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Memories of my high school days at Holy Cross High School River Grove IL youtu.be/n6OYqZtOZK0?si=Lidb… via @YouTube
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
In 1970, a 20-year-old soldier came home from Vietnam, walked into an airport bathroom, and changed out of his uniform.
So nobody would know where he'd been.
He never told anyone. Not for 55 years.
This spring, a Japanese flight attendant watched him finally come home.
Her name is Erika. She was one of my wife's students in Tokyo, a long time ago. Now she's 34, and she flies for an American airline out of Atlanta.
A coworker asked her to volunteer for something called an Honor Flight. "You'll never forget it," she said. Erika didn't really know what it was.
An Honor Flight takes old veterans to Washington, D.C., to see their memorials. One day. Free. They fly out in the morning and come home that night.
The plane was full of men between 75 and 96. Wheelchairs. Canes. Oxygen. Hats covered in pins.
And they were terrible. In the best way.
The Army guys and the Navy guys argued for two hours about which branch was better. Nobody won. Nobody ever has.
A 94-year-old Korean War veteran called all the Vietnam vets "the kids."
A 96-year-old Marine asked Erika to marry him before the seatbelt sign went off. She politely declined. He said, "Your loss, sweetheart," and fell asleep.
Except for the man in 22C.
His name was Lonnie. 76. Army. He sat by the window and didn't say a word. Everyone else wore a veteran's cap. They gave Lonnie one too. He put it in his jacket pocket and kept wearing his old feed-store cap.
His son had signed him up. Lonnie almost didn't come.
In Washington, at the Vietnam memorial, there's a long black wall with 58,000 names on it.
Erika watched Lonnie walk along it until he found one. Then he put his hand flat against the stone.
He stood like that for an hour. He didn't move. He didn't speak. The other men left him alone. They knew.
On the flight home, there's a tradition. It's called Mail Call.
Without telling the veterans, their families collect letters for them. From children, grandchildren, old friends, strangers, schoolkids who've never met them. Then, somewhere over the country, the crew calls out their names, one by one, and hands each man a thick envelope.
Grown men who had survived wars sat there opening letters from third graders, and fell apart.
"Dear Soldier, thank you for your service. I hope you were not too scared. I would be scared. Love, Brayden, age 8."
"Dear Veteran, thank you for keeping us free. My dog's name is Freedom too."
Lonnie's envelope was the thickest on the plane.
He read every letter. Slowly. Folded each one back exactly the way it came.
Then he got to the last one. A small envelope. Handwriting he knew.
He held it for a long time without opening it.
His son, in the next seat, quietly told Erika: "That's from my sister. They haven't spoken in eleven years."
Lonnie opened it.
It was one line.
"Daddy, I'll be at the airport."
He put his hand over his mouth and turned toward the window. His whole body was shaking. His son put an arm around him. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the flight.
They landed at ten o'clock at night.
Erika assumed a few families would be waiting.
When the doors opened at the end of the jet bridge, the noise hit the plane before the men did.
Two thousand people.
At ten o'clock on a weeknight. Lined up on both sides of the terminal, as far as she could see. Bagpipes. A high school marching band in full uniform. Boy Scouts. Little kids on their dads' shoulders. Grandmas holding handmade signs. Young soldiers in uniform, standing at attention.
And every single one of them, as each old man came through, was reaching out a hand and saying the same two words.
"Welcome home."
"Welcome home, sir."
"Welcome home."
Over and over. For an hour. To strangers.
Lonnie was the last one off the plane.
Halfway up the jet bridge, he stopped.
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out the veteran's cap he had refused to wear all day. He looked at it. Then he took off his old feed-store cap, put the veteran's cap on, and straightened it with both hands.
Then he walked out.
Two thousand strangers cheered for him like he had just won a war.
And at the very end of that long line, holding a sign she'd clearly made at a kitchen table, was a woman about forty-five years old.
The sign said, "WELCOME HOME DADDY."
Erika told my wife she cried so hard she had to go stand behind the gate desk.
She said something else, too. I've been thinking about it ever since.
"In Japan, when a country makes a mistake, it apologizes. Carefully. Formally. Once.
In America, two thousand strangers came to an airport at ten o'clock at night to fix a mistake they didn't make.
Fifty-five years late.
And they did it like it was the most natural thing in the world."
In 1970, a young man walked into an airport bathroom a soldier, and walked out pretending he wasn't.
