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Saturday, September 24, 2016

A Married Gay Couple Attends a German Catholic Family Reunion

As I’ve explained before, my father’s side of the family were English/Scottish, and my ancestry-minded sister, Mary Beth Colpitts, has traced the Whaleys back to the Battle of Hastings and before; see “A Whaley at the Battle of Hastings: The Fun of Genealogy,” February 22, 2016;].

My mother’s side of the family, the Kunkels, were pure Germans, coming to this country from Bavaria in the 1840s and settling in the City of Jasper in southern Indiana.  They were devout Catholics, and many of their descendants still are, producing very large families.  Here is a picture of my mother, Lenore Kunkel Whaley, with me and my great grandparents, Philip and Matilda Kunkel.  I vaguely remember them because they had a large parrot who screamed “Pa, Phone!” whenever the telephone rang.

Their son Jerome Kunkel, who, later in life (when he decided to run for mayor of Jasper and won) changed his first name to Roman, was my grandfather, and he married Caroline Hoffman.  Together they had nine children: eight girls and one boy.  Eventually their offspring produced 37 children, giving Mary Beth and me dozens of Kunkel cousins (with none at all on the Whaley side).  My father started dating my mother when they both attended Jasper High School in late 1930’s, and the first time he came over to the Kunkel household filled with all these girls running around, he thought there was a party going on!

The Kunkel Children (the oldest, Maxine is missing), my mother is at the far right

This summer the Kunkel clan decided to have a family reunion in Jasper, and my husband, David Vargo, bravely consented to go with me and meet all these relatives.  The year before he’d met some of them when my cousin Jane turned 70 and she was surprised by a visit to her home in Beaumont, Texas, by David and me, her daughter, and four of her eight siblings.  On Friday, August 5th, David and I hopped in the car for the four hour drive to Jasper.  David was most impressed by how beautiful southern Indiana is.

I was a bit worried how a gay married couple would fit into the very heterosexual and Catholic group that was gathering in Jasper.  When I attended the 1988 Kunkel reunion I’d had some trouble with one of my uncles who I’d always had a great relationship with in the past, but who was suddenly sneering at me and unwilling to talk once he discovered I was gay.  However that generation had passed, and the current crop of Kunkels was very welcoming to both David and me.  The reunion was ably put together by my cousin Marsha Tellstrom and her crew, and they did a terrific job.   In the photo at the top of this post, David (far right) and I are having a great time with my cousins Phil Rohleder (far left) and Brenda Seybold.  Various family members took me aside to mention that there were other gays in the family who were not in attendance, some of whom I knew to be gay, and others not.  There is a large difference between attitudes towards gays in 2016 and 1988, for which hallelujah!

The reunion was timed to coincide with the Jasper Strassenfest, an annual festival celebrating German heritage and culture, and featuring much beer, polkas, and happy crowds in the downtown square.  The Kunkel clan had a dinner gathering Friday night, which was good fun,  and then most of us repaired to the festival, but the big event for our weekend happened the next day when everyone gathered for the Kunkel Reunion Dinner.  Since the older Kunkels were mostly gone, the first photo lineup was the gathering of the 37 first cousins, in order of age, and I was distressingly near the top (seventh in line if all had been there). 

This was followed by the next generation and then the next, all lining up in increasing numbers.  Finally the first cousins posed with their spouses, and, as you can see in the photo below, I (accidentally I assure you—because I’m usually such a shy retiring type) happened to be seated in a bright light, and David (in the orange shirt) proudly took his place behind me.

Earlier that day David and I had ventured into the wilds of southern Indiana to find the tiny little Cox Cemetery where my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents are buried at the top of a hill overlooking a peaceful woods (“Where I can hear the foxhounds run,” my grandfather, John Whaley, a hunter, had predicted).  It was moving to stand next to my parents’ graves and remember these wonderful people (about whom I’ve written so many blog posts).

The picture below was taken in 1922 at the 50th wedding anniversary celebration of my great-grandfather, Irvin Whaley and his wife Nancy Cox.  Irvin is the old man circled in the second row (Nancy is to his right), and my grandfather, John Whaley (a widower in 1922) is circled at the far left of the row (hat in hand).  My father, Robert Whaley, is the cute, curly-headed boy circled in the front row.  John’s wife (my father’s mother) Mary had died earlier that same year (see “My Missing Grandmother,” below).

