B.T. Collins - Irish American Hero

Twelve years ago we lost an American patriot, Assemblyman Brien Thomas Collins. The irascible Irishman was much loved in Sacramento. I hope to host a week long tribute with some commentary by others who loved him as much as I did.

Of Better Men …
Geoff Metcalf
Memorial Day 2002

Memorial Day was originally called Decoration Day. It is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation's service, securing the blessings of liberty for posterity.
In March of 1993 I wrote and read a eulogy to a unique solider who survived extraordinary hardship and sacrifice and died not on the battlefield in combat (although he came close to that and the price of his survival was an arm and a leg). His name was B.T. Collins. I have updated it only slightly.

B.T. Collins was a genuine rarity. He was a man of myriad subtleties. He was a true Renaissance man in every sense; he was a warrior, a leader, and a compassionate and loyal friend. He had a crusty curmudgeon exterior, which was a thin veil for a sensitive, caring humanist.

As a Special Forces Officer he wore a unit crest on his uniform, which contains the Latin motto: De Oppresso Liber. More than a unit motto, it became his lifelong credo: "To Free the Oppressed."

He lived that motto in the humid jungles of Vietnam and in the hot Sacramento summers in the constant skirmishes he fought in the halls of the State capitol.

I have often quoted "The Warrior Creed" of the late Dr. Robert Humphrey as crystallized by Jack Hoban:

"Wherever I go, everyone is a little bit safer because I'm there.
Wherever I go, everyone in need has a friend.
Whenever I return home, everyone is happy I'm there."

B.T. never knew Dr. Humphrey or Jack Hoban, but in ways subtle and stark he lived that creed.

I really liked the guy. Despite his considerable accomplishments, he was unique in many ways: He was a politician who clung to the truth despite whatever negative impact it might bring to him personally. He was painfully, and consistently HONEST.

And he never attempted to protect himself by shrouding the truth or positioning himself in a more attractive light. He was a conservative republican but before being elected to the California Assembly he worked for California Governor Jerry Brown as his Chief of Staff.

Dr. Robert Jarvick once wrote: "Leaders are visionaries with a poorly developed sense of fear and no concept of the odds against them. They make things happen." THAT was B.T. Collins.

Once upon a time, before health reasons compelled him to stop, he used to drink a bit ... OK, perhaps more than a bit. He could and did put the booze away. His language, in private, and sometimes in public, was occasionally excessively colorful ... okay, so he could and would be obscene ... often funny, and not infrequently brilliantly candid.

I cried the Friday night his death was announced.

B.T. was an original: honest, funny, compassionate, loyal, and both simple and complex. I know B.T.'s one regret might have been that HE didn't get to deliver his own eulogy.

He and I were supposed to get together in April of '93 for dinner. We had been looking forward to trading Special Forces stories and swapping lies about guys we knew who wore the funny hat. That never happened ... but the date remained on my calendar.

One clear summer day I drove up into the Sierra and pitched a camp on a hill overlooking a secluded lake. B.T. wasn't with me, but his memory certainly was. In his memory I took the cap off a bottle of what he called 'brown tea' and threw it into the fire.

Alone in the wilderness I shared the bottle with B.T.'s memory and toasted the things that remain important: Duty, Honor, Country ... friends, family, and fallen comrades ...

I drank to Chris Christianson, Rich Kelly, Bull Simons, Rocky Versace, the names on the black wall, and of course, the guy who lived the motto De Oppresso Libre … B.T. COLLINS.

Many years later I had occasion to speak to a class of newly commissioned Army ROTC graduates. I suggested to them, and now I suggest it to you, that you read what B.T. wrote for Reader's Digest about "The Courage of Sam Bird." Especially today, it is worth reading.

B.T. said, "I didn't learn about leadership and the strength of character it requires from an Ivy League graduate course. I learned by watching one tall captain with proud bearing and penetrating eyes."

Charles M. Province wrote a poem called "The Soldier."

It is the soldier, not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier, not the campus organizer,
who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.

It is the soldier, not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the soldier,
who salutes the flag,
who serves under the flag,
and whose coffin is draped by the flag,
who allows the protester to burn the flag.

I told that group of new Army officers, DUTY, HONOR, COUNTRY are not just words. They are a gift that will be part of you regardless of whether you become a career officer and command a Ranger Regiment, or serve in the Reserve Components as a weekend warrior. We who have taken the oath are ALL warriors.