This spring, on a jet bridge in Atlanta, an old man put his cap back on.
And walked out one.
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
Kilka anegdot -Steven Spielberg kręcił Listę Schindlera w Polsce i był tym filmem psychicznie wycieńczony. Widząc, w jak głęboką depresję wpada reżyser, Robin Williams, który akurat kręcił wtedy "Aladyna" - dzwonił do Spielberga raz w tygodniu, dokładnie o stałej porze. Williams odpalał głośnik w telefonie i przez kilkanaście minut robił dla reżysera oraz wykończonej polskiej ekipy improwizowany stand-up. Spielberg wspominał - Nigdy nie mówił mi do widzenia. Po prostu po 15 minutach najgłupszych żartów świata rozłączał się, kiedy słyszał, że pękam ze śmiechu.
Christopher Reeve - odtwórca roli Supermana i najbliższy przyjaciel Robina ze studiów w Juilliard, po tragicznym upadku z konia został sparaliżowany od szyi w dół. Leżał w szpitalu, czekając na niezwykle ryzykowną operację kręgosłupa i miał głęboką depresję. Nagle drzwi jego sali otworzyły się z hukiem. Wpadł przez nie lekarz w żółtym fartuchu, z rosyjskim akcentem, krzycząc, że jest chirurgiem-proktologiem i musi natychmiast przeprowadzić badanie. Był to Robin Williams. Reeve zaczął się tak histerycznie śmiać, że aż zabolały go mięśnie. Po latach wspominał - "To był pierwszy raz od wypadku, kiedy się zaśmiałem. Wtedy zrozumiałem, że skoro nadal potrafię się śmiać, to wszystko będzie dobrze".
Williams był znany ze swojej działalności charytatywnej, ale dopiero po jego śmierci wyszedł na jaw niezwykły fakt. Pisarz i poszukiwacz talentów Brian Lord odkrył tzw. "rider" (listę wymagań) do kontraktu Robina. Aktor miał tam zapisany twardy warunek: każda firma, która zatrudniała go do filmu lub wydarzenia, musiała zatrudnić przy produkcji określoną liczbę osób bezdomnych. Williams dbał o to, by ci ludzie dostali uczciwą dniówkę, ciepły posiłek i wpis do CV, który ułatwi im powrót na rynek pracy. Sam nigdy się tym w mediach nie chwalił.
"„Jazda na rowerze to coś, co najbardziej przypomina latanie” – powiedział kiedyś Robin Williams.
Dla niego rower nigdy nie był tylko sposobem na poprawę kondycji czy zwykłą weekendową rozrywką. Był czymś znacznie ważniejszym. Nazywał go swoją osobistą formą medytacji w ruchu.
Kiedy obowiązki zawodowe, nieustanny pośpiech i presja związana z życiem w Hollywood zaczynały go przytłaczać, zakładał kask, wsiadał na jeden ze swoich rowerów i ruszał przed siebie. Najchętniej wybierał kręte drogi i strome podjazdy w okolicach swojego domu w Kalifornii.
Właśnie wtedy, na dwóch kółkach, jego niespokojny umysł wreszcie zwalniał. Mógł odetchnąć, uporządkować myśli i odnaleźć spokój, którego tak często brakowało mu w codziennym życiu.
Za blaskiem reflektorów, sławą i niezapomnianymi rolami kryła się bowiem wielka, choć nie wszystkim znana pasja Robina Williamsa. Pasja, która dawała mu poczucie wolności i zwyczajną, dziecięcą radość.
Robin nie był jednak kimś, kto od czasu do czasu wyciąga rower z garażu, żeby przejechać się po okolicy.
Był prawdziwym miłośnikiem dwóch kółek. Przez lata zgromadził niezwykłą kolekcję aż 87 rowerów, z których każdy miał własną historię i niepowtarzalny charakter.
Wśród nich znajdowały się zabytkowe modele, ręcznie wykonywane ramy słynnych włoskich mistrzów, takich jak Ernesto Colnago i Dario Pegoretti, nowoczesne rowery wyścigowe z włókna węglowego, a nawet nietypowe monocyklowe konstrukcje.
Uwielbiał zaglądać do niewielkich sklepów i warsztatów rowerowych. Potrafił godzinami rozmawiać z mechanikami o przerzutkach, ramach, oponach i technicznych szczegółach, które dla przeciętnego człowieka mogły wydawać się zupełnie nieistotne.
