#EVEN AFTER BRITAIN HAS GOTTEN THEIR DESTRUCTIVE LITTLE HANDS OUT OF THE PLACE

[politicaltheatre]

The Masks We Wear

We’ve gotten so used to wearing masks.

It isn’t just the past three months. The masks we wear now because of COVID-19 are a fact of life for many, a source of profit for some, and a statement of how we value others for everyone who wears one and everyone who won’t, but they aren’t the only masks we wear. Far from it.

The past eleven days have the potential to change this country in ways the past three months never will, and masks of all kinds have played a large role in that.

Protesters, of course, have been wearing masks. Many of them, though, perhaps most, would have worn them even if there hadn’t been a pandemic. That’s how little they trust the police.

And why should they? On May 25th, police murdered George Floyd, brazenly, in public, while being recorded on video, looking right into the damn camera. They believed their uniforms and their uniformed brothers and sisters would protect them, another kind of mask. And then there is “qualified immunity”, which shields officers from civil prosecution even in cases in which they have clearly violated the law and the rights of a person they were supposed to protect. That, too, is another kind of mask.

Still one more kind of mask: the anonymity offered by riot gear helmets. protesters, almost entirely non-violent in the best tradition of civil action, were brutally attacked in city after city after city by peace officers dressed for combat (when not dressing as protesters themselves; pity about those armbands). If there’s any truth to how you dress dictating your behavior, this would be a prime example.

And let us not forget those looters, who should not be confused of conflated with actual protesters. As seen in so many videos, many of them had little or nothing to do with the actual protests, waiting for protesters and police to leave neighborhoods before helping themselves to the thrill of breaking things and stealing cash from mom & pop stores and restaurants already hurting from the pandemic.

Whether they were just immature jerks exercising their privilege like anarchy tourists or right wing agents provocateurs caught on camera and called out by protesters who chased them off or white nationalists trying to ignite a civil war, they all used the protests as masks to hide themselves and their true motives from view, and all with equally counter-productive results.

So many masks. They’re such an important part of our lives. They allow us to blend in, to join a chorus of voices, to lose our inhibitions, and to find ourselves. They also allow us to hide, to disappear, to give ourselves over to a higher authority, and to avoid accountability. In every way, they let us feel safe. Wearing a mask we can raise the whole world, or we can tear it all down.

Sometimes, though, that mask is a blindfold. Was our country really any better two weeks ago than it is today, or were we just not paying attention? Obviously, too many of us weren’t, and too many that were who had no choice in the matter. To them, what so many of us had the luxury not to see was all they could, day after day, year after year, begging in vain us to look and stand with them and see.

Videos of the murder of George Floyd and then out of control police brutality have begun to rip that mask away.

To watch the video of the murder is agonizing, not just for its duration and George Floyd’s pleas for his life but for how his killer stares at the camera, daring anyone watching to hold him accountable. He and his accomplices began that video cloaked in the authority of the Minneapolis Police Department, marked by the deference shown them by Mr. Floyd, and ended it as psycho killers in a horror movie.

To watch the videos of police attacking non-violent protesters is almost as enraging. NYPD SUVs drove into people. Defenseless young women and old men were throw down in the street. Protesters offering their hands in peace received pepper spray and flash-bangs in return. Cops spit on protesters IN THE MIDDLE OF A PANDEMIC. Medical supplies for injured protesters were deliberately destroyed. Men and women were shot with paintballs while standing on the porch of their own house.

To then see video after video after video of police attacking journalists and other witnesses simply for holding a camera or a microphone, even for those desperate to convince themselves that Floyd and protesters had instigated the violence committed against them, that finally is as impossible to justify as the growing volume of video evidence makes it impossible to ignore.

That justification of blaming the victim is one more kind of mask. It obscures the act of violence, placing it at a distance. With it, our own complicity in the violence is pushed away along with our own accountability.

So, as the mask is pulled away, what does it reveal?

The obvious answer is the racism deeply embedded in the fabric of the United States of America. We must not make the mistake of thinking that this means that all cops are racist. That clearly is not true, any more than all are corrupt or all really just get off on pepper spraying defenseless men, women, and children.

Those, like all myths, have a kernel of truth, as we’ve seen in all of those videos, but myths they are and myths are another kind of mask. 

The myths of our nation’s founding, the Boston Tea Party in particular, are getting a lot of play right now, but they mask a darker history, one that from even before our nation’s birth involved slavery and the brutality used to justify it.

Slavery made the British Empire. The rise of Great Britain came with something called the Asiento de negros, which was the name Spain had given to control of the Atlantic slave trade. The British gained control of the North Atlantic trade in 1713 as a spoil of war.

The British people, however, found it harder and harder to ignore the brutality of slavery, at least what they heard of it in North America. In 1772, a year before those few, famous merchants dumped tea into Boston Harbor, the Somerset court case laid the legal foundation for abolishing slavery throughout the empire. The 13 Colonies may have picked a fight over tea (and customs stamps), but getting out before parliament ended slavery was no small part of it.

Great men and women led and fought in the War of Independence, that should never be forgotten, but myth after myth after myth has added layers to an origin story written decades after the fact, with tales of noble founders, noble masters, noble lost causes, and a meritocracy that places all equal under the law. Again, the last eleven days have removed that last particular mask.

Or should.

For some, everything they’ve seen or chosen not to has only reinforced the masks they choose to wear. To them, George Floyd must have done something to deserve what happened to him. The protesters and journalists, too, must have done something to deserve what happened to them.

Note those verbs: “done” and “happened” and how they’re used. That’s another kind of mask. Their victims’ verbs, active, place accountability on them. Our verbs, passive, push that same accountability away. Together, they place distance between us and those we have failed to protect.

That isn’t exclusively American, that’s human, but it is what’s driving support for Donald Trump right now and he knows it.

We keep seeing Trump say things and do things and tweet things during this crisis that beggar belief because they seek to increase fear, to increase division, and to justify the kind of abuse we once told ourselves only is done by petty dictators in failed states. And how do you imagine actual dictatorships now respond to us?

Peel away the veneer of a spoiled child throwing poo at the walls and the truth of Trump’s strategy becomes clear. He has focused on Antifa as an enemy not because he does not understand that it is not a centralized movement but because he does. The nebulous “Antifa terrorist” makes for the perfect bogeyman because he is impossible to define and because the image of a destructive person dressed in black and hiding his face behind a mask is all you need to stoke fear in those looking to be afraid.

If we’re being honest, though, Antifa activists shouldn’t be surprised that they have been used this way. They do tend to dress in black and they do cover their faces. It’s easy to pretend to be one. And, having no central authority and wanting none - seriously, all they want to do is stop fascists - they make the perfect scapegoat for anyone looking to not to be accountable.

The June 1st attack on the protesters outside the White House in Lafayette Square followed the same, twisted logic.

The world is still watching videos of police under the supervision of Attorney General William Barr brutally attacking unarmed, non-violent protesters to clear the front of St John’s church for a Trump photo op. Many are watching it because it was captured live on Australian TV, as the network’s own journalists were among those beaten and gassed.

Watching it is chilling. It doesn’t come close to the horror of the Floyd video or of ones showing police killing Philando Castile or Eric Garner or Tamir Rice or others, but consider that this is America, once the bastion of democracy, the example that so much of the rest of the world’s democracies chose when they drafted their own constitutions, the country that made Freedom a virtue. And now go back and watch that particular attack on citizens exercising free speech and freedom of assembly.

The footage of Trump fumbling with a bible during this photo op at the church certainly didn’t help. Nor does the knowledge that it came as a response not to any protesters that day but to mask his own cowardly flight down to the White House bunker the night before. To Trump’s rational-minded critics, he looked like a bumbling fool; to his irrational, deluded supporters, it was the show of strength they needed to see to keep not seeing what they desperately do not want to see.

Trump desperately wants to see himself as a strongman, a powerful, dominant leader just like the men he has always most admired. A strongman is just that, strong. He is unyielding. He does not negotiate. He does not listen. He does not feel compassion. He never admits mistakes, let alone failure.

It isn’t just that African-Americans are beneath him, everyone is, or must be, or must be made to be, or must be made to fear that they might be made to be. His mask is the mask of a bully and nothing more. He seeks to gain and maintain an imbalance of power in his favor. That’s how he sees the world, that’s how he sees relationships, that’s how he must be seen if we are to defeat him and everything he wants our world to be.

Racism, we must remember, is a form of bullying. Like all of the others - sexism, classism, religious bigotry, taunting in the schoolyard, workplace abuse, etc. - it is a means to an end, that end being to gain and maintain an imbalance of power.

The bully reminds his victim to know his or her place, to accept the abuse as inevitable, as a way of life, to create dependency, and in doing so to hammer in the belief that none of it can ever or should ever change.

Any system built on an imbalance of power must be sustained this way. To mask it, the abuser erases history, creating his own myths in its place. Whatever he owes to those he subjugates, be it the profits of their labor or resources he has “borrowed” from them, he acts as if they owe him. He reminds them of this, of everything they will lose if they don’t just shut up.

And more often than not, he succeeds. Those dependent on the bully wear a mask of ever-smiling weakness. Doing so, they demonstrate that they are not a threat and that they agree that they need him more than he needs them. They want to avoid punishment. They want to avoid losing whatever safety they believe they have.

So, they remain silent. They go along to get along. They hide. They blend in. The assimilate. They are “nice”. Like a volcano, the bitterness hidden from the world builds and builds and builds, the rage escaping in uncomfortable, unpleasant moments here and there, excused and apologized for, until it can no longer be contained.

And then we have this. 

So, yes, there have been some, tragically, who have not been able to contain their anger, but expressing anger in productive ways helps us. It draws our attention to threats to our survival as a society. Yes, some who are so impatient for any kind of satisfaction have broken things and set fire to things, but notice how few of them are among the actual protesters, and of them notice even more how few have been black.

Social media is filled with videos of the past week’s protests, and those videos document just how aware blacks are of how the right wing wants to frame protests as violent and destructive. Countless videos show blacks stopping whites from breaking things and setting fires and defacing buildings, because they know that this, too, is another form of bullying, another way to shut them up and shut them down, enabled by masks hiding the identities of those they were forced to have to stop.

Social media, long abused by anonymous trolls and empathically challenged influencers, including the hiding-behind-the-presidency-Tweeter-in-Chief, has been a blessing through all of this. It made widespread viewing of the George Floyd video possible. It made viewing a second video that proved that he did nothing threatening to anyone from the moment he was arrested. It offered platforms for lies and worse, but it also exposed them for what they were. It shared thousands of videos of calm, productive protests, and thousands more of those non-violent protests attacked by heavily armed police.

