By Patrick F. Cannon

Recognizing that many of you budding novelists may find it difficult to get started, I have drafted a series of story openings that should spur your own creativity. You can then use your imagination to finish them to your own satisfaction. I have included several genres, in hopes that you’ll find one to your liking.

• The ancient church was lit only by a few candles. I stood alone in the vast nave, when suddenly something I barely felt hit my head and fell to the floor in front of me. I picked it up. It was a tiny bird’s nest, intricately constructed and containing only a tiny feather. Just then, I heard the creaking sound of a door opening.
• Smithers stood alone in the noon heat; his hands bound behind his back. He looked across the plaza to the ragged group of soldiers, puffing on their cigars and idly chatting in a language he couldn’t understand. A door opened behind them and a young officer, nattily uniformed and sporting a handlebar mustache, emerged. How, Smithers wondered, had it all come to this?
• I rode into town on my exhausted horse. It could have been any town in this God forsaken wasteland. Wind driven tumbleweed skipped over the lone street. I could just hear the sound of a tinny piano coming from the inevitable saloon. The wooden sidewalks were empty, but I could see furtive eyes peering from behind curtains. Then, the silence was broken by the sound of a single gunshot.
• Millie was running late. She just managed to get in the overcrowded subway car before the doors closed. She managed to find a bar to hold on to as the train lurched one way and then another. With her free hand, she checked her phone for messages. A sudden violent lurch banged her hand on the next passenger and the phone fell to the floor. Before she could bend down to retrieve it, it was returned to her. As she took it, she was looking up at the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
• Curuthers could never have imagined he would find himself in such a dilemma. His very future was at stake. As much as he tried to move him, Professor Goodfellow’s position seemed firm and unshakable. Without saying it directly, he had made it clear to Curuthers that he would never get tenure. His eminence in the field of convoluted text  interpretation would certainly sway the others on the committee. Murder seemed the only solution.
• They had been orbiting the planet Piculbal for three months longer than planned. Their atomic thrusters had failed, preventing their return to Earth. Now, rescue was at hand. A spaceship was on its way, expected to arrive in 14 days. In the meantime, the crew was on reduced rations, adequate to maintain their basic health. Captain Kirk was overjoyed that he would be able to be reunited with his family in time for Christmas. It was then he noticed Ensign Gargan’s head emerging from the tunnel. Where was the rest of him, he wondered?
• His search began in the main wing – the Blue Room, the Red Room, the State Dining Room. Nothing. Surely, he thought, it would exist in the West Wing?  He peeked in the Cabinet Room, the Roosevelt Room, the various staff offices, and finally the Oval Office. Bereft. Upstairs, he thought. Surely there must be intelligent life somewhere in the White House?
• Clark Kent was considering retirement. The last phone booth in Gotham had been hauled away, and he was at a loss to find a convenient place to rip off his suit and emerge as Superman. He knew the caped crusader was still needed; after all, Lex Luthor had just been paroled. Would Lois Lane have any ideas? If he used a public restroom, would it be misinterpreted?
• He double-checked the address. It matched the one on the iron gates, which were open. The long driveway was overgrown with weeds and wound through the dark woods. As he drove through the mist, he wondered why he had received an invitation from this wealthy but mysterious family. Suddenly, the massive gothic-revival house appeared. For a moment, he considered turning around but decided to press on.

Should none of these openings suit your needs, please let me know and I’ll  endeavor to provide one that does.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Denzell Washington is appearing in the title role in Shakespeare’s Othello on Broadway. Jake Gyllenhaal plays Iago, perhaps the more interesting character. This star power has resulted in ticket prices approaching $1,000! Washington may be our greatest actor, but I think I’ll wait for the movie!

            It has been generally assumed that Othello was black, although he is described as a “Moor,” which traditionally meant an Arab from North Africa. They ruled Spain for many hundreds of years, and were not black as we would now describe it. Nevertheless, the part has been played notably and successfully by such African Americans as Paul Robeson, James Earl Jones and now, Denzell Washinton.

            I have seen Othello live only once, at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre with Chicago actor James Vincent Meridith in the title role. He is also African American. On the other hand, many white actors have played the role. Interestingly, the British actor, Ronald Coleman, played an actor playing Othello in the film, A Double Life. In it, life imitates art when Coleman thinks his wife – and costar – is having an affair and actually kills her in the famous final scene. It’s a black and white film, but Coleman simply slightly darkened his skin. He won the best actor Academy Award.