Copyright Geoff Metcalf

*Update

B.T.'s sister, Maureen Collins Baker, will be at the Sacramento Fair Oaks Blvd Borders on Wednesday, June 4th, at 7pm autographing her new book, Outrageous Hero, The B.T. Collins Story. See you there!

Here's info about the book


http://tinyurl.com/3jwaz6

Full B.T. Collins Tribute

• Of Better Men - Geoff Metcalf
• The Courage of Sam Bird - by B.T. Collins - Reader's Digest
• The California Viet Nam Veterans Memorial
• Joseph Galloway's Speech at the Wall
• My Friend in Need - by B.T. Collins - The Wall Street Journal
• Burying Tradition: More People Opt for "Fun" Funerals - The Wall Street Journal
• B.T. Collins Captain Hook Scholarship - Santa Clara University
• B.T. Collins: A Simple Truth by Assemblyman Jim Nielsen
• He Always Remembered Your Birthday
• If B.T. Were Here, He'd Call Me a Candy-Assed Marine and Tell Me To Pull Myself Together

My Own Irish Film Festival

For the last week or two, I've been hosting the Irish Lass Irish Film Festival on my couch. Night before last I watched the newly released on DVD, Finian's Rainbow, starring Fred Astaire and Petula Clark. I've seen it before, but I never realized that one of the supporting charactors was based on Senator Robert Byrd. Played by famous grumpy charactor actor Keenan Wynn, Senator Billboard Rawkins is a greedy racist, trying to turn back the clock.

From a movie review by Greenman

Finian's Rainbow is extremely outspoken about the evils and stupidity of racism. Senator Billboard Rawkins is a caricature, but a chillingly realistic one. An elderly bigot, the Senator is particularly offended by the fact that black and white sharecroppers are living and working together in Rainbow Valley, and one of the reasons he wants to buy up the land is to ensure that the sharecroppers are segregated. He wants to go forward, he says, "forward to the sweet tranquility of the status quo. Forward to yesterday."

thanks spooky tom for the pic

Also from the movie is a song that reminds me alot of an old boyfriend. Though he had some fine qualities, he is an old boyfriend because this was his themesong )even though he never heard it.)

When I'm Not Near The Girl I Love
Burton Lane

Oh my heart is beating wildly
And it's all because you're here.
When I'm not near the girl I love,
I love the girl I'm near.

Ev'ry femme that flutters by me
Is a flame that must be fanned.
When I can't fondle the hand I'm fond of,
I fondle the hand at hand.

My heart's in a pickle,
It's constantly fickle
And not too partickle, I fear.
When I'm not near the girl I love,
I love the girl I'm near.

What if they're tall and tender?
What if they're small and slender?
Long as they've got that gender
I surrender!

Always I can't refuse 'em
Always my feet pursues 'em
Long as they've got a bosom
I woos 'em!

I'm confessing a confession
And I hope I'm not verbose
When I'm not close to the kiss that I cling to,
I cling to the kiss that's close

As I'm more and more a mortal
I am more and more a case.
When I'm not facing the face that I fancy.
I fancy the face I face.

For Sharon I'm carin',
But Susan I'm choosin'
I'm faithful to whos'n is here.
When I'm not near the girl I love,
I love the girl I'm near.

It's St. Patrick's Month

and here's a joke for you...

A young Irish girl goes into her priest on Saturday morning for confession.
"Father, forgive me for I have Thinned."
"You've Thinned?"
"Yes, I went out with me boyfriend Friday night. He held me hand twice, kissed me three times, and made love to me two times."
"Daughter! I want you to go straight home, squeeze seven lemons into a glass, and drink it straight down."
"Will that wash away me Thin?"
"No, but it will get the silly smile off your face."

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

Why Paddy's Not At Work (Excuse Note)(Pat Cooksey)

Dear Sir I write this note to inform you of my plight
And at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly gray
I write this note to tell why Paddy's not at work today

While working on the fourteenth floor, some bricks I had to clear
And to throw them down from off the top seemed quite a good idea
But the gaffer wasn't very pleased, he was an awful sod
He said I had to cart them down the ladder in me hod.

Well clearing all those bricks by hand, it seemed so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below
But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks is heavier than me.

So when I had untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead
I took off like a rocket and to my dismay I found
That half way up I met the bloody barrel coming down.

