Mom sent me a link to the front page of The Atlanta Constitution on October 13, 1940, because it celebrated the debut of female cheer leaders at University of Georgia football games. But what caught my attention was this article:

Tom Mix Dies With His Boots On
By the United Press.

FLORENCE, Ariz, Oct. 12.—Tom Mix, the rootin'est, tootin'est, shootin'est cowboy there ever was, died today as spectacularly as he lived, in an auto wreck, when his green speedster turned over on an Arizona desert Highway at 80 miles an hour.

He was dead when passersby hauled him from the wreckage near here. His neck was broken.

Mix, who never was as good behind the wheel as he was at the bridle of his horse, Tony, tangled with a bridge construction job. There was a detour sign, but the 60-year-old cowboy—the originator of Hollywood's multi-million-dollar horse opera industry—failed to see it.

He died with his high-heeled boots on and his 10-gallon white sombrero still jammed on his brow.

(Other details on Page 10-A)

It sure sounds like Tom Mix hurt someone's feelings in Atlanta. Here's how the New York Times front page ran the story:

Tom Mix Dies With His Boots On
By the United Press.

FLORENCE, Ariz, Oct. 12.—Tom Mix, 60, cowboy-actor and hero of Western thrillers of the films, was killed eighteen miles south of here today as he was pinned under his overturned automobile on a highway detour.

Mr. Mix, whose colorful career as a circus performer, soldier, law enforcement officer and motion picture star make him the idol of millions the world over, was traveling alone from Tucson, Ariz., to Florence and Phoenix.

Serving as advance agent for a circus scheduled to show soon in Phoenix, he was carrying $6,000 in cash, $1,500 in travelers' checks and several valuable jewels.

Two highway employes [sic] discovered the upset car and called State patrolmen, who extricated the body. Coroner E.O. Devine said that Mr. Mix apparently died instantly after losing control of his car. There will be no inquest. The body was brought here.

The Times story continues for about another thousand words but none of them confirm Constitution's gorier details. So of course I had to go looking for more. The United Press-credited story on the front page of The Arizona Daily Star follows pretty much the same template as the Associated Press story in The Constitution and The Times but adds some additional facts.

Tom Mix Dies in Auto Crash Near Florence

FLORENCE, Ariz, Oct. 12.—(AP)—Tom Mix, 60, cowboy-actor and hero of scores of western thrillers of the silent film era, was killed 18 miles south of here today when he was pinned under his overturned automobile on a highway detour.

Mix, whose colorful career as a circus Performer, soldier, law enforcement officer and motion picture star made him the idol of millions the world over, was traveling alone from Tucson to Florence and Phoenix.

Coroner E. O. Devine said Mix apparently died instantly after losing control of his car. The body was brought here.

Body Is Found

Two highway employes [sic], John Adams of Oracle, Ariz., and E. A. Armenta of Casa Grande, discovered the overturned vehicle.

Martin Younkers, Beloit, Wis., and Anthony Monts, Rockford, Ill., who said Mix had passed them on the highway north of Tucson, helped pull the actor's body from under his racing model car.

Younkers and Monts said a heavy suit case had fallen against Mix's head, burying his face in the soft ground. A physician reported later the blow broke his neck.

Local investigators said Mix, who left Tucson at 1 p.m., was serving as advance agent for a circus scheduled to show in Phoenix shortly. The cowboy star was carrying $6,000 in cash, $1,500 in travelers' checks and several valuable jewels.

One of the things I was taught in high school journalism was to get people's names in the paper to encourage local interest. I wonder how Mr. Younkers and Mr. Monts felt about that tactic.

For the record, The Constitution was wrong about the color. The car was not green. It was a bright yellow 1937 Cord 812 Supercharged Phaeton (with California license plate 6C 90 61). It's since been restored. The same cannot be said for Mr. Mix.

