WHAT WOULD GALILEO DO? 

By Duncan 

Galileo Galilei (1564 - 1642)

I stopped at the light behind an older minivan with an unusual bumper sticker. The sticker had a blue background and white letters. 

I moved closer to the van to ensure I read the bumper sticker correctly. “What would Galileo do?” Shouldn’t that read, “What did Galileo do?” 

Galileo Galilei (1564 - 1642)

If you are scratching your head and thinking, I know the name (Galilileo), but I can't put my finger on it. What did Galileo do or didn’t he do? Allow me to refresh your memory. My story about Galileo is as good as anybody's story. So, let me give it a shot. 

History is interesting. As my Personal and Very Close Friend, Jack Maynard is want to say, 

“You know why they spell the word history that way? Because it is mostly about Men. “His” (him) Tory (Latin for story.) His Story!”

Sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it’s a bore. I had a teacher in high school who approached history class a little differently. 

Mr. Clifford Reece - History Teacher. 

Mr. Reece would bring the daily newspaper to class. For the first half of the class, he would read the headlines and talk briefly about current events. Then he would say, 

“The things that happen today will be history tomorrow.” 

Then, in the second half of the class, we would revert to the prescribed history books the public school system required. Mr. Reece was a conservative, well-dressed man with a sense of fashion. 

From his demeanor, I knew we would never be buddies. But back then, I never wanted to be friends with any of my teachers. It was a teacher-student relationship.  

Mr. Reece was a no-smoking, no-joking kind of guy. He was the learned one, and I was the one who was required to absorb the information like a sponge. Then he would give those damn tests, and my sponge would go dry. Why was it important to memorize all those dates? 

I digress. Let’s talk about my experience. I had to ask myself a couple of questions to understand anything about early history. This part may or may not be interesting, but I had to review it for myself. 

What does B.C.E. Mean? 

What does B.C. mean?  

AD: What does that mean? 

B.C.E.: Before Common Era / Before Current Era / Before Christian Era:

C.E.:    Abbreviation for Common Era (In the year of the Lord) 

B.C.:    Abbreviation for Before Christ

AD:      Abbreviation for Anno Domini (Latin) The year of the Lord. 

Once I had this refresher. I realized we had been keeping track of things for a long time.  

Egypt is about 6,000 years old. 

Greece is about 3,000 years old.

Rome began to achieve power 500 years B.C. and lost power around 300 AD.

The Catholic Church became Rome's religious and political power in about 300 AD.  

Islam started around 622 CE (The year of the Lord.)

Galileo Galilei (1564 - 1642)

The story of Galileo is simple. The pictures of Galileo above should give you a clue. In or around 1632 (Give or take a few years), Galileo discovered, looking through a primitive telescope he made, that the Earth rotated around the sun. As Galileo said, “The earth moves.” 

Historians, scholars, and the Roman Catholic Church at that time believed and taught that the sun revolved around the earth. 

For anyone to suggest the church was wrong was considered heresy. And heresy means an opinion or belief opposite to Catholic Church doctrine. If you are accused of heresy, it can be punishable by death.  

Galileo published a paper, or was it a book, in 1632. The church called him to Rome for an inquisition. After four days of back-and-forth, the church leaders didn’t believe Galileo had any credible evidence of the Earth moving around the sun. Galileo was well known by the Pope and others in the political audience, so they offered him a deal.  

Galileo gives the reasons as to why the earth moves.

The qualifiers delivered their unanimous decision. The proposition that the Sun is stationary at the center of the universe is "foolish and absurd in philosophy, and formally heretical since it explicitly contradicts in many places the Holy Scripture"; the proposition that the Earth moves and is not at the center of the universe "receives the same judgment in philosophy; and regarding theological truth, it is at least erroneous in faith.”

Recount what you have written and say, Galileo. You must now say, “The Earth is the center of the universe.” If you don’t, your punishment will be death. Galileo had a decision to make. 

WHAT WOULD GALILEO DO?

Galileo chose life over death. He recounted, “The Earth is the center of the universe. The sun revolves around the Earth.” 

The Inquisition decided to go light on Galileo and sentenced him to house arrest for the rest of his life. On his way out of the Inquisition, he mumbled under his breath, 

“All the same, it moves.”  

However, it was not until October 31, 1992, that Pope John Paul II publicly and formally cleared Galileo of any wrongdoing, based on the findings of a committee he had set up in 1979 to investigate the matter. 

Well, no one has ever accused the Catholic Church of being too hasty.

ELAINE MAY AND MIKE NICHOLS

 ELAINE MAY AND MIKE NICHOLS 

By Duncan 

ELAINE MAY AND MIKE NICHOLS 

I attended high school in the late ’50s and early ‘60s.  I say I attended because I'm unsure I was engaged in any meaningful academic activity. So, let’s just say I was attending. Or at least that was what my report card said.  

