NotYourPrince's Blog

Very few people know that Spiro T. Agnew, 39th Vice President of the U.S., had a twin brother. It’s true, and there’s an interesting story about it that follows.



Spiro Theodore Agnew was, at birth, given the name Spiro Theodore Agnew by his mother, Harriet Akers. His birth certificate says his mother was Margaret Akers-Agnew, and that’s where the story gets interesting. Harriet and Margaret were sisters, born in Virginia in the late 19th century. Margaret married once, but her husband died, and she later married Theofrastos Spiros Agnew of New Jersey. Harriet was just 16 at the time and orphaned, so she moved into the Agnew house with Margaret and her new husband.


-- Harriet Akers

Harriet was known to be a beautiful girl, and she must have caught the eye of her new brother-in-law, because a year after she moved into the house, she came-up pregnant. As was the custom in those days, the whole sorted episode was kept quiet and Harriet was sent away to live in the west on the Elkhorn Ranch in North Dakota. It was a ranch owned by a friend of Mr. Agnew, the 26th president of the U.S., Theodore Roosevelt.


-- President Roosevelt's Elkhorn Ranch, near Medora, North Dakota

President Roosevelt, who left office in 1909, didn’t live on the ranch at the time, and this story was told by an Indian woman named Awanata who lived and worked on the ranch most of her life.


-- Awanata, Lakota squaw

Awanata said that Harriet came to the ranch in the spring of 1918, already heavy with child. She became one of the staff and worked as a maid and cook there. Awanata learned Harriet’s story over time, but at first only knew that she was the daughter of a friend of the President.

Harriet was found to be pregnant with twins by the local physician in Medora. She was a healthy young girl the doctor said, and she gave birth to twin boys late in 1918. She named them Spiro Pollard and Spiro Theodore, not an unusual set of names in those days, as both were named indirectly after their real father’s name (Spiros).

When Margaret learned of the twin boys, she wrote her sister, asking if she needed help of any kind with them. After the exchange of several letters, they agreed that Margaret would take one of the boys, disguising the truth by misrepresentation and forgery. The story Margaret told was that she’d adopted the baby boy of a Virginia cousin, though she and her husband registered the birth certificate of their new son as if he were their own.

The years went by and both the boys grew and thrived. But Harriet never had any further contact with her sister Margaret, suggesting there had been some hard feelings on Harriet’s part about separating the boys. Spiro Pollard Akers (as he became known) became a ranch hand cowboy, working on the president’s Elkhorn Ranch and others in the area, while Spiro Theodore Agnew (as he became known) entered politics, first in Baltimore County, Maryland, then as governor of Maryland, and finally becoming the 39th Vice President of the U.S. under Richard Nixon. As far as Awanata knew, neither of the boys ever learned the true story of their birth or about each other.

The secret almost got out at one point though, when Awanata told this story to a couple of Hollywood types who were in Medora researching local history for a movie they were developing. They were fascinated by her story and she later said she thought they took an unusual interest and made a lot of notes. She later found much of the story show up in the movie, Legends of the Fall. Fortunately, for all involved, the names and some of the story were changed to maintain discretion.

I heard this story from my father, who heard it from Awanata when he worked as a plumber at the Elkhorn Ranch, which had become, by that time, the Theodore Roosevelt National Memorial Park. He said he listened with fascination to her story, and asked her what ever happened to Spiro Pollard. Awanata said that his mother was very proud of her son, and she was glad he never had an interest in politics, especially seeing what had happened to his brother.

Awanta said that she once asked Harriet the same question.

"No," Harriet answered proudly,
"My Spiro has always been a cowboy."
[url]http://genius.com/Waylon-jennings-my-heroes-have-always-been-cowboys-lyrics[url]

"I'm Not Good Enough For Her" by Warren Zevon appears on his final album, "The Wind" - 2003




This is the last love song Zevon published and you can’t help but wonder if it was intended as a message to someone in particular.

