buy generic cytotec online rating
5-5 stars based on 98 reviews
Potential as a template for the recon-struction of viable dermis.

Most of the other invasive procedures involve the use ofan endoscope buy misoprostol australia an instrument used to visually examine internal organs andbody parts. Identify and challengeunreasonable beliefs andexpectations regardingadolescent behaviors. Asystole buy generic cytotec online classically known as a “flatline,” indicates there is no electrical activity occurring in the heart.

The underlying lungdisease further increases their respiratory work-load, and the provision of continuous distendingpressure alone is often not suf?cient to supporttheir breathing.

(2006) Comorbiddepression, chronic pain, and disability in primary care. In those cases buy generic cytotec online the physical therapist and physical therapist assistant must com-ply with their state practice act. Hematogenous cases more often have systemic signs of infection buy generic cytotec online such as fever,chills, and sepsis syndrome [32].

Thesefactors combine to result in the possibility of relatively overdosing a patient. This pattern or devel-opmental trajectory of increased aggressive responses seems particularly durablefor early starters (Aguilar, Sroufe, Egeland, & Carlson, 2000). Earlytreatment diabetic retinopathy study report 14. Eachgroup was given twenty treatments over three months. The relative risk of develop-ing diabetes, in those with MetS, based on data fromthe Prospective Study of Pravastatin in the Elderlyat Risk (PROSPER) study and the British RegionalHeart Study (BRHS) is between 3 and 11 (25). In the latter case, the ideal person is one whofulfils their human potential (or ‘self-actualizes’). Gheorghiade M buy generic cytotec online St Clair J, St Clair C, Beller GA. The presence of pain, purulentdischarge, and tenderness suggests underlying perirectal abscess. In contrast to the bitter taste receptors buy generic cytotec online they havetwo protein subunits, T1R2 and T1R3.

Table 6.1 shows the growth inthe number of psychiatric beds in a number of European countries following the Second WorldWar, which ran counter to run-down in the UK and the USA. It is argued: “…there isnothing wrong with a framework taking certain theoretical considerations for grantedand concentrating upon aiding busy decision makers through the provision of achecklist of relevant considerations, principles and issues to keep in mind” (Dawson2009). A test of parallel lines can be produced by the regres-sion analysis to assess whether this assumption is correct

A test of parallel lines can be produced by the regres-sion analysis to assess whether this assumption is correct. Hence buy generic cytotec online there is much less fluid loss and infection is much less likely ascompared with pemphigus vulgaris.

The condensed nucleus of the sperma-tid flattens and elongates, the nucleus and its overlyingacrosome also move to a position immediately adjacent tothe anterior plasma membrane, and the cytoplasm is dis-placed posteriorly. The latter is almost pathognomonic for infectious chronic osteomyelitis.However, the ultimate diagnostic proof is the association of a compatible clinical presen-tation with two separate positive microbiological deep bone biopsy samples [26].Eubacterial polymerase chain reaction (PCR) has a high specificity, but generally a lowsensitivity

The latter is almost pathognomonic for infectious chronic osteomyelitis.However, the ultimate diagnostic proof is the association of a compatible clinical presen-tation with two separate positive microbiological deep bone biopsy samples [26].Eubacterial polymerase chain reaction (PCR) has a high specificity, but generally a lowsensitivity. This form ofsupport was ?rst successfully applied to suchinfants in the period 1983–1988 (Steinhorn andGreen 1990)

This form ofsupport was ?rst successfully applied to suchinfants in the period 1983–1988 (Steinhorn andGreen 1990). NO is created in endothelial cells by type III(i.e. buy generic cytotec online endothelial) eNOS, which in pulmonary arterial smooth musclecells (PASMCs) induces GC to convert GTP to cGMP. The baby stopped feeding, vomited,became hypotonic and hypothermic, abdomen distended,respiration became irregular; an ashen gray cyanosisdeveloped in many, followed by cardiovascular collapse anddeath. Tight blood pressure control and risk of macrovascular and microvascularcomplications in type 2 diabetes: UKPDS 38

Tight blood pressure control and risk of macrovascular and microvascularcomplications in type 2 diabetes: UKPDS 38. In a randomized clinical trial they reported a 20% infant mortality benefit inpatients when the monitor was used (13)

In a randomized clinical trial they reported a 20% infant mortality benefit inpatients when the monitor was used (13). Mesenchymal cells inthese ossification centers elongate and differentiate into osteo-progenitor cells. In vitro autoradiography studies further con-firm that buy generic cytotec online when applied at tracer concentrations, FlorbetapirF 18 labels A? amyloid plaques in sections from patients withpathologically confirmed AD. Acute crystal deposition arthritis of the pubicsymphysis. This technique was based on the papillapreservation technique and was described as the Minimally Invasive SurgicalTechnique and is referred to as MIST [10]. American Journal of Speech-Language Pathology buy generic cytotec online 22,S310–S317. The Leydig cells are located within theinterstitium of the seminiferous tubules.

buy cytotec without a percsription

FROM FEBRUARY 13, 2012

The kid’s name is Princeton Jordan Moon. Some in his family call him PJ. Others call him Prince.    I think his mom prefers that we say, “Princeton” when referring to her youngest child.

