A Tribute to the Cobradores

Most folks think a bus is all about the driver. But, I’m making the case that the lowly “cobradore” (never seen a cobradora) is the heart of the bus operation here. They are the “collectors”, the guys who collect fares. This in itself is a bit of an art form. The lads must remember where each passenger embarked and calculate the appropriate fare. Just before arriving at the ultimate destination, they push their way through a crowded bus, collecting and making change as they go. When presented with a large bill, they must wait until sufficient change is collected.

In addition, they help older or pregnant passengers on and off the bus and stow packages that are too large for a passenger’s lap. They call out the upcoming stops and tell the driver when to stop. At intersections the cobradore fills in the driver’s blind spots and tells him when to accelerate after new passengers are seated.

One the most fascinating of their functions is to signal seat availability when approaching passengers at a stop. They will stick their hand out a window or door and signal a “come hither” motion to indicate empty seats. If all seats are full, they will point two fingers down to indicate standing room only. If full, they just make the “wagging finger” motion.

Many times, these lads are called upon to perform multi-tasking. And they generally to do with aplomb. Rarely do they get a chance to sit - balance is a requisite. So, CHEERS to the Cobradores – the true heroes of the bus system !!

Goyo’s History of Panama

For at least 5,000 years the indigenous tribes in the area of Panama lived happily of the land, rivers and oceans of the tropically lush Panamanian land. Then, along came the Spanish, first landing shortly after the famed Columbus, in 1501. They were convinced that this was a continent, not just more island. Balboa, after whom the Panamanians have named their currency and a beer, made his way across a thick jungle to be the first European to see the Pacific. The feat earned him rights to found a colony very close to where I live on the Caribbean coast, in Darien. He then forged a trail across to the Pacific (though not nearly at the narrowest point), which became the most expedient route for gold and silver, stolen from the Pacific side of South America, to get back to Spain.

It took another 8 years of exploring the area to figure a shorter route, basically where the Canal is built. At which point Balboa’s stock went way down and he was beheaded by a rival. Still, he’s the man in the history books.

For the next 300 or so years, the Spanish continued to what they did best - loot and plunder the continent and bicker among themselves for power and a share of the booty. They got plundered themselves a few times, as well. Notably by Sir Francis Drake and pirate Henry Morgan in the early 1600’s.

In the early 1800’s, Napoleon’s brilliant sneak attack on Spain left it unable to control the area and Panama became independent of the Spanish scourge in 1830, and became part of Bolivar’s Gran Colombia (modern day Colombia, Peru, Venezuela, Bolivia and Ecuador).

Just about that time, an upstart global power called the US of A was starting to take interest in the area. We figured that a railroad across the peninsula would save time and money and get the the 49ers to the gold faster. So, for an undisclosed sum, we bought the right-of-way from Gran Columbia. Seeing how successful (and profitable) the railway was, we figured a water crossing would be even better. But, to our dismay, the Colombians sold the rights to France. When the French couldn’t handle the task, we made another bid, but were turned down.

To show the Colombians just how tough the new kid on the block was, we backed a revolutionary junta that declared its independence from Colombia, which was no match for the mighty US Marines and a few battleships. We promptly recognized the junta as the real government of an independent Panama. And just as promptly, they handed over rights to the canal route. It took the US just ten years to do what the French had failed miserably to do in 12. In 1914, the first ships sailed through an absolute engineering marvel. Along with the canal, we got rights to station our military along the canal for protection, which turned to be mostly protecting against the coups and revolutions in Panama (which, BTW means “many fish” in some native dialect).  Whenever the locals got too uppity, our boys would do whatever they had to and install a “friendly” face in power. But invariably, the friend would either turn or be ousted. (does any of this sound familiar?) This did not endear us to the locals and the “Yanqui Go Home” sentiment was strong, culminating in a student uprising in 1964, that led to the rise of Army General Torrijos and the pressure for Jimmy Carter to give the Canal to Panama.