Pracownicy tych miejsc wspominali go nie jako wielką hollywoodzką gwiazdę, lecz jako serdecznego, skromnego człowieka, który naprawdę interesował się ich pracą. Nie zachowywał się jak celebryta. Był po prostu jednym z nich – człowiekiem zakochanym w rowerach.
Ale najpiękniejsza część tej historii wydarzyła się już po jego śmierci.
Dwa lata po odejściu aktora, w październiku 2016 roku, jego dzieci postanowiły uczcić pamięć ojca w sposób, który doskonale oddawał jego charakter i niezwykłą hojność.
Wystawiły całą kolekcję 87 rowerów na aukcję charytatywną.
Chciały, aby pasja, która przez tyle lat dawała ich ojcu radość, mogła teraz przynieść coś dobrego innym ludziom.
Córka aktora, Zelda, wyraziła nadzieję, że aukcja nie tylko sprawi radość osobom, które kochały jej ojca, ale również pomoże wesprzeć organizacje i inicjatywy szczególnie bliskie jego sercu.
Zainteresowanie przerosło wszelkie oczekiwania.
Do licytacji przystąpili fani aktora, kolekcjonerzy i miłośnicy kolarstwa z różnych zakątków świata. Każdy chciał zdobyć choćby niewielką cząstkę historii człowieka, który przez lata potrafił rozśmieszać miliony.
Ostatecznie udało się zebrać ponad 600 tysięcy dolarów, czyli ponad dwukrotnie więcej, niż początkowo przewidywali eksperci.
Cały dochód z aukcji przekazano dwóm organizacjom, których działalność była Robinowi szczególnie bliska.
Pierwszą była Challenged Athletes Foundation, pomagająca sportowcom z niepełnosprawnościami ruchowymi. Fundacja zapewnia im między innymi specjalistyczny sprzęt sportowy oraz protezy, dzięki którym mogą trenować, startować w zawodach i realizować swoje marzenia.
Drugą była Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation, wspierająca badania nad urazami rdzenia kręgowego oraz pomoc osobom dotkniętym paraliżem. Organizacja nosi imię Christophera Reeve’a, słynnego odtwórcy roli Supermana i wieloletniego, bliskiego przyjaciela Robina Williamsa.
Dzięki tej niezwykłej inicjatywie przedmioty, które kiedyś były osobistymi skarbami aktora, zamieniły się w realną pomoc dla ludzi zmagających się z ogromnymi życiowymi trudnościami.
Dla jednych oznaczało to szansę na powrót do sportu. Dla innych – większą samodzielność, możliwość poruszania się i odzyskanie wiary we własne możliwości.
I właśnie w tym tkwi coś wyjątkowego.
Robin Williams przez całe życie dawał ludziom uśmiech. A po jego śmierci nawet jego rowery zaczęły pomagać innym.
Każdy z tych 87 rowerów był kiedyś częścią jego świata. Towarzyszył mu w chwilach radości, pozwalał zapomnieć o problemach i dawał poczucie wolności.
Dziś ta wolność, choć w zupełnie innej postaci, stała się udziałem kolejnych ludzi.
Robin już nigdy nie wsiądzie na swój ukochany rower. Nie ruszy kalifornijską drogą, nie pokona kolejnego podjazdu i nie poczuje wiatru na twarzy.
Ale dobro, które po sobie zostawił, nadal jest w drodze.
Bo czasem najpiękniejsze dziedzictwo człowieka nie kryje się w jego sławie, majątku ani zdobytych nagrodach. Kryje się w tym, że nawet kiedy jego samego już nie ma, coś, co kochał, wciąż potrafi zmieniać życie innych na lepsze. Przytulność"
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
America now has 11 Muslim mayors, 98 Muslim city council members, 32 Muslim state representatives, 14 Muslim state senators, and 6 members of Congress.
This won't end well.
