“Four O’ Clock”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-20)

Too early in the morning.

No matter how I have tried to regain a regular pattern of sleep in retirement, my efforts have failed. Each night has remained unpredictable. Up at midnight? Up at one, two, three, or four o’clock? Of course. Anything works when you yourself do not… ho, ho, ho. Look out below! The spin of a coin could decide my fate just as easily. Heads or tales? None of this matters. Name your poison.

Without a set schedule, I have been free to write at any hour. Free to express any thought in virtual ink. My only difficulty has been in choosing a beverage of choice to accompany these unpredictable sessions. Beer or coffee? Sometimes, just filtered water. Again, it does not matter.

Spin the Wheel of Fortune.

So, let us begin:

America

So full of right and wrong

The riffs of a Bo Diddley song

Magnatone turned to ten

I’ll go there again

Come with me, friend

Keep me hoping

Keep me praying

Keep me upright, all night, out-of-sight

This ain’t no Golden Globes

No pins in my ear lobes

Don’t you know

No congressional probes

No pep rally in white robes

There’s a riot going on

Just before the dawn

Timbers of the temple start to crumble

It keeps me humble

Never fear

The end is near

But I am here

With a Silvertone hi-fi

Vinyl records from the five-and-dime

Alvin Cash & The Crawlers

Doing ‘Twine Time’

Step and sweat

We won’t forget

Heels kick and voices shout

We’re stepping out!

Bumbling, stumbling

Showing off for the talent scout

Taking a dose of H. S. T.

Shotgun golf

Fear and loathing on the campaign trail

Or in Las Vegas

Got a tiger by the tail

Greetings to Gonzo

It used to be this way

But look now, it’s yesterday

Fools argue over the ‘Lost Cause’

Of Jefferson Davis and General Lee

Like we are still living in 1863

How can kids raised on ‘The Boss’

End up falling for that hooked cross

Waving battle flags

Behind their sandbags

Big-tired trucks

Aw shucks!

Confederate Chevrolets

Bring us back to yesterday

Three-quarter ton

There’s a cross burning to be done

A war un-won

But never surrendered

Never tendered

Never given up

Take this bitter cup

If you please

In the year of 2020

Kids still disagree

Over slavery

It seems to me

We should have outgrown the habit

That mixed up, rascally rabbit

‘What’s up, Doc?’

Preaching pundits trying hard

To turn back the clock

Falwell risen from the grave

We’ve got a nation to save

Mother Mary and the Holy Ghost

Outside agitators

From that state on the coast

Leaders boast

About defending the core

Hear the raven

Squawking ‘Nevermore!’

But you’ll not read that tale

In anything on sale

At a newsstand run by the man

Whitewash, oh my gosh

Put it on thick

Make that color stick

Heavy, heavy

In this land of the free

Warring factions, split

On the question of democracy

Vandals vie for attention

Politicians lie too often to mention

How’d we get here?

How’d we careen into this year?

Deep in the ditch

2020 is a son-of-a-bitch!

Better stock up on snacks

And garage your SUV Cadillacs

There’s judgment at the door

Again the raven: ‘Nevermore!’

Quipping, quipping

The stock market is slipping

My ass I am gripping

To keep it out of the fire

Corona cases again on the rise

God help us, before we die

I’ll learn to fly

Into the azure sky

Over the frosted mountain crest

I passed the test

Fumbling my pencil

As exam time expires

That truck with the big tires

Is out of gas on the overpass

Steam from under the hood

That rebel decal in the window

Does it no good

It’s understood

By even the marionettes

With heads full of wormwood

This century of horror born

Made me sit up in bed

Early in the morn

Let me warn

Women and children off this ship of state

We’re taking on water

Waves of political fodder

Sinking fast

This trip to the past

Has been a blast

MAGA hats and brickbats

Pale rider on the horizon

It’s all been done

Cowboy hero points his gun

Arms akimbo

A nation in limbo

Looks death in the eye

And shouts

‘I see you!’

My tale is true

I still have the discipline of a newspaper editor. Deadlines are set in stone. A regular routine has to be maintained to stay employed. So finishing written work means I get beer and a nap.

Until it begins all over again. Tomorrow morning, four o’ clock.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Three O’ Clock”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-20)

Up early, again.

My Black Lab is close behind as I exit the bed. Watching, crouching, in the shadows of our living room. The morning ritual is set. I always rise too early. This time, long before daybreak. Three o’clock in the morning. Eyes still heavy with sand. My belly full of regrets. Too many rations of Miller Lite, and a ham & cheese triple-decker, too long after dark. Late, late, late.

