By Arthur Preston Whitaker

The historian, Arthur Whitaker, was an eminent fellow who wrote diplomatic and foreign relations history simply and well. He researched in Spain before the Spanish Civil War and next published these two volumes 80-90 years ago.

What are the stories? Governments of Spain, the United States, France and Britain all tried to exert influence and control west of the Appalachians. The targets were native Americans, who didn’t like any of the Europeans, and emigrants from the eastern States coming into the Ohio and the Tennessee Valleys. They wanted to use the Mississippi River to the sea. Movers and shakers were land spectators, commercial sharks and politicians, somewhat represented by John Wilkerson, US Army Brigadier General who negotiated with the Spanish to bring Kentucky under Spanish rule, had a Spanish pension (mostly unpaid), and had other intrigues with Spanish authorities in New Orleans. Wilkerson, of course, had been a friend of Benedict Arnold during the Revolutionary War.

Having no rules and less law and order west of the Appalachians between 1783-1803 was a boon to many, one being William Clark, brother of George Rogers Clark, Revolutionary War hero. Clark intrigued, tried to push the Spanish out, had a military unit, fought Native Americans in private wars, speculated in land and complained to the Spanish that the natives were restless. After the Louisiana Purchase (1803) he went west with Meriwether Lewis and came back to become governor of the Missouri Territory. Later he was Superintendent of Indian Affairs. Incidentally, having connived and intrigued for 20 years James Wilkerson survived the 1807 Treason Trial of Aaron Burr; with a few wrinkles he kept offices and rank.

The story begun in these books tell of New York interests, involving Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton. They were good friends, having vibrant conversations, dining together and partying. Hamilton’s fingerprints are all over plans and intrigues involving British-American plots to diminish Spanish contacts and push Spain from North America. Hamilton and Burr likely talked much about west of the Appalachian intrigues and filibustering. After 1804 Burr continued those activities but not enough to constitute treason. Note, at some time Aaron Burr moved his personal papers to North Carolina, a staging area for a move west. Americans now know of these papers because Burr has few: They were lost at sea along with the ship and Burr’s daughter.

Whatever happened west of the Appalachians involving Burr and Hamilton, was further obscured by The Louisiana Purchase, Burr killing Hamilton in a dual (1804) and the Burr Treason Trial judged by John Marshall(1807).

More history needs researching, but these two volumes provide a solid foundation on which to begin. 


Should the United States Congress fund the border wall? NO. Don Trump made a sacred promised, forged by fire, to the American people that the Mexicans, not Americans will pay for the border wall.

Don Trump should not let the Mexicans breach one of his sacred promises. He has not publicly demanded that the Mexicans pay for it. Mexico may not realize they have an obligation. Don Trump should admit if the Mexicans do not fund the border wall, the wall will not be built.

Americans should give the Mexicans more time. There are many issues:

The Mexicans should know what the tax rate is on this new construction. Is any part of the wall deductible? Does the wall affect the free flow of money, north and south?

Who pays health care? With the status of health care uncertain in the United States, wall funding and construction cannot be determined until health care is resolved, so employers know what the landscape looks like for five years.

Don Trump must waive any requirement that only USA made ingredients go into wall construction. If the Mexicans are paying, they will use Mexican (yet North American) steel, cement, plastics, rocks and bricks. They should use Mexican plans. Mexican materials are durable; the construction is sound. Missions in California have survived earthquakes and floods. Those buildings have been in place ten times longer than any edifice Don Trump has ever erected. And architecturally the missions are much more pleasing than glass, steal, plastic and cement towers.

If the Mexicans are paying to construct the border wall, they should be equally allowed to hire Mexicans to do the work. Those workers should NOT be arrested and deported while working on the wall, only the next day to grant them entry into the country and later they will be arrested and deported. These workers should be granted documents so everyone, Mexicans and Americans, knows who everyone else is.

The wall should be built according to American standards, none of the fly-by-night construction leaving a trail of 100 law suits against the general contractor or the owner. Labor must be protected. There are volumes of labor statutes, already enacted and in the books, to guarantee worker’s rights. Everyone must follow the law.

