When I was growing up, a few teachers thought peer pressure could bring discipline to a group of grade-school or junior-high boys. Actually, I guess it was mostly coaches and gym teachers who thought the old "punish everyone until they pressure the culprit into confessing'' technique would bring positive results. In my experience, it often failed, although the one time it was used on me, it worked quickly.
It's the last week of the South Dakota Legislature's annual session, and I can't be the only person wondering how many bills will be vetoed.
Back in the fall of 1974, early November it was, I stood shoulder to shoulder with the Godfather, actor Marlon Brando, on the south steps of the South Dakota Capitol building.
I listened recently to the audio of a legislative committee hearing on a bill to let people with enhanced permits bring concealed weapons into the state Capitol, and I thought of George Temple and Vinnie Harold.
I saw a thing on Facebook awhile back that asked people to name a development, discovery or invention from their early life that younger folks take for granted. It was something like that, anyway. It made me think, and I came up — no surprise to those who know me — with the Rural Electrification Administration and more specifically, the arrival of electricity on our farm when I was no more than 6 or 7.
A guy grows up and forgets what a great month February used to be for school kids.
Long before the Standbys, even before the Bearcats, I played in a musical group called the Untouchable Trio. I thought about that last weekend as I watched a "CBS Sunday Morning'' segment about a phenomenon called "Lip Sync Battle." If you aren't familiar with the phenomenon, don't feel alone, although CBS said 2 million people watch the show on cable.
If Arthur Fonzarelli, the Fonz from the TV sitcom "Happy Days," had been a cowboy, he might have been Clint Roberts.
A warm spell like the one predicted for the next seven or 10 days would have shut down the rabbit hunting for me and my cousin back on the farm.
During an evening session in the South Dakota House in one of my first years as a newspaper reporter, a fellow in the first row of the upstairs spectators' gallery shattered the decorum when he suddenly stood and shouted, "Filibuster. Come on, filibuster.'' You could have heard a bill drop as House members, pages, messengers, staff, reporters and spectators craned their necks to stare at the man. The shouter sat down, pretty pleased with himself.