Nothing new to see here, friends.

I prepare a pot of coffee in the Bunn. Canine friend already eager for his walk. But there are words in my head, just as ready to be loosed into the morning:

“Two old white men, we’re at it again...”

After taking my pooch for his stroll, I have toast and coffee with an episode of the Canadian YouTube series ‘1 Pug Life.’ Followed by a netcast of Phil Hendrie on my phone. Then, the rowdy rage in my head has fully fermented. I can wait no longer.

What I hear from the muse, I must type into print:

Two old white men

We’re at it again

A chance, a choice

The contest of ages

Leader of the free world

Give the prize wheel a whirl

‘America the Beautiful’

Busted

Broken

Beaten

Bent

Borrowed into poverty

‘My Country ‘Tis of Thee’

I sing the sweet melody

A familiar refrain

We’re at it again

Dancing in the street

Cops on the beat

Enemies to defeat

Lucrative lies, evil to despise

The last gasp of Brazilian Boys

Making noise

Running rough over the ramparts

Flagpole stab

To the heart

I’m on my radio

In the dark

‘Mayday! Mayday!’

An unlocked door

Open to a clown-parade of whores

Talking heads

Burning beds

Bristled brushes

Turn to bog rushes

There’s a pundit on the air

Selling snake puree and voodoo hair

The populace to infect

Disease-filled specks

Curse those he protects

Light projects

Leni Riefenstahl

On the jailhouse wall

With a face of modern man

Dripping irony and spray-tan

Caution be damned

A quirky coif

A persistent cough

A name spelled in gold leaf

With the opposition in retreat

‘Let us eat!”

The victor’s feast

Fed on fowl and feathers, all

At the banquet hall

Victuals from vanity

An interview with Sean Hannity

Delighters for the up-all-nighters

Posed and primed

Killing time

Cranky comestibles

Keep the crowd full

BREAKING NEWS

There’s a threat to the nation!

Valor and honor

Inspire the donor

To give hands and hearts

Like piles of cash for body parts

Bleeding hearts

And competition darts

Common voices heard

Deep in the dirt

‘Don’t be deterred!’

You’ll find true worth

A choice between

Foolish and obscene

Tricks for treats

Still dancing in the streets

Reports from the autonomous zone

Recorded on a cellphone

It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)

Pigeons feeding

Fame comes, fleeting

We’ve taken a beating

Fame and fortune set

We won’t soon forget

The hope of a new-age King Cyrus

Derailed by Coronavirus

Run into the rocks

Wearing sandals and white socks

Run, like a dog

‘Run, run, run, run

Take a drag or two’

Mud on my shoes

Which fate shall I choose?

BREAKING NEWS

Bormann on the run

From South America

To the cable cabal of a beer hall

The banter of old men at a club

Tears of a cherub

Pints at the pub

A crowd of kids at the door

Never been here before

But there’s a pair in the way

Telling stories from yesterday

Polyester slacks

At Goldman Sachs

‘Wear your mask!’

Protesters attack

My Country ‘Tis of Thee

The states disagree

With none to lead

In this Land of the Free

‘Mercy, Mercy Me!’

Fish full of mercury

Legislators with diamond spurs

Ride in like the cavalry

BREAKING NEWS

Melania in stiletto shoes

A model’s pose

A thorny rose

In pantyhose

Sent ‘round the globe

Like the crack of a baseball bat

Dipped in piss and scat

‘Riddle me that!’

The idol of a southern war

Nevermore

‘What are we fighting for?’

The thunder of Thor

A cloned clip of Christian Dior

A trip to the mega-store

Walmart is the chapel

Where Eve bites the apple

Where saints use cyber-pay

To win the day

So let us pray

At last, I slump in my chair with satisfaction. This morning exercise is over. Now I can rejoin the everyday stream-of-consciousness. Until the muse visits, again.

Comments about ‘Words o the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Rodeo Clown”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-20)

“Feeling good in the neighborhood.”

For some, this tagline might be an advertising slogan, or a mantra worthy of expression on a t-shirt. But in my own residence park, it is reflected by a habit of gathering together on summer evenings to consume beer of various, blue-collar varieties. Tapping into the good vibes is open to all. No restriction of creed, color, or social standing exists. For a retired, disabled fellow like myself, this reality is not only friendly, but also useful. Likely to produce ideas for my creative projects, during hours when the sun has dipped below the horizon. Or, to open a door to time-warp adventures.

A recent example came as I woke up late, with the Kinks’ classic “Lola” still echoing in my head.

A few nights earlier, this recording from days of yore had been included in the playlist of a local radio station. One we heard while feeding discarded lumber to the bonfire, and hydrating ourselves with beverages from Miller Brewing Company and Anheuser-Busch. It had been decades since I last heard the track. But while humming the melody, something more personal appeared. Lyrics that had been improvised during work shifts at Kresse’s Bi-Rite #2, in Chardon, Ohio. My employer during the 1980’s.

“We met in a store in the plaza

Where you drink Miller beer and claim it’s Pepsi Cola

C-o-l-a, cola

He talked about Heavy Metal

Ozzy biting the head off a bat

Said his name was Chia

C-h-i-a, Chia

Ch-ch-ch-ch Chia...”

My friends were deep into revelry, beer, and discussing the possibility of an upcoming NFL football season, amid concerns about the Coronavirus pandemic. So no one noticed as I sang to myself. I wandered in recollection, back across the years, slipping out of time.

“Chia!

Ch-ch-ch-ch Chia!

Ch-ch-ch-ch Chiaaaaaaaa!”

I had come to Kresse’s seeking employment after a two-year stint at Fisher’s Big Wheel, a department store on the other side of town. A friend-of-a-friend recommended that I put in an application with this supermarket. He lived nearby, in Mentor. But was a native of the village. We had met during trips to Ernst Lanes, our neighborhood bowling alley. Or, to Lake County night-spots like Delaney’s Chase Inn, and Spanky’s. His name was Scott Campbell. But everyone called him Scooter.

Shortly after joining the team at Bi-Rite, I realized that he had other names as well. ‘Scotty T. Bone,’ and ‘Thor The Jeweler,’ or ‘The Homerun King.’ Some even called him Earl Anthony Campbell, after the gifted, professional bowler. Though I never participated in the sport, my visits to watch him compete were frequent. I became a regular at the bar.

Scott knew everyone. His father was the template, another cheerful fellow with a friendly disposition, a gift-of-gab, and a taste for beverage alcohol. Both men were tall, slender, and able to feast on beer and potato chips without developing a paunch as a result. Something that mystified me, every day. They also had lots of energy. Drinking into the wee hours seemed to have little effect on their bodies. While I would drag into work, sweating and sputtering like an old car.

When I started at the supermarket, my presence was noted with mild suspicion. I was an outsider. An unknown name on the schedule. But Scott helped negate any fears about me being on the team. And what a group we were, like a ragged bunch of baseball amateurs, undisciplined, rowdy, and yet somehow able to score consistently. I soon learned that my friend was like a ‘rodeo clown’ who appeared during tense situations. Able to diffuse strong emotions with his impulsive behavior and mastery of physical comedy. His work was solid. Easily approaching 400 cases stocked for a night. But he made each shift pass more quickly with gestures that resembled a flailing marionette, and a giggle that hinted of someone battling mental illness.

Our boss looked like Clint Eastwood. Scott would approach him with arms spread wide and say “Smile when it’s big enough!” This joke would be repeated over and over. But each time, my friend would snicker with glee. “F*** you, Scott!” our supervisor would roar. We would snort and groan and stifle our laughter. Then, go back to work.

“Well we drank Genuine Draft

And stocked all night

Under the fluorescent aisle lights

Scott said ‘I need the order machine!’

He punched in a load of 383

Now I’m not the world’s most physical guy

But I can unload a truck

And put in my time

Just like Chia

Ch-ch-ch-ch Chia

Ch-ch-ch-ch Chiaaaaaaa!”

After hours, Scott would sometimes strip off his shirt as temperatures in the store went hotter from the speedy pace of our work. But this effort to stay cool earned him a new nickname from one of the guys. “That doesn’t look like real hair on your chest!” our cohort observed. “It looks more like a damn Chia Pet!” The slur stuck like glue. “Hey Chia! Don’t get your shorts in a bunch! Chiaaaaaa!”

On breaks, we would play Frisbee in the parking lot. Often at two or three o’clock in the morning. Local police would sometimes pass by as we flipped and turned and threw our disc. Luckily, they knew Scott like everyone else. We received no citations. Only an occasional howl of “Damn Kresse’s gang!” as they drove away, laughing.

He always seemed to smile. Even when talking about chaos in his childhood or cashiers who had spurned his attention, or losing his license to drive. Nothing mattered much. Other than getting his nightly Snyder of Berlin Bar-B-Q Potato Chips and a six-pack of Miller for after work.