The most famous US sell-out, of course was Army General Noriega, a former CIA operative, who was colluding with the CIA to run drugs to the US and guns to Central America. Noriega murdered and looted at will and with impunity, until he declared himself president and declared war on the US. Suffice it to say that 26,000 US troops, planes, ships and tanks can bring a lot of heat. And Noriega was out after some asylum shenanigans at the Vatican Embassy. (Can we pick ‘em, or what ??)   Remember how we got him to leave? Heavy metal (Van Halen and Metalica) did the trick. Which proves that my distain for that musical genre is indeed valid. The “unfortunate collateral damage” caused by our (fully justified) invasion only further alienated the locals. (Ringing any bells, here?)

Even after that, we backed one failed administration after another, leaving a trail of corruption and ill-will. The only thing that has saved the country is the new Canal expansion. It has provided absolute full employment and caused a massive population flight from the rural areas to the Emerald City. With all the money sloshing around, Panama also became an international banking center, which is code for an off-shore money washing machine. With a skyline to match any US city and an average income of $14,000, things are good. Except for those in the forgotten rural areas. As one older lady in Ipeti put it, “El gobierno es por los ricos, no por los pobres”.

Operation Just Cause – Up Close & Very Personal

Having spent most of my time in Panama in rural areas away from the City, I never got a sense of lingering animosity towards Americans. Sure, I hear questions about American gun violence, our constant wars and why we would elect a raging racist lunatic as President. But, that is more puzzlement than animosity or dislike. Besides, we came out looking like the Good Guys when we gave Panama the Canal and all its trappings, right?

This morning, I met a man who did hold a grudge and was determined to explain why, albeit in a very civil tone. His name was “Jimmy” Vegas, a former Colonel in the Panama Defense Force – a paramilitary wing of the National Police, as Panama officially had no military. To start with, his father was an MP with the US Army in the Canal Zone and left his mother and 3 sisters when Jimmy was 12. Beyond that, he was with the PDF during “Operation Just Cause” (which he simply calls The Invasion) and witnessed first-hand the many abuses and violence of the US Military invasion troops.

He felt the whole invasion was unnecessary, as there were many in the PDF who would have been very willing to help the CIA or Special Forces capture Noriega. In fact, he was part of the attempted coup 2 months before the invasion, but was never discovered. He says the biggest US blunder was a lack of intelligence – not knowing where Noriega was at any given time. Noriega and the PDF knew well in advance that the Invasion was coming and he moved 2 or 3 times a day. Jimmy was told of the Invasion 3 days before it came and was given orders to “stand-down” and give no resistance to US Forces. Why Noriega did not escape, either by boat or air, puzzles him.

He does not begrudge the US for wanting to capture Noriega, but feels that the way they did it was horribly and unnecessarily wrong. While there were some tactical strikes to destroy Noriega’s boats and aircraft, Panamanians were aghast at the huge 29,000+ force that attacked the City with tanks, gunships and RPGs. He watched as thousands of civilians were rounded up and sent to holding camps – basically anyone who was out on the streets, old ladies and children included, many of whom were beaten if they resisted. Some were shot for fleeing.

Just as bad was the property destruction caused. Jimmy was at the PDF HQ when it was attacked. While he escaped with just a broken hand, the attack caused fires to spread rapidly through the shantys of an adjacent poor neighborhood. Even worse, fire and rescue were prevented by the US Military and hundreds of civilians died or were injured and thousands left homeless. There were also 2 civilian apartment complexes that were attacked by gunships for unknown reasons. Many more were injured there.

As the walls closed in on Noriega, he fled to the Vatican Embassy for shelter and the US Military famously used loud rock music to drive him out. No one in the area could sleep for days. Thus, Jimmy views the transfer of the Canal to Panama, not as a gift, but as something paid for by the destruction, deaths and disabilities needlessly caused by the US.

While my “Peace Corps Card” got me off the hook, he was insistent that I let my fellow Americans know what “really” happened – which obligation I have now fulfilled.

On Turkey Carving

One of my favorite pastimes during law school in DC was attending the free events at the Library of Congress. One program was called Renaissance Man and featured talks on flower arranging, basic car mechanics knot tying and meat carving. It was there that my passion for turkey carving was ignited. It made me designated carver for many years, including multiple turkey carving at Esalen Thanksgivings.

Here are the basics :

Forget the fancy carving sets and (shudder) electric knives. A sharp, short (5-6") blade works best.

Carving birds is a contact sport - use your hands.

