It’s Thursday. The U.S. Open is on the breeze here in Pittsburgh. I’m on the deck, coffee gone cold, just letting the mind chimes bubble up. Sometimes they ring out of nowhere. Sometimes they ring the truth. Here are three that wouldn’t let me be.

The Coal Country Prophet

Lets start in 2017 My 30th high school reunion.

I went because I thought: This might be the last time. I’d never gone to one before. Figured I’d sit quietly in a corner, nurse a drink, maybe slip out early. But I ended up with a table of old friends — floaters, jokers, familiar ghosts from the back-in-the-day crowd. Many are no longer with us. Dead before 50. Appalachia is hard on people..

The setting: coal country. Just outside West Virginia. The air there still smells like dust and diesel and long memory. A few mines were still open. Donald Trump was sniffing at the presidency. Conversation drifted, as it does, to the looming election.

Some at the table were pro-Trump. Others, pro-union and unafraid.

One guy — sharp, hard talking, just the type to raise hell — just said it, flat as fact:

“Donald Trump is the worst person on Earth. No — literally the worst.”

This was before the ballots. Before the collapse.

I brushed it off at the time. Assumed Hillary had it locked up. But now? His words crawl back over my spine like a warning we failed to heed. There are smart people in those hills — the kind who’ve seen the company store, the union bust, the betrayal. They can smell a con coming.

And he smelled it early

.

The Accountant and the Work Visa

Fast-forward 10 years to this spring.

Took my tax documents to my accountant — a rock-solid Republican, a conservative. We started talking about immigration. Not theory. Not TV news. The real stuff. His spreadsheets.

Turns out most of the immigrants working construction in Pittsburgh are not only legal — they’re well-paid. Many are on H-2B or H-2A visas. Some even on H-1Bs. They’re not hiding. They’re clocking in. Paying taxes. Supporting families. Lifting steel and pouring concrete in a heat that would melt most of us.

“Why don’t they just hire American workers?” I asked.

He laughed.

“Because they can’t. Americans don’t want these jobs. Or can’t hack them.”

Some of these laborers make over $80,000 a year. That’s not exploitation. That’s effort. That’s economy. That’s grit turned into livelihood.

So let’s kill the myth. There’s no horde of brown-skinned job thieves sneaking into America to take what’s yours. There are only workers doing the work most won’t.

And that’s not from MSNBC. That’s from my Republican accountant’s ledger. He showed me the forms, I can attest, saw the number with my own eyes.

Roberto and the Mosaic

Which brings me to Pittsburgh’s own: Roberto Clemente.

An immigrant, yes. But more than that — a legend. A Puerto Rican right fielder who led the Pirates to a couple of World Series championship glory back when baseball still had soul.

Clemente wasn’t just a ballplayer. He was a humanitarian. When a devastating earthquake hit Nicaragua in 1971, he didn’t just donate. He got on the damn plane himself. It was loaded with too many boxes of relief supplies. Too heavy. The plane crashed. He never came back.

But his spirit never left this city.

No one ever said Roberto Clemente was stealing a job. He was stealing bases with elegance. Fielding with fire. Hitting like he was born to it. He belonged — because greatness has no borders.

Now? We ban books about him. Books that dare to praise compassion. Books that teach charity. Florida strikes his name from the shelves, as if loving your neighbor is too radical for the youth.

What happened to the American mosaic? The patchwork of effort and hope? The idea that anyone — from Puerto Rico or Pittsburgh — can make something of themselves and leave the place better than they found it?

Where’d it go?

Where’d we go?

A Seat on the Deck

So that’s it for today. Just three bubbly mind chimes rising on a Thursday breeze. No script. No agenda. Just what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, what I’ve lived.

If you're listening, thank you. If you're watching, thanks again. If you're reading this on Substack — maybe toss a little something in the hat to keep the lights on and the chimes ringing.

It’s just me here. The trees. The wind. And the truth, if I can catch it.

Not so fast, I’m watching the us open and one more chime

In theory, the following scenario isn't far-fetched in today’s America

-The current leader at 4 under par at the US open was arrested on the 12th hole of the American-born JJ Spaun pro golfer. Spaun was born in Los Angeles, California. His father, John Michael Spaun Sr., is a white American, while his mother Dollie is half-Filipino, half-Mexican. The other pro golfers stood in shock as he was walked off zip tied by mask men with guns and put into a cargo van.

It’s not true, yet, but maybe given where we are, people just like him are getting swept up by our current government, a solid American with brown skin who one may think is stealing jobs, I’m rooting for JJ to take the ironically called US Open, open to all.

Enough for today I’m out, see you tomorrow!

Carl’s Mind Chimes Magazine is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit mindchimesmagazine.substack.com/subscribe