The world is watching those videos and is supporting those abused in them. That support has drawn the attention of men such as James Mattis and Pat Robertson, who had previously supported and enabled Trump and who, having watched those videos, now condemn him publicly.

When we pull back all of the masks, we do more than reveal the truth in others, we force ourselves to accept the truth of what we see around us and our own accountability in it.

The truth is that George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery and Manuel Ellis and countless others have suffered and died because we have allowed it.

The truth is that someone such as Donald Trump has risen to a position of power and now abuses countless others in trying to hold onto it because we have allowed it.

The truth is that billionaires and kleptocrats have profited off of our misery because we have allowed it.

The truth us that whatever damage has been done to our neighborhoods and our country and the very air that we breathe has been done because we have allowed it.

Today, in Houston, George Floyd’s loved ones honored him. Around the country, tens of thousands and perhaps more did, too. June 4th will be remembered for this, as it should.

Today, in Hong Kong, tens of thousands of protesters honored the dead of Tiananmen Square, thousands murdered on this day 31 years ago for demanding the same freedoms that have made our protests possible and that have made them so necessary. 

Today’s protesters did so in defiance of the Chinese government and did so, as they have since long before the pandemic, wearing masks. They must be heard, but dare not allow themselves to be seen.

This is one of those moments, an inflection point in which our choices can lead us in any direction. It is an opportunity for us, to recognize the many masks we all wear and to decide which we should wear and which we shouldn’t ever have to.

- Daniel Ward

#george floyd #blacklivesmatter #blm #politics #free speech #freedom to assemble #protests #non-violence #non-violent protest #tiananmen square #lafayette square #june 4th #breonna taylor #ahmaud arbery #racism #bullying #a means to an end #imbalance of power #manuel ellis #philander castile #eric garner #tamer rice #hong kong #china #tank man #long reads #long read #police brutality #antifa #anti-fascist

[yazziyoudaydreamer]

Chapter 1 of Setting a Hurricane of feelings Ablaze

Here is the first chapter of my Harry Potter My Hero Academia story! Completely set in the My Hero Academia world.

You can find this story on facebook, fanfiction, and on Archive of our own.

Summery                        

Sirius couldn't have picked a worse time to screw up a spell! Deciding to try a faded out ritual on the fire place wasn't one of his brighter ideas because when Harry steps through the floo to go and stay at his Aunty Bella's place he doesn't ever come back. Stuck in a place where Heroes and Villains exist with powers straight out of a comic book, Harry must learn to cope and thrive in this technology driven world. It isn't easy when his magic changes to form a powerful destructive quirk and his adoptive dad wants him to become a hero. That and the fact that he becomes ridiculously protective when he's around male friends for some reason.

Warnings, eventual Yaoi, MPreg

I don’t own My hero academia or Harry potter.

Start Chapter 1    

Pounding pounding pounding. His whole body felt like it was being torn apart and smashed back together again. Ugh his head, even in the welcoming embrace of the darkness of unconsciousness where he should have been completely unaware of pain it tore at him, stabbing him as his magic violently disagreed with something.

Ringing ringing ringing. His dark place refused to quiet. A piercing terrible noise. After what seemed like a eternity the pain eased a strange obnoxious beeping continued to torment him. Refusing to quiet. A rhythmic sound. Beep be-beep beep unending.

A rolling nausea rippled through Harry, his eyes darted open and he groaned as his body seemed to protest at his eyes even moving. "Sick." Was all he was able to managed out before he began heaving. His body almost seeming to protest his very survival.

"Shit! Here-here you're gonna choke to death!" a masculine voice said frantically, forcibly turning Harry's head and holding some sort of tub under his chin. Ugh he felt like he was going to heave up his guts! When was the last time he ate? It was like all he had was a stomach full of acid... But he had literally just ate before leaving home? It didn't make any sense! Though the pain didn't either...

Slowly the man pulled the puke tub from Harry's face, wiping at his mouth with a wet wipe. "You alright now kid? I mean not to sound like an ass or anything but you look like crap... Nearly died so I guess that's probably the reason... but... uh. Yeah. Anyway. How are you feeling?" The man asked. Harry's vison refused to stop blurring exhaustion was almost all consuming and all he felt like doing was sleeping, not talking. He forced himself to sit up though, stiffening when the man's words finally sunk in. Wait he had nearly died? What?! His vision seemed to almost snap into place after that. The strange man that had helped him becoming crystal clear.

Tall, he was very tall but ghastly thin and gaunt. Thick brows with strange sunken eyes. His hair was spiky and blond with two strange long strands in the front. Even looking deathly sick and frail Harry could feel power a kind of power that filled the air and took over an entire space, cloy and potent and consuming. It was a power that choke the breath out of all but the most powerful of beings by just being in the same area with it. Harry was thankful he was a very powerful wizard or he would be having some trouble as sensitive as he was to other's magical strength. He shuddered lightly as the taste of bile made the nausea roll through him again. He was hardly able to keep it in check.

"Kid?" The man pressed. Looking nervous, leaning forward in his set like he was expecting Harry to get sick again.

"I-I where am I?" Harry finally managed to get out. His brain still jumbled and confused. The annoying beeping was even louder when awake he thought distantly.

"Huh... Yeah... Well you're at the hospital, I mean pretty obvious right? Anyway, uh... So do you remember anything?" The man asked Harry, absently he sat the tub of throw up on a little side table next to the bed.

"Rem-ber anything? I-I left home... I was going to go to my Auntie Bella and Uncle Rabastan's home... Mum and Dad... they.. Were going to leave to go on a trip with friends for a few days. I-" Harry furrowed his brows trying to remember what happened next. "I had just finished lunch and used-used the floo to head over but it's been acting up because mum used some manky old spell he found and though would summon something I guess... and we hadn't gotten anyone out to fix it yet... It was taking us to random places but... I-I thought it would be fine. That-that since it was taking me to different floos I could-could just use the one I got spat out of to get me to my Aunt's. I stepped through then-then," Harry paled and his eyes widened becoming distant, nearly blank looking, "I saw a strange purple glow and felt a pull. Like I was... b-being being torn apart and put back together over and over again... It hurt so much!" He whispered shuddering. The memory making him nearly heave. Suddenly the feeling of cotton mouth hit him, making him go into a fit of coughs.

The man immediately snatched up a cup of water and carefully put to Harry's dry lips. Forcing him to take little sips so he wouldn't throw up again. After a few minutes of silence the man began to speak.

"No idea what the hell you are talking about... spells and such... but I'm assuming you're talking about a quirk or something. But it sounds... like the guy that you got spat out of's quirk must have somehow crossed with your mother's and grabbed onto you... in the middle of the battle he was... in with the heros." The man said, grimacing and itched at his cheek.

"H-heros? What are you talking about? What's a quirk?" Harry asked trying to straighten himself up more.

"What? You-uh a quirk? They didn't say you hit your head!" The man said, looking at Harry with pure worried disbelief.

"I'm a wizard! Wait, where is my wand?" Harry asked, panic filling him. He desperatly tried to force himself upright.

"Wait wait wait, wand, like from movies? You must have hit your head way harder than I thought! I saw a white stick literally burst into flames on it's own like some fantasy movie or something when you hit the ground but I mean it was a stick. It didn't look anything like like merlin's staff or anything!" The man insisted, looking like he was trying to force back laughter.

"I'm not joking! I'm a wizard, Harry Lupin-Black, heiress of both lines! My family must be worried sick! Auntie Bellatrix will be on a rampage by now, likely cursing anyone she comes across and my Uncles won't be far behind! All of this and I don't even have my wand so I can at least try and figure out a way to get home or protect myself!" Harry insisted, tears filling his eyes. What was he supposed to do now?

"What? Cursing what the hell does that mean? Wizards, kid you aren't making any sense!" The man said, looking at Harry like he thought him crazy, even scooting away slightly.

"My Auntie Bella is vicious she'll try hunting me down! My uncles to but Auntie Bella is um... a little unstable.." Harry vaguely explained.

The man cringed going stiff at what he had been told. Was this the child of a villain? Even so he was unwilling to judge so fast. What was all this magic crap though it sounded almost like this kid was a noble or something. What was up with the heiress bit though? He had thought the kid was a girl at first but this... kid clearly had at least the outside equipment of a boy. Something felt kind of creepy and archaic about this.

"So what you don't have a quirk or something you have magic and wands and crap?" The man asked, trying to get the kid to explain more.

"I don't even know what that-that is! And yes we do! I'm from a magical wizarding community in Britain!" Harry insisted, looking ready to bawl his eyes out.

"Ugh. You know the ability you are born with? 80% of the population has one! The guy that spat you out had a type of warp quirk that made it so he could create portals and spit objects out from other places. He unfortunately died because he ended up imploding after spitting you out. You obviously have one as well, I mean green lightning lashing out at everything... You were nearly dead before anyone could even get anywhere near you." The man explained.

"What? Wait... So most people have these abilities?" Harry Asked in a hesitant tone of voice. Dread slowly filling him, drowning him.

"Yeah of course! Why?" The man asked. "Wait, hey, hey you alright?" He asked jumping to his feet as Harry went a deathly shade of grey and dry heaved, trembling head to foot.

"It-he- the spell mum did must have done this! He- no no no! Magic in my world is only able to be used my a few people! This is bad-bad! I thought it felt different... My-my magic is all twisted. It isn't the same anymore! It isn't just a part of me anymore... it-it is me! There is no separation, not even slightly." Harry babbled hysterically.

"Wait slow down! What the hell are you even talking about?" The man demanded, wide eyed.

"I'm not where I should be! No wonder I was in so much pain... My magic changed somehow. It feels so strange!" Harry said, ignoring his pain. He managed to fully sit up.

"What? You know this sounds crazy right?" The main pointed out, pale.

"It's not like I tried to make this happen! I'm-I'm never going to see my mum and Dad ever again am I? I'm all alone now!" Harry sobbed realization just truly fully hitting him, a desperate fearful sorrow filled his eyes so completely with hopelessness that the man couldn't help but feel sick. That look, the kid had lost everything no one could fake that kind of hopelessness and emotional pain. In that moment he believed him. This kid, Harry or whatever... Oh god. This poor boy! So small and alone. He had to help him, to protect him!

"Hey, hey it's... okay." The man said, placing a hand next to the boy's arm. "I mean it isn't... but I'm not going to leave you all on your own okay? You'll live with me." The blond haired man said compulsively. Moving his flexing hand to place it on the child's head. He still had trouble believing that this kid was a boy. He inhaled, startled by the softness of the kid's silky hair.