Well the barrel broke my shoulder as on to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with me head
I held on tight, though numb with shock from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half its load fourteen floors below

Now when those building bricks fell from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel so I started down once more
I held on tightly to the rope as I flew to the ground
And I landed on those building bricks that were scattered all
around.

Now as I lay there on the deck I thought I'd passed the worst
But when the barrel reached the top, that's when the bottom burst
A shower of bricks came down on me, I knew I had no hope
In all of this confusion, I let go the bloody rope.

The barrel being heavier, it started down once more
And landed right on top of me as I lay on the floor
It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say
That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today.

The Balloon is Burst

As the San Digo Union Tribune reports, Gerald Parsky popped his trial balloon and states that he never intends to run for elective office.

President Bush's point man in California, Rancho Santa Fe investor Gerald Parsky, yesterday shot down his own trial balloon that he might run for governor next year if Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger doesn't.

"I have no intention to run for any public office, even if Schwarzenegger doesn't run for re-election," Parsky, chairman of the University of California Board of Regents, said in an interview yesterday.

and more

Parsky has been a polarizing figure among California Republican insiders ever since he commandeered the financial reins of the state party at the behest of the Bush White House.

"The only significant success the Republican Party has had during the time he's been in the political picture was the recall, which he opposed," said former state Republican Chairman Mike Schroeder. "I'm sure he'll bring the same magic to his gubernatorial race that he brought to the Republican Party."

Schroeder has been a Parsky critic for years. But even the current state party officialdom, normally publicly deferential to prospective Republican candidates, was openly critical of the Parsky overture.

"Governor Schwarzenegger campaigned for President Bush in Ohio, helped him win that state and was an integral part of the Bush re-election and all Gerry Parsky can do is ask himself what's in it for me, rather than helping the governor push through a reform agenda that would benefit California," said Karen Hanretty, communications director for the California Republican Party.

President Bush leads Crowd in Oh Danny Boy at RNCC Dinner




Stacey was there -- she swears it's true!

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

Wild Rover

I've been a wild rover this many a year
And I've spent all my money on whisky and beer
But now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never shall play the wild rover no more

Chorus
No, nae never, no nae never no more
shall I play
The wild rover no never no more

There was Kitty and Betsy and Margaret and Sue
And three or four more that belonged to our crew
We'd sit up till midnight and make the place roar
I've been the wild boy but I'll be so no more

I dropped into a shanty I used to frequent
And I told the landlady my money was spent
I asked her for credit she answered me nay
Such a custom as yours I can get every day

Then I drew from my pocket ten sovereigns bright
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
Said she I have whisky and wines of the best
And the words that I told you were only in jest

I'll go home to my parents confess what I've done
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son
And if they will do so as often before
Then I never shall play the wild rover no more

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

LONDONDERRY AIR

Would God I were the tender apple blossom
That floats and falls from off the twisted bough,
To lie and faint within you silken bosom,
Within your silken bosom as that does now!
Or would I were a little burnish'd apple
For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold,
While sun and shade you robe of lawn will dapple,
Your robe of lawn, and you hair's spun gold.

Yea, would to God I were among the roses
That lean to kiss you as you float between,
While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses,
A bud uncloses, to touch you, queen.
Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing,
A happy daisy, in the garden path;
That so your silver foot might press me going,
Might press me going even unto death.

It's St. Patrick's Month

and here's a joke for you...

CONFESSION

Two Irish lads had been out shacking up with their girl friends. One felt guilty and decided he should stop at the church and confess. He went into the confession booth and told the Father, "Father, I have sinned. I have committed fornication with a lady. Please forgive me." The Father said, "Tell me who the lady was." The lad said he couldn't do that and the Father said he couldn't grant him forgiveness unless he did.
"Was it Mollie O'Grady ?" asked the Father."
"No."
"Was it Rosie Kelly?"
"No."
"Was it that red-headed wench Tessie O'Malley?"
"No."
"Well then," said the Father, "You'll not be forgiven."

When the lad met his friend outside the friend asked, "So, did you find forgiveness." "No," said the other, "but I picked up three good prospects!"

It's St. Patrick's Month

And here's a song for you ...

Molly Malone

In Dublin's Fair City
Where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheel'd her wheel barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus
Alive, alive o!, alive, alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

She was a fishmonger
But sure 'twas no wonder
For so were her father and mother before
And they each wheel'd their barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus

She died of a fever
And no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
But her ghost wheels her barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus