by Barry Hastings

There’s a scandal brewing at the Grand Rapids Home for Veterans. It broke the day before Mr. Dalton shot up Kalamazoo, and it disappeared in the media feeding frenzy that quickly followed and continued for over a week. The scandal involves poor treatment, lack of treatment, and false care records of staff at the facility, which houses military veterans, some (few now) with service dating to World War II, more from Korea, and many from the Vietnam era.

Having lived in the place (where I made many friends) for about a year (1998-99) I was a first-hand witness (victim?) of first privatization-of-services there, under another Republican crap-head, John Engler. That unworthy gentleman got rid of the entire state-run food service there, hired a company where meals were prepared in a kitchen 12 or 15 miles from the home, then shipped in by truck. Every meal was cold on delivery. Nothing gets an old vet going in the morning like cold fried eggs, cold pancakes, or cold French toast. Lunch and dinner were the same old story.

Engler also got rid of a good, and efficient, housekeeping staff. He replaced them by farming the work out to a company with many people working and wearing court-ordered ankle-bracelet monitors. When I had nothing (hadn’t for several years), and was waiting to be disabled by Social Security, one of the rotten bastards stole 75 dollars family members had given me as a Christmas gift the day before.

He was in my room when I walked up to the nurse-station. Back in two or three minutes, the money, and my wallet, were gone. So was he. Of course, there was, “nothing we can do about it.” Such thefts were common there. You wonder how people like this can live with themselves, abusing veterans they publicly refer to as, “heroes.”

Don’t expect much from the coming investigation, as it will be another case off Republican politicians investigating Republican politicians. It’s the governor’s responsibility. But it’s also the legislature’s — they’re the ones who keep cutting corners to save a few bucks for the wealthy. Haven’t heard a word about it from Snyder, who is busily working to save his own butt from the Flint water scandal.

My regular visits to the place, for half-a-dozen (or more) years since (taking tobacco up for friends, getting them out for a few hours, running errands), were ever met with tales of woe regarding cold food, frequent theft, dirty bath and toilet facilities, dirty recreation rooms, other nasty crap.

One thing though, we seemed to have better professional staff people working there then, on the state payroll — nurses, doctors, dentists, rehab specialists, etc. They’re gone now, and these old soldiers are being warehoused, ignored, left in their fouled skivvies and pajamas, for hours on end, while their care records are faked.

Wake up people! (You ought to be ashamed.)

The awful tragedy of Chris Crisco, now a Trump toady

It was a comical moment, and but for that, might have appeared tragic. A big silver aircraft with ‘TRUMP’ painted large on its fuselage in blue, rolled to a stop near the unloading ramp. The door opened, and the leading GOP candidate was briefly framed in the entrance. He stepped out into a very windy day, though his heavily-lacquered hair stayed firmly in place.

With a slight motion of his arm, he directed an underling to precede him down the ramp. A gigantic Pillsbury Dough-boy, in a baggy Chris Crisco suit, emerged from the aircraft, and moved toward the steps. He wore a rubber, Halloween-style, Chris Crisco mask as he led the way to terra-firma, and was treated by his new boss like a Hispanic (or Oriental) servant in one of the Trump mansions.

The reigning GOP hero directed his new foot-soldier’s movement into position with the broad, sweeping gestures of old European Royalty. (Sooner or later, chickens always find the right roost.) Crisco appeared pale, about ready to vomit, and wasn’t even allowed a comment. Being there was as close to the presidency as he’ll ever get, and he knew it. One loud-mouthed bully down; one to go. Nothing left for Mr. Crisco but another year or so, in New Joisey.

Donald Trump (turns up again and again, like a bad penny) told the gathered press he’s worth 10 billion dollars. But Forbes Magazine (which stays pretty much on top of this stuff) says he’s lying (again), and is only worth about four-and-a-half billion. Donald can’t speak a sentence without a lie in it. I’m surprised his adoring supporters can’t see he’s one of the super-rich who’ve been abusing working people for. . . , well, forever. Under-educated Americans (and enough of the educated, from what we see happening on the web), are very, very easily scammed, for hundreds of millions, perhaps billions, annually. The web, like the rich, loves the credulous, feeds on them like sharks on seal-babies. For people who think we live in a ‘great nation,’ we have an awful lot of really ugly stuff going on here. How badly we’ve slipped in just 240 years. It’ll take 500 more to straighten things out, if we can ever get it together to make an attempt.

Ben Carson. Gone.

John Kascich. Waitin’ for the convention.

Ted Cruz. I’ve seen few such hypocritical and self-important asses in my 77 ¹/2 years.

Marco Rubio is out of his depth. He’s the best “pronouncer” (like Dubya was the best “e-nun-ci-a-tor” and the “decider”), among the candidates. Can’t you just imagine Rubio delivering Dubya’s “Bring it on” line (in his little-boy voice), or being bold enough to proclaim ‘Mission Accomplished’, when the fight was only just beginning? I think he comes across as a little kid reciting a nightmare scene from Macbeth, or portraying Dr. Strangelove in a high school play. A real-life, non-fiction ‘callow youth,’ and a twue disciple of Wonald Wagan, too.