[Click to enlarge]

On Sunday David and I drove home.  He had met an overwhelming number of my Kunkel relatives, and they all had treated us both with affection and much good humor.  That side trip to the Whaley side of the family in the Cox Cemetery tied both of my family trees together in a way that I will think about in a deep and satisfying way for a long time.

It was a great trip, and I’ll close this post with a picture of my Kunkel grandparents, Carrie and Roman Kunkel, clowning with each other in their youth.  They always knew how to have a good time.

Related Posts:

A Guide to the Best of My Blog,” April 29, 2013;

“My Competitive Parents,” January 20, 2010,

“My Mother's Sense of Humor,” April 4, 2010;

“Bob and Kink Get Married,” June 2, 2010;

“Bob Whaley, Boy Lawyer,” March 28, 2010;

“My Missing Grandmother,” December 26 2012;

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Give Me Back My Spleen and Other Adventures from Surgery

I know it sounds like an exaggeration, but I’ve had over 50 surgeries in my life.  By “surgeries” I mean any procedure in which medical cutting was done on my body.  Some of these were small (cataract surgeries in both eyes) or lasik surgery, for example, but others were major (most obviously the heart transplant in 2009).  The first happened when I was in second grade and had my tonsils removed, and the most recent was last week when I had a cyst removed from my pancreas.  I ruptured my appendix in 1978 and this led to my belly being sliced open six times in major surgeries; for the blog post on point see Then, before the heart transplant, there occurred much slicing open of my upper chest to take in and pull out a defibrillator (it kept malfunctioning).  At one point I had major problems with my nose which led to my turbinates being cut away by lasers.  And in 2013 I had a total knee replacement.  A blog clot in my leg required stents being inserted/removed in my body four times, and there have been a number of surgeries related to problems with my heart including one in which a dual electrical system had to be cut out of my new heart!

Heart biopsies have led to most of the surgeries of the 50+ count in the list.  In this interesting medical procedure (it checks for rejection of the heart and takes about 45 minutes), the cardiologist inserts a tube into my neck, threads it down into the heart (which, trust me, does not approve of this invasion) and harvests four tiny snips for analysis, pulling the pieces back up the tube.  Sounds like fun, right?  A couple of months before the transplant I had the first of these procedures. The next one was the day of the transplant itself (Nov. 23, 2009), and periodically thereafter.  In recent years they’ve tapered off and may be over. There have been, I believe, 26 of these biopsies.

Since 2011 I’ve been aware I had a cyst on my pancreas which, ominously “must be watched,” and this year a doctor whose expertise is the pancreas explained that pancreatic cancer is very fatal—even if only one cancerous cell gets in the mix.  That scared me so I agreed with the doctors it was time to take it out. 

My husband David and I went on vacation to Oregon on August 17th, and the very night we arrived home on Sunday, the 20th at midnight, we immediately prepared for surgery at six a.m. that Monday at the Ohio State University Hospitals here in Columbus.  The surgery went off smoothly and my surgeon told me that the cyst contained no cancerous cells and my pancreas, now devoid of an atrophied section, was doing fine. 

Prior to the operation (#53 as I calculate the number) my surgeon had casually mentioned that he would also be removing my spleen.  What!  My SPLEEN!  I was surprised—shocked even. Frankly, I’m not real sure what a spleen does, but the offhand comment that mine would be a casualty in all this was somehow disconcerting.  What had my poor little spleen done to deserve such treatment?  I did a mock protest and learned a lot about the spleen.

The Spleen

It turns out it had a primary function, particularly early in life, of boosting the immune system, and that function gets fainter as we age.  In my case I take major medications to thwart my immune system so that it won’t reject my heart, so removing my spleen from the picture is a good idea.

The portion of the OSU system I recuperated in is the lovely new James Cancer Hospital, which just opened in late 2014, and it is spectacular.  The design of the building, the rooms, the very friendly staff, doctors, nurses, all of it is magnificent.  I have spent a lot of time in hospital rooms at Ohio State in the last forty years, and the James is the best of them all.  I am thankful to everyone for the care I received in so warm and friendly a fashion.