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
दक्षिण अफ्रीका का राष्ट्रपति बनने के बाद एक बार नेल्सन मंडेला अपने सुरक्षा कर्मियों के साथ एक रेस्टोरेंट में खाना खाने गए। सबने अपनी-अपनी पसंद का खाना ऑर्डर किया और खाना आने का इंतज़ार करने लगे।
उसी समय मंडेला की सीट के ठीक सामने की सीट पर एक व्यक्ति अपने खाने का इंतजार कर रहा था।
मंडेला ने अपने सुरक्षा कर्मी से कहा कि उसे भी अपनी टेबल पर बुला लो।
ऐसा ही हुआ। सभी खाने लगे। लेकिन खाना खाते वक़्त उस आदमी के हाथ कांप रहे थे।
खाना ख़त्म कर वह सिर झुकाकर रेस्त्रां से बाहर निकल गया।
उस आदमी के जाने के बाद मंडेला के सुरक्षा अधिकारी ने बताया कि वह व्यक्ति शायद बहुत बीमार था। खाते वक़्त उसके हाथ लगातार कांप रहे थे और वह ख़ुद भी कांप रहा था।
मंडेला ने कहा, ऐसा नहीं है।
वह उस जेल का जेलर था, जिसमें मुझे 27 साल क़ैद रखा गया था। जब कभी मुझे यातनाएं दी जाती थीं और मैं कराहते हुए पानी मांगता था तो ये मेरे ऊपर पेशाब करता था।
मंडेला ने कहा, "मैं अब राष्ट्रपति बन गया हूं। उसने समझा कि मैं भी उसके साथ शायद वैसा ही व्यवहार करूंगा। पर मुझे लगता है कि बदले की भावना से काम करना विनाश की ओर ले जाता है। वहीं धैर्य और सहिष्णुता की मानसिकता हमें विकास की ओर ले जाती है"।
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
A 77-year-old King, still in cancer treatment, flew nine days through a region that has spent the year telling him it wants to leave. He stood in a tropical downpour without an umbrella. He went to the one republic whose president had publicly told him to apologise. And he came home with 56 countries agreeing to double their trade with each other by 2030. That is soft power. Nobody else alive can do it.
The Bahamas first. He hadn’t been back in 53 years, not since he stood in for his mother at independence in 1973. He got off the plane and said “I’ve arrived, thank God!” in Bahamian dialect, and that was the tour decided. Danced at Junkanoo. Sat with a youth rally at Clifford Park. Waded about in the mangroves at Bonefish Pond talking coastal resilience with people whose homes depend on it.
Then Guyana. A republic since 1970. President Ali had said out loud that the King should apologise, and the King went anyway. Met him at State House, laid a wreath, sat with the Toshaos, the elected leaders of the Indigenous villages, 26 years after he first walked into the Iwokrama rainforest and became its patron. His Foundation is now drawing up Georgetown’s urban plan with the government. You don’t get asked to do that by a country that resents you.
Then Antigua and Barbuda. The first Head of the Commonwealth ever to set foot there. At the Independence parade the sky opened, Camilla made off under the only umbrella in the stadium and the King stood in the rain miming one until somebody found him his own, laughing. The clip went round the world and did more for the monarchy than a thousand press releases.
Then he gave the speech people said he’d dodge. He didn’t. The slave trade “still casts a shadow” over these islands, he said, and the history fills him with horror and profound personal sorrow. He said the Commonwealth is “a response to the world of today.” Then he got out of the way and let the leaders work.
And they worked. Smallest host nation in Commonwealth history. 3,000 delegates in a country of 100,000 people. $52 billion of bankable projects on the table across 28 countries. Half a billion dollars of new money. A $300 million fund to put skills into 10 million young people. A trade portal, a trade target, a debt agenda the UK will carry into its G20 presidency. And on reparations, the thing everyone said would blow it up, Britain agreed to a structured, time-bound dialogue and Gaston Browne said it would not divide the Commonwealth. It didn’t.
No treaty makes any of these countries turn up. They turn up. 56 nations, 2.7 billion people, a third of humanity, and the one thing they have in common is a man who flies in, listens, gets rained on, and asks for nothing.
A word for Shirley Botchwey too. Her first CHOGM as Secretary-General. First African woman to run the Secretariat, second African after Nigeria’s own Chief Emeka Anyaoku. She promised a summit of ambition and action and then did something nobody had done in 28 of these meetings: she put investors in the room with the heads of government. Ghana should be proud of her. Africa is.
People keep asking what a monarchy is for in 2026. This week was the answer. Not power. Presence.
Well done, Antigua. God Save The King.
@RoyalFamily @commonwealthsec #CHOGM2026
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
An Israeli bookkeeper assumed the identity of a wealthy Syrian shipping magnate in Buenos Aires, hosted lavish parties for top generals in Damascus, and was taken on tours of secret bunkers on the Golan Heights, where he convinced military commanders to plant eucalyptus trees above gun emplacements, marking the exact artillery targets that won the Six-Day War.
