On July 15, 2017, Justine Ruszczyk, also known as Justine Damond, a 40-year-old Australian-American woman, was fatally shot by Police officer Mohamed Noor, a Somali-American Minneapolis Police Department officer, after she had called 9-1-1 to report the possible assault of a woman in an alley behind her house.
Noor was on the other side of the vehicle and shoot the woman from the far side and past his partner. The woman was unarmed and dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe.
Eight months elapsed before Noor was charged with the shooting.
Following the shooting near this very site, several nights of rioting and looting followed as white Minneapolis protesters took to these very streets…
Shocking picture of the neighborhood in the aftermath. Oh the humanity!
Oh wait! No they didn’t, but they should have since it has become the only way to get prompt action against out of control cops by the legal establishment.
I was recently reminded that I do have a Big Head. Hat size , extra large. Face-Mask oversized please.
Many years ago I was in an department store within the Maine Outlet Mall waiting for the ladies to finish shopping; as I waiting another female shopper came up to me and spoke to me. “Excuse me sir, but I noticed that you have a big head, and my husband has a big head and so I think that if this hat will fit you it will fit him. Would you mind trying it on for me?”
I think I blinked a couple of times while listening to her, but without comment I took the proffered headgear and placed it on my head where it perched precariously. Unable to cover the sides and slide down on to my noggin properly. “No” she said, “definitely not”. “Thank You”, she said and left.
I turned and spoke to my mother and my wife who had witnessed the exchange; I was amused and said, “Can you believe what that lady said?”? Which I quickly learned was the wrong thing to say.
For right there, in the store surrounded by dozens of amused women, my mother orated; “Don’t have to tell ME you have a big head, TEN stitches I had to have when I had YOU”!
Well, I guess you can’t actually die of embarrassment, but I think my wife came perilously close to dying of laughter. In fact all the women nearby found it very funny. From that day forth my wife loved to call me Mr. Big Head when she wanted to get my goat.
Living in a state that has threatened to fine anyone outside without a (useless) face mask, I thought that at least I could do a little politicking.
I’m not angry, my ears hurt. On me the masks are too small and the elastic bands are pulling my ears out.
Bought them from Esty
Would probably fit most other people, I have a famously Big Head.
A Find A Grave photo request has just been made in your area. If you are able to take this photograph, please read the ‘Instructions for Photographers’ paragraph at the end of this email.
Name: Edmond J Harvey (unknown – Jan. 14, 1945)
Several years ago, after receiving this email, I set out to photograph this man’s resting place. Shortly afterwards I sent this email back.
“I’ve just received the location information about this grave.
Returning veterans bodies whose families could not afford a grave-site were buried in the veterans section (2). Within the cemetery that is between Immaculate Conception Ave. and St. Francis Ave., beyond that there was no record of the row or plot as the men were buried as they came back. “
Section two was about two acres, I came to find that the majority of the WWII graves had only a flat, 12″x5″ rectangular stone marker with Name, Date and Unit. I walked every inch of that section, but I never found “Edmond J Harvey”. I did find a number of stone markers after going to unmarked areas when the spacing should have had a grave and dug around under the sod until I found the buried markers. By rain and snow and growing grass did disappear the markers of forgotten men, those whose families had moved away or never thought to maintain their resting place.
The next Memorial Day (aka Decoration Day), overcast and rainy, I rather self-consciously walked to the middle of the field in an area without visible markers or headstones, and placed a small batch of flowers alone on the wet ground. Edmond J Harvey is there, somewhere, and on each Memorial Day since as I go by that place I think about him and whisper a short prayer. For all the forgotten men.
Best vote I’ve ever cast.