Having made sacred promises to the American people about the border wall, Don Trump cannot flip his principles like he’s selling teepees and go against American ways. It is the free market, free enterprise, unfettered competition. If the Mexicans are paying for materials so their own labor will have jobs to do this foreign aid project on American soil, those workers would be treated as well as any other worker at a job in America.

U.S.A. 1 Apple 0

Apple will lose its National Security lawsuit with the United States government. Apple is a corporation. Apple has software which is not protected by Constitutional provisions other than the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution (“the taking provision”). At best Apple can say it has trade secrets to protect.

To my delight and without my knowledge Apple discovers and fixes problems, issues and patches in its software. It gives away for free those updates. In order to make those improvements, Apple must enter a software program, change the code and test its compatibility with the remainder of the software, the apps and the machine itself. There is no backdoor created.

Complaining that Apple is being asked to write a backdoor key to enter an iPhone (and all the iPhones in the world) may not be a solid argument.

There is no right to privacy enumerated in the Constitution of the United States. It is inferred from the Fourth Amendment (Search & Seizure plus warrants). The Government has a warrant. The Fourth Amendment is satisfied. The Right to Privacy is certainly part of the Ninth Amendment, which neither courts want to cite nor humans want to ponder. So the Ninth Amendment has been forgotten.

In the Apple matter does the corporation have a right to assert a right to privacy for individuals who are dead, who committed murder, and who likely are aligned with terrorists, domestically and overseas? The right to privacy belongs to the two dead perpetrators. They are dead; they have no right to privacy. Can Apple resurrect their right to privacy to stop the government’s getting the information from the phone? Note that the information on the iPhone is owned by the perpetrators, not Apple.

One legal issue: Does Apple have standing to assert the right to privacy on behalf of the dead, especially in this case?

This case is a loser for Apple. I don’t know which set of attorneys (big fees, bad result) convinced Tim Cook to oppose. If the case goes forward, Apple and the whole software business will be saddled with a poor, unrepresentative legal precedent which will forever be like law enforcement that now obtains a warrant for a safety deposit box rented to a criminal, getting the key and retrieving the contents.

Mind the Mud

The sensational, the gruesome, the weird and the curios are in the papers, on the news, crossing the Internet and everywhere in entertainment. I suppose it is human nature to seek out what or the how-did-that-happen stories and know that it did happen. It is a guilty pleasure to read the details of a law school classmate who embezzled client funds again, again and again. So much for professional responsibilities and legal ethics. Americans put distance between themselves and the act. Americans are acquainted with Michael Jackson’s death, but what about a STRANGE, VIOLENT EVENT: The psychological evaluation of the Sandy Hook elementary school killer and an accompanying evaluation of his enabling mother: She frequented the local bar and talked about gardening, guns and target shooting and  her brilliant sons. One son was home making his reality shoot-em-up computer games.

American interest in acts of perversion, terror, violence, illness and crime is limited. Our understanding of why, what and when is superficial: X killed seven pedestrians while fleeing the cops in a car-jacked Porsche with a baby in back. Forget the trial. Wow, someone can write a book and make a movie, which will obliterate the actual events and make new reality. Perhaps Americans know; perhaps they don’t: There is a wide, deep morass of procedure, time and law consuming every single criminal act before trial and before society’s resolution comes.

Americans simply lose interest [except those concerned and those victimized]. They hear the outcome two, five years later and believe there is an ending. If behaviors, actions and society must change, Americans have to know more than the beginning (the act in the news) and the end years later. Americans must follow the whole process. We cannot rely on a cadre of interested attorneys, doctors, politicians, lobbyists, Warren Buffett, businessmen, accountants and journalists to represent and do good for the country.

My reaction to the current blitz as a writer, is to organize my mind before writing a story. Usually I sit and observe everything. I lose track of steps C -X. I’m diverted trying to be sure what I spend the most time on has merit and quality. I watch movies of quality; I visit museums; I read good books of fiction and non-fiction; I hear great music. I collect as many facts, words and impressions into my mind until I’m frustrated and need a release – filter through the garbage, selecting, and put something on the page. That logjam is released slowly. With luck I’ll organize it well as it comes onto the page, but frequently reordering is necessary many times afterward.

Likewise Americans hear of these horrible events and occurrences; they are exposed to loads of trivia, minutae, tripe and are pestered for long periods of time with nonsense. It is no wonder they hear of the act, shameful, violent, outrageous, an enormity, and let it go, perhaps hearing the end if they ever make the connection. Those Americans don’t have the release I have. I write. Everything within them is bundled tighter and tighter. It is further no wonder that Americans seek all diversion from the terribles and the troubles of this country. I can not blame them.

Americans go so far in their entertainments that they only become aware when a big shock hits the news, an act mindless and futile as the death of any child killed in a crosswalk, frequently a non-news incident. What is happening in this country is THIS: Our imaginations are not as active and adventurous as the stimuli we receive. Human beings have not evolved that much. For instance, October 9, 2013 was a non-news day: No assassinations, no wars, no terrorist attacks. Consider items I found on the Internet that day:

Teen shot while having sex

Eight year old pleads with 911 dispatcher while Mom dies

40 year old mom found nude in teenage boy’s closet

Montana Fishbourne says Twitter hacked – she didn’t out Jamie Foxx

28 men may be charged in 11-year old’s rape

16-month old dies after being dropped in boiling water

The news hasn’t gotten better. On the last weekend of the year cross-racial adoptions senselessly became an issue.

Nobody in America wants to watch this movie or TV program. It is easier to ignore it to our detriment. Ignorance and silence suggest consent – do your own thing; let it be; there is nothing anyone can do; don’t be judgmental; these are trifles. This is the tripe Americans now accept. It is wrong.

In 2014 Americans can do better


America has a right to listen to Angela Merkel, and must do so for its own interests and for the interests of Europe. This opening sentence comes as a reply to a blog, my comment, a reply, my reply (incomplete).

The first observation is Angela Merkel looks completely Prussian. She never smiles; she is incapable of it. She sneers, but she hasn’t sneered for ten days.

What could dear sweet Angela Merkel, what could the Europeans be talking about that would interest Americans and make our decisions and lives better (and their lives better) if we knew what they were saying?

The Germans and their economy has benefitted more than any other country from the existence of the Euro, the Euro Zone and the European Community. Year 2010 intensified the Euro crisis in the PIGS: Portugal, Ireland, Italy, Greece, Spain. The European Community tried to resolve all the problems themselves. They could not. The United States of America got involved with support, advice and lots of money, before 2010 and during those years.

The biggest obstacles to the European effective action were the Germans led by sweet Angela and to a lesser extent the French. The Germans wanted to pay no money to any other nation for any purpose whatsoever. Yet the Germans were benefitting the most because the Euro-zone existed.

What was at stake? If Europe went into a deep rescission and possibly a Depression – lack of confidence, no economic activity, no way forward – the American economy would follow as well as the remainder of the world. Furthermore, all the nations of Europe as well as the USA know how the Germans react to end Depressions.

Listening into sweet Angela allowed the United States of America to advise, to cajole and to convince the European Community to go forward. We countered, blocked or tempered German and French arguments and proposals for inactivity, for conditional loans and for harsh policies that could never be implemented, that would prolong the Euro-crisis and that would end in Depression. Finally, the Germans had to put up much more money and agree to terms they did not like.

Amazingly, today, Halloween Week, 2013, France is protesting American actions and acting as the German lap-dogs. Meanwhile, in that country there have been protests and talk about France leaving the Euro currency, and resuming the French Franc [like the British have maintained the pound to good effect]. The French should reject the Euro. The French had beautiful banknotes, much better than the dour austere paper from the European Community. The French may not other choice but to leave. Requirements from the German-led European Community are onerous and detrimental to current conditions in the French economy. The French do not have the flexibility to react to local conditions to improve their economy and the lives of the French people.

Sour-puss, bad sport Angela wants payback because the Americans knew how to overcome German resistance. Current conditions now allow Germany to continue to screw all the other countries of the European community, just like it was doing before the Euro-crisis. Obama’s reaction to European protests should be to tell Angela and the other protesting clowns to cram it. The United States was correct. The Germans were wrong. Most of the European Community has an improving economy.

But Obama is weak and forgetful. He acts like someone wanting to be the popular Student Body President of his high school. This was a success of his administration. He is now willing to give all the credit to the Germans, apologize and promise, so he can call that Kraut, “Sweet Angela,” and Merkel can give her Prussian sneer again.



Junkets, Michael Ulin Edwards, $.99 iBookstore

I’m amused by anyone exorcised by Ed Snowdon, prime moron proven traitor, who downloaded crap from the National Security Agency. Everyone reading this post should comment, “You’re a nut,” if you do NOT believe that when you download anything from the National Security Agency, you don’t also download a bunch of stuff the NSA wants on your computer or in your storage systems.

Those readers who would never download anything from the NSA because you don’t want to invite the NSA into your life, signal your agreement by liking this post.

It is likely, probable, a certainty that when Snowdon removed stuff, he took a few things the NSA didn’t want to share with the world; he took a a lot of stuff the world already knows; and he took a bunch of stuff that the NSA wants people and countries to put into their storage systems and computers.

JUNKETS is about the next American intelligence mission, to one of the two targets: China. A middle aged woman on a tour is the operative. The first chapter follows. The remainder at 41,500 words are on the iBookstore for 99 cents, under my name, Michael Ulin Edwards.


Gladys Goode was happy the garbage man had come early. It was noon on her walk to the street. Usually she had to drag the trash container up her long, unpaved drive in the evening. June 2013, no mud, she would get gravel delivered and spread before the fall rains.

She pulled the can toward her, and it slumped right and fell. She stepped around and looked at the rear – a wheel had fallen off. With a foot she moved the container a few feet. There was no wheel.

“They took the damned wheel with the garbage!” she yelled and kicked the container. It moved some but didn’t roll. She kicked it again, again, and again!

She looked across the street, and those neighbors‘ container was fine.

Mine was all right when I wheeled it out, she thought. He wheeled his lame-ass can over and stole mine. He – his whole family was disgusting and despicable. He had had a large boulder on his undeveloped side lot, and always during high water and drenching rains, water rolled off his property onto the street and took out the front of Gladys‘ yard. She had asked politely and offered to make improvements. NO. Secretly, she got tests and solutions, drilled holes and filled them and cracks in the imposing boulder. After the next storm and water, big rocks from the boulder, cracked off and rolled down the street smacking cars, lamp posts and mail boxes. Those neighbors filed claims, all within the last year, and the neighbor across the street had more than a foot of topsoil covering his front yard.

Gladys believed that guy hated her but had no reason to. She had done her work quietly. Now he had traded his defective container for hers.

To feel better she looked uphill at the neighbor’s side lot where the rocks and earth had moved and spread. Coming over the crest was a car, a late model American SUV. She recognized the vehicle for what it was – two men.

She glowered and stared.
The car stopped.
“That’s Gladys Goode,” said the middle-aged man in the passenger seat. His nickname was Honcho except to Gladys. He had been around – around the block, around town, around country, around the world. “Don’t think she’s been drinking. Looks pretty good.”

“What’s she doing?” asked the young driver, Ashton, two years out of the Ivy League, from a wealthy family who always considered Bill Donovan an honorary member. He was green so asked, “Why is she staring at us?”

“She knows I’m in the car, or someone more senior. She waiting for me to flinch.”

The driver looked at his supervisor. He didn’t know much. He had been moved to personal development testing – already he had identified five employees with Jason Bourne tendencies. Now he was on a road trip, chauffeur into the sticks.

He took his foot off the brake.
“Stop!” the older man ordered. “She can’t win this easily.”
“She doesn’t look that tough. I can talk to her,” the novice advanced.

“She’ll only talk to me or someone higher. And never underestimate her intelligence or adaptability. ” He looked ahead. “I’ve known her 23 years. She is a cat now – sit, be patient, relax, watch our gas gauge go lower.”

“How does she know how much gas we have?” the apprentice asked looking at the gauge near empty.

“We drove from Washington. It’s noon. She knows how much fuel the tank holds, the mileage we get and the time. We didn’t stop for gas. She also knows I have to take a leak.”

“I also suppose she doesn’t want to talk to us,” the young man said.
“Certainly, but don’t be offended by anything she says.”
The boy looked at Honcho – chief, supervisor, boss. It was supposed to be a privilege to drive him into the wilds, but the kid didn’t know which state he was in. Honcho had been known to drop personnel off at no where, completely forlorn to find their own way home. So Ashton would do everything he was told.

He interpreted a hand gesture – roll ahead, and releasing the brake, drove the car down the hill.

