler was passionate about conservative politics, and was Wisconsin’s GOP candidate for Governor in 1982, and a GOP candidate for the U.S. Senate in 1980. He and Mary helped craft the “Contract with America” with Newt Gingrich and other Congressional Republicans.
Kohler was a man known to many — sailors, aviators, entrepreneurs, leaders of industry, politics and economics. Traveling in these circles of influence he was able to recognize and follow God’s plan for him. “My purpose is to share my wealth by taking an economic role in helping others less fortunate or in need,” Kohler once said.
Kohler is survived by his wife of 35 years, Mary Stewart Kohler; his children, Leslie Kohler, Michelle Kohler, Danielle (Bob Buckley) Kohler, Charlie (Anne) Ferrell, Doug (Mindy) Ferrell, Chris (Isolde) Ferrell and Joseph (Kari) Simpson; 13 grandchildren, Hilary (Nathan Imfeld) Hawley, Winter Kohler, Torri (Charlie Bowe) Hawley, Kashon Kohler, Lilly Kohler, David Kohler, Laura (Grant) Riedesel, Cack (Doug) Wilhelm, Jack Ferrell, Peter Ferrell, Alan Ferrell, Mary Ferrell, and Grace Ferrell; four great grandchildren, Walter Jacob Kohler Imfeld, Freddy Riedesel, William Riedesel and Tobias Ferrell; cousins, other relatives, and many friends around the world. Besides his parents, he was preceded in death by his sister, Charlotte Nicolette “Niki” Kohler.
A Mass of Christian Burial was celebrated at 11:00 a.m. on Tuesday, September 27, 2016, at Grace Episcopal Church, 7th & Ontario Avenue. The Rev. Fr. Karl C. Schaffenburg, Rector, officiated.
A memorial fund has been established in his name for the Sailing Education Association of Sheboygan SEAS and Nashotah House Theological Seminary.
“I try to live my life faithfully, quietly doing the job the Lord assigned me. I am not worried or afraid of dying because I am just an instrument. I will be here until my work for HIM is finished.” — Terry J. Kohler
I am standing by the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, “There, she’s gone!” Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spans as when she left my side, and just as able to bear her load of living freight to their place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she’s gone!” there are other eyes that are watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “There she comes!” — and that is dying. *
Our Mission Is to Reawaken the Genuine American Spirit . . .
Thank You, Donald Trump
Barry MacDonald — Editorial
The Left derives energy and force through accusation. The Left advances their agenda not by winning rational debates but by delegitimizing and dehumanizing people who oppose them. The Left intimidates and silences people.
The Republican Party is the original party of civil rights as it began with Abraham Lincoln’s compassion for the plight of the slaves. If you want a sampling of heartlessness, look at the lengths the Democrats went to justify slavery prior to the Civil War — they resemble heartless Democrats who justify partial birth abortion today.
There is no reason for Republicans to be lectured to about race. When protestors from Black Lives Matter agitate for the killing of Police Officers they should be denounced by leading Republicans, but usually, elected Republicans keep quiet because they are afraid of being called racist.
The Left wins through force of will and ruthlessness: they will jettison any professed principle, turnabout, and vilify their opponents when they see an advantage to be gained.
If the Republican Party had confronted the Left, had sufficient courage to fight back, perhaps the steady erosion of American liberty could have been mitigated.
One of the most frustrating periods of recent history was the second Bush Administration when the Democrats disowned the support they gave to the invasion of Iraq when it became advantageous to accuse George Bush of “lying” the country into war. Democrats claimed President Bush lied about Iraq having weapons of mass destruction. George Bush and Karl Rove didn’t defend themselves, and thereby they abandoned everyone who supported them.
It’s one thing to make a mistake — in hindsight it appears we might have been better off not invading Iraq — but to allow the idea to take root among large numbers of the American people that Republican leaders purposefully lied about the reasons for going to war was an egregious dereliction.
It’s important not to minimize the power of the Left: Leftists are able to muster an army of propagandists from cultural battlements. Leftists are organized and in a day a multitude of Hollywood know-nothings, Democrat politicians, and media “wise” people will be chattering from the same song sheet. The current accusative narrative is that “fake news” and “Russian hacks” swung the election to Donald Trump — nonsense.