We once had a serious debate over who would win a bar fight between Bob Seger and Axl Rose. This surreal topic made him shout and stomp with forceful indignation. He reckoned that the ‘Guns N’ Roses’ star would whip his elder easily. I put my money on the man from Michigan. The discussion was ridiculous, but passionate. It concluded with him twisting my own nickname of ‘Rod the Bod’ with particular emotion. “F*** you, Bod!” Our crew was very entertained by this silly verbal altercation.

I last saw him in 1992, when our store was sold to a corporate owner, from Cleveland.

The fact that I still sang my own lyrics to the tune of ‘Lola’ after 28 years paid tribute to this friend from long ago. I had heard reports that his health was failing, and that he needed long-term care of some sort. Yet in my thoughts he remained as before – stringy hair, oval glasses, darting eyes and wild hands mapping out a story about Alice Cooper. Living with a perpetual soundtrack of ‘Z Rock’ on his radio.

Cheers to you, my friend.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Two O’ Clock”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-20)

Overnight.

My favorite time for creative compositions. I sit at the desk, and a magic show transpires. One that seems to conjure spirits from another world. Loosing voices trapped in the loam for centuries. Cries of yonder folk, long vanished from this globe.

I peer at the computer screen and cheer “Hello!”

Overnight Prayer

Two in the morning

Warning, warning

Baseball bumped in the COVID age

Turn the page

This restless season is shot

Forget me not

I am fraught

With trouble trees

And a sadder me

Protests in the streets

On goes the beat

This world has to change

Be on its way

Through generations of hope for change

For the gray clouds

Of judgment day

What never came

Say his name

George Floyd!

What do you believe?

George Floyd!

America, America

My country ‘tis of thee

America

Sweet land of liberty

I can’t breathe

George Floyd!

Cellphone video

History is a time-flow

A thousand years shall pass

We’ll still be here

Grazing in the grass

Still wanting, still hoping

Still battling

Still knowing

The sunrise kiss of a new day at hand

Means less when they strike up the band

A mournful stride

Gold casket

With a mortal man inside

Taken away

Taken from us

Take a knee

At the back of the bus

The rise of our lowest

The to and fro-est

This tradition of protest

Is sacred to see

But from my horizon

Out here in the cow dung

Country kid running free

What can the chant of voices raised

Mean to me?

Neighbors wave the Southern Cross

Like the century had been lost

And I sulk by myself

Cry for lives lost to haste

How can stars in the night

Fade into the white light

I ask though the answer

Is known to linger

Like a mother’s embrace

Like her kiss on a baby’s face

We’ve been here before

Just like 1964

But for me and you

“What can a poor boy do?”

I live in a trailer with my dog

A trip through the fog

Two canes, broken window frames

Up all night

Stories to write

Poems, prose, perfectly posed

Sat at my desk

Black Lab at my toes

The harsh arrival of day

A few hours away

I write in the rubble

Watch the starlight sky

Night time makes the soul fly

Watch the world die

Pop will eat itself

But I’m here on the bottom shelf

By myself

A kid with good intentions

Never winning

Never more than an honorable mention

Feeling shunned

This day is done

Yet I go on

From pike to prawn

Swimming upstream, bravely

Against the tide

Against the wind

Flowers in the dustbin

Beerdrops on my chin

The outcast stone

Is my kin

Let’s take a ride

From Lake Erie to the south side

I want to slide

Falling, falling

Fall into disrepair

Like a broken office chair

Wood slats

Broken bats

Empty bear traps

Stretched-out suspender straps

The old man who made me laugh

In yesterday

Sounds suddenly sane

His crazy seed

Is me

I hear and fear

The NASCAR clan

The ones who praise

The great ‘I am’

A zoot-suited Dandy Dan

Arguing about the Civil War

I wonder ‘What for?’

But the time-slip is in effect

This nation is a wreck

An uncashed stimulus check

Hunt and peck

Knee on the neck

This country looks away

Toward the Coronavirus second wave

And Election Day

Pride of gay

Hey, hey, hey

Streets of fire

Words on the wire

Philosophers from an ancient age

Had their say

They spoke to us

The future-bred brain trust

Gone to rust

Gone, gone, gone

Stone dead forever

In chrome-tipped boots

And leather

Don’t need a weatherman

To take a stand

This is the moment

When our patience is spent

Our time to pray

For deliverance

From this awful age

My my

Hey hey

Testy Trumpers, toasted and tossed

Who’s the boss?

I’m at a loss

This world goes for naught

While we accept

Less than we expect

Damn us

Damn us

Damn us all!

