Don’t Know Much About History

We don’t want the word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population …

—Margaret Sanger, Letter to Dr. Clarence J. Gamble, December 10, 1939, p. 2

And in a similar vein—while I was driving down I-95 in Maryland suburbs of DC this afternoon, a group was standing on an overpass with a set of banners reading, “Defend. Roe. Vote. Blue.” I think they’re a bit late, what with the Dobbs case and all.

Quote of the Day

The date will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more.

—John Adams

Don’t Know Much About History

The Thirteen Amendment was proclaimed as ratified on 18 December, 1865, emancipating the last groups of slaves still held in the Union states of Kentucky and Delaware. Kentucky, Delaware, and New Jersey initially rejected the Thirteenth Amendment but subsequently ratified it after it had come into effect.He’s even less of a history guy than a science guy.

Team Kimberlin Post of the Day

The past couple of TKPOTDs have dealt with Brett Kimberlin’s ongoing appeal in the Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals attempting to set aside some of his Speedway Bombing convictions. The Gentle Readers who are not familiar with that case may find the TKPOTD for seven years ago today helpful in understanding that case. It cites a court decision related to the revocation of Kimberlin’s parole.

* * * * *

On June 11, 1980 petitioner was sentenced to four years following his conviction in the United States District Court for the Southern District of Texas for conspiracy to possess with intent to distribute marijuana.

On November 3, 1980 petitioner received a consecutive 12 year sentence following his conviction in the United States District Court for the Southern District of Indiana for possession and illegal use of Department of Defense insignia, illegal use of the Seal of the President of the United States, and impersonation of a federal officer.

On June 4, 1981 petitioner received a consecutive five year sentence following his conviction in the United States District Court for the Southern District of Indiana for receipt of explosives by a convicted felon.

On December 30, 1981 petitioner received a 50-year concurrent sentence from the United States District Court for the Southern District of Indiana for possession of an unregistered destructive device, unlawful manufacturing of a destructive device, malicious damage by means of explosives, and malicious damage by means of explosives involving personal injury. As set forth in his presentence report, during a six day period in September, 1978 eight bombs made of Tovex 200 dynamite were detonated in the Speedway, Indiana area. One bomb, placed in a gym bag in the Speedway High School parking lot, detonated on September 6, 1978, when it was picked up by Carl and Sandra DeLong after a high school football game. Sandra DeLong received permanent nerve damage caused by bomb fragments in her leg. Her husband Carl lost his right leg and two fingers. Carl DeLong received additional injuries to his inner ear, stomach, chest, neck and arm due to bomb fragments, and endured a series of operations. On February 23, 1983 Carl DeLong committed suicide at the age of 44.

On October 23, 1983 a Marion County, Indiana jury awarded $360,000 to Sandra DeLong for her injuries, and $1,250,000 for the wrongful death of Carl DeLong. The Indiana Court of Appeals reversed the wrongful death judgment, holding that Carl DeLong’s suicide was, as a matter of law, an intervening cause. The Supreme Court of Indiana reinstated the wrongful death judgment on June 13, 1994, finding that Carl DeLong’s death “was within the scope of harm intended by Kimberlin’s intentional criminal conduct.”

Sandra DeLong attempted to collect on her judgment by obtaining a writ of attachment against petitioner’s prison commissary account after a United States Probation Officer informed her that petitioner regularly transferred money to someone outside the prison. Petitioner promptly sued Mrs. DeLong, her lawyer, the probation officer, and various Bureau of Prisons and Department of Justice officials for money damages. Petitioner’s action was not successful. See Kimberlin v. U.S. Department of Justice, 788 F.2d 434 (7th Cir.1986).

Kimberlin v. Dewalt, 12 F.Supp.2d 487, 489-490 (D.Md. 1998).

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One of the reason Kimberlin’s parole was revoked was his failure to make restitution to Mrs. Delong.

BTW, even he were to be successful getting his criminal convictions related to the bombings set aside, the civil judgment will still stand. Just as OJ was found responsible for the death of Nicole Simpson, Kimberlin will still responsible for the bombing at Speedway High School that injured the DeLongs.

And he’ll still be a felon because of his perjury and dope smuggling convictions.

Don’t Know Much About History

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,—
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,—
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,—
A line of black, that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed on the landscape far and near,
Then impetuous stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river-fog,
That rises when the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Don’t Know Much About History

Drone footage shows that the Russians set up a field camp and dug trenches in the Red Forest near Chernobyl. The forest got its name when the trees there turned from green to red as they died from radiation poisoning. They were bulldozed, a layer of sand spread over them, and new trees planted. After more than 35 years, the place is still so radioactive that the Ukrainians stay away.

It appears that the young Russians were unaware of what had happened at Chernobyl in 1986. It’s not something that fits into approved State History in Russia. (You’ve got to be carefully taught.)

Of course, the senior military leaders who were alive in 1986 would have known, but they didn’t tell the men under their command—yet another leadership failure.