I call him “Sweet-P.”

Just a few years ago, Sweet-P was born. He entered his world in one of the most raucous ways imaginable. His mom, my daughter-in-law, was in labor for nearly 14 hours before he finally came to her on February 9. And my son and his wife’s mom were by her side for every minute of that stressful adventure. But there was other stuff going on during that laborious day – stuff that was even more stressful than giving birth.

I wrote about Sweet-P’s birthday shortly after he was born. That was five years ago. I thought I would take the occasion of my youngest grandchild’s birthday to share that Lunacy again:

Here are the most important facts and occurrences of the night of Wednesday, February 8, 2012. My son’s wife had been in painful labor for nearly nine hours when the main event of the evening began. If you don’t know my family, then it’s not what you think. If you do know my family, it’s exactly what you think.

At nine o’clock that night, the only ones in that Mooresville, North Carolina hospital room were my son, of course his wife, and his wife’s wonderful mom. It really was a long, painful and stressful day for my daughter-in-law. And for the other two there. The anticipation, the discomfort, the anxiety and apprehension must have been brutal for those three. But the process was about to begin. And it did.

At precisely 9:05 PM Eastern Time. That’s when all hell broke loose. There was pain. There was jubilation. There was a certain degree of ease and relaxation. Then more pain. More jubilation. More angst. More joy.

It was a two-hour ride on the Myrtle Beach Swamp Fox. An unrelenting roller coaster. Energetic panic, screaming, yelling and God’s name taken in vain. It all came from that room during those two hours that night. It was so bad that the hospital staff became a bit panicky themselves and quickly, yet professionally, entered that room to see what was troubling the mother-to-be.

My account of things here is second hand, so I am taking some fictional liberty. The night nurse, upon hearing the screaming and yelling, burst into the room.

“My God, is everything okay here?”

“He was all over his freakin’ back!” my son explained.

“Who?” the nurse asked. “Has the doctor been here? Is your new son here? Coach Sandusky’s not a family member, is he?”

“We’re getting screwed,” my son replied.

“Look, there’s no need to file a malpractice claim, sir,” the nurse seemed to beg. “We’re doing our best here.”

“Oh man, he traveled!” said my son.

Nurse: “Well, yes sir. The doctor does live in Gastonia.”

Son: “He was hacked!”

Nurse: “Well, we did have to call him away from a cocktail party in Statesville. ”

Son: “What are you doing, Roy?”

Nurse: “Actually, the doctor’s name is Ervin.”

Son: “What the hell are you talking about?”

Nurse: “Look. Your doctor’s name is Ervin. He was at a cocktail party in Statesville, but he is traveling here as we speak, and he is not hacked. He is a professional. He would never show up for a delivery hacked.”

Son: “What?”

“Everything will be just fine,” the nurse said. “Just relax and breath. ALL of you.”

“How in the hell could you miss that shot?” my son asked.

“Sir, we keep immaculate records here,” the nurse responded. “I assure you, no shots have been missed.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No sir.”

“That last second crap just pisses me off!”

“Look, we are prepared here,” the nurse said. “We leave nothing to the last second.”

“Damn,” my son replied.

“There is no need to curse, sir.”

“What? Uh… what? Oh, never mind. So what’s up with my wife and our baby?”

“Well, sir, I’ve been trying to explain, and….”

“Explain what? When?”

“Sir,” the nurse said, “For the past two hours I have been trying to explain what’s going on and I just don’t…”

“Look, lady, I’ve been beside myself for the past two hours. Do you have any idea how stressful things have been for me and the wife?”

“Well, sir, yes I do. That’s why I have been in and out of this room all night, trying to explain to you that everything is under control, and that you have nothing to worry about. We are doing all that we…”

My son interrupted. “See, here’s where you screwed up, lady. You never, EVER, try to explain ANYTHING to me while the wife, mother-in-law and I are watching a Carolina-Dook game on television! UNDERSTAND?”

“Uh, yes sir. I do now.”

buy generic cytotec online

SPECIAL “BEAT DOOK” EDITION OF THE LUNAR REPORT.  FROM NOVEMBER 6, 2009

 

(The original was written and posted about eight years ago, during football season.  Well,this is hoops time!  My revisions only deleted references to that strange oblong leather ball!)

Granddaddy Mangum and Dickie.

Just a couple of side bars here. When my brother, Dickie, was a toddler, he lived with my parents in Victory Village, the married student housing on the UNC campus at the time. Word has it that his first words were, “Beat Dook.”

 

Dean Dome!

 

Two days after my son was born, the wife and I drove him through the UNC campus and past the Dean Dome.  We told him that if he decided to attend NC State, we would disown him. But that if he chose Dook, we would shoot him.

 

Now to the meat of all this. The UNC-Dook rivalry actually began way before either school had a basketball team. It began with a major dispute that involved land and bastard children between the Duke family and my family, the Mangums. (My Mom is a Mangum.) There are details in an article written in the Raleigh News and Observer about 23 years ago. The entire article is below.