Having said that, the hospital stay there is the same old torture for the patient that it has always been at whatever hospital I’ve stayed in across the country.  If you’re a former patient you doubtless know what I mean: you get no rest.  All day long, all night long the patient is interrupted by person after person coming into the room with his/her own agenda: time to take “vitals,” time to take medicine, time to clean the room, what would you like for your meals today?, here is the meal you ordered, time for your shots, the doctors are making rounds, time to clean the wound, time to try walking, and the list goes on and on.  The longest period of sleep I could maintain without a visit at night was three hours, and this at a time when my aching body begged me for sleep, needed sleep.

The bed itself was like a joke.  It certainly was not designed for comfort for the patient.  The controls are hard to reach and frequently attached to a cord that slips all too easily to the floor.  Whatever the patient does, he/she slides to the bottom of the bed and is scrunched up there until rescued and temporarily pulled back into a position where supine sleep is theoretically possible.  Whoever designed this bed should be forced—by law—to sleep in it for the rest of his/her life.  On top of this, various items in the room beep and buzz, and even ear plugs won’t keep out these irritants.

The James has a new idea on how to prevent bed sores (which occur when the patient fails to move around enough in bed).  It is now routine to attach large balloons around the ankle/thigh area, and these inflate and deflate all during the night, moving the patient’s legs as pressure is applied here and there.  Want to try and sleep through that?

Actually I didn’t mind it at all, but I’m an unusual case.  I sleep with cats, and during the night they frequently cuddle up to my feet for warmth.  When the balloons started inflating, half drugged as I was, I thought it was my cat Mama, who has spent almost every night for the last six years snuggling against my legs, and her mysterious presence made me happy.  How had Mama snuck into the hospital and found my room?  Great cat.

My Cats Mama and Abby on the Bottom of the Bed

However, as the drugs decreased I noticed that the balloon machine emitted an intermittent buzz and some clicks, and those made sleeping difficult.  I finally told the nurse to turn it all off.  She said that most patients really dislike the whole balloon idea, which was no surprise to me.

And in the bathroom the toilet had no solid surface to relax back upon when one was sitting there.  Instead there was an upright fixture for washing the toilet that consisted of a nozzle at the end of a pipe that swiveled down to clean the toilet when the patient was gone.  Since I was wearing the ever-attractive and functional hospital gown that was, of course, open in the back, it was a surprise in the middle of the night to sit on the toilet, lean back into this icy cold fixture, and yelp in protest.  They heard me two rooms away.  Whoever dreamed up this idea should come over to my house and we’ll have a good long talk.  Whoever approved its use and decided to install it in the James can come along too.

I was very pleased when my splendid doctor announced I could go home on Friday, and I am here to tell you now that one of the most sublime pleasures of my life was climbing into my very own bed that Friday afternoon, surrounded by husband, cats, love, and comfort.  As I fell into a long sleep, Mama Cat climbed onto my feet, purring, settling down to sleep herself.  She didn’t seem to care that I was spleenless.

Related Posts:

A Guide to the Best of My Blog,” April 29, 2013;

"About That Heart Transplant," January 24, 2010;

“The First Time I Nearly Died,” August 3, 2010;

“Ten Startling Sentences I Can Stop a Conversation With,”  October 1, 2014;  

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Comparing Donald Trump to a Badly Infected Big Toe

“Horrible but fascinating, and hard not to stare at over and over.”   That’s my analogy between Donald Trump running for president and closely inspecting one’s own badly infected big toe.  My blog is usually about things other than politics, as steady readers will certainly know, but in 2016 I keep coming back to The Donald because he’s mesmerizing.  I promise to stop, at least for awhile, and in the future write about other topics, but right now I can’t stop marveling at the impossibility that this madness is really going on.

There is no way anything as outrageous as the Donald Trump campaign could be this close to the presidency of the United States, with the man at its top so outrageously unqualified for the office—that scenario surely is fiction, or a joke, or a skit on Saturday Night Live, or a ridiculous dream.  Like huge numbers of people the world over, I find myself guiltily rubbernecking at this traffic wreck in progress, not quite believing it’s real. 

You keep hearing speculation that Trump has never really meant to actually become president, that one afternoon he’ll simply pull his chips from the table and announce that he’s tired of running and has decided instead to build a golf course on the moon or something else more interesting than the tedium of politics.  But so far, no.  Instead The Donald keeps rambling on, making spontaneous disconnected statements as the moment seizes him, sounding, as one commentator wrote, like someone making a “drunken wedding toast.”

