Which Is The Better Movie . . . Tombstone or Wyatt Earp?




I guess in the final analysis, neither of the Wyatt Earp films of 1993 can be considered a masterpiece. But brother, weren’t they both just  a lot of fun? It’s pretty hard to make a movie dealing with the events in Tombstone, Arizona, back in 1881, and not have it be pretty darned entertaining.

For Pete’s sake, even the arguably worst Wyatt Earp movie ever made, My Darling Clementine, is always worth a watch when it turns up on late-night television. Something about the old thumb-cockers spitting out lead at both the good and bad boys, just seems to mesmerize the heck out of us.

Guess that’s why there’s been so many made. Not even to count all the made for television movies, and series.

Since that fateful day at the corral (actually not quite in the corral) Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday and all the rest of the gang of goodies and baddies (sometimes hard to tell which is which) have produced darn near a whole movie industry all by themselves.

1993 saw two more come along. Tombstone was first, and Kevin Costner was involved. He had disagreements with the writer’s focus and left the project to produce his own film, which became Wyatt Earp.

Which is better? I dunno. I like Tombstone for one reason, and Wyatt Earp for another. I think they both make a nice set of book-end movies.

Here is my reasoning, and my picks, or awards (in no particular rhyme or reason). I invite my readers to leave comments on the comments page and their own picks. Might be kind of fun.

Here we go then. First off–Tombstone is more fun. Mostly because of Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday.

Wyatt Earp is more historically accurate. Although you probably wouldn’t want to write a college-level history paper based on the facts in this movie either.

Costner made a visit to the actual Tombstone, Arizona way before filming ever started. He visited with the town council and made what he thought was an offer they wouldn’t be able to refuse. He would pay to completely restore the City of Tombstone to exactly what it looked like in 1881. Every dime would be on him, and he thought it would make the city even more of a tourist attraction than it already was.

The council turned him down flat, voting to keep their town of curio shops, street music and performers, tourist traps, saloons, and dance halls, with all the seedy honky-tonkness of it, just as it presently existed. They said that it was bringing in quite a lot of money just the way it was–and there was no point in meddling with success.

Costner did spend a fortune though, building sets. He even had a one-foot trench dug just outside the vacant lot where the gunfight occurred, just like it was on that fateful day in October of 1881.

The real Wyatt Earp. Circa 1881
The real Wyatt Earp. Circa 1881


The best Wyatt Earp? . . .The clear winner here is Russell, in Tombstone. He really looked like Earp, and had the ‘killer’ eyes to go along with it.

The real Doc Holiday.
The real Doc Holiday.


Val Kilmer as Holiday.
Val Kilmer as Holiday.


The Best Doc Holliday? . . . The award here goes to Dennis Quaid in Wyatt Earp. He could have been Doc’s twin brother, if Doc had ever had one. Kilmer is a lot more fun though. The gunfight between Doc and Johnny Ringo near the end of Tombstone is a classic–or perhaps I should say a real huckleberry.

Best Curly Bill Brocius? Powers Booth in Tombstone–hands down. Hardly anyone plays a psychopath better than Booth. And if the killing of Fred White didn’t happen exactly that way? Well, who cares? Never let the facts stand in the way of a good story!

Charlton Heston, in the twilight of his career, made a good rancher Henry Hooker, and classed-up the entire film considerably.

Bill Paxton played Morgan Earp and Sam Elliott as Virgil. Hard to find very much fault with either performance.

In Wyatt Earp, Gene Hackman played Wyatt’s father Nicholas Porter Earp. Talk about classing up a movie–Gene can always be counted on in that department.

The award for best Johnny Behan goes hands-down to Mark Harmon–a character we love to hate.

Bill Pullman as Ed Masterson has a scenery-chewing death scene. It is not only memorable, but happened just that way in real life. A hard one to watch.

Isabella Rossellini plays Big Nose Kate splendidly.

Jim Caviezel and Martin Kove have small but memorable roles.

Some facts: In every tombstone movie I have ever seen, Wyatt and company are always visiting the Birdcage Theater. Trouble was, it wasn’t build until a year after the Earps left town for good.

Morgan Earp is killed and Virgil Earp wounded on the same night in every single Earp movie ever made. Trouble was, those two events were months apart.

Guess it was better drama if it happened all at once.

Fred White was not murdered in the streets. It was an accident. White himself testified to it on his death-bed. We have to believe him, I guess. After all–he did have a front-row seat.

And last, but certainly not least–one of my personal pet peeves. Billy Breakenridge is usually portrayed as both being gay, and a not very good lawman. He was neither. There is absolutely no historical evidence what-so-ever–in any way, shape, or form pointing to Breakenridge’s “gayness”–and the fact of the matter was he was a pretty darned good enforcer of the law as well.

Several times he went against well-armed and known killers and arrested them without any harm to himself or the lawbreaker. He was what might be called “efficient.” He was both well-liked and admired by his contemporaries, and is always well spoken of in the literature of the day.

So which movie wins? I still dunno. I love them both, have watched them both often and would recommend to anyone to simply see them back to back–starting alphabetically I guess.

You can’t go wrong–and trust me–you will be entertained!

In the City of Tombstone itself, both movies play almost endlessly in the tourist shops. Which one more? About six of one and half a dozen of the other.

The real Tombstone, circa 1881.
The real Tombstone, circa 1881.


Thanks so much for reading. Next up–a recap of the 2015 Superbowl–which, I am prepared to say, the Seahawks are going to win by seven–this being Seattle.

Until then . . . good night!

Dumb Joke of the day:  Son: Dad, how do you win a Superbowl without cheating? Father: I don’t know son–we’re Patriots fans.

(Please forgive me on the East Coast for that one)


Oskar Schindler . . . and his list.

1 But of course there was another choice. To do nothing. There always is another choice–it’s the basis of all internal conflict–which of course is the stuff of great drama. If all the elements play out correctly, the drama becomes legend. And so it was with Oskar Schindler. A simple well to do businessman–one very brave and compassionate human-being, who stood up to the evil and mighty Third Reich, and saved the lives of hundreds of Jews during the Nazi holocaust. The sinner become saint . . . and legend. It would cost him. Oskar Schindler would give up citizenship to his beloved Germany, lose his fortune, and die a broken man, in complete and abject poverty. His only complaint was that he wished he’d been able to do more. No one would even know of his heroism, at least on any wide-spread scale, until years after his death. Schindler would receive few accolades in his earthly life. But eventually his deeds became public and recognized, and the legend that was Oskar Schindler would give rise to an enduring monument and symbol of his pluck and courage. That monument would be in the form of what is arguably the most important motion-picture ever made: Schindler’s List.

The gateway to hell. Auschwitz Concentration Camp.
The gateway to hell. Auschwitz Concentration Camp.

2a Oskar Schindler (April 28, 1908 – October 9, 1974) was an ethnic German. An industrialist and member of the Nazi Party, he is generally credited with saving the lives of at least 1,200 Jews, by employing them in his enamelware and ammunition factories. Schindler was born and grew up in Austria-Hungary–now The Czech Republic. He worked in several trades during his early years, and eventually joined the Nazi Party in 1939. At first he was a German spy, collecting information on railroads and troop movements for the German government prior to the occupation of Czechoslovakia. In 1939, Schindler bought an enamelware factory in Krakow, Poland. It employed around 1,750 workers. At least one thousand of those were Jewish. It was here that the horrors of the Third Reich became apparent to Schindler. Here was his call to action. At first Schindler was interested only in making money from the business. But as time went by and he witnessed the plight of the Polish Jews, he changed. Finally he began shielding his Jewish workers from deportation and death in the concentration and extermination camps. He did this without regard to cost or personal safety. On one occasion, the Gestapo came to Schindler demanding that he hand over a family with forged identity papers. “Three hours after they walked in,” said Schindler, “two drunk Gestapo men reeled out of my office without their prisoners–and without the incriminating documents they had demanded. He established a factory in Austria, moving his entire work force there. It was supposed to make tank shells for the Nazis, but by buying and bribing officials, he somehow managed to make no shells whatsoever. Schindler spent the money he was given by the Germans to buy food and medicine for his Jewish “family.” As time went on, Oskar Schindler would bankrupt himself by giving gifts and bribes to Nazi officials to get them to turn their heads. He gave away his entire fortune. Somehow he managed to survive the war along with his workers. After the end of the war, he moved to West Germany, where he was financially supported by assistance payments from Jewish relief organizations. Schindler tried his hand at farming in Argentina, and failing that, returned to Germany in 1958. It did not go well for him there either, with much Nazi sentiment surviving the war. Again he was supported by the “Schindlerjuden,” or “Schindler’s Jews,” the people he had saved during the war years. His “family” was not ones to forget a debt. At the end of the war, Schindler found himself on the ill-side of German extremists, and his German citizenship was revoked. In 1962, he was invited to plant a tree in the Avenue of the Righteous in Jerusalem, which brought his story to the German press, and as a result was harassed in the streets by Nazi sympathizers, who considered him a traitor. Oskar Schindler passed away at age 66, the result of liver disease. He is buried in Mount Zion Cemetery, Jerusalem, Israel. The gravestone reads: “Righteous Among the Nations.” It is in Hebrew. The German portion says: “The Unforgettable Lifesaver of 1200 Persecuted Jews.” 3 His grave site is piled high with stones–each representing a visit, and a respect paid, from hundreds and hundreds of his surviving Schindlerjuden. He was not a perfect man. Hard drinking and hard living, and a womanizer as well,  Schindler was a sort of anomaly within a paradox–a departure, for just once in his life, into the realm of decency and Grace. A Grace that would never be forgotten by the one thousand, two-hundred Jews he saved–men, women and children, who for a time, lived in hell–under the hand and protection of God–and Oskar Schindler. For surely, it was to duty to God, that Schindler was called–in the form of service to his fellow man–at the frequent peril of his own life. 4 In 1993, Director and Producer Steven Spielberg undertook to bring the story of Oskar Schindler to the big-screen. It was successful beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. He created a masterpiece, magnificent both in the scope and breath of the harrowing tale it weaves, and sheer raw and undiluted talent of all the actors and creative people involved with it. Liam Neeson stars as Schindler, in what is, to my mind at least, the performance of his career. Ben Kingsley as Itzhak Stern, and Ralph Fiennes as Amon Goeth are also standouts. It is a difficult movie to watch. I have personally only managed it once myself–and I doubt that I will ever be able to watch again either. It just takes too much out of me. I am not alone in that. Spielberg, after buying the rights to the original book (Schindler’s Ark) tried to give the movie away to other directors. He said that he didn’t feel competent to make a holocaust movie. The other directors turned him down. Good thing they did too. No other person on the earth could have done a better job with it than Spielberg. I firmly believe it was the purpose for which he came to the planet. Spielberg forsook all salary for directing the film,  believing it would flop. Holocaust movies, it seemed, did not usually do well at the box-office. Schindler’s List, the movie, would turn out to be much like the man–a paradox,  an anomaly, and a rule-beater . . . and almost beyond argument–the most important motion-picture ever made. 5 Winner of seven Academy Awards, and nominated for five more . . . Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Original Score, Best Film Editing, Best Cinematography, Best Art Direction, Nominated Best Actor (Liam Neeson) Nominated Best Supporting Actor (Ralph Fiennes) Nominated Best Sound, Nominated Best Makeup and Hairstyling, and Nominated Best Costume Design. I challenge all to see it. To take that darkest of all possible journeys, to the very dark side of the human soul. Beware . . . you may never come all the way back.   Thanks so much for reading. Next time, a little more light and friendly subject–what is the best Wyatt Earp movie–Tombstone or Wyatt Earp? Until then . . . Goodnight.

An American Movie Classic . . . To Kill A Mockingbird


Harper Lee
Harper Lee

3 BILDUNGSROMAN (Pronounced, Bil – Dungs – Ro – Mon:  pretty much just as it looks) It’s a new word for me. I learned it just today, and it describes almost perfectly the contents of one of the greatest novels ever written, and one of the best movies ever made. It refers to a novel of formation, a novel of education, and also of coming-of-age, or of a person’s spiritual and moral growth. A literary genre that focuses on the psychological progression of a person from youth to adulthood. In it, character change is of extreme importance. It’s about the setting aside of childish things, and growing up, both physically, psychologically, and emotionally. I will quote verbatim from Wikipedia:  “Nellie Harper Lee (April 28, 1926) the youngest of five children of Amasa Coleman Lee and Frances Cunningham Finch, was raised in Monroeville, Alabama. Her first name, was her grandmother’s name spelled backwards. Her mother was a homemaker; her father, a former newspaper editor and proprietor, practiced law and served in the Alabama State Legislature from 1926 to 1938. Before A.C. Lee became a title lawyer, he once defended two black men accused of murdering a white storekeeper. Both clients, a father and son, were hanged.” As a child, Lee was a tomboy, a precocious reader, and best friends with her schoolmate and neighbor, the young Truman Capote (In Cold Blood).” In Lee’s fabulous novel, A. C. Lee becomes Atticus Finch, Truman Capote turns into the fictional Dill Harris, and Harper Lee herself becomes Scout, both a bookworm, and a tomboy. Add on one brother named Jem, and a gem of a housekeeper Calpurnia, and the table is set for one of the best seven-course reading experiences of all time. 4 The book was written in 1960, and it was instantly successful. So much so, that a movie was almost immediately demanded by the reading public. That motion-picture, of the same name, was released in 1962. There was plenty of potential for disaster. Movies from books do have a very good track-record, all in all. Especially those made from literary masterpieces. This movie would prove to be an exception. Much like other well-written books and screenplays, To Kill A Mockingbird is set in the depression ravaged days of the 1930’s, but it’s really about the civil-rights movement of the fifties and later on, the sixties. Directed by Robert Mulligan with a screenplay by Horton Foote, and starring Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch, Frank Overton as the Sheriff, Estelle Evans as Calpurnia, Brock Peters as Tom Robinson, Paul Fix as Judge Taylor, Mary Badham as Scout, and Phillip Alford as Jem, and well-known screen heavy James Anderson as Bob Ewell, in his all-time nastiest role. The incomparable William Windom plays the Prosecutor. Robert Duvall even puts in an appearance in his first ever turn in front of the movie camera, as Boo Radley. Filmed in beautiful black and white, it could not be more rich, atmospheric, and textured. 5 Everyone is perfect in their roles, and the movie in its entirety is nearly  flawless and seamless. Gregory Peck was at his prime in 1962, and the three kids are about as cute as they come. Perfection at the moment it was made, it suffers not a bit fifty-three years later, in it’s portrayal of the serious issues of bigotry, racial injustice, and rape (both of women, and the judicial system). Again, according to Wikipedia: “The novel is renowned for its warmth and humor. The narrator’s father, Atticus Finch, has served as a moral hero for many readers and as a model of integrity for lawyers. One critic explains the novel’s impact by writing, “In the twentieth century, To Kill a Mockingbird is probably the most widely read book dealing with race in America, and its protagonist, Atticus Finch, the most enduring fictional image of racial heroism.”  In one particularly memorable courtroom scene, the black townspeople stand at attention in the balcony (the only place they are allowed to sit) as Atticus leaves the courtroom for the day. His children, Jem and Scout, fidget on the floor. An elderly black gentleman nudges them to their feet, saying . . . “Stand up children–your Father’s passing.” In another scene at the jailhouse door, Atticus holds off a lynch-mob, with the help of Scout, who introduces a large dose of humanity into the crowd. I saw it as a kid in a Detroit theater. I doubt there was a dry eye, or an un-lumped throat in the house at the end of that encounter. I know mine wasn’t. In all, both the novel and the resulting motion-picture, can be considered to be an astonishing phenomenon. In 2006, British librarians ranked the book slightly ahead of The Bible, as one “every adult should read before they die.” Since 1990, a play based on the novel has been performed annually in Harper Lee’s hometown of Monroeville, Alabama. Amazing success, considering the fact that it is, to this date, Harper Lee’s only published work. I guess if you’re only going to hit only one, it might as well be out of the ballpark. Truman Capote had been long rumored to have had at least something of a hand in the writing of the novel–but if it’s true, that’s okay–Harper Lee helped him out with his career apex true crime novel, In Cold Blood. One good turn deserves another, as they say. In the end, justice prevails–in an odd sort of a way. Not justice of the law-book kind, but biblical justice. And Scout and Jem do a whole lot of maturing and putting themselves firmly on the road to adulthood. And Boo Radley comes out–right along with one of the silver-screens best–Robert Duvall . . . all at the same time. 6 You might want to give it a look. I can promise you it will get under your skin–if you’re seeing it for the first time, or the tenth. Thanks for reading. Next up–what is arguably the most important motion-picture ever made . . . Schindler’s List.  Thanks for reading. Until next time–Goodnight.    Dumb Joke of the Day: “I’m really broke,” say one guy. “How broke are you,” the other guy replies. “Well, I asked my Bank Manager to check my balance . . . so he pushed me.” 7

Standing up . . . and Making a Difference

stand 2

It’s True. We are more important than we know. And between us, I think we can really make a difference in the world today.

