Racism began rearing its ugly head long before the onset of civilization. Not even the Age of Enlightenment could change peoples’ mode of thinking, although the need to promote racial equality brought about certain enactments of laws that made acts of racism punishable. Yet, such laws do not have the effect of eradicating racism altogether.

The notion that divisions in societies are supposedly preordained is totally unfounded. There is no difference in mental ability or in behavior among the different races. Throughout ages, certain peoples have boasted that they were racially superior to other peoples, but they were only fooling themselves, as there is no scientific knowledge to support such claims. Distinct patterns of behavior, attributable to many cultures that are alien to one another, have contributed to the general view that one culture might not necessarily be equal to another, resulting in the kinds of racial discrimination that prevail from time to time, over which governments have no control, though there are many cultures around the world that could have seen the light of civilization but  had opted to lag far behind those that have advanced, while holding on to certain ancient rites and rituals.

Externally, the undesirable effects of racism appear to have lost their edge in the United States and Europe, but there is still that lingering specter of discrimination that continues to persist in many areas of society, and is considered to be the outgrowth of past social ills. For instance, discrimination against Jews and blacks stemmed from the belief that they are racially inferior. It is a mode of thinking, dating back to the time when Europe, in particular, used to be a hotbed of bigotry and antisemitism.

Undoubtedly, acts of racism in the United States were once rampant in many states, but it should also be noted that in certain parts of Africa, racism and bigotry still exist and continue to cause problems for millions of people.

The only route that can be taken, in order to overcome racism is by way of ignoring what some may consider to be cryptic acts of racism; appreciating the mitigation of the once inimical and hostile effects of racism, in consideration of the positive effects of the laws governing civil rights, while, at the same time, coming to terms with the fact that racism, in one form or another, cannot be entirely eradicated.

There is presently a wave of copy-cat uprisings in the Middle East, but, unlike that of Egypt, the dictators are determined to show no mercy, and do not have the appetite to surrender to the people’s will.   Already, the casualties that the rebellion is experiencing at the hands of the military is beginning to confirm the dictator’sstark indifference to any kind of criticism by the rest of the world.  Unlike Mubarak,  the dictators of Libya, Bahrain, Yemen and now Iran, are having a great time wallowing in the sunshine of their power.  They are merciless and confident of their love affair with the military upon which untold benefits are being showered.

Unlike Mubarak, dictators, such as Khadafi, do not hesitate to suppress the uprising forcefully, nor are they ready to hand over their long-entrenched authority on a golden platter.  While the thirst for democracy is laudable, there is still that specter of uncertainty as to the true intent of establishing democracy, in the true sense of the word– a democracy in which sectarianism has no place — a democracy that should be propelled by secularism as a basis for any government advocating human rights and equality.

Terrorists know it fully well that, as long as the same kind of weapons are used against them, they can easily survive and proliferate by indoctrinating recruits, many of whom are home-grown and willing to offer themselves on the alter of the diabolical demons of death and destruction.

The protracted war in Afghanistan tells us, in no uncertain terms, that there are countless terrorists drawn  locally and from many other countries, ready and willing to die in the name of Allah.  At this stage, it seems unlikely that the United States can achieve a decisive victory in that part of the world where the terrain is formidable and the environment inconducive to maintaining any kind of strategy that can be successful which, so far, has not panned out favorably for our soldiers.

The Soviet experience in Afghanistan should tell us that ultimate success in winning the war may not be possible under the circumstances.  In Iraq, where El Quida has successfully infiltrated,  the specter of death and destruction continues to persist.  In places, such as Somalia and Yemen, there are huge reservoirs of El Quida sympathizers from whose ranks, fresh recruits can be found.  Even home-grown Jjhadists have become a source of concern in many countries around the world.

It seems the only solution to the problem would be to resort to much more sophisticated weapons, the efficacy of which may also be questionable, given the determination of those whose religious fanaticism has become a source of grave concern around the world.

In approximately 1940 the hotel closed its doors; unable to keep up with the ever growing demands of the fine hotel industry. As general medicine advanced and a new understanding of health practises became known, the vast majority of the patrons shied away from the so-called healing properties of the sulphur baths, leaving ownership with a grand but empty hotel.