DOONESBURY [click to enlarge]

When things are revealed about Trump’s past that would sink any other candidate immediately, it means nothing to his followers and fans.  Donald Trump is not, as he endlessly proclaims, one of the most astute businessmen on the planet, and no one who looks carefully into his record thinks so.  Major books have been written exposing Trump’s shady business dealings [see Wayne Barrett, “Trump: The Deals and the Downfall,”; Timothy L. O’Brien, “Trump Nation,” (which led to the author being sued by Trump for libel and winning the lawsuit); David Cay Johnston, “Temples of Chance” exploring Trump’s casino days and concluding that in 1990 Trump was in debt to the tune of nearly three hundred million dollars, leading to the first of the (so far) six bankruptcies filed by Trump companies.  His record is replete with major failure after major failure, all of which he escapes from nicely by taking the corporations into bankruptcy while he retains big bucks paid to him as a salary/bonus/commission for heading up the financial disaster. 

One major business tactic, employed in building Trump’s casinos in Atlantic City and at other projects, is to sign contracts with the various companies doing  subcontracting work, let them perform, and then send them checks for half the amount owed them.  When they protest, Trump’s usual excuse is not that their performance was substandard, but that he’s losing money on the project and they’ll just have to take their share of the hit.  When the subcontractor protests Trump’s lawyer frankly explain that, yeah, the contractor might well win if he goes to court, but in the meantime the enormous Trump legal machine will make it so expensive and so long a process that the contractor still won’t make any money from the lawsuit, so he might as well take the partial payment and shut up.  [For a more complete discussion see the AP news release of June 29, 2016 at; and for a very sad interview on point see the video in]  

I previously wrote a long blog post detailing Trump’s fraud in creating, profiting by, and legal problems arising from his promotion of Trump University, which duped thousands of the people who loved him into handing over their savings but giving them nothing in return [see “Trump University: A Fraudster for President”? March 10, 2016;].  If he becomes the next President of the United States, it is highly likely that, while in office, he’ll be found guilty of swindling these poor people and facing massive damages in one or more of the three class actions currently seeking that very relief. What an example of a U.S. President that will be for the world!

A major recent revelation is—shocking but somehow predictable—that Trump did not write the major bestseller “The Art of the Deal” which has made him millions since 1987 when it was first published.  Here is the cover of the book:

Note that the author of the book is described as “Donald Trump with Tony Schwartz.” It turns out this is false.  Recently Mr. Schwartz gave an interview to The New Yorker in which he repents ever meeting Donald Trump and agreeing to write the book that made Trump even more famous and both of them rich [see].  Schwartz says (and Random House, the publisher confirms) that Trump didn’t write a single word of the book.  Schwartz wrote it alone after spending 18 months with Trump, working hard to get him to participate at all.  Here are some Schwartz’s quotes from the interview:

 “I put lipstick on a pig. . . . I feel a deep sense of remorse that I contributed to presenting Trump in a way that brought him wider attention and made him more appealing than he is.”

“He has no attention span . . . like a kindergartner who can’t sit still in a classroom . . . .  If he had to be briefed on a crisis in the Situation Room, it’s impossible to imagine him paying attention over a long period of time.”

“More than anyone else I have ever met, Trump has the ability to convince himself that whatever he is saying at any given moment is true, or sort of true, or at least ought to be true. . . .  He lied strategically. He had a complete lack of conscience about it.”

“I genuinely believe that if Trump wins and gets the nuclear codes there is an excellent possibility it will lead to the end of civilization.”

Statements like that of course sent Trump rocketing into the stratosphere.  Immediately after the interview was published in The New Yorker Schwartz received a blistering letter from Trump’s lawyer, who demanded a retraction and threatened a lawsuit for defamation.  That’s in keeping with Trump’s usual tactic: he sues fast, refuses to settle, and drags things out to raise the other side’s attorney’s fees until they give up.  Tony Schwartz’s lawyer immediately replied that Schwartz had no intention of making a retraction, so go ahead and sue.  Schwartz has pledged to give all profits he makes from “The Art of the Deal” from now on to charity, and he’s working hard to defeat Trump’s election as president.  [For more details on this legal battle see].

On August 2nd, President Obama, astounded at Trump’s ineptness, declared on television that Donald Trump is "woefully unprepared" and "unfit to serve as president."  Comparing Trump to Obama’s past election opponents, the president said "Mitt Romney and John McCain were wrong on certain policy issues, but I never thought that they couldn't do the job."  He is very disturbed by the possibility that Trump might be the next occupant of the Oval Office.  We all should be.

