Today I interviewed Dr. E. Michael Jones, face to face in his studio in South Bend, Indiana. I believe the interview was a success, and Dr. Jones was pleased with it, but I’ll let you be the judge when I put it up. That shouldn’t take long as he had his trusty tech assistant running all the stuff: sound, lighting, staging, video, software, etc. All I have to do is wait a day or two for him to send me the completed project and I can put it up.
After the interview I had a nice walk around South Bend. I shall post pictures of that but for the travelogue-type stuff I have to backtrack and get out of Montana first!! If serious things go down and need to be said quickly in these tumultuous end-times, I’ll post fast, but if it’s just nature photos and Lake-Wobegon story telling, I want to keep things chronological.
Nevertheless I would like to give you an update on trip progress:
This may be just about as far east as I get. The next big interview is in Nashville, and then it’s northwestbound for my return to Montana. I’m missing home actually. Miss my kids, my friends, Pastor John and Miss Lorraine and the congregation on Sunday, the breakfast brain-trust on Saturdays, the checkers at the Super-1, my Suburban, the studio, and even the lugnuts on the crew at my summer job muckin’ ponds.
I’ll tell you what else I miss: nobody freekin’ carding me at the supermarket when I buy a six pack! That just happened to me about an hour ago here in South Bend. I’m guessing this is actually happening all over the country, but I can’t remember having to do this anywhere except for looney-tunes Seattle. OK, I’ve been in Japan for a long time. They don’t card you there, but some convenience stores make you push a button that says “I’m over 21.” It’s goofy but in the sense it’s saying, “I’m aware I’m not supposed to do this and it’s all on me if I’m underage trying to buy alcohol”, it’s at least better than demanding Deine Papiere, bitte from all, regardless of age. When they carded me years ago on a trip to Seattle, and I was in my 40s and already had some grey hair, I said, “Are you kidding?” but there were folks behind me and to just get out of there I produced Meine Papiere. Of course I realize fighting this or even speaking out against it isn’t going to get you anywhere with the hapless clerks who have to play cops enforcing this show-me-your-ID rule- at least that was my attitude until now. Now I figure, wrong is wrong; go ahead and beef! Actually, living in Montana I haven’t thought about it for a number of years. And come to think of it, I don’t remember being carded in Seattle since that time years ago. Maybe I did look pretty young and they were just being careful. Nowadays there’s no way anyone can accuse me of being young, so the checkers don’t bother. Which is how it should be, so what gives with South Bend?
Actually I do remember getting carded when I was way past 21, and feeling pretty good about it. But now?- I’m starting to look like Mr. Burns. Come on! This is ridiculous.
I don’t drink every day. And I generally don’t drink at non-drinker’s homes. Sometimes I’ll go a week without buying any booze. Other times I go on a streak where a cold brew is just what I look forward to after a hot day outside on the job, week after week. In any case, one or two beers will do. Or maybe a glass or two of wine- as per health recommendations from top experts! But I don’t have to drink. Certainly, though, a beverage like beer or wine makes a great compliment to most any meal (barring breakfast), and I feel great sorrow for the non-drinkers when the veal cutlets come out and I have my 2006 Barolo ready to quaff.
So as I was leaving Dr. Jones’ studio near the St. Joseph River, I thought, “That was a good effort- I think I’ll treat myself to a beer or two tonight.” I checked for Supermarkets on the map app and there was a Trader Joes just down the road. Of course they had all the tasty treats and with chips and guac and some salsa in the basket, I really wanted a beer now. Luckily, the cashier didn’t get to the beer until last.
-Do you have your I.D. sir?
-My I.D.?
-Yes, for the beer.
-Um. Yes, I have my I.D., but…I guess I’m not going to show it, just out of principle.
-Well, I’m sorry sir, but I can’t sell you this unless you show I.D.
-Do you think I’m anywhere near 21 yrs. old?
-No, but it’s just the store policy. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it goes.
-All right, I’ll pass on the beer.
She was friendly about it and neither of us made a fuss. She just set the beer aside and rang me up and wished me a nice evening. I said you too and off I went.
Now, of course. with those salty chips and spicy salsa in the bag, I was very ready for a beer. I thought, “Well, it’s just Trader Joe’s. Corporate lawyers in Canoga Park or wherever sent out a bulletin and all stores must implement the Gestapo policies. I’ll try a regular supermarket.”
And so I did, just down the road. When I found the beer section on a regular aisle, unrefrigerated, I predicted I’d not have any luck here either. Why, you ask? Right away I guessed that the warm beer policy was to prevent the vibrant element in the demographic from enjoying their beer and malt liquor right on the spot after purchasing it in the store. That’s just a guess- maybe the liquor stores sell it cold and ready to drink, I don’t know. Anyway, if this warm beer thing had anything to do with discouraging immediate consumption, then I figured I was in a nanny state and would be carded anywhere. And they carded me.
-Do you have your I.D. sir?
-Yes, it’s my gray hair, the wrinkles by my eyes, and this gobble-gobble turkey skin on my neck! (she laughs) You don’t think I’m anywhere near 21, do you?
-No, but I’ll need to see your I.D. anyway. It’s store policy.