The reason might surprise you.
In 1960, Mossad recruited Eli Cohen, an Egyptian-born Jew working as an accountant in Tel Aviv with native Arabic fluency.
His assignment: establish a deep-cover alias and infiltrate the upper echelons of the Syrian government and military:
Cohen was given the persona of Kamel Amin Thaabet, a patriotic Syrian textile and shipping businessman returning from the diaspora in Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Moving to Argentina in 1961, Cohen integrated into Syrian expatriate circles, donating generously to Arab charities and befriending key diplomats, including Colonel Amin al-Hafiz, Syria's military attaché who would soon return home to become President after the 1963 Ba'athist coup.
By 1962, Cohen arrived in Damascus with personal letters of recommendation from influential officials, leasing a luxury apartment directly across the street from the Syrian Army General Staff Headquarters.
His home became the most sought-after social salon in the Syrian capital:
Cohen hosted lavish soirées filled with fine liquor, food, and women for high-ranking Ba'athist politicians, intelligence officers, and military brass.
While his drunken guests openly discussed classified military deployments and factional coups, Cohen feigned intoxication while committing troop numbers, airfields, and strategic planning maps to memory.
His ties with the ruling regime were so intimate that he was openly discussed as a prospective candidate for Syria's Deputy Minister of Defense.
His most consequential intelligence coup took place on the heavily fortified Golan Heights:
Guided through restricted military zones that even junior Syrian officers were barred from seeing, Cohen inspected every pillbox, artillery battery, and trench network facing northern Israel.
Under the guise of patriotic sympathy, Cohen remarked to commanders that Syrian soldiers were suffering under the blazing desert sun, suggesting they plant eucalyptus trees beside every bunker and artillery dugout to provide shade.
The Syrian commanders agreed. Two years later, during the 1967 Six-Day War, Israeli Air Force pilots and tank gunners used those distinctive eucalyptus groves as exact visual markers, neutralizing the Golan defenses in just thirty hours.
From 1962 to 1965, Cohen transmitted hundreds of coded radio broadcasts back to Tel Aviv using a concealed Morse code radio transmitter, along with letters carrying intelligence encrypted in microdots hidden inside souvenir furniture shipped through Europe.
Then came the radio silence in Damascus:
Syrian counter-intelligence noticed persistent radio interference disrupting embassies and government communication lines.
In January 1965, Syrian security forces, assisted by Soviet specialists equipped with advanced directional tracking vans, imposed a strict radio blackout across Damascus.
When a broadcast blip appeared in the quiet spectrum, Syrian intelligence officers kicked open the door to Cohen's apartment at 8:00 AM, catching him in the middle of transmitting a coded Morse message to Tel Aviv.
Despite torture and international appeals for clemency from world leaders, including Pope Paul VI and French President Charles de Gaulle, Cohen was convicted of espionage by a military tribunal.
On May 18, 1965, 40-year-old Eli Cohen was publicly hanged in Marjeh Square in Damascus, his body draped in a white banner inscribed with his charges before a crowd of thousands.
His intelligence remains the most significant singular espionage feat in Israeli history, securing strategic terrain that shields the country to this day.
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
World War I flying ace Snoopy soars into Philadelphia's Veterans Stadium during halftime of the Eagles-Packers game.
November 5, 1978
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
Indiana has maintained a confident stance for years that the #Bears would eventually choose them for a new stadium.
Now, one of the key power brokers of that entire push is out of the picture in stunning fashion.
The fallout could be massive.
sportsmockery.com/chicago-be…
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
In 1948, a leg of the President's daughter's piano broke through a floor of the White House.
Engineers said the building was standing up out of habit.
The warning signs had been there for a while. In 1946, the First Lady noticed the huge crystal chandelier in the Blue Room swaying over her guests' heads. The floors no longer just creaked. They moved.
In January 1948, the official in charge of federal buildings inspected the house and found split and gouged beams. The upper floors, he said, were "staying up there from force of habit only."
That June, a leg of Margaret Truman's piano crashed through the floor of her sitting room and into the ceiling of the family dining room below. Soon President Truman's own bathtub was sinking into the floor.
Investigators found that the inner walls had almost no foundations. They were sinking into the clay and pulling away from the outer walls. The whole house was in danger of collapsing inward.
In November 1948, the Trumans moved across the street to Blair House. Congress approved $5.4 million, and crews tore out almost everything inside the White House. What was left was the old stone outer walls, braced with steel, around an enormous empty space.