Several years later the property was renovated into a retirement villa, maintaining much of the luxury of the old hotel. It was updated to meet more modern codes of operation and enjoyed many years of success, until finally the expense of running such an antiquated building became prohibitive and the doors were once again closed.

Since that final failure of business the hotel has sat empty, brooding and waiting for an influx of new energy. Several times the property was purchased by eager and industrious developers with grand plans to either restore the building to its former glory or to reinvent its hallowed walls and sweeping stairways. Each and every attempt to renovate this property has since failed, and not through a lack of effort, financial fortitude nor vision. Each renovation has been met with perilous accidents, unexplained technical issues and insurmountable personnel problems.

I was given opportunity to experience the mood of this neglected and overrun establishment over more than two years as the general caretaker during a period of complete vacancy. I was tasked with security, minor maintenance and just an overall responsibility for the property. Living on the grounds in a small service residence located just next to the massive hotel, I had sole access to the building and took it upon myself to patrol the grounds at least once a day.

That patrol normally took me through the bowels of the old building and on a casual room-by-room search to check for trespassers, damage and just generally have a look around. Since I had taken over my wife and I had experienced several strange and unexplained events both inside and outside the hotel. These experiences were largely undefined but I still held an uneasy hesitation for certain areas of the building. At first I chalked it up to a typical fear of the unknown, of dark and dingy old basements with huge boilers and piles of refuse hiding who-knows-what, but soon came to realise there was a little more to it.

Each area of the hotel engendered a different feeling…trepidation, loneliness, anger and fear. Walking about the hallways and service corridors, exploring through rooms and climbing the three main stairwells, I would experience both an urge to run screaming from the building and a need to press on. It became clear to me that I was not alone on my patrols, though I was not accompanied by another living soul.

On the few occasions that I needed to enter the hotel after dark, I walked quickly and armed with a heavy flashlight. Most of the buildings power had been turned off due to the risk of fire and only the lower service areas had any working lights, so a night time incursion had me wandering the pitch black hotel with my eyes wide and my breath as shallow as I could make it.

Despite the lack of power, I would regularly field complaints and comments from neighbours and friends about the upper floor lights being on during the night. Many people remarked about my standing in the windows, looking out over the busy street below. To which I would have to reveal that I rarely enter the building at night, certainly not if I can avoid it.

Stories began to spread about the hotel, adding to rumours and urban legends about the old property and soon teenagers and sightseers would be found breaking in for a look around. The damage they cause was my responsibility to fix, which in turn demanded that I spend more time inside the building, boarding broken windows, securing doors and removing graffiti. As time went on I became more comfortable with the hotel during daylight hours, spending hour upon hour working away. I soon forgot the feeling of being watched and no longer hesitated to walk into the areas that had previously held fear for me.

Nearing the end of my term as caretaker on one particularly dark evening, I returned home from a dinner out and noticed lights in the windows on the fourth floor. This floor boasted the largest suites, and was generally in good condition, except for the deliberate lack of electricity. My first thought was of trespassing kids with flashlights, vandalising and destroying the rooms, and without a thought to what else it could be, I quickly stormed into the back entrance of the building. As I climbed the rear stairs I stepped quietly and turned off my own light, hoping to catch whoever was there by surprise, intending to scare them badly and teach them a lesson.

Now struggling to control my breath from the climb and excitement, I rounded the landing below the fourth floor service area and wasn’t surprised to be in pitch blackness. I listened intently in the dark for hushed whispers and muffled footsteps on the lush carpet. The hairs on my neck stood tall as adrenaline rushed through my head, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat echoing in my ears as slowly I stepped into the hallway.

The building was silent and my ears rang with the struggle to hear whatever might be waiting for me. I walked carefully, my hand touching the familiar wall of the hallway as a guide in the darkness as I held my heavy steel flashlight tightly as a weapon in the other. Stealthily, I searched the floor, I checking every room as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, all the while feeling that someone was watching my every move. My excitement began to dwindle as I Completed my search of the fourth floor; several doors were now opened that had been securely shut earlier that day, and in my mind this was evidence that trespassers had heard my steps up the stairs and quickly fled by one of the other stairwells.