Watch the raindrops fall

Change is near

But till then

The old ways reappear

Grinding gears

Sharpening spears

Ax handles fling

Secret societies

Round the ring

Robes and signs

Dark designs

I choose a different path

More clever, by half

A baby’s laugh

Pure and clean like the driven snow

Look out below

It’s a song by the Ramones

That makes me smile

While fire and ash

Blows rudely in my face

Paul Harvey says

‘Good day!’

An hour had passed. With a visitation of wordsmithing in the balance. I felt satisfied, for the moment. Undeniably content. Glad to rest. Glad for inspiration and the challenge of channeling a rebellious moment in the dark. A stray spark. A candle in the dark.

Glad for an early beer.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Burn Wendy Burn”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-20)

The Setting: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue; the Oval Office

The Players: Donald J. Trump, 45^th President of the United States; Mark Meadows, White House Chief of Staff; Rush Limbaugh, EIB Network; Kayleigh McEnany, White House Press Secretary; Rudy Giuliani, Counsel to the President

The Story: After months of the Coronavirus pandemic and the horrific death of George Floyd in Minneapolis, another police shooting and death transpires in Atlanta.

Mark Meadows: “Good morning, everyone!”

Kayleigh McEnany: (Giggling) “Here I am, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! I love this job!”

Donald Trump: “You look a lot better than Sarah Sanders. Believe me!”

Rudy Giuliani: (Chortling) “It’s true, Don! She looks even better than Stormy Daniels!”

M. Meadows: Mr. President, could we get down to business? We have a lot to discuss. And a call from Rush Limbaugh, in a few minutes...”

D. Trump: (Rubbing his eyes) “I need my Diet Coke. Did you bring it?”

R. Giuliani: “You’ve got a great kitchen staff here...”

M. Meadows: (Miffed) “Sir, I am not a waiter!”

K. McEnany: (Bubbly) “Just sparkling water for me, please!”

M. Meadows: “Sir, this is a serious moment in America!”

R. Giuliani: (Laughing) “I could go for a steak & eggs breakfast.”

M. Meadows: (Looking tired) “Mr. President, on Saturday night more protests exploded in Atlanta. There was another police shooting, and fatality. A man named Rayshard Brooks died while running from officers at a Wendy’s location. The building was later burned, and traffic on the highway was blocked for over an hour.”

D. Trump: (Serious) “They burned Wendy?”

M. Meadows: “A Wendy’s location in Atlanta, Mr. President.”

K. McEnany: (Brightening) “What should I say in my briefing? That the media is actually causing these protests with too much coverage?”

D. Trump: (Nodding) “I like that. Like it, like it very much.”

R. Giuliani: (Fidgeting with his tie) “I’ll go on Fox News if you want. Hannity has me on every few days. The guy is always hungry for material. But never has any new ideas.”

D. Trump: “I like that too.”

M. Meadows: (Looking concerned) “Sir, this is a moment likely to be set in history. The nation has a fever. America is sick of watching black people die...”

R. Giuliani: (Wide-eyed) “A fever? Wasn’t that Al Gore’s line?”

K. McEnany: (Cheerful) “Can I use that in my next briefing?”

D. Trump: (Serious) “So... they burned Wendy?”

M. Meadows: “A Wendy’s location, sir. Yes. The shooting happened in their parking lot.”

D. Trump: (Unhappy) “America knows Wendy’s. They do, believe me. Wendy is a redhead, I never trusted them, really. But she is known. People know her.”

R. Giuliani: “Yes they do.”

D. Trump: (Shaking his head) “This is bad for Nervous Nancy, very bad. People like Wendy a lot more than her. Much more. She makes hamburgers.”

M. Meadows: (Confused) “Sir, I think you are missing the point here...”

K. McEnany: (Smiling) “Should I say that Democrats are encouraging protesters to attack little, red-haired girls?”

R. Giuliani: (Laughs out loud)

D. Trump: “I have always cared about women. Just like I care about black people, my economy has helped them more than Obama, more than any Democrat, much, much more.”

K. McEnany: (Saluting) “I will definitely use that in my briefing!”

M. Meadows: “Mr. President, things are spiraling out of control. The Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone in Seattle is getting coverage every day. There are marches for justice happening across the country. Many feel you are disconnected from what is happening.”