The crews needed a bulldozer in there. Truman would not let them cut a hole in the old walls big enough to drive one through. So the bulldozer was taken apart outside, carried in piece by piece, and put back together inside the empty shell, where it dug out two new basement levels.
The Trumans moved back in on the evening of March 27, 1952.
The White House you see today is a steel and concrete building standing inside the walls of the old one.
Elvis Presley started dating Priscilla when she was 14 and he was 24. He moved her in at 15, gave her sleeping pills to survive school, and kept her in a freezing, pitch-black bedroom for days. Controlled her clothes, hair and makeup. Gave her a black eye. Threw a chair at her. And refused s*x for six years because he wanted her a virgin until marriage.
In the video below Priscilla sits down with Barbara Walters in 1985 and describes what life inside Elvis Presley's world actually looked like.
She was a teenager on a military base in Germany when they met. Her parents tried to say no. She threatened to sneak off anyway. By 15 she was living in Graceland, crawling into his bed at 3am, dragging herself to high school a few hours later. He slept until the afternoon. She took pills to function. He gave them to her.
He once gave her two sleeping pills and she was knocked out for two days. He had been taking the same dose for years and didn't think anything of it.
For six years he refused to sleep with her. Not because he wasn't attracted to her - they took Polaroids, acted out fantasies, kissed for hours. But the woman he married had to stay a virgin until the wedding. She said she begged him. Wrote in her diary: please don't make me beg.
The night she married him she was finally allowed. Nine months later she had a baby. Then he stopped again. He couldn't see her as both a mother and the girl he desired. She'd lie in bed in a black negligee, kiss his hands, his face. Then his sleeping pills would kick in. Another lonely night.
She left him for her karate teacher. Elvis said he wanted the man killed. She believes he meant it.
Was Elvis Presley a legend who lost himself, or a man who took a 14-year-old girl and shaped her into exactly what he needed?
Readers added context they thought people might want to know
Priscilla met Elvis at 14 in 1959 in Germany. She moved to Graceland in 1963 at 17 (to finish high school), not 15. Many details including the pills and no sex until marriage are from her 1985 memoir Elvis and Me and related interviews.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priscilla…
harpersbazaar.com/culture/art-bo…
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
A man has driven a Tesla for 18 months. He paid close to $50,000 for it.
He uses Autopilot. He uses the big screen. He plugs it in every single night when he gets home from work. He tells his friends it's the best car he has ever owned. As far as he knew, he was getting everything the car had to offer.
Then his neighbor, a former Tesla service tech, saw him charging it one evening and walked over.
He looked at the car, looked at the screen, and said:
"You're driving a $50,000 computer on factory settings. You plug in at 6pm, right when electricity costs the most. You charge to 100% every night, which is hard on your battery over time. You've never turned on Cabin Overheat Protection, so your car bakes in the sun all summer. You leave Sentry Mode on everywhere, so it quietly drains your battery in your own driveway. You've never set up Scheduled Departure. You've never plugged in a USB drive, so every dashcam clip is gone the moment it's overwritten. You've never turned on Walk-Away Door Lock. You've never set a PIN to Drive. You hand your keys to valets and mechanics without Valet Mode. And you've never opened the service menu that shows what's actually happening inside your battery."
The man stood there in silence.
"It's all free. It's been in the car since the day you took delivery. Nobody ever told you."
They sat in the car together for 20 minutes. He changed 11 settings.
Here's every Tesla feature most owners never touch 🧵
John F. Kennedy's mistress says he handed her a satchel full of cash and asked her to take it to the boss of the Chicago Mafia. She was 26. He was running for president.
Frank Sinatra introduced Judith Campbell to Senator Kennedy in Las Vegas in February 1960. Around the same time, Sinatra introduced her to Sam Giancana.
In the video below, Exner describes a dinner at Kennedy's Georgetown house. He asked her to set up a meeting with Sam. "I think he can help us with the campaign."
Then: "He showed me a satchel and it was full of money. And he said, would you take this to Sam?"
She says she became a courier between the White House and the Mafia, carrying "plain vanilla envelopes" and setting up about 10 meetings between the two men. She never looked inside. She later came to believe the messages were about killing Fidel Castro.
White House logs show she called the president more than 70 times. In March 1962 J. Edgar Hoover had lunch with Kennedy and told him the FBI knew about Giancana. The calls stopped.
