Kathryn Kelly, founder, and executive director of Carson City’s I-School, brought a Russian family by for An Evening with Mark Twain, and I fell in love with them. So the following morning, hoping Nikolai might be willing to translate into Russian, I penned letters to Presidents Putin & Zelensky asking for an audience, and yes, Nikolai is in fact translating as we speak. I thought too, I had better check in with the DOJ and State Department to be sure I’m following protocol, should I actually receive that invitation…

Email Subject: Wanting to do the Right Thing

Dear friends at DOJ,

As a 35-year impressionist of Mark Twain, and about to retire, I thought I should reach out to Russia and Ukraine as a private citizen and goodwill ambassador. So, I composed the following letter to Presidents Putin & Zelensky…

Dear Presidents Putin & Zelensky,

As a private citizen, and 35-year impressionist of Mark Twain, I do hereby request an invitation to Moscow and Kiev, to abet the implementation of a ceasefire in Ukraine, and, the erecting of a Mark Twain statue in Odessa. My bags are packed with two roses, and two copies of The Innocents Abroad…

It is with utmost sincerity and regard that I remain, Your friend in finding and maintaining peace,

McAvoy Layne

____________________________________________

The Russian people love Mark Twain, as I found out years ago with a visit there to lecture at Leningrad University in Saint Petersburg. They even issued a domestic Twain postage stamp in 1960…

I feel a little like Don Quixote tilting at windmills, but if I do receive that invitation, I want to be sure I am following State Department and DOJ guidelines and protocol…

Please instruct…

Your friend in peace,

McAvoy Layne as Mark Twain

PS: A six-month ceasefire will not be used as a subterfuge to provide combatants an opportunity to better position themselves for a moment when hostilities might resume. No, this ceasefire will be predicated on producing a lasting truce to recognize the principles of sovereignty and territorial integrity, while protecting speech, religion, and press.

And, I shall remain eager to assist in the erection of a Mark Twain statue in Odessa once the ceasefire becomes a lasting truce… 

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

Like you, I’ve always thought the world of Hospice folks, though my high regard was boosted higher yet when I received an email from a cousin of mine whose birthday it was yesterday. I had sent her customary well wishes and was eagerly opening her reply when her words sent my heart leaping into my throat…

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Cousin, but I’m with Hospice and going to be leaving today to cross over and join my loving Bobby and your dear mother Barbara.  My cancer has spread to my liver and skull.  I’m so awfully tired. Hospice is here, bless them, and I’m taking some comfort in thinking of all the fun we had as kids together. I hope this finds you well, as I send bushels of love.”

My legs almost buckled under me, but I stood the gravity and finality of her words. Why did she not tell me when she entered Hospice care, back when she had six months or six weeks or six days to live? All I can guess is she must have rested assured I would contact her on her birthday, so she would let me know then, not suspecting her birthday would be her last day. Oh my…

Losing a family member is always hard, but harder yet when they are younger than you. We ought to be allowed to get promoted to glory in chronological order, but then I am not the superintendent.

My thoughts drifted back to our childhood days when she would beat me down the slopes, and wait patiently for me to arrive, never bragging about how good a skier she was. In showing-off to her I once swam two lengths of the pool underwater. When I surfaced she gave me a standing ovation, dived in, and swam three lengths underwater. When I threw a front somersault off the diving board, she followed me with a one and a half, and landed it without a splash. That was just the grand & glorious, magnificent but modest, person she was.

She would send me an edible number on my birthday, made out of sticky Rice Krispies cakes that were delicious. What could I possibly say to her on her last day on this Earth? There are no words, but when there are no words, we must find words…

“My heart is in my throat, Cousin. Be brave -you always are. In one big air-hug I’m sending my love to you. I’m so looking forward to your greeting me on the other side, and welcoming me with a solid shot to my shoulder like you always do. You can teach me how to fly. I don’t know if I can beat you in a race around a billowy white thunderhead, but I’m going to try.”