Shaking my head with frustration I made my way down the main stair, a huge and wide presentation stairway adorned with dark carved wood railings and lush red carpet from top to bottom. My irritation with whatever teenagers had ruined an otherwise nice evening distracted me from the growing feeling of being watched, and as I stepped down from the final landing above the ground floor lobby, I was snapped back from thoughts of retribution by the flickering of light on the large empty landing behind me. Startled in mid step I wanted to turn and face the light but I was frozen with fear, and as I struggled with my synapses I felt two hands press firmly on my back and shove me down the stairs with shocking force.

Being a young man and in fair shape, I fell and rolled to the bottom of the stair with little injury and came to rest on my back, facing the stairs and looking for the culprit. I was ready to dish out my own justice for such an unwarranted attack, but in the dim light of the street lamps as they shone through the picture windows of the lobby I was horrified to see the hollow image of an old man standing at the top step, grinning with a look of sick satisfaction on his face. I struggled to see clearly and swore out loud at the realisation that I could still see the back wall of the stairwell through his torso.

I don’t know how long I laid there in the darkness, staring at my ghostly attacker, but in memory it seems like forever. I didn’t try to move or get up. I didn’t think; I couldn’t think. I just laid there, sprawled on the lobby floor with my mouth hanging open and watched as this apparition turned and walked back up the stairs.

A few minutes passed by before I gathered enough of my wits to pick myself up off the floor and get out of the building as fast as I could. I didn’t mention it to my wife, but she knew something was wrong by the paleness of my face and the look in my eyes as I sat at our kitchen table. The next morning I called for a friend to help me do a sweep of the building; to look for damage or signs of trespassers. I didn’t mention my experience to him either, out of a fear of mockery, and tried to act as casual as possible when I found my flashlight lying at the foot of the stairs, next to the huge oak attendant’s station. We found no signs of break in, no vandalism and still no electricity on the fourth floor. On our way down the main stair well, I tensed as we rounded the railing of the bottom landing and realised with silent shock that the stairwell used to be lit from high above by a huge crystal chandelier, which was sold at auction many years ago…there never was a light fixture on that landing.

From that night forward, I never again went into the hotel at night and unless unavoidable I never went in alone. Three months later my wife and I gladly moved from the grounds as I took a factory job in another city and since my time at the old Sulphur Springs Hotel another developer has tried his hand at renovating the landmark, only to have the job stall due to a worker having an unfortunate accident on the main lobby stairway.

Santa Maria del Popolo Church

Emperor Nero

The ghost of Roman Emperor Nero is said to walk the corridors of The Santa Maria del Popolo Church in Rome. The Augustinian Church stands on the Piazza del Popolo, one of the most famous squares in Rome.

Flying Dutchman

Cape of Good Hope

Stories of sightings of The Flying Dutchman ghost ship at the Cape of Good Hope, are many. According to legend, the ship is a ghost ship that glows blue and white in the sea and is doomed to sail the seas for ever. The Flying Dutchman can never go home and seafarers consider a sighting of her to be a sign of disaster.

Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel

Montgomery Clift

Suite 928 at The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel is said to be haunted by the ghost of Montgomery Clift. He stayed there for three months while he was filming “From Here To Eternity.” People have also claimed that they have heard and seen him walking the corridors and playing his bugle.

Ivan The Terrible

The Kremlin

Ivan IV Tsar of Russia walks the corridors of The Kremlin according to reports. Ivan was known for the terror of his reign, executions, torture and repression from 1565-72.

Marie Antoinette

Versailles Palace

The ghost of Marie Antoinette is said to walk around in the Palace of Versailles. The lady was executed by guillotine in 1793, during the French Revolution. Apparently she has been seen with and without her head.

The Tower of London

Anne Boleyn

Edward V

Guy Fawkes

The Tower of London seems to be inundated with ghostly presences. Anne Boleyn, second wife of Henry VIII was imprisoned and beheaded here in 1536. Edward V became “boy king” of England in 1483 and was murdered along with his brother Richard in The Tower. Guy Fawkes who tried to blow up the British Parliament in 1605 was imprisoned in the Tower and executed there.

