Last Saturday people in Buffalo, NY and Edinburgh, Scotland suddenly found themselves wondering, "What was that?" Residents of upstate New York and parts of the UK report a loud boom heard at the same time but 3000 miles apart. The story is in the DailyMailOnline.
Astronaut James McDivitt said he looked out the window of his Gemini IV spacecraft in orbit around the Earth in June of 1965 and what he saw wasn't the second-stage booster rocket that NASA later suggested he saw. Read more at WorldUFOPhotosAndNews.org.
For weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, the live bird meandered up and down the streets of Tunkhannock, spreading a spirit of good old-fashioned fun throughout the little town.
Hector stopped traffic. Hector ate Cheerios and M&Ms. Hector pecked at the doors of a motel and a bank and ate pretzels right from the hand of an admirer. People went looking for Hector just to show their kids. Parents, grandparents and strangers all laughed together.
Traditional hometown feelings that the good people of Tunkhannock successfully work so hard to maintain – that special safe and secure feeling that so many little towns miss – seemed all the more powerful.
Hector made Tunkhannock homier than it already is.
Mayor Norman Ball even pardoned Hector for Thanksgiving.
Whenever you caught a glimpsed of Hector you suddenly forgot the terrible trouble in the world and briefly, just briefly, thought that everything was all right.
Of course everybody knew that most people would sit down to a Thursday feast that included Hector's cousins as part of the menu.
But Hector would be spared.
Like Rudolf- the red-nosed reindeer, Hector was one of a kind. Dressed in nothing but traditional gobbler dignity, Hector offered the townspeople a goofy kind of gobbler love that only Hector could show.
Then state Game Commission agents killed him.
So long Hector.
Commission agents claimed Hector was a "traffic hazard," nothing but trouble, an accident waiting to happen, a catastrophe instead of a celebration.
Mayor Ball said a man with a gun took Hector out along a stretch of otherwise serene rural road.
A woman called the show Monday and said she saw flashing lights at the scene of the slaughter and wonders how a commission officer could even legally discharge a weapon that close to a highway teeming with people on the road for holiday shopping.
A Tunkhannock resident said that game commission apologists were now spreading the tale that Hector was sick and that he – or she, since Hector's turkey gender is in dispute – even attacked somebody.
Show me the paperwork. Did state officials test poor Hector's carcass for disease? Did witnesses see the alleged attack? Even so, how hard is it to throw an Army blanket over a friendly and trusting turkey's head before shuffling him or her off to a sanctuary for safe-keeping and care?
I'll bet the 9-year-old girl whose mother called the show and said her daughter has been crying for two days over Hector's loss could have figured out a way to keep a fine-feathered fowl alive and well.
Instead, enter the giblet goon squad.
I didn't know that turkey sanctuaries exist. But people who know such things in Tunkhannock tell me they do, and not very far away. But I do know that something as simple as a wild turkey can and did bring joy to a town where not everybody is doing as well economically as they deserve to be doing and could use a little simple cheer to help make them happy.
The sad lesson here is that too many public servants serve nobody but themselves. They act before they think. They sometimes don't even think. Their search for common sense is continually hunting without a license.
Hector's legacy is forever free because Hector taught us something nice.
The state game commission taught us something foul.