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Cannes, France

 At the Cannes Lions advertising festival in the south of France, Fire and Fury author Michael Wolff spoke onstage today with Jeff Goodby, the cofounder of Goodby, Silverstein & Partners, a San Francisco-based ad agency. Wolff testified to Donald Trump’s ability to sell books. (Wolff’s chronicle of Trump’s first nine months as president, which was released in January, remains at the top of Amazon’s bestseller list.) US vice president Mike Pence, he said, was another story.

 “When Mike Pence becomes the president—which I believe that he will become—the media business goes into a deep depression,” said Wolff. “Mike Pence is literally the most boring man on earth.”

 “He’s not even mentioned in your book!” observed Goodby.

 “Faceless. He’s so faceless,” said Wolff. “Even in the White House they only talk about Pence’s wife. Mother, she is called.”

 “He calls her mother?” said Goodby.

 “Everyone in the White House calls her mother,” said Wolff. ||||| The old-fashioned quality of Vice President Mike Pence’s relationship with wife Karen has made their marriage something of an obsession.

 Pence said in 2002 that in the interest of "building a zone around (his) marriage," he never dines alone with a woman other than Karen and avoids attending events without her if alcohol is present. It’s unclear if this remains his practice, but the Pences’ distinctive relationship has taken on greater interest since the former Indiana governor became vice president. (His boss President Donald Trump has noted his wingman "has one hell of a good marriage going.")

 Several days after the inaugural, Rolling Stone published a 6,500-word profile on Pence, which revealed a colorful detail about the vice president and the second lady. Citing an anonymous source, the magazine reported that Pence refers to wife Karen as "Mother."

 The article described a scene from a dinner at the governor’s mansion where Pence was hosting Democratic state lawmakers. In the presence of his dinner guests, Pence was reportedly overheard shouting to Karen from one end of the table to the other:

 "Mother, Mother, who prepared our meal this evening?"

 The legislators looked at one another, speaking with their eyes: He just called his wife "Mother."

 Maybe it was a joke, the legislator reasoned. But a few minutes later, Pence shouted again.

 "Mother, Mother, whose china are we eating on?"

 A couple of his dinner guests raised their eyebrows at the nickname, but Pence wouldn’t be the first man at the highest rungs of the executive branch to call his wife "Mother," or some variation of it, according to Carl Sferrazza Anthony, a historian of first ladies.

 Abraham Lincoln called Mary "Mother" (or Molly), and Calvin Coolidge referred to wife Grace as "Mamma." More recently, Gerald Ford referred to Betty as "Mother" (after they had children) and Ronald Reagan called Nancy "Mommy."

 We emailed the vice president’s office to ask if Pence refers to Karen as "Mother." His office initially declined to comment on the record, before an aide later emailed to say: "This is false."

 We decided to break from our usual mission of analyzing the nitty gritty of public policy to look into this unusual feature of Pences' relationship that has captured readers' interest. We found several people willing to go on the record that Pence calls his wife "Mother," but we were unable to find video or other documentary evidence, so the claim will remain unrated.

 ‘Mother, Mother’

 On the evening of March 12, 2013, seven Democratic lawmakers from the Indiana Legislature arrived at the governor’s mansion in Indianapolis for dinner with the Pences. Rep. Linda Lawson recalled being seated nearest to Pence.

 The evening was intended to bridge the gulf between Pence, whose Republican party held a supermajority in the state Legislature, and the Democratic minority. But for Lawson — who confirmed she was the source of the Rolling Stone story — the dinner was memorable more for what it revealed about the Pences’ relationship than for any bipartisan bonhomie it may have stirred.

 Here’s how Lawson recalled the evening to PolitiFact:

 "We didn't have an awful lot to talk about because we haven't anything in common. I mean, his concerns about women's reproductive rights and LGBT issues weren't part of his priority list and they were part of ours.

 "So there was a big lull in our conversation and he shouted down at the end of the table to his wife and said: ‘Mother! Mother! Could you tell us who's china we're eating on this evening?’ And she responded by saying, ‘Yes, this belonged to (former Indiana Gov. Mitch) Daniels’ family. It's very efficient and it's white and you can use it with everything, blah, blah, blah.’

 "So the conversation went on and we were oohing and aahing at how great that was. But then there was still nothing to talk about. So maybe 15 minutes later it was, ‘Mother! Mother! Who prepared our meal this evening?’ And she went on to explain it was a caterer in town and he was new and he was really good and blah blah blah."

 "The leader of the Democrats was sitting next to me on my right side, and I looked at him and I said, ‘He called his wife f------ 'Mother'!’ "

 A group photo of the Democratic guests on the evening when then-Indiana Gov. Mike Pence was overheard referring to wife Karen Pence as "Mother." Rep. Linda Lawson is second from left. (March 12, 2013. Courtesy of Ryan Dvorak)

 We asked Lawson if men referring to their wives as "Mother" was a regional custom, or a commonplace term of endearment in her neck of the woods.

 "I am going to be 70 years old in November. I was in the General Assembly for 20 years, and I was a police officer for 24 years before that, and I have never heard a man call his wife ‘Mother,’ " she said. "I just never have. So that's why I was so shocked."

 Pence’s office referred us to Marc Lotter, who served as Pence’s press secretary until he resigned last fall. Lotter, who’s known and worked for Pence since the mid 1990s, said Lawson is "not a fan" of the vice president.

 "I don't ever recall hearing that," he said. "About the closest you could come would be if the kids were in the room or something and it was, you know, 'Talk to your mom, talk to your mother,' those kinds of things like many parents do."

 Lotter did not attend dinner at the governor’s mansion with the Democratic lawmakers. But he held out the possibility that Pence had been "making some kind of joke or something along those lines."

 But according to a former Democratic lawmaker who sat next to the governor at one of the dinners, Pence himself seemed to indicate "Mother" was more of an enduring moniker rather than an isolated reference.

 "I remember him saying that about Karen — referring to his lovely wife — saying, you know, 'I refer to her as ‘Mother.’ ‘Mother Pence,’ " said former Indiana Democratic State Sen. James Arnold. "It was just kind of comical. But then again all of us in politics need somebody to watch over us. We all need mothers, I'll tell ya."

 Arnold’s former aide, Michelle Moody, said that while she couldn’t confirm the context of the conversation, "I do know that Pence referred to his wife as ‘mother’ several times during the dinner." (It’s unclear if Moody herself attended the dinner, or if she heard this secondhand.)

 Separately, longtime Indiana politics reporter Jim Shella, who covered the Pences, recalled hearing the nickname in 2013 while at the governor’s residence to conduct an interview.

 "Offhand, I'm going to say that I did hear him use that term on at least one occasion, but it's not a clear memory," said Shella, a political reporter with Indianapolis-based WISH-TV Channel 8. "It certainly fits with his general demeanor."

 Democratic Rep. Scott Pelath said he remembers attending dinner at the governor’s mansion. He doesn’t recall hearing Pence call Karen "Mother," though he doesn’t dispute it either, in part because it aligns with the Pences’ quaint manner.

 "When I was a child, I personally knew a lot of rural progenitors born in the 1800s, and perhaps that archaic manner of address skipped past my ears," Pelath said. "There were countless other things about the Pences that left a lasting impression. One, perhaps, is that they reminded me of rural progenitors born in the 1800s." ||||| File this one under “not a surprise.”

 Michael Wolff predicts a bleak future for Donald Trump — and the media.

 The “Fire & Fury” author predicted before a packed house at the Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity on Monday morning that President Trump will be ousted from the White House in short order.

 “We will soon find ourselves in the mother of all constitutional crises … When [Vice President] Mike Pence becomes president, which I believe that he will become, the media business goes into a deep depression,” Wolff said. “Mike Pence is literally the most boring person on Earth. He’s faceless.”

 A nonchalant Wolff delivered the news, while basking in the success of his colorful, bestselling book that describes Trump’s dysfunctional White House.

 The book has sold over 2 million hard copies in the US since its Jan. 5 release — plus millions of e-copies.

 Wolff’s explosive book’s rise was meteoric. On Jan. 4, the day that The Guardian leaked excerpts from “Fire & Fury,” Wolff saw pre-sales of his book skyrocket to No. 1 on Amazon’s bestseller’s list within hours. Soon after, the White House sent a cease-and-desist letter, which boosted sales even higher.

 Wolff has since cashed in on what he called the “aberrant entertainment” that is the Trump presidency, and will soon see his book turned into a 10-part television series directed by Jay Roach. He is also planning on penning a sequel, according to reports.

 “Once a day, I cast my eyes heavenward and say, ‘Thank God for Donald Trump,’” the journalist said.

 Despite the massive success, Wolff threw a few jabs at his competitors, who have questioned the accuracy of the gossipy tome.

 “The press corps over there, the Washington political reporters, they do a different thing than I do,” he said with a touch of arrogance. “They are all very resentful that I got this story and I made all this money.”

 What Wolff did was observe the administration at work for seven months.

 “I never asked a question beyond, ‘How’s it going?,’” he said. “It’s an older style of reporting.”

 To be sure, there were plenty of errors in the book — which sparked a lot of the pushback.

 Wolff didn’t leave Cannes’ main stage before getting in a jab at the New York Times for its scoop that the president threatened to fire special counsel Robert Mueller, who is heading the investigation into the Trump campaign’s Russia ties.

 “Every day he tried to fire Mueller. He did this constantly, to virtually everyone,” Wolff said smugly. “So the Times story was not wrong, but the Times story missed that fact.” ||||| The optics were good. About 100 Carrier factory workers in Indianapolis sat in folding chairs awaiting President-elect Donald Trump, who had announced, via Twitter, he'd saved their jobs. Well, not all their jobs – 730 were saved while another 550 were heading to Mexico – but that was a small detail. (Trump also kept saying he had saved air-conditioning jobs, though the factory makes furnaces.) After a while, a silver-haired man resembling the guy on top of a wedding cake strode to the podium.

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 "It is great to be back home again in Indiana," said Mike Pence in the stentorian voice honed during a seven-year career in talk radio, where he described himself as "Rush Limbaugh on decaf." "The state of Indiana is very proud. We are a proud manufacturing state. We are home to low taxes, sensible regulations, great schools and roads, and the best workforce in America."

 His voice grew somber as he talked about the day last winter when Carrier announced it was moving more than 1,000 jobs to Mexico.

 "We met with the leaders of the company back in March, and try as we might to make the Indiana case, it was clear that the die was cast," Pence said. "The simple truth was that policies coming out of our nation's capital were literally driving jobs out of this country."

 Much like the distortions and obfuscations that Pence used while defending Trump during the vice-presidential debate, this wasn't remotely true: Carrier was moving the jobs because it could pay Mexican workers $6 an hour. Critics say Carrier was now staying because it likely feared its $5 billion in federal contracts could be in peril under a vengeful Trump regime. Oh, yeah, and then Pence kicked in $7 million in state tax breaks. Even Sarah Palin decried it as "crony capitalism."

 Pence introduced the man of the hour: "It is my high honor and distinct privilege to introduce to you a man of action, a man of his word, and the president-elect of the United States of America, Donald Trump."

 Then a strange thing happened; well, not that strange, since it was Donald Trump. He spoke of his huge victory, and then admitted that his constant campaign talk of saving Carrier jobs had been bullshit. It was not until he saw a Carrier worker talking about Trump saving his job on television that the president-elect decided to act.

 "And then they played my statement, and I said, 'Carrier will never leave,'" said Trump with a rich man's version of a laugh.

 The media began tweeting furiously. The president-elect had just admitted he'd spaced on a major campaign promise and had only been reminded by a chance encounter on the nightly news!

 But one man didn't bat an eyelash. That was Mike Pence. Resplendent in dark suit and striped tie, he remained ramrod-straight, a proud smile frozen on his face.

 Ten days later, dozens of Carrier workers and family members gathered at Mount Olive Ministries church in west Indianapolis as an icy rain pissed down outside. They lit candles and said prayers for the hundreds of jobs that were not being saved.

