U-505 shortly after being captured, pictured from the USS Pillsbury in preparation for towing.

Remember my recent bad joke using WOMEN OWNED as a warning? I use “Thanks for the warning” quite often. Tell me “I’ll stop by when I’m in town” and I’ll respond “Thanks for the warning.” 
My humor works that way. I accept the risk of some finding that offensive, a reaction I could find offensive if I wanted to bother. I don’t. 

Now that surface’s been scratched, why not look at the complexity in those two seemingly harmless little words: WOMEN OWNED. 

I have no trouble with the words, but can no less question the independence and empowering of asserting a protected class. In effect, aren’t those two words a modernized equivalent of “Women and Children First”? 

That takes us back a ways. Not as far, however, as keeping women off stages to shield them from vulgar public exposure. Might have been what we might know as trans or cross who played women’s roles on stage. All of them put out of work, weren’t they, by a form of (are you ready) what could be called a gender protecting profession tariff. 

Can be mighty difficult to make sense of simple little things we take for granted because trying to make sense of human processes will always be a lifelong labor ending in death. Could put a warning label on it. Dangerous to Your Health. 

 With a father who in early life was involved in coal mining (making coal mining machines) I had some built in sympathy for miners (and associated fields) put out of work to meet greener ends. I won’t lie to you. I was quite skeptical of those miners finding fit futures as writers of computer code, there being little connection I could see between mining and writing except for the common bond of ing. 

Was that enough? What do you think? I had doubts. But despite any thought I might have, coal miners and mining was going to be sacrificed to a greater-greener good. Seemed there was a general consensus those were bad jobs. I guess. 

Society could suffer the loss and be better for it, but not so, it seems, new federal employes faced with termination. Axed, really, as were 600 Iron Range miners in a recent here-today gone-tomorrow shutdown. Loss of a job does matter. It can be devastating, but is neither unavoidable nor nonsurvivable. The worst things happening in my life were not as awful as I could have made them. 

 Now, when reviewing aspects of cultural and language protection we’re bound to bump into a’plenty of quirky things I’ll call (for fun) lip gloss. 

Lip gloss is a practice of superficial highlighting. It’s lip gloss when a person paints rocks alongside a driveway; attention getting without adding roadway improvement. Some of us will paint rocks and others will varnish a dried dog turd with similar intent, making something look better. 
Why not make an idea, etc. look better? I do it quite often. 

But it is nice (constructive) to keep in mind what’s done for show and what is constructive. 
You in the Ports have cause to recall the gloss of repairing enormous aircraft, worldwide grain shipping, magnet schools and irresistible aquariums. To me, evil intent is less involved than neglecting to take into account that gloss is not structural. Varnishing over gaps and flaws will get you every time. 

Creatures that we are, we’ve been mucking around mud larking like this for close to societal forever. We’re quite good at it. Being reminded of and acting aware of the habit is possibly our best (only?) defense. 

The other day I listened to a recording of Wolfgang Peterson talking about his year+ work on Das Boot. Knows his material very well, wouldn’t you say? I do. But in any case he repeated twice the only Type VII surviving to this day was in Chicago. But it’s not. 

I was 10 when U505 was dragged across Outer Drive to the museum. It was a Type IX then and all the other times I visited. Type IX not VII, a significant difference. There is an intact Type VII, but not in Chicago. Try Labor near Kiel, in Germany, much closer to home for Wolfgang, but yet he, well informed and capable, flubbed some facts. Not crucial, not at all. 

I’d likely not have called him on that. More important things to consider. What is important is to remember the fallibility of memory, even for the practiced and expert among us. 
 But here’s something far more Reader readers are likely to know than me. Most, I’d guess, have heard echoes of the wrangle over moving the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame from Eveleth to the entwined Cities. 
Is that a Yay or a Boo? 

At first blush it does seem a bit odd, even pretentious to those holding their home places central to understanding the universe. But, when a national museum was first being considered what two places were in competition? Do you recall? 

It escaped me, my hockey knowledge being largely organized around dating a very nice hockey cheerleader. Well, the other location in consideration was (you ready) Boston. Boston – Eveleth, Boston – Eveleth, and Eveleth won.  

I’m not going into what club or skate maker or frozen pond could claim precedence because once you go down that pathway it’ll never end. 

I’d guess, instead, that U.S. hockey happened when its time came, meaning many elements (some near – some far) muddled into a Mulligan that came out as hockey. 
Sure as anything when the first Zamboni zammed upon the ice there was bound to be a good many others of similar intent. 

As with discovery of the New World, there are likely multiple “firsts.” What mattered was who stayed and passed the ability and info more widely. 

For those who enjoy unlikely stories, positioning Eveleth against Boston is one heck of a matchup and contest. Whatever position you take, a hat can easily be tipped to little Eveleth, that is if we wore hats and were to practice respectful gestures when hurling invective suits us so much better.