On Valentine’s Day 2006, VH1 Classic premiered a music video for this song and aired it every hour on the hour that day.
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Lyrics and Interpretation:

I could hold my head up high
And say that I left first
Or I can hang my head and cry
Tell me which is worse

If you go and ask her why
She might say she's not sure
Trust me when I tell you
I'm not good enough for her

(If Zevon is talking about himself, then he's referring to his ex-wife, Crystal.)

Crystal Zevon:

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I want her to be happy
I want her to be free
I want her to be everything
She couldn't be with me

(Spoken as a man with a long list of regrets.)

Warren and Crystal - 1978:


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I'd wait here for a thousand years
If she'd come back to me
I have everything she wants
But nothing that she needs

(This is the most heartfelt phrase of the song, and speaks volumes of who this woman was to him.)



I want her to be happy
I want her to be free
I want her to be everything
She couldn't be with me

I could hold my head up high
And say that I left first
Or I can hang my head and cry
Tell me which is worse

If you go and ask her why
She might say she's not sure

(She's actually said this in interviews, when asked why they broke up.)

Trust me when I tell you
I'm not good enough for her

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Find the song here:

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Jerry is a friend of mine who loves fine restaurants. He told me yesterday that he'd decided to try The Broker restaurant in downtown Denver. They're supposed to serve great aged beef.

[img]http://n.bimg.dk/node-images/0/452x250-c/324-node-image-upload-the-brokerjpg.jpg[/img]


So he went in, alone, last weekend. He said the place was pretty swanky; a jacket-required kind of place. He got a table and the waiter gave him a menu and took his drink order. A few minutes later the waiter returned and asked him if he'd decided. Jerry said he'd heard their prime rib was excellent and he'd like that, medium rare. He said he also ordered a baked potato, lettuce salad and a side of asparagus with hollandaise sauce. Jerry said he wanted to have a little fun with the waiter, so he added that he wanted the asparagus and sauce on a chrome plate. He said the waiter gave him a confused look, but took the order and went away.



Just two minutes later the chef appears at Jerry's table. He said he was so glad Jerry came in for dinner. Then he got to the point; he said, "I'm sure there must be some mistake about your order for asparagus and hollandaise sir. If I put it on a chrome plate, the egg and lemon in the sauce will leach into the chrome and the asparagus will taste just awful."

Jerry gave me a couple seconds to digest all that, and then said he replied to the chef,

"My good man, don't you see?

(Jerry breaks into song)

For the hollandaise you can't be chrome sweet chrome!"

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Around the turn of the 20th century, there was a man who owned a ranch near the west Texas town of El Paso. He'd made quite the name for himself and everyone in the surrounding area knew him or of him. In his older years, his wife had passed away and he met and married a much younger woman, almost 40 years younger - a "trophy-wife," if you will. Her name was Sadie and she said it wasn't about the money and that she loved the rancher dearly. Their relationship lasted three years, but finally the old man died of heart failure. Naturally, his young wife inherited all his land, livestock, house, everything.



Sadie couldn't keep up with the land by herself, as she knew nothing about how to take care of it. She put a few ads in the El Paso Gazette, looking for a ranch hand. Over the course of a couple of weeks, four or five men had answered the ads, but one of them had caught her fancy. He was a young man; James, he said his name was. Lean, tall, and handsome. He was a rancher's son, and he seemed to know enough about how to to take care of things.

So James was hired. He showed up before sunrise and often left after sundown. Sadie noticed how hard James worked. She noticed the sweat on his brow and in his long black shock of hair, how he'd take off his shirt and tie it around his waist, how he'd lean over to pour gas into the tractor, how his arms and shoulders rippled with muscle as he chopped firewood. Sadie definitely noticed how very handsome he was.



