Sometimes You’re Left with Plan C

Being the only child of Bill and June Daravanis, I knew that I would, one day, become the caregiver of the people who cared for me. Since mom was four years younger and dad had been a smoker for many years, I figured that person would be my mother. 

And then the phone rang.

Oct. 8, 2020, Amy and I had taken our grandchildren, Hector III and Emily, to Sonic after a day of “virtual school” at our house because of Covid. Actually it was Amy’s phone because I didn’t know that my phone had rung seconds earlier.

“It’s for you. You need to take this,” Amy said with a pale look on her face.

“Mr. Daravanis, this is Lieutenant (I don’t remember his name) with the Mesa (Arizona) police department. I’m sorry to inform you that your mother has passed away.”

The lieutenant said there were no signs of “foul play” and that my dad was physically fine, though understandably upset. He said he will stay with my dad until the coroner could take my mother’s body to the funeral home.

“Tell my dad that as soon as I can get Hector and Emily to their parents, Amy and I are coming down,” I said. 

On hindsight, it was that moment when I took on a “parental” role with my father. I handled all the notifications with family, friends, mom’s doctors and her church; finalized the pre-determined arrangements with Mariposa Gardens cemetery; helped out-of-state family members with hotel accommodations; and wrote an obituary posted on the Mariposa Gardens website.

****

June Estelle (Stoker) Daravanis, 79, passed away peacefully at home in Mesa, AZ on Thursday, Oct. 8, 2020.

The only child of Robert and Helen (Boyer) Stoker, June was born on Jan. 21, 1941 in Gary, IN. She graduated from Horace Mann High School in Gary in 1958. She married fellow Horace Mann student and neighbor, William “Bill” Daravanis on Oct. 23, 1961, and the following year gave birth to their only child, Scott.

June was known among family and friends for making her own clothes, a talent she learned from her maternal grandmother, Estelle Boyer. She took her talents to the business world by altering formalwear at Dunhill Tuxedoes in Merrillville, IN for many years.

June and Bill relocated to Arizona in 1995 following Bill’s retirement from U.S. Steel and established residence in Mesa. June quickly got involved with the choir and Bell Team at St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church in Chandler. June enjoyed meeting with family and friends; aerobics and Zumba; doing numerous activities with her grandson, Nikolas; and parasailing on the Colorado River. June’s family will forever fondly remember her “statuesque” zig-zagging down the ski slope in Wisconsin.

June is survived by her husband of nearly 59 years, William of Mesa; son Scott and daughter-in-law Amy Morales of Prescott Valley, AZ; grandson Nikolas (Brooke) Daravanis of Plainfield, IN; two sisters-in-law and a brother-in-law; a cousin, and numerous nieces and nephews.

****

My focus then went to my father. Plan B.

He was diagnosed with COPD many years ago which presented itself with occasional buildup of fluid in his lungs and forced multi-day hospital stays over the past three years. His second to last hospital admittance kept him away from mom’s funeral. 

With the help of my son Nikolas and cousins Brian Palvas, Stephanie Litz and Ron Cool, we installed grab bars and a shower transfer chair for dad’s bathroom. 

When my aunts and cousins went home after mom’s funeral, I would spend a day and 3/4 with dad in Mesa, then go home to Prescott Valley, about an hour-1/2 drive north, for a shower and change of clothes, and return the next morning. The first time I did that, dad admitted that during the night, he got up to go to the bathroom from his recliner, which is where he wanted to sleep. When he got to the kitchen, his legs gave out and he fell, almost hitting his head on a glass table. He said he crawled back to his recliner and peed in an empty water bottle. He wasn’t eating and getting weaker by the day. It was the first time I saw a look of fear on his face, so I signed him up for an Medical Alert “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” emergency necklace. I didn’t give him a chance to argue with me.

I investigated Home Healthcare Agencies for the care and safety of dad’s home, and I began the process of signing him up for Meals on Wheels so he would get complete and healthy meals.

Thankfully Nikolas took some personal time from UPS in Indianapolis to help me with dad’s care and help me get him to his doctor for a post-hospital appointment. In doing so, Nik was passed over for a promotion to Supervisor during that time. 

But dad had no desire to continue living without mom. As I wrote in her tribute, mom died two weeks before their 59th anniversary. They were rarely apart, and when they were, mom planned and worked ahead preparing meals that dad could heat and eat. 

