The Myth of Barack Obama's Early Life

It's finally done.

You can read Chapter One of my new book What Does Barack Obama Believe? in the August 25 edition of Christian Faith and Reason Magazine.

In the article titled "The Myth of Barack Obama's Early Life" I demonstrate that Barack Obama has been perpetuating a myth about his early life since the publication of his memoirs, Dreams from My Father.

The myth is his statement that his father, Barack Obama Senior, left his mother, Stanley Ann Dunham, in 1963 when he was two years old, leaving Hawaii to attend Harvard. The truth is that his mother left his father in March, 1962, moving thousands of miles from Honolulu, Hawaii to an apartment in Seattle, Washington, where she registered as a full time student at the University of Washington for the spring quarter of 1962. Friends remember seeing her and her young baby at their apartment in Seattle during this period. She did not return to Honolulu until at least September, 1962, well after Barack Obama Senior had left Hawaii.

With the acceptance and perpetuation of this myth about his early life, Barack Obama began a life time behavioral pattern of creating fictional worlds to deal with his own personal problems. His subsequent creation of a "nightmare vision" of America is simply a natural extension of this pattern.

Look for What Does Barack Obama Believe? to be published by Harpeth River Press in early September, 2008.

Donald Trump Does Something Nice

Donald Trump, sometimes billionare, always self promoter, and the real estate guy with the very bad hair has done something nice.

He bought Ed McMahon's house in Beverly Hills and is leasing it back to him.

Nice job Donald!

The Three Amigos ?

Barack Obama's Tire Pressure Controversy

Hard to believe that the issue of how much we should all inflate our tires has become the central focus of Barack Obama's energy policy.

Obama's argument is along these lines:

"If we all would just be more responsible citizens and inflated our tires to the manufacturer's specifications, we could significantly reduce our consumption of foreign oil, thereby driving down the price of oil."

Obama, once again, is confusing a rhetorical point with an actual energy policy that would work.

The rhetorical point is this:

IF everyone inflated their tires as manufacturers suggested, experts agree that we would reduce our consumption of oil by around 1/3 of one percent. Depending on the expert and the wildness of assumptions made, that could be as much as one percent.

It's a rhetorical point with no practical value, however.

First, even a reduction in demand by one percent would do very little to change the price of oil. And a clear eyed view of the assumptions lead most observers to conclude the theoretical benefit would be much less than that.

Perhaps more importantly, Senator Obama, the big believer in command and control economies, seems to think that simply by telling those millions of Americans who are apparently under inflating their tires, they will change their behavior.

Obama apparently didn't take Economics 101 at Occidental or Columbia.

Millions of Americans will not change their personal behavior simply because Barack Obama asks them to. It's a vast free market, that consists of millions of individual decisions made each day, and no matter how much Senator Obama wishes he could change the behavior of those individuals by his rhetoric, the truth is, his incantations on this topic are just more of the same hot air that swirls around in a hundred million American tires as they hit the road every day.

An Excerpt from Principal Without a Diploma

My dad was a twenty four year old freshman at Oswego State Teachers College, New York, in 1953. Here's a story from his first weeks there:


(From Chapter Sixteen of Principal Without a Diploma.

Though taking a remedial English course was humbling, I knew that I needed it. I was determined to learn as fast as I could and in fact doubled up on English. The problem as I saw it is that Dr. Palmer's course was all about literature but what I needed was a real understanding of spelling, writing, and grammar. Be it as it may I was off and I would succeed no matter what I thought. My other courses were Math, History, Chemistry, and Metal Shop. I had less trouble with those classes.

In our History class we were assigned to read an article in a book in the library. I went over to the library, which was in the main building.. But when I got inside, I had no idea of what to do , so I went up to a clerk and told her what I had been assigned.

This woman was not in any way ready to help anyone look up a book.

She said to me, " Well look it up in the card catalog."

I had no idea what she meant.

“What’s a card catalog ?” I asked.

"You don't know what a card catalog is?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I had spent the last three years jumping out of airplanes for the Army and driving a beer truck. I wasn’t about to take any lip from a bookish librarian.

"No I do not." I said forcefully.

"Well how did you get into this college ? After all, the least we expect of new students is that they know how to use a library."

This attitude on her part ticked me off and I was not about to let a clerk push me around. So I let her have it.