The only room on the upper end of the campus with a TV was the Day Women’s Room. The Day Men’s room had ping pong and card tables, no TV – so much for equality. There was a pressing reason for the TV, the girls had to watch the soap operas. The room was designated for females only, the separation by gender was very strict in that time under the iron hand of Miss Long, Dean of Women. The stories about her were wild and most were at the least near the truth, like the one that she told new female students they shouldn’t wear red dresses on dates because red excites men. One girl asked if it would be better to go on a date without the dress. We ran down the hall, about 40 yards. We stopped at the door, wanting to learn what was happening but realizing we could actually be suspended from school for entering. Mr. Gilman opened the door and told us to go in, the room was full, men, women, professors, students, staff. I saw Dr. Ben Nispel, my advisor crying. For that one awful day Miss Long’s rules were suspended. It wasn’t long till John Cameron Swazey came on and said the president was dead.

Gloom and fear were thick. Most students identified with JFK. “Who was Lyndon Johnson” was a question I asked and so did many others. As concerned as we were then, the future would prove those fears were valid. We would later find he didn’t know much about either foreign affairs or military matters but he set the strategy for Vietnam. Worse, he surrounded himself with people who were as clueless. More than a few of the men who were in that school that day would be slogging through rice paddies in a couple years while dodging VC bullets and at least a handful would not come home. But for a leg surgery in March 1963 in a couple years I would have been carrying an M-16 there or in the skies above as a Wild Weasel, the ECM. ECM is the ultimate game of chess. If you loose, your king is not in check. You don’t come back. Thankfully that day we could not see the future. What we could see was bad enough. The unknown was bad in another way. We wondered, did the commies have JFK killed? That question was not just an irrational fear. Was the rest of the government at risk? Were some of them already dead? Were some of them Quislings? This is not funny, most of us knew history. Looking back I was probably more concerned than most of my Math major friends and my friends in the history department were even more scared. I knew history better than most in Math. The shooting match called WW1 was triggered by the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. It resulted in the trench warfare in France. But in 1963 there were nukes and delivery systems that could put them anywhere on the globe. Would someone in Washington or Moscow panic and push the button? The unknown LBJ loomed as an even bigger threat. Did he have the courage to lead? Would he panic under fire? Would he push the button out of fear? Kennedy had stood strong in the Cuban Crisis. Was nuclear war hours or minutes away? Were nukes already on the way? Was the flash of a nuke only moments away? Was the assassination of Kennedy a Case Headless – a scenario I had read of in which the attacking country killed the leader of another country to create chaos as a prelude to an attack? If it were, WW1 would have looked like a Sunday Picnic compared to what we faced. It sounds melodramatic today but then it sounded very plausible then and it still does in that situation. When Regan was shot the possibility loomed in the minds of many. If there were an attack on Bush after the new congress is seated I would suspect two groups, the Muslims and the Liberals who could seat a president in the name of Nancy Pelosi if Bush and Cheny were to die at the same time.

So we sat in that day room in a building that what was built as Old Main of what was once the Cumberland Valley State Normal School at Shippensburg, a school founded only a few years after the bloodiest war fought on American soil, only 40 miles from its bloodiest battle and hoped for the best. After a few minutes I left, wanting to see Bonnie before she left. When she came out of the classroom I told her the president was dead. She put her head on my shoulder and cried. She looked up at me and asked, “Will this mean war?” I looked at her and responded, “I don’t know.” We talked for some time and then she had to leave. We both realized that last embrace could have been the last.

I remember driving from college to work – nearly an hour drive – and listening to the radio to learn something, anything. At first there was nothing more than a rehash of the events but nothing new. Would I ever see any of my classmates again? As I neared my work the information was spotty. They now confirmed Dallas police officer J. D. Tippit was dead and Lee Harvey Oswald was in custody. I worked that evening and went home about ten. The news had nothing new. The police were discussing if Oswald had any accomplices. There were concerns that there were other shooters in the trees on the grassy knoll.