Sadie also noticed that James would do anything she asked of him: run into town to pick up supplies, load up the woodbox on the porch, help with the dishes, take the dog for a walk; anything she asked. One day, she called James into the house, offered him a glass of sweet tea and told him to sit down. He sipped on his tea as they sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Sadie said, "James, I've noticed that you've been working very hard since I hired you. I think you should take a break. I want you to take tomorrow off." She took some money from her pocket and leaned forward to hand it to him. "Take this money. I want you to take a bath, get dressed up and go into town tonight. Head to the bar and have some fun!" At first, James refused. He said there was no way he could leave the ranch, there was just too much work to do. Sadie insisted and after some more back and forth, James finally accepted. Sadie asked only that when he returned to the house, he let her know that he'd gotten home safely.

That night, James headed into town, and Sadie waited up for him. She sat by the fire for several hours, reading and drinking her red wine. Some time around 2:00 in the morning, James stumbled in the front door. In a semi-drunken haze, he slurred his words, "I'm sorry Ma'am, I didn't mean to be out so late."

Sadie looked up and smiled. Pointing to the armchair, she told him, "James, please sit down with me for a moment." When he was seated, she asked him, "Did you have a good time tonight?" James nodded. She stood up and motioned him to do the same, and he did. She said, "James. Would you take off my boots?" So, James took off her boots. She said, "Will you take off my jeans?" So, James took off her jeans and laid them on the couch. She said, "Will you take off my blouse?" So, James took off her blouse and laid it on top of her jeans. Finally, she said, "James, will you take off my bra?" He reluctantly took off her bra and placed it on top of the blouse.

She looked at her clothes, then at James and said, "Now, James, the next time you go into town wearing my clothes, I want you to ask permission first."
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My aunt Amelia loves to tell a story every Thanksgiving about how she and uncle Vern took a car trip down to Phoenix one winter. They'd been on the road a few days and they were somewhere outside of Albuquerque on I-40. Uncle Vern looked in the rear view mirror and saw a New Mexico State Patrol car coming up from behind, lights blazing.



So he slows down and pulls over onto the shoulder. He stops the car and rolls down his window. Amelia likes to say his eyes got big when he saw the trooper getting out of the car was woman. She's had the campaign hat, the glasses, and skin tight pants.

"I clocked you doing 74 back there sir. You were in a 55 mph zone at the time. I'm going to have to ask for you license and registration sir", she says.



Vern looked over at Amelia and said, "WHAT'D SHE SAY?"
"She wants your license and registration", Amelia said slowly.
So Vern fumbled with his wallet for a few seconds, and then with the console for a few more. He finally handed her the documents.

"I'm also going to have to see your proof of insurance sir". added the trooper.
Vern looked at Amelia again. "WHAT'D SHE SAY?"
Amelia shook her head and said slowly, "She wants to see your proof of insurance!"
Vern looked in the console and then in the glovebox, and finally hands the trooper the insurance card.

At this point Amelia says, the trooper was starting to feel a little sorry for Vern. She looked over the papers and while she did, she made a little small talk. "Says here you folks are from Illinois. Nice state, Illinois. I used to live there with a guy. Worst sex I ever had with a man."
Vern is lost. He looks over at Amelia and asks, "WHAT'D SHE SAY>"
(Amelia always smiles at this point when she tells this.)
Amelia answers slowly, "She says she thinks she KNOWS you."

Buford was very handsome southern Bullfrog; handsome as bullfrogs go. One day he hopped down the street and into a bank, his briefcase tucked under his right foreleg. Buford hopped up to the first open teller window and sat down on the ledge in front of teller Stutterer Sus. He announced, "Hi, I need a loan."



Mr. Sus seemed completely unruffled to be confronted by a talking frog. Without a moment's hesitation he replied, "I'm ss-sorry sir, the Everglades Ss-savings and Loan doesn't mm-make loans to amphibians."

Quickly opening the brief case, Buford produced construction permits and blueprints. Showing them to Mr. Sus, he said, "But I really need this loan. You see I have this construction project in mind. Down in the swamp, we need affordable housing for all my relations and in-laws. I have the permits. Freddy, an architect newt friend of mine, has drawn up the plans. Everything has been approved and the permits have been issued. All I need now is the financing."