I had to stop writing just there, as my eyes were clouding up, and I could no longer find nor see the words…

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

I’m practicing sleeping on a futon in anticipation of my high school sweetheart visiting with two of her lady friends. Well, I slept in the ground for a year in Vietnam while in the Marine Corps, so my futon is like a DreamCloud Mattress by comparison. I actually had a dream last night that I was Tom Sawyer, meeting up with Becky Thatcher, and Becky was saying…

  “Oh, I know you. I remember you from church. You’re Thomas Sawyer.”
     “They only call me that when I’m bad, you can call me Tom.”
     Tom wrote some words on his slate, and hid them from Becky. She begged to see 
them. Tom whispered: “Promise you won’t tell.”
     “I promise,” said Becky. Tom moved his hand, and Becky read the words: “‘I love you.’ Oh, 
you’re bad!” She blushed and turned away, but Tom saw her smiling, and he knew she was 
pleased.
     At lunch Tom and Becky met behind the schoolhouse, and Tom asked Becky a question. 
“Have you ever been engaged?”
     “No,” replied Becky.
     “Would you like to be?” asked Tom.
     “Maybe. What’s special about it?”
     “Well,” said Tom, “first we kiss, and then you like only me, and I like only you. And we 
walk to and from school together.”
     Becky thought it sounded nice, so she said, “I love you,” in Tom’s ear. 

Then I woke up…

So, the girls will have the upstairs to themselves, while I can help myself to a midnight snack downstairs without waking anybody. Nervous? As Huckleberry might like to say, “I reckon not!” The fact that we have not seen each other in thirty years will not prevent us from remembering that we used to be as close as a couple coffee filters. And we can always reintroduce ourselves…

I might want to say, “Hi, I’m Tom Sawyer, Black Avenger of the Spanish Main, and you?

She might like to answer…

“Pleased to meet you, my name’s Tina, Tina Bo Bina, banana fana fo fina, fee fie mo mina, Tina!” 

The gentle reader is much too young to remember, “The Name Game,” and I caution you, do not try it, for it will ransack your brain before you know what you’re about.

We’ll have Happy Hour with some friends, and take in some music on the beach before dining out. A short hike is on the agenda, along with a swim in the Lake of the Sky. I just hope I can find my mask, my snorkel, my fins and my noodle, for without my noodle, I could find myself on the bottom of the lake alongside some gangsters I don’t even know.

Well, please hope me luck in this encounter of the ages. All I can say in advance is that I know I will see her as the wonderful creature she has always been, composed entirely of watch springs and happiness, while I, meanwhile, shall try my level best to not be an ass…

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

Residing in the 19^th century has long been a convenient and comfortable escape for me. But I’m starting to feel a little cramped now, as I’m not always able to escape 21^st century assaults of internecine war, climate catastrophe, and the advance of artificial intelligence.Not being a poet, it is not possible for me to wax melancholy, but the country I love and call home is no longer seen by the rest of the world as a shining beacon of hope and happiness. We are regarded more today as a well-armed failed state. A 19-year-old French citizen, in referring to the teenage driver whose killing at a traffic stop prompted recent unrest in France, is quoted as asking, “How can someone be killed for refusing a traffic stop? Are we in America or what?”

Our sending cluster munitions to Ukraine could come back to bite us in the asparagus, as mission creep morphs into morals creep. We’ve seen how preparation for war begets war, and escalation is usually the tripwire. Robert Oppenheimer cautioned us, “If there is another world war, this civilization may go under.” Scarily, we accept that genocidal weapons are now in the hands of persons of questionable character.

Comparable dangers lurk in the arrival of artificial intelligence, where danger and solutions to danger are mixed together. Here again, if mission drift wafts into mission creep, well, we could be toast. 

Our little skulls are Davids compared to the Goliath skull of AI, and while the intelligence of AI expands exponentially, our intelligence seems to be on hold. There doesn’t appear to be anything about us that cannot be surpassed by AI, and surpassed in a New York minute. Mitigations must be put in place to control this colossus before it controls us…

I used to escape to Mark Twain’s home…  

“To us, our house was not unsentient matter – it had a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it was of us, and we were in its confidence, and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction.” 

But now the very thought of matter being sentient is somewhat unsettling to me…

As for climate, when I was a kid, we used to say it was hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Today in Las Vegas it is too hot to get to the sidewalk, for your brain might get fried before you arrive. The two hardest things to find in Las Vegas today are designated shade and a designated driver.

Know what keeps me almost sane? The arrival of a good friend, sharing a couple cold Icky IPA’s, smoking a couple Cohibas, and engaging in some vigorous conversation, this is what keeps me almost sane in this troubled 21^st century. Hell, I’m just glad to be here to bear witness…

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

Just prior to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine there was a movement afoot to erect a statue of Mark Twain in Odessa. But why, you might want to ask as I did. Well, the short answer is, “To promote goodwill and tourism.” Isn’t it a twist of fate that what we are sending them today is cluster munitions to protect themselves.