He couldn't remember ever seeing a boy so pretty before with his delicate small frame, soft lightly curled nearly shoulder blade length ink black hair, and large soulful strange almost luminescent green eyes. Something in him insisted that he had to protect the kid. He was just so tiny and vulnerable looking, fragile, poor thing! He looked like he could hardly be more than nine or ten, though the blond man knew that was unlikely by what doctors had told him.

The man gave the boy his best smile, his super hero smile. In an attempt to reassure him.

"R-Really? But you don't even know me!" Harry pointed out sniffling.

"Yeah, really you'll stay with me, okay? I mean... It's not the same as having your family but... Well... Anyway, we'll probably have to figure out a back story for you or something... My name is Toshinori Yagi by the way. You can call me Toshinori." The man said, grinning at Harry. What was he even doing? Offering to take some random kid in! Toshinori forced that from his mind, trying to put the kid at ease with a good natured guff.

Toshinori couldn't let that poor boy be all alone in a completely different world than his own... Especially with his odd... Ability to get pregnant the doctors had mentioned and besides that he looked to only 9 or 10 and already everything about him screamed vulnerable cinnamon bun Uke boy! He definitely would protect him who would if not him? Ugh the idea of even leaving the poor kid all alone made Toshinori feel ill. Some creepy would happily take advantage, he was sure!

"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed, lunging forward to try to hug the man, falling into his lap instead as his body seized with pain.

"You-you shouldn't exert yourself like that kid! You literally just-just got out of a 3 day long coma! Besides that you shattered your leg." Toshinori stuttered, uncomfortably patting at Harry's back as he quietly whined and shuddered in pain, his leg absolutely on fire along with the rest of his body.

"Didn't think bout it!" Harry whimpered. Trying to take in a deep breath. His cheeks beat red.

The blond haired man slowly stood up and sat Harry back on the bed, careful not to yank out his IVs and tossed the blankets over him. "I'm going to go see if I can get you another blanket or something, you feel kind of cold. You need to be careful from now on, you don't need another surgery on that leg to... I'll be right back." Toshinori muttered, shuffling from the room.

As much as Harry wanted to protest his body demanded he went to sleep, he felt drained emotionally, physically, and the pain he was in made it even worse. He wished that someone would just hand him a pain potion, an extra strong one would really be appreciated at the moment! Even as stressed and nervous as he felt, sleep almost instantly forced itself on him. Even then Harry could hear the obnoxious beeping in his sleep, like before. It thundered through his troubled dreams beep be-beep beeping all around him.

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Harry had been in the hospital for nearly a month before finally being able to be allowed out... more convinced to be allowed to leave. He didn't heal nearly as fast as most people. His blood results were apparently strange, interesting but also worrying in some ways as he had several different mineral levels that were low. After several tries to up them it became apparent that he had issues things like mineral absorption and heat regulation. They also were worried about the way his body may be reacting to his quirk. Even with everything, Toshinori had thankfully managed to convince the hospital staff to release his new charge. Harry hid his twinges of pain from his changing body and badly broken leg. He wanted to just get out of the place that smelled of death and antiseptic. Toshinori was with him nearly constantly, other than a few hours a day. Teaching him about this 'new world'. The man had actually found the hardest part of everything to be trying to teach Harry about technology and things that Harry had deemed 'Muggle'... what ever the hell that meant...?

"So here's My place! Your room is over here! I tried to go by what you were telling me you like so sorry if it isn't to your liking..." Toshinori said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Feeling more nervous than he had expected.

"No, it's perfect!" Harry insisted. Smiling kindly up at the man. Hearts and stars shining around him. Making Toshinori recoil, looking at him with his face twisted in horror at how utterly adorable and sweet he looked. It wouldn't be long at all before boy's would be trying to take advantage of his ridiculously pretty sweet heart of a charge because there was no way in hell this kid was going to be attracting any girls, at least not straight ones! Why, why did he have to be such a... Uke boy?

Toshinori let out a nervous gush of air, smiling. "Good I wasn't sure." He admitted, 'I've never had to figure out a room for anyone let alone practically a girl before. I'm so glad I hit the nail on the head' He left out. Harry's, or as he had begun to call him, Harrison, because no way was he going to be calling him 'Darling Flower or Darling Harrison' like the kid's weirdo uncle apparently called him, taste seemed to strongly lean towards delicate and ...well girly things. It was like the poor kid was preprogramed into wanting kids and babies which at 13 years old was rather alarming for Toshinori. Especially as the man had already begun to find himself feeling an almost parental attachment to the child. And as his kid, Harrison would not be making him a premature adoptive grandpa or what ever the hell he was now going to be! The idea of it made Toshinori shudder in horror.

Harry gimped across the room on his crutches and sat on his bed flopping back onto it, marveling at how comfortable he could already tell it was. He couldn't ever remember finding a bed even half as comfortable as the ones at the Malfoy estate before. This one had to be just as comfortable and from what he had learned they couldn't cast softening charms in this place. How did they manage to make the mattress feel so nice without one though? Harry laughed rolling about on it, rubbing his head against the mattress, marking it with his scent. He loved it so much! All of it! Toshinori was so good to him! Everything was so pretty!

Harry's bedroom was a dusty purple color consisted of a queen bed with vivid peacock feather print bedding with it's coloration varied from emerald green to a bright purple. It had a large desk, and a plush dark green love seat next to a nearly bare book shelf. Harry squealed when he one of his hands felt something worn and familiar feeling. He immediately snatched it and pulled it to his chest, tears beginning to weld up in his eyes. It-it was, how did he find him? Paddy! "How-how did you find him? I thought he got destroyed or something?" Harry bawled, hugging his childhood stuffed animal close.

Toshinori smiled, sitting down next to Harry and affectionately ran a hand over his hair. "He was in a pocket on the inside of the bit of the clothes you had left... When you told me about him... how much he meant to you I... I went and got him repaired." Toshinori explained, rubbing his neck.

"Thank you so much!" Harry exclaimed, hugging the man, tears still running from his eyes.

Toshinori cringed when he pulled away and saw the bleach spots on Harry's far too large, shirt. They would really need to go clothes shopping as soon as possible Toshinori decided. Harrison couldn't be using the same two pairs of clothes forever and he forgot to get some stuff to wash Harrison's hair! Damn it! He'd have to go out and get some. It wasn't like bar soap or straight shampoo could be used with hair like that. Toshinori sighed, he was already doing a crap job at being a parent.

"Hey... So hows the leg feeling?" Toshinori asked, nibbling his lip. Hoping that he wouldn't need to leave Harry on his own.

"Hmm, it's alright. It doesn't hurt as much today as yesterday or anything." Harry said, sitting up and running a hand through his lose hair, Paddy was still fir.

"Good, want to go out to eat or something? Then we could go get you some stuff after if you're feeling up to it." The man said, giving Harry a nervous smile.

"I'd like that. Um, could we get a decent brush or something to? The hospital comb is practically useless." Harry explained, blushing as he ran a hand through his hair. Giving the man another nervous gentle smile that made him absolutely melt.

"Of course. Anything you need kid!" Toshinori cheerfully agreed, fully meaning it. He hadn't known him long but Toshinori could already feel himself truly caring for the boy.

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It had been a few months and in that time Toshinori had grown to love Harry as if he were his own flesh and blood child. Even with all the awkwardness that came with having a boy raised to be a 'heiress' with an adoration of stuffed animals well and live animals, children and really just cute 'girly' things in general and with the unnerving ability to eventually have.. them... like a girl, some day ugh, Toshinori couldn't stop having nightmares of Harry coming home with a baby and declaring him a grandfather for some reason. Getting use to going shopping for painfully cute clothes and learning how to braid hair wasn't exactly things he was expecting to have to learn either.

The hardest thing to deal with was the random quirk spaz outs though. Having to try to explain away why one of his bathrooms had to be not just repaired but completely rebuilt hadn't been easy especially when he was supposed to be a quirkless man with a strange probably bordering on creepy obsession with All Might. Asking them to have to completely rebuild half of the upstairs 2 weeks later had been awkward... and that was understating it. All over one goddamn spider Harry insisted was the size of a football and had pulled knife on him that he had never even seen. He was pretty convinced the kid was seeing things when he was half asleep in the middle of the night.

Harrison's quirk... was destructive to say the least. Toshinori had learned the does and don'ts around Harrison who was a rather meek and shy especially if he didn't know someone. He was prone to panic attacks and in general didn't do well in situations he wasn't familiar with or that involved being around lots of people... coming up behind him while he was half asleep without making any noise was also a total nono... electric shocks really weren't fun.

Anyways, reacting in fear all the time to things didn't seem to be a good thing when it came to such a quirk which he didn't seem to have much control over at all. His abilities lashed out in situations of stress, much like a small child's would sometimes do. Unlike most children or well people in general Harrison's quirk was dangerously powerful and destructive even without direction... Especially without direction! Lightning and Hurricane force winds... yeah not a good combo for a necrotic person. Mother nature must have either had a cruel sense of humor or was a total idiot.

In Toshinori's opinion Harry really would have been more suited to a quirk like super cleaning or something to do with babysitting things he would enjoy and be ridiculously good at... not something that could destroy a city block if he became too frightened because he had the control of a toddler. That was okay though, because Toshinori was sure that given a little training and encouragement that Harrison could become a great hero! They had a little over a year after all to get him ready and Toshinori was sure that they could. He believed in Harry who was already catching up with school sorts of things incredibly fast. He was extremely intelligent and a very fast learner It shouldn't take much for him to get a hold of at least what ever basics there were to control his quirk once they figured it out. And of course with an amazing quirk like that Harry would surely get into the Hero program at U.A.! Toshinori was sure Harry would be one of the greatest of heros!

Sadly even as amazing as he was, how kind and sweet, Toshinori didn't think that he would be suited to being the next torch bearer of his particular quirk. With his fragile body Harrison could never handle such a quirk. And Toshinori was certain that no matter how much training he were to ever do, it would never be enough. That was why when U.A. got into contact with him, Toshinori accepted their offer. He was going to be a teacher for at least the semester at the world premiere Hero school. He would pass the legacy of his quirk on and would surely be able to find the perfect person for it in a school for heros, the premiere school for heros to boot!

Agreeing to be a professor at U.A. meant that they would have to move. Something that Toshinori felt extremely stressed out about, not for him, but for his sweet nerotic Harrison. Being forced into a place packed with people all the time. Being forcing Harry into a school with other kids. Nearly sent the man over the edge with worry. Kids could be so mean after all and what if Harry got scared or needed him? He was such a sweet sensitive child after all! They hadn't been separated more than a few hours at a time since Toshinori had saved and took him in.

