[Hpn] Re: [nhhomeless] Fw: The Weekly Standard Magazine

Bunny McLeod gmcleod@conknet.com
Wed, 14 Jun 2000 10:45:09 -0400


Hi Bill,
    I'm going to stick my nose in here too, if I may.  I would think that
you, the same as anyone else on the list, had the right to send information
pertinent to the issues of the list.  I can understand if you were to be
sending information that had no bearing on the issues, but, to me at least,
this is information that we all should have.  Whether we choose to believe
it, what we choose to do with it, these are independant decisons.  But this
is information, this is, if you will, amunition.  For those who chose to
believe it, well, it's good for them to know, for those who feel that it's
not true, or that there's more to it than is  being told, then it's good for
them to know that it's being said, so that maybe they can help to refute it.
            For my part, I appreciate your keeping me informed.
                          Sincerely,
                                  Bunny
                                     Pastor G. S. McLeod
-----Original Message-----
From: Bill Tinker <wtinker@fcgnetworks.net>
Cc: NHHomeless <NHHomeless@egroups.com>
Date: Tuesday, June 13, 2000 4:39 PM
Subject: [nhhomeless] Fw: The Weekly Standard Magazine


>Tom,
>I am going to let you handle this one!
>I think he went abit over by going to my ISP since I pay them not him!And I
>did not spam ..so what is his gripe about ?
>And so if he is not wanting to read The Weekly Standard Magazine article he
>could have deleted it period.
>I think this is rather a means of his way of attempting revenge for my
>stating along with coh@sfo.com for him to stop whining..after all we are
>supposed to be advocating for the betterment of our brothers and sisters
not
>standing on their heads while they a down and out!Its almost too obivious
>what he is attempting here..I respect you Tom,and HPN so please tell me
what
>you want to do?Thanks brother!
>Also was he not the one running with gossip that Homeless Peoples Network
>was dead or no more?
> A Brother
> Bill
>> From: "Curtis Seyfried" <curtisseyfried@mindspring.com>
>> To: "Bill Tinker" <wtinker@fcgnetworks.net>
>> Cc: <ABUSE@fcgnetworks.net>
>> Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2000 3:22 PM
>> Subject: Re: [Hpn] The Weekly Standard Magazine
>>
>>
>> > Bill,
>> >
>> > Sending ONE (1) UNSOLICITED  attachment would have been impolite, BUT
>not
>> > extremly disrespectful !
>> >
>> > SENDING 15 UNSOLICITED ATTACHMENTS TO A LISTSERVE IS  EXTREEMLY
>> > DISRESPECFUL TO SAY THE LEAST ! ! ! ! !
>> >
>> > DO not EVER DO THIS AGAIN OR I WILL personally SEND YOU BACK 100
E-MAILS
>> > FOR EVERY ATTACHMENT YOU SEND ME WITHOUT MY PREVIOUS PERMISSION ! !
>> >
>> > DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR or do I HAVE TO REQUEST THE OWNER OF Hpn TO
>REMOVE
>> > YOU FROM THE LIST !!!
>> >
>> >
>> > At 06:59 PM 6/12/00 -0400, you wrote:
>> > >The Weekly Standard Magazine
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >        Feature  June 19, 2000/Vol 5, Number 38
>> > >            Sanctimonious Slumlord
>> > >            Al Gore's treatment of his Tennessee tenants gives new
>> meaning
>> > >to "compassionate liberalism".
>> > >            By Matt Labash
>> > >
>> > >            "There is a difference between talking about compassion
and
>> > >actually putting your highest ideals into practice."
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >            -Vice President Al Gore, December 2, 1998
>> > >
>> > >            Carthage, Tennessee
>> > >
>> > >            If Tracy Mayberry's life were a country song, it wouldn't
>be
>> > >sung by the ersatz Hat Acts or New Country bunnies currently infesting
>> the
>> > >airwaves. It would be sung by the old cast of Hee Haw, who, for all
>their
>> > >hokum, exhibited a certain genius for tear-in-your-beer lamentations
>with
>> > >"Gloom, Despair and Agony On Me." The song's most poignant lyric went:
>> "If
>> > >it weren't for bad luck, / I'd have no luck at all." For as long as
she
>> can
>> > >remember, that's the only luck Tracy Mayberry has known.