D. Trump: (Angry) “This is wartime. A war everywhere, lots of war. I am a wartime president, like with the Coronavirus!”

R. Giuliani: “War can be good, Don. If you win.”

K. McEnany: (Chipper) “Should I mention the war? Or stick with Wendy?”

M. Meadows: “Dammit, Kayleigh! This is serious!”

R. Giuliani: “Come on, Mark. You’ll make her cry.”

D. Trump: (Irritated) “I want to hear from Rush. Get him on the speakerphone!”

M. Meadows (Reaches for the button) “Are you there, Mr. Limbaugh?”

There is a loud rustling of papers, followed by someone clearing his throat.

Rush Limbaugh: “TALENT ON LOAN FROM GODDD!”

D. Trump: (Happy) “I like that, like it I do, believe me!”

R. Limbaugh: “Donald, you’ve got an opportunity here. Don’t waste it!”

R. Giuliani: (Nodding) “I agree, Rush! Time to lay down the law like I did in New York City!”

K. McEnany: “Should I say that in my briefing?”

R. Limbaugh: (Sounding confident) “Don, you’ve got an audience to satisfy. Ratings matter, we both know that. People forget other things, they forget being married over and over, they forget scandals and horseplay, but they remember when you have the number one spot in ratings.”

D. Trump: (Showing interest) “I am always number one! Winning, every day!”

R. Limbaugh: “This thing with Wendy. Setting her burger joint on fire. That got a lot of coverage last night. I watched it live. So did many households in America. On Monday, it will be in my ‘stack of stuff’ for the radio show.”

K. McEnany: (Grinning) “And mine for the next press briefing!”

R. Limbaugh: “You’ve got to use that, Don. Put that out there, let it resonate with voters. The Democrats want Wendy’s to burn. They want America to burn. Hamburgers, apple pies, the flag, everything that makes this a good and decent nation!”

D. Trump: (Pounding his fist on the desk) “I knew you’d understand!”

R. Limbaugh: “You can’t miss this moment in history.”

M. Meadows: “The unaddressed cause of attaining racial justice in America?”

R. Limbaugh: (Laughing) ”Nooooo… the opportunity to paint these protests as an attack on old-fashioned values… and old-fashioned hamburgers, like the ones at Wendy’s!”

D. Trump: “THAT’S IT! TRUST ME!”

M. Meadows: (Frustrated) “Mr. President, I think you’ve missed the point here...”

D. Trump: (Elated) “Nonsense, Mark! Rush is right! You get Wendy on the phone. We’re going to make her an official partner of my campaign. A partner, more than a partner. A spokesman, a spokesgirl really.”

M. Meadows: (Dejected) “Sir, the company is actually owned by...”

D. Trump: “GET ME WENDY! AND A DIET COKE!”

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Cleveland King”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-20)

Trivisonno.

For those on the Northcoast, his name is more than familiar. It is part of our identity as the city by Lake Erie. Cleveland, Ohio. Butt of jokes, sports chump, financial loser, a site on the burning Cuyahoga River, and home of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame – an entity largely controlled by outsiders with little respect for those of us in ‘flyover country.’

Notably, we prayed to Saint Bernie here, patron of brave souls and broken hearts. Our hero who wanted to play for his beloved Cleveland Browns and was foiled by the Denver Broncos, battered behind a patchwork offensive line, and eventually dumped like ripening garbage in the hot sun.

Triv was famously a frequent caller to Sportsline with Pete Franklin on local radio. Obnoxious and unrepentant. An everyman voice for the masses. One who would eventually land a career in radio broadcasting, with no background in the industry, and no formal training. A feat that astounded faceless veterans who had toiled in obscurity, for years. And lifted the spirits of listeners who cheered his natural ability as a willing on-air buffoon and raconteur.

His success was our success.

He did what many of us could not – jump walls between insiders and outsiders like leaping over a turnstile to gain free admission. His very presence on-the-air exploded traditions and tenets of the business. He was the proverbial guy-at-the-end-of-the-bar. Drink glass refilled too many times, voice gone loud and words flying loosely, speaking his mind whether you wanted to hear it, or not.

But Cleveland did want to hear. Of course we did...

Early in 2009, while moving between employers, I started a fan page in his honor. A diversion of sorts as I sent out resumes aligned with my dual career path of newspaper journalism and retail management. A diversion from worries about unemployment, and supporting my family. I envisioned it as a spot where he might be praised by radioheads who tuned in on a regular basis. The group had around a dozen members. Posts were few. It was a lukewarm contribution, at best. Eventually, Trivisonno did far better on his own.

Then, earlier this year, the global pandemic took hold.