 Sitting in a pew was Chuck Jones, the local United Steel Workers president. He tried to muffle his smoker's cough and bowed his head. Jones, a gruff man with neat gray hair and a mustache, had become a folk hero since the Carrier spectacle, when Trump attacked him on Twitter for having the audacity to question the jobs Trump didn't save.

 But tonight, Jones' wrath was for Pence. I grabbed Jones coming in from a smoke break and asked about Pence's role in the Carrier deal.

 Timothy A. Clary/Getty

 "He did absolutely nothing," said Jones.

 I reminded Jones that he had met with Pence in March. Jones smiled a sad smile.

 "Let me tell you about that," he said.

 In March, Pence met with Carrier's parent company's executives. Jones was there at the Statehouse with some union members carrying "Keep It Made in America" signs. As the cameras rolled, Pence invited him back for a meeting. Pence blamed the factory loss on Washington regulation, and Jones blamed it on corporate greed.

 "Why haven't you responded to our request for a meeting?" asked Jones.

 "I never got one," responded Pence.

 When Jones got back to the union hall, he looked up the letter he sent requesting a meeting and saw that someone in the governor's office had signed for it. He communicated that back to Pence's team. They promised a follow-up meeting. It never happened. (Pence declined to comment for this story.)

 "I know he doesn't like unions," said Jones. "But this isn't about unions – it's about human beings losing their livelihoods."

 Jones wanted to head back into the service, but he had a parting shot: "You let Joe Schmo open up a tire shop and hire two people, Pence was knocking people down to get in front of the cameras taking credit for it." He shrugged his shoulders. "But for us, he did nothing."

 During my travels across the self-proclaimed Crossroads of America, I learned that Mike Pence had once paid his mortgage with campaign funds, dragged his feet during an HIV epidemic and a lead-poisoning outbreak, signed an anti-gay-rights bill that nearly cost Indiana millions of dollars, lost his mind on national TV with George Stephanopoulos, and turned away Syrian refugees in an unconstitutional ploy laughed out of federal court. And he ended his gubernatorial term unpopular enough that his re-election bid in a Republican state seemed dicey at best.

 Pence is the nation's 48th vice president. Nine vice presidents have assumed the presidency as a result of death or resignation. That's a 19 percent ascendancy rate. Between Trump's trigger-happy Twitter persona, the ethical nightmare of his business empire, his KFC addiction and possible entanglements with Vladimir Putin, I'd say the chances for Mike Pence are more than 50-50.

 So what do we know about Pence? The governor benefited greatly from the wall-to-wall "Trump is a crazy monkey throwing feces" media coverage during the fall campaign, in that his record was undercovered, but it's out there and suggests that his impact as vice president will screw African-Americans, women, the poor and any other square peg in round America. His concerns for the parts of Indiana outside his comfort zone toggled between disinterest and disdain.

 And here's the frightening thing: Unlike his boss, Mike Pence has an actual ideology. Pence proclaimed at the 2016 GOP convention that "I am a Christian, a conservative and a Republican, in that order." However, his actual record – including turning down up to $80 million in federal pre-K funding – is the antithesis of Jesus' "whatever you do for one of the least of my brothers, you do for me" theology.

 Illustration by Daniel Adel

 Here's a quick story.

 While Mike Pence was governor, his relationship with the Democratic minority in the legislature was crap. Someone on his staff suggested having the Democratic leaders over to the governor's mansion for dinner. The table was set for 20, but there were only around seven in attendance. One unlucky legislator stuck next to Pence tried to make conversation, but found even at dinner she couldn't shift Pence off his talking points. Gov. Pence shouted to his wife, Karen, his closest adviser, at the other end of the table.

 "Mother, Mother, who prepared our meal this evening?"

 The legislators looked at one another, speaking with their eyes: He just called his wife "Mother."

 Maybe it was a joke, the legislator reasoned. But a few minutes later, Pence shouted again.

 "Mother, Mother, whose china are we eating on?"

 Mother Pence went on a long discourse about where the china was from. A little later, the legislators stumbled out, wondering what was weirder: Pence's inability to make conversation, or calling his wife "Mother" in the second decade of the 21st century.

 Pence was raised in the Sixties as a nice Irish-Catholic boy in Columbus, Indiana, a quiet bedroom community where, Pence likes to say, he "grew up with a cornfield" in his backyard. He was named after his grandfather, who emigrated from Ireland and became a Chicago bus driver. Mike was one of six children, and his dad ran a chain of gas stations. An astute altar boy, Pence genuinely seemed to want to serve his community. The local paper tells a story of Pence befriending two kids with muscular dystrophy and later serving as a pall-bearer at each of their funerals.

 He stayed close to home and went to Hanover College. There, he became fascinated with evangelical Christianity and had a religious epiphany at a Christian music festival in Kentucky.

 His conversion reportedly caused consternation among his family, especially for his mother. He met Karen at church while he was studying at Indiana University Law School. Karen carried a gold cross with the word "yes" on it in her purse in anticipation of the moment when Mike would propose. Their faith deepened together, and they were wed in 1985, eventually having three children. Pence reportedly calls Karen the "prayer warrior" of the family.

 Pence went to work at an Indianapolis law firm, where he began each day in prayer with a colleague. In 1988, at 29, he made his first bid for Congress, capturing attention by riding a bicycle across the district. He lost, but the campaign was seen as a dry run for a 1990 campaign against Democrat Phillip Sharp.

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 The race was initially close. And then Billy Linville, Sharp's campaign manager, swung by the Statehouse to pick up Pence's financial-disclosure forms.

 "It was clear upon observing his expenditures that he was using campaign funds for personal use," Linville told me. "He was making his mortgage payments. He was making a car payment for his wife. He was making payments for his personal credit card, and he was even spending money for his family groceries."

 While this was not an illegal practice at the time, there was a delicious irony, since Pence's main campaign plank was that Sharp was beholden to special interests, and here was Pence buying spaghetti with his donors' money.

