Douglas Whaley

                                                                       -                                                Thinking about the last post ("The Exploding Alarm Clock," February 19, 2011) led me to another memory from that same year. Before I relate that, however, I have a request for those of my readers who are former students of mine. I invite you all to send me your memories of things that happened in my classroom that are worthy recording on this blog. Email your favourites to me at dglswhaley@aol.com, using a "Subject" heading that mentions the word "Blog" so I don't have a "senior moment" and accidentally delete it as spam. The new post: In the Spring Semester of the 1966-67 school year, I was a second year student at the University of Texas School of Law. That semester one of the more interesting courses was Criminal Law taught by Albert Alschuler (now an Emeritus Professor on the University of Chicago faculty, but the

Austin, Texas In my last two years of law school at the University of Texas in Austin, I roomed with Jay Westbrook and James Kunetka. Jay, about whom I've written before (see "How I Became a Law Professor," January 27, 2010), and I were in the same law school class, while Jim was a year behind us.  Jay, Doug, and Jim in 1967 We three were soul mates and had a great deal of fun both years. Jay and Jim are wonderful human beings: intelligent, funny, personable—all-in-all, great roommates. We developed running gags on many topics, and at the drop of a hat could plunge into improvised skits ranging from imitations of various law professors (there are incredible tapes of these) to mock TV interviews (a terrified Olympics luge athlete, for example). When bored, we often had more-or-less impromptu playreadings (for an explanation of my playreadings, see "Elena Kagan and Me," May 23, 2010). Let me give you an example of the sort of running gag that amused us.

I was never a bowler of any noticeable ability. As described before in this blog (see "Doug, Please Get My Clubs From the Trunk," August 20, 2010), my parents were both fine athletes, and their considerable skills included bowling. But as I grew up my attempts at rolling a ball down an alley confirmed their suspicions that my DNA lacked their bowling genes. But, also as reported in this blog (see "The Marina City Party Crowd," January 13, 2011), when I was practicing law in Chicago (age 25), I was in two bowling leagues at once, where I finished in the middle of the pack of male bowlers, with my average being 145 or better. Later in life there was the odd bowling experience, but nothing steady. Now that I'm in my 60s, I suspect my bowling days are over. All of that is a prelude to this story, which is about the most important single game I ever bowled. It attained that status because of the magnitude of the stakes involved. The game occurred in 1973 (the ye

The incredible homophobic furor sweeping Uganda (see my post "Choose To Be Gay, Choose To Be Straight, January 25, 2011) is largely sponsored by Americans—sad but true. These Americans include not only evangelical types like Rick Warren, but also major politicians who are part of the C Street "Family," currently being exposed for the incredibly dangerous international force they are. If you think I'm exaggerating, read the current bestseller "C Street: The Fundamentalist Threat to American Democracy" by Jeff Sharlett, or, instead, merely Google up "C Street" and explore the hundreds of sites that will pop right up on your screen. These helpful American advisors warn the Ugandans that homosexuals have now conquered the USA, and their next step is to take over the entire world. Wow! A homosexual agenda that subjugates the planet Earth! Who knew we gay people could do that! Double wow! But when the rhetoric is absent and only facts remain,

Like much of the eastern part of the country, Columbus, Ohio, where I live, was caught in an ice storm last Tuesday evening (February 1st). About 8 p.m. the electricity abruptly died. Barney and Mama, my two cats, and I were suddenly in a very dark house with temperatures falling fast. We blinked at each other in confusion. The cats looked at me expectantly.  2003 Blackout, Northeast USA Whenever the lights go out, we experience not only the shock that civilization has failed at a very important level, but also the bigger surprise at how fast we revert to primitive needs, those of cavemen. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration because, after all, we have flashlights and automobiles that still work, as well as some other nifty devices (though it took me 15 hours to remember the Coleman lamp I bought after the last blackout), but it's also true that our first thoughts concern basic matters: food, heat, care of our loved ones, being able to survive the night. Just like