As Ohio was locked down for safety by Governor DeWine and Amy Acton, Director of the Ohio Department of Health, Triv began to speak about the virus on his show. And about the issues of personal freedom and religious liberty that were tangled in this fishing net of sweeping, state actions. His candid groans and grunts were much like the sports wisdom offered in yonder days. Bare-knuckled, raw, and from the gut. But always genuine.

I had all but forgotten the fan group. Yet suddenly, notifications began to flood my iPhone:

“YOU HAVE NEW MEMBER REQUESTS FOR: MIKE TRIVISONNO IS THE KING OF CLEVELAND.”

I had lost touch with Triv, during my personal slide toward disability and early retirement. Yet this curious resurgence of interest had me tuning in to WTAM 1100, once again. He sounded a bit older and less impulsive, but still gifted with the ability to talk freely from a journeyman’s perspective.

I listened via the iHeart Media app on my Roku. While watching notices appear rapidly on the phone. A dozen new requests. Then two dozen. Then three dozen. More and more and more, until this starter-batch of electronic sourdough had risen to a considerable crock of over 300 members. Interacting vigorously, trading comments, laughing, shouting, praying, offering inspiration.

Celebrating all things Trivisonno.

The COVID-19 pandemic would have been enough to spur discussion for many months and years, on its own. But after the death of George Floyd, in Minneapolis, a national explosion of outrage and rioting provided even more cause for open discussion. Red meat for listeners. A generous helping of pasta with sauce for Triv.

The King of Cleveland had shamelessly professed his admiration and support for Donald J. Trump, a president steeped in controversy from the very beginning. This point of view paired easily with a flourish of anti-government rhetoric during stay-at-home orders, the use of masks, and social distancing. He feasted on the energy of listeners like steaming pans of lasagna at a buffet. What about business owners? What about people of faith? What about the fall election? What about National Guard troops in the streets? What about the nagging division of cultures in our society? What about what about what about what about whaaaat??

With so many questions lingering, Triv had no shortage of material.

The Facebook group was literally revived and reborn. Like a video-game character who had discovered a magic token. It swelled in numbers and activity. Meanwhile, I watched from the sidelines. Witnessing the play of star athletes. Connected only in an indirect sense. An administrator. A seer. But not literally on the field of battle.

Cognizant of my place, out of the limelight.

The King was still on his throne. His reign assured through struggle and persistence. The story of Mike Trivisonno has been a personal triumph, but also much more. A tale of Cleveland and northeastern Ohio. Of common torment, of embarrassment, of setbacks and sadness. Shared across the region. Followed by oaths of determination. Of sweat at the microphone. Of heroic behavior from a regular guy with dirty hands. Of hope and goodness, and light in the darkness. Blue skies, peeking through gray clouds over the lake.

In Cleveland, or anywhere, it is good to be king.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“The T Team”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-20)

The Setting: 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue; the Oval Office

The Players: Donald J. Trump, 45^th President of the United States; Mark Meadows, White House Chief of Staff; Sean Hannity, Fox News; Kayleigh McEnany, White House Press Secretary

The Story: America is in turmoil with the Coronavirus having claimed over 100,000 lives and George Floyd dying under the knee of a Minneapolis police officer

Mark Meadows: “Mr. T, Sean, Kayleigh, Good Morning!”

Kayleigh McEnany: (Giggling) “Hi everybody!”

Donald Trump: “Mr. T? What??”

Sean Hannity: “Hahahaha!”

M. Meadows: “Sorry sir. That didn’t come out right.”

S. Hannity: “Can I use that on my show?”

K. McEnany: (Grinning) “Welcome to the T-team!”

D. Trump: “Mr. T got good ratings. Great ratings. I remember the 80’s.”

M. Meadows: “I apologize, sir.”

S. Hannity: (Laughing) “Hey Don, I knew Mr. T. Mr. T was a friend of mine. You are no Mr. T, Donald.”

D. Trump: “He wore a lot of gold. I like gold.”

M. Meadows: “Guys, please. Can we get down to business?”

D. Trump: “Did you bring my Diet Coke?”

M. Meadows: (Flustered) “What?”

D. Trump: “I like to start the morning with a Diet Coke.”

M. Meadows: “Sir, I am not a waiter.”

K. McEnany: “You’re not anything lately, Mark. Nobody talks about you.”

M. Meadows: “That’s because you hog the spotlight. All that makeup, and triggering the press corps...”

S. Hannity: (Snorting with amusement) “Rowr! Jealous! She really knows how to piss off reporters!”

K. McEnany: (Giggling again) “Why thank you, Sean!”

D. Trump: “You look a lot better than Sarah Huckabee Sanders, believe me. Much better. Much better looking in the White House briefing room. Even without baking pies.”