            The great Lawrence Olivier unfortunately went further in his film of the play. Perhaps no one was willing to confront the great man, but they should have pointed out to him that doing the role in the same kind of black face that white performers used to don for minstrel shows might not strike the right note! While Olivier gives an impressive performance, it’s nearly ruined by his makeup choice.

            By now, it’s common for black actors to play roles that used to be reserved for whites. Just the other night I watched a movie where black and white siblings had the same white parents! While we have become used to this kind of casting, it doesn’t always work in reverse. Even with makeup, Tom Hanks would never be asked to play the role played by Denzell Washington in the film version of August Wilson’s Fences.

            In Shakespeare’s time, women weren’t permitted on stage, so female roles were often played by young men. These days, male actors have been known to play women (think Tootsie and Some Like it Hot), and Glenda Jackson famously played the title character in King Lear. In general, actors should be able to play any role. They are, by definition, acting. Despite what activists might contend, you don’t have to be blind to play a blind person. Our old friend Ronald Coleman also played an artist who lost his sight in the 1939 film of Rudyard Kipling’s novel, The Light that Failed.

             I saw a clip from the new Othello, which is “modernized” by having the characters dress in contemporary military uniforms, although Shakespeare set it originally in the late 16^th Century. I’m never quite sure why this is done. To make the play seem more relevant to  our times?  Frankly, you don’t make Shakespeare’s themes more universal by putting the actors in modern clothing.

            Another example of this is the 1995 film version of Shakespeare’s Richard III, with Ian McKellen in the title role. Here, Richard and his minions are dressed in Nazi-like uniforms. Trying to equate the dynastic wars in 15^th Century Britain with Fascism in 20^th Century Europe is a real stretch. And while I greatly admire McKellen as an actor, what’s with the mustache?

            I can recommend Olivier’s 1955 film version of Richard III. In the climactic battle scene, Richard doesn’t say “A tank, a tank, my kingdom for a tank!” He would happily have settled for a horse.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

The Chicago Cubs won their home opener last Friday and are pegged to win the National League’s Central Division. The capacity crowd at Wrigley Field looked like they were at a Bear’s game, since they were bundled up against a temperature in the 40s and a stiff breeze.

            Assuming a good season, the “friendly confines” will see many capacity crowds, who will pay ticket prices based on the day of the week and the quality of the Cub’s opponent. You could pay as little as $20, but the average will be about $60, with more desirable seats going for more than $100.

            If you’re hungry, a simple hot dog will go for about $10; a slice of pizza for $14; a pretzel (hopefully with some mustard) goes for $8; basic beer is about $10, but if you have more elevated taste, a craft version will set you back $16; something called a Beer Bat is $30 (but you get to keep the bat-shaped container it comes in); and your sweet tooth could be assuaged with a $8 soft serve. But more exotic fare is also available!

            New this year will be jibaritos, baseball doughnuts, and fried ranch bombs. Perhaps some explanations might help. A jibarito is a sandwich favored by Puerto Ricans in Chicago that substitutes fried green plantains for bread. For the uninitiated, a plantain is a little banana that’s inedible until it’s fried. The filling could be pork, ham, or any meat, along with lettuce, tomato, and other stuff.

The baseball doughnut is indeed a doughnut in the shape of a baseball, with icing that simulates stitching. When you buy it, you can fill it with a choice of blueberry or strawberry jam, which you inject yourself!  A ranch bomb is a roundish pastry filled with stuff like cheese, bacon, or other stuff with ranch (as in ranch dressing) spices, deep fried and served with “spicy honey drizzle.” When the Boston Red Sox are in town, Wrigley will honor their visit by adding lobster rolls to the menu. If you get one in Maine, you will pay about $30. Of course, Chicago isn’t Maine, so you will pay more.  

Anyway, if the famous “family of four” wants to go to a Cubs game this year, they can expect to pay around $300 for an average game. Back in the late 1940s, my brother and I would go to games at Comisky Park. I was about 10 and he was a year older. We went without our parents. Can you even imagine that now? Anyway, we would take the 67^th Street streetcar to State Street, then transfer to the State Street version to 35^th Street and the ballpark. The fare was then 10 cents.

General admission was 50 cents. I don’t remember what a hot dog cost, but I doubt it was more than 25 cents. Add 10 cents for Coke, and our outing would have set our parents out a grant total of about two bucks. In today’s money, that’s about $25, more than worth it to get rid of us for an entire afternoon.