Gladys Goode watched it come like she would stop it on her own. But it stopped, and Honcho got out.

“Hello, Gladys. Hello, hello, hello.”
“There’s a urinal in the public park down the street, Bosco.”
“I’m very happy to see you’re so well.”
“I don’t want you taking a whiz anywhere near my property. It will confuse the dogs.”

“How long’s it been? Five years?”
The assistant got out, and Gladys looked at him disgusted. She asked, “Which shit-for-brains Ivy did you pull him out of?” She peered at Honcho, “I left because too many Ivys were coming in – they’re so innocent and incredulous. I bet that little girl, smiley-face, tiny-voice, big- busted wench has been promoted!”

“When’s the last time you had a vacation?” Honcho asked.

“I don’t consider seventeen days getting back here, using every chance to rinse my clothes because I had to leave my luggage, a vacation!” she looked and shook a finger at Mr. Ivy. “You fly a 1950s vintage Beechcraft across the Gulf of Guinea and have a good time.”

“Why don’t we talk inside?” Honcho suggested.
“Have Ivy bring up my trash container.”
“Mr. Ashton is my assistant…”
“I’m demanding because I can, Bosco!” she spit a response and stepped toward the car.

Her eyes left his and looked behind him.
Ashton turned and saw the neighbor’s trash container, and the neighbor and kids were driving from their driveway. As they passed, they looked at the people on the street, and their expressions changed.

Ashton looked at Gladys and saw the meanest countenance he had seen on any human being. It was scary.

Gladys noticed him and walked up her drive. Honcho accompanied her. She asked, “Why did you hire him? He’s too pretty to be of use to anyone.”

Out of earshot Honcho said, “We’re looking for someone to be a high school biology teacher, from the Mid-West.”

Her house was functional and looked lived in without dirt or dust. The front porch shaded a wide picture window. The wall underneath, inside, was taken up by a couch and a chair. The wall opposite supported a humongous TV purchased the month before. At the end of the room were two rocking chairs and foot stools with a lamp between them. Opposite them was small wall with paintings hiding the hallway between the kitchen and the bathroom, now in use.

Gladys turned on the TV news, muted. She waited sat in a rocker, no cushions, wooden flat slats giving an instant back massage with rocking. She shut her eyes to feign dosing.

Honcho came from the bathroom, and noticed the TV. He didn’t want to sit on the couch, and not in the other rocker. The easy chair was too small for him, but he headed to it. He said, “You’ve made this home very comfortable.”

“I turned on the TV to see what was happening worldwide to cause you to come see me.”

“There’s no crisis. I’m visiting an old friend.”
“Let me get this out. Those clowns running the show are incapable and incompetent! Let’s have more revelations, more screws loose, operate by trusting, be completely naive and promote unsupervised innocents. I thought the previous administration was bad. Who do I berate most, because it needs doing: Moron One! Idiot Two! Jackass Three! Asshole Four! Why would I want to work for you again? I’ve seen your beaming mouth and blinding teeth. I have a big screen TV. Football season’s about to start.”

“You’ve never been a fan.”
“It’s in the package.”
“We’re paying: Your pension gets a thousand-dollar a month boost.”
“No taxes?”
“Everything you’ve ever done has been done in war, so no. And your neighbor doesn’t have to know about your tests and analysis of their boulder and your purchase of various acids.”

“Too cheap.”

He noticed on the floor under a small table a plastic box filled with books – software, programming, were words in the titles.

“Are you studying for a new career?”

“That deluded sap who stole all that NSA data. First, most of it is nothing – email addresses and telephone numbers. Trolling for words, phrases, and once anyone realizes its insignificance, he’s toast. I can buy more complete information from Google, Facebook and Link-in as well as get the buying habits for any American from Amazon, Yahoo, the credit card companies, box stores, the local grocery store, pharmacy, art and auto supply shops and nursery companies. What’s that fool thinking?”

“Every American has a right to privacy, except every commercial transaction tells the political parties how you’re going to vote. And he’s now committed treason! No one, our side or theirs, will ever trust him. He’ll end up in a village of peons, probably an elementary school teacher, or he’ll be stuck checking the sewers and flood control channels for the remainder of his life in the middle of Asia, living under repressive regimes until he’s ninety! Howdy-doody to the rest of the world. That kid saw too many Jason Bourne movies! He even gave information to The Guardian newspaper!”