M. Meadows: “Sir, we just passed 100,000 deaths from the global pandemic. A popular meme on social media has you playing golf, superimposed over a New York Times front page, filled with obituaries.”

S. Hannity: (Defiant) “The New York Toilet Paper Times!”

D. Trump: “I love it when you use that line on the show. Love it a lot.”

K. McEnany: (Looking confident) “Can I use that in my next press briefing?”

M. Meadows: “Mr. President, we need to discuss your strategy on the Coronavirus. Joe Biden is saying that your poor leadership has failed America...”

D. Trump: (Angry) “Sleepy Joe wishes he could lead like me. I am a wartime president. This is a war. A war with the virus. Dirty, nasty virus. But we are opening again, we are back. Back in business.”

M. Meadows: (Worried) “Some say too soon, sir.”

S. Hannity: “Let not your heart be troubled. America is disinfected and protected by God!”

K. McEnany: (Perky) “Can I use THAT in my next press briefing?”

M. Meadows: “We have another crisis to discuss. An African-American man in Minneapolis was killed by police. There is video footage of him being held under the knee of an officer...”

D. Trump: (Irritated) “Yes, I saw it. Saw the footage. Saw the footage of the knee.”

M. Meadows: (Bowing his head) “Tragic. A barbaric act.”

D. Trump: (Eyes narrowing) “I also saw footage of you talking about Martial Arts on your show. Talking, talking. Not defending, defending. Defending me!”

S. Hannity: (Embarrassed) “Don, I had to say something about what happened.”

K. McEnany: (Feeling inspired) “Do you want me to focus on the protesters, in my next briefing, Mr. President? Focus on the looting?”

M. Meadows: (Sad) “Minneapolis is out of control, sir. There are many other protests across the country.”

D. Trump: (Angry) “Look, I said it was bad to take a knee on that guy, very bad. I said it out loud. Said it plainly, really, very loud, very plain.”

K. McEnany: (Bright-eyed) “Ha ha, ‘take a knee!’ I see what you did there...”

S. Hannity: (Laughing) “Colin Kaepernick is making hay out of this. Maybe selling more shoes. Nobody wants him in football but he gets the spotlight now.”

M. Meadows: (Rubbing his eyes) “Sir, you need to provide leadership. To help the nation heal.”

D. Trump: (Disinterested) “Heal? We need the economy to heal. Look at all those stores being burned. Bad, very bad. Burning stores, very bad. No jobs, no stores.”

M. Meadows: “Sir, the protesters would say ‘no justice, no peace’ in response.”

S. Hannity: (Amazed) “All the networks went with coverage of the looting. Everybody! MS-DNC, Fake News CNN, and us, we all had the same live coverage. That never happens!”

K. McEnany: “Would you like me to focus on the rule of law, sir? Two wrongs not making a right?”

D. Trump: (Disgusted) “I said it was sad that the guy died from getting the knee. Really sad. Horrible, horrible thing. But now these protests, these looters. These burners. Smashing, grabbing, burning. This is more than sad. Something has to be done.”

M. Meadows: (Literally begging) “Mr. President, you need to show leadership here. To heal the nation...”

K. McEnany: “I can run video from the looting if you like. Turn it around on the reporters, say they are making things worse?”

S. Hannity: (Surprised) “Hey, can I use THAT on my show?”

D. Trump: (Confident) “A leader you want. A leader. You want a leader to lead. I’ll do that. We’ll send in the National Guard and lead. The ugly looters will see my leadership, believe me.”

M. Meadows: (Cautious) “We need to reestablish law and order, but carefully, sir. You should lower the temperature, not fan the flames.”

S. Hannity: (Shaking his head) “Flames look good on television!”

D. Trump: “I’ll show leadership. Where’s my phone? I’m going on Twitter, right now. Let me send a tweet, a bunch of tweets.”

M. Meadows: (Worried) “Sir, I would advise you to avoid doing that...”

K. McEnany: (Smiling) “Lead on, Mr. President!”

D. Trump: (Cocky) “The National Guard will show everyone how I feel. ‘When the looting starts, the shooting starts.’ Believe me, I will lead this country back. Back from the virus, back from taking a knee, back from Nervous Nancy and Crying Chuck. We’re back! We’re great again!”

M. Meadows: (Exasperated) “PLEASE SIR! STAY OFF YOUR PHONE!”

D. Trump: (Contumacious) “As the college kids say, ‘Hold my beer! Or in my case, a Diet Coke!’”

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024