"Look lady it’s your job to help me. I've never been to high school and this is the first assignment I ever had in a library. You are paid by the taxpayers to help people like me.”

“I just got my GED in the Army and I have been admitted to this college and I am not subordinate to you or anyone else here so you decide this, for me, will you ?”

“Are you going to help me find that book or do I have to go to your boss and report what a sarcastic person you are ?"

I was angry, and I delivered this verbal blast loud and clear. People in the library were looking at us as I said it.

As I spoke, I could see that my message was reaching her. I saw her expression change from one of condescension to one of helpfulness. Her face turned red, and her voice wavered a bit as she responded.

"I am very sorry I did not mean to offend you. I am just surprised that you do not know how to use a library".

She seemed genuinely sorry, even embarrassed that she had not understood my true circumstances.

"I am sorry. I was wrong and I will help you right now with the card catalog."
And she was true to her word. She helped me find that book and spent a little time showing me how to use the card catalog.

When we were finished, she repeated how sorry she was and said "Anytime you come to this Library If I am here I will help you."

I simply said "Thanks."

From that time on she was quick to help me in anyway she could and in fact we became friends.

Principal Without a Diploma Off to the Printers !

I've spend a good chunk of my spare time these last two weeks in "final edit mode" for my father's memoir, Principal Without a Diploma.
I am pleased to report that the final edit is finished, and we've sent the pre-publication edition off to the printers !

Look for it to hit your neighborhood Amazon.com on September 1 !

How do we tell the difference ?

A Shakespearean character in Denmark


A Shakespearean character in Green Bay

Tony Snow, 1955-2008

An Excerpt from Principal Without a Diploma

Here's an excerpt from a chapter in my dad's memoir Principal Without A Diploma.

Our dog Buster was a border collie who was bred to herd sheep.

I don’t remember when Buster arrived at the farm, but some of my first memories are of Buster and his adventures. I was very young, probably only four years old, when I first recall my mother telling me not to touch Buster.

Mother was a city girl who hated farm life, and she did not want Buster in the house. She said he was dirty, and he probably was. I didn’t see Buster as dirty, though. I saw a tan and white collie dog with nice wavy hair. But Mother was not to be persuaded, and Buster became a permanent “outside dog”. We had a woodshed attached to the house that had a stairway leading to the unfinished second floor over the kitchen. Buster's bed was underneath that stairway.

Buster and I became good friends, and I would sneak him extra food when I could, small things like scrap meat and potatoes. Buster would lick my face. We fed him whatever table scraps were left after every meal. Now and then we added in a little extra meat. He loved to chew bones left over from our meals. These were mostly bones from pork chops or beef bones from steaks. Those bones were his dessert after supper and he enjoyed them.

He enjoyed his bed and meals in the woodshed. He never complained and had the freedom of the farm and could come and go as he pleased.

Buster was a defender of the barn animals as well as his human family. He often went out to the barn and checked on the chickens and pigs. He seemed to know it was part of his job to protect every animal and human on the farm. He would walk around the chicken coop and look in as if counting them. They in turn seemed glad to see him and clucked at him, as if they were saying " Hi, Buster, nice to see you. Thanks for checking in on us !".

The pigs, on the other hand, were simply curious and just looked at him.

When ever Buster caught a fox trying to steal a chicken he grabbed the fox by the neck and shook it to death. While I never saw him do that to a fox, we would from time to time find a dead fox near the chicken coop and we knew Buster had got him.

You can read the rest of the chapter about Buster by clicking here.

Senator Patrick Leahy Delivers . . . But the Mystery Remains !

Tally up Senator Patrick Leahy in the good guys column.

My dad called his Washington office at 9 on Wednesday morning. By 4 pm, Senator Leahy called him back personally. They had a 15 minute conversation in which they mutually concluded that, yes, we are indeed third cousins (To be precise, my dad is his half second cousin once removed, and I am his half third cousin.)

"This is Pat Leahy", the Senator began the conversation.

Not "Senator Leahy", or "Senator Patrick Leahy". Just average guy "Pat" Leahy. A very nice touch.

The bad news is that our previous information that the Senator had actually traced our mutual great-great grandfather, Andrew Leahy (1809-1882), back to Ireland, is incorrect.

