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Letters
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- Written by: Nelson Strasser
I am told that wolves don’t go after the elk that are young and strong, but rather seek the old, the halt, and the lame. It is not pretty. As the philosopher Hobbes put it, in his classic work, The Leviathan, “the trouble with life in nature is that it is often nasty, brutish, and short.”
Recently the wolves bought the senior park where I live. They raised the rent 7.5 percent. And they are going to raise it again. So, the wolves circle the park, excited by the scent of weakness and debilitation. The prey in this park is defenseless, and the wolves are hungry. I can hear them howl late in the evening.
I was surprised to discover, that, rent control notwithstanding, they can squeeze us until we eat kibbles, and they can do it with impunity. Rent control was attempted a few years ago, but these are very clever wolves, with lawyers on retainer, and money for media blitzes.
There is nothing wrong with wanting a reasonable profit. I owned and operated a small business for 32 years, and I was there to make a profit, but, at the same time, I was always aware that there was a human being on the other side of the counter, and not an object or an elk.
There are fair ways to deal with seniors. In New York City they have a rent control law which has a senior exemption: If you are over 62 and earn under a certain amount, your rent can’t be raised. This seems eminently fair, especially for people on a fixed income.
I spoke with many folks in and out of government about this situation. Most were sympathetic, none were hopeful.
So, I thought about what I could do for myself and my fellow residents. All that I needed, I did not have: Power, money, lawyers, and the overwhelming support of the populace.
Sadly, my only weapon is this computer, so, I am throwing words at the wolves, hoping to scare them away, but hunger is not easily deterred.
Nelson Strasser lives in Lakeport, Calif.
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- Written by: John Alotta
For nine years I proudly served my country. In 1959 I was diagnosed as having PTSD at Fort Ord, Ca. Unfortunately, there was a fire – the Fire of 1973 at the VA Records Center in St. Louis, Mo. All my records were destroyed. I did not know that I should have kept documents myself proving this.
After my years of military service I saw civilian doctors and psychiatrists for many, many years until the 1980s.
In the 1980s I filed a claim with the VA for my PTSD. I have not received any benefits because they do not have my records. I have been fighting this for over 30 years.
The VA finally re-recognized my PTSD in 1996 but still I have received no monthly benefits, but they did give me medical benefits.
In 1996 I had hip replacement surgery on my right hip at Ft. Miley in San Francisco. That surgery worked well. In 1997 I had a hip replacement surgery on my left hip also at Ft. Miley. Since that surgery I have had constant pain and my hip kept dislocating. And I have had nine surgeries to correct the mistake that was made in the original surgery.
Now I have chronic pain for life and cannot walk unassisted. The pain is so bad I have to use a wheelchair.
In 2004 when my hip dislocated for the last time, I had to have emergency surgery to remove the hip hardware and have it replaced because the doctors discovered that the wrong size hardware was used in the original surgery. It was an error of judgment.
After this emergency surgery I filed another claim with the VA. I had four doctors’ write reports of my hip to the VA stating what they observed. These are well established and trusted doctors, Dr. Axtel, Dr. Schideman, Dr. Vernetta Johnson and Dr. Fred Johnson. The VA is not recognizing these doctors’ reports. I have been fighting this all the way to the VA Court in Washington DC, to no avail.
I will not stop with my pleas until they pay me for my PTSD and for all the extra surgeries I had to go through for a mistake made on my hip.
I am disabled for life. I went through a horrible trauma during my military time. I am unable to purge the images from my mind. To this day I have horrible dreams every night. I cannot sleep. I am so depressed. No one understands except for the VA doctors in Ukiah and San Francisco but even their reports won’t budge the Veteran’s Affairs. I do not understand this. I am only asking for service connected 100 percent disability monthly benefits.
This case has to end. I need the VA to help me.
John Alotta lives in Upper Lake, Calif.
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- Written by: Committee For a GE Free Lake County
The Committee for a GE Free Lake County wants to thank all of the people that helped with the local Label GMO initiative campaign.
We were successful and the initiative is now on the state wide ballot as Proposition 37.
If this initiative passes it will require that genetically engineered ingredients in our food be labeled, providing consumers with the information needed to make a choice to eat or not eat genetically modified foods. Currently this information is not required on the label.
We had more than 30 people gathering signatures, working in all parts of the county and getting over 2,800 signatures. So a big thank you to those 2,830 Lake County folks who helped make it happen.
Also, a big thank you to Grocery Outlet in Lakeport for consistently letting us gather signatures there.
The Committee For a GE Free Lake County in Lake County, Calif., includes Haji Warf, Thurston Williams, Barbara Christwitz, Chole Karl, John Thomas and Roberta Actor-Thomas.
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- Written by: Randy Ridgel
Until the affirmative marijuana vote by the Board of Supervisors, we had dodged the bullet in the last election. If Moss and Brandon had joined Denise Rushing to form a majority, this gentle, charming county would have become San Francisco light, road rage and all. Voters also demonstrated by rejecting Measure D that they opposed turning the county over to backyard marijuana farming.
I wasn’t surprised by Rushing, Brown or Farrington. I expected Rushing to vote to let pot growers grow pot. I anticipated Brown, a straight shooter, would oppose piecemeal law-breaking – and he did. Farrington is a born compromiser; he would attempt to broker a time-sharing compromise between a convent and a brothel.
Following Farrington’s compromise proposal, given a choice between good and evil, the supervisors, except Brown, voted for half evil, satisfying nobody. It’s as if a virgin decided to become just a little pregnant.
We got in this mess because California ignored federal law, pot growers ignored California and federal law, and the supervisors got confused. I propose that when it comes back around, we ignore all outside laws and make some money for the county.
Since the growers declare themselves farmers, let’s pass an ordinance that limits growing a normal amount of plants to fit on a normal farm of no less than twenty acres – like tobacco farmers – instead of tiny, stinking, dangerous backyard nuisances. Medicinal marijuana is nonsense; it is recreational stuff – just like liquor and tobacco, only worse. Pain-reducing chemicals in marijuana are available in pills.
If growing the stuff is legal then let’s stop the sneaky, impossible to monitor and control, backyard stuff and grow it openly as a farmland crop. It could be a cooperative, shared by many growers.
Since each plant is worth a few thousand dollars, let’s rake off, say, a thousand dollars as a fee for the county for each plant harvested. After all, these pot growers will pound our roads and streets cultivating, harvesting and marketing their crops. Furthermore, now that we’re about to be a sanctuary county for pot growing, hordes of hairy, smelly, law-breaking folks will migrate here and fill our jail.
By taxing pot we will become a wealthy county, collecting enough money to fill potholes (pot holes?) and afford smooth roads that are the envy of California. Furthermore we will amass sufficient cash from taxing pot to forgo the proposed sales tax and build a spacious, elegant jail to hold the hairy, law-breaking hordes that pot attracts.
However, we need a sheriff who will support inspections and enforce laws regarding marijuana. An added benefit is that, as with tobacco, we can pass laws to keep it from children.
Randy Ridgel lives in Kelseyville, Calif.