Mangum Dormitory

At any rate, the Duke family money went to Trinity College (now Duke University), and the Mangum money went to UNC. And the rivalry began. And it all started with MY family and that miserable Duke family.

One more thing. As they say around here, “Go to hell, Dook!”

The News & Observer (includes Chapel Hill News) (Raleigh, NC)

The News & ObserverMarch 5, 1994

The UNC-Duke rivalry’s hidden side.  Leading families feuded for years
Author: CRAIG WHITLOCK; STAFF WRITER
Edition: FINALSection: NEWSPage: B1Index
Terms:UNC-CH; Duke;

Washington Duke, Willie P. Mangum HISTORY

Article Text:

It happened long ago, in the year 1794, but just as lustful folks are prone to do these days, Taylor Duke ignored the risks and seduced a local gal by the name of Chaney Mangum.  Duke, a weather-beaten Orange County farmer, figured nobody would learn about the indiscretion, least of all his wife. But when Mangum bore his bastard son nine months later, it blew his cover.

It also ignited one of the most enduring blood feuds ever seen in these parts.  The Dukes, for whom the university is named, and the Mangums, some of the University of North Carolina’s biggest benefactors, have been at loggerheads ever since, with the vendetta spreading to the worlds of business and politics.  And more recently, basketball.  

Tonight, the feud resumes in all its glory when the UNC Tar Heels and the Duke Blue Devils take the court in Durham.  The winner not only will claim basketball supremacy, but will momentarily gain the upper hand in a family feud that has boiled for 200 years.  

Both clans are rooted in the rural villages of Red Mountain and Bahama, in what is now northern Durham County.  On the surface, the backgrounds are similar.  Both families grew tobacco.  Both thrived in business and influenced politics.But family members, particularly during the 19th century, shuddered at the thought that the Dukes or Mangums had anything in common.   Over the years, they’ve battled over politics, competed for higher social standing and, on occasion, lusted after one another.  

William Preston Mangum II, a family historian, says the two sides don’t fuss as viciously as, say, the gunslinging Hatfields and McCoys.   But they don’t exactly get together for Sunday dinner either.”  I don’t want to say hatred, but underlying these two families is a desire to get the better of each other,” he said in a recent interview at, appropriately, the Washington Duke Inn in Durham.   “There definitely are ill feelings.”

Especially noteworthy is how the families took their rivalry to the rarefied arena of higher education.  The Dukes nurtured fledgling Trinity College in Durham, pumping so much tobacco money into the school that its trustees renamed it Duke University in 1929.  Less publicized is how the Mangums directed their generosity to the state university nine miles away in Chapel Hill.  The Mangums were crucial in helping the university survive its first century.   Willie P. Mangum served on the board of trustees for 43 years.   Adolphus Mangum, a professor, helped reopen the school after the Civil War.   Charles Staples Mangum founded the UNC School of Public Health.   Countless other Mangums graduated from UNC.   A dormitory and several academic awards are named after the family.

The campus connection is where the basketball game fits in.  Both teams have jockeyed all season for the country’s top ranking.   Between them, they’ve won the last three national championships and are two of the most successful programs of all time.  All told, it’s one of the most deep-seated and unforgiving rivalries in the nation.

Taylor Duke couldn’t have known at the time that his amorous urges would cause such a long-lasting fuss.   All he knew was that a comely maiden, Chaney Mangum, had caught his eye.  As can happen when such desires manifest themselves, Chaney Mangum bore a son.   At first, the father’s identity was kept quiet and the adulterous Duke was spared any public shame.   But the secret didn’t last long.  The couple had difficulty containing their affection.   One thing led to another, and the still-unmarried Chaney Mangum had another child.  This time, the Mangums identified Duke as the suspected father in both cases.  Angered by his cavalier attitude, they took him to court and forced him to pay $5 a year in child support.   The judgment was no small debt for the prolific Duke, who had 10 other children.

In the 1800s, the feud extended beyond the bedroom and into the! politic al realm.   For a time, the Mangums reigned supreme, although the Dukes did their best to discredit their neighbors.  Willie P. Mangum was the most famous of the bunch.   An 1815 UNC graduate, he served 23 years in Congress.   He was also a founder of the Whig party and ran for president in 1836.   He carried South Carolina in the election, but not his home state — thanks to opposition from people like the Dukes.  The Dukes were fervent Democratic Republicans and were vocal about it, something that caused Willie Mangum no small amount of consternation.

In the 1830s, a supporter wrote Mangum in Washington to report on the political troublemakers back home.   The writer singled out the Dukes, calling them, with uncanny foresight, part of “a Devilish clan.”  The Mangums weren’t above making fun of the Dukes, either.   One 19th century Mangum noted in his will that he owned a horse named Duke.

After the Civil War, the families’ fortunes changed. The Mangums, part of the Old South’s aristocracy, lost virtually everything. The Dukes, on the other hand, made the most of Reconstruction, thanks to tobacco.  Washington Duke, a legitimate son of Taylor Duke, raised bright leaf tobacco and entered the manufacturing side of the business.   Soon he and his three sons had created a fabulously profitable enterprise.  