Family legend is that Andrew came from "the south of Ireland", which is consistent with the legend from our side of the family. Our tradition was Kerry or Cork, but the Senator's tradition is just generally "the south of Ireland."

The good news is the Senator pledged his support to our efforts to solve the mystery.

Stay tuned !

Senator Patrick Leahy Holds the Key to a 40 Year Old Family Mystery

Senator Patrick Leahy, D-Vermont

Senator Patrick Leahy, the very liberal Senator from Vermont, holds the key to a family mystery I've been trying to solve for 40 years. This circumstance no doubt provides a delightful irony to regular readers of this blog, who by now know that my political views are almost the polar opposite of Senator Leahy's. Politics not only makes strange bedfellows, it apparently also makes interesting family relations !

The surprising twist to the story which I have confirmed to my own satisfaction with 100 per cent certainty is this: Senator Leahy and I are cousins. Half third cousins to be exact.

We both take our surname from our common great-great grandfather, Andrew Leahy, born in Ireland in 1809, died in Hemmingford, Quebec in 1882.

The mystery, which I've been trying to solve for 40 years, with no success to date, is this -- where did Andrew Leahy come from in Ireland, and do I have relatives there still ?

I learned only today indirectly from another newly discovered half third cousin that Senator Leahy knows where Andrew Leahy came from, and has also met our common relatives in Ireland in the county of Andrew's birth. All that's left now is to find a way to confirm this story with the Senator and find out the location and relatives in Ireland.

My dad's going to take on that task, and I'll report back how successful he is with that venture. I'm dying to find out the answer to this persistent mystery but find myself in the amusing position of being beholding to the good graces of a distant relative whose accomplishments I can admire, but whose political positions I find..... less than agreeable !

I wonder if I'm now obliged to defend the honor of my half third cousin when I meet Vice President Cheney at the Republican National Convention in September !

The lineage, for those of you who may find this kind of thing of interest, is as follows:

(1) Andrew Leahy (1809-1882) and his first wife, Anastasi Ryan (died circa 1842) had two sons. The second son, (2) Andrew (1842-1911) married Margaret Heffernan (1845-1911) in Montreal in 1868, and moved shortly thereafter to Mineville, New York.

Their son (3) Patrick J. Leahy (1871-1911) moved as a young man to Barre, Vermont, where he became a stone cutter, and in 1899 married Joanna last name unknown. Patrick contracted silicosis and died just prior to his fortieth birthday.

Patrick J and Joanna had one son, (4) Howard Francis (1900-1984), who married Alba Zambon. These were the parents of (5) Senator Patrick Leahy.

My descendancy from Andrew Leahy is as follows:

(1) Andrew Leahy and his second wife, Honora Devine (1829-1862) had a son, (2) Patrick Leahy (1851-1924). Patrick married Joanna McBride, and they had a son (3) Thomas Leahy (1893-1970). Thomas Leahy married Helen Dowd (1903-1970), and their son, (4) Raymond Leahy (born 1929) is my father.

My Dad: Principal Without a Diploma

My dad, Raymond Leahy, at his desk as Principal of Dannemora High School, 1963.

The sad passing of Buffalo native Tim Russert last week made me think of my own father, Raymond Leahy. Like Mr. Russert, I was raised in an Irish Catholic family in upstate New York during the 1950's and 1960's. And just as he wrote a book about his father's life in his 2004 best seller "Big Russ", I've been editing my father's memoirs of growing up in Quebec, and coming to America where he became a successful school administrator.

Unlike Mr. Russert, I do not wax idyllic about the wonders of Buffalo, New York. It's descended into a predictably down beat grey bleakness over the last three decades from which it will never recover. I do, however, cherish the experiences of growing up in upstate New York. It's a great place to be from.

Big Russ was a World War II veteran who worked two jobs to put his kids through Catholic schools. His was the school of hard knocks, and the lessons he gave Tim stayed with him and helped him become the great and respected newsman he was.

My dad was a Korean Era vet who worked like crazy to overcome his lack of a formal high school education and carve out a career as a teacher and administrator in upstate New York. For those of you who may be interested, I've included the first few paragraphs of his memoirs:


I never understood why my mother and father married each other, let alone why they had five children together. We lived on a one hundred and twenty acre farm situated four miles west of the small village of Hemmingford Quebec. We were so close to the border with the United States that on a summer day you could head south on foot and after walking an hour through farms and woods you would be in the United States. There was no fence, no guard, not a sign anywhere to tell you were in the state of New York rather than the province of Quebec. Montreal lay forty miles to our north, and Plattsburgh, New York was a mere thirty miles to our south.