>> > >
>> > >            Now 36 years old, Tracy was unlucky at 13, when she
married
>> her
>> > >first husband who beat her, then left her after she slugged him in the
>> eye.
>> > >By the age of 16, she'd met her current husband, Charles. A
>second-grade
>> > >dropout, he hasn't had much luck either. Together, they started an
>> unlucky
>> > >family. Charles brought along four kids from a previous marriage. They
>> had
>> > >two of their own, then adopted two more-the unlucky offspring of more
>> > >unlucky parents. The five kids currently living in their house suffer
>> every
>> > >malady from retardation to epileptic seizures. But luckily for the
>> > >Mayberrys, they get $1,536 in monthly disability checks. It's the only
>> money
>> > >coming in, as 51-year-old Charles, a tobacco and timber cutter, is
>unable
>> to
>> > >ply his trade since suffering congestive heart failure five years ago.
>> > >Herself a tobacco cutter, Tracy is also unable to work since her
>diabetic
>> > >stroke. While she's without a vocation (or welfare or food stamps,
>which
>> > >she's too proud to take), she has a new hobby: injecting herself in
the
>> > >stomach with two shots of insulin every day.
>> > >
>> > >            It might seem the Mayberrys' luck couldn't turn any worse.
>It
>> > >did. Eighteen months ago, they escaped a cramped three-bedroom trailer
>in
>> > >Cookeville, Tennessee, and moved to nearby Carthage, 50 miles east of
>> > >Nashville. Here, Tracy thought her family lucky when they secured a
>> > >$400-per-month four-bedroom rambler. But when she wrote out her rent
>> check,
>> > >her luck turned for the worse-she discovered her new landlord was Vice
>> > >President Al Gore.
>> > >
>> > >            Not that Gore was meddlesome. Though Tracy makes her
checks
>> out
>> > >directly to "Al Gore," and while the Mayberrys' house sits only 150
>yards
>> or
>> > >so from that of Carthage's Washington, D.C.-bred native son, Gore has
>> been
>> > >extremely hands off. So hands off, in fact, that when Tracy complained
>to
>> > >Gore's property managers that the plaster was coming off the walls,
the
>> > >linoleum was peeling off the kitchen floor, the basin of the bathroom
>> sink
>> > >was a constipated sludge puddle, the guts of one toilet tank had to be
>> held
>> > >together with Sunbeam bread bag twisties, and both bathroom toilets
>> > >overflowed-when they flushed at all-(making the whole house smell, in
>> > >Charles's formulation, "like sheee-it"), the managers managed not to
>fix
>> > >anything at all.
>> > >
>> > >            Over the course of a year, Mayberry says she complained
>some
>> 30
>> > >times to Gore's property managers, Charles and Audrey Elrod, a husband
>> and
>> > >wife team who have been in the employ of the Gore family (going back
to
>> Al's
>> > >late father) for 12 years. The Elrods aren't some sort of distant
>> managerial
>> > >subcontractor. They actually live on the acreage of Pauline Gore, Al's
>> > >mother. Audrey manages the staff of what Tracy's kids call "The Pink
>> > >Mansion," Pauline's house on the hill across the Caney Fork River, a
>view
>> of
>> > >which the Mayberrys enjoy when they pop an Icehouse beer and kick back
>> next
>> > >to the belching duct-taped air-conditioning window unit on their front
>> > >porch.
>> > >
>> > >            Tracy hadn't had much luck getting any response from Gore
>> > >entities, but last month, when the Post Office delivered a notice
>saying
>> she
>> > >had a registered letter from Al Gore, she thought she might have
caught
>a
>> > >break. After all, it wouldn't seem too tall an order for the second
>most
>> > >powerful man in the world to make sure the Mayberrys' toilets flushed
>> > >properly. He could probably even get a good deal on parts, since his
>wife
>> > >Tipper was a shareholder in her father's plumbing supplies business
(an
>> > >asset that Gore's 1998 financial disclosure report valued at between
>> > >$100,000 and $250,000).