 Pence's campaign entered a death spiral. Revealing a pattern that would rear its head again when he was a governor and a vice-presidential candidate, Pence doggedly repeated his campaign talking points no matter what reporters asked. Meanwhile, he doubled down on smear tactics. He sent out a mailer with a picture of a razor and lines of cocaine, suggesting Sharp was soft on drugs. He had campaign volunteers call voters and tell them Sharp was going to sell his family farm to a nuclear-waste facility, which wasn't true. But the most infamous tactic was a cheaply produced television ad with an actor portraying an Arab sheik that suggested Sharp was in the pocket of foreign oil. The ad was denounced by editorial boards and Arab-American groups as low-class and sleazy. Pence lost the race by 19 points. After he lost, Pence wrote an essay about his political disaster. He called it "Confessions of a Negative Campaigner."

 Newscom

 Undaunted by defeat and a gifted speaker since high school, Pence took his golden voice into talk radio. His show had a conservative bent, but was congenial enough that Democrats felt comfortable stopping by. Still, the 1990s marked the schism between the folksy in-person Pence and the Pence who bullied from the pulpit.

 He became president of the Indiana Policy Review Foundation, a conservative think tank, and began publishing his thoughts online. He wrote some real doozies, like coming out as a climate-change denialist ("Global warming is a myth. ... There, I said it") and a cigarette denialist ("Despite the hysteria from the political class and the media, smoking doesn't kill"). He became a board member of the Indiana Family Institute, an anti-abortion, anti-gay organization that pronounced the protest movement that formed after the brutal 1998 murder of gay teen Matthew Shepard to be homosexual-activist "propaganda."

 Just as disturbing was his use of reckless rhetoric, which prophesied why he would become so popular with the Tea Party. He decried the 1991 Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings, declaring that Thomas' opponents were engaged in the same tactics as the KKK, and criticized Indiana senators Dick Lugar and Dan Coats for "standing by while Clarence Thomas is being lynched."

 In 2000, Pence made another bid for Congress. He checked the GOP boxes for cutting taxes while increasing military spending, but he also made it clear he was a Christian warrior, stating, "Congress should oppose any effort to recognize homosexuals as a 'discreet and insular minority' entitled to the protection of anti-discrimination laws." He also argued that the AIDS resources bill, commonly known as the Ryan White Care Act, should be renewed only if resources were "directed toward those institutions which provide assistance to those seeking to change their sexual behavior." While Pence has argued that providing assistance to those seeking to change their sexual behavior meant abstinence groups, many gay activists heard code words for "conversion therapy." In 2006, he spoke in favor of a constitutional amendment defining marriage as between a man and a woman, arguing that "societal collapse was always brought about following an advent of the deterioration of marriage and family."

 Pence fought against the pro-choice movement with vigor rare even by right-wing standards, introducing a bill to de-fund Planned Parenthood year after year he was in the House. The death of a woman after taking an abortion pill led Pence to the House floor, where he spoke favorably of Lex Cornelia, a collection of ancient Roman laws, including one detailing how providers of abortion potions were sentenced to work in the mines.

 His agenda was so radical that exactly zero of Pence's bills became law. But he'd laid down markers that would be appreciated by the hard right who vote in presidential primaries.

 The record of presidential campaigns launched from the House of Representatives is abysmal – perhaps that's why Pence decided to run for governor in 2012. It would give him executive experience and allow him to run as a Washington outsider. According to Indianapolis Monthly, he gathered friends and advisers to hash out the details. The main decision was that Pence would stress economic and educational issues while downplaying his social extremism. "Mike made the decision that the major issues in the campaign for governor in 2012 should be and must be jobs and education," longtime adviser Van Smith told the magazine.

 Pence won with 49 percent of the vote. It didn't take him long to lose his way.

 In 2013, Bill Oesterle, chairman of Angie's List and a veteran Republican insider, had several conversations with Pence. He'd donated $150,000 to Pence and run the 2004 campaign of Mitch Daniels, Pence's popular predecessor. State lawmakers were considering an amendment banning gay marriage that would have to pass through the legislature before it could be put before Indiana voters. Pence remained silent. Oesterle says he advised the governor that throwing himself behind an amendment pushed by far-right Christian groups wouldn't do him any favors.

 "You're going to have to reach out to the center," Oesterle recalls telling Pence. "This is your chance to reach out to them."

 "I get that," he says Pence responded.

 A few weeks later, Pence announced his support for the anti-gay-marriage amendment, and his relationship with Oesterle deteriorated.

 "That's when I think I really realized that Mike Pence had other interests ahead of Indiana," says Oesterle with a sigh.

 Moderate Republicans began sensing that Pence's goal as governor was checking off conservative bona fides as he looked toward the Iowa and New Hampshire primaries in 2016.

 This became increasingly self-evident in late 2014. Pence had had a relatively good year: He accepted federal Medicaid expansion – a conservative taboo – by requiring those living just above the poverty line to pay some of their monthly income toward premiums, and adding penalties if they made "inappropriate" emergency-room visits.

 On the education front, state workers and academic experts were putting the final touches on a federal-grant proposal that would make Indiana eligible for up to $80 million in pre-K funding, an enormous sum for a state that came in 35th nationally for educational spending. Then, the day the application was due, a Pence underling announced via e-mail that the state wouldn't be applying for the grant after all. Whispers began to spread that the religious right was leaning on him heavily about the federal government getting its fingers on the hearts and minds of preschoolers. In its place, Pence OK'd a small $10 million state pre-K pilot program. "He wasn't thinking about 'What can I do to make this pre-K program work and what can we do to serve the rest of the people?'" says Scott Pelath, the Indiana House minority leader. "He was thinking, 'How am I going to be perceived now that this is done?'"

 Tom LoBianco/AP

 Within political circles, the coupling of ACLU activist Katie Blair and Republican consultant Megan Robertson represents a symbol of Indiana stepping out of the Paleozoic Era. I met with Blair and Robertson at Lockerbie Pub, a dingy but homey place in downtown Indianapolis. Both are from rural parts of the Midwest, but on opposite sides of the aisle. They got to know each other in 2013 as Blair worked to kill the state amendment prohibiting gay marriage alongside Robertson, then-director of Freedom Indiana, an LGBTQ advocacy group. (They were married in November.)