It was a wonderful time, even for me. The class was small; the school was out in the country. There weren’t a lot of distractions—unless you want to call corn and soybean fields a distraction. 

Yes, there were the typical high school distractions for a young man like myself. Like watching my female classmates, who began experimenting with ruby red lipstick and crinolines under their big and bold full skirts. What is under those skirts that makes them stand out like that? Dare I ask a teacher, Mrs. Brown (Algebra), for the mathematical calculation?

No, I think not. I had to travel that road alone without Google Streets and Maps. Google wasn’t a “thing” yet. Oh, the joy of an occasional pit stop—to stop and ask questions, “What’s it all about Alfie?” 

It was must-see TV after school to turn on American Bandstand, hosted by Dick Clark, and watch Justine Carelli, Joan Buck, and Mary Beltrante, spinning and twirling to the Top 40 music across my small black and white Sylvania television set. 

What was I missing? The world was bigger than my front yard. On American Bandstand, the norm was to wear suit coats, ties, and polished shoes. Holding a girl in your arms and dancing was acceptable after-school behavior daily, Monday through Friday.  

Laura Lee Harvey and John Flick pose for the Indianapolis Star. 

I wanted to be Dick Clark. I bought a lot of audio equipment and asked if I could provide the music for the sock hop after the football games on Friday. I was compensated with a ten-dollar gift certificate to the Ayres department store.

“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

MIT, Harvard, and Yale were not on my radar. I was more interested in how to become Humphrey Bogart. I joined the band, played the trombone, tried out for the school plays, and created skits for the talent shows.  

One lazy, dark summer night, John Flick (Classmate) and I were experimenting with a package of Salem cigarettes. We were trying to figure out how and why to smoke. While blowing menthol-flavored smoke into the night air, we began talking about the upcoming talent show. 

What could we come up with that would be a hit? I suggested we steal one of Elaine May's or Mike Nichols's comedy skirts and perform it for our little talent show. Most of the audience likely would not know who Elaine May or Mike Nichols were. 

I wrote to New York and asked permission to perform the skirt about a man who loses his last dime in a coin-operated telephone. The man pleads with the operator for a free call because he has no more dimes in his pocket. 

The letter came back: NO! You are not allowed to perform this skit. 

John and I decided to change a few lines and perform a skit about a man losing his last dime to a pay telephone. Which of us would be the operator, and which one of us would be the man on the phone? 

STEVE DUNCAN - JOHN FLICK.

We found an old pay telephone and used the Yellow Pages as a prop for the operator. I would be the operator. The hardest part of the costume was wearing the hose. The skit was received as being funny, but one never knows when you try a new act.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfLaY-R9kaU

 WHAT IS THE VALUE 

By Duncan 

I like to read about finance, money, stocks, and interest rates. I am also very interested in the housing market. You know, what did the house across the street sell for last week? 

I was hired by a mortgage company in the early seventies. After serving in the United States Air Force, I was starting my life over. I know that’s a little melodramatic, but I faced the daunting task of finding a job. I assume this is common. Drop the drama, Duncan. 

I entered the man's office and sat on the edge of my seat. I was told what the job was all about. I was going to be a BANKER. Would I get the corner office with the windows overlooking the beautiful landscaping?

No, I was hired as a sales grunt who would pound the streets looking for business. My job was to call real estate offices and beg Realtors to give me the ability to lend money to their buyers/customers. Back in the early 1970s, Realtors worked in an office. They were given a desk and a phone. 

My job was to approach the copy machine in our office and make one hundred copies of my rate sheet for our 30-year fixed-rate mortgage loans. Then, I would drive to a Realtor’s office, meet and greet, and provide them with my rates for my FHA, VA, and Conventional home loans. 

Of course, it didn’t hurt if you got to know the Realtors on a personal level. I was as green as the grass on a spring day after it rained. I was given a beeper and two charge cards. One charge card is for gas, and the other is for entertainment. 

The idea was to take a Realtor to lunch occasionally, get to know them, and tell my story of how I could make the Realtor money by financing and closing their loans faster than the other guys. 

The average female real estate broker in the early 1970’s 

Of course, the Realtor wants to get paid their commission as quickly as possible. If, for some reason, we didn’t or couldn’t make the loan (turn the loan down), that created a big problem. 

“You told me you could make my customers a loan! Your company is full of it!” 

The odds of turning a loan down were remote. FHA and VA were 95% of the loans my company made. If FHA or VA said no, we couldn’t insure the loan against default (Federal Housing Administration or Veteran Administration), and my company would have no investor to sell a low-down payment loan. That news always travels quickly in the office to the other Realtors. I would be branded as not being able to get the job done. 