Remove the entire thigh as a unit ( and wing) before removing the entire breast.

NEVER carve the breasts the way most magazines show it. This violates the basic rule of meat carving - ALWAYS cut against the grain.

The proper way to cook the bird is breast down, though that doesn't make for the classic "pretty picture".

It is that simple.

Most of all, enjoy the process, appreciate all the efforts of the farm workers, butchers, truck drivers, grocery folks and cooks who make the meal possible and have a very Happy Thanksgiving !!

Here is the best video I could find on topic. It is pretty much spot-on.

http://www.nytimes.com/video/dining/100000002542844/how-to-carve-a-turkey.html

My Theme Song

For years, I hummed this little marching tune to myself. It always seems to give me energy and see me through tight spots. The Ninjas called it my "drive song". I'm not sure where it came from. I heard it in the movie "Always". Richard Dreyfuss hummed it whenever his fire tanker got into trouble. At Esalen, my online genius/Irish buddy Ken Garrety identified it as an Irish march called "Garry Owen". Oddly enough, it was the official march song of the infamous US 7th Cavalry (Custer et al). I've found simple wav versions online, but never the full original, which I am excited to attach.

Thomas Moore (1779-1882) wrote these lyrics to the tune Garry Owen

Let Bacchus' sons be not dismayed

But join with me, each jovial blade

Come, drink and sing and lend your aid

To help me with the chorus:

Chorus: Instead of spa, we'll drink brown ale

And pay the reckoning on the nail;

No man for debt shall go to jail

For Garryowen in glory.

We'll beat the bailiffs out of fun,

We'll make the mayor and sheriffs run

We are the boys no man dares dun

If he regards a whole skin.

Chorus

Our hearts so stout have got no fame

For soon 'tis known from whence we came

Where'er we go they fear the name

Of Garryowen in glory.

+++++++

In the United States it was adopted as a favorite marching air by General George Custer's 7th Cavalry, an association which helped to popularize the jig throughout country following Custer's demise. It had been said that the 7th acquired the song through Captain Miles Keogh, an Irishman and a former member of the Papal Guard. The melody was cited as having commonly been played at Orange County, New York country dances in the 1930's.

My Life with Computers

Some Computer History

1/3 of the guts of the Sperry UNIVAC – My first computer experience in 1968 – punched paper tape input

The IBM Selectric typewriter with extra type heads – first used one in 1972

The C-64 – my first home computer – cost was $750. Monitor and floppy disk drive extra

The floppy disk could hold 360kB – the information for ONE low-res photo

My first “laptop” weighed 11 lbs - $2,999

First computer modem

MS-DOS had no graphics, only text Commands were sent via the Command Line

Memory was slow and bulky and expensive. The drive is about 6”x6”x4”
A 32 Gig USB memory holds 320 times the information

The first time I ever came face-to-face with a computer was at the World’s Fair in Flushing, NY in 1964. The IBM exhibit had a very impressive egg shaped structure, which showed a movie about the future. After the ride, the exit area had a real operating computer, complete with a huge panel of flashing lights and guys dressed in lab jackets and ties. And a new word was added to my young vocabulary – computer.

Four years later, I was selected to attend a National Science Foundation summer program at Brown University in Providence, RI. We were allowed time to visit the brand new Sperry (Univac) computer lab and assigned the project of writing a computer program in FORTRAN to list all prime numbers up to 10,000. It was one thing to study the code manual and write the program. T’was another to get it into the machine. There was no convenient keyboard. Rather, a big  typewriter-like machine that would punch appropriate holes into a paper strip as each letter was keyed. It was manual, so key pounding was a real technique. Not only that, but each coded command had to be numbered, properly formatted and spaced. A single mistake would cause the program to fail and the whole paper strip had to be redone.

Programs had to be compact, as the entire CPU, which took up the size of a living room, only had 64k of operating memory - the same as a future Commodore 64 home computer. There were hundreds of relays and vacuum tubes, which failed on a regular basis. So, even if the code was properly written and the paper tape didn’t jam in the reader, a program could still fail for hardware error. After endless hours of labor, the Holy Grail of a yellow tinted print out was obtained. While this was exciting, it hardly seemed that the computer was of real practical use.

A little more than a year passed, and I found myself at Princeton, in the company of a new IBM Model 360-90. It had more memory, a lightening fast processor, huge magnetic tape drives, a printer that printed a whole line of text at one time, and best of all – computer cards. The iconic, dollar bill sized cards held one line of code per card. This meant that mistakes were more easily corrected and the card reader was much more reliable than the tape reader. Code had changed to BASIC, which was similar, but far more powerful than FORTRAN and had many useful operating and format functions.

It was mostly a time for experimentation. There were a few courses that required computer use. The one practical program that I wrote generated random dice rolls for backgammon. Players would play off the list of rolls and then reverse pages after an appropriate time. I had insisted that my room mate Ed O’Lear beat me due to his amazing luck. Sadly, I was proved wrong when he beat me with either set of rolls.

There was no computer at law school. Even the real estate office where I worked part time had no computers. MLS, which now is entirely online, consisted of huge bound listing sheets, which were reprinted only once every two weeks.

It was not until 1980 that I returned to computing. My ex-wife Dorinda gave me a Commodore Vic-20 for Christmas. To have a real, albeit primitive CPU on my own desk was quite a thrill. Input via keyboard was virtually fool-proof, and programs – still using BASIC code – could be saved on floppy disks. There were some commercial programs available for accounting, word processing and data base management. Games had no graphics and consisted of typed input commands. It was a time for further experimentation and small business related programs. The Vic soon gave way to the Commodore 64 and 128.

My first attempt at a commercially useful program was MixMaster. The impetus was a Thanksgiving visit with my father-in-law, Roy, who managed a dog food plant. Animal feed can be made from an assortment of hundreds of raw materials, but the final product must have a specific content of protein, fiber and fat. Calculating the proportions of the raw materials is a combination of trial and error and experience. But, I remembered (thanks to my ex-roomie Peter Randall) an economics algorithm which could not only produce the precise final content, but at least cost. For several months, I slept an average of 3-4 hours per night and finally produced a usable program, which I sold to a few feed plants and one fertilizer plant, which operated on the same principles. Sadly, IBM soon came out with a version of the same program, very effectively putting me out of business, in part because my program ran on the Commodore.

Despite my animosity toward Big Blue/IBM, I purchased one of the first IBM Portable computers in 1984 for something like $4,500. Portable was almost a joke, since the beast weighed over 40 lbs. It had a 9” monochrome display, no hard drive and 2 floppy disk drives.

IBM’s version of BASIC also offered a compiler, which meant that programs ran much faster. On it, I wrote many operating programs for my Thermalbar thermometer business, including inventory control and sales commission and payroll calculation. I also wrote code for a wine distributor, which managed inventory, delivery and tax calculation.

In 1990, I bought one of the first Compaq “laptop” computers. It was a far cry from the slender, light ones we know today. It was about 4” thick, weighed 9 lbs and had a 12” screen. I took it to Mexico with me and used it solely as a word processor to write my three screenplays. It served for many years, finally succumbing to a large glass of spilt beer.

Bear in mind that all this was done with Dear Old MS-DOS, the Microsoft operating system that preceded Windows. All commands were entered on a command line. There were no icons, no graphics to speak of, no desktop and no mouse, no dragging, no point and click. There was no multi-tasking – only one program could run at a time. There was no Internet, just machine to machine communication over the phone lines via modems and transmissions were often garbled and always very slow. It was an old school art form and those of us who knew Ms Dos, loved her and bore her as a badge of honor. Memory was at a premium, processors were slow, on-board hard drives were unknown. And it was all state of the art – every day.

I was away from computers for three years and when I returned, it was a whole new world of Windows, which made the PC usable to the masses. The youth of today take all this for granted. But those of us who evolved with the computer evolution can perhaps better and truly appreciate what an incredible, almost miraculous service computers and the Internet provide today.

                  THE MASTER AND KABUUL : A Computer Parable

 

          Allow me to introduce Kabuul, a servant/slave, whose service you

     may want to aquire. 

          Kabuul is a loyal and totally obedient servant.  He will do

     whatever his Master asks at any time.  Kabuul has many attributes.

     His memory is unfailing.  He can remember a long list of chores and

     will perform them exactly as directed.  Kabuul will carry out the most

     menial and thankless tasks without complaint and will work without

     rest until the task is completed. 

          Despite his many talents and abilities, Kabuul has limitations.

     His obedience is so strict, that he will carry out Master's orders, no

     matter how idiotic they may be.  He knows and remembers only Master's

     instructions and wisdom, though he can be sent to the Gurus to fetch

     and use their wisdom. 

          Having owned Kabuul for many years, I offer the following

     observations to other owners.  First, recognize Kabuul's talents and

     use his service for those tasks to which he is best suited, and not

     for your every need.  Many times you will find it much easier and

     expedient to do the job yourself, rather than give Kabuul the detailed

     and exact instructions he needs. 

          For example, if you wish to send a letter to each of your

     thousand closest friends, addressing each by name, use Kabuul.  He

     will tirelessly and flawlessly copy your letter a thousand times,

     beginning each with a different name from a list, which you must

     provide him.  Provide him a dictionary, and he will also gladly test

     every word in your letter, though he is unable to detect your

     incorrect usage or improve your style.  Upon completion, should you

     decide to add a thought to the middle of the letter, Kabuul will,

     without hesitation or complaint, re-write all thousand letters.  If

     you have written an article on large paper and wish to copy it on

     smaller papers, Kabuul will do this well, using whatever size script

     and margins you instruct.  However, to write a shopping list for the

     market, serve yourself.  You waste time summoning Kabuul, instructing

     him in what form you desire the list, and dictating it to him. 

          Or, say you have a large pile of stones that are to be sorted by

     size, call on Kabuul.  He will sort into as many sizes as you ask.  Or

     if you need to select just one stone from the huge pile, tell Kabuul

     the exact description of that stone and he will examine every stone

     until he finds it.  But, if you merely want to move the large pile of

     stones, borrow a friend's bulldozer.  

          Similarly, if you have several pieces of furniture in a room, and

     the Mistress wishes to see every possible arrangement of the room (as

     is often the case), Kabuul will cheerfully and tirelessly move tables

     and chairs and lamps until Mistress is satisfied.  He will most humbly

     decline, however, to offer any opinion.  This you must chance

     yourself.

          You must also learn to give Kabuul exact instructions and to

     understand what meanings he attributes to your commands.  His abject

     desire to please Master leads him to do precisely what is ordered, no

     matter how odd or dire the result.  If you tell Kabuul to pick up all

     the toys in your son's room and throw away any that are broken, you

     may find that he has hurled broken toys out the window and is still

     carrying those he picked up.  Tell him simply to clean a room, and you

     may find an immaculate room, with all furnishings and wall hangings

     gone.  Learning to direct Kabuul may take time, but it is essential,

     if Kabuul is to be a useful servant. 

          Masters who understand and use Kabuul's talents well, who learn

     to properly direct him, give him a decent place to live, and clean him

     occasionally, will find Kabuul a powerful, reliable, and most useful

     servant.  They may even develop a certain affection toward him. 

 

 

Mother Earth

CalTrans built a new, earthquake-resistant bridge over Burns Creek near Big Sur in 2000. To give the bridge a secure footing, they drove steel pilings over 100 feet into the creek bed. Big Sur being a pretty “organic” area, there were protests by many locals. As I drove past them one time, I heard a woman scream “They’re killing Mother Earth !! They’re driving big nails into her heart !!”

That night, I heard the voice of the good Mother in a dream and asked her about the pile drivers. “Do you think I even feel what you people do ?” She responded. “Do you really have the audacity to think I care ?” Looking at the scale of things, I saw her point. An 8,000 mile diameter sphere stuck by a 100ft pin is like a face being “stuck” by something that wouldn’t even penetrate the first layer of dead skin cells. For the well-exfoliated, it wouldn’t even penetrate the first skin cell wall.

It occurred to me that “Save the Earth” is really “Save the Humans”. Mother Earth will go right on spinning with or without us. She did just fine before us and will be fine even if we damage the environment so badly that we exterminate ourselves. Nothing wrong with wanting to keep the environment safe for humans. I’ve found this planet to be a glorious place, full of wonder and beauty – the best I’ve seen in the Galaxy.

But, let’s be clear – Earth Day is about us humans, not the planet.