After the hospital stay that forced him to miss mom’s funeral, the hospital set him up for in-home physical and occupational therapy and twice-per-week shower assistance. He hated all of it. During what would become his last therapy session, his left leg began to spasm violently, and he said he couldn’t feel anything below his knee. His doctor thought he was having a stroke, and we called 911. Deep MRI and PET scans revealed a cancer cell in his left lung, most likely the cause of the lung infections, that had metastasized to three cancer cells in his brain.

“That’s it. No more. I don’t want any more tests and I don’t want any treatment. Put me in Hospice and let me go,” dad instructed.

That’s when I went with Plan C.

Noah Cook, manager of Haven Hospice Care in Scottsdale, AZ,  helped me get dad to a residential care facility in Queen Creek south of Mesa and connected with Hospice nurse Paula Ginkel. He was there two-1/2 days and I sat with him in his room from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. each day. His limited abilities continued to decline and his last day I’m not sure he was aware of my presence. 

Nov. 12, 2020, exactly five weeks after mom’s passing, I got the call that dad had passed sometime between the midnight and 6 a.m. bed-checks. I repeated the notification and funeral procedures I did with mom; mom’s minister, Father Dominque, led dad’s graveside service; and I edited the obituary to focus on dad. 

***

William Louis “Bill” Daravanis, 82, of Mesa, AZ joined his beloved wife in Heaven on Nov. 12, 2020. 

Born Dec. 1, 1937 in Chicago, IL, Bill was the second of four children of Louis and Angeline Daravanis. He graduated from Horace Mann High School in Gary, IN in 1956 and after getting a degree from DeVry Institute of Technology, began working as an Electronics Technician at U.S. Steel in Gary, retiring in 1995 after 36 years.

He married fellow Horace Mann student and neighbor, June Stoker, on Oct. 23, 1961 and the following year watched her give birth to their only child, Scott. 

Bill was an avid fan of the Chicago Cubs, and paired up with Scott to win a couple of Father/Son bowling tournaments at Stardust Bowl in Merrillville, IN.

After his retirement from U.S. Steel, he and June moved to Mesa, AZ where they enjoyed the warm winters, hiking the many mountain trails, and arranging and participating in numerous summer activities with his only grandson, Nikolas.

June, Bill’s wife of nearly 59 years, preceded him in death on Oct. 8, 2020. He is survived by son Scott Daravanis and daughter-in-law Amy Morales of Prescott Valley, AZ; grandson Nikolas (Brooke) Daravanis of Plainfield, IN; sisters Irene Palvas of Mooresville, IN and Mary Daravanis of Denver, CO; brother Arthur Daravanis of Arvada, CO; nephews Brian Palvas and Ron (Rachel) and Mark Cool; and nieces Stephanie (Steven) Litz and Ashley (Kevin) Braney.

***

Thankfully, mom and dad had all of their cemetery arrangements established and set up a Family Trust for the handling and transfer of money, investments and property.  

My job was done. Though it was for a short time, I don’t feel my efforts were in vain. I did the best I could.

Our time on Earth is limited. As the Bible says, they “ran their race(s)” and they “crossed the finish line.” And they’re together, always.

There’s a signpost up ahead

Many of us are “hunkered down” at home because of COVID-19, aka: Coronavirus. Amy’s and my ages and physical conditions put us in the “severe danger zone” of this scourge.

We’ve risked going outside only a handful of times for specific reasons – chiropractor appointments (he and his staff are very cleanliness conscious), getting food from a drive-thru or carry out, and quick grocery shopping. Thankfully, planning-ahead is one of Amy’s many strengths. She has made sure we have plenty of food, water, medical emergency supplies and toilet paper for any lockdown. I fully admit over the past 13 years I’ve felt and stated that Amy’s prepping was extreme. I am Eating Crow today, and, I assure you, crow does not taste like chicken.

It is impossible to not notice how weird it is outside. Streets and shelves are barren and businesses and schools are closed. We are all taking this very seriously. The weirdness on streets and in stores in Prescott Valley, Arizona is nothing like the sights of Las Vegas, Nevada.

Coronavirus has, amazingly, shut down Vegas. All casinos, resorts and businesses are closed. Vegas has been a 24-hours-per-day/7-days-per-week/365-days-per-year city for more than 80 years.