You may not believe this, but around 1970, a hot dog was pretty much your only dining choice at Wrigley Field. Of course, you could get peanuts and Cracker Jacks. You might have been able to get a soft drink other than Coke, but I think only one beer brand would have been available, Budweiser as I recall. You could also get coffee, tea, hot broths, and hot chocolate.

I know this because for a time I worked for a company called Compact Industries, who franchised office coffee services. Our Chicago franchisee, Compact Coffee Service of Chicago, supplied these beverages to Wrigley. Can I admit they were dreadful? Phil Wrigley, who still owned the Cubs then, didn’t care. Our products were cheap, so he could sell them at a handsome profit. I wondered how much coffee or any hot drink they sold on opening day this year?  I found out coffee will set you back about $6, which seems like a bargain when it’s in the 40s. One hopes the weather will soon improve and coffee sales decline accordingly. By the way, you can get a double dog with fries at the famous Gene & Jude’s on River Road in River grove for $5.55. It’s takeout only, but you can always eat your Chicago dog in the car while listening to the Cubs on the radio.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

When then citizen Donald Trump paid Stormy Dainels $130,000 to keep her trap shut about their sexual encounter, it was considered a hush money payment, not blackmail. Apparently, if both parties agree to the settlement without coercion, everything’s hunky dory. You may recall that he was convicted of hiding the payment, not making it.

            While only a guess on my part, I would think Stormy was only one of several women who got paid off during Trump’s interesting passage through life. At any rate, he has become something of an expert in using something very like blackmail in  his orgy of revenge against those he accuses of being involved in the criminal indictments he escaped by being elected president. At least three (and counting) of America’s largest “white shoe” law firms have caved to Trump’s threat to bar them from Federal facilities and take away partner’s security clearances.

            For those  who don’t have a clue what “white shoe” means, it refers to bygone days when rich men wore white buck shoes with their summer duds. They were also favored by Ivy League undergrads, the kind of young men who ended up with the largest and most prestigious New York and Washington law firms. By the way, you can still  buy white bucks if you’re willing to keep them white or perhaps have a Jeeves to do it for you.

            One of the firms that President Trump targeted was Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher and Flom. Rather than lose business, Skadden Arps agreed to provide causes and people Trump specifies with $100 million in free legal services. Since both sides agreed to this arrangement, it seems to be perfectly legal. But really, it’s blackmail, isn’t it? Just like threatening countries with high tariffs or threatening Republican lawmakers with primary opponents if they don’t say Trump’s lies are the gospel truth.  

            A law firm founded in Chicago, Jenner & Block, decided not to cave. Instead, they’ve taken the Trump administration to court, claiming the president’s revenge spree is unconstitutional. This makes no impression on Trump, who isn’t aware we have one. I don’t have a clue how the courts will rule on this and the dozens (or is it hundreds) of lawsuits brought by Trump’s aggrieved victims.

            Do you see the irony here? The president will now be able to use Skadden Arps and the other firms who cave to defend his actions in court. They will be required by the canon of ethics to give their best efforts on behalf of the clients he chooses for them. You know, just like they’re required to give their all for an accused murderer.   

            I wonder if any of these legal eagles will give a helping hand to Rudy Guiliani? The last time I looked, he was still trying to collect the $2,000,000 in legal fees he says Trump never paid. Rudy – a bankrupt by the way – is still under indictment in Georgia, so the costs will keep adding up. His former client is said to be disappointed in Rudy for failing to overturn the 2020 election. Just another loser like John McCain. If he’s really broke, he can always get a court-appointed attorney. He might have defended himself, but he was disbarred.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Many years ago, I took a course in auto tune up. You learned how to change spark plugs and points and check the timing with a cool timing light. You could also change your own oil and filter, and a bunch of other stuff. Most cars needed a tune up about every 10- or 12,000 miles. Over time, as electronic, then computerized, systems took over, it became impossible to service your own vehicle.

            I had a mechanic once who took new customers only when a current customer recommended and vouched for them. The last time I went there with my Chevvy station wagon, they told me they were closing. I was incredulous – losing a good mechanic was like losing a favorite barber! Why? I asked. They were all getting on in years, and they decided they didn’t want to invest in the computers they would need to service the new cars.

            The other day I went for my emissions test. When they first started doing this, they would insert a probe into your exhaust pipe, which would sniff to see if you were emitting noxious gases. Now, they plug into your computer, which tells them immediately if your engine is naughty.