-Is it store policy everywhere?
The bagger guy behind her said yeah, it’s everywhere. He wasn’t a young, teenage bagger, more like a checker who was just helping with bagging. Both he and the girl were nice and sympathetic too- it’s the Midwest! But I left without the beer.
Then my ‘hold every thought captive’ side of my thinking kicked in and I thought, hey, ol’ Pastor John would say, “God takes everything and uses it for the good,” and I said to myself, “Well, I don’t really need the beer. I’m fine.”
…and truly I was fine. The proof that I didn’t need the beer is that I’m not so addicted that I just gave up and coughed up the I.D., right?
But…I just had to know. Was this a state mandate, or just overly-careful policy makers at the grocery stores? (and in the latter case, still a product of nanny-state overreach, making vendors responsible for the bad behavior of customers.) I found that there was a liquor store just down the road, The Blarney Stone Liquor Store!
(begin Irish accent) “Ah, the ol’ Blarney Stone! Ol’ Paddy Murphy…why, he’d sooner say fiddlesticks and throw ‘imself into the briny sea at the Cliffs of County Claire than require a bleedin’ ID from 'is customer!”
But sadly, Paddy was out this evening. Some black dude and his sister were working the till.
They were quite nice, just like Paddy, but not inclined to break the rules. With them I think I could have pulled a fast one and said sorry I left my I.D. back at the house and they would have relented, but this was about research now, not beer; plus I wasn’t going to lie.
-So you guys have to card 60 year olds? I’m sixty! (whoops, a lie!) No, sorry, I’m 59, but will be 60 in a few months! You gotta card me?!
Then brother and sis complemented me on looking less than 60.
-You’re doin’ alright, man!
-Thanks, but I’m nowhere close to 21!
-Yeah, well, they give us discretion on the ID thing.
That was good enough for me and I started for the cooler.
-But we are required to card everyone.
That didn’t seem to match up with give us discretion but I let it pass. I knew it was hopeless; I was in a nanny state. Still, I wanted to see if there was a little sympathy here. Someone who recognized that it wasn’t reasonable to card a guy on the cusp of $4.95 lunch specials at the bingo club. A white dude, overweight and balding and around my age, came up with his six pack and bottle of Jameson. I said, “Man, it’s just weird to card guys who are pushing 60. I looked over at Lechowski and said, “Right?”
Lechowski- Actually, I like the carding. In any case, I just want to get my booze and go home to dinner.
-Well, OK. Sorry for delaying you.
And out I went.
-Oh, what’s the big deal, Shumway? Why not just show your ID?
The big deal is that we have laws in place that aren’t reasonable; they are over-the-top silly. And the next big deal is that these laws are designed to keep tabs on us. It’s a privacy issue- who do you think you are telling me I have to identify myself? And who does the government think it is telling stores they have to card everyone, including 90 year olds? The girl at the 2nd place said they have to card 100 yr. olds. She brought that up because she knows it’s ridiculous. Why don’t enough people say, “Hey! This is stupid!”?
I guess Lechowski answered that question. He likes the rule. Obey or die!
I say let’s just be reasonable. It used to be, and maybe still is, that you can bring beer down to the beach in San Diego. I thought that was cool because in Seattle you’ll attract the fuzz in no time. In Japan, you can drink a beer at the park, on the train, or even in the street if you like. Whose business is it to tell you you can’t?
-Well, Shumway. At least this law is for something that is very dangerous in our society. Alcohol causes all kinds of problems! It’s a weakness and a bad habit! You should be happy to be forcing yourself to abstain.
OK, but if we’re talking weakness and danger I say first put down your donut and your cancerous Diet Coke! Secondly, 1 Timothy 5:23 baby!
Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities.
‘Nuff said.

I went into a convenience store in Missoula on my way home from work one Friday afternoon and dropped a six-pack on the counter. The clerk said she needed to see ID. I pointed at my gray hair and white beard and asked her if she thought I was underage. She replied that it was company policy to card everyone. Needless to say, I left the beer there, walked out without it, and have not been back since.
I traveled to Pennsylvania last summer to spend a week with family, many of whom I had not seen in decades. While there, I stopped at a convenience store to buy a bottle of wine and was told to produce ID. I gave the store the same treatment described above. However, on the trip out of town back to the campsite, I saw an official State Liquor store and decided to try for a purchase there. The clerk, a State employee, never mentioned ID, took my cash, bagged my bottles, and wished me a good day.
Strange!
My theory is that individual stores are so terrified of losing their "license" to sell alcohol that they will not do anything at all which might bring that about, even if it means that they tell their well over the age of 21 clients to drop their trousers, bend over, and resort to rape. Trying to put it mildly so as not to offend anyone. BTW, the term "license" simply means paying someone for permission to operate at whatever is desired. Nothing more. Permission--bought and paid for.
Anymore, I make a joke of it. Often I will ask the clerk if he or she wants to see my ID and hold up my thumb for verification. It always draws a laugh. One thing is for certain, though. Any store which demands to see my ID to buy beer will lose all my business forevermore.
I will freely admit that my interest in the midwest travel series was starting to wane just a wee bit Then we get this corker! amazing writing....