My dad's family was all Irish. My mother's family was half Irish, half French-Canadien. We were Roman Catholics, and the two families had lived in the same community, and attended St. Romain's Catholic Church together since the 1840's, when my dad's Grandfather Andrew Leahy and my mother's Great Grandfather James Dowd had immigrated from Ireland.

Though he was born in the right place, Dad was born fifty years too late. He was made for the life of a small farmer in the nineteenth century, the life his father and grandfather before him had lived, where a man knew his fields, his animals, and how to get the most out of the few resources available to him. He was a stubborn man who relied upon his own ingenuity and effort to scratch out a living from our rocky patch of land. He had the bad fortune of coming along at a time when rapid technological and social changes were making the kind of farm life at which he exceled obsolete.

In contrast to Dad, my mom was born in the right place at the right time. Her misfortune was to move from the right place to the wrong place just as she began her married life.

Tim Russert, 1950-2008

Walter Mitty Survives His Turn in Goal

I survived my first turn in goal.

And, as a bonus, I didn't embarass myself.

The box score shows that the half I played in goal left my team down 5 to 4, with yours truly recording 3 saves. Not exactly an All-Star, but a decent showing for a newbie.

Of the 40 players on both sides of the two teams, there were two or three of us on either side of fifty, another half dozen north of thirty but south of forty, and the balance in high school, college, or recently graduated.

A 30 year old investment banker on my team sprained his ankle, and was heard to mutter "I'm as old and creaky as a darned forty year old." Ah, to be forty again !

Our team lost 12 to 9, and a 17 year old high school hot shot filled the pipes in the second half, allowing 7 goals while making 3 saves. In the box score the old guy looks a little better, which provides him more than a little satisfaction.

For those of you wondering what it's like to stand in the lacrosse goal and try to stop a hard rubber ball hurtling towards you at around 90 miles per hour, I can give you a one word answer:

Humbling.

I literally didn't see 4 of the 5 goals.

These guys are very good, very skilled, and very clever.

Only 1 of the 8 shots on goal came anywhere in the vicinity of my body. I caught that one in the large net of my stick.

2 of the 8 shots were above my waist and I was able to move my stick to catch them.

I had not a chance at the low shots.

Zing !

Turn around, it's in the goal.

Zing !

Turn around again, fish it out of the net.

I missed 1 high shot that safely slid in the nine square inches of the upper right corner of the goal. It was the only open space, and the guy hit it.

Amazing.

The only violence that took place around my goal crease was caused by my fifty year old orthopedic surgeon teammate who decided to flatten a college hot shot about to violate the space around the goal.

Bam, went the surgeon, hitting the kid high and hard.

Woosh went the kid, falling to the ground.

Roll, roll, roll went the ball, slowly moving towards the goal crease.

I reached across the line, pulled the ball into the crease, shouted a "Thanks Doc !" to my fellow oldster, and cleared the ball to a twenty something hot shot on our team.

I felt the breeze as he sped past me, on the way to plague the other team's goalie at the other end of the field.

Now that's living !

Walter Mitty tries his hand in goal

I've coached and refereed girl's lacrosse for four years.

Having never played the game, I thought it might be a good idea to try my hand at it.

There's a men's summer lacrosse league here in Nashville, comprised mostly of recent high school and college graduates, and a few very over the hill guys.

This particular over the hill guy, having assessed his speed as a field player, will don the goalie pads (not much running in that position) this coming Monday night. I will try to haul in the 80 to 90 mile per hour hard rubber lacrosse balls that much younger, much more experienced players will be launching goalward in my general direction.

I approach the first of twelve summer games with both anticipation and trepidation.

A goalie has two main responsibilities:

1. Stop the ball from getting in the goal.

2. Clear the ball after stopping it to a teammate who can advance it up the field.

I'm pretty sure I can clear the ball, but have no idea how well I will be able to stop the ball.

I'm hoping to get at least one save Monday night ! And I also hope to return to work on Tuesday morning with the same number of teeth that I had on Monday afternoon !