            There was a time when you could open your car’s hood and see not only the engine, but all the stuff that went with it – battery, generator, distributer, spark plugs, starter, water pump, etc. In my 3-series BMW, the battery is in the trunk. There is no dip stick to check the oil; you now do it through the computer. When you open the hood, all you can see are the filler caps for the windshield washer and cooling system tanks. The engine is hidden beneath a plastic cover that informs you you’re driving a BMW.

            You may not realize it, but all this engine bay covering and general complexity adds to the cost of service. Simply getting to components takes time. The mechanics must move and/or remove stuff just to get to what they need to fix or replace. They charge – in Illinois – about $130 an hour to work on your car, and the clock is ticking while they try to uncover the defective widget.

            As it happens, I have an exceptionally fine mechanic, Pete. A week ago, after discovering on a day when the temperature reached 80 that my air wasn’t working, I brought it in. The refrigerant was gone. Pete and his guys tried to locate a leak but couldn’t find one during an inspection of the components they could see, probably because all the refrigerant was already gone. They put new refrigerant in, so the air is working again.

            But Pete wants to find the leak if any, so I’m going to bring the car back in three or four weeks, whereupon it will be put on the lift and inspected with infra-red lights and special goggles. In some areas, they’ll have to use a special probe to get at otherwise hidden components. If there’s a leak, they should be able to find and fix it. At $130 an hour, plus parts.

            Look, cars are better now. They last longer, they’re safer, they even talk to you if you get lonely. But all that comes with a cost. All an owner can do now is maybe change the oil, if they can find the filter that is.

            I had a Volvo wagon back in the early 1970s. It was orange and had a brawny four-cylinder engine. Everything in the engine bay was clearly visible. It had dual SU carburetors. These were ubiquitous in British cars of the period, and Volvo also used them for a time. I loved them. If the engine started running a bit roughly, I could get a regular screw driver and easily adjust them until the engine smoothed out. Now, cars have fuel injectors. They work better, but good luck fixing them (or even finding them!).

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Irony of ironies, the liberal environmentalists who bought Tesla electric cars as a statement of their commitment to greener planet now find that the man who brought them to the market is anathema to their more radical liberal brethren, who have taken to vandalizing the cars he created and sells. Some owners are covering over the Tesla name or sticking on bumper stickers saying they hate Elon Musk too!

            Now that he is running the country, Elon Musk discovered that there’s a price to pay for getting involved in politics. Sales of his cars are declining here and throughout the world. While increasing competition is responsible for some of this, Democrats who can afford it are unloading their Tesla’s at a loss and buying the competition. (Of course, if you’re a Musk and Trump supporter, you can grab a bargain!).

            Musk, of course, has so much dough that a billion here or there is hardly noticeable. Anyway, in a typical example of Trump hucksterism, the president urged his acolytes to buy a Tesla, sitting in a red one on the White House Lawn, and saying  he would buy one himself. He can also help his pal by making sure he gets even more government contracts. And I’m sure Elon’s DOGE buddies will make sure not to fire or layoff the government employees who sign his contracts and checks.

            In general, public corporations are wise to avoid politics or divisive cultural issues. Anheuser Busch, now part of InBev, the world’s largest brewer, learned that lesson when a member of its marketing staff thought it would be a keen idea to expand its market for Bud Light – once the country’s best-selling beer – to a new audience. Why not have a transexual “influencer”  tout its great qualities? Are they not an untapped market? Had someone with common sense been part of the decision process, they might have reminded those young marketers that many if not  most of Bud Light drinkers had voted for Trump and shared his animus toward transexual people and their supporters. Bud Light sales tumbled. Ironically, it was replaced as America’s best-selling beer by Modelo, another InBev brand. Brewed in Mexico, its  days may be numbered too!

            As with so many issues regarding sexuality, it’s a complicated issue and the country is divided. Most corporations realize that taking political positions can potentially alienate half of their customers. Despite what many people may think, public corporations have only one real obligation – to make as much money for their shareholders as possible. In doing so, they must also obey the law and pay their taxes just like we do.

            This does not mean they can’t complain when they feel the government is doing things that affect their profits, like the Trump obsession with tariffs. Even so, notice that they are trying not to upset Trump too much while suggesting that higher tariffs might be a problem for the consumer, and the sale of their products to overseas markets. They dare not call the president nuts. Of course, I have no such problem.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Back in January 2022, I bought a small share in three thoroughbred racehorses trained by the highly successful Chad Brown. Some time ago, I reported in this space on my experience with this new venture. I thought it was time to give an update.