Governor John Kasich
There is some evidence that when Donald Trump was trying to persuade former rival John Kasich to become his vice presidential running mate he offered to let Kasich, behind the scenes, actually run the government both on the domestic and international levels, while Trump himself remained Head of State for all ceremonial occasions.  It’s both hard to believe that offer was made, but at the very same time no one would bet big money Trump didn’t actually propose it.  John Kasich not only turned Trump down, he has refused to endorse him for president, and wouldn’t even attend the Republican Convention held in Ohio where Kasich is the current governor.

I finish the post where it started.  The whole Trump campaign is very much like a badly infected big toe: scary yet fascinating, both real and unreal at the same instant.  Everyone should be clear about making sure this bizarre man is not elected president.  I don’t care how much you dislike Hillary Clinton.  Okay, she might either be a very good president or a poor one, but she’s not unqualified for the office, and she’s a sane and thoughtful person with an impressive record of public service.  If you can’t vote for her because you can’t stand the woman or don’t trust her, stay home.  Time Magazine quoted BriAna Golphin, an Ohioan, who summed up the attitude all voters should have about Trump’s candidacy when she said, “It could be Kermit the Frog and Donald Trump, I’d pick Kermit the Frog.”

I'm with BriAna.  Kermit would at least work to make intelligent decisions.

Related Posts:

“A Guide to the Best of My Blog,” April 29, 2013;

“Trump University: A Fraudster for President”? March 10, 2016;]

“Why Hillary Will Stomp Trump In November,” June 30, 2016;

“Trump’s VP Choice:  Introducing Sarah Palin . . . Mike Pence!” July 18, 2016;

Monday, July 18, 2016

Trump's VP Choice: Introducing Sarah Palin . . . uh . . . Mike Pence!


Donald Trump has gotten where he is by trusting his instincts to outpace the common hoard by doing outrageous and over-the-top things to attract attention, demonstrating he’s a very different candidate than those the Republican party has forwarded since Lincoln, its first.  Therefore it’s interesting to watch him make a mistake when choosing a vice presidential mate and going for what he assumes is the “safe” and “responsible” choice, as traditional Republicans urged him strongly to do.  My guess is that Donald’s gut pushed him to tap Newt Gingrich, upsetting a lot of responsible Republicans but in keeping with Trump as Trump.  Gingrich (intelligent, experienced, half mad) would have filled the usual role of VP candidate job as “attack dog” with canine ferocity approaching “wolf.”

Mike Pence is more poodle.  Sure, on cue he’ll yap fiercely, but he has all the gravitas of a vaguely animated corpse, not quite alive, trying very hard to appear human.  It’s easy to picture him at a formal viewing playing the part of the deceased.

Okay, I’m being too hard on the man (though he’s oh so easy to make fun of).  Let me try instead to lay out the facts as clearly and fairly as I can.  (Deep breath)

Actually Michael Richard Pence and I have a number of things in common.  We were both born in southern Indiana, raised Catholic, and graduated from law school (though two decades apart—I wonder if he used my textbooks when in school).  We both married and raised a family.  After that, however, our stories differ dramatically.

Mike (as he prefers to be called) is a far right conservative.  That statement more or less sums him up.  Whatever the far right embraces, he likes it, urges it, and pushed its agenda when he was a Congressman, and, as a governor, signed its bills into law.  He is the darling of the NRA, hates legislation restricting tobacco (“Smoking doesn’t kill,” Mike stubbornly insists), dismisses climate change as fantasy, loves charter schools, and has said that the Supreme Court’s decision upholding Obamacare was as bad as the 9/11 attacks (though he later apologized for that claim).  In Congress and as governor he has worked hard to abolish any right to abortion.  Most recently he signed into law a bill that would have made women who aborted fetuses bury or cremate the remains, and made it a crime for doctors to assist in an abortion if the woman’s stated reason was a disability in the fetus—this law was recently struck down as unconstitutional by a federal judge.  Michael Pence doesn’t believe in evolution, favors using coal as a major energy source, and signed a bill that forbade Indiana municipalities to raise the minimum wage above the federal level.  Mike sums himself up as "a Christian, a conservative and a Republican, in that order."