In 1867 Samuel Clemens booked himself aboard the Quaker City pleasure excursion from America to Europe and the Holy Land. It was billed as, “A picnic at Sea.” In truth it was more like a funeral procession without a corps, so Sam had to embroider his letters to the Alta California, that would later go into his first full-length book, The Innocents Abroad.” By the way, The Innocents Abroad served to sever America’s literary umbilical cord to the petrified opinions of Europe and the Holy Land, to become America’s literary Declaration of Independence.

In that epic book, Mark Twain envisions a glorious future for Odessa…

“Odessa is about twenty hours’ run from Sebastopol and is the most northerly port in the Black Sea. We came here to get coal, principally. The city has a population of one hundred and thirty-three thousand and is growing faster than any other small city out of America. It is a free port; and is the great grain mart of this particular part of the world. Its roadstead is full of ships. Engineers are at work, now, turning the open roadstead into a spacious artificial harbor. It is to be almost enclosed by massive stone piers, one of which will extend into the sea over three thousand feet in a straight line.” Samuel must be spinning like a lathe today…

According to the Odessa Review: “At the time of Twain’s visit, Odessa was young, vibrant and in the midst of construction. It was the same exact age as the United States, and in a similar position as an industrious, dynamic, cultural melting pot. It was these qualities which reminded Twain of America – and endeared the city of Odessa to him greatly.”

And the Eurasia Review wrote, “Uplifting the cultural cooperation between the United States and Ukraine has historically been a rather timid component; however, Mark Twain’s legacy is always vivid and will serve as the niche of brotherhood for centuries to come. A Statue of Mark Twain in Odessa will eternally be considered as the symbol of brotherly ties between the United States and Ukraine; it will serve as an exceptional platform that will promote rural tourism in the Black Sea Region.”

In an earlier turn of events, Russia issued a Mark Twain domestic postage stamp back in 1960, to commemorate Mark Twain’s 125^th birthday, and too, Russia gave me the warmest welcome I’ve had outside of Missouri, as an impressionist of Mark Twain. If only we could do that today, Sam Clemens, over there on the other side, would surely be smiling… 

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

Some years ago I was invited to participate in a Chautauqua out in Warrensburg, Missouri, alongside Harry Truman and George Washington Carver. We had a grand time of it, and enjoyed each other’s company ever more when we were off duty. In our Warrensburg wanderings I happened to notice a statue of a dog, a hound dog named, “Old Drum.” I thought it quaint to have a statue of a hunting dog in the town square, and attributed it to the soft hearts of the good citizens of Warrensburg. They even sent me home with a pin of Old Drum, dated 1870.

But it was not until recently, when I became curious about Old Drum, that I discovered it was more than sentimentalism that prompted the casting of that statue. Old Drum was murdered, and the suit for damages in the loss of a good hunting dog went all the way up to the Missouri Supreme Court back in 1870.

Was a good hunting dog worth $50 or not? That was seemingly what the trial was all about, until a wily old legal expert, George Vest, stood up to make a case for the worth of a dog as a pet, and effectively delivered a eulogy of Old Drum…

“Gentlemen of the Jury, the best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it the most. A man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him and the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog.”

For the first time, perhaps ever, the worth of a hunting dog was shifted from dollars to heartstrings, and guess what? The Missouri Supreme Court sided with heartstrings. Old Drum’s owner was awarded $50 plus court costs, and Old Drum got his due justice along with that priceless statue in the town square. Yes, it was finally established by law that the worth of a pet dog was equal to, or perhaps in excess of, the worth of a hunting dog. But of course we dog lovers have known that all along. Suddenly, that pin of Old Drum 1870 that they gave me so long ago in Warrensburg, is worth the world to me. I wonder how Harry Truman and George Washington Carver are getting along…

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

Having been born in Providence Hospital, and having been one lucky person all my Providential life, I thought I should take a little time travel and visit that lucky place of concurrence. So I booked a flight for Washington D.C…Hey, Buzz Aldrin’s mother’s name was Marion Moon…and as there are no coincidences, I determined to visit the birthplace of my good fortune, Providence Hospital.