I am asking my readers to join me in a fight for the soul of the World. For our freedoms, and indeed for our very lives.

There are risks, and there are dangers in standing up and being counted.

There are more in doing–or saying–nothing at all.

I would like to start this rant off right at the outset by saying that there are all kinds of things on the Internet and all sorts of so-called “Entertainment” that I absolutely abhor. One of the rules here at Apropos of Nothing, is that we don’t call people names, don’t diminish religions or groups, don’t tear them down and don’t engage in crude and rude behavior or language.

We want this to be an all-inclusive website and blog, and welcome Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Non-believers , and any or all others of whatever stripe or religious or political affiliation.

After the tragic terror attack this week on the offices and staff of Charlie Hebdo in Paris, I took the time to check out the contents of this weekly satirical magazine.

Frankly speaking–I was appalled by what I found. I want to be right up-front here and state for the record that I don’t and never have, enjoyed Mad Magazine either. And it’s pretty mild by comparison.

If you happen to have a strong stomach and are a brute for punishment, I suggest you take a look yourselves. Photos of most of the most offensive stuff that has appeared on Charlie will be found on Google Images.

It’s not my cup of tea, thank you very much, but that said–it is for many, many folks. It is my understanding that the French really enjoy that sort of humor a lot, and elevate crude satire to the same level as some of the more internationally accepted literary works.

Fine for them.

And fine for the people–the writer and cartoonists that create them. After all, if you find something offensive, all you have to do is not look at it. Don’t turn on the TV, don’t go to that movie, don’t read that particular book, and so on.

There really isn’t any need to kill the people that created it. Hard for me to believe that any God would condone such behavior.


stand 1


At any rate, it happens all the time, and it’s happened again, just this week, in a particularly bloody and gruesome fashion.

It is my contention that the free people of the world need to unite as one, and condemn those who would destroy our freedom to read, watch and whatever–we  choose.

In other words–give the madmen a lot of targets to shoot at.

If we do not use that voice, we will surely lose it. Beheaded people make no statements, political or otherwise.

I would ask all of the readers of Apropos of Nothing to join together in solidarity for the people of France–and for the peoples and citizens of The Free World.

Please, keep them–and us in your thoughts and prayers this day. And ask God to help us find our way through this darkening gloom that is the twenty-first century so far. I am afraid for our future.

May there be better days ahead.

Please leave comments either below or on the Comments page.

Thanks for reading.

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Unsolved Mysteries . . . The 1975 Disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa


James Riddle Hoffa (1913-1975?)
James Riddle Hoffa (1913-1975?)

His middle-name befitted the man. Riddle. He became one of the greatest of all time . . .

It was the year of the rabbit–1975. And it was memorable one, in so many ways. The Pittsburgh Steelers were the reigning Super Bowl Champions. Later in the Fall, the Cincinnati Reds would take the World Series. The Ford F-150 pickup truck, seemingly around forever, was just introduced that year.

One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest was in the theaters. Betamax video was just released. Pet rocks were the rage. All in the Family was number one on TV–followed by Maude and The Bionic Woman. Helen Reddy had the number one song, Angie Baby. Everyone was afraid to go in the water.

Thanks to Spielberg and his shark named Bruce (after his attorney).

"Bruce," the mechanical shark from the '75 hit movie "Jaws"
“Bruce,” the mechanical shark from the ’75 hit movie “Jaws”

10cc was on the radio, but they weren’t in love. Van McCoy was doing The Hustle, ushering in a short-lived era of disco. Barry Manilow and Neil Diamond were big name. And the incredibly powerful voice of Freddie Mercury blasted out of the dashboard about every ten minutes, it seemed, with his dark and jingly rock hit, Killer Queen.

I was a twenty-five year old kid that summer. I worked on the afternoon shift at the local General Motors plant, in the quality control department–inspecting outsourced diesel engine parts from three-thirty in the afternoon ’til midnight.

The Author--in the summer of '75
The Author–in the summer of ’75
The sacred bike.
The sacred bike.

The mornings were for sleeping–and mid-day for riding my beloved bright orange Schwinn World Voyager bicycle. Sometimes I’d do ten or twenty miles, up and down the Hines Drive bike paths–and then head off for work.

But I was young then. And in shape. Nowadays, I’d get tired driving that far in the car.