It’s Mike Pence’s record on homosexuality that made him a national disgrace in March of 2015, which I’ve written about before: “A Gay Hoosier Lawyer Looks at Indiana’s RFRA: The Religious Bigot Protection Act,” March 30, 2015;  Pence has always being rabidly anti-gay, opposing gay marriage as violating God’s will, against any protection at the state level from anti-gay discrimination, and (when in Congress) pushing for a bill that would have taken federal money from groups fighting HIV-AIDS and divert it to groups engaged in “conversion therapy” (i.e., “pray-away-the-gay” and professional reparative therapists who “talk it away,” all of which have been much debunked by medical groups and even some reparative groups who have finally given up this ridiculous farce).  But that March, after pressure from religious groups, Mike signed into law Indiana’s “Religious Freedom Restoration Act,” which, through clever wording, voided all of Indiana’s municipal LGBT protection ordinances and specifically allowed private individuals to discriminate against gays in employment, housing, and public accommodations when doing otherwise would violate a person’s religious liberty.  Mike’s signing of the bill was attended by many happy religious figures.

The outcry was enormous: quickly companies pulled out of deals to open up shop in Indiana, sports organizations threatened to move big events elsewhere, major celebrities went to social media and whipped up anti-Indiana activity, other states forbade travel to Indiana, and the  Indianapolis Star ran a banner headline addressed to Pence and the legislature saying starkly “FIX THIS NOW.”  Governor Pence was quizzed on ABC by George Stephanopoulis who, in six tries, couldn’t get Mike to say whether the new statute was meant to discriminate against gays or not.  Here is the short video of that effort (and if it won't load on your device you can see it at


With national finger-pointing aimed at him everywhere, a surprised Pence quickly huddled with the legislature and had it pass a “clarifying” amendment, restoring LGBT rights at the municipal level.  Pence explained that the Indiana statute was never meant to discriminate against anyone (!), a remark that shows he’s either brain dead or so bad a politician that he can’t even concoct a credible lie. This retreat also made homophobes furious with him, thus alienating a key support group. They’ve not forgotten how quickly he’ll fold when challenged on his core principles.

Now Michael Pence is vying for the Vice Presidency of the United States, and all this baggage is about to be clicked open, contents revealed for all to see.  Viewers will be asking themselves the usual question they ask about any possible VP: “What sort of president would this man be?”

Trump himself had major worries that he was being railroaded into choosing Pence, and he dithered until midnight of the final day it was possible to delay the announcement [Pence had to tell the State of Indiana that day whether he would run for reelection as governor since state law did not allow candidates doing so to also run for other offices].  By all accounts The Donald  was unhappy at the pressure, and when he appeared the next day to publicly confirm that Mike Pence was his running mate, he first spoke for half an hour on unrelated matters before briefly introducing Pence and then fleeing the stage—not at all the usual hoopla over the VP choice.  It was as if his choice of Pence was an afterthought, not worthy of much movement of the spotlight away from himself.

Many people have wondered how Trump as president would handle decisions under pressure, and this display is a bad harbinger.  Very bad.

The Trump/Pence logo also appears to have been poorly thought out, and after being proudly unveiled was almost immediately withdrawn, another major “OOPS!.”  “TP,” alas, is the usual shorthand for toilet paper, and social media became giddy with mean menes on point.  [If the video below won't load you can find it at]


Dan Quayle
In the title of this post I jokingly compared Mike Pence to Sarah Palin, but perhaps a more telling reference would be to Dan Quayle (the first George Bush’s vice president).  Quayle was a former student of mine from the early days of my career when I started teaching at the Indiana Indianapolis Law School, though I have no memory of him (I do remember with admiration his wife Marilyn, also a law student, and a splendid one).  Dan Quayle was another Hoosier selected as a running mate, and once he became vice president he had major problems with the job, primarily because he wasn’t sharp enough to handle himself on the national stage.  Dan Quayle jokes were everywhere, and he ended up being an embarrassment to whom history will not be kind.  Now I fear that if Trump were somehow elected, Mike Pence will have the same “deer in the headlights” tenure.

Related Posts:

“A Guide to the Best of My Blog,” April 29, 2013;

“A Gay Hoosier Lawyer Looks at Indiana’s RFRA: The Religious Bigot Protection Act,” March 30, 2015;

“Trump University: A Fraudster for President”? March 10, 2016;]

“A Homophobic Organization Throws in the Towel: Goodbye to Exodus International,” June 21, 2013;

“Why Hillary Will Stomp Trump In November,” June 30, 2016;