Thankfully, it didn’t happen that often. The Federal Government wanted as many people as possible to own a home, and the FHA was pressured to insure as many loans as possible. 

During the 1940s-1960s, home ownership went from 43.6% to 61.9%. In the early 1970s, home ownership of Americans rose to 64.5%. The Federal Government slapped themselves on the back and enjoyed a cocktail. Buyers were happy, real estate brokers were delighted, and I was pleased; I made more money than I ever expected.  

It was a win-win game for everyone. Interest rates for home loans in the early 1970s held steady in the low to mid 7% range. 

However, the relaxed underwriting criteria handed down from “On High” came with a cost: delinquency rates. People who should not have been given a loan defaulted on their home loans. 

     

The default rate was analyzed by month. How many are behind their mortgage payments by one, two, three, or more months?  At six months, lenders foreclose and take the house. We notify FHA and expect them to pony up our money, and we, as lenders, hand the home to FHA. It’s now FHAs responsibility to sell a repossessed house, or in simple terms, it’s called a REPO. 

The federal government acts as a sales agent. Yes, default rates increased. 

While I enjoyed the early 1970s in the mortgage business, I was able to meet and get to know Realtors personally. I made some very good friends in the early 1970s. However, it took me a while to realize another number. This number is very important to mortgage loan professionals. 

It goes like this: 80% of the sales in a real estate office are sold by 20% of the Realtors, and 20% of the sales are sold by the remaining 80% of the sales staff. I was making a big mistake; I was taking the 80% to lunch and could never figure out why the busiest Realtors didn’t have time for me or lunch. 

The average male real estate broker in the early 1970s

In today's housing market, it’s a whole new ballgame. I’m retired from the home mortgage business and have no interest in returning to the game. Housing prices are up, up, up. And why is that? 

Oh, there is always the supply-and-demand rationalization. When interest rates were 3.5% for years, many homeowners refinanced their higher mortgage rates to low single-digit rates. (It’s hard to believe everyone switched to a 3.5% rate, but maybe they did.)  

My experience was when I returned from Florida in mid-2019. The explosion of home prices was starting. The home I own today had five offers. And I’m told it was on the market for five days.

SUSAN TIBBS - TUCKER - 317-507-8490

My Realtor, Susan Tibbs, advised me to act fast if I really wanted the home.

I gave up the inspection and an appraisal. I wanted the home.  

So, WHAT IS THE VALUE of a home? Who decides what the house is worth? In today's market, it ain’t the appraiser who establishes value anymore. It works the same way it’s always worked. The VALUE of a house is established when a willing seller and a willing buyer agree on a price.  

(First row, far left) - Lucy Duncan - My Mom

1989 - Christmas - Staff at the Metropolitan Indianapolis Board of Realtors

YOU CAN’T PARK THERE

 YOU CAN’T PARK THERE

By Duncan 

I get out of Dodge during Memorial Weekend. In May, Indianapolis hosts the “Greatest Spectacle in Racing,” The Indianapolis 500-Mile Race.    

DUNCAN - CLAN TENT  (The clan I belong to is pronounced “Don-A-Key”) 

It’s time for my annual trip to a sleepy little town that hosts the Highland Scottish Festival and Games held in Scottland, USA, which happens to be in Alma, Michigan. 

Alma is a small town with a population of less than (10,000) ten thousand. Its claim to fame is Alma College, a private Presbyterian liberal arts college with approximately 1,400 students. 

There are no motels or hotels in Alma, so Alma College dormitory rooms are rented to people like me for $70.40 plus tax a night. Oh, and by the way, The Alma College alcohol policy will be strictly enforced, loosely interpreted as … No Scotch allowed at the Scottish Festival. 

But do not worry; a doctor in town owns a patch of ground between an elementary school and the college. He puts up a big tent, hires a band, and serves alcohol in his tent—ten dollars for admission to the tent and $5.00 for an ounce of Scotch. (No ice, just one ounce of Scotch.) I have no idea what they charged for a beer. 

Just for fun, a Scotsman like “meself” does the math. A bottle of Scotch is 33 ounces, 33 ounces x $5.00 a shot = $165.00. Not a bad return on a $20.00 bottle of Scotch. Aye, Lads and Lassies!

Here is how I see the Festival and Games. The old people (like myself) go to activities during the day, and the young people of Alma, Michigan, are starved for entertainment in town and go to the drinking tent at night. 

Over the 10-15 years I have attended, the bagpipes and Scottish music in the drinking tent have turned to rock and roll bands. The attendees in the drinking tent could care less about traditional Scottish music. Why must ‘climate change’ be changing the music?  