 "We had no idea that Mike Pence was about to blow up the state," says Blair.

 As 2015 began, a court case legalizing gay marriage loomed before the United States Supreme Court. Sensing it might be passed, Indiana Christian-right leaders including Curt Smith, head of the Indiana Family Institute, where Pence was once a board member, got behind the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, a bill that essentially would allow business-owning Hoosiers to discriminate against gay customers. It had widespread GOP support, and Pence saw it as a consolation prize, since the Supreme Court was likely to make the right's quest for an anti-gay amendment pointless. He told opponents the bill wasn't anti-gay, merely pro religious freedom.

 And then the photograph came out. It featured Pence signing RFRA into law surrounded by monks and nuns in habits, and the three men of the Indiana-right apocalypse: Indiana Family Institute's Smith, Micah Clark of the American Family Association of Indiana, and Advance America's Eric Miller. The press was not allowed. Smith has said homosexuality is outlawed in the Bible, along with adultery and bestiality; Clark once was a proponent of gay conversion therapy; and Miller claimed that ministers and priests could be imprisoned for preaching against homosexuality. The photo was so egregious that when a Democratic state representative began circulating it, colleagues complimented him on his Photoshopping skills.

 "I was upset about RFRA, and then the photo came out and I was just like, 'What the hell?'" says Robertson.

 Blair was less circumspect: "There are few times in my life where I've been that angry. It was stupid and offensive."

 Within days, an economic tsunami crashed down on Pence. Oesterle and other local leaders stated they were unlikely to add workers to their Indiana businesses as long as RFRA remained in place. Conventions began pulling out hundreds of thousands of dollars in business like they did when North Carolina passed similarly phobic legislation, a figure that could grow significantly higher over a year or two of canceled conventions. The NCAA, headquartered in Indianapolis, proclaimed its displeasure. As the story went national, Pence was invited on This Week With George Stephanopoulos. His advisers counseled against the appearance, and Pence agreed. But somewhere along the line, Pence changed his mind.

 What followed was one of the most embarrassing performances by a politician on national television this decade. Stephanopoulos asked a simple question: "So yes or no, if a florist in Indiana refuses to serve a gay couple at their wedding, is that legal now in Indiana?"

 Pence responded, "George, this is where this debate has gone, with misinformation. ... The Religious Freedom Restoration Act has been on the books for more than 20 years. It does not apply, George, to disputes between individuals unless government action is involved."

 Stephanopoulos pointed out RFRA supporters were stating the law would protect Christian florists from having to sell flowers to a gay wedding.

 "Governor, is that true or not?"

 Pence danced some more. "The issue is, 'Is tolerance a two-way street or not?'" he said.

 Pence never answered the question and passed up two chances to say he was not in favor of discrimination against gay people. The interview ended with Pence insisting he would not be revising the law.

 Back home, lawmakers and staffers despaired.

 "I thought, 'He has just ended his career,'" says a prominent lobbyist. "And the state was going to get creamed to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars. The situation that we were scared of before he went on TV just got exponentially worse. The city was burning."

 That Tuesday, The Indianapolis Star, not a liberal paper, published a block headline screaming "fix this now." There was fear Indiana was on its way to becoming, like North Carolina, a convention dead zone. The civic leaders of Indiana called two meetings: one featuring Oesterle and other business leaders, the other starring local politicos. Pence was not at either meeting. That week, the legislature passed a revised bill that weakened the anti-gay language enough that the conventions came back.

 And Pence's role? Nonexistent, as recounted in the charmingly titled Deicide, a book published last year by Pence's Christian ally Curt Smith: "I heard his chief of staff comment, 'Governor, I don't think we have any opportunity to negotiate.'"

 Pence's bungling of RFRA and other issues suggests a politician with slow reflexes – a blemish for a congressional backbencher, but a horrifying flaw for a potential president. Oesterle and other GOP leaders began hearing from Republicans that they should primary Pence in 2016. Pence continued to stumble along, issuing an executive order effectively banning Syrian refugees after the 2015 Paris attacks. It was laughed out of federal court, but not before a family was diverted from Indiana to Connecticut, where Gov. Dannel Malloy welcomed them personally. Malloy eventually won a Profile in Courage award. Pence did not. Oesterle commissioned a poll that showed Pence's approval ratings in the thirties, and signs began sprouting up around Indiana reading pence must go.

 The year after the RFRA debacle, Pence continued his social holy war by signing into law House Bill 1337, one of the nation's most stringent anti-abortion laws. Previously, Pence had allocated $3.5 million to Real Alternatives, a Pennsylvania company running abortion crisis centers, a.k.a. places where a woman goes for medical help and is pressured into carrying her baby to term and given no immediate medical treatment. The program had to be suspended in 2016 when Real Alternatives was investigated on billing-overcharge claims, a crime it was already under investigation for in Pennsylvania when Pence granted the contract in 2015.

 But HB 1337 took his abortion obsession to a new level. Aspects of the bill included forbidding a woman from aborting a fetus that had life-ending chromosomal damage; requiring fetal burial; and a clause that could allow doctors providing these services to be charged with wrongful death. After HB 1337's passage, Hoosiers founded a movement called Periods for Pence, where through social media and a calling campaign they let the governor know the status of their menstrual cycle to protest how intrusive the legislation had become.

 Blair had to calm Robertson down over the bill, explaining the one thing they had going for them was the fact that the bill was clearly unconstitutional.

 "I was appalled," says Robertson. "But Katie was like, 'It's going to be fine.'"

 Blair was right: On June 30th, 2016, a federal judge stayed the law, citing that it would likely be declared unconstitutional.

 None of this mattered to Pence. He had burnished his anti-choice credentials once again. When Trump needed a VP nominee with a career-long reputation for being virulently pro-life to balance his own abortion flip-flops, Mike Pence was the answer to all his political prayers.

 All the failed Cro-Magnon legislation and his blustering from the House floor made Mike Pence tiresome. But actual power made him a danger to all Hoosiers who didn't share his worldview. Transfer his Indiana stewardship to federal policy, and the implications are devastating.

 I drove down to Austin, Indiana, a town Pence seems to have avoided. I met two nurses at the town's one-stop shop for HIV treatment and needle exchange. We piled into an SUV and drove to a nearby neighborhood. This wasn't Pence's fabled Indiana. There was a family living in a garage, and a trailer with a Nazi flag in the window, and another one with a black SS flag on a pole snapping in the wind. The neighborhood is the epicenter of an HIV outbreak that happened on Pence’s watch.

 We pulled up to one garage-house, and a man piled out of a Jeep he was living in. He looked two decades older than his thirtysomething age. "I got no heat in my Jeep – that's rough," he said. He returned some used needles and took a box of new ones. He circled back to retrieve four or five packages of Narcan, an anti-overdose drug. His hands were gnarled and yellow. "Thank you kindly," he said.

 Austin is in rural Scott County, which has a population of roughly 20,000 people and almost 200 cases of HIV infection. Extrapolate that to New York and that would be 80,000 cases for 8 million citizens. Here's the thing: It didn't have to happen.

 There was one Republican legislator who saw it coming. I met Ed Clere in New Albany, just over the bridge from Kentucky. A real-estate broker, Clere is a big man with a self-deprecating way. Until about a year ago, he was chairman of the Indiana House Committee on Public Health.

 In 2014, Clere saw the opioid crisis laying waste to rural Indiana, just as it was ravaging the rest of small-town America. There was a new scourge: Opana, a potent painkiller. The drug's manufacturers changed the makeup of the pill in order to make it harder to snort. But junkies are a resourceful group. They figured out if the pill was melted down into a liquid, an addict could get high by injecting it in fractions, often more than 10 times a day.

 This meant a staggering rise in the use of dirty needles in Indiana. Clere noticed this and supported legislation in 2014 that would allow needle exchanges, to prevent the spread of hepatitis C and HIV. The committee watered down the bill, asking for a mere study. It passed the House, but the Senate ignored it.

 The legislation died without any action taken, almost exactly a year before Scott County began reporting a slew of HIV cases in January 2015. First, it was three cases in December 2014, and then the number quickly grew into double digits. The administration finally acknowledged the crisis in a February 25th press release, but still didn't take any action. Pence's office made it apparent to Clere that Pence would veto any bill that legalized needle exchange. "There was no willingness to engage or to work collaboratively on a solution," Clere told me.

 So Clere planned a massive public hearing for March 25th at the Statehouse in Indianapolis, featuring doctors, local officials and activists. That morning, a strange thing happened. Pence announced he would be holding his own hearing an hour earlier, down in Scott County. Late to the game, Pence clearly was now trying to upstage Clere. In Scottsburg, a tiny town a few miles from Austin, Pence listened to community leaders and told his audience that he would pray on the situation. Meanwhile, his deputy health commissioner tes- tified before Clere's committee that the administration was still opposed to needle exchanges in general, but was considering a limited one for the county.

 On March 26th, Pence issued an executive order allowing for needle exchanges in Scott County that would have to be renewed again in 30 days. But soon, draconian restrictions were tacked on: There would be no new state money provided for the program. As for additional counties, potentially equally at risk, needle-exchange programs would have to be approved by both the state and county health boards, and would be given no funding.

 Over the next year, the needle-exchange program in Scott County proved effective, and the HIV crisis stabilized. The total number of HIV cases crested at 191, a number that would have been undoubtedly smaller if Pence had taken quicker action.

 Meanwhile, nearby Clark County spent more than a year trying to organize and raise funds for its own needle exchange. The county is finally getting a program – one day a week for six hours.

 And Ed Clere? While Pence was still governor, Republican leadership stripped Clere of his committee chairmanship mid-term, allegedly for his rudeness toward committee members. No one could remember this happening before in Indiana.

 Mike Reynolds/Redux

 The months before Donald Trump picked Pence off the political garbage heap were not easy ones for the governor. While Oesterle and others eventually declined to challenge Pence in a GOP primary, his approval ratings remained under 50 percent, and he was even with a Democratic challenger in head-to-head matchups. He did gain experience in being booed that would serve him well at a performance of Broadway's Hamilton in November. In the aftermath of the RFRA fiasco, Pence was lustily booed at the home opener for the AAA Indianapolis Indians. "This is Indiana, not New York – we don't boo anyone," says Michael Leppert, a Democratic lobbyist. "It's just not done." Then rumors of Trump's interest began to spread. At first, Indiana politicos were incredulous and wondered if anyone had actually looked at Pence's record. But then it began to make a certain kind of sense: Trump was down in the polls, and no one from the GOP elite was interested in joining his train wreck. Pence looked downright statesmanlike when compared to the other possible choices: the Bridgegate-plagued Chris Christie, the thrice-married stegosaurus Newt Gingrich and noted crazy man Rudy Giuliani.

 Leppert saw a transformation in Pence beginning with his speech at the Republican National Convention.

 "If you watch his State of the State addresses, he seemed disinterested and low-key," says Leppert. "But once he got on the national stage and could start pontificating on policy issues, it was like a light went back on."

 There was one other twist: The robotic repeating of talking points that buried him with Stephanopoulos proved an asset in a national campaign. He talked about Trump having faith in his heart. If you listened carefully, you could almost swear Pence believed it.

 Elise Amendola/AP

 Pence's boast that "we are a proud manufacturing state" echoes in a dyspeptic way as I walk the streets of the West Calumet Housing Complex, as a winter storm descends on East Chicago, Indiana. Northwest Indiana – including East Chicago, Hammond and Gary – is the chronically damned part of Pence's Indiana. Because of lax regulations, the region has become a belching industrial outpost for Chicago. The people? Forget them – the predominantly Latino and African-American East Chicago votes Democratic, meaning their requests fall on uninterested white ears.