For Mr. Sus, this was getting stranger by the moment. It wasn't enough that he was talking to a frog, but now she was talking about plans, permits and a newt architect. Mr. Sus blurted out, "I cc-can't help you sir. You'll hh-have to talk to our ll-loan officer, Miss Black. Wait here for a mm-moment and I'll get her."

Mr. Sus walked to the other side of the lobby and after several minutes of animated conversation at the other side of the bank, he returned with the loan officer. "Hello, I'm Miss Patricia Black, the Loan Officer here. How can I help you?"

Buford went through his speech again, telling her about the plans and permits, about the housing and his friend Freddy the newt architect. Thinking she could put an end to this foolishness quickly, Miss Black asked, "What do you have to put up for collateral for a loan? You must have something of value to put up as collateral against a loan like this."

Buford dug further into his briefcase. "I have this", he replied as he drew forth a Hummel annual Christmas decorative plate.

"I can't give you a loan based on this thing", Miss Black said, pointing at Buford's little treasure. Buford begged and pleaded. Finally, Buford demanded to see the bank manager. Mr. Sus left for a moment to get him. After another animated conversation at the other side of the bank. The bank manager came over and asked "What's the problem, Miss Black?" "Well, Mr. Brown ..." and the Loan Manager explained that the frog wanted a loan to construct housing in the swamp for his relations and in-laws and he had the plans and permits, but all he had was this small collectible plate as collateral.

The manager, bemused by the whole situation, took the Hummel plate in hand, examined it carefully, then handed it back to Miss Black saying, "It's a knick-knack, Patty Black. Give the frog a loan."


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Many years ago a traveler came into the fabled land of Day. As he traveled through the countryside he saw many fine fields of grain and pastures with healthy livestock. The people working the land were all peasants, living in abject poverty. Strangely, all those he passed seemed to be in good spirits. He hailed a peasant and asked how he could be so happy living in such poverty. The man told him that this land was ruled by a huge, intelligent and benevolent bear called King Mu.



He added that while he was poor now, he could, when he thought he was ready, participate in a rite of passage and become a knight in the king's court.

When the traveler asked what was involved in this rite, the peasant replied,"Oh, you know, the usual stuff: drinking till dawn, reciting sports scores from the last five years, telling tall tales about women you've never met, discussing the advantages of the designated hitter and infield fly rules, and many other things of similar difficulty." The traveler agreed that would be a grueling test indeed. "Tell me peasant, what are the rewards for passing such a test?" asked the traveler.

"When you're made a knight you get all the goodies. You get things like a platinum Royal Express card. No limit on those things you know sire. You can move to a nice condo on the beach, and if you want, you can even get a trophy wife to replace the one you got now."

"Amazing!", said the traveler ,"This I'd have to see to believe."

"There's a test going on now in the capital." said the peasant.

So the traveler proceeded down the road to the capital to see for himself if all of this were really true.



Passing through the gates and into the beautiful capital city of Day he saw "The Festival of Testing" was already in progress. In the center of town, on a raised platform, sat an ornate throne and King Mu in it. He was a polar-looking fellow and appeared to be at least twelve feet tall. Moving through the crowd, the traveler saw three men standing before the throne. Two of the men looked to be in fine shape: clear-eyed, their collars buttoned down and wearing neck scarves in a powder blue color. Their hair was perfect. Both had at some point in the competition already won Rolex watches, which they wore on their wrists. The third man however, looked horrible. His eyes were blood shot, his clothing rumpled and stained. As he stood there, holding his head in misery, he looked none too steady on his feet. He looked like he'd been through a three-day stupor.

Rising from his throne the king approached the first two men and placing a huge paw on each of their shoulders and announced, "These two men have done well. They have passed all the tests of knighthood. I proclaim them Knights of Day and grant unto them all the privileges they deserve." Turning to the third man the king said, "This man, however, did not pass the test." With that he raised a paw and much to the traveler's horror, struck the man down, killing him on the spot. At that point, one of the king's aides brought forth a great shaggy dog , at least four foot at the shoulder, and presented it to the third man's grief-stricken family. Turning away in shock and confusion, the traveler asked the man standing next to him to please explain what had just happened.