We cannot expect the Left to give up the will to power, and the power of accusative narrative. We will always need to oppose the Left with sufficient energy and courage.
Donald Trump has done America a great service. He has shown everyone how to fight back. The Left could not silence or intimate him. Ted Cruz might be his equal in courage, but could Cruz have gathered the widespread support Trump did?
We can measure the success of the Left and the pusillanimity of the Republican establishment on the issue of immigration. Democrats spin tales of Republican heartlessness and Republicans abandon the need for managed assimilation in a rush to please big donors.
We can measure the success of decades of Democrat narratives in how Republicans poll. Republicans have been on the defensive for too long, and they have adopted too much of the Democrat’s message. Too many elected Republicans believe it’s necessary to craft separate appeals to different segments of the American population — at the expense of neglecting core principles, such as the free market, free expression, property rights, the rule of law, the separation of powers, etc.
It is necessary for Republicans to consider how different segments of the American people are suffering — such as the working class who are losing ground, and the middle class who can’t pay healthcare premiums — but Republicans need to rely on Republican principles — such as free enterprise, freedom from excessive regulation — in crafting solutions to problems.
Who can argue against prosperity? The Democrats. They create accusatory narratives about inequality and climate change. Republicans need to remember their principles and promote prosperity for everyone — it’s a winning issue.
Leftists have painted themselves into a corner; they are becoming more and more obviously perverse. Their narratives are noxious arguments disparaging and despising America. It is against human nature to persuade people to despise themselves.
Donald Trump has seized on the vulnerability of the Leftist message: Americans want to take pride in America. Let’s hope Republican politicians learn from his example. *
The following is a summary of the December/January 2016/17 issue of The St. Croix Review:
Barry MacDonald, in “Thank You, Donald Trump,” writes about why we should be grateful.
Allan C. Brownfeld, in “Why Did Fidel Castro, a Brutal Dictator, Attract So Much Western Support?” presents the reality behind the myth; in “By Opposing Charter Schools, the NAACP Would Harm the Black Students Whose Interest It Claims to Support,” he shows how progressive organizations are opposing the hopes of black parents for their children’s education; in “The Latest Target of Political Correctness on Campus: America’s ‘Melting Pot’ Tradition,” he explains how “America dreamed a bigger dream than any other nation in history. . .”; in “‘Cultural Appropriating’: A Growing Political Correctness Tactic to Silence Free Expression,” he answers a progressive assertion — that white artists shouldn’t expropriate the insights of people of color.
Paul Kengor, in “Death by Fidel,” reveals the maniacal role Fidel Castro played during the Cuba Missile Crisis — he sought martyrdom for Marxism; in “Hillary’s Faith: In God and Roe She Trusts,” he looks at how Hillary Clinton, and countless progressives, reconcile support for unlimited abortion with Christian faith; in “How Mother Teresa Challenged Hillary Clinton on Abortion,” he reveals a long and involved relationship between the two women that serves to highlight their differing views.
Mark W. Hendrickson, in “What Is Gold Saying About Trump?” shows how the falling price of gold signals cautious optimism in the presidency of Donald Trump; in “Thoughts on the Passing of Three Sports Legends,” he considers the impact Arnold Palmer, Muhammad Ali, and Gordie Howe had on America; in “Trading Votes Across State Lines Is Another Assault on Our Constitutional Order,” he reveals a scheme whereby people in different states collude to undermine the integrity of elections; in “Early Missteps in Attempts to Reconcile Blacks and Police,” presents a comprehensive view of last summer’s racial strife; in “Ten Things You Won’t See the Mainstream Media Talk About in the Last 100 Days of Obama’s Presidency,” he sums up the presidency of Barack Obama.
Herbert London, in “Leadership and National Unity,” looks to American history for instances when unlikely leaders rose to guide America in the right direction in the midst of chaos; in “The New World Order,” he considers Russia’s and Iran’s ascendency in the Middle East, and America’s diminishment; in “Michelle Obama and Political Correctness,” he compares Donald Trump’s indiscretions with the language used by rap “artists” invited to the White House.
Robert E. Russell Jr., in “Remembering the Missile Crisis and the Recognition of Civil Rights,” takes the occasion of Fidel Castro’s death to recall pivotal days in America’s history.