Amy and I have been to Vegas numerous times for entertainment and family. Amy’s father and mother, up to the time of her passing in 2019, live in a Vegas suburb. We’re very familiar with the throngs of people and cars, bright lights, and sounds of bells and whistles from slot machines and cheers and groans of gamblers.

Vegas has not stopped … until now.

My friend, Eric, who has lived in Henderson, Nevada for many years, posted photos of “the Vegas Strip,” Las Vegas Blvd., on Facebook. Not a person to be seen. No vehicles on the streets or parking lots. Barricades prevent access to the casino entrances and the main doors are blocked by thick plywood boards. The lights, fountains, roller coasters and other attractions have been turned off.

Las Vegas is a Ghost Town.

Eric wrote “We’ve entered the Twilight Zone.”

On October 2, 1959, CBS aired the first episode of a sci-fi, drama anthology known as the Twilight Zone. Each episode began and ended with its writer, Rod Serling, looking sternly and emotionless into the camera, directly giving the audience an introduction or epilogue that was as dramatic and intense as the show itself.

“There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is in the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

The pilot episode was titled “Where is Everybody?" Actor Earl Holliman portrayed Mike Ferris who is in a town with no people. He finds signs of life – a discarded cigarette still smoking and running faucets – but the only humanoids he meets are all mannequins. As he continues to explore his loneliness and desperation grows to his breaking point, which is when the audience learns that Mike Ferris is an astronaut confined to an isolation chamber to test his ability to withstand being alone for his trip to the moon and back.

“Up there, up there in the vastness of space, in the void that is sky, up there is an enemy known as isolation. It sits there in the stars waiting, waiting with the patience of eons, forever waiting … in the Twilight Zone.”

Eric’s pictures showed previous signs of life – large buildings, paved roads and sidewalks, street and stop lights – but no people. Where is everybody?

While researching this piece, I learned “Where is Everybody?” was not Serling’s choice for the pilot. Serling wanted an episode entitled “The Happy Place,” which focused on a society whose citizens are euthanized at the age of 60. The executives at CBS felt the story was too grim for the pilot, so Serling turned to “Where is Everybody?”

Then I read about Texas Lt. Governor Dan Patrick suggesting that senior citizens should risk, and potentially sacrifice, their own lives for the betterment of the economy.

We really are in the Twilight Zone.

“You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wonderous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That’s the signpost up ahead. Your next stop, the Twilight Zone.”

Jimmie Lou (Hoy) Buescher 1939-2019

Jimmie Lou Buescher (nee: Hoy), 80, passed away peacefully surrounded by family April 19, 2019 at Summerlin Hospital Medical Center in Las Vegas, NV.

She was born Jan. 3, 1939 to Richard and Kathleen (Stowe) Hoy in El Paso, TX. She married Charles Louis Buescher on May 29, 1958. In addition to her husband, she is survived by daughters Amy (the late Joe) Morales of Prescott Valley, AZ and Kathleen (Paul) Vigil of Santa Fe, NM; granddaughters Sara (Hector) Gonzalez of Dewey, AZ, Karla (Micah) Johnson of Lynchburg, VA, Katherine Atkins of Pueblo, CO, and Laura Atkins of Santa Fe; and great grandchildren Zachariah Atkins, Hanaiyah Herrera, Hector III and Emily Gonzalez, and Atticus and Ripley Johnson. She also is survived by brother Dr. Francis (Patricia) Hoy of Holden Center, MA, Aunt Jimmie Louise Cory of Denver, CO, son-in-law Scott Daravanis of Prescott Valley, and good friend and caregiver Camille Galyk of Las Vegas.

Mrs. Buescher earned Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in Education at the University of Texas at El Paso where she was a member of Chi Omega sorority. She taught elementary, middle school and university students in Las Cruces, NM for 30 years. She was a past president of the Ladies Auxiliary at Memorial General Hospital in Las Cruces and a member of the Old Spanish Trail Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Mesquite Club.

As a child, she read an entire set of Britannica Encyclopedia, which explains her love of history and drive to learn the history and facts of every city and town she and her family visited and resided.

She embodied the same dedication to identifying and describing Oriental and Native American rugs, Native American pottery and jewelry, glassware, and her family’s ancestry.

In addition to her classroom instruction, she felt it was her duty to help students when they were struggling outside the classroom. One example was when one of her students didn’t have a coat because his parents couldn’t afford one. Jimmie Lou conspired with her fellow teachers to hold a drawing for a school-themed jacket that the child amazingly won (!) so the child and his parents would not be embarrassed by accepting charity.

