Long a country of checks and balances, we suddenly find our two-party system in checkmate and off-balance. Unity of purpose and policy is no longer a reliable proposition. So just as the Preamble to the United States Constitution calls for a More Perfect Union, these turbulent times call for the birth of a third political party. 

Having recently converted my voter registration to, “No Political Party” I’m in a Catbird Seat to launch our third political party, “DO NO HARM 2026.” 

Not yet registered with the Federal Election Commission, I shall introduce our party here in this fine family journal, and as I owe $300 in Mark Twain library late fees, I shall create a Super PAC to fund this nascent party. Operational steps will be determined by real people, with no assistance from Artificial Intelligence. 

I’ve learned a couple things from flipping back and forth between FOX and MSNBC of late. Judging from the frequency of sponsors, MSNBC viewers must have dryer eyes, while FOX viewers must have more toenail issues, and they both wish the other had them and they didn’t. As one of Mark Twain’s characters tells us, “Tell me whar a man gits his corn pone, en I’ll tell you what his ‘pinions is.” 

In building a platform of fiscal responsibility & social commitment to all Americans, I herein hand the reins of DO NO HARM over to a person whose sympathies are wide and warm, and whose heart is large and knows no guile, non-other than The Honorable, (please fill in the blank here with your choice and return to me as quickly as possible.)                        

So long as political survival dominates the primary political instinct, human harm will persist. Greed for power and wealth has reached an all-time American high. Yet, driven hard enough, human capacity for empathy can conquer egocentric drive for power. It’s time to promote those who will say “Enough Already” to buccaneer capitalism, and “Enough” to those born hoggish after money. The true measure of a person is not net worth, but net humanity.

In this moment, when several nations are equipped with weapons capable of unleashing destruction upon the whole of mankind, do we hear enough calls to draw down, might we not hear more shouts for détente? We really do need to eradicate weapons of warfare before they eradicate us…

When Democrats and Republicans fight, DO NO HARM will step in, seek middle ground, and start the healing process. Finally with good deeds outnumbering crimes by 1000/1 on a daily basis, news outlets will be encouraged to include a few more good news stories along with all the bad news stories, and thus provide some refreshment toward our nation’s mental health. And we are going to do all of this in the spirit of The Old Rail Splitter, “…with malice toward none; with charity for all.”

So onward and upward with DO NO HARM 2026, coming to a polling place near us soon…

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO

President Teddy Roosevelt called Chautauqua, “The most American thing in America.” Then along came Vaudeville and Chautauqua faded away, but guess what, it’s back, and it’s the wave of the future! 

Just this year, The Legend of the Valley, Kim Harris, hosted The First Annual Summer Chautauqua Showcase at Dangberg Ranch, featuring Youth Chautauquans from Douglas County Historical Society, Al Capone, Calamity Jane and Lucille Ball. And what a smart weekend it was. Home Ranch was filled with instruction and delight. I’m still in a good humor from having had a front row seat…

Chautauqua is destined to diminish adverse effects of the modern-day smart phone. People are craving eye contact, subtle signals of body language, and the sound of a live human voice.

Then there is the historical value of Chautauqua, the benefit of bringing historical characters to life, and sharing those historical lives, adventures and accomplishments with a live audience.

Typically, an 45-minute presentation of the character is followed by a lively Q&A session with the historical character, followed by a Q&A session with the Chautauquan. At the end of an hour an appreciative live audience goes away smarter and satisfactorily entertained.

Some Chautauquans are actors, others are educators in a costume, but all Chautauquans are entertainers. History has never been so much fun.

I encourage all retired folks, and those who might be about to retire, to find a person in history that you admire, study that person’s life, and bring that person to life in various classrooms, tents and lecture halls. You won’t regret it. It will give you a second life, and one life is not enough.

An extra added attraction of Chautauqua is hanging out with other Chautauquans when you are off duty. I’ve had the pleasure of dining with Julia Child, Will Rogers and Julia Bulette to name a few…

So I would ask you to start thinking about who you might like to be. There are so many wonderful characters we know nothing about that deserve to be brought to the forefront and appreciated. It might even be an uncle or an aunt of yours who is looking down on us as we commune.

Enveloping yourself in another century can be comforting and satisfying. You will be pleasantly surprised how many modern little annoyances don’t bother you anymore because you have removed yourself from the reach of their influence…

History is so much more interesting when presented firsthand by the character who lived that history and can put muscle and blood into the telling of the story. You might be thinking, “I could never do that,” but you could, if you found it to be a most interesting challenge, which is exactly what will happen. 

So I invite you to give it some thought. You just might get swept away into another person’s life, another person’s time, that will thrill and entertain you to no end…

I finally did get to take Jane out to dinner, where we talked about the Bruins and the weather. While we were waiting for dessert to be delivered, I asked her to marry me, and captured her so off-guard, she said yes. Jane had never been west of New York, so a move to Maui would be an anomaly, not to mention her mother and sisters were lining up to shoot me.

So off we flew to the Valley Island, where upon landing at Kahului Airport Jane took a look around, and told me she wanted to go home. I asked her to give Maui a few days, and took her to the well named Aloha Restaurant for dinner…

As good fortune would have it, Rick & Sol Hoopii were sitting a few tables over, and they came over to meet Jane…

“Macky Boy, dees your Bride?”

“Yes, Rick, Sol, please meet Jane Layne, formerly of Cape Cod.”

“May we sing The Hawaiian Wedding Song to Miss Jane?”

“Please…”

Well, I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing the Hoopii Brothers sing together, but their acapella harmony surpasses anything that has ever fallen upon mine ear, and I couldn’t help but notice a tear or two welling up in Jane’s beautiful brown eyes…

That evening we went body surfing at midnight under a full moon, and a couple porpoises joined us as playmates and instructors. It was supernatural, enchanting, and Jane did not mention Cape Cod that night…

The next thing I knew, she had joined a polo team and was playing hockey while  horseback. She asked me to join her book club, which I did, but when she asked me to join her hiking club and join them on a hike from the summit of Haleakala, sixteen miles down Kaupo Gap on sliding sands, I “drawed out” as they say in Nevada…

While I was doing my level best to keep up with her, she opened a dress shop and had me selling mumus on my days off from the radio station, while she surfed and hunted Ahi with a Hawaiian sling so we could enjoy a sumptuous Maui dinner when I got off work…

In Jane’s second month on Maui she bought a Jeep and joined an “Off Road Jeep Club,” that I would meet with a cooler of Primo and a platter of Manini at the end of the day. Then she took to coaching Youth Soccer, and I became assistant coach of the Wailuku Swarm. We barnstormed other Islands with those talented Maui kids, and won most of our matches.

But when she started training for the Iron Man in Kona, I wore myself out driving the sag-wagon while she swam, biked and ran all over creation. It was while driving that sag-wagon that I realized Jane had come to love Maui as much as I did, maybe more. Unwaveringly, she continues to live her idyllic Maui life as we speak… 

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO

Last week’s column reminded me of a love affair out there on Old Cape Cod…

To punish me I guess, our program director at WOCB sent me to a resort to host a remote broadcast of a backgammon tournament on a Sunday afternoon. My first reaction, which I kept to myself, was, “You’re condemning me to death by a thousand papercuts. I don’t even know how to spell backgammon!”

Well, I went, and that was this boy’s lucky day, for mine eyes fell upon her. She wore a fuzzy yellow sweater that highlighted the ringlets of dark curls that adorned her shoulders. I was bewitched, bewildered and speechless. But girding my courage, I approached her with microphone in hand, and asked if I could interview her. 

She waved both hands to shoo me away, then placed an index finger to her lips to signal she was speech impaired, which she was not…  

I fell irretrievably in love with her, set down my microphone, and asked if I could buy her an iced tea. She smiled and said yes. I then worked up my courage to ask her for a date on Monday evening for dinner and a show, to wit she told me she already had a date to attend the Bruins game. I was crushed, but she also told me she worked at a dress shop in Hyannis, so at least I knew where I might find her. Jane was her name.

That Monday evening I went to a new friend’s house for Monday Night Football and was put in charge of burgers on the grill outside. I shared with my new friends that the love of my new life, Jane, was at the Bruins game and my life was ruined.  Then, while I was outside tending the grill, I heard, “McAvoy, come in here! We switched over to the Bruins game during halftime, and a beautiful lady stood up in the stands with a sign that said, “I Love You, McAvoy!”

“Heaven take me now!” I howled, then returned to my grill with a smile and a spring in my step.

The next day I wandered downtown to look for her dress shop, found it, and there she was, looking gorgeous.

“That was really something special that you did last night.” I stammered.

“And what was that?” she sang along innocently.

“You know, the sign…”

“The sign?”

Abruptly, I realized I had been hoodwinked, and I resolved to avenge those who sent me on this fool’s errand… 

But what was gratifying and memorable about that hoodwinking is what she did next. Once she realized that I had been bamboozled by my friends in such a cruel manner, she purloined from my program director, my Boston Marathon training route, went out there one morning, and planted a hand painted sign alongside my route that read, “I love you McAvoy!”  Well, when I came upon that sign my heart stopped beating and leaped into my throat… 

To be continued…

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO

I discovered a letter today that I had written to my dear mother from Buzzards Bay away back in 1979, when I was news director of WOCB Radio…

Hi Mom, yesterday was such a pretty spring day here on Old Cape Cod, I decided to celebrate with my first sailing adventure on the Sound. So I tied a bandana around my head and drove to Sun Fish Rental on the shore of the Bass River, where I was asked if I knew how to sail. As you know I had never sailed before, but I did remember what Uncle Bo once told me, “The pointy end is the front.” 

So boldly I lied, “Yes.” (I will never tell another fib like that again…)

I was instructed to sail into the wind going out, with the wind on my way back home, and to be back before the rising tide at five. Thereupon, not unlike Captain Cook, I shoved off to where no man had gone before. I meant to make Nantucket mine, and I named my little Sun Fish the Endeavour! Well, I saw the Cape like no man has ever seen it before, at least no son of Barbara Layne’s.

Mesmerized and captivated by the wonder of it all, I lost track of time, and suddenly realized I needed to turn around to get back by five if lucky. So I swung the boom thingie around so fast that I got knocked almost into the water, but now we were heading with the wind back to Sun Fish Haven. 

What I failed to take into account was the fact that when the tide rises the bridges lower themselves, and I had three of them to duck under. I cleared the first two, but I could see the Endeavour was going to be too tall to clear the third. So I determined to hike her over as far as I could and go for it. Well, for a fleeting moment it looked like we were going to make it, but the wind died beneath that third bridge, and the mast thingie shot straight up, impaling the bridge and pinning us there. As I was grabbing superstructure, I saw the tiller thingie float away, followed by the centerboard thingie.

A small crowd of Good Samaritans gathered atop the bridge and a few actually climbed down to help me free the Endeavour, and I blew them a kiss as we drifted free in the direction of Sun Fish Haven, where they had launched a crew to find us.

Don’t tell Uncle Bo, Mom, but that tiller doodah and centerboard doodah cost me $85. And yet I should feel lucky, for as Captain Cook met his maker on a beach over there in the Sandwich Islands, I arrived home from my circumnavigation to a Cape Cod Cocktail in front of a warm fire…

Much love and good fortune from your son the sailorman…

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO

As this is Pine Nuts number 1,664, I thought it might be fun to look back 26 years to column number one, to see just how bad it was. Please don’t let Historian Emeritus Richard Miner see this, he who tells me I’m a good historian where facts are not essential… 

Circa 1956, Harold Tiller and Art Wood, our founding fathers, shared a thermos of coffee over a fallen log…

“You know, Art, by the year 2000, they’ll be servin’ coffee over a nice counter here instead of this old dead log.”

“We only wish it were right now, Harold, ‘cuz we’re fresh out of coffee.”

“This village of ours is going to need a good name, Art, a classy name, a name that will stand up over time…I was thinking maybe, ‘Tiller Village.’”

“‘Wood-Tiller Village’ sounds fitting to me Harold, and isn’t it interesting that if you draw a line from here to Reno, and draw another line from here to the summit of Mt. Rose, and another down to Reno from there, you’ve got yourself a perfect right triangle…we could rightly call our little village, “Pythagoras Village.’”

“Art, who the heck could spell Pytha…no, you better leave that idea right there. It is a pretty good pitch from here to the top of Mt. Rose, actually quite a grade. We need to find us another word for ‘grade.’  

“Why, think if we were to build us a golf course here, Harold!  Can you just imagine what would happen with all these lateral water hazards?”

“Yes, all those lost golf balls would wash right down into the lake, and you & I’d be the only ones who knew where they gathered!  We could keep ourselves up to our eyeballs in Johnnie Walker Red on recovered golf balls alone!”

“And just think how far those golf balls would fly in this thin air!  Why people will come from the four corners of the earth to play our course. We could fairly well establish a newspaper, sit back and watch that paper prosper just on the publication of tee times. Heck, we could name streets after golf balls…think of living on Titleist Drive!  Wouldn’t that tempt the devil himself!”  

“Indeed! we could sell lots with a view of the lake, then the lots with partial views, then the lots with filtered views, and then we’ll go to sellin’ lots with an essence of view!”

“Hey, Art, we could carve our own ski slope!”

“Nope…too flat.”

“No problem…we’ll just take to callin’ it, ‘Diamond Peak!’  That’ll fetch ‘em.”

“You know, now that I think of it, Harold, we could lay claim to the beach too, and allow property owners to spread their towels out on our beach!”

“No, Art, that will never fly…those Crystal Bay Bedouins would be down here tryin’ to throw down their Cal-Neva towels on our beach, and we’d be havin’ to call out the militia every other day.”

“There’s potential here, Harold, great potential.  But this little village of ours is going to need a really good name. Tilted Village, maybe? We just don’t know… 

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO

Some attribute my everlasting immaturity to the fact that I’m the son of an optometrist, and so it’s no surprise that I’m always making a spectacle of myself. However, having immersed myself in the writings of Mark Twain for half a century, I am now a recovering spectacle. Yes, if I can bring a smile to a stranger’s face with a spoken word, well, that’s what I’m here to do. The humorist is not looking for a laugh; the humorist is looking for the hint of a smile, or a nod of acknowledgement, for at bottom, all humorists are calling for action…

On September 18^th, 1943, inside Providence Hospital, Washington D.C., Barbara Layne gave one herculean push and heard, “I’m here! Got anything to eat?” Providence had it that I would have loving parents, quarreling siblings, a superior wife, a smart son, and three cute grandkids, all of whom have brought light into the life of this lifeguard, SAE, Marine, Never Sweat, and impressionist of Mark Twain…

Now it remains my goal, with the little time I have left, to bring a lasting peace to our torrid world. I have sent letters to presidents Putin and Zelenski offering to help our State Department broker a truce, and am patiently waiting for a reply. Meanwhile, we turn our eyes and hearts to the Middle East. I for one refuse to exit this planet until we have ceased waring on one another while attempting to promote monarchial, theocratic and political postures. And if the Middle East doesn’t cool down, I might just have to haul my Marine Corps uniform out of the closet and command that everybody chill, or they might have to deal with Corporal Night Train Layne. 

A little more humor, a little more music, a few more smiles, more dancing, more charity, more kindness, and BINGO, we’ve got ourselves a vigorous and enduring environment…

In closing I would like to suggest that we all pen, on our 80th birthdays, a personal one-page autobiography. Future readings will serve to advance human understanding and tolerance. And should you elect to start your one-page autobiography at age forty, and revise it as you steam mightily and jauntily along, well, that’s an excellent first step. Here’s to chronicling your examined life!

Your friend in history where facts are not essential,

And defender of virtue should any be found,

McAvoy

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO

I just beat the odds at Harrah’s Sports Book by finishing Ron Chernow’s thousand-page biography of Mark Twain before becoming the world’s oldest man. As a product of Mrs. Blumberger’s Remedial Reading Class, it was mostly uphill work, which became Sisyphean toward the end…

Chernow gives us three parts Sam Clemens the Heavyhearted, to one part Mark Twain the Lighthearted, and in doing so, he endowed me with more heartburn than all previous Twain biographies combined. Yet I could not help but admire Chernow’s relentless research. Here is the Edison footage he refers to…https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtzlVxhaBao

Mr. Chernow forgot to mention that the audio of Twain’s voice, recorded separately in wax, melted in Edison’s laboratory fire, dang it!

Adding to the affiliation in my reading Chernow’s bio, is the memories his book evokes. The bed Sam and Livy spent a fortune on in Italy, with swiveling angels adorning the headboard, Sam positioned at the bottom of the bed so he could see where their money was spent. And for one moment in time, I was there, shooting a documentary for the History Channel.

Not unlike Twain, Chernow is a prodigious noticer. He even dug up this note that Sam wrote to a friend while courting Olivia, “She says she loves me, but hopes to get over it.”

I never knew Clara was shot at through the window of her New York apartment, and that she thought Ashcroft had ordered her shot. That is a cold case worth reopening…

I felt Mr. Chernow spent too much time on Sam’s entrepreneurial excesses,

Sam’s carbuncles, and Sam’s avuncular angelfish associations. But overall,

I thoroughly enjoyed his sometimes wearing biography, and look forward to hearing 

my Twainian friends’ reviews…

If you’re hoping to check it out of your library you should expect to be put on a waiting list, which will give you an opportunity to start lifting weights, as Mr. Chernow’s tome weighs in at four pounds.

Personally, I still prefer Justin Kaplan’s 1966 biography, “Mr. Clemens and Mark Twain,” which won a Pulitzer Prize, and Ron Powers’s biography of 2005, “Mark Twain: A Life.” Chernow credits Percival Everett for his recent Pulitzer winning novel: “In 2024 Percival Everett published an excellent, poignant retelling of Huck Finn entitled James, in which Jim narrates the story, and protects Huck, instead of the other way around.”

Spoiler Alert: Then too, when everybody dies, I suffered all the symptoms of grieving,

including tears big as hockey pucks streaming down my cheeks, almost as if they were my own family members. And in a strange way, they were, for over the decades I have become closer to Samuel Clemens than ever I was to Dr. R.M. Layne, my own dear father…

In closing, we are going to present the lighter side of “Mark Twain in Tahoe” and “Mark Twain in Hawaii” at St. Pat’s outdoor amphitheater this summer. For information contact our North Tahoe Welcome Center at 775-832-1606 and we’ll hope to bring you a smile…

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO

I had a call this morning from Reno advertising guru, Mark Curtis, inviting me to tell, in five hundred words or so, how I got into portraying Mark Twain. Mark might possibly include this brief exposé in his impending coffee table book, One of a Kind (Part Two), due out right around Thanksgiving. I was happy to assure Mark that such a request would make for an enjoyable undertaking…

In 1983 I had the best job in the world, a job my father thought should be illegal, that of a morning radio host on the Valley Island of Maui. I was off the air at ten o’clock and riding a wave at ten after. I had everything a Maui Boy could ever want, except skiing. 

So I booked a cabin at Lake Tahoe for five days and was so excited I could hardly sleep that first night. But it snowed five feet overnight and my little cabin was buried. I made the mistake of opening the front door and it took me an hour to get it shut again. I thought it was the worst stroke of luck to ever befall this Maui Boy, but in fact it was the best…

I played darts for two days, then my elbow gave out, so I sat down and picked a book off the coffee table, The Complete Essays of Mark Twain. I had cabin fever by then so my brain was soft, and that seed was planted in fertile ground. The next thing I knew, fast forwarding a little, I was lecturing at Leningrad University in Russia in a white suit, and they were treating me like an elder statesman. They even let me climb inside Sputnik Two, but I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

As it took them five days to plow up to where I was snowbound, I did not get to ski, but I accrued some more vacation time and returned to Tahoe for another chance. In a now much appreciated God Wink, a lady riding up Ski Incline with me in the chair asked what I did. I told her and she put her hand on my arm…

“I’m starting a radio station up here at Tahoe, how would you like to host the morning show?” I took a look over my right shoulder at that beautiful blue lake, and in the next two weeks I would trade my surfboard for a brand-new pair of skis. That providential chairlift ride would springboard me to a rewarding 37-year career portraying Mark Twain in Nevada schools, across America, into Europe, and yes, even into Russia. How lucky is that?

Thank you, Mark Curtis, for inviting me to be a small part of your big coffee table book, and I wish you every success. I shall purchase of copy myself, if Big Daddy Lerude will float me a loan… 

Audio: https://open.spotify.com/show/7Fhv4PrH1UuwlhbnTT23zO