 It is just before Christmas, but there are few lights or plastic Santas in the 350-unit public-housing project. That's because half the residents have abandoned their homes. They didn't have a choice: The complex has been declared contaminated due to off-the-charts lead levels. About 1,100 residents need to find new places to live by April. In retrospect, it shouldn't have been a shock: The complex was built in 1973 in the footprint of an old smelting factory and near at least three other industrial facilities. Many residents of East Chicago live in danger because their subdivisions were filled in with soil from contaminated slag heaps. I meet a group of citizens at an East Chicago diner, and the gathering features more than its fair share of cancer patients, parents of sick kids, and men and women who have lost all hope in their government. One woman presents me a list of the more than 20 medications she is on to deal with heart and respiratory problems.

 At the diner, I find Akeeshea Daniels, a round-faced woman with a big smile and three sons. She's been a resident of East Chicago her entire life, and she moved into the West Calumet complex 13 years ago. Since then, she's had a hysterectomy at 29 and migraine and sinus problems that have left her on the couch listless and without energy. But she worries mostly about her 12-year-old son, Xavier, who was a month old when they moved into West Calumet. He's been diagnosed with ADD, is allergic to almost everything and suffers from severe asthma – potential warning signs of child lead poisoning.

 "They don't understand our health is failing," Daniels tells me. "I have rheumatoid arthritis, and I've lost 55 percent of my bone mass since 2006. We're all dying."

 According to internal governmental e-mails obtained by Rolling Stone, the Pence administration became aware of the seriousness of the East Chicago tragedy on the same day Pence was chosen to be Trump's running mate. A July 15th e-mail from the EPA to Carol Comer, head of Pence's Indiana Department of Environmental Management, underlined the deteriorating situation: "We have become increasingly concerned about exposures to lead from the soil, especially for children living in the public housing. ..."

 Pence's administration said nothing publicly. In late July, an e-mail was circulated among Comer and other senior Pence aides, providing links to newspaper stories about the lead issue. Again, Pence kept quiet.

 This was particularly curious because Pence had made a beeline to 97-percent-white Greentown, outside Kokomo, when the town had a lead scare last February.

 "I know this issue can create anxiety because of the situation in Flint, Michigan, we all have been following," Pence told the Greentown community.

 His staff tried to do damage control behind the scenes. On August 12th, Matthew Lloyd, Pence's deputy chief of staff – and de facto lieutenant while Pence campaigned across the country – sent out an urgent e-mail demanding that the communications staff reach out to Chicago's CBS affiliate, which ran a story about a mother who waited more than a year for results from the Indiana State Department of Health for her two-year-old daughter's blood test for lead poisoning. Lloyd wanted a correction on a story to address "inaccuracies [that] need to be corrected ASAP so other outlets do not pick up and report the same." (CBS did not correct its story.)

 Pence continued to crisscross the country as his senior staff circulated e-mails noting an East Chicago pastor's demand that Pence visit the city. Twelve days later, Pence visited a disaster site in Indiana. But it was tornado victims in predominantly white Kokomo.

 By August 30th, the lead crisis had been written up in a dozen Indiana papers and in the Washington Post and The New York Times. After the New York Times story, Pence personally responded, with a tweet: "Proud of our team. I appreciate the efforts to help families of East Chicago. We will continue to be there for them."

 During the crisis, Pence never visited the city. (In September, he wrote a letter to the federal government asking for financial assistance for resettlement.) Lloyd told me, "We were working quietly and effectively behind the scenes with the EPA."

 Shortly before my visit, East Chicago Mayor Anthony Copeland asked Pence to declare a state of emergency in East Chicago, freeing up funds to assist residents who were facing huge difficulties finding new public-housing accommodations.

 Pence declined to do it, with his counsel writing on behalf of the governor: "The issues described within your letter are being addressed without the need for a disaster emergency declaration."

 "If he came just for a minute to show he cared, that would be something," Daniels tells me a few weeks before Pence's term expires, trying not to cry. "Or an hour. Anything that brought attention here would help us."

 On January 8th, Pence delivered his farewell address. He proclaimed, "We worked each day to fulfill the trust you placed in us."

 Jim Watson/Getty

 What Mike Pence's role will be in a Trump White House is like everything else dealing with Trump: It is an enigma wrapped in a riddle held in the tiny hand of a serial liar with his thumb on the nuclear button. Trump choosing Pence was an explicit move to protect his flank with the Christian right. It seems likely that Pence will have immense influence over social issues, like repealing Obamacare, gutting abortion rights and keeping the LGBTQ community in its place.

 It was too late when people began to take notice. Once he was elected vice president, thousands made donations to Planned Parenthood in his name as a "fuck you." When Pence moved into temporary digs in Washington during the transition, several houses in his neighborhood flew rainbow flags in protest. An LGBTQ dance party was held on his street 48 hours before his inauguration.

 Pence's favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz, and he is poised to be the man behind the curtain. His influence could be far-reaching, from judicial selection to leaning on Pence's old cronies on Capitol Hill.

 But at what price? During the campaign, Pence said he and Trump were actually very much alike: They both liked to pray, and Trump claimed to be a good Christian. His old colleagues in Indiana shook their heads and wondered if he had sold his soul.

 State Rep. Ed DeLaney was Pence's representative back in Indianapolis. Like Pence, he grew up in a Catholic house.

 "There was always an altar boy trying to be more pious than the priest," DeLaney says while sitting in his cubicle at the Statehouse. "That's Mike Pence." He paused for a moment as a band struck up for one of Pence's farewell ceremonies. "Now, is this altar boy that pious, or is he just pretending that 'cause it's working for him?"

 DeLaney wasn't sticking around for the hoopla, so he put his coat on and headed into a bleak Indiana afternoon.

 "That's something that only Mike Pence can answer."

 He's trampled on the rights of women, LGBTQ folks and the poor. Then there's the incompetence. Meet, quite possibly, the next president.

  |||||
What is a summary?