Known for her “wicked sense of humor,” if you happened to forget it was April 1^st, you might spend a long time looking for the monkey she said she saw in the yard.

She was not a fan of camping, which tended to include car troubles, sick kids, sick and lost dogs, floods, bears and other misadventures. She did, however, enjoy the cruises she and Charles took after they retired. She enjoyed operas and musical performances on stage, theaters and television. In her later years she thoroughly enjoyed the numerous Las Vegas casino buffets, especially the pecan pie. 

http://newshound17.blogspot.com/2011/08/last-shall-be-first.html

Jimmie Lou’s love of reading, discovery, appreciation of antiques and beautiful things, good manners, being kind and courteous to others and “being a lady” were instilled in her daughters.

The Neptune Society of Las Vegas handled the arrangements with internment at Restlawn Memorial Park in El Paso.

All I Can Say is "Wow!"

“What’s on (my) mind?” Facebook asks.

With the multiple lives I’ve lived, certain dates have special meaning. 

20 years ago today, April 26, 1997, Nik’s mom and I officially became a couple. Three years later (May, 2000), Nik made us a family. 11 years ago tomorrow, Nik’s mom began the process of officially destroying our family. As the Garth Brooks song goes, “I could have done without the pain, but then I would have missed the dance.”

But the Lord is a great and powerful leader of my life, and He made it so I could have a better life with Amy Morales, a woman who was coming off a death of her own, the sudden passing of her husband. The magnitude of Amy’s presence in my life is as great as the Lord’s presence; so great I cannot imagine (nor fear to think) what I would have become without her.

And throughout it all, Nik continues to be an amazing son and now young man and I am very, very proud of him. And Amy’s two daughters, Sara and Karla, and their spouses, Hector and Micah, accept me as a “Step-Father” and let me fill the role of “Grandfather” for their four children - Hector III, Emily, Atticus and Ripley - in place of their real grandfather, a role I serve with honor.

It is all so amazing, because of and thanks to the Lord.

So that’s what’s on my mind, today. Thanks for asking.

What Could We Lose by Isolation?

When our adoration with debating turns to immigration, citizenship, deportation and things like border walls, my mind quickly turns to my paternal grandfather, Louis Daravanis.

Papou, the Greek word for Grandfather, which is how I always knew him, was born on Oct. 26, 1899 in Saranda Ekklisies, Turkey. Saranda Ekklisies translates to 40 Churches in English. He was the sixth of nine children of Aristedes and Maria Daravanis. An older brother and an older sister died in childhood before Papou was born.

Papou was no wall-flower. He was socially and politically active as a youth and teenager. He was an anarchist, a disrupter, a dissident, a heretic, an inciter, an instigator, a malcontent, a rabble-rouser, a radical, a rebel, a revolutionary, and a troublemaker. The source of his anger was a segment of our world’s history known as the Greek Genocide.

According to Greek-Genocide.org: "During the years 1914-1923, whilst the attention of the international community focused on the turmoil and aftermath of the First World War, the indigenous Greek minority of the Ottoman Empire, the Republic of Turkey's predecessor, was subjected to a centrally-organized, premeditated and systematic policy of annihilation. This genocide, orchestrated to ensure an irreversible end to the collective existence of Turkey's Greek population, was perpetrated by two consecutive governments; the Committee for Union and Progress, better known as the Young Turks, and the nationalist Kemalists led by Mustafa Kemal "Atatürk". A lethal combination of internal deportations involving death marches and massacres conducted throughout Ottoman Turkey resulted in the death of one million Ottoman Greeks.”

In his 1921 book, The Genocide of the Greeks in Turkey, journalist and author Kostas Faltaits sites the eye-witness account of 18-year-old Paraskevi Anastasiadou, who fled her town of Ortakioy and hid on a mountain overlooking the town when the Ottomans marched in.

“Continually, they gathered people and butchered them incessantly with their knives and hatchets. No sound of gunfire was heard; just the shouts of people being butchered reached us. Later, gigantic flames shot up from the ravine and, as we learned from a man who reached the mountain escaping from Turkish hands, the Turks had poured petrol over the people they had gathered in the ravine both dead and alive, and set fire to them.”