            As a reminder, I buy my small shares through an organization called My Racehorse, which buys young horses at auction, then sells small shares to goofballs like me. Over the years, they have purchased a Kentucky Derby winner, Authentic in 2020, last year’s champion sprinter, Straight No Chaser, and many other winners and stakes winners. Over the years, I have had shares in five noble steeds. Not a winner among them.

I have been going to the races since 1957, and have been to numerous tracks in this country, and in England, Ireland, France, and Hong Kong. Before I bought my shares, I was fully aware that only about 7 in 10 thoroughbred foals ever make it to the races; and only 5 in 10 will ever win a race. But hope springs eternal.

One of my first steeds is Ein Gedi, a filly bred in Ireland, purchased at a sale in this country as a two-year old for $600,000. She got to the races later in 2022, finishing seventh, then fifth. She was a lovely filly, but her trainer suggested she just wasn’t terribly interested in being a race horse, so she was sold as a broodmare prospect for $200,000. The buyer sent her back to Ireland. Another in the first group was Three Jewels, a son of Triple Crown winner American Pharoah. He cost $320,00 as a yearling (one-year-old). Poor guy had a series of physical setbacks and didn’t get to the races until he was four. He finished eighth, soon suffered a minor injury, and was retired. He is alive and well in a horsey retirement home.

Last in that group was the filly Night Combat, who never made it to the races. She had been a relative bargain at $100,000. She fetched the princely (or is it princessly?) sum of $1,000 at auction and is now in California as a broodmare.

Two of my horses are still in training. One, Secret Crush (his sire is Candy Ride!) has earned $27,00 back of his $300,000 purchase price. So far, he has finished third and second and has shown some promise. He had a bit of a fever, but he should get back to racing soon. Finally, my latest purchase, the now three-year-old filly, Reputation, has started twice and earned $4,500 back of her $450,000 purchase price. I think she will eventually win but is unlikely to win back her purchase price. But females have a residual value as broodmares, so maybe I’ll get lucky. As a winner (I pray), her breeding suggests a substantial value.

Before you take up a collection for me, I have only spent about $600 total for the joys and frustrations of horse ownership. And, unlike a real owner, I don’t have to pay recurring bills for training, feeding, and veterinary services. The average cost of keeping a thoroughbred horse in training is about $40,000 a year. As far as I’m concerned, my $600 gives me cheap thrills (well, not yet, but one lives in hope!).

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

One of  the reasons I subscribe to the New York Times online is it’s the only daily newspaper that still covers the fashion world. In its heyday, the Chicago Tribune also had a reporter on hand for the runway shows in Paris, Milan, and New York. Alas, they now struggle to even cover the political shenanigans in Chicago and Illinois.

            It’s always a pleasure to see the pouty fashion models suffering malnutrition for their art. While the female models were always of the bony sort, male models tended once to be more the buff, athletic (tennis not football) types. Like the women, these days they also seem to be sourced from Siberian orphanages. In the real world, meaning Chicago, one rarely sees anyone dressed in the latest couture fashions. Or walking with that strange gait that models use to get down and back on the runways.

            As for me, I was more or less fashion forward in the 1960s. It was the era when one’s business costume consisted of a natural-shoulder suit, button-down collar dress shirt, striped or foulard tie and winged-tip dress shoes. Brooks Brothers would be the ideal supplier. “Preppy” or “Ivy League” were used to describe the look. For some of us, the 1960s are still here.

            I once owned many suits since business decorum demanded it. Now, I own one, but it looks just like the ones I wore for some 35 years. I had it made to measure in 2023, and I was amazed at how much more it cost than  the last one I bought in 2000. I’ve worn it three times, most recently in August 2023 for a family wedding. Oh, and I also own a navy blazer, and on New Years Eve, I wore it and a tie. I just checked my tie supply – all seven are either striped or foulards!

            Those of you who see me occasionally will know that I’m a large fellow. Given the preference for gaunt male models, the only way I would be on fashion show runway would be with a broom. And apparently this  taste for the skinny also applies to the silver screen.

            The ideal male for many years was virile and rugged. Think Gary Cooper. Think Burt Lancaster. Think Clark Gable. Think the recently deceased Gene Hackman. Of course, none of these fellows could have played Bob Dylan, which Timothee Chalamet did with distinction. But his type, lean and dreamy looking, seems to be in the ascendent.