So, On Sunday morning, I decided to get up early and head for the water. Lake Michigan is only a couple of hours away. I needed to get away from my splendid accommodations. 

I included a quick side trip to the water as I headed for the house. I ended up in a town called Saint Joseph, Michigan. They had a beach and many places to eat, which looked like an interesting place to have lunch. 

Local artist painting. I didn’t ask him any questions. 

Looking west, at the top of the hill. Lake Michigan is in the distance. 

Silver Beach, Saint Joseph, Michigan 

Saint Joseph, Michigan lighthouse. 

Silver Beach Merry-go-round - $4.00 a ride. 

 

I then realized I had to walk the ‘steps of death’ back to the top and find Mean Yellow. Would I be able to make it all the way to the top without stopping? Or would I have to stop one, twice, or three times? I counted the steps. Seventy-eight steps to the top, I make it all the way without stopping. 

I stopped, looked down the steps, and thought, what a good boy I am.  Give me the papers to apply for the Paris Olympics. However, I found a vacant park brunch that looked most inviting at the top of the hill.

Clementines on the canal. 

Clementines was a few blocks from Silver Beach on a canal with many boats tied to the docks. The bar looked interesting. Let’s give this place a shot! 

Michelle was my waitress and was a no-nonsense woman. She looked like She could hold her own in a wrestling match. I knew not to “play” with this woman. The minute she came to the table, she was in charge, 

”We have Mimosas on sale for $5.00. The prime rib is excellent, and I assume you want to start with a small tower of onion rings? What would you like to drink?” 

She was a no-smoking, no-joking woman. I asked her if the restaurant crowd was what she expected on a holiday weekend. "The foot traffic looked a little light to me." 

“It is what it is. I have two more hours, and I can call it a day.” 

As you can see from the photograph of Michelle walking to my table above, I ordered the small tower of onion rings. Michelle has pushed the tower of onion rings to customers before. By the way, the onion rings are excellent.  

   

I will say this: mimosas and onion rings do not complement each other. What was I thinking? I know what I was thinking. I had a mimosa at Matt the Miller’s in Carmel, Indiana, a few years back. It came with eggs benedict and hollandaise sauce, fried potatoes, a fruit cup, and coffee. I still remember that meal.

Note to self: Onion rings and mimosas are not a good idea. 

Lunch 

Al Ruppert

Meet a young Al Ruppert. Mr. Ruppert was a dairy farmer. His kids needed a school for hearing-impaired children, which was not available where he lived. He sold the dairy farm and moved to South Haven, Michigan in 1972. 

Al bought the South Haven Office Supply Store, which sold copy machines and repaired typewriters. In 1981, Al purchased Art’s Tavern in South Haven and renamed it Clementines. 1986, Al purchased Mariner Inn, and in 1986, Al opened Clementines Two in Saint Joseph. Then he bought the Hawkshead Golf Course and Restaurant. 

  

DUNCAN

I decided to assume the position in the back of Clementines under the sign. You know, I always need “The Picture.” But I had a better idea. I needed to park Mean Yellow under the sign and ask someone to take our picture. I pulled the Mean Yellow under the sign and heard a voice yelling at me, “YOU CAN’T PARK THERE!”  

It was not hard to asses the situation almost immediately. Two guys stood by a Ford SUV a few feet away in the parking lot. The drunk was riding shotgun (Which is slang for he’s not driving.); he was loaded and kept running his mouth. The other guy (driver) was standing by the Ford, eating a spare rib and laughing. He was not totally wasted.  

“You can’t park there.” 

 

Mean Yellow - Duncan 

The drunk walked up to me and said, “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars for your car right now. I have the cash in my pocket.” 

“It will cost you more than $10,000. What’s your name? ”    

“You don’t need to know my name; I have cash. My name is Mark!”   

“Damn it, Mark, you told me you would take my picture if I brought my car over and parked under the sign. Now, here is my phone. Walk back a few steps and take my picture as you promised. Get my feet and the sign in the picture.” 

Mark looked at me and said, “Did I say that?”

“Yes, walk back a few feet and take my picture.”  

After the picture was taken, I stood next to Andy (the driver), who was still eating a spare rib. I asked him, “Do you have any more of those spare ribs?” 

“Hell, yeah!” He lifted the back gate, and there was a whole pan of ribs. “Help yourself.”

“Where are you from? What line of business are you in? How much would you sell your car for?”   

“I’m from Indianapolis and in the mortgage loan business. I just sold my company, and I’m retired. You can’t afford the car at any price.”

I want to retire, too, but I have to wait a few years.

Andy, thanks for the rib; I’ve got to get back to Indianapolis. Tell Mark thanks for the picture. 

You meet the nicest drunks behind Clementines in a Mean Yellow hot rod.