On Writing, Focus, and Finishing the Book

The contemporary writer for whom I have the greatest admiration is my friend Keith Raffel. The author of the highly acclaimed mystery, Dot Dead, Keith is a Harvard Law School graduate with a successful career as a Silicon Valley technology executive behind him. Not only is Keith a great writer, he's a genuinely nice guy.

Keith Raffel
Which brings me to my topic.

Keith is also a very focused guy. When he's writing a book, he writes it until it's finished. Then he's on to the next.

Beginning to end, it took him over ten years to finish Dot Dead, but that was a part time effort. His next book, the soon to be published Two Graves, he knocked out in a little more than a year.

For those of you who've been following my writing, you know that I finished the first draft of my Civil War novel, Fort Desperate, almost two years ago. It's still an unfinished project, though I must say I think it's a much better book now than it was two years ago. I've dropped several secondary characters, added two new characters, and substantially changed elements of the last half of the book.

Still, it's a work in progress, and it's unfinished status nags at me.

Along the way, as readers of this blog may recall, I wrote and self published the Christian apologetics work Letter to an Atheist, whose primary audience appears to be militant atheists looking for Christian apologetics books they can purchase, not read, and write negative reviews about on Amazon.

I also began another project, the Abrahamic Small Groups book, which started with energy and enthusiasm, but has now transformed itself into two longer term projects, the completion of which now move to the tail end of my writing queue.

My friend Keith would probably advise me to focus on Fort Desperate and finish the book as my top priority.

Good advice.

I don't think I'm going to follow it.

Instead, I've devised a writing schedule that divides the week into three distinct time periods for writing.

One time period is devoted to Fort Desperate.

A second time period is devoted to editing my father's memoirs: Principal Without a Diploma: A Memoir of Growing Up in Depression Era Quebec and Coming to America.

And the third time period is devoted to a small project that will focus on the intersection of belief, public policy, and politics.

Any of my writing friends or reading friends out there in blogland are welcome to weigh in on the wisdom of this approach.

The Spring of our Discontent

It's spring, and a not so young political junkie's thoughts turn to the General Election in the fall.

If you believe most pundits, there's a tidal wave of opinion trending Democratic out there, especially at the Congressional level. It's a Democratic year, they say, and the neck and neck nature of Presidential polling is merely an indication that Rush Limbaugh's clever "Operation Chaos" has caused some temporary blood letting between the Democratic contenders.

I must admit that as a predictor of Presidential elections, I have a poor track record.

You all remember President Mo Udall in 1976. His one term administration was followed by John B. Anderson's two term administration in 1980.

Then there was President DuPont in 1988.

And George Bush 1's second term in 1992.

Who could forget President Steve Forbes in 2000, and of course, the current Republican nominee, Mitt Romney.

You get the drift.

Which leads me to ponder the increasingly disappointing choices for this fall.

Hillary Clinton is out of it, of course, regardless of the outcomes of West Virginia and Kentucky. That leaves Barack Obama, who, I suspect, we will discover is even more disturbingly left-wing than we have learned to date.

On the Republican side, our nominee, Senator McCain, while right on terrorism and certainly a courageous war hero, seems determined to display that his misunderstandings of science and free markets are almost as egregious as those of Senator Obama.

Can you say "global warming tour" ?

And now, here comes Bob Barr, the "Peabodyesque" former Republican Congressman from Georgia whose claim to fame is that he chaired the Clinton impeachment, supports the American Civil Liberties Union, and is thrice married. To the consternation of the Ron Paul fanatics out there, Mr. Barr has declared his candidacy for the Libertarian Party's nomination for President. Now some pundits are pontificating that Mr. Barr's Libertarian run will have the same effect on Senator McCain's prospects as Ralph Nader's run had on Al Gore's 2000 prospects.



Such might be Mr. Barr's fantasies of his own importance, but the likelier outcome is that no one will be inspired by Mr. Barr sufficiently to see him as an alternative to the center seeking Senator McCain.

Which leaves me contemplating the wisdom of the founders, who set up the Constitution so as to limit the damage a President can do the country.

With Friends Like This . . . .

It's hard not to sympathize with Barack Obama, even for those of us who completely disagree with his left-wing politics.

Consider his dilemma.

Jeremiah Wright, his pastor for twenty years and a leader in the Black Liberation Theology movement, has finally revealed himself as a loony, self aggrandizing, egomaniacal racist and divider. One need only watch Wright's recent exercises in self promotion at the National Press Club, at the Detroit chapter of the NAACP, and on Bill Moyers' PBS program to realize all the hullabaloo is not about Barack Obama, or helping African-Americans, it's about Jeremiah Wright getting the very most out of his fifteen minutes of fame.

Obama, though he still is the favorite to win the Democratic nomination, is virtually crippled now in his efforts to win the general election.

He must either completely denounce the pompous and grandiose Wright and all he stands for now, or he must acknowledge that he listened to Wright's lunacies for twenty years and that not only did it not register then that Wright's philosophy was completely contrary to his own stated purpose of uniting rather than dividing, it doesn't matter now that he tolerated--even embraced--such divisiveness for twenty years.

Hillary Clinton is enjoying Obama's dilemma. Even if she loses the Democratic nomination in 2008, Obama's likely poor showing in the 2008 General Election will set her up to claim the nomination in 2012.

And John McCain is listening to the ghostly advice of Lee Atwater, which I paraphrase as follows:

"If your opponent is in the process of destroying himself, don't interrupt the process !"

Al Gore is the only happy Democrat in America today

Al Gore is the only happy Democrat in America today.

The man whose purpose in life has been to fulfill his father's ambitions for him and become President of the United States, the man who blew the 2000 election, the man who won the popular vote in the 2000 election, the man who has created a lucrative career based on scientific falsehoods, is about to get a second shot at the golden ring.

Maybe.

Despite polls that have, until recently, declared this to be a Democratic Presidential year, Senator Obama and Senator Clinton have both proven completely incapable of winning the general election.

Senator Clinton lives with the highest negatives of any major figure in American political history. Half of all voters will never ever vote for her.

And Barack Obama has just embraced the anvil of Black Liberation Theology, a political philosophy of separatism masquerading as religion, that most white voters find insulting and unfair. Should he choose to abandon his anvil, he'll lose any credibility he may have with his

Neither Clinton nor Obama can now beat John McCain in the general election.

The Democratic leadership, as well as the rank and file, may come to this realization during what looks to be a real barn burner during their convention in Denver this summer.

To whom will they turn, if both Clinton and Obama are too damaged to continue ?

Al Gore will be there, waiting and ready to accept the nomination. His chances of winning couldn't be any worse than either Clinton or Obama. That is, until he starts articulating his positions. Then, he's likely to perform as poorly in the general election as the erstwhile pretenders Clinton and Obama.

On Black Liberation Theology

Union School of Theology Professor James Cone
Jeremiah Wright, Senator Obama's former pastor, tells us that he is a leader in the Black Liberation Theology movement.

What exactly is Black Liberation Theology ?


The movement began in 1969, when James Cone wrote Black Theology and Black Power. He followed that work up in 1970 with another book, A Black Theology of Liberation. Here's an excerpt from the second book.




The black theologian must reject any conception of God which stifles black self-determination by picturing God as a God of all peoples. Either God is identified with the oppressed to the point that their experience becomes God's experience, or God is a God of racism...The blackness of God means that God has made the oppressed condition God's own condition. This is the essence of the Biblical revelation. By electing Israelite slaves as the people of God and by becoming the Oppressed One in Jesus Christ, the human race is made to understand that God is known where human beings experience humiliation and suffering...Liberation is not an afterthought, but the very essence of divine activity. (A Black Theology of Liberation, pp. 63-64)

More recent academic work in the area has come from Professor Dwight Hopkins at the University of Chicago's Divinity School. His 1999 book titled, Down, Up, and Over--Slave Religion and Black Theology looks at the role of Christianity in the origins, practice, and end of American slavery, an issue that I also addressed in Letter to an Atheist.

Dwight Hopkins

Both of these academics are important to study for a couple of reasons:

1. They address the central relationship of Christian faith in the American black community.
2. They are thought leaders who influence Jeremiah Wright, Senator Obama, and many other leaders of the black community.

I will reserve more detailed comments on my review of their works until I have read each of the three books mentioned. However, my initial reaction is that black liberation theology appears to be much more a political theory of black separatism than it is a theology of Christian faith.