>> > >
>> > >            But when Tracy went to pick up the letter, it wasn't
>actually
>> > >from Gore. It was an eviction notice from Audrey, written on Gore
>Realty
>> > >letterhead, spelled "Gore Reality." The reality of Gore Realty, admits
>> > >Audrey, is that there isn't any such company, only the two rental
>houses
>> Al
>> > >Gore owns. "That's just something we call it," she says. According to
>> Gore's
>> > >most recent disclosure reports, he grosses $4,800 annually from the
>> > >stopped-up sinkhole that is the Mayberrys' home.
>> > >
>> > >            The eviction letter stated that because of the unsanitary
>> > >condition of the septic system and the amount of time it would take to
>> fix,
>> > >"We believe that it would be to everyone's advantage if you could find
>> > >somewhere else to move. This seems to be an ongoing problem with the
>> > >plumbing and it is not in the best interest or health of the people
>> living
>> > >there for us to continue renting the house." Mayberry says that Audrey
>> told
>> > >her the Secret Service would be taking over the house, an assertion
>> Audrey
>> > >now backs away from. "Oh, that was just something I came up with," she
>> says.
>> > >"[The Gores] never said nothing about that."
>> > >
>> > >            True to form, Al Gore never said anything at all-at least
>not
>> > >until Tracy Mayberry called Nashville's NewsChannel 5 on June 2, to
>give
>> > >them a tour of the dilapidated house from which "slumlord" Gore was
>> evicting
>> > >her. The next day, Tracy received a call from the force behind Gore
>> Reality,
>> > >the vice president himself. He apologized profusely, telling Mayberry
>> he'd
>> > >known nothing about the problems. To make it up to her, and to defuse
>> media
>> > >interest, he promised to have the place repaired, to charge her no
rent
>> > >until it was, to drop the eviction, and even to put the Mayberry
family
>> up
>> > >somewhere while the renovations were underway if they so desired. By
>the
>> end
>> > >of the conversation, they were even talking dinner invites, with Tracy
>> > >promising to make fried chicken, cornbread, and a peach cobbler. (She
>may
>> > >have gotten carried away-when I ask if she'd really like to have Gore
>> over
>> > >for dinner, she says, "No. . . . He invited himself, I didn't invite
>him.
>> I
>> > >really don't care if I meet him or not.")
>> > >
>> > >            As damage control goes, Gore's strategy largely worked.
The
>> > >Mayberry story was nearly over before it began. Network newscasts
>ignored
>> > >it. Most major papers ran wire copy. So did the Nashville Tennessean,
>> where
>> > >Gore once worked as a reporter, and whose Goreophile editor, Frank
>> > >Sutherland, has appeared in a Gore campaign video.
>> > >
>> > >            If it were possible for Dickens to mount a comeback and
>this
>> > >time go Southern Gothic, a stop by the Mayberry homestead would give
>him
>> a
>> > >good leg up on source material. The house sits a mere chaw-hock from
>the
>> > >Gores', and is nearly as close to the Golden Nugget Lounge, a kicker
>bar
>> > >that promises karaoke and one-dollar longnecks for the ladies. Around
>the
>> > >perimeter of the Mayberrys' medium-sized yard is a barbed-wire cattle
>> fence,
>> > >a gentle reminder to their children not to wander off onto the Gore
>> property
>> > >where they could get intercepted by Secret Service agents or
>electrocuted
>> on
>> > >another interior fence. Like most rural southern settings, the
>Mayberrys'
>> > >yard exhibits a healthy amalgam of cars and dogs. In the driveway,
>> there's
>> > >their son's beat-up '91 Camaro, Charles's '79 Bonneville with its
>festive
>> > >coat of gray primer, a 1990 Olds Cutlass, and Tracy's Ford pickup
>> featuring
>> > >the bumper sticker "Women come and go, but you can rely on a truck"
>(the
>> > >Mayberrys have relied on theirs since 1988).
>> > >
>> > >            On the dog side of the ledger, there's Miss Lady the
boxer,
>> Jake
>> > >the pit bull/rottweiler mix, and four others who are tethered to trees
>> and
>> > >other immovable objects with thick timber chains. The dogs subsist on
>> "fat
>> > >meat" donated by a charitable butcher. "Sometimes they eat better than
>I
>> > >do," says Tracy. "My husband says bologna is a poor man's steak."