            Chalamet is also one of the young actors who wear the designer clothes you think no real person wears. That’s him there on the red carpet. He appears to be real. I wonder how I would really look dressed the same, but in a larger size? I should seek out the designer and ask if they have it in XXXL.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon

By Patrick F. Cannon

Early in the 20^th Century, artists of all kinds were given to issuing manifestos that claimed they were breaking with the restrictive rules of the arts establishment by creating new and exciting art for the modern world. What they were doing – the Dadaists, Surrealists, Expressionists, Social Realists, etc. – were creating new rules. And so it goes.

            Written manifestos have mostly gone out of fashion. But unwritten rules do not. One seems to be that art is created not for the enjoyment of the general, literate public, but for – in the case of the visual arts – for the critics and collectors. Realism, or “representative” art as its often called, is relegated to a lesser status. A painter of undoubted talent like Andrew Wyeth may be admired by the general public, but the giant balloon figures of Jeff Koons fetch the big bucks.

            I lived in Oak Park, Illinois for more than 40 years, and  still live next door. It is the birthplace of Ernest Hemingway and was the  home of Frank Lloyd Wright for 20 years. Edgar Rice Burroughs was also a former resident, and many other notables have called Oak Park home. Yet, aside from one portrait bust of Wright in a local park, no statues of any of them grace Oak Park’s public spaces. Nor are any schools named for these most famous residents.  It could be that their somewhat checkered pasts have disqualified them. Unlike Washington Irving, who died before Oak Park sprang into existence. New Rules.

            Oak Park is, however, the home of a good deal of public sculpture; indeed, its downtown area is littered with it. While a  few of them have some whimsical charm, most are bits of metal welded into abstract forms. Most people walk past without a glance, as if they were street lamps. Nowadays, the only sculpture representing real people seem to honor sports figures – in Chicago, Michael Jordon, Ernie Banks. Ryne Sanburg, and Bobby Hull are among those honored.

            Abstract artists in general seem to be facing a dead end. What can they do that hasn’t already been done? Can they improve upon – or do something radically different – than Mondrian, De Kooning, Pollack, Kelly, or Rothko?  Perhaps they can call upon A.I. to help them out? Abstract artists were and are not now usually willing to discuss the meaning of their work. You decide, they say. I remember listening to a psychiatrist on Charlie Rose’s PBS program (before Charlie got erased) who said he was so overcome with emotion looking at a Rothko color-field painting that he began to weep. He claimed it had nothing to do with Rothko having committed suicide, just the power of the painting itself.

            On a recent “CBS Sunday Morning” I was reminded that Andy Warhol’s garishly colored photograph of Marilyn Monroe sold for $140 million at public auction. As it happens, I have a vintage hand-colored photograph of my brother Pete and me, which I guess was taken when he was three and me two. In those days, it was common for photo studios to take black and white photographs and hand color them. Of course, they charged extra for it, but I’m sure our parents thought it was worth the expense. Since I’m sure I could get an excellent copy made, I’d be willing to let the original go to auction. You just never know what it might bring. I’d settle for a mere $14 million.

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon (and with apologies to cartoonist Harry Bliss)

By Patrick F. Cannon

On September 30, 1938, when I was six months old and frankly didn’t notice, Adolph Hitler for Germany, Benito Mussolini for Italy, Edouard Daladier for France, and Neville Chamberlain for Great Britain signed an agreement which would cede the German-speaking Sudetenland area of Czechoslovakia to Germany. The latter were not a party to the negotiations. They were given the option of accepting the agreement, or going to war with Germany

            Chamberlain also got Herr Hitler to sign a paper that bound Germany and Great Britain never to go to war with each other. When he got home, he brandished his letter and claimed he had helped guarantee “peace in our time.” Winston Churchill, who had been raising the alarm about Hitler for years, commented: “You were given the choice between war and dishonour. You choose dishonour. You will have war.”

              The Czechs, no longer having allies, chose to accept an agreement they had no part in, and the Germans duly occupied the Sudetenland on September 30, 1938. Now helpless, the Czechs could only watch as the rest of their country was occupied in March of 1939, beginning foreign occupations that would last for 50 years. While Britain and France abandoned the Czechs, they did guarantee to come to Poland’s aid if Germany invaded, which they did six months later. The ensuing World War II caused the death of approximately 70 million soldiers and civilians.

            It appears that initial negotiations to end the current war in Ukraine will be between the US and Russia, with other interested parties, perhaps even including Ukraine, brought in later. When it’s all over, and Russia’s Putin adds more of Ukraine to his former grab of the Crimea, perhaps President Trump will deplane at Andrews Air Force Base, and trumpet for all to hear that he has brought “peace in our time.”    

Copyright 2025, Patrick F. Cannon