Toshinori had been homeschooling him in an attempt to catch him up to more normal things as the kid seemed to be able to brew up a mean headache reliever quite literally brew one which was freaky and ridiculous that wizards and witches apparently literally taught their kids to make potions with cauldrons, but knew nothing about science or conventional math. Toshinori still had trouble wrapping his head around it.

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"It says here that you have to connect the red cord to the third bracket down." Harry said, sitting cross legged on an air mattress, hair dripping wet.

"Okay got it." Toshinori said, giving a thumbs up. "What's next?"

"Uh, give me a second." Harry said, flipping through a booklet. "Okay now all you have to do is connect the input.. Jacks into the matching colors." Harry said, squinting at the ridiculously small print.

"Yes done! Now what movie do you want to watch? I've got that new one, Vindicator- civil war or Dr. Odd." Toshinori said, holding up two movie cases.

"Dr. Odd, he's supposed to discover magic right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, it's got really good reviews." Toshinori nodded.

"That one then!" Harry insisted, eyes lighting up with excitment.

Toshinori removed the DVD from it's case and crawled over to the flat screen sitting on the floor and pushed the open button on the player sitting next to it, putting the disk inside of it before closing it. Before sitting down he rolled up the inflatable mattress that refused to work and stuffed it back in it's box, he would return it in the morning he decided, the sooner the better after all. Toshinori snatched the remote and shuffled on his knees back. Sitting next to Harry on the huge inflated mattress. "Wait, you should probably brush your hair out before it dries too much." The man pointed out, his little over a year worth of strong parental instincts telling him Harry would regret it if he did it in the morning.

"I don't know where my brush is yet. I think I accidently put it in a box with my bedding stuff." Harry explained, smiling sheepishly.

"Well, sit in front of me then." Toshinori ordered. Clicking play on the DVD remote. He began carefully running fingers through black hair, absently easing through knots and tangles. After doing that, the gaunt man pulled a dark green scrunchy from his wrist, without even glancing from the screen he began braiding silky locks effortlessly. Twisting the hair tie around it's end, not having to look at what he was doing even once he was so practiced.

He and Harry continued to sit there like that for the remainder of the movie, making commentary, only pausing it a once when they forgot to grab some snacks. Harry fell asleep leaning against Toshinori Going completely limp, snuggled up against him making the man almost want to coo at his cuteness. Toshinori yawned, clicking off the TV. Glancing at the mess he grimaced, pushing the bowls away with his sock clad foot. "I'll deal with that tomorrow." He mumbled to himself.

He picked Harry up and laid him down on the inflatable 'super tough All Might' air mattress sitting among a couple dozen unpacked boxes in the living room. He tucked Harry in nice and tight, parental adoration bubbling up in his chest as Harry nuzzled his pillow and curled up in a tight ball. The blond haired man crawling in on the other side of the mattress with his own blanket and sprawled out, thoughts of everything they had to get done whirling in his head before he finally fell asleep, feeling hopeful and content as his pride and joy, his 'baby' slept soundly next to him.

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Toshinori flailed around in panic, Harry would be meeting his protegee today in the entrance exam for U.A.! He hoped he liked him. Toshinori didn't know what he would do if he didn't! Harrison's opinion was more important than anyone's to him, they just had to get along! He was glad that Harry at least wouldn't have to worry about the hero program portion of the exams. Being the world's greatest super hero definitely had it's perks in everyone listened to him when he said something.

Toshinori was still worried though. Harrison hadn't been in school the entire time he had him. It was for both his and other's safety, Harrison's control hadn't really improved much other than being able to cause things to sort of happen with it at will. It wasn't that Harry didn't try to learn control it but his ability was too wild and powerful and was out of control in such a way that Toshinori really didn't know how to help deal with it. How did you gain control of something as wild and unpredictable as a true natural disaster? He sure as hell didn't know that was for sure! Dealing with it was nothing like dealing with his own quirk. Harrison's was like trying to treat a rattlesnake like a dog. Not exactly easy when all it wanted to do was kill you! Toshinori was convinced that half of the problem was Harry's lack of confidence and naturally nervous demeanor. But he was sure his sweet boy would still be an amazing hero once he learned the trick to controlling his quirk.

"Are you sure you're ready to go tomorrow, I wouldn't care if you wanted to you know... stay home if you wanted." Toshinori wheedled wringing his hands together. Sweet literally poured from the man.

"Nah, I-I think I'll be okay!... I need to get into a-a good school so I can get a good job when I'm older." Harry insisted, scuffing at the floor with his toes.

Toshinori practically deflated at Harry's words. He really much rather have Harry never leave, then he at least would know that he was okay and no one was taking advantage of him or being mean to him. Harry smiled up at him in that sweet adoring reassuring way that just melted Toshinori. No he needed to support Harrison! Not make him feel like he was doing something bad! Harry already had enough confidence issues without him making them any worse with his hovering. Toshinori instantly forced himself to straighten up and laughed enthusiastically, his super hero laugh on full display as he grinned, "Of course if that's what you feel comfortable doing I'm behind you 100%!"He insisted, giving Harry a thumbs up. "Now go on! Go take a bath so you won't have to be in a hurry tomorrow, alright? Then straight to bed." Toshinori insisted, affectionately running a massive hand through Harry's near mid-back length hair.

"Okay! I promise." Harry agreed.

" No staying up until 3 again reading, got it? I don't want too you tired for tomorrow." Toshinori warned, suddenly looking far more serious.

Harry squeaked in embarrassment. "That was one time!" He eeped covering his cheeks when he felt them heat up.

"Uhuh." The blond haired man snorted. Practically shrouded in a cloud of scepticism.

"I'm-I'm taking my shower now." Harry muttered looking very much like a scolded pouting puppy.

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"You remembered your lunch right?" Toshinori asked, looking half ready to panic on Harry's behalf, frantically darting around trying to find everything.

"Yeah, right here." Harry said, holding up a zip up lunch cooling bag.

"And your bag right?" Toshinori exclaimed, eyes frantically darting around his whole body jittering as he wrung his hands together.

"Um, yeah. It's on my back..." Harry said pointing over his shoulder to his bag with cute little green puppy paw prints on it. "Have everything I need." Harry assured the man.

"Your phone?" The gaunt man pressed, blatantly ignoring Harry.

"In that Faraday cage thing you got me." Harry sighed, jingling the rubber and metal contraption at his side.

"Oh, you forgot a hair tie." Toshinori called out in triumph, ready to drag his charge back home that very moment.

"Oh I did didn't I? It's fine it looks nice this way anyway, doesn't it?" Harry said, tossing his hair out of his eyes. Not realizing what he had done had looked horrifically seductive.

Toshinori twitched, "Yeah, you're putting your hair up." He insisted hissing slightly at how ridiculously attractive his Harrison was.

"Oh... Okay?" Harry mumbled, completely baffled looking.

Toshinori pulled a scrunchy out of his pocket with a grimace. Quickly putting Harrison's hair up with a triumphant noise. He completely recoiled in horror and began making choking noises and almost looking like he was seizing when Harry turned to him as the bell rang, tilting his head and running a hand over the top of it. Practically sparkling and shining. Oh god what had he done?! Showing off his full face was way way worse! He was almost sickeningly adorable with his hair that way! Oh god he didn't want to be a grandfather yet! No!

"I guess I have to go in now. See you later um... D-dad!" Harry said nervously smiling at the man before heading towards the building. Looking back at the man looking slightly concerned as he continued to just stand there, clawing at the air and gasping. Delusions of Harry showing up with a baby running as clear as one of his beloved flat screen movies through the man's mind.

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"First day of school. Room A 1. General education." Harry muttered to himself. Harry had been worried during the exams that Toshi had signed him up for the hero courses, being All Might, but he didn't have to do more than the basic exams. The only thing that he had to really worry about the whole time is if he had answered a few essay questions satisfactory. No terrifying robots, no chance of severe injuries. It was a major relief! He didn't want anything to do with that lifestyle at all. No matter how much he loved his adoptive father he didn't want to be in constant danger. What Harry did want was a calm fulfilling job and to find someone to fall in love with then have a big family.

Harry tried to not be very noticeable when he entered the room. Thankfully it didn't have too many people in it yet so that wasn't too hard. He sat down, trying to be as discreet as possible he stayed quiet, too nervous to try and introduce himself. For some reason he always seemed to garnish a ridiculous amount of attention when he entered a room. Harry really wasn't a fan and was baffled why.

"Are you listening to me! Get your feet off of that desk! Be respectful of this institution and the students before us!" A very serious looking black haired student with a pressed uniform and glasses insisted. "Um... are-are you alright?" The teenager asked the boy he was lecturing after seeing the look on his face. The ash blond haired red eyed, sharp toothed boy's face was turning a worrying shade of red, eyes wide and vacantly staring. The boy backed away as the air around the blond began to heat up.

The tall serious looking student nervously followed the other boy's eyes confused by the display of anger towards a petite rather beautiful student, siting quietly, nervously arranging writing utensils. What a ridiculous response to someone sitting respectfully waiting to be educated! Something was obviously wrong with this barbaric boy! He would just have to make sure that the hooligan left her alone.

"Hi their cutie! My names Denki Kaminari! What's your quirk? Mines Electrification. I bet a pretty person like you has a really pretty name!" A electric blond haired boy said winking and flexing his arms flirtatiously, accidently knocking everything on the desk to the ground. The boy jerked away fearfully when he heard an enraged almost feral sounding growl.

"What the hell do you think you are doing extra? She obviously doesn't like you shit head! Look what you've done, knocking shit all over the floor what an asshole!" The ash blond teen suddenly yelled, his whole body smoking. He immediately stomped over making the other boy flee out of intimidation and began to help collect Harry's things. "He. He didn't do anything else.. Right?" The boy asked, face still a worrying shade of red now almost purple as he fidgeted with his sleeve involuntarily.

Harry shook his head, still completely confused by the boy's odd behavior and more than a little concerned about the smoke emitting from the boy's skin. The heat felt nice though. He was always pretty cold so being next to a practical heater didn't feel too bad.

"Good or I would have had to beat the shit out of that pervert!" The boy snarled, sparks rolling over his palms, his eyes almost crazed looking.

"Okay?... Um anyway I guess it's nice to meet you-...?" Harry said, trying to remember what the boy's name had been... he swore he saw him up on the screen when the students wanting to enter into the Hero program had been assigned to different practice city simulation grounds or what ever they were. That meant... aww! He didn't make it into the hero class, it wasn't what he would want to do but like many attending the exams it was likely his dream. Poor guy! Being in his class that meant he must not have passed!

