On the eve of Veterans Day 2015 I came upon this old photo of my Military Police School training platoon (11th Battalion, Delta Company 1st Platoon) at Ft. McClellan, Alabama, 1979. (That’s my goofy face, next to the last row, third from the left.)

My best friend Mike Lowe and I enlisted on the buddy plan when skipping classes at DBCC got old. . .

I want to begin by saying that my time pales in comparison with others – in fact, it doesn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same company with those of you who served in combat, deployed or actually sacrificed during peacetime. I never did, and you have my utmost thanks and respect this Veterans Day, and everyday.

To say that we had more fun than any Army Privates before or since is an understatement. Today, when someone asks me what I did in the Army I say, “I can’t tell you.” And they ask, “Classified?”, and I say, “No. Statute of Limitations. . .”

While Mike was promoted to Spec 4, I was actually reduced in rank due to company-level discipline three times – I spent A LOT of time on KP and extra-duty – and I deserved every miserable minute of it. (In fact, I think I’ve personally cleaned out every grease trap in every mess hall from here to West Point. . .)

While I’m not real proud of my personal contribution – I am extremely proud of what the Army contributed to my life:

They took an irresponsible, stupid little boy and made me become a man in a short period of time. (Thank you Sr. Drill Sergeant Ainsworth.)

They taught me valuable skills that formed the foundation for my law enforcement career – in fact, Military Police School was the finest police training I ever experienced – and that includes the FBI National Academy.

They taught me to respect tradition – and the importance of committing yourself to something larger than your own self-interest.

They taught me how to put ego aside and work cooperatively with a group of diverse people to achieve a common goal.

They taught me to never quit – and that you can always put one foot in front of the other – despite how tired, sick and beat-
down you may think you are.

They gave me a sense of pride and patriotism that only someone who has endured basic recruit training in the armed forces can appreciate.

And best of all, the experience allowed me the opportunity to meet and serve with some of the finest men and women I have ever known – some of whom went on to serve with distinction in Iraq and Afghanistan – all of whom remain life-long friends.

To the NCO’s and Officers I put through the mill – I apologize. You deserved better (except you, Lt. “Motorola” – you’re still an asshole in my book – but thank you for your service.)

After six years – by the grace of God – I received an Honorable Discharge (Pvt. E-1) from the 345th MP Company (EG) U.S. Army Reserve. And while the Army may not be proud of me – I am extremely proud to have played a very, very small part in it, and I always will be.

Kudos to the City of Holly Hill for standing up to these bloated bastards and refusing to be extorted for $25,000 by Volusia County.

Now, they plan to punish us by shutting down Calle Grande for two months while they make $118K in repairs to the arches – which they will ultimately tear down, rather than recast (mark my words) because you don’t need historical features and community amenities as much as Jim Dinneen needs a pay raise – or more money for their cronies, tax breaks and giveaways. . .

Sorry kids, this one is like a bone in the throat:

When I first read about DeBary Mayor Clint Johnson’s antics this summer I thought, “Hey, here’s a dude who speaks his mind, shakes things up a bit, kind of interesting.” Now, I see he’s just a common flim-flam artist who tried to ripoff a small business using his position of trust.

Apparently Johnson was wearing a shirt with the official seal of the City of DeBary when he obtained a Cannondale and riding equipment from a small bicycle shop for some half-baked personal bike ride from Tallahassee to Key West ostensibly to bring attention to bicycle trails (he rode down the west coast of the state to bring attention to trails on the east coast?)

When the trip was over – he stiffed (“Schlonged him” in the parlance of our times) the small business for the cost of the bike, etc. Only when the shop owner confronted the City of DeBary (who he was led to believe was bank rolling the Mayor’s trip) did Johnson pony-up – but failed to pay sales tax – you know, like the rest of us have to – which lends more credence to the fact Johnson used the City’s tax exempt status when he obtained the goods and services for his trip.

During over 30-years of public service I worked for a couple of dirt bags with no personal or professional ethics – so I have a pretty good idea what the citizens and employees of the City of DeBary are going through. It’s embarrassing – and it hurts everyone involved – but just like those I suffered, the light has finally been focused on this scumbag.

It’s right and good that the News-Journal expose these assholes for what they are.

The vast majority of politicians and officials I worked with through the years were some of the most honorable and giving people I have had the honor of knowing. But when elected or appointed officials misuse their powerful positions of trust they destroy public confidence in the process – and that is inexcusable.

Just resign, you leach. You blowhard. The people of DeBary deserve better.

Daytona Beach News-Journal

“This is much more than a ribbon cutting, this is a true celebration,” said Lesa France Kennedy, chief executive officer of International Speedway Corp. “We celebrate Glenn’s tireless public service, his countless community and charitable contributions and his dedication and devotion to our city, the City of Daytona Beach.”  Daytona Beach News-Journal – December 17, 2015

“I am a France.  We own this town.” –  Russell Van Richmond, October 2009

Indeed, Mr. Van Richmond.  Indeed.

“Let them eat cake” is the traditional translation of the French phrase “Qu’ils mangent de la brioche“, supposedly spoken by “a great princess” upon learning that the peasants had no bread. Since brioche was a luxury bread enriched with butter and eggs, the quote would reflect the princess’s disregard for peasants.

With the Beachside literally crumbling and unrestrained blight creeping in all directions, our own Daytona Royalty have bestowed upon their subjects Ritchey Plaza – complete with Adirondack chairs and eight (count ’em) Royal Palm trees – along with the the requisite “Remember – I coughed up cash” plaques.

This monument to the mega-wealthy member of the Volusia County Triumvirate Glenn Ritchey was the brainchild of Lesa France-Kennedy, and (naturally) unanimously approved by the Daytona Beach City Commission.

Honestly, have these people looked across Atlantic Avenue from the very spot they’ve erected this monument to self-importance?

Would any of them allow a family member to walk the streets around the Bandshell alone? Or better yet, actually live down there?

Trust me, I’m the most ego-maniacal asshole you know, and this self-congratulatory bullshit makes me blush. When did people lose the emotion of embarrassment and shame?

But hey, enough of my maudlin ravings on Glenn’s special day. . . Merry Christmas, Y’all! Everything’s great at the Worlds Most Famous Beach! (Keep your doors locked. . .  And enjoy your brioche.)

http://www.news-journalonline.com/article/20151217/NEWS/151219546/0/search

Volusia County Manager and County Attorney receive pay raises. . .

This best exemplifies why NOT ONE incumbent on the County Council deserves re-election! NOT ONE!

It is simply incomprehensible that any sane and conscious being could drive around Volusia County (especially the core “tourist” areas of our centerpiece – Daytona Beach) and not be utterly horrified.