Ashton stood in the kitchen, looking into the living room.

“Ivy, the toilet is to your right, down the hall. Lift the seat! That kid is so innocent, he’s committed every bone-headed mistake.” She looked at Honcho who was non-committal. “Unless he’s a plant.”

“I don’t know,” Honcho responded.
“Or a dupe.”
Honcho shrugged.
“Otherwise, this kid’s experience has been seen and told, and is what every American should have learned from the after-traitor troubles of Benedict Arnold.”

“Other than the TV and your course work, what’s life like here?”
“Killing neighbor’s pets, shooting at the cops every so often. We have a lot of fun. My pharmacist knows me.”

“Other than pay, what do you want?”
“Details – itinerary, how long, whom I’ll see, whom I’ll be with. It’s been twelve years, and the body doesn’t respond as well as it did once.”

Honcho grimaced. He knew her recent medical check up was sterling. “Is much changed since your Peace Corp experience in 1976?”

“When my parents thought the university was making me a revolutionary, a feminist, a liberationist, a communist and a drug addict?”

Ashton came into the room and stood.
Gladys spoke to him: “I told my parents I wanted to be an anarchist, another “ist” noun, whether Communist or Christ. So the Corp sent me to Bolivia. I found a boy, sex and no love; we never married. It was convenience. I wasn’t a college grad, but had an ear for music and words in language and could remember a lot. So Ivy, are you shocked at the casual way I entered the rat race?”

Ashton hesitated. He didn’t expect to be addressed or to hear her history. She wasn’t the sort the agency was made of today.

“So what did you do?” Gladys demanded of him.

“I considered the neighbor’s barrel, but they had seen me. There was a telephone number on each container, so I called about getting a new container. I figured they owned each one. They said it would take two weeks, so I got emotional and said how you hurt yourself trying to move it without a wheel. You had fallen down. I didn’t know your name but I told them I was married to your niece, and everyone was at the hospital but me. I had the undesirable assignment of calling about the defective container. So they said they’d get a new container to you in two days.”

Gladys looked at Honcho and said, “That’s a good lie.”
“We’d like the up-front expense to be the same, but we can pad the pension.”
“Is that going to be paid at all, in full?” she coughed disregarding that flummery.
“Your articles about local plants have been fascinating.”
“If we can come to larger terms, and I like it, I may do it. Do you boys want something to drink, or eat? Save your per diem for something special.”

“She a sleeper?” Ashton said driving from Gladys house.

“The best agent I’ve ever worked with. Has always known how everything works. And she’ll know what we’re asking her to do. She reads a lot – has a huge library in the back rooms. That’s her family and company, knowledge. There are no kids, but a sibling sister with brats.”

Trying to get the true message Ashton looked at the road.

“You notice how she dropped in, ‘I want a dog.?’” Honcho asked. “That’s the way to say, ‘NO,’ to me. Old people with dogs never go anywhere.”

“She really doesn’t want a dog? But I asked, ‘Which breed?’”

“Not the first person to be confused. I’ve had conversations with her since the beginning, and I thought she was tizzy, but she knew what was happening – the goals and approximately how to do it.”

“Is that why she was talking about buying the contents of storage bins and ebaying everything?”

“That may have been an entrée to learn about the assignment, but I haven’t figured that out. I mostly never do, but I know she understands and will act independently and appropriately.”

Ashton looked over, so long that Honcho pointed to the road.

“Let me explain. I complained to her once about roundabout, beating around the bush, never-getting-to-the-point conversations. She likes those. There are no specific instructions. And what’s going to happen if anyone ever interrogates her? Nobody has told her anything. She works on her own doing a specific job. It’s part of who she is: Gladys.”


“She brought in a book with definitions of names, and Gladys is is from the Welsh, ‘of unknown origin, of uncertain derivation.’”

“She likes to be in and solve puzzles?” Ashton asked.

“A whiz at crosswords. Never get into a contest with her. She’ll take all your money; she didn’t leave me with carfare. And that’s why she’ll do this. You see the way she was kicking the can? The puzzle solving in her neighborhood disappeared with the boulder.”

Michael Ulin Edwards, 99 cents, iBookstore