Suddenly flush with money, the Dukes didn’t hesitate to throw their weight around.  In 1881, for example, residents of eastern Orange County wanted to split off and form a new county.   The leading proposal was to name it after Willie P. Mangum, the former lawmaker.  But Washington Duke nixed the idea.   He vowed to yank the Dukes’ considerable assets from the area if he had to live in Mangum County.   The threat worked: The jurisdiction became known as Durham County.  

The mostly forgotten conflict is detailed in Willie Mangum’s papers, stored at the Southern Histo! rical Collection in Chapel Hill.  “A lot of people have never heard that before,” says William Preston Mangum, the family historian. “But it’s a true story.”

After two centuries, the feud has cooled somewhat, no longer colored by nasty court battles or political fights.   But the two families remain ever loyal to their respective schools.   The Duke kids still go to their university.   And virtually all the Mangums go to UNC.  The bumper sticker on William P. Mangum’s Oldsmobile reveals as much: “Tar Heel by birth, Carolinian by the grace of God.”

Copyright 1994 by The News & Observer Pub. Co.Record Number: RNOB172307

buy cytotec without a prescription

BOBBIE FROMBERG

 

 

(January 26, 2016.  This was written about six years before my good Facebook friend from LA passed away.  I don’t know how we so easily met on Facebook, but she became a great and so humorous friend who supported every moment of my writing.  I miss Bobbie.  But I will forever feel her love and humor.)

 

 

 

FROM DECEMBER 12, 2010

This post is pretty much entirely meant for Bobbie Hill Fromberg, a Facebook friend of mine in Los Angeles.   She and her good friend, John are Laker fans.   They gather most every night there’s a game on TV for good food and Laker basketball.   For those of you not interested, please bear with me.   This is for Bobbie and John.

OLD WELLI grew up dreaming of being a basketball player for the University of North Carolina.   I hated High School.   I really did.   I had a couple of good friends.   I had a “sweetheart.”   And I had basketball.  Other than that, I hated it.

I wasn’t very loyal to my High School team, when it came to basketball.   The afternoons before games I would sing to myself Carolina fight songs.   Not Robert E. Lee High School songs.   Tar Heel songs.   Exclusively.   That’s all I wanted out of life.   Well, that and my high school sweetheart.

bball8

I wasn’t bad at hoops.   I was the fifth starter.   I did okay, though.   I got form letters from Brown University and from Berry College in Rome, Georgia, asking me to try out for their teams if I happened to be accepted at their schools.   I thought about it.   For a minute.

 

I wanted to be a Carolina player.   Nothing more.   Nothing less.   So I followed my dream.   I enrolled at Carolina.   I tried out for the team.

MITCH 1I was a freshman at the same time as Mitch Kupchak, former NBA star player and now General Manager of the Lakers.   At that time, all freshmen, including scholarship guys, had to go through tryouts.   Even Kupchak.   Had I known that when I decided to go to Carolina, I might have opted for Florida Junior College in Jacksonville.   I would have at least answered the letters from Brown and Berry!

So – I go to tryouts.   The summer before, I endured a bout of mono.   An excuse?   Maybe. But still – the truth.   I was slow.   That’s my point.   I did make it through 2 whole days of tryouts.   This is what I tell people.   What I try to avoid telling people is that EVERYONE made it at least through those first two days.

My main memory from those two days?   Kupchak.   He was 6’11”.   I was 6’4” in my High School program.   He weighed over a couple hundred pounds.   My High School program didn’t even mention my weight.   It would have been embarrassing.   One time during a Lee High game, I was at the free throw line, hoping to score a couple of freebies.   My brother, my own BROTHER, yelled from the stands, “Hey! You have a couple of strings hanging from your shorts!   Oh.   Sorry.   Those are your legs!”   I was no match for Mitch.

Still – I ended up on the very same basketball floor as Mitch Kupchak in October, 1972.   I was in awe actually.   I tried my best.   There was another guy there.   A guy who weighed something like 300 pounds.   I beat him running sprints.   That is my highlight during the tryouts.   He was the only guy I beat.

But I do remember a time, when we played a scrimmage.   Kupchak’s team missed a shot.   Our team got the rebound.   I turned and ran down court on the fast break.   I was looking at my point card and the ball, and not at who was in front of me.   All of a sudden I hit a freakin’ steel barrier.   Or a rubber barrier.   I bounced into the first couple of rows of seats in Carmichael Auditorium like a fresh Jai alai ball.   I had run, square on, into Kupchak.   He didn’t budge.   I was like a flea on his freakin’ arm.   He just stood there and looked at me, watching me try to untangle my legs from those Carolina Blue pieces of wood and metal, as if to say, “Man. Get up. Play ball, dude.”

Kupchak2I didn’t make the team.   And that’s okay.   I was ready to move on anyway.   Mitch Kupchak helped me realize that.   I hope this means at least at bit to you, Bobbie and John. As long as Mitch is there, I will favor the Lakers – a bit, at least.

buy cytotec without a prescription in the united states

FROM NOVEMBER 17, 2009

The subject matter of next week’s Lunar Report, a date sensitive thing, forces me to do the Thanksgiving report this week. I haven’t lost my mind. Well, as far as reading a calendar goes.

