The University Of Life

The University Of Life

John Kallam graduated with a BA in criminology and entered the US Army. He served for 20 years beginning in the late 1930s. He was an investigator during the Nuremberg trials of Nazi war criminals, and stayed in Germany for many years, organizing civilian police forces in the post-war era. He also wrote numerous books on criminal justice. He retired from military service in the late 1950s at the rank of full colonel.

Returning to Fresno, California, he began teaching criminology at what was then Fresno State College (later to become the California State University, Fresno). His work was well respected, but after about ten years of service, he was called to see the president of the college. He was informed that he could no longer teach with just a bachelor’s degree. Times were changing, he was told, and the school demanded that faculty members hold a graduate degree. Merely having 20 years of distinguished experience was no longer considered sufficient qualification to teach. All new faculty were being required to hold a doctorate, it was explained, and the school was actually doing him a favor by letting him keep his job by getting ‘only’ a master’s degree. So John enrolled in a summer program at an out-of-state college. Three months of intensive seminars and then nine months of home study would get him his MA.

On the first day of class, the instructor was taking roll. He stopped when he read John’s name.

“Are you related to the John Kallam who wrote the textbook we’ll be using?” he asked.

“I am the John Kallam who wrote the textbook you’re using,” came the dry response.

 

Paderewski And Hoover – The Power Of Giving

Paderewski

This is a true story that had happened in 1892 at Stanford University.

An 18-year-old student was struggling to pay his fees. He was an orphan, and not knowing where to turn for money, he came up with a bright idea. A friend and he decided to host a musical concert on campus to raise money for their education.

They reached out to the great pianist Ignacy J. Paderewski. His manager demanded a guaranteed fee of $2000 for the piano recital. A deal was struck and the boys began to work to make the concert a success.

The big day arrived. Paderewski performed at Stanford. But unfortunately, they had not managed to sell enough tickets. The total collection was only $1600. Disappointed, they went to Paderewski and explained their plight. They gave him the entire $1600, plus a cheque for the balance $400. They promised to honor the cheque at the soonest.

“No,” said Paderewski. “This is not acceptable.” He tore up the cheque, returned the $1600 and told the two boys: “Here’s the $1600. Please deduct whatever expenses you have incurred. Keep the money you need for your fees. And just give me whatever is left”. The boys were surprised, and thanked him profusely.

It was a small act of kindness. But it clearly marked out Paderewski as a great human being.

Why should he help two people he did not even know? We all come across situations like these in our lives. And most of us only think “If I help them, what would happen to me?” The truly great people think, “If I don’t help them, what will happen to them?” They don’t do it expecting something in return. They do it because they feel it’s the right thing to do.

Paderewski later went on to become the Prime Minister of Poland. He was a great leader, but unfortunately when the World War began, Poland was ravaged. There were more than 1.5 million people starving in his country, and no money to feed them. Paderewski did not know where to turn for help. He reached out to the US Food and Relief Administration for help.

The head there was a man called Herbert Hoover — who later went on to become the US President. Hoover agreed to help and quickly shipped tons of foodgrains to feed the starving Polish people.

A calamity was averted. Paderewski was relieved. He decided to go across to meet Hoover and personally thank him. When Paderewski began to thank Hoover for his noble gesture, Hoover quickly interjected and said, “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Mr. Prime Minister. You may not remember this, but several years ago, you helped two young students go through college in the US. I was one of them.”

The world is a wonderful place. What goes around comes around!

 

The Nightmare

The Nightmare

In the nightmare I found myself nude in bed, and I was looking into a mirror on the ceiling, and I discovered that I am a Negro, and I’m circumcised!

Quickly I sat up, found my pants and looked in the pockets to find my driver’s license photo, and it was that same color, black.

I felt myself being very depressed, downcast, sitting in a chair.

But it’s a wheelchair! That means, of course, besides being black and Jewish, I’m also disabled! I said to myself, aloud, “This is impossible! It’s impossible that I should be black and Jewish and disabled!” “It’s the pure and holy truth,” whispers someone from behind me. I turn around, and it’s my boyfriend.

Just what I needed!!! I am a homosexual, and on top of that, with a Mexican boyfriend.

Oh, my God…. Black, Jewish, disabled, gay with a Mexican boyfriend, drug addict, and HIV-positive!!!

Desperate, I begin to shout, cry, pull my hair, and Oh, Nooooo… I’m bald!!!

The telephone rings. It’s my brother. He is saying, ‘Since mom and dad died, the only thing you do is hang out, take drugs, and laze around all day doing nothing. Get a job, you worthless piece of crap… Any job!’

Mom? Dad? Nooooo… Now I’m also an unemployed orphan! I try to explain to my brother how hard it is to find a job when you are black, Jewish, disabled, gay with a Mexican boyfriend, are a drug addict, HIV positive, bald, and an orphan, but he doesn’t get it.

Frustrated, I hang up. It’s then I realize I only have one hand!!! With tears in my eyes, I go to the window to look out. I see I live in a shanty-town full of cardboard and tin houses! There is trash everywhere.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain near my pacemaker… Pacemaker??