I was right on the cusp of twenty-six, which would happen on August 10th. It must have been the first or second of August that year that I returned home from one of those rides, and collected the morning newspaper from the front door of my apartment. The headline was startling. Jimmy Hoffa, the long-time and very shady Teamsters Union president had gone to lunch on July 30th with some local crime figures. He didn’t come home that evening. Jimmy Hoffa had disappeared.

And he would never come home again either–missing–to this very day. It was good timing to create an instant legend. The Godfather movie was still so new it was on everyone’s mind. Everyone loved–and feared the mafia–back in those days.

Probably no one would ever say that Jimmy was an especially nice guy. He got to be where he was by climbing over mountains of dead bodies. Some figuratively–others–not so much. Hoffa was convicted back in 1965 of corruption (bribery and jury tampering) and spent the next two years appealing his conviction.

He failed–and got a twelve year sentence. Old Jimmy only served five of it however, and then was pardoned by President Richard Nixon. Part of the deal was that Hoffa couldn’t involve himself in union activity until at least March of 1980.

Far too long for Hoffa.

He wanted back in immediately, and was more than willing to do whatever it would take to make it so.  Including dealing with the devil. Frank Fitzsimmons was the interim Teamster President, and he wanted to stay right where he was.

Turned out that the Detroit Mafia wanted old Frankie to stay too. They had far better access to the rich Teamster Pension Fund under Fitzsimmons, than they would have had with Hoffa.

So Hoffa went to lunch with a couple of wise-guys at The Machus Red Fox restaurant on Telegraph Road in Bloomfield Hills, hoping to make a deal. He got one all right–and apparently one he couldn’t refuse. Jimmy, and any and all traces of him disappeared that day–never to be seen again.


The Machus Red Fox restaurant in 1975.
The Machus Red Fox restaurant in 1975.



Hoffa’s car was found in the parking lot, and that was it. The search was on–for nearly forty years now–and sometimes just a little bit obsessively.

For years, as I would drive past the Red Fox on my way to work, I would almost always turn my head and glance into the parking lot–as though he would be there–somehow missed in all the excitement.

Like Bigfoot and The Loch Ness monster, if anybody ever actually finds the long lost body of Jimmy Hoffa, it’s going to be somewhat of a disappointment. In a strange sort of way, it would not only end the mystery, but it would spoil the suspense.

It’s kind of like finding the wreck of The Titanic in 1985. Closure kind of ruined the story. It was a lot more fun when we didn’t have an idea in the world of where it might be–except for on the bottom of the North Atlantic–somewhere.

Finding Hoffa’s body would bring closure too–and closure would be the death knell for a dog-gone awfully fine who, and how-dunnit.

But, oh how they have tried over the past four decades.

Digging up driveways and tearing up old house foyers searching for bloodstains, and tearing down old barns. Prying open smelly barrels in landfills. Searching with ground detecting radar and cadaver smelling dogs.

It’s all come to nothing of course. Kind of like The Lost Dutchman Mine, allegedly in The Superstition Mountains of southern Arizona. If anyone actually ever found it, the State Legislature would have to declare it to be “the wrong Lost Dutchman Mine,” and instigate a renewed search for the right one.

Arizona could never afford to give up that many tourist dollars.

I don’t think we can afford to give up the search for old Jimmy Hoffa either. It’s just been way too much fun–and has become an enduring–and somewhat endearing part of American pop culture and folklore.

Where do I think old Jimmy is? Easy–and I bet I’m right too. Not a lot of people know or remember anymore, but at one time there was a robust and thriving industry under the streets of Detroit. Salt- mining. There are literally hundreds, if not thousand of miles of old, dark and unused salt-mine tunnels under the City of Detroit.

And that’s where I personally think he is. I don’t think he ever left the city. Buried–and buried deep–in salt. Probably perfectly preserved–and like old Lot’s wife–at last, an honest and solid pillar of the community. Old Jimmy–finally the salt of the Earth.

But do I want someone to go look for him there and maybe actually find him?

Heck no . . . not in a million years.

The salt-mines of Detroit.
The salt-mines of Detroit.


As always–thanks so much for reading.  Next up–a twenty-four karat gold-plated novel and motion-picture gem–and all time classic.

hoffa 6

To Kill A Mockingbird.

Until then–Goodnight.

Dumb Joke of the day:  Where does a one-legged waitress work?  Answer:  IHOP