Timothy Goeglein, in “Citizenship, Faith, and Patriotism,” tells the story of Norman Prince, one of the founders of the Lafayette Escadrille, a squadron of volunteer American flyers in France during W.W. I — the squadron eventually became the U.S. Air Force.
Jigs Gardner, in “Varieties of Religious Experience,” describes the people of faith he encountered in the “Backlands” of Cape Breton.
Jigs Gardner, in “Great Tales of Terror and the Supernatural,” writes about the difficulty and consummate skill required of a writer to make a reader feel fear.
In “A Tribute to Terry J. Kohler,” The St. Croix Review marks the passing of a steadfast enthusiast of conservative causes.
While waiting for a train in Amsterdam
While traveling as an American
And sensing the depth of history and
Culture of Europe while reading Shakespeare’s
Sonnets I was filled with admiration
Because I loved the way he weighed the words
Within a line for resonation and
How the meaning flowed and turned and how the
Florid language presented the world with
The lens of Elizabethan England
And so I acquired a direction
But admiration and ability
Are different and I required years
To distill a healthy emulation.
But I must comment
on the crazy rhyming scheme
of Shakespeare’s sonnets —
I don’t see the need to do
a Houdini trick with words.
If I were discovering my body
As I was growing I’d jump onto the
Top of the Refrigerator too and
Just for fun I might push the boxes of
Cereal off to watch them fall and hear
Them plop on the floor and thus to measure
Distance and then I’d gallop joyously
Around the rooms just because I could and
I’d strut out on the narrow ledge and knock
The knick-knacks down one-by-one just to see
Them go and I’d be curious about
The human and the funny noises and
The motions she’s making with her arms and
I’d flop on my back and ask to be rubbed.
to be emphatic to be
noisy and grandma
isn’t enough to impose
her will on the new kitten.
Ben Hur 1887 - 1916
It’s a day of celebration drawing a
A good crowd to the river and the dock
For a ride on the steamboat Ben Hur and
Perhaps as a part of the festivities
The photo captures the moment and so
I may see everyone facing me on
The three levels a hundred years ago
And each is distinguishable in the
Differences in age in attitude
In fashion in status revealing in
A relaxed and happy presentation
Engagement and eagerness for the day —
So I gaze with curiosity at
An alluring familiarity.
The postures and the
features of the faces in
the vanished moment
present a wide array of
Clearing the River
Each detail is rough hewn in the photo
Of 1886 from the boards of
The flat bottom boat to the steam engine
And the brimmed hats and the tough working clothes
Of the several lumber jacks with their beards
And mustaches because there’s no use for
Delicacy as the river is clogged
With logs in a tangled pile twenty feet
High and the scrawny men in their resting
Postures seem unequal to the task but
It was their business with steel hooked pikes and
Thick cords of rope to clear the river and
Raft the logs downstream as they must have known
How to take advantage of leverage.
Their faces are blurred
but the chosen postures
hints of personality —
irreverence and bravado.
Once the apex of summer is past the
Intensity of the sun lessens and
The light becomes golden gilding the leaves
Of the trees and the grass and the air is
A medley of cool and warm and in the
Late afternoon though the sun may burn with
Summer fierceness it doesn’t last long and
As the sun sets earlier a chill comes
With the night — and it’s so much easier
To sleep under covers with the windows
Open with a chorus of crickets in
A breeze and instead of tossing in bed
In a muggy atmosphere late summer
Is the absolute best time for dreaming.
A clear sky comes in
every season but the earth’s
on its cooperative
revolution with the sun.
Not only the plunge in temperature
And having to scrape a frosting from my
Windshield with the dawn for the first time but
Also the prominence of red orange
And yellow leaves on the trees I pass the
Swirls of leaves in gusts of wind I see as
I’m driving on the streets and a morning
Sun noticeably lacking the fire of
Summer all point to the necessity
Of taking cover and bundling up
For a coming winter again as the
Wheel of the seasons is turning again —
The trees emulate the flowers and bloom
And then they stand twiggy in the winter.
It’s ironic how
the autumn leaves resemble
before dissipation and
I do want to celebrate.