>> > >
>> > >            As for kids, the place is crawling with them. There's
>> > >25-year-old Linda, who Tracy says is retarded, though she doesn't seem
>it
>> > >("Just talk to her awhile," Tracy encourages). There's also
14-year-old
>> > >Anna, who is a self-described "maniac depressive," and who also
>> experiences
>> > >such severe agoraphobia that her teachers drop her lessons off at the
>> house.
>> > >Ten-year-old John, who sports an orange tank top and no shoes, is 5'3"
>> and
>> > >211 lbs, says sister Anna, who adds, with clockwork timing, that he's
>on
>> a
>> > >"see-food diet . . . if he sees it-he eats it."
>> > >
>> > >            John remains unruffled. "I could live off cheeseburgers,"
>he
>> > >says, though he often makes do with fried potatoes and pinto beans
when
>> > >money gets tight-and it always does. The Mayberrys adopted 9-year-old
>> > >Candace-not knowing that she'd have occasional seizures, be mildly
>> retarded,
>> > >and be prone to making mischief at school, such as when she told her
>> > >teachers that Tracy had given birth to twins, killed one, and given
the
>> > >other away. Last up is 4-year-old Jordan, a hard-boned shirtless
>jumping
>> > >bean, who was also adopted from a mother who drank and took drugs
>> throughout
>> > >her pregnancy, afflicting Jordan with fetal alcohol syndrome,
attention
>> > >deficit disorder, and God knows what else. "He's been on the Ritalin,"
>> says
>> > >Tracy. "Sometimes it calms him down, other times it'll run him crazy."
>> > >
>> > >            Tracy sits at her kitchen table in an aquamarine
>> Winnie-the-Pooh
>> > >T-shirt, black sweats, and Birkenstocks. Since she spoke out against
>> Gore,
>> > >she's received several abusive letters from his supporters. One called
>> her
>> > >an "asshole Republican" (though she's always voted Democrat). Another
>> said
>> > >she looked like a frog. "I don't wear makeup that often," she says. "I
>> don't
>> > >dress to please anybody. Where can I afford to go?"
>> > >
>> > >            Though Tracy doesn't own much-not even a full set of
>> teeth-she
>> > >does have all the accouterments of a professional chain smoker,
>including
>> > >her Marlboro 100s and a cigarette pouch with a side holster from which
>> she
>> > >draws her pink lighter. Husband Charles sits next to her, decked to
his
>> > >facial stubble in faded denim. He doesn't say much, and when he does,
>> he's
>> > >difficult to understand. Instead, he lets his black hat do the
talking.
>> It
>> > >says, "I can't take it anymore." And indeed he can't, as Charles's
>nerves
>> > >are shot, and he adjourns to a back bedroom where he falls asleep to
>the
>> > >accompaniment of "Busted" from Johnny Cash's At Folsom Prison album.
>> > >
>> > >            As Tracy gives a tour of her house, she speaks of its
other
>> > >unnamed occupants-the rather robust arachnid population. Tracy says
>> they've
>> > >killed all kinds of spiders, from black widows to fiddle backs. In
>recent
>> > >months, they've bought nearly 20 cans of Raid; they activate it, then
>go
>> off
>> > >to hunt for other houses. While we are standing in Tracy's living
room,
>a
>> > >large flying cockroach lands on the wall above my head. Tracy takes
>after
>> it
>> > >with her ever-ready flyswatter, but she doesn't have the wingspan. She
>> hands
>> > >it to me, and I make contact with the cockroach, dropping it to the
>> floor-we
>> > >think. We hunt for a body for several minutes, but then call off the
>> search
>> > >party, reasoning that even if we killed it, there're more where it
came
>> > >from.
>> > >
>> > >            While various repairmen scurry about the house under the
>eye
>> of
>> > >property manager Charles Elrod, it's clear they have quite a job ahead
>of
>> > >them. Manhole-sized swaths of linoleum are missing from the kitchen
>> floor,
>> > >though the Elrods, along with the Gores' local lawyer, James Bass,
>> > >not-so-subtly insinuate that the damage was done by the Mayberrys,
>since
>> the
>> > >floor coverings were replaced before they moved in 1998. (Never mind
>that
>> > >the allegedly new linoleum pattern looks to have been out of style
>since
>> > >1978, that the size of the holes suggests the Mayberrys would have had
>to
>> > >drop a jackhammer from a forklift, and that the faux-marble
>countertops,
>> > >supposedly replaced around the same time, are in immaculate
condition.)