Arriving in the capital I felt a desire to visit the House of Representatives before heading over to Providence. Not knowing anybody in the body politic, I fashioned myself to be an ombudsman, created an ID to reflect that lofty position, OMBUDSMAN, laminated it, and pinned it to my vest. As good fortune would have it, the Sergent-at-Arms, recognized and enthusiastically welcomed me as an ombudsman, smiled, and waved me inside. 

I strode confidently into that noble chamber, took an empty seat, and started making my notes for a short filibuster.

The Speaker was about to bring a bill to a vote and asked for final arguments. I didn’t know what that particular bill was about, but seeing my opportunity, I stood to make my case, and pretty well had to shout, as members began asking, “What the heck is an ombudsman, anyway? Then, out of curiosity if nothing else, the chamber quieted down, and I was allowed to speak… 

“I am visiting this august body at the request of the American people, who have asked me to tell you, ‘Enough back-biting and mudslinging! We have had a belly-full of this squalor, and demand that this noble body get around to conducting the business of the people.’” 

I sat down to a hush that weighed forty pounds per square inch. One representative started to clap, then another. One stood, then another. One shouted his approval, then another, until the house was awash with boisterous approval.

Suddenly I felt a hand slip into my armpit, then another hand slipped into my other armpit, and I was lifted gently from my seat and carried summarily out of the hall to shouts of, “Yo, Ombudsman! Long Live the Ombudsman!”

So I left the House without the use of my legs, and was deposited without ceremony on the sidewalk, where I asked, “Does anybody happen to know the way to Providence Hospital?”

“Oh, dry up, you’re not hurt!” hollered one of my escorts.

So I went on my merry way, and was pleasantly surprised when some folks stopped to ask me what an ombudsman was, for I had neglected to take off my ID. One lady opined, “You’re exactly what this country needs right now, an ombudsman to bring us together. Do you have a card?”

I finally found my way to Providence Hospital and made my way up to room 225, where my mother told me I was born, and was proud to see, as I arrived, a plaque had been mounted propitiously above the door, “The OMBUDSMAN was born here.” 

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

A message to my fellow menfolk: Shun the fireworks. Everybody knows all the bodies exhumed from Pompeii were men.  When Vesuvius erupted the women fled, while the men gathered together in the courtyard to watch the eruption, and place bets on how long it would last. 

Women, bless their good souls, have never taken an interest in fireworks, nor have dogs. A dog will usually run and hide behind a toilet when the fireworks start. My aunt Mildred sat down on a toilet during the fireworks once, and a weenie dog licked her leg. Her mind was never the same.

I caution the gentle reader with this caveat from Mark Twain, “We call April first, ‘All Fool’s Day.’  Well, that is a misnomer, because statistics show we lose more fools on the 4^th of July than all the other holidays of the year put together.” 

  Thanks to the Declaration of Independence, signed on July 4^th, 1776, we have no monarchs to bow down to in this country, unless we count Beyonce and Taylor Swift, who also tax us, if not in the same manner that royalty used to tax us…

I’ve had the honor of reading the Declaration of Independence on the Fourth at various public forums over the years, with one reading culminating in a Marine Corps flyover that gave me chicken-skin all over. Over the years I have fallen in love with that wonderful olde bulwark, particularly Jefferson’s words, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” I don’t care what you want to tell me about Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings, the guy was a brick!

By the way, as a note of interest, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died on the same day, July 4^th, exactly fifty years following their signing of the Declaration of Independence.  Not coincidentally, Samuel Clemens died during the perihelial passage of Haley’s Comet, which was his expressed desire.  The point being, if there’s something in the future you’d like to live to see and celebrate, mark that date on your calendar today with a permanent marker.  Chances are, you will live to see that event, and celebrate it.

I try to keep in mind what we are celebrating on this July Fourth, freedom from that egregious old ass, King George, but more importantly, we celebrate our freedoms, and those who sacrificed so dearly to secure and protect those freedoms.

This year, 2023, let us treat ourselves to a spectacular and safe SkyShow starting at 7pm on the evening of the 4^th at the Incline Village Ridgeline Ball Fields. And let us lift our glasses sotto voce in honor of our veterans, those with us, and those having gone to the Great Beyond. Semper Fi! See you at the parade! 