Papou stood up in defiance. He never said how he protested, but it had to have been actively and publicly because, by his own account, he was “arrested,” put “in jail” and destined for execution.

Friends and family of Papou’s parents somehow broke him out of the “jail” or concentration camp he was being held in and got his butt on a boat heading to America, probably with little more than the clothes on his back, and maybe a toothbrush.

He was only 16, the same age as my son, Nik, is now. A teenager minutes away from execution by firing squad, or hatchet, or fire, who knows; by himself, fleeing the only home he knew for a country where he did not know the customs or language. The details have been lost to history, but what I do know is after two months at sea on a steamship known as the Patris and two days in quarantine at Ellis Island, he began a new life with his eldest sister, Goldie, and her husband of barely one year, Chris Pavledes, in Hart, Michigan.

Chris and Goldie Pavledes owned and operated pool halls, cafes and restaurants in and around Hart and, later, Ludington, Michigan, which, I assume, is how Papou got involved in the “food service industry,” first as a waiter, then owner/operator of Blackstone Sweet Shop on North Clark Street in Chicago just a few blocks north of the St. Valentine’s Day massacre and later at his 24-hour The People’s Lunch Room on Broadway in Gary, Indiana.  

In America, Papou obtained his U.S. Citizenship and was a very proud Greek-American until his death on June 16, 1978. He married, fathered and raised two daughters and two sons, each of whom grew to be respected and responsible people, spouses, parents, grandparents and, for one of his daughters today, a great grandparent. At the time of this writing, Papou’s six grandchildren have become positive and successful adults in their own rights, and his nine great grandchildren are now either teenagers nearing high school graduation or young adults establishing their own destinies.

He kept his Greek heritage at home, speaking in his native tongue with his wife, my Yia Yia (Greek for Grandmother) Angeline and when speaking with his children, siblings, and friends who were Greek; and

in the Greek Orthodox Church which he attended dutifully and tithed to, and in the celebration of Orthodox Easter and Christmas. Elsewhere he did his best to accommodate the people around him by speaking in broken English with whomever did not know Greek; by serving free coffee at all times and one free meal a day to the members of Gary’s police and fire departments, and to anyone who was hungry regardless of their ability to pay, such as Tom “the appliance guy.” Papou’s youngest daughter, my Aunt Mary, told me that Tom had a small shop where he fixed toasters, washing machines, and refrigerators, among other things, a few doors down from The People’s Lunch Room. Tom lived by himself in a small room at the back of his shop. Every day, Yia Yia and/or his children would hand-deliver a free dinner to Tom from Papou’s restaurant.

“One day, your Papou found Tom dead in the back room,” Aunt Mary told me. “I remember your Papou telling the funeral director that this man had no family, that (Papou) was going to try to sell the stuff in (Tom’s) store, and whatever your Papou made was all this man had. After everything was done, I remember going to the cemetery and visiting the grave. There was just a small marker on the ground. Your Papou said that that was unacceptable. We went to the (cemetery) office and he bought, out of his own pocket, a headstone for the man. Who would do that today?”

Many years after Papou retired and sold his restaurant, he and Yia Yia lived with my Aunt Mary and her family in a basement apartment we all pitched in to renovate. But before he moved in, he made sure Aunt Mary had an American flag and the proper mounting hardware to fly the flag outside the home, she told me.

Thankfully, America of the early 20^th century was welcoming to people of all nations who came to her shores and borders either voluntarily or who, like Papou, were fleeing persecution and death. Because if the fear and distrust toward non-Americans of today were espoused then, then Papou could easily have been turned away or deported back to Turkey where, because of the anti-authoritarian stance he took, would have been promptly and brutally executed. Then none of his good deeds and services would have been realized and none of his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, or any of the generations yet to come would have been born and their contributions to the world would have never been, or will be, realized.

Papou finding sanctuary in America is prominent in my mind and heart with every word I type and every breath I take. Because without that sanctuary, I would not exist because he would not have been allowed to further exist. What are we really losing when we push away, or hold back with walls, or return to persecution and death our fellow man, woman and child born in other countries?

So much is gained when we open our arms in welcoming and charity, and so much is lost when we cross our arms in defiance and scorn. 

The Future Begins Today

The only edict in the U.S. Constitution concerning the Presidency is that the person elected take an Oath of Affirmation to officially become President. Never shy about over-blowing a simple action, America has developed a long list of procedures, traditions and ceremonies to document for history the “peaceful transfer of leadership.” Today – Jan. 20, 2017 – was one of those days.