In 1975 the Senate investigated the CIA's plots with the Mob. Giancana was shot dead in his basement days before he was due to testify. Exner testified that she knew nothing about the Mafia. Years later she said she had lied because she was afraid.
She saw Kennedy one last time in December 1962. She got pregnant. She says he asked her one question about it: "Do you think Sam could help us?"
The connection between the White House and the Mob has never been proven. She died in 1999.
Was she the most dangerous woman in Washington, or just the one nobody believed?
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
America now has 11 Muslim mayors, 98 Muslim city council members, 32 Muslims in state House of Representatives, 14 Muslim in the Senate, and 7 Muslims in the US House of Representatives. This isn t a future prediction, this is now in 2026. They continue to accomplish exactly what they have said they would do all along, take over our country without firing a single shot! We have watched in horror what Islam has done in every single Middle Easterner country, Africa, and Europe, and yet here we are falling in line like sheep. So to all the liberal democrats who voted for this, STFU when they start implementing Sharia law in your cities with Forced marriage’s of under age girls, having to cover your hair and your body, allow your husband to have four wives, be restricted from driving or attending school, be unable to report sexual assault, harassment, or abuse from your boyfriend or husband, throw away or burn your bible and start reading the Quran, no longer being able to post selfies showing your cleavage or a video dancing, and if you have any issues with any of this then pray quietly to your new pedo God Allah. Any questions?
Several centuries ago the Pope decreed that all the Jews had to convert to Catholicism or leave Italy.There was a huge outcry from the Jewish community so the Pope offered a deal.
He would hold a religious debate with the leader of the Jewish community. If the Jews won, they could stay in Italy. If the Pope won, they'd have to convert or leave.
The Jewish people met and picked an aged and wise rabbi to represent them in the debate.
However, as the rabbi spoke no Italian and the Pope spoke no Yiddish, both sides agreed that it would be a "silent" debate.
On the chosen day the Pope and rabbi sat opposite each other.
The Pope raised his hand and showed three fingers.
The rabbi looked back and raised one finger and shook it at the Pope.
Next the Pope waved his finger around his head.
The rabbi pointed to the ground where he sat.
The Pope brought out a communion wafer and a chalice of wine.
The rabbi pulled out an apple.
With that, the Pope stood up and declared himself beaten and said that the rabbi was too clever. The Jews could stay in Italy.
Later the cardinals met with the Pope and asked him what had happened.
The Pope said, "First I held up three fingers to represent the Trinity. He responded by holding up a single finger, shaking it to remind me there is still only one God common to both our beliefs.”
"Then, I waved my finger around my head to show him that God is all around us. He responded by pointing to the ground to show that God is also right here with us.”
"I pulled out the wine and wafer to show that God absolves us of all our sins. He pulled out an apple to remind me of the original sin.”
"He beat me at every move and I could not continue."
Meanwhile, the Jewish community gathered to ask the rabbi how he'd won.
"I haven't a clue," the rabbi said. "First, he told me that we had three days to get out of Italy so I shook my finger saying no.”
"Then he tells me that the whole country would be cleared of Jews and I told him that we were staying right here."
"And then what?" asked a woman.
"Who knows?" said the rabbi. "He took out his lunch so I took out mine."
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
On April 28, 1988, a Boeing 737 approached Maui, Hawaii, with eighteen feet of its passenger cabin ripped open to the sky.
The roof was gone. Much of the left cabin wall was gone. Passengers were sitting in their seats with nothing above them but the Pacific sky.
And somehow, the airplane was still flying.
Thirteen minutes earlier, Aloha Airlines Flight 243 had been cruising at 24,000 feet between Hilo and Honolulu with ninety-five people aboard.
First Officer Madeline Tompkins was flying the aircraft while Captain Robert Schornstheimer monitored the flight.
At approximately 1:46 PM, the unthinkable happened.
Years of repeated pressurization cycles, corrosion, and undetected fatigue cracks had weakened the fuselage of the nineteen-year-old Boeing 737-200.
The airplane had completed an astonishing 89,680 flights.
As it leveled off, multiple cracks in the fuselage skin suddenly joined together.
A massive section of the upper passenger cabin tore away in the rushing airflow.
Flight attendant Clarabelle Lansing, standing near the fifth row, was swept out of the aircraft.
She would never be found.
Captain Schornstheimer turned toward the cabin and saw that the cockpit door had disappeared.
Beyond it was open sky where the first-class ceiling should have been.