>> > >
>> > >            In the hallways, there are fault lines in the ceiling and
>> > >peeling plaster bordered by yellow rings, perhaps from old water
>damage.
>> The
>> > >paint in some places is mismatched, but it wouldn't make much
>difference
>> if
>> > >it were uniform, as it bears enough scuff marks to look like the
inside
>> of a
>> > >handball court. A red-faced, sweaty Plumber Bob goes to town in the
>> > >bathrooms, snaking and plunging, and dodging a chirpy local television
>> > >reporter who wants to know if she can get some footage of Tracy
>"talking
>> > >around the toilet."
>> > >
>> > >            As we huddle inside the house, we hear the chopping of
>> > >helicopter blades. "Momma, it's Al Gore!" exclaims Anna. We all pile
>out
>> > >into the yard, tending to believe Anna, since one doesn't see much
>> > >helicopter traffic in Carthage-there aren't many places to land, what
>> with
>> > >all the Kissing Dutch Children lawn ornaments. The helicopter hovers,
>> then
>> > >disappears without revealing its passenger, but it is clearly not Al
>> Gore.
>> > >At the moment, he is in New York, promoting his "family agenda" at a
>> > >$15,000-per-year Upper East Side preschool. He gets help from Rosie
>> > >O'Donnell, who tells the assembly, "I'm very fortunate that I am very,
>> very
>> > >rich."
>> > >
>> > >            Soon after the false alarm, Plumber Bob and Elrod, who
>looks
>> as
>> > >if he coifs his hair with high-viscosity motor oil, haul one of the
>> > >perpetually clogged toilets out into the yard. They leave a trail of
>> water
>> > >throughout the house that they don't bother swabbing up. While Plumber
>> Bob
>> > >goes after the toilet with sharp objects and a garden hose, an ugly
>thing
>> > >happens. I'm standing in the front yard talking to Gore's man on the
>> scene,
>> > >and he begins casting aspersions on the Mayberrys. Says Elrod: "I've
>been
>> > >aggravated to death. . . . They trashed the house. . . . When they
>moved
>> in
>> > >. . . it was completely new inside and out." While Elrod says Gore
>> > >operatives told him that "we're supposed to be nice," he later claims
>he
>> > >even told Tipper Gore -"I think it was in an e-mail"-that the
Mayberrys
>> were
>> > >responsible for the disrepair. (A Tipper Gore spokesperson says she's
>> heard
>> > >no such thing.)
>> > >
>> > >            Elrod goes on to suggest that 14 people are living in the
>> house,
>> > >though only 7 do. He says the toilets have not been cleaned, though
>Tracy
>> > >tells me she cleans her bowls at least once a week, and I spot
cleaning
>> > >bleach in her bathroom. He suggests that the disrepair of the walls is
>> their
>> > >fault, though the peeling plaster, for instance, is higher than any of
>> the
>> > >children's natural reach, and young Jordan would have had to launch a
>> > >shotput to cause the cracks in the ceiling. Elrod even expresses
regret
>> that
>> > >they weren't evicted: "I think it would be in their best interest to
>find
>> > >another place to move."
>> > >
>> > >            It exhausts credulity to believe that the Elrods, Al
Gore's
>> > >property managers of 12 years, are speaking autonomously in this
>> potentially
>> > >incendiary situation, even as Gore apologizes and makes restitution.
>> Letting
>> > >surrogates attack, after all, is a familiar Gore campaign strategy.
>Gore
>> > >also has a political interest in appearing not to know anything about
>his
>> > >own rental property, particularly since Tracy Mayberry says the Elrods
>> told
>> > >her no repairs could be made without Gore's consent. She says that she
>> > >implored the Elrods, on no less than five occasions, to contact Gore
>> > >directly. And a few months ago, she says, she even went so far as to
>call
>> > >the vice president's Carthage office to complain. (She was referred
>right
>> > >back to Gore's property managers.) Still, one might be tempted to give
>> Gore
>> > >the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he has no time for such minutiae, as
>he
>> > >busies himself speechifying about compassion.
>> > >
>> > >            But when I tell Tracy Mayberry what Gore's surrogates are
>> > >saying, she is no longer prepared to accept his pleas of ignorance.