"Katsuki Bakugou. Losers are only allowed to call me Bakugou, my last name, but I want you to call me by my given name Katsuki!" Bakugou said in a bragging tone of voice. The tone he used while telling Harry he wanted him to call him by his first name sounding much like he was bestowing upon him the greatest of honors.

Harry gave the boy a kind smile. "Oh-okay if that's what you want..."

Bakugou's eyes widened, feeling his mouth go dry. What was this weird feeling, like his heart was going to explode? She was so-so... pretty.. No more than that bigger calling her pretty would be like saying his quirk was just 'okay or average' no he was fantastic practically a god! Saying such a thing would be near blasphemy. No maybe beautiful, gorgeous? There weren't words to describe this person. That smile though. It made him want to hide this person away from the world and keep 'her' all to himself. Something was so unbelievably genuinely sweet and innocently almost fragile about them. Like a sunny day almost, the feeling reminded him of the day his quirk appeared. He wanted to protect this person. Wanted them to be his.

Bakugou nearly choked as realization hit him. Did he really just develop a crush on someone he had only just meet? Did he really have an actual crush, is that what this was his first one? No it was something else, stronger. Yes, he wanted this person to become his girlfriend... m-maybe possibly more! "Of course that's what I want! I wouldn't have said I wanted you to call me that unless I wanted you to!" Bakugou grumbled, looking away and rubbing at his neck feeling nervous and pathetic like-like that loser, Deku. NO! Nothing he did could be anything like that quirkless lesser! What else did he say though? Wait, what was her name? Yeah that's what he was supposed to ask right?

"So uh, what's your name anyway?" Bakugou asked, leaning against the desk behind him.

Harry shyly twirled a finger through a lose curl. "Harrison... I'm not sure if it's Yagi or still Lupin-Black... since my adoptive... Dad... and I decided that I would probably have less mix ups with paperwork and such... And well then-then I... wouldn't stick out so much if I had the same last name..." Harry explained, an uncomfortable look on his face.

Bakugou nearly cringed at the shitty name his crush had. Who in the hell named their kid, let alone daughter something as awful as that? A thoughtful look inched itself across his face as he forced his way past the name and focused on the other information revealed to him. Harrison... Yeah he would need to come up with a good nickname or something... was adopted. Where her parent's dead? Was she abused and taken away? Was it neglect? Ran through his head at rapid pace. He could already tell that she seemed to be a bit of a nervous person though he wasn't sure if it was because he was talking to her or if she was just shy.

"You can call me Harry if you want though, that's what everyone use to call me." Harry said.

Bakugou went stiff and growled, forcing himself not to blow up anything. NO way in HELL would he be calling 'her' that! It absolutely infuriated him that anyone had ever even called Harrison that! How could she let people demean her like that? The future girlfriend of Katsuki Bakugou would not be allowed to be made fun of that way! Katsuki would just have to make sure of it! "Come on, you can sit by me..." The aggressive boy growled, snatching everything up that was left on Harry's desk. A vein throbbing at his forehead at the thought of someone calling his, well soon to be his girl, that! feeling furious didn't even start to describe how angry he was. He stormed over to a desk and sat everything he had grabbed from Harry's desk down on the one next to the desk he chose for himself. It was in the front row at the very corner of the room. Being there would make it easier to keep track of Harrison and keep others away.

"W-wait... so um does this mean we are... are friends?" Harry stuttered, half curling in on himself as he stumbled after the other boy.

"Why else would I be letting you sit next to me? Of course." Bakugou said, feeling nearly giddy at the idea of the other wanting to be around him even though 'she' didn't seem to even know him past what he had just told her. Though it did hurt his pride a little to. That was okay though, forgivable, because it sounded like she wasn't from the area. Her ignorance of his magnificence could be forgiven. He already had a feeling that there was probably not much that he would think unforgivable from the other though.

Bakugou froze as Harry suddenly lunged forward and hugged him.

"I'm so happy! I hope we come to be good friends! I haven't had a friend in forever..." Harry nearly cheered, his chest swelling with happiness grinning. He was so lonely. He had Toshinori and loved him very much but the companionship of a parent and a friend were two very different things. He was so glad he had found a friend even if he seemed a little odd acting and a bit rough. It sort of just reminded him of his old friend, Cerburus... though with a mix of Dionysius added in...

That smile completely melted Bakugou, making him feel strange and oddly content the anger he normally felt seemed to simply fade away like it hadn't even been there. He couldn't help but smile back, all sharp teeth. Running a hand through his hair. His smile twisted into an enraged sneer when he heard the extra pestering him introduce himself excitedly to someone stuttering in a sickeningly familiar way. He turned to look on reflex. What, why the hell was that little shit here? Deku! He would pound that no body into the pavement! He would crush him to bone dust! He would kill hi-

A man's voice began to grumble in the hallway making everyone quite down in curiosity.

"It took you 8 seconds to quite down." a strange unkempt looking man grumbled, surveying the students. "Time is a precious resource. You aren't a very... rational lot, are you?..." The tired looking man voiced, sighing. He rolled his blood shot eyes then unzipped himself from a sleeping bag and walked over to a podium in the front of the room, dragging the bright yellow cocoon like bag behind him. "I'm your home room teacher, Shota Aizawa... Pleased to meet you." The homeless looking man said, grabbing his sleeping bag and holding it out to the meek seeming green haired boy that Bakugou had been half ready to kill earlier. "Quickly, hand these out... All of you, change into your GYM uniforms and head out to the grounds. I'm going to be testing your quirks."

"Wait! But what about the entrance ceremony?! Or our guidance sessions?" A girl with brown hair whined, looking half devastated along with most of the other students.

"There's no time to waste on that stuff if you want to become real heros. Shows like that are useless in the real world." Aizawa muttered, pulling out a juice pouch and began sucking on it.

Harry went green at what the man had just said.. Feeling vertigo. He instantly held his hand up, arm shaking.

"Yeah? What is it?" The man half groaned.

"Um, I'm sorry but I think I was put in the wrong class! I took the exams to go into General education, not the Hero program!" Harry squeaked.

Bakugou's face twisted into a mixture of confusion and anger at that admission.

"What's your name?" The man asked, now seeming to be mildly interested.

"Harrison Lupin-Black!" Harry said, trying to force himself not to just run out of the room screaming in terror.

The man leafed through a pile of papers. "Yeah, this isn't a mistake... You got a recommendation, something pretty hard to come by, now please sit down." The man said turning to continue speaking to the rest of the class.

"W-What? This is the first I have heard of this! I-I am requesting that I be allowed to talk to a councilor or something. I need to get this changed right away! I'd be no good at this at all!" Harry exclaimed, feeling ready to throw up.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Well someone obviously thought you were... And you got... a 96% on the test, second best over all on the written exams."

"They were obviously wrong!" Harry couldn't help but snipe. " My-I-I have taken a career aptitude test and everything. Hero definitely didn't come up as one of the careers recommended for me! I'm much more suited to be a elementary school teacher or daycare provider and the closest things I got to being a hero was being a social worker or a veterinarian!" Harry explained, beginning to sound manic. He pawed around in his bag to try and find the paperwork. Practically ripping it out of it's labeled folder to hand it to the man.

"Yeah... I don't really care. Mine said I should be an accountant or life coach of all things.. so... I kind of take crap like that with a grain of salt. Please, just sit down. I'm not changing my mind." The man grumbled.

Harry did as he was told, his throat feeling like it was closing up on him. He gripped his knees, trying not to visibly tremble.

"Anyway, get those on so we can head outside for your assessments. Today is the first step for some of you in the right direction to becoming pro heros."

End Chapter 1

#my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero acadamy #fanfiction #Harry Potter #harrypotter fanfiction #crossover #crossover fanfiction #Quirks #all might #dad might #cute #Harrison Lupin-Black #Harrison Lupin-Black series #yaoi #mpreg #maleslash #love #storm #good fanfiction #rare fanfiction #rare pair #school #trap #writers #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x midoriya #aizawa shouta #aizawa x all might #heros

[the-record-columns]

June 26, 2019: Columns

She pulled "A Kenny"

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

It seems as though that  I am, on a regularly irregular basis, having to once again chronicle something monumentally stupid—or even if not exactly monumental, nonetheless stupid—things I have managed to do that either scared me to death, injured me, or potentially might have even killed my fool self.

You know, like the time I tried to light my gas grill without raising the lid—after a lighting attempt had already been tried by another person.  A ball of orange flame hit me in the face and burned off my eyebrows and over half of the hair on my head.  Actually, it was minimal damage compared to what could have been.  

And, there was the time I tried to beat a train in Lenoir on my way back to school in Cullowhee.  I was driving a 1957 Studebaker with a little hot water six-cylinder motor that wouldn't even pull a string out of a cat’s butt.  Of course I got to the point of no return and I will never forget the sound of that train whistle as it bore down on me with neither one of us having any chance of stopping in time.  Obviously, I made it, but only the good Lord knows how or why.

Then there was the fall from a ladder onto my deck which is 35 feet in the air—saved only by falling to the left, onto the deck; and not right, onto the street below.  After which I was gently reminded of the "belt-buckle rule" by one Lester "Kingfish" Burns, about not leaning past the ladder's standards.

On it goes, even something as simple as spraying wasps in one of The Record's newspaper boxes, about got me stung to death when I attacked them with roach spray instead of the long-distance wasp spray I thought I had purchased.  Just for the record, roach spray only angers wasps. 

Well, I guess things just add up after a period of time, and the inevitable was bound to happen.

Recently I was talking to my dear friend, Nancy Sorbello, when she recounted her own "Perils of Pauline" kind of a day working around her house.  After mentioning a few trials and tribulations, including burning her hand, she was telling me about going out on her deck to clean out a wading pool her grandchildren, Dillon and Lacey, to play in. 

Her next remark is what sticks in, my mind, when she said, “The minute I stepped into that wading pool, I pulled 'a Kenny' and landed flat in that pool and got soaked." 

The notable part of Nancy's statement is the part which says "...I pulled 'A Kenny.'"

It was at that moment that I realized I had become a generic term for a calamity of one kind or another.

Well, at least I’ve lived safely for a while, and thought I’d perhaps outlived my reputation. That was until this past Sunday afternoon. It was then that I decided to clean up after some work that had been done on the deck which is attached to my apartment above the offices of The Record.  This involved a fairly large pile of sawdust and small wood scraps.  Clearly, I should have swept it up with a broom, but noooooo!  I had to go get the leaf blower and attack the sawdust electrically.

Literally at the second I cut on that blower and put the nozzle at the base of the sawdust pile, a breeze shifted and blew every bit of it straight back on my face, into my hair, my ears, my nose, on my clothes, and—the worst part—into my eyes.