Thanksgiving is such a wonderful time to reflect on all that we have and all that we are thankful for. It’s the perfect time for a little more “Moon Sap.” Not this time. Everybody does the sap thing this time of year. Not me. I’m pulling a Costanza – doing the opposite!

No, this time I will reflect on what’s wrong with Thanksgiving and some major regrets in my life. Firts of all, there is no work the week of Thanksgiving. None. Used to be, kids would leave school around 3 o’clock the day before Thanksgiving. Their parents and other working adults would leave work at 5. You drive all night to get to Grandma’s house. Not anymore. Schools are closed on Wednesday. Workers call in sick or take Wednesday as vacation time. That leaves Monday and Tuesday to learn or work. No one hires people like me on those two days. So the whole week is shot. Yeh, I’m thankful for that.

Second of all, I am tired of misspelling “first.” I always do that. Should I nevertheless be “thankful” that I have a keyboard?

I always travel from North Carolina to Jacksonville, Florida for Thanksgiving. It’s tradition. I enjoy it. But have any of you ever been on Interstate 95 near Santee, SC after noon on the Sunday AFTER Thanksgiving? It’s hell, man. Should I be thankful that I have a car? Even if it is stuck in some major bumper-to-bumper action, over-heating for hours?

Okay. Enough of the “thankful” crap. I like to use this holiday to ponder regrets in my life. Somehow it seems appropriate. Yeh, I regret not winning an Oscar by age 30. I regret not making it to the NBA. I regret never watching a baseball game at Yankee Stadium. And, as stupid as this sounds, I regret never owning a new Pontiac.

But my biggest regret? Look, I am almost 56 years old. I’m not a wealthy man. I have always said that an old man with money can have any woman he wants – and I am halfway there!

But let’s face facts here. Unless I win the lottery, I will never have a meaningful sexual relationship with a young Asian woman. This is my major regret. The wasted money, the cigarettes, the beer, the laziness – I can live with all that. But the young Asian woman thing – I don’t know.

Anyway, this is my take on the Thanksgiving holiday.

_

Actually, y’all, the paragraphs above do not reflect what’s in my heart. I mean, I do tire of misspelling “firts,” uh – “FIRST.” And Sunday Santee traffic is no joy. But I have no regrets. Even if I did, this is no time for such selfish reflection. I guess it’s just that I am so thankful for so much and to so many, that it seems easier to resort to lies and a few cheap laughs.

I have a lot of heart-warming and sincere Thanksgiving stories. I have some that are pretty pathetic as well. But everyone reading this has the same kinds of stories. Let’s just be thankful for whatever we each have. If you have a huge bird to share with others, be thankful you have food, friends and family. If you only have a can of tuna for you and your child, be thankful that God has provided. If you are alone this holiday, be thankful that you don’t have to listen to a drunken Uncle Charlie go on and on about eating spam during the war – or whatever.

Look, as hard as we all try, there really are very few of us who can actually recreate a “Walton’s Mountain Thanksgiving.” So, let’s go easy on ourselves. This is a holiday to just be thankful. For whatever we have.

And pray for me, will ya? Next Thanksgiving, I’d really like to thank God for that young Asian woman.

(NOTE TO THOSE OF YOU WHO THINK I AM SOUNDING A BIT RACIST:
In the words of Jerry Seinfeld who, himself, appreciated Asian women
in a “Seinfeld” episode: “If you LIKE the race, it isn’t RACIST!”)

buy cytotec 200mcg

SPECIAL “BEAT DOOK” EDITION OF THE LUNAR REPORT.  FROM NOVEMBER 6, 2009

It seems I have had a request from a friend of mine, Robin, to post a special “Beat Dook Lunar Report.” I feel like a disc jockey! (I was going to say, “face jockey,” but that’s just not right.)So – Here ya go, Robin! Some Dook stuff with a personal touch.

Note to my Florida friends: This weekend will not compare with a drunken Gator-Bulldog affair, but Dook is the major rival of the University of North Carolina. The game is tomorrow.

Just a couple of side bars here. When my brother was a toddler, he lived with my parents in Victory Village, the married student housing on the UNC campus at the time. Word has it that his first words were, “Beat Dook.”

Two days after my son was born, the wife and I drove him through the UNC campus and told him that if he decided to attend NC State, we would disown him. If he chose Dook, we would shoot him.

Now to the meat of all this. The UNC-Dook rivalry actually began way before either school had a football team. It began with a major dispute that involved land and bastard children between the Duke family and my family, the Mangums. (My Mom is a Mangum.) There are details in an article written in the Raleigh News and Observer about 15 years ago. The enire article is below. At any rate, the Duke family money went to Trinity College (now Duke University), and the Mangum money went to UNC. And the rivalry began. And it all started with MY family and that miserable Duke family.

So, in a way, I am special here. When my college buds arrive for our annual reunion tomorrow, I expect to be treated in a special way. No more shaking of the beer can before giving it to me to open. No more throwing ice on strangers at the game and then pointing to me as if I threw it. No more peanut shells tossed into my drink at the game. And for the love of God, no more telling the gate security that I’m carrying 10 mini-bottles! No – tomorrow I shall require special treatment. In fact, I shall require that, tomorrow, my buds refer to me as “Mr. Mangum.”

One more thing. As they say around here, “Go to hell, Dook!”

The News & Observer (includes Chapel Hill News) (Raleigh, NC)

The News & ObserverMarch 5, 1994

The UNC-Duke rivalry’s hidden side.  Leading families feuded for years
Author: CRAIG WHITLOCK; STAFF WRITER
Edition: FINALSection: NEWSPage: B1Index
Terms:UNC-CH; Duke;

Washington Duke, Willie P. Mangum HISTORY

Article Text:

It happened long ago, in the year 1794, but just as lustful folks are prone to do these days, Taylor Duke ignored the risks and seduced a local gal by the name of Chaney Mangum.  Duke, a weather-beaten Orange County farmer, figured nobody would learn about the indiscretion, least of all his wife. But when Mangum bore his bastard son nine months later, it blew his cover.

It also ignited one of the most enduring blood feuds ever seen in these parts.  The Dukes, for whom the university is named, and the Mangums, some of the University of North Carolina’s biggest benefactors, have been at loggerheads ever since, with the vendetta spreading to the worlds of business and politics.  And more recently, basketball.  

Tonight, the feud resumes in all its glory when the UNC Tar Heels and the Duke Blue Devils take the court in Durham.  The winner not only will claim basketball supremacy, but will momentarily gain the upper hand in a family feud that has boiled for 200 years.  

Both clans are rooted in the rural villages of Red Mountain and Bahama, in what is now northern Durham County.  On the surface, the backgrounds are similar.  Both families grew tobacco.  Both thrived in business and influenced politics.But family members, particularly during the 19th century, shuddered at the thought that the Dukes or Mangums had anything in common.   Over the years, they’ve battled over politics, competed for higher social standing and, on occasion, lusted after one another.  

William Preston Mangum II, a family historian, says the two sides don’t fuss as viciously as, say, the gunslinging Hatfields and McCoys.   But they don’t exactly get together for Sunday dinner either.”  I don’t want to say hatred, but underlying these two families is a desire to get the better of each other,” he said in a recent interview at, appropriately, the Washington Duke Inn in Durham.   “There definitely are ill feelings.”

Especially noteworthy is how the families took their rivalry to the rarefied arena of higher education.  The Dukes nurtured fledgling Trinity College in Durham, pumping so much tobacco money into the school that its trustees renamed it Duke University in 1929.  Less publicized is how the Mangums directed their generosity to the state university nine miles away in Chapel Hill.  The Mangums were crucial in helping the university survive its first century.   Willie P. Mangum served on the board of trustees for 43 years.   Adolphus Mangum, a professor, helped reopen the school after the Civil War.   Charles Staples Mangum founded the UNC School of Public Health.   Countless other Mangums graduated from UNC.   A dormitory and several academic awards are named after the family.

The campus connection is where the basketball game fits in.  Both teams have jockeyed all season for the country’s top ranking.   Between them, they’ve won the last three national championships and are two of the most successful programs of all time.  All told, it’s one of the most deep-seated and unforgiving rivalries in the nation.

Taylor Duke couldn’t have known at the time that his amorous urges would cause such a long-lasting fuss.   All he knew was that a comely maiden, Chaney Mangum, had caught his eye.  As can happen when such desires manifest themselves, Chaney Mangum bore a son.   At first, the father’s identity was kept quiet and the adulterous Duke was spared any public shame.   But the secret didn’t last long.  The couple had difficulty containing their affection.   One thing led to another, and the still-unmarried Chaney Mangum had another child.  This time, the Mangums identified Duke as the suspected father in both cases.  Angered by his cavalier attitude, they took him to court and forced him to pay $5 a year in child support.   The judgment was no small debt for the prolific Duke, who had 10 other children.

In the 1800s, the feud extended beyond the bedroom and into the! politic al realm.   For a time, the Mangums reigned supreme, although the Dukes did their best to discredit their neighbors.  Willie P. Mangum was the most famous of the bunch.   An 1815 UNC graduate, he served 23 years in Congress.   He was also a founder of the Whig party and ran for president in 1836.   He carried South Carolina in the election, but not his home state — thanks to opposition from people like the Dukes.  The Dukes were fervent Democratic Republicans and were vocal about it, something that caused Willie Mangum no small amount of consternation.

In the 1830s, a supporter wrote Mangum in Washington to report on the political troublemakers back home.   The writer singled out the Dukes, calling them, with uncanny foresight, part of “a Devilish clan.”  The Mangums weren’t above making fun of the Dukes, either.   One 19th century Mangum noted in his will that he owned a horse named Duke.