At noon Eastern Standard Time, Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts led Donald J. Trump through the Oath of Affirmation, officially making Trump the 45^th President of the United States of America. One of my favorite trivia questions is: How many men have been President? Hint: 45 is wrong. I’ll give you the correct answer and why at the end (a shameless ploy to get you to read this whole blog post).

Another tradition – though less official – is to gauge a President’s success on several statistical numbers. I have my own worries and trepidations about Trump being President – I voted for Bernie Sanders – but I will withhold judgement until I see for myself how various indicators rise or fall. Here are some of the classifications I will be monitoring:

Unemployment

Per the U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics website (last report Dec. 2016), the unemployment rate for white males over age 21 is 4.2 percent, 3.4 percent for white females and 11.5 percent for white teenagers age 16 to 19 of both sexes. Among African-Americans, the rate is 8.7 for men, 7.1 for women and 23.3 for teens. Among Asians of both sexes and age range, the rate is 4.0. The unemployment rate for People with Disabilities, which I, obviously, have an interest in, is 10.6 percent for white males, 10.8 for white females, 17.4 for African Americans, 13.3 for Hispanics and 7.4 for Asians.

Income

One of my favorite statistical websites, primarily

because it stresses to be non-partisan, is FactCheck.org. According to FactCheck, the median household income was $56,516 in 2015. Apparently the 2016 figures will not be released until September. However, 43.1 million Americans have incomes below the poverty line. According to DisabilityStatistics.org, the median household income for People with Disabilities was $41,600 with 5.8 million (27 percent) below the poverty line. I am one of those 5.8 million. I live on Social Security Disability. I am not going to share what I receive monthly, but I will say I did not get any Cost of Living Adjustment (COLA) increase in 2016 and only three-tenths of 1 percent ($0.03) in 2017.

Home Values

The National Association of Realtors report that as of November 2016, the national median price for a single-family home was $236,500.

Deficit and Debt

Per FactCheck, the annual federal deficit for fiscal year 2016 is $587 billion and the debt owed to the public is $14.4 trillion.

I know a segment of my friends are saying I should be thanking President Obama for making these numbers better than they were 8 years ago, and an equal segment saying I should be blaming Obama for them being as bad as they currently are. For both sides, it doesn’t matter. This is where we are today, and it’s from here we move forward.

My own numbers

As I’ve mentioned, I have my own numbers I will keep my eye on. On Jan. 19, I bought gas for my van. The price for 87 grade unleaded at Sam’s Club in Prescott Valley, AZ was $2.09.9 (basically $2.10) per gallon. The day before Trump made a campaign stop in Prescott Valley this past fall, the Sam’s Club price was $1.89.9, which rose to $1.99.9 the day of Trump’s visit and was $2.15.9 two weeks ago. I’m not implying anything other than noting how the prices at one particular station have changed.

I am also looking at the grocery ad that came in my local paper on Feb. 18. The larger grocer in my area is Fry’s (a sister to the Kroger’s chain in the Midwest). With a Fry’s membership card, 2 percent milk is $1.99/gallon, ground beef is $1.99/lb., and a whole pineapple is 99 cents. At my local Safeway grocer, New York steaks are $3.97/lb., a dozen Shamrock Farms large eggs is $3.50, and a 16-oz. package of Oscar Mayer sliced bacon is $4.99.

And I’m keeping an eye on other things I buy regularly like toothpaste, deodorant, jeans and tennis shoes. Whatever the numbers are for these and other things in 1 year, 2 years, 4 years and possibly 8 years should be the determining factor for whether Donald Trump is a good or bad President. I suggest you do the same for the things you buy in your area, then you can make your own independent determination.

By the way, the answer to the question “How many men have been President?” is 44. Grover Cleveland’s two four-year terms were separated by the one-term presidency of Benjamin Harrison. When you look at the chronological list of Presidents, Cleveland is counted twice – 22 and 24. Presidencies of two consecutive terms, such as Barack Obama’s, is only counted once.

(Historical note: Woodrow Wilson’s second wife, Edith, became “acting President” for the last year and a half of Wilson’s second term after he suffered a serious stroke. I’ve read and heard some historians say Edith Wilson would have been a good President in her own right, if she hadn’t been “before her time.”)