He immediately took control of the airplane.
But the damage was far worse than the missing roof.
Five consecutive floor beams had broken completely. Two more were severely cracked. Sections of the passenger floor had been pushed upward by as much as four inches.
The passenger oxygen system had been severed.
The airplane rocked from side to side, and the flight controls felt disturbingly loose.
Why did the Boeing 737 not break apart completely?
The surviving lower fuselage and remaining structural connections were still holding the aircraft together.
Crucially, the hydraulic flight-control system had survived the destruction.
But nobody in that cockpit could know how much longer the damaged structure would hold.
The roaring wind was so loud that the pilots initially communicated with hand signals.
Schornstheimer deployed the speed brakes and began an emergency descent. At one point, Tompkins observed the aircraft descending at approximately 4,100 feet per minute.
Below 10,000 feet, the captain began slowing the aircraft for an emergency landing at Kahului Airport on Maui.
Then another problem developed.
The left engine failed.
Investigators would later link that failure to badly corroded engine-control cables stressed by the distorted cabin floor.
Now they had only one functioning engine.
When the crew lowered the landing gear, the green light confirming that the nose wheel was locked down refused to illuminate.
They tried the manual extension procedure.
Still no green light.
Schornstheimer could not be certain the nose landing gear would support the aircraft when it touched the runway.
And the damaged airplane became harder to control when he tried to slow below 170 knots.
So he made his decision.
He would land at 170 knots, with partial flaps, on one engine, with a severely damaged fuselage and no positive nose-gear indication.
At 1:58:45 PM, Aloha Airlines Flight 243 touched down on Runway 02 at Kahului Airport.
The nose gear held.
Schornstheimer used the remaining engine's thrust reverser and the wheel brakes to bring the airplane to a stop.
The emergency evacuation began.
Of the ninety-five people who had departed Hilo, ninety-four survived.
Eight suffered serious injuries.
Clarabelle Lansing never returned home.
The investigation revealed that inadequate maintenance inspections had allowed widespread fatigue damage to go undetected.
It was a failure that changed how the aviation industry approached aging aircraft.
But on that afternoon in Hawaii, two pilots had brought a catastrophically damaged airplane home.
The roof was gone.
The left engine was gone.
And nearly the entire forward cabin had been torn open.
But ninety-four people walked away.
Thirteen minutes of extraordinary flying had made the difference.
🤖 Made with AI
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
Republicans got slaughtered last night because of the unpopular war against Iran. But history will vindicate President Trump’s decision to take action & prevent Iran from having a nuclear weapon. Every one of his predecessors– Biden, Obama, Bush- feared this but none of them had the courage to stop it. Trump did despite knowing that he would pay a heavy political price. It would have been easier to kick the can down the road like those before him. But a terrorist country like Iran in possession of nuclear weapons could light the fuse of nuclear Armageddon. Trump had the courage to do the hard thing in an election year. That is what the truly great Presidents do, even if it means suffering an electoral ass kicking.
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
今晚问了老婆的性经历,我想离婚了。15岁被第一个有点暧昧的同学摸了逼。16岁跟第一个男友做爱破处,还被内射了。16岁同年找了第二个,被这个男人插了有半年多,没钱开房有过野战,大多数是在家里做。老婆告诉我跟这俩男人做的次数不是很多,花样也不多。真正开发她的是她第三个男人,也是这个男人让她变得更骚,这个男人跟她做爱有前戏,不像前两个脱了裤子直接就干她。也是这个男人解锁了她所有洞口和各种姿势。第一次跪着用舌头舔男人的阴茎,舔蛋蛋,舔肛门。也是她第一次被插肛门并且射到了肛门里,第一次给男人口暴吃精液,第一次让男人射到脸上,用精液做面膜。第一次蹲着把逼对准男人的脸口交,第一次撅起屁股让男人舔生殖器。我很爱我的女神老婆,她之前的经历有可气可恨可怜。其实我不是感觉她出轨我问不出来这么多,这么详细。她告诉我要不是我拿离婚威胁她,这些事她死都不会告诉我的。其实有些细节不是她说出来的,是我猜到的问她,她点头。今晚睡一觉明早离婚吧
Roy F. McCampbell retweeted
Northwestern students are passionate about our football team. However, we need to teach football traditions to new students earlier on.
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Written by @aanyavgupta dailynorthwestern.com/2026/1…
