I’m not into conspiracy theories but there are concerns I had then and still have. Those Dallas policemen in Dealy Plaza were SURE there were shots from that direction. These were not rookies, they were Dallas police who had been under fire, who knew what gunshots sounded like, particularly ones aimed in your direction. Over the years I’ve read nearly every official report on the shooting and a lot of the investigative reports and even some of the fringe ones. Even Clay Shaw, a real loose cannon makes some sense when compared to the Warren Report which was a political report to get the issue off the table before the 1964 election. There are for me, forty four years later, several open issues.

I am sure the Dallas police, or at least two Dallas policemen let Ruby kill Oswald. I saw it live on TV that Sunday morning including the actual shooting. I saw one of the officers say, “If I had seen him, I would have known what he was going to do. I would not have allowed him to go down the driveway to the garage.” An officer stationed at the entrance let him in. Another officer closer in allowed him to pass. This officer’s statement never made it to the Warren Report or any of the other official reports I have seen. Even Clay Shaw didn’t explore this angle. Why did this officer say he knew? Why didn’t anyone ask.

There were three policemen who believed strongly enough that the fire came from the grassy knoll that they drew guns and headed that way. This action was discounted as sound bouncing. According to the report Dealy Plaza had an unusual audio feature that made the sounds of Oswald’s gun seem to come from the knoll. There were all kinds of “scientific” tests run to show that. If there had been buildings to bounce off at the knoll that would have been possible but there were none. Trees absorb sound. They do not reflect it. I have learned the harder you have to work to prove something, the less real evidence you have.

Warren report is not valid unless one of the bullets Oswald fires made a 90 degree turn. I have never seen or heard of a bullet make a 90 degree turn except if it hit something hard and don’t know anyone who has seen or heard of it. Without that 90 degree turn there had to be another shooter and the Warren report staff was told there wasn’t another shooter and their report wasn’t going to show there was another shooter. They decided the outcome of an investigation before the investigation. That 90 degree turn was Arlan Specter’s big contribution to the report. So much for his value.

Then there is Lady Bird Johnson. Her daddy’s money took an unknown Texan and made LBJ. He would have preferred it be his offspring but a southern belle couldn’t succeed in politics in Texas in the 50’s. Lady Bird was the ruthless strategist and the drive and money behind the horse’s rear end named LBJ. Seeing her as a ‘Macbeth’s wife’ – and see her killing the king is not beyond my reach, at least by proxy. She hated JFK. But for that young upstart Yankee (which is how she talked about JFK) her husband would have been president. More important she would have been first lady. LBJ oversaw the investigations. If there was a conspiracy, Lady Bird’s money financed it.

Johnson didn’t know the military – JFK did. As an aside, Teddy doesn’t know the military either and his stupid statements today show that. He was too young to understand what his brothers fought and paid for in WW2 and is generally too drunk to care. LBJ brought in MBA whiz kids to run the military. They understood money, not tactics. Most of them wouldn’t have recognized a grenade if one were thrown on the table in front of them. He cautiously committed troops in slow escalation and had them chewed up. The VC acclimated to the incremental increases. Soon over 100 body bags came home each week.

Would JFK handled it differently? I believe a man who took a PT boat with a plywood hull, four machine guns, four torpedoes, and a few hundred gallons of flammable aviation gasoline, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups of up to four against destroyers with 5 inch guns, cruisers with 8 inch guns and sometimes against battleships with 14 inch guns knew better. Go to Blockbuster and get a movie, “They Were Expendable” if you want to see what PT Boat life and death was like. It was made during the war and is realistic. You will get the picture of the metal of the man who is referred to as JFK. Then get “The Right Stuff.” The portrait of LBJ there when he tried to force John Glenn’s wife to do a press conference is essentially accurate. It portrays him as a horse’s rear.

I believe the execution warrant for at least half of the 60,000 men who died in Vietnam and the surrender of US forces was signed in Dallas on November 22, 1962 when JFK died. What I also know is, “we don’t really know what happened.”

Other Articles by Ralph Brandt

The Perfected Astronauts

Christy

Churches That Get Government Money

Financial Help in These Trying Times

Anonymous and Irresponsible: the Radical Left

The Comparison of the Assassinations of Kennedy and Lincoln

Relationship of Church and State

An End to Complacency

I’m Going on
Compromise in the Church
Come Away My Beloved
Communion
Contradictions – Science and Religion

Christian Perspective On Hatred