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

To pass some time while standing in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles, I read Tolstoy’s War and Peace in its entirety. Finding it to be an excellent book, I was prompted to pick up Tolstoy’s Calendar of Wisdom, which offers a few pearls of wisdom for each day of the year. Ostensibly, one should take a year to carefully read and digest this tome a day at a time, but I made the puerile mistake of drinking several pearls of wisdom in one gulp, akin to trying to take a sip from the proverbial firehose. A body can only take so much wisdom at a time without getting dyspepsia.

It took Tolstoy fifteen years to compile his book of perceptions, derived from the world’s great thinkers -Achinsky to Zoroaster. My hero, Mark Twain, did not make the cut, which leads me to suspect that Mr. Tolstoy did not wish to inject satire or humor into the shedding of light on perceptions of wisdom. (Too Bad).

First published in 1912, Tolstoy’s Calendar of Wisdom was well received in Russia, then shunned by the Communist Party following the revolution of 1917, due mainly to the book’s several tributes to religious doctrine. Given a chance to comment on this phenomena, Mark Twain might have offered at no cost, “When you know a man’s religious complexion, you know what sort of religious books he reads when he wants some more light, and what sort of books he avoids, lest by accident he gets more light than he wants.”

Just for fun, I might like to take a look at today’s date in Tolstoy’s Calendar, today being the day of this writing, Friday, June 16^th…

“We live in an epoch of discipline, culture, and civilization, but not in an epoch of morality. In the present state, we can say that the happiness of the people grows, and yet the unhappiness of the people increases as well. How can we make people happy when they are not educated to have high morals? They do not become wise.” -Immanuel Kant 1724-1804

Just here I would defer to Paul Simon, “Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio Immanuel Kant? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.” But then, sadly, Tolstoy does not site lyrics of songs in his great calendar.

I wish I could have known Tolstoy. I realized while reading Tolstoy in college, that the building blocks of my morals and ethics would not be found in books so much as in my sensitivity to the feelings and beliefs of others.

In closing on this 16^th of June I would like to postulate on page one of McAvoy’s Calendar of Wisdom that if Donald Trump suffers from Mania Grandiosa, the sense of self-importance documented as a mental illness, well, he could by all rights enter an insanity plea and win his case in court…there is no charge for this legal opinion… 

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne

I love to catch commencement speeches when I can, for oftentimes they hold as much value as the degrees themselves. I’ve delivered a few clunkers myself that were forgettable, and I regret getting those kids off on the wrong foot. But I happened to catch Secretary of Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin’s recent address at the Navel Academy, and it went into my “Memorable” file as unforgettable. Here are a few of the gems…  

“It is great to be here, even though the first person I met said, ‘Beat Army!’ And it is 

indeed an honor to help welcome the next generation of Sailors and Marines to what is the finest Navy that the world has ever known.Graduates, today belongs to your loved ones too. And let’s give them a round of applause.

You chose to come to this Academy. And despite challenges that nobody imagined, you chose to keep coming back, and to keep pushing, and to keep growing. You know, all those choices add up to character. And all those decisions add up to integrity. And all those deeds add up to leadership. 

You seek wisdom. You practice discipline. You treat others with dignity and respect. And you will defend our democracy with honor, courage, and commitment. Graduates, over the years, I’ve learned that leadership is not just what you do, it’s who you are. And your leadership will be at the very heart of America’s work to forge a more open and more peaceful 21st century.

As President Theodore Roosevelt once said, ‘A good Navy is not a provocation to war. It is the surest guaranty of peace.’

Class of 2023: Wherever your career takes you, remind the world of what you stand for, and what America stands for. Honor. Courage. Commitment. Democracy. Liberty. And the rule of law. The lessons of this academy will always steer you true. And when the fog rolls in, let the values that you have learned here be your lighthouse.

Class of 2023: We will all be cheering you on as you make our country stronger, and our democracy deeper, and our world safer. Congratulations. 

May God bless you. May God bless your families. And may God continue to bless the United States of America.”

To my mind, Lloyd Austin is the right man in the right job at the right time. His Z generation graduates are out there on the job right now, and our world is a safer place. I would like to meet the good Secretary and shake his hand. I would also like to ask him why the Marine Corps does not field a football team. I suspect it is because the Marine Corps is all about protecting the country and our allies, and has no time left over for protecting a quarterback. This supposition I hope might elicit a smile from our most capable and good-humored Secretary of Defense, Lloyd Austin.

Audio: https://anchor.fm/mcavoy-layne