After the Civil War, the families’ fortunes changed. The Mangums, part of the Old South’s aristocracy, lost virtually everything. The Dukes, on the other hand, made the most of Reconstruction, thanks to tobacco.  Washington Duke, a legitimate son of Taylor Duke, raised bright leaf tobacco and entered the manufacturing side of the business.   Soon he and his three sons had created a fabulously profitable enterprise.  

Suddenly flush with money, the Dukes didn’t hesitate to throw their weight around.  In 1881, for example, residents of eastern Orange County wanted to split off and form a new county.   The leading proposal was to name it after Willie P. Mangum, the former lawmaker.  But Washington Duke nixed the idea.   He vowed to yank the Dukes’ considerable assets from the area if he had to live in Mangum County.   The threat worked: The jurisdiction became known as Durham County.  

The mostly forgotten conflict is detailed in Willie Mangum’s papers, stored at the Southern Histo! rical Collection in Chapel Hill.  “A lot of people have never heard that before,” says William Preston Mangum, the family historian. “But it’s a true story.”

After two centuries, the feud has cooled somewhat, no longer colored by nasty court battles or political fights.   But the two families remain ever loyal to their respective schools.   The Duke kids still go to their university.   And virtually all the Mangums go to UNC.  The bumper sticker on William P. Mangum’s Oldsmobile reveals as much: “Tar Heel by birth, Carolinian by the grace of God.”

Copyright 1994 by The News & Observer Pub. Co.Record Number: RNOB172307

buy cytotec online without prescription

FROM NOVEMBER 3, 2009

It’s Lunar Report time again, and frankly I am stumped. I’ve been trying to live by a self-imposed deadline of 5pm every Tuesday. You know, I’m trying that discipline thing. I’m beginning to think that writing discipline is as full of crap as the contents of this week’s Report.

I started to write a sleazy appeal for work in the tone of a Billy Mays OxiClean television commercial. It might be funny. But, I can’t seem to stoop that low. At least not today.

Some good stuff happened today. I could write about that. Okay. I’ll give it a try.

Thanks to my furniture friends from Virginia, I paid rent on time this month. But doing that kind of put me in a funk. I really look forward to the nasty notes from my landlord. I know. Maybe I will grill burgers on the balcony tonight. That should generate this month’s nasty note.

I went to the YMCA today for some “Geezer-Ball.” I hadn’t been in a couple of weeks, again thanks to my furniture friends. It was good to see all the geezers. And I played pretty well, too. I just wish they had a smoking section at mid-court. The longer I play, the more irritable I become.

While leaving the Y this afternoon, I ran into a man who wants me to do a small job for him this month. That really is great news. It’s something, don’t you think, that playing basketball can lead to work? Mostly, people think I’m wasting time playing ball.

Look. This is boring me right now. I am so tempted to trash this and upload the Billy Mays’ thing. I’m just going to stop.
www.moon-inc.com

buy misoprostol cheap without perscription

FROM OCTOBER 27, 2009

Look. Never mind that it’s damned near November, and I’m still waiting for Labor Day. What the hell happened? By my internal clock, I should be sipping Mai Tai’s while calm evening waves roll up over my toes on some warm, sandy beach somewhere. Instead, I’m thinking about the lousy frozen turkey I need to buy in a couple of weeks. This whole time thing is really freaking me out, man.

Can I be honest here? For the longest time, I have been cheering on “global warming.” I mean – warmth. For the love of God y’all. Warmth is associated with good feelings. The warmth of a mother’s love. The warmth of someone’s smile. The warmth of the freakin’ air so that we can enjoy another summer’s day. And what am I doing? I’m thinking cold turkey. Let the glaciers melt. Just give me a couple more months of summer! Selfish? Maybe. But tell me – who of you would rather NOT have some extra beach resort time?

So, why am I even mentioning all this? Because it’s cold.

More to come….
www.moon-inc.com

buy cytotec online with no perscription

FROM OCTOBER 20, 2009

Last week, y’all kind of blew me away with your amazing responses to the Lunar Report. I learned, however, that there are more of us suffering than I originally thought. To those I will say again, “Let’s just own the day.” I will add this week – let’s pass our ownership along to others. Let’s have a “Day Time-Share.” It may not be Myrtle Beach, but I’m guessing our time-shares will be even better. You can make up your own definition of this. I guess I define it as the sharing of whatever one has to share, even if it’s just ownership of the day.

Since last week was sort of heavy, I really wanted to follow up with something either really dynamic or really funny. The problem is, I cannot seem to get my mind off a man who is one of my two most admired people. He is actually living a “Day Time-Share.” He has been for several years. He’s a fellow Facebooker. He is my sister’s life partner.

My 89-year-old Mom has had health problems the past 15 to twenty years, I guess. The past 10 or 12 years, those problems have reached, from time to time, critical stages. She is doing very well. Bedridden, mostly. But she is alert and healthy and still the same Mom I have known for 39 (ok – 55!) years.

I credit my sister for saving her life several times. You know – times when the hospital doctors and social workers gave us 24 hours to make funeral arrangements, times when the medical doses given my Mom exceeded her tolerance – you know, silly times like that. Those times, my sister so firmly stood up and called “bullshit” that even the insurance and Medicare lackeys had to take notice and actually allow my Mother to live. Don’t get me started, ok? This is an entire Lunar Report Series subject, for God’s sake.