To one extent or another, all my life something foreign had occasionally gotten in an eye and was shortly washed out naturally by the simple  production of tears.

Not this time.

I had half of a rough sawn 2" x 8" x 18' board (a very old board from the American-Drew plant) in my right eye—or so it felt.

As I’ve noted here often, I do not suffer very well and Sunday was no exception. I splashed water on my face over and over, even took two showers just to let water wash my eyes, all to no avail.

As the evening progressed, it hurt worse and worse.  I tried not to rub my eye, but it was almost an action of reflex. Finally, at about 10:30 p.m., I managed to drive over to the Emergency Room at the hospital where it was numbed, washed out, and the sawdust removed.  After a long night of no sleep, I went to see Dr. Danny Payne on Monday morning and he checked my eye again and ordered what I needed for relief.

Sweet relief.

I say a special “thank you” to the folks at Wilkes Medical Center on Sunday and to Optometrist Dr. Danny Payne on Monday for their help. All is now better with no apparent lasting effects.

And yes, there is a nice set of goggles hanging in the C Street warehouse.

The moral of this story? Be careful. Don't pull "A Kenny."

We hold these truths to be self evident…or not

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

Next week Americans, whether by birth or by naturalization, will be celebrating what is considered America’s birthday.

But do you know how that came about and why? It’s not all fireworks, hot dogs, and Kenny’s famous chicken recipe. The question is not to insult, rather to educate, as it came to my attention last week that a high school graduate had never heard of a little ditty called “The Declaration of Independence,” or when it was signed, and was shocked to learn it was why we have fireworks and parades.

But don’t get me started, lack of our youth knowing history is another soapbox, I mean column, altogether. .

It seems to me that in this country’s current state of divisiveness in news outlets and social media about trade wars, who is, and who is not welcome in this country, which political party is at fault, accusing those who need government as just working the system, and what rights are actually being infringed on, that we may need to actually revisit these documents that are in fact, the law of this land, otherwise known at the Constitution.

Timeline: CONGRESS,

JULY 4, 1776.

The would be founding fathers were throwing down the gauntlet, after already being in a war against England for their independence.

Let’s peruse the infractions charged against the so called tyrant in charge of the nation at the time, and see how much history has changed. Or not. Here’s how it reads:

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America when in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

- That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

- That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.

- Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

•He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary

for the public good.

•He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing

importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

•He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

•He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable,

and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

•He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

•He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

•He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

•He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

•He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

•He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

•He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

•He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

•For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world: For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

•For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

•For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring

Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

•For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

•He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. He is at this time transporting large Armies of Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

•In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a

Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States...

And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.”

In observing the politicians currently on the hill, it seems the aristocracy has risen again, and these words, 242 years old next week, still ring true.  

Will you be a Patriot in the true sense of the word, as it was writ, and bring the power of America back to the people, or be on the wrong side of history, siding with tyranny?

The Church and the Chosen

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

In its infancy, the Jewish sect that came to belief in a Messiah who, to this day, is revered around the world, separated from its Jewish beginning. This separation marks the Hebrew roots of the modern church of believers.

In its nascence, Gentiles also came to believe and, over time, the separation of Messianic believers from the Jewish people accelerated. Whether from the evil inclination, yetzer hara, or an outside influence, satan and his fallen angels, (let the theologians sort it out), so began the woes suffered by Jews at the hands of a people eventually to become known as Christians.

However, persecution of the Jews did not begin with Christians. Persecution began much earlier, back in Egypt, and some historians claim even earlier. Nevertheless, the Jewish people have been harassed and assailed for thousands of years by both Christians and non-Christians. Even within the lifetime of many still living today, the Holocaust years of death for 6 million Jews are vividly remembered. The tattoos on the arms of survivors were readily seen for many years in America and around the world but, as these survivors grow old and die, the tattoos, those visual reminders, are becoming a fading memory.

Recognizing their mistake by failing to stand in defense of the Jewish people during WWII, there now seems to be a welcome change in attitude by many Christians toward the Jewish people and Israel. Though this phenomenon is not well understood by Jews, they are coming to embrace our friendship although not without a degree of suspicion, and rightfully so.

What is this new phenomenon from certain Christians the world over causing the feeling of compunction over Jewish pogroms of history? Why do many Christians seem to be making some kind of restitution toward Jews? Many millions of dollars have been donated by Christians to large Jewish organizations to help fund Aliyah, which is the immigration of Jews to their homeland of Israel.

What are we to make of these certain Christians who, by the millions, are pouring into Israel as tourists? These same Christians are actively seeking Jewish teachers and Rabbi’s to teach them Torah, from the depth of 3,500 years of wisdom. These same Christians are defending Jewish Israel from boycott, divestment and sanctions. They are standing against anti-Jewish agitators and militant anti-Semites who also hate Israel.

When I encounter such Christians in Israel and in America, their motivation for supporting Israel and the Jews is not, as some would claim, due to any attempt to fulfill Bible prophecy or hasten end-time events. This new-found love that Christians have for Jews and for Israel is for no other reason than God’s supreme His chosen people - the Jews, and for His special land – the land of Israel. God’s love and His love alone is the reason why so many Christians are stalwart protectors and supporters of Israel.

So, who are these certain, particular (peculiar) Christians who number into the tens of millions who support Israel without a principal agency to give them voice? These are Evangelical Christians who are distinct from those who generically call themselves Christians.

Evangelical Christians have an unyielding belief in the veracity of scripture, which begins with Genesis, not Matthew of the New Testament.  It is the Bible that serves as the underlying well-spring of knowledge, including the moral and ethical way of living, that unifies Evangelical Christians, in addition to their unwavering belief in the Messiah.

Generic Christians will declare their belief in Messiah and scripture, but doctrinally may remain aloof to the Jews and their land. On the other hand, there are layers of opinion within generic Christianity which include support for Israel.

The fact that Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East and, by extension, provides greater freedoms to its citizens, garners support from Americans, religious or not.

None of these words represent a screed or judgement on generic Christianity. They are written to help the Jewish people better understand who Evangelical Christians are and why we openly and publicly support Israel and the Jewish people.

Eagles and Flags

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

I remember visiting the Carolina Raptor Center for a story about its work. As it happened, an American Bald Eagle was scheduled to be released on the day of my visit. Naturally, we included that in our segment. I had not witnessed such an event before, and I don’t think I will ever forget the experience.

I have always prized seeing our flighted national symbol soaring above. I don’t know how you feel about it, but it gives me a feeling of awe and patriotic pride.

The American Bald Eagle can reach flight speeds of 35 to 43 mph and dive speeds of 75 to 99 mph. They tend to mate for life and their nests are the largest of all birds. Native American tribes have honored the eagle for many generations, and in 1782 the American Bald Eagle officially become part of the American identity.

I was aware of some of this history before I witnessed the release of the rehabilitated eagle. Learning about the medical attention and rehabilitation that was required to release this amazing animal back to the wild was amazing and inspirational.

The environment was charged with excitement and anticipation as the moment drew near for the release of our symbol of liberty. Our crew was within a few feet of the eagle’s wings; we did not want to miss anything. We could see every movement and hear every sound. We wondered which way he would fly. We were reminded that he was wild, and he would go where he wants to go.  

It was time. Three, two, one…and there he went, it seemed like, within inches of where we stood. You could hear the exhales and then the applauds from the spectators.

We were all wowed by what we had just witnessed. At that moment I became committed to learning more about this majestic animal.

We are a nation with many symbols that stir our emotions.

Not so long about I was visiting with a friend who has one of those charming Southern front porches lined with white rockers.  He is a US veteran, and he always has the American flag flying. I noticed that the flag was a bit weathered, and I told him that I would be honored to purchase a new flag for display.

He said, “Well, this one is not so bad.” He went on to tell me the story of the flag and how it had made its way to him after flying over our nation’s capital. He then told me about another weathered flag that he flies on special occasions. It is from friends at the US Coast Guard, and it flew when they were stationed in Iraq.

He and I are good friends, but he said to me, “It’s not good to mess with a man’s flag.” I told him I understood, but to say that it gave me something to think about would be an understatement.

I have heard a lot of stories about flags, uniforms and medals. I have had short and long conversations with men and women who have served our nation. Not all the conversations have been comfortable, and the short ones where short for a reason. Some memories carry a lot of pain and for some people they are better left unrecalled.

I do not pretend to understand the complexities of the emotional realities of everyone; I’m not sure I understand my own. However, I am sure of this. I am inspired at the sight of the American Bald Eagle, I love our American flag and the many things that it stands for and I am grateful for the men and women who keep them both flying.

NC Early College Futures Hang in the (Budget) Balance

Heather Dean

Record Reporter

North Carolinas Early College High Schools (ECHS), also called cooperative innovative high schools (CIHS), are usually found on a campus of a university or community college.  These partnerships expand students’ opportunities for education success through high quality instructional programming, are aimed at students who are at risk of dropping out of school, first-generation college students, and students who can use the extra attention and accelerated atmosphere provided by the schools. In the five year program, students receive their high school diploma and tuition free two year degree. Only 15 out of 100 counties in North Carolina do not have an Early College High School.

Currently, 97 of the state’s 115 school districts have 133 Cooperative Innovative High Schools, including 114 funded partnerships: 117 partners with community colleges, 11 partners with UNC institutions, and 5 partners with independent colleges.   They are among the state’s most successful high schools, with high graduation rates and school test scores, and consistently outperform on state exams and college readiness as compared with other schools.  The SERVE Center at UNC-Greensboro found among ECHS students, an increased high school graduation rate with students getting a two-year associate’s degree and that those students were getting a four-year college degree faster. According to SERVE Centerstudies, each graduating class of early college students could bring an estimated $92 million in increased lifetime benefits to society, such as through increased tax payments and reduced incarceration costs.

In North Carolina, statistics for the 2017-2018 school year  show 100% graduation of the 26,090 students in the program; 72% of the early colleges received a school performance grade of A, compared to 6.5% in regular public school. Yet, even with those impressive numbers, State Senate budget writers are proposing cutting $26 million in extra funding, and over the next three years, cutting all funding together, making ECHS’ in the poorest counties and with the most need facing closure. Some may argue the budget cuts won’t have a drastic effect as these schools get more state supplemental funding than traditional schools get, but if the budget cuts go through, they are ultimately doomed, as there is not sufficient county funding to makeup the loss.

The state used to provide each early college with $300,000 a year. But in 2017, state lawmakers reduced the funding to between $180,000 and $275,000 a year, depending on the wealth of the county where the school is located.  Tier 1 counties, the poorest, received $275,000 annually. Tier 2 got $200,000, and Tier 3 received $180,000.

The Wilkes Early College High School has been in operation since 2009, and has accepted over 600 students during that time. They accept an average of 60 children a year and currently have approximately 260 students, and are a Tier 2 level school.

Michelle Shepherd, Principal at Wilkes Early High School said “Our goal is to help students prepare for career ready, college ready, and life ready skills. The jeopardy of losing supplemental funding would surely be detrimental to our program. I think the term “supplemental” is very misleading; it should be seen as essential funding. We must have this funding to help with college textbook purchases, personnel, and supplies. We are seeing the program have significant returns to our community. One such example is a returning student to Wilkes Early College as now an English II teacher. We have to tell our story and see the returns of our investment to our community.”

Wes Martin, Wilkes County High School Drama Department teacher said “I think dropping the early college would be a terrible thing. I believe it gives students the opportunity to get a two year degree that they otherwise might not get. Also the seniors and super seniors coming out of the early college or some of the most mature kids I’ve ever worked with.”

An online petition started by Natasha Gouge on Change.Org, to NC House of Representatives and Senators, has garnered over 3,000 signatures already, with many of those being from students and educators from across the state.

Jane Semler from Dover, TN, signed the petition and said “Top students need recourses just as much as those on the bottom end of the curve. Each child deserves a public education that meets their learning needs, including the need for high achievers to grow. Typically, public schools do not have the means to meet those above grade level needs, particularly for high school students. Early college meets those needs and should be available at no additional cost for high achieving students whose needs can no longer be met by their public high school.”

Senate Majority Whip Jerry Tillman, R-Randolph, chairs the Senate’s education appropriations committee said “I’m not for that particular cut; I’m trying my best to get it back.” Budget writers from the Senate and the House, are working on a compromise budget. You can email him at [email protected].

LETTER TO THE EDITOR

To the Editor:

There is talk of possibly cutting state funding for Early Colleges. One early college, the Marine Science and Technologies Early College High School, has recently been voted out by their local Board of Education as they were under the impression that such a program would not only have county funding, but state funding too.

As an Alumnus of the Wilkes Early College High School, to hear of budget cuts for this program and to hear of counties resulting in having to close them, is disheartening. Growing up and living in a rural county like Wilkes, it was understood rather quickly that options are limited. I had applied for one spot out of sixty at the behest of my parents and was accepted. For the next five years, I worked towards both a high school diploma and a two-year college degree. Those five years were some of the best. I had developed a true sense of self, formed lasting memories and relationships, and was academically prepared for when I went to ASU.

These Early College programs work. They prepare students for life outside of high school and I hope the funding for these programs stay intact.

F. Hernandez

North Wilkesboro

#We hold these truths to be self evident…or not By HEATHER DEAN Record Reporter Next week Americans whether by birth or by naturalization wil

[maritimecyprus]

The “Black Tom Island” incident occurred on Sunday, 30 July 1916. German saboteurs ignited a fire at the munitions-loading facility in Jersey City, across from Manhattan. The ensuing explosions destroyed the waterfront facility and largely obliterated the island, killing four persons and causing over $40 million in property damage. It was the first state-sponsored terrorist attack in US history and was the genesis of the US Coast Guard’s port security program.

Aftermath of the Black Tom explosion on July 30, 1916. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

All was dark and quiet on Black Tom Island in New York Harbor, not far from the Statue of Liberty, when small fires began to burn on the night of July 30, 1916. Some guards on the island sent for the Jersey City Fire Department, but others fled as quickly as they could, and for good reason: Black Tom was a major munitions depot, with several large “powder piers.” That night, Johnson Barge No. 17 was packed with 50 tons of TNT, and 69 railroad freight cars were storing more than a thousand tons of ammunition, all awaiting shipment to Britain and France. Despite America’s claim of neutrality in World War I, it was no secret that the United States was selling massive quantities of munitions to the British.

The guards who fled had the right idea. Just after 2:00 a.m., an explosion lit the skies—the equivalent of an earthquake measuring up to 5.5 on the Richter scale, according to a recent study. A series of blasts were heard and felt some 90 miles in every direction, even as far as Philadelphia. Nearly everyone in Manhattan and Jersey City was jolted awake, and many were thrown from their beds. Even the heaviest plate-glass windows in Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn shattered, and falling shards of glass preceded a mist of ash from the fire that followed the explosion. Immigrants on nearby Ellis Island had to be evacuated.

Peter Raceta, the captain of a flatbottom barge in the harbor, was in the cabin watching the fire on Black Tom with two other men. “When the explosion came, it seemed as if it was from above—zumpf!—like a Zeppelin bomb,” he told a reporter from the New York Times. “There were five or six other lighters alongside mine at the dock, and a tug was just coming up to drag us away.… I don’t know what became of the tug or the other lighters.  It looked as if they all went up in the air.” Of the two men he was with, she said, “I didn’t see where they went, but I think they must be dead.”

Watchmen in the Woolworth building in Lower Manhattan saw the blast, and “thinking their time had come, got down on their knees and prayed,” one newspaper reported. The Statue of Liberty took more than $100,000 worth of damage; Lady Liberty’s torch, which was then open to visitors who could climb an interior ladder for a spectacular view, has been closed ever since. Onlookers in Manhattan watched as munition shells rocketed across the water and exploded a mile from the fires on Black Tom Island.

Flying bullets and shrapnel rendered firefighters powerless. Doctors and nurses arrived on the scene and tended to dozens of injured. The loss of life, however, was not great: Counts vary, but fewer than ten people perished in the explosions. However, the damage was estimated at more than $20 million, (nearly half a billion dollars today), and investigations eventually determined that the Black Tom explosions resulted from an enemy attack—what some historians regard as the first major terrorist attack on the United States by a foreign power.

Firefighters were unable to fight the fires until the bullets and shrapnel stopped flying. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

In the days after the blasts, confusion reigned. Police arrested three railroad-company officials on charges of manslaughter, on the assumption that the fires began in two freight cars. Then guards at the pier were taken in for questioning; on the night of the explosions, they had lit smudge pots to keep mosquitoes away, and their carelessness with the pots was believed to have started the fires. But federal authorities could not trace the fire to the pots, and reports ultimately concluded that the blasts must have been accidental—even though several suspicious factory explosions in the United States, mostly around New York, pointed toward German spies and saboteurs. As Chad Millman points out in his book, The Detonators, there was a certain naivete at the time—President Woodrow Wilson could not bring himself to believe that Germans might be responsible for such destruction. Educated, industrious and neatly dressed, German-Americans’ perceived patriotism and commitment to life in America allowed them to integrate into society with less initial friction than other ethnic groups.

One of those newcomers to America was Count Johann Von Bernstorff, the German ambassador to Washington. He arrived in 1914 with a staff not of diplomats, but of intelligence operatives, and with millions of dollars earmarked to aid German war efforts by any means necessary. Von Bernstorff not only helped obtain forged passports for Germans who wanted to elude the Allied blockade, he also funded gun-running efforts, the sinking of American ships bringing supplies to Britain, and choking off supplies of phenol, used in the manufacture of explosives, in a conspiracy known as the Great Phenol Plot.

One of his master spies was Franz Von Rintelen, who had a “pencil bomb” designed for his use. Pencil bombs were cigar-sized charges filled with acids placed in copper chambers; the acids would ultimately eat their way through the copper and mingle, creating intense, silent flames. If designed and placed properly, a pencil bomb could be timed to detonate days later, while ships and their cargo were at sea. Von Rintelen is believed to have attacked 36 ships, destroying millions of dollars worth of cargo. With generous cash bribes, Von Rintelen had little problem gaining access to piers—which is how Michael Kristoff, a Slovak immigrant living in Bayonne, New Jersey, is believed to have gotten to the Black Tom munitions depot in July of 1916.

Investigators later learned from Kristoff’s landlord that he kept odd hours and sometimes came home at night with filthy hands and clothing, smelling of fuel.  Along with two German saboteurs, Lothar Witzke and Kurt Jahnke, Kristoff is believed to have set the incendiary devices that caused the mayhem on Black Tom.

But it took years for investigators to piece together the evidence against the Germans in the bombing. The Mixed Claims Commission, set up after World War I to handle damage claims by companies and governments affected by German sabotage, awarded $50 million to plaintiffs in the Black Tom explosion—the largest damage claim of any in the war. Decades would pass, however, before Germany settled it. In the meantime, landfill projects eventually incorporated Black Tom Island into Liberty State Park. Now nothing remains of the munitions depot save a plaque marking the explosion that rocked the nation.

German Master Spy Franz Von Rintelen and his “pencil bomb” were responsible for acts of sabotage in the United States during World War I. Photo: Wikipedia

Source: Smithsonian

Flashback in maritime history: The “Black Tom Island” incident, 30 July 1916 The “Black Tom Island” incident occurred on Sunday, 30 July 1916. German saboteurs ignited a fire at the munitions-loading facility in Jersey City, across from Manhattan. 

#Flashback #History

[maritimecyprus]

The “Black Tom Island” incident occurred on Sunday, 30 July 1916. German saboteurs ignited a fire at the munitions-loading facility in Jersey City, across from Manhattan. The ensuing explosions destroyed the waterfront facility and largely obliterated the island, killing four persons and causing over $40 million in property damage. It was the first state-sponsored terrorist attack in US history and was the genesis of the US Coast Guard’s port security program.

Aftermath of the Black Tom explosion on July 30, 1916. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

All was dark and quiet on Black Tom Island in New York Harbor, not far from the Statue of Liberty, when small fires began to burn on the night of July 30, 1916. Some guards on the island sent for the Jersey City Fire Department, but others fled as quickly as they could, and for good reason: Black Tom was a major munitions depot, with several large “powder piers.” That night, Johnson Barge No. 17 was packed with 50 tons of TNT, and 69 railroad freight cars were storing more than a thousand tons of ammunition, all awaiting shipment to Britain and France. Despite America’s claim of neutrality in World War I, it was no secret that the United States was selling massive quantities of munitions to the British.

The guards who fled had the right idea. Just after 2:00 a.m., an explosion lit the skies—the equivalent of an earthquake measuring up to 5.5 on the Richter scale, according to a recent study. A series of blasts were heard and felt some 90 miles in every direction, even as far as Philadelphia. Nearly everyone in Manhattan and Jersey City was jolted awake, and many were thrown from their beds. Even the heaviest plate-glass windows in Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn shattered, and falling shards of glass preceded a mist of ash from the fire that followed the explosion. Immigrants on nearby Ellis Island had to be evacuated.