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Since 2007 I've have a tag for "six flags" that is mostly notes about the gruesome ways people have been dismembered and killed at Six Flags amusement parks across the country. I hadn't mentioned that just last month Six Flags Magic Mountain was accused in court of causing "sustained brain injuries" to over 100 people, leaving several with long-term debilitating injuries. But I think the parks have finally reached a new low today after a death on the Goliath roller coaster at Six Flags Over Georgia.

Per WXIA News:

Witnesses who were on the ride were emotional as they described a gruesome scene, saying the man hit the ride several times after he was ejected. One witness told [reporter] Cody Alcorn that the falling man was captured on their souvenir picture taken while on the ride.

How would they even know that? Other reports indicated riders were kept on the train in the station for up to five minutes after the accident. You'd think that'd be plenty of time for the teenage park attendants to block any traumatizing pictures from reaching the already traumatized riders. Six Flags has been treating people badly for years; I can't believe they still don't have a protocol for this sort of thing.

If there's one thing I would hope everyone could agree on in 2026, it's stay as far away as possible from Six Flags parks. Your life may very well depend on it.

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Seeing that this blog doubles as my personal diary, I feel I need to make note of the passing of Friend Michael, killed too young by cancer.

Rummaging around my archives for a pic of Mike to commemorate the sad occasion, I found this, taken (probably by James) in the parking lot of Medieval Times in Lawrenceville in June 2013.

Talking comic books and acting like big dorks. Yeah, I think pretty accurately encapsulates our three decade friendship.

Thanks for the good times, Mike.

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If you've read the news in the past few weeks, you may have a little trouble figuring out what the word "terrorism" actually means these days. It's being thrown around a lot to cover a lot of situations. So let's see if we can help clarify.

Merriam-Webster.com: ter·​ror·​ism, n: the systematic use of terror especially as a means of coercion.

Wiktionary.com: terrorism (usually uncountable, plural terrorisms) The use of unlawful violence against people or property to achieve political objectives.

Kids.Britannica.com: (under ter​ror​ism) Terrorists are people who use fear to try to change society.

As you can see, performing "terrorism" generally requires intent that the act would intimidate others into compliance with your desires out of a sense of fear. Darth Vader was a terrorist; he made his Imperial officers watch him kill their leaders so they would be too afraid to question his amoral orders. On the other hand, Freddy Krueger was not a terrorist; he was just a monster who enjoyed killing people.

The October 7 attack on Israel was an act of terrorism. The September 11 attack on America was an act of terrorism. Wearing white sheets and burning crosses in front yards has always been terrorism. Shootings on school campuses can be terrorism, but they can also just be murder. Trafficking drugs is itself not generally an act of terrorism, but in the right situation with the wrong sorts of people (like The Joker), it could be. Holding protest rallies is not terrorism (so long as there's no threat of violence). Fleeing across political borders, while illegal, is not terrorism (because people themselves are not inherently terrifying or seeking to force societal change by standing on one side or the other of an imaginary boundary).

Trying to escape police, while possibly unwise, is definitely not terrorism. Likewise, shooting someone in self defense, even if you were wrong to think you were in danger, is not terrorism either. But a hypothetical case of encouraging lethal force to subdue a fleeing suspect so others will think twice about trying to escape if they find themselves in the same situation? That's Darth Vader territory.

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I'm not always a fan of absolutes, but generally speaking, "thou shall not murder" is a pretty good rule, especially for a society that depends on cooperation to thrive. But while disobeying that rule is a sin, I've been wondering lately whether that rule is actually an absolute. Even the Bible doesn't think so, as the very next chapter in Exodus (21:12) paradoxically instructs that people who kill should be killed. Does the "no murder" rule not apply to the killer of killers?

The Bible is actually pretty keen on finding reasons to kill people. According to Exodus alone: don't kidnap anyone (21:16) or curse at your parents (21:17) or let your ox gore two people (21:29) or oppress orphans (22:21) or be a witch (22:17) or sleep with a sheep (22:18). And certainly don't strike anyone (21:23) unless it's a slave you own and you can keep them alive for "a day or two," in which case you're cool (21:21).

