Likes we coulda lets you on what Eugene means when speakin' affirmatively 'bout our devoted Dino's exemplary example, but we feels you would digs it more if you reads it for youself. We will say that the Dino-example was chosen from a Dino-croon our great great man did for one of his Rat Pack pallies' flicks. And, we have included a youtube vid of said touchin' 'n tender tune for your Dino-edification and Dino-pleasure as well. Likes it's extemely excitin' to see how yet 'nother of our Dino's artistic efforts keeps touchin' and teachin' us pallies Dino-day by Dino-day!
We thanks Mr. Eugene Curtin for liftin' up our teacher Dino in his awesome article and for the pallies at "The Bellevue Leader" for puttin' it into print. To checks this out in it's original source, likes simply clicks on the tag of this Dino-report.
Yours in Dino,
Dino Martin Peters
A magic, faraway world
Column by Eugene Curtin
I sometimes feel sorry for the millennial generation, which is generally defined as those born between the early 1980s and the early 2000s.
They inhabit a fiercely contentious America, a country in which people are hauled into court to defend their religious beliefs, abused at restaurants because of their political convictions, hounded in the streets, and harassed even at home.
Civility circles the drain as masked thugs dressed in black and wielding baseball bats bust up legally constituted public gatherings and intimidate universities into canceling speeches by perfectly plausible speakers.
Law enforcement stands idle as mob violence denies Americans their precious freedom of speech.
It’s a stressful world, and although millennials are as much perpetrator as victim, yet I can summon sympathy because I once inhabited a better, more loving universe. I wish they could know that place.
It wasn’t perfect, or even necessarily real. But its attempt to mimic decency and kindness represented at least the tribute paid by vice to virtue. The people who inhabited that world stumbled constantly, failed inevitably to achieve perfection, or even to approach it, but there existed an understanding of, and a fealty to, the impossible dream.
A useful example of this is the late Dean Martin, who, entirely by channel-hopping serendipity, I recently discovered singing a charming little ballad during “Robin and the Seven Hoods,” a Rat Pack-era movie that was showing on TCM.
The song was, “Any Man Who Loves His Mother Is Man Enough for Me.” It was a lovely ballad that asserted that a man’s character may be judged by how he treats his mother. Now, Dean Martin was married three times and was famous for his love affair with alcohol. No one’s saying Dino was a paragon of anything. But he knew right from wrong, and was not afraid to assert the true and the good, even if he personally fell short of the standard.