When it was so forcefully pointed out by the staff of St. Vincent’s Hospital in Jacksonville that Mama’s insurance and Medicare would only allow us to put the woman in Hospice (and they actually encouraged it -again, don’t get me started! Why are y’all egging me on here?) my sister made the decision to take on the responsibility of caring for our Mom. Somehow, my sister figured, they would manage.

Ya know who has stood by my sister during all of this? Rick Peacock. My Mom’s house is a kind of small two-story house. Taking care of my mother in a house where sleeping and living quarters are so separate would be difficult, at best, for my sister and my Mom. So, my Mom and sister have been living in Rick’s one-story ranch for at least the past 5 years.

Sometime during the first year of my Mom’s stay at Rick’s, his Mother, a woman who was so very close to him, passed on. Still, this man allowed my Mom the comfort of his home. He pressed on when, I am sure, all he wanted to do was to cry alone for a couple of decades.

Today is Rick’s birthday. He deserves a good one. His Mom always made his birthday special. I am not his Mama, but I kind of hope that somehow this will help him recapture, if but for a short moment, that special feeling. Thanks, y’all, for indulging me here. But Rick deserves so very much my thanks. Thank you guys for letting me acknowledge his day, his heart, and his “time-sharing.”

Did I tell y’all that Rick is one of two people I admire most? I believe I did. The other person is the one who brought Rick into the lives of my family, and the one who has saved my Mom (and me!) so many times. Y’all aren’t stupid. You know.

Thanks so much for everything, Marilyn.

Marilyn and Rick INVENTED “Day Time-Sharing.”

And thank y’all again.
www.moon-inc.com

buy cytotec without rx

FROM OCTOBER 6, 2009

I did not have a mid-life crisis last week. It was pure and simple temporary senility.
The good news is, I am switching to Centrum Silver.

Last week, I posed the question, “Should I play by the book, or throw caution to the wind?” You’d think at this point in my life, I wouldn’t even think to pose such a question. But questioning things like this kind of makes me feel like a kid again. You know, “Daddy, why is the sky blue? Mommy, why was Mrs. Johnson in Daddy’s bed?” Things like that.

So, I question and I doubt and in the meantime, my gut tells me stuff. And it’s usually really stupid stuff like, “Grow up,” or “Pay your taxes,” or “Don’t smoke in the movie theater.” Sometimes I hate my gut. It is very restricting.

Last week, after posing the book-wind question, a very dear friend of mine suggested that I follow my gut. Really bad suggestion, MJ. (See paragraph above!) I also asked out loud whether I should keep saying, “What the heck?” when I really want to say, “What the hell?” Well, on Thursday of last week, I chose a “What the hell?” moment.

Here’s what I did. On Thursday morning, very early, I posted another Moon Productions “commercial.” I then took off on a day-long vehicle repair adventure with my son. All day, I had a gut feeling, the same gut feeling I had when I was twelve years old and hid a couple of porn magazines in my closet. (I knew Mama would find them. I was such an idiot, but I blamed them on my brother who was away at college. Sorry Dickie.) Anyway, when I returned home, late last Thursday evening, I checked to see what kind of responses I had on Facebook. There were none, so I posted the commercial again with remarks that I had hoped would trigger something – anything – in the way of a response. At the time I re-posted, the gut thing was still there. Nevertheless, I had to give it one more try. I think that maybe subconsciously my gut was saying to me again, “Hey! This is MY closet. My mother has no right to be snooping in here!” So after posting it again, again there were no responses. Late Thursday night, I removed the ill-fated commercial from Facebook. I caved to the stupid gut. Finally. I still say the commercial was funny, but then again, the Centrum Silver hasn’t quite kicked in

So here’s the thing with all this. And this is as real as the huge freakin’ nose on my face. Every time that I have ignored the gut feeling, as I did last Thursday and when I was twelve, I have experienced, or felt a sense of, failure. Every time. No exceptions. Sometimes, like last Thursday, I will embrace the “what the hell” notion, throw caution to the wind, and convince myself, somehow, that my gut is either telling me to go wild or is just plain ignorant. Well, my gut just doesn’t lie. The bastard!

Does this happen to you guys? Do you always follow your gut? Do you always or regularly ignore it? What usually happens when you do ignore what your gut tells you? And – how in the hell do you color outside of the lines WITHOUT ignoring what your deepest feelings tell you is right – or wrong?

At the very least, I have re-learned the same lesson I re-learn every time I ignore my gut feeling. Pay attention, dumb ass! Know what my gut is telling me now? “Take multiple doses of Centrum Silver each and every day!”

Okay, there is one more thing. Every time I board a plane, my gut tells me we are going to crash. Just what the hell do I do about that one? I’m screwed, right? So, look. Since I’m likely to go down in a fiery air crash one day anyhow, share this on Facebook. Let’s see what happens?

Thanks y’all.
www.moon-inc.com