Come to think of it, how f'd up was Moses' flock in the first place? You don't make rules unless you need them, much less take forty days and forty nights to carve them in stone. For there to be so many rules about when you can and when you can't kill someone, they must have really, really wanted to kill one another. Hmm. Maybe the Old Testament isn't the best place to look for relationship advice or ethical behavior.

Not that we're doing a whole lot better. We just commemorated 9/11, when some people killed a whole bunch of people because they... well, because they were angry, I guess. That's usually why, isn't it? Wrath. Envy. Gluttony. Lust. Greed. And Pride for thinking you have the right to do it. By comparison, Sloth really doesn't seem so bad, except when he's not helping you restrain his six deadly pals.

Personally, I'm opposed to killing in all cases for the pretty simple reason that if anyone is allowed to kill, they might kill me, and I do not want to be killed. So far as I can tell, the only shot our flawed society will ever have at perfection is if we can all agree to stop all the killing. As a wise, soon-to-be-murdered man once said, "Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone." He probably should have added something about nails.

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I feel like that joke was aimed squarely at Jason Sudeikis (born September 18, 1975, SNL cast member from 2003-2013, host in 2021, and performer on the Saturday Night Live 50th Anniversary Special) and me (who did none of those things but is enjoying the company).

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Friend James just shared an Internet article that claimed that every time I drink a Coke, my life gets 12 minutes shorter. That's a shame. Friends shouldn't share articles like that.

Let's see, if I've had just one Coke a day (ha!) since I was born, that's at least 215,760 minutes or 159 days that I could have lived and won't. If my fated expiration date is May 23, 2025, I might drop dead before I finish typing this. There's no arguing with that; it's science!

If there's one lesson to be learned from that article, it's that I really should stop procrastinating in posting these Coca-Cola product placement screenshots from recently watched movies that haven't otherwise made it into my movie reviews (either because I had already seen them or I didn't watch enough of the movie to qualify):

Some Came Running (1958)

The Cutting Edge (1992)

Kentucky Fried Movie (1977)

Slap Shot (1977)

The Prisoner of Second Avenue (1975)

Beverly Hills Cop III (1994)

The article didn't ay anything about drinking Coke with my eyes!

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Think the Olympics are all about fun and games? Heck, no. They have practical origins.

Police Comics #1, August 1941

You never know when you'll have to harpoon a fleeing pirate!

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For years, I've been trying to think of what epitaph I want on my tombstone. My mother is under instructions that if I die weirdly — electrocuted by eels, run over by an ice cream truck, hit by a meteor — I'll want that carved in stone. And if I die normally, she should lie and say that I spontaneously combusted.

On a related note, a recent incident at one of my town's finer dining establishments gives me another idea. "Shot to death in a Hooters parking lot over a plate of wings" would make a pretty darn good tombstone.

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I read in the local newspaper that my county currently averages 1 suicide every 14 days. That's on pace for 26 a year. If that seems high, it's because it is.

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Americans kill themselves nationally at a rate of about 14 per 100,000, which implies that Coweta County, Georgia, population 155,000, should expect something near 22 suicides per year. For Coweta, that figure is an aspirational number.

What's so bad about living in Coweta? I can only guess.

Of course, thanks in part to our poor healthcare system and our easy access to guns, Georgians kill themselves more often than average Americans. (That's just the price you pay for freedom!) By Georgia standards, Coweta should see 24 suicides per year. So maybe our higher rate is our friendly way of helping prop up those counties that aren't pulling their weight.

Back when I was in a Coweta County high school, the statewide suicide rate was only 13 per 100k (national average 12/100k), yet I knew several people whose parents had killed themselves, and I knew students who attempted it. If people are finding things more bleak and hopeless now than they were then... as a community, maybe as a whole society, we just must be doing something wrong.

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