"Why, everyone knows," said the man, "there's nothing better, after a bad Day's knight, than the dog of the bear that hit you."

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I love beer. True, I am addicted to vodka martinis, but on Saturday and Sunday afternoon, I'm always at the fridge, looking for a Schneider Weisse or a Sierra Nevada.

I’m headed to the Denver Great American Beer Festival in Denver today to sample some new brews. I’m looking to try some of the barrel-aged beers coming on the market. The idea of beer aged in wine or whiskey barrels sounds pretty interesting. Sauvignon blanc has a great flavor; so does chardonnay. Using used wine, bourbon or rye barrels to age the beer means the beer will take on even more character. I know, why not just drink a glass of wine? Still, the idea of infusing the beer with these flavors, plus that of the oak barrel itself, sounds pretty interesting.




My father would call me a self-indulgent wiener. “What, Coors isn’t good enough for you anymore?” I prefer to think my tastes have just gotten more discriminating, that’s all, dad. Plus, barrel-aged beers tend to be pretty high in alcohol content; all the better for someone with advanced alcohol tolerance.




This will be the first time I've gone to go to the Denver beer festival. It’s gotten huge, just like the craft beer industry. As beer sales overall have remained flat, craft brewery beers have grown to something like 10% of the beer market. Colorado is one of the centers of that movement to craft beers with over 200 independent breweries. That’s a lot of beers to sample.



If you’ve already tried the barrel-aged beers, add a comment to this post. I’d like to hear what you think.

I was sitting in a bar in Silverton last Friday afternoon when in comes a young woman. She sits down at the bar not too far away and orders a boiler-maker. While she waits, she gives me a quick look-over and I do the same. She's all in black leather, with mirror shades and a black bandanna.

"Are you a real cowboy?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," I answered, "Just spent the mornin fixin my fences."

"I know you're wondering." she added, "So I'll tell you. I'm a lesbian. Some call me butch. I've been ridin all over Colorado, lookin for women. I usually find 'em in places like this. I buy 'em a couple drinks, maybe dinner. By the time I get 'em on the back of my bike and to the motel, they're usually so horny they fall right into my bed. Yeah. I'm about as lesbian as they come."

"That's very interesting ma'am," I said.

Right about then, two more young women walked in and sat at the corner of the bar on my other side. They ordered a couple Coors, and one of them looked me over and asked, "Are you a real cowboy?"

"Well, ma'am," I answered, "Up until a minute ago I thought I was. But this young lady here on my right right just explained things to me and what I really am is a butch lesbian."



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Jonathan Simkins, the world's leading expert on European wasps and the sounds they make was taking a stroll down Main Street in Clearwater, Florida one day. As he passed a book and music shop, a sign caught his eye: "Just Released on LP - Wasps of the World and the sounds they make - Available Now!"

Unable to resist the temptation, Jonathan stepped into the shop.

"I am the world's leading expert on European wasps and the sounds they make. I'd very much like to listen to that new LP you have advertised in the window."

"Certainly, sir," said the young man behind the counter. "If you'd like to step into listening booth number one there and put on the headphones, I'll put the LP on for you."



Jonathan stepped into the booth and put on the headphones. Three minutes later, he came out and announced, "I am an expert on European wasps and the sounds they make, yet I recognize none of those sounds."

"I'm very sorry sir", said the young clerk. "If you'll step into the booth again, I'll play you another track."

Jonathan stepped back into the booth and put the headphones back on.

Three minutes later, Jonathan came out, shaking his head. "I don't understand it", he said, "I'm sure I'm the world's leading expert on European wasps and the sounds they make, but I just don't recognize any of the sounds on that record!"

"I'm terribly sorry, sir" said the young man, "if you'll step into the booth again, I'll give it another try."

Sighing, Jonathan stepped back into the booth and put the headphones back on. He waited ... silence. A few seconds later, the young clerk came over and opened the door to the booth.

"I really am terribly sorry", the young man said. "It was all my mistake. I was playing the bee side."


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