>> > >
>> > >            "Boy that makes me mad," she says. "All I ask for is to
get
>> my
>> > >house fixed, and they start attackin' me, sayin' I'm nasty. . . . You
>> know
>> > >[Gore] has to know something about it. ...I don't have to put up with
>it
>> and
>> > >I'm not going to."
>> > >
>> > >            A day after visiting Tracy, I call for a progress report
on
>> the
>> > >repairs. The first time her husband flushed the toilet, she says, it
>> seeped
>> > >water all over the floor. And, she says, the linoleum guys
>inadvertently
>> > >created two big dents in her kitchen floor by failing to patch up
holes
>> > >before they laid the new covering. Tracy Mayberry has given up hope of
>> > >getting lucky enough ever to see her house repaired. So she's made
>> another
>> > >plan. "I'm packin' my stuff up," she says, "and they can take this
>house
>> and
>> > >go to hell with it."
>> > >
>> > >            In a couple of days, Mayberry says, she will drop her
>> children
>> > >off at her mother's trailer, while she and her husband sleep in their
>> truck.
>> > >When they receive their disability checks on the first of the month,
>> they'll
>> > >begin looking for a new place to live. "We ain't got the money for
>motels
>> > >right now," she says matter-of-factly.
>> > >
>> > >            As for Gore, he might not want to count on Tracy's vote in
>> > >November, or even on a taste of that cornbread and peach cobbler. "The
>> way I
>> > >consider it," she says, "Gore can kiss my ass." 
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >            by Matt Labash
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >
>> > >      || HOME || MAGAZINE | SUBSCRIBE | ABOUT US | SERVICES |
>ADVERTISING
>> |
>> > >CONTACT |
>> > >
>> > >       COPYRIGHT 1999, NEWS CORPORATION, WEEKLYSTANDARD, ALL RIGHTS
>> > >RESERVED.
>> > >
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>> > >
>> > >Attachment Converted: "D:\WINWORD\DOCS\2nd_nav1.gif"
>> > >Content-type: image/gif; name=2nd_nav_sub_off.gif
>> > >Content-disposition: attachment; filename=2nd_nav_sub_off.gif
>> > >Content-Location: http://weeklystandard.com/images/2nd_nav_sub_off.gif
>> > >
>> > >Attachment Converted: "D:\WINWORD\DOCS\2nd_nav2.gif"
>> > >Content-type: image/gif; name=2nd_nav_about_off.gif
>> > >Content-disposition: attachment; filename=2nd_nav_about_off.gif
>> > >Content-Location:
>http://weeklystandard.com/images/2nd_nav_about_off.gif
>> > >
>> > >Attachment Converted: "D:\WINWORD\DOCS\2nd_nav3.gif"
>> > >Content-type: image/gif; name=2nd_nav_serv_off.gif
>> > >Content-disposition: attachment; filename=2nd_nav_serv_off.gif
>> > >Content-Location:
http://weeklystandard.com/images/2nd_nav_serv_off.gif
>> > >
>> > >Attachment Converted: "D:\WINWORD\DOCS\2nd_nav4.gif"
>> > >Content-type: image/gif; name=2nd_nav_ad_off.gif
>> > >Content-disposition: attachment; filename=2nd_nav_ad_off.gif
>> > >Content-Location: http://weeklystandard.com/images/2nd_nav_ad_off.gif
>> > >
>> > >Attachment Converted: "D:\WINWORD\DOCS\2nd_nav5.gif"
>> > >Content-type: image/gif; name=2nd_nav_botcap.gif
>> > >Content-disposition: attachment; filename=2nd_nav_botcap.gif
>> > >Content-Location: http://weeklystandard.com/images/2nd_nav_botcap.gif
>> > >
>> > >Attachment Converted: "D:\WINWORD\DOCS\2nd_nav6.gif"
>> > >Content-type: image/gif; name=2nd_pgbot.gif
>> > >Content-disposition: attachment; filename=2nd_pgbot.gif
>> > >Content-Location: http://weeklystandard.com/images/2nd_pgbot.gif
>> > >
>> > >Attachment Converted: "D:\WINWORD\DOCS\2nd_pgbo.gif"
>> > >
>> >
>>
>>
>
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