Peter Raceta, the captain of a flatbottom barge in the harbor, was in the cabin watching the fire on Black Tom with two other men. “When the explosion came, it seemed as if it was from above—zumpf!—like a Zeppelin bomb,” he told a reporter from the New York Times. “There were five or six other lighters alongside mine at the dock, and a tug was just coming up to drag us away.… I don’t know what became of the tug or the other lighters.  It looked as if they all went up in the air.” Of the two men he was with, she said, “I didn’t see where they went, but I think they must be dead.”

Watchmen in the Woolworth building in Lower Manhattan saw the blast, and “thinking their time had come, got down on their knees and prayed,” one newspaper reported. The Statue of Liberty took more than $100,000 worth of damage; Lady Liberty’s torch, which was then open to visitors who could climb an interior ladder for a spectacular view, has been closed ever since. Onlookers in Manhattan watched as munition shells rocketed across the water and exploded a mile from the fires on Black Tom Island.

Flying bullets and shrapnel rendered firefighters powerless. Doctors and nurses arrived on the scene and tended to dozens of injured. The loss of life, however, was not great: Counts vary, but fewer than ten people perished in the explosions. However, the damage was estimated at more than $20 million, (nearly half a billion dollars today), and investigations eventually determined that the Black Tom explosions resulted from an enemy attack—what some historians regard as the first major terrorist attack on the United States by a foreign power.

Firefighters were unable to fight the fires until the bullets and shrapnel stopped flying. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

In the days after the blasts, confusion reigned. Police arrested three railroad-company officials on charges of manslaughter, on the assumption that the fires began in two freight cars. Then guards at the pier were taken in for questioning; on the night of the explosions, they had lit smudge pots to keep mosquitoes away, and their carelessness with the pots was believed to have started the fires. But federal authorities could not trace the fire to the pots, and reports ultimately concluded that the blasts must have been accidental—even though several suspicious factory explosions in the United States, mostly around New York, pointed toward German spies and saboteurs. As Chad Millman points out in his book, The Detonators, there was a certain naivete at the time—President Woodrow Wilson could not bring himself to believe that Germans might be responsible for such destruction. Educated, industrious and neatly dressed, German-Americans’ perceived patriotism and commitment to life in America allowed them to integrate into society with less initial friction than other ethnic groups.

One of those newcomers to America was Count Johann Von Bernstorff, the German ambassador to Washington. He arrived in 1914 with a staff not of diplomats, but of intelligence operatives, and with millions of dollars earmarked to aid German war efforts by any means necessary. Von Bernstorff not only helped obtain forged passports for Germans who wanted to elude the Allied blockade, he also funded gun-running efforts, the sinking of American ships bringing supplies to Britain, and choking off supplies of phenol, used in the manufacture of explosives, in a conspiracy known as the Great Phenol Plot.

One of his master spies was Franz Von Rintelen, who had a “pencil bomb” designed for his use. Pencil bombs were cigar-sized charges filled with acids placed in copper chambers; the acids would ultimately eat their way through the copper and mingle, creating intense, silent flames. If designed and placed properly, a pencil bomb could be timed to detonate days later, while ships and their cargo were at sea. Von Rintelen is believed to have attacked 36 ships, destroying millions of dollars worth of cargo. With generous cash bribes, Von Rintelen had little problem gaining access to piers—which is how Michael Kristoff, a Slovak immigrant living in Bayonne, New Jersey, is believed to have gotten to the Black Tom munitions depot in July of 1916.

Investigators later learned from Kristoff’s landlord that he kept odd hours and sometimes came home at night with filthy hands and clothing, smelling of fuel.  Along with two German saboteurs, Lothar Witzke and Kurt Jahnke, Kristoff is believed to have set the incendiary devices that caused the mayhem on Black Tom.

But it took years for investigators to piece together the evidence against the Germans in the bombing. The Mixed Claims Commission, set up after World War I to handle damage claims by companies and governments affected by German sabotage, awarded $50 million to plaintiffs in the Black Tom explosion—the largest damage claim of any in the war. Decades would pass, however, before Germany settled it. In the meantime, landfill projects eventually incorporated Black Tom Island into Liberty State Park. Now nothing remains of the munitions depot save a plaque marking the explosion that rocked the nation.

German Master Spy Franz Von Rintelen and his “pencil bomb” were responsible for acts of sabotage in the United States during World War I. Photo: Wikipedia

Source: Smithsonian

Flashback in history: The “Black Tom Island” incident, 30 July 1916 The “Black Tom Island” incident occurred on Sunday, 30 July 1916. German saboteurs ignited a fire at the munitions-loading facility in Jersey City, across from Manhattan.

#Flashback

[maritimecyprus]

(http://www.MaritimeCyprus.com) The “Black Tom Island” incident occurred on Sunday, 30 July 1916. German saboteurs ignited a fire at the munitions-loading facility in Jersey City, across from Manhattan. The ensuing explosions destroyed the waterfront facility and largely obliterated the island, killing four persons and causing over $40 million in property damage. It was the first state-sponsored terrorist attack in US history and was the genesis of the US Coast Guard’s port security program.

Aftermath of the Black Tom explosion on July 30, 1916. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

All was dark and quiet on Black Tom Island in New York Harbor, not far from the Statue of Liberty, when small fires began to burn on the night of July 30, 1916. Some guards on the island sent for the Jersey City Fire Department, but others fled as quickly as they could, and for good reason: Black Tom was a major munitions depot, with several large “powder piers.” That night, Johnson Barge No. 17 was packed with 50 tons of TNT, and 69 railroad freight cars were storing more than a thousand tons of ammunition, all awaiting shipment to Britain and France. Despite America’s claim of neutrality in World War I, it was no secret that the United States was selling massive quantities of munitions to the British.

The guards who fled had the right idea. Just after 2:00 a.m., an explosion lit the skies—the equivalent of an earthquake measuring up to 5.5 on the Richter scale, according to a recent study. A series of blasts were heard and felt some 90 miles in every direction, even as far as Philadelphia. Nearly everyone in Manhattan and Jersey City was jolted awake, and many were thrown from their beds. Even the heaviest plate-glass windows in Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn shattered, and falling shards of glass preceded a mist of ash from the fire that followed the explosion. Immigrants on nearby Ellis Island had to be evacuated.

Peter Raceta, the captain of a flatbottom barge in the harbor, was in the cabin watching the fire on Black Tom with two other men. “When the explosion came, it seemed as if it was from above—zumpf!—like a Zeppelin bomb,” he told a reporter from the New York Times. “There were five or six other lighters alongside mine at the dock, and a tug was just coming up to drag us away.… I don’t know what became of the tug or the other lighters.  It looked as if they all went up in the air.” Of the two men he was with, she said, “I didn’t see where they went, but I think they must be dead.”

Watchmen in the Woolworth building in Lower Manhattan saw the blast, and “thinking their time had come, got down on their knees and prayed,” one newspaper reported. The Statue of Liberty took more than $100,000 worth of damage; Lady Liberty’s torch, which was then open to visitors who could climb an interior ladder for a spectacular view, has been closed ever since. Onlookers in Manhattan watched as munition shells rocketed across the water and exploded a mile from the fires on Black Tom Island.

Flying bullets and shrapnel rendered firefighters powerless. Doctors and nurses arrived on the scene and tended to dozens of injured. The loss of life, however, was not great: Counts vary, but fewer than ten people perished in the explosions. However, the damage was estimated at more than $20 million, (nearly half a billion dollars today), and investigations eventually determined that the Black Tom explosions resulted from an enemy attack—what some historians regard as the first major terrorist attack on the United States by a foreign power.

Firefighters were unable to fight the fires until the bullets and shrapnel stopped flying. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

In the days after the blasts, confusion reigned. Police arrested three railroad-company officials on charges of manslaughter, on the assumption that the fires began in two freight cars. Then guards at the pier were taken in for questioning; on the night of the explosions, they had lit smudge pots to keep mosquitoes away, and their carelessness with the pots was believed to have started the fires. But federal authorities could not trace the fire to the pots, and reports ultimately concluded that the blasts must have been accidental—even though several suspicious factory explosions in the United States, mostly around New York, pointed toward German spies and saboteurs. As Chad Millman points out in his book, The Detonators, there was a certain naivete at the time—President Woodrow Wilson could not bring himself to believe that Germans might be responsible for such destruction. Educated, industrious and neatly dressed, German-Americans’ perceived patriotism and commitment to life in America allowed them to integrate into society with less initial friction than other ethnic groups.

One of those newcomers to America was Count Johann Von Bernstorff, the German ambassador to Washington. He arrived in 1914 with a staff not of diplomats, but of intelligence operatives, and with millions of dollars earmarked to aid German war efforts by any means necessary. Von Bernstorff not only helped obtain forged passports for Germans who wanted to elude the Allied blockade, he also funded gun-running efforts, the sinking of American ships bringing supplies to Britain, and choking off supplies of phenol, used in the manufacture of explosives, in a conspiracy known as the Great Phenol Plot.

One of his master spies was Franz Von Rintelen, who had a “pencil bomb” designed for his use. Pencil bombs were cigar-sized charges filled with acids placed in copper chambers; the acids would ultimately eat their way through the copper and mingle, creating intense, silent flames. If designed and placed properly, a pencil bomb could be timed to detonate days later, while ships and their cargo were at sea. Von Rintelen is believed to have attacked 36 ships, destroying millions of dollars worth of cargo. With generous cash bribes, Von Rintelen had little problem gaining access to piers—which is how Michael Kristoff, a Slovak immigrant living in Bayonne, New Jersey, is believed to have gotten to the Black Tom munitions depot in July of 1916.

Investigators later learned from Kristoff’s landlord that he kept odd hours and sometimes came home at night with filthy hands and clothing, smelling of fuel.  Along with two German saboteurs, Lothar Witzke and Kurt Jahnke, Kristoff is believed to have set the incendiary devices that caused the mayhem on Black Tom.

But it took years for investigators to piece together the evidence against the Germans in the bombing. The Mixed Claims Commission, set up after World War I to handle damage claims by companies and governments affected by German sabotage, awarded $50 million to plaintiffs in the Black Tom explosion—the largest damage claim of any in the war. Decades would pass, however, before Germany settled it. In the meantime, landfill projects eventually incorporated Black Tom Island into Liberty State Park. Now nothing remains of the munitions depot save a plaque marking the explosion that rocked the nation.

German Master Spy Franz Von Rintelen and his “pencil bomb” were responsible for acts of sabotage in the United States during World War I. Photo: Wikipedia

Source: Smithsonian

  Flashback in maritime history – The “Black Tom Island” incident, 30 July 1916 (video) (www.MaritimeCyprus.com) The “Black Tom Island” incident occurred on Sunday, 30 July 1916. German saboteurs ignited a fire at the munitions-loading facility in Jersey City, across from Manhattan. 

#Flashback