Besides being black, Jewish, disabled, a fairy with a Mexican boyfriend, a drug addict, HIV positive, bald, orphaned, unemployed, an invalid with one hand, and having a bad heart, I live in a crappy neighborhood.

At that very moment my boyfriend approaches and says to me, ‘Sweetie pie, my love, my little black heartthrob, have you decided what you are going to wear to Washington to see Obama?’

Say it isn’t so!!! I can handle being a black, disabled, one-armed, drug-addicted, Jewish homosexual on a pacemaker who is HIV positive, bald, orphaned, unemployed, lives in a slum, and has a Mexican boyfriend, but please, Oh dear God, please don’t tell me I’m a Democrat!

The Story Of Nick The Dragonslayer

The Story Of Nick The Dragonslayer

 
The Story Of Nick The Dragonslayer

Once upon a time, and far, far away, lived a beautiful Queen with voluptuous breasts.

Nick the Dragon slayer knew that the penalty for his desire would be death should he try to touch them.

One day, Nick revealed his secret desire to his colleague, Horatio the Physician, who was the King’s chief doctor.

Horatio, the Physician, exclaimed that he could arrange for Nick the Dragon Slayer to satisfy his desire, but it would cost him 1,000 gold coins to arrange it.

Without pause, Nick the Dragon Slayer readily agreed to the scheme. The next day, Horatio the Physician made a batch of itching powder and poured a little into the Queen’s brassiere while she bathed. Soon after she dressed, the itching commenced and grew intense.

Upon being summoned to the Royal Chambers to address this incident, Horatio the Physician informed the King and Queen that only a special saliva, if applied for four hours, would cure this type of itch, and that tests had shown that only the saliva of Nick the Dragon Slayer would work as the antidote to cure the itch.

The King quickly summoned Nick, the Dragon Slayer. Horatio the Physician then slipped Nick the Dragon Slayer the antidote for the itching powder, which he quickly put into his mouth, and for the next four hours, Nick worked passionately on the Queen’s voluptuous and magnificent breasts.

The Queen’s itching was eventually relieved, and Nick the Dragon Slayer left satisfied and touted as a hero.

Upon returning to his chamber, Nick the Dragon Slayer found Horatio the Physician demanding his payment of 1,000 gold coins.

With his obsession now satisfied, Nick the Dragon Slayer couldn’t have cared less and, knowing that Horatio the Physician could never report this matter to the King, with a laugh just told him to get lost.

The next day, Horatio the Physician slipped a massive dose of the same itching powder into the King’s underwear. The King immediately summoned Nick the Dragon Slayer…
 

A Parable Of A Dead Cat

A Parable Of A Dead Cat

He started out as a gift to the children. Just barely two months old when he arrived, Little Buddy was a big hit with the family. We had never had a cat before, let alone a Ginger Cat.

Raising Little Buddy was to be a family task. That nasty business of cleaning the litter box originally was to be a shared task for the children.

“We’ll take turns, Dad, we’ll feed him and bathe him and clean up after him. We promise.”

Well, I eventually gave in and Little Buddy came to live with us. It didn’t take long for Little Buddy to learn the routine. He even liked his weekly bath. He was a very curious cat too. With his long tail extended, Little Buddy walked on the back of the chairs and sofa and the countertops in the kitchen and the window sills too.

After being reminded several times, Little Buddy learned that we didn’t want him on the kitchen counters or on the table. He kept his backyard romps to a minimum and rarely stayed out more than about five to ten minutes. Then he would be back to the door asking to come inside.

There was just one thing that Little Buddy could not stop doing. Scratching. He extended his forepaws and dug them into the furniture. Deep gouges appeared on the legs of the sofa and chairs. He dug his claws into the fabric and shredded everything. He even scratched the legs of our very expensive and antique dining room table and chairs. Threads were appearing everywhere. And even though we warned him and tried to convince him otherwise, he refused to obey.

Well, as my wife said, “cats will be cats.”

So, a trip to the vet was planned. You see, a vet can surgically remove these sharp appendages. They can declaw a cat, making them harmless to you and to your furniture. Against his will, Little Buddy submitted to this procedure. Within a week he was back to his old self with one exception. There was no longer scratching. Oh, he still went through the motions, but he could not do any damage. Without claws, he was no longer a threat to us or our furniture.

At last, Little Buddy was a manageable pet. He could run, jump and play without being a problem in our home or to anyone that might try to pick him up.

However, one night during his romp in the backyard, Little Buddy ran into an unforeseen situation. We don’t know how many there were, but all we heard were dogs barking. I ran into the backyard and never even saw them. That’s when I found him. My Little Buddy. Lying lifeless in a pool of his own blood.

You see, in our misguided quest to make Little Buddy a more manageable member of our family, we had removed Little Buddy’s only means of self-defense. Without claws, Little Buddy was helpless. Little Buddy could only HOPE he wouldn’t be assaulted.

The moral to this story is simple: The right to bare arms saves your hide.

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