– Fire and Fury author Michael Wolff had some amusing tidbits to share about the VP during an appearance at the Cannes Lions advertising festival Monday, Quartz reports. While President Trump sells books—Fire and Fury, which details his first nine months as POTUS, is still a bestseller after being released in January—Mike Pence, not so much. "When Mike Pence becomes the president—which I believe that he will become—the media business goes into a deep depression," Wolff predicted. "Mike Pence is literally the most boring man on earth." Wolff predicts Pence will get a job promotion due to Trump being booted from office, the New York Post reports. Wolff went on to say that Pence is "faceless" even at work: "Even in the White House they only talk about Pence’s wife. Mother, she is called." Jeff Goodby, the ad agency cofounder onstage with Wolff, asked whether Pence really calls his wife "Mother." Wolff's response: "Everyone in the White House calls her Mother." Rolling Stone first reported back in 2017 that Pence refers to wife Karen as "Mother." Politifact has since spoken to a number of people who say they've witnessed him calling her that, but since the site couldn't find "video or other documentary evidence," it has not rated the claim as true.


News article:

An Air Force pilot died when his plane crashed during a training mission Tuesday northwest of Nellis Air Force Base. Information on the type of aircraft involved is classified and not available for release, a Nellis spokeswoman said.

 Pronghorn antelope run across a dry lakebed at the Nevada Test and Training Range on Sunday, May 21, 2017. Patrick Connolly Las Vegas Review-Journal @PConnPie

 An Air Force pilot died when his plane crashed during a training mission Tuesday northwest of Nellis Air Force Base, officials confirmed Friday.

 Specific information on the aircraft involved in the crash is classified and not available for release, said Maj. Christina Sukach, a Nellis spokeswoman.

 The base announced that an Air Force aircraft crashed about 6 p.m. Tuesday during a training mission on the Nevada Test and Training Range, about 100 miles northwest of Nellis. The crash was the first in two consecutive days of training-related crashes at the Nellis range. On Wednesday, two fighter jets crashed during a routine training mission, the base announced.

 Base spokesman Tech. Sgt. Siuta Ika said Lt. Col. Eric Schultz was piloting the aircraft when it crashed. Ika said it was unknown whether other people were on board at the time of the crash.

 It was unclear whether Schultz died at the crash site, Sukach said. She said he was supporting training at the site.

 The base announced the aircraft was part of the Air Force Materiel Command, which develops and tests weapons.

 On Wednesday, two pilots ejected safely from A-10C Thunderbolt II jets about 8 p.m. and were evaluated by medical staff on base. They were later released with survivable injuries, spokeswoman Lt. Marie Ortiz later said.

 Ortiz said the fighter jets were each worth $18.8 million.

 Both crashes and their causes are under investigation. When asked why the information release from Wednesday’s crash came before information from Tuesday’s fatal crash, Ika said efforts after the deadly incident focused on search and recovery as well as next-of-kin notification.

 It was unclear why the pilots in the fighter jet crash flew the day after Tuesday’s fatal crash.

 The Capital Gazette of Annapolis, Maryland, reported Schultz graduated from Annapolis High School in 1991. His mother and father traveled to Nevada on Wednesday to join his wife and other family members, the newspaper reported.

 The newspaper said Schultz was a former civilian test pilot who held multiple graduate degrees. He joined the Air Force in 2001, according to the Capital Gazette, and became a flight training officer. He joined rarefied air when he qualified to fly the F-35 fighter jet in 2011, the newspaper reported.

 Attempts to reach his family Friday afternoon were unsuccessful.

 Contact Mike Shoro at mshoro@reviewjournal.com or 702-387-5290. Follow @mike_shoro on Twitter. ||||| A pilot was killed in another plane crash this week at the Nevada Test and Training Range, the Air Force said.

 Lt. Col. Eric Schultz, 44, died from injuries sustained in an accident in which an aircraft crashed around 6 p.m. local time on Tuesday at the range, located about 100 miles northwest of Nellis Air Force Base, according to a release from the base issued Friday evening.

 The aircraft, the type of which wasn't specified, was assigned to Air Force Materiel Command and was flying a training mission at the time of the mishap, the release states.

 "Information about the type of aircraft involved is classified and not releasable," Maj. Christina Sukach, chief of public affairs for the 99 Air Base Wing at Nellis, said in an email.

 Related content:

 Air Force Chief of Staff Gen. David L. Goldfein, while traveling Saturday morning to the annual conference of the National Guard Association of the United States in Louisville, Ky., ruled out speculation the aircraft involved may have been an F-35 Joint Strike Fighter.

 "I can definitely say it was not an F-35," he told a Military.com reporter accompanying him on the trip.

 In an article on the website of The Capital Gazette in Annapolis, Maryland, Schultz was identified as a 1991 graduate of Annapolis High School and a former civilian test pilot who received multiple graduate degrees before joining the Air Force in 2001.

 A YouCaring page to establish a memorial fund for Schultz's family states he received six degrees, including a doctorate in aerospace engineering from the California Institute of Technology and a master's of business administration from Penn State University.

 Schultz was a U.S. Air Force combat veteran and test pilot with over 2,000 hours flying numerous aircraft, including the F-35 and CF-18, Canada's variant of the F/A-18 Hornet, and the F-15E, in which he flew more than 50 close air support missions in Afghanistan, according to the page.

 He also held management positions, serving as director of operations and exchange officer at the Canadian Forces Flight Test Center, and performed systems engineering for the Airborne Laser program, the page states.

 Prior to joining the military, Schultz was the senior scientist and business development manger at the Pratt & Whitney Seattle Aerosciences Center, and a rotary wing flight test engineer at the Naval Air Warfare Center, it states.

 He's survived by a wife, Julie, and five children, Noah, Elijah, Zion, OliviaMae, and Naomi; parents Larry and Linda Schultz of Annapolis; brother Lars (his children Ava and Tristan) of Alexandria, Virginia; and aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews, according to the YouCaring page.

 Schultz in 2011 was also named the 28th pilot to fly the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter, a stealthy fifth-generation fighter jet made by Lockheed Martin Corp., according to information released by the Air Force and the manufacturer.

 The F-35 is the Pentagon's most expensive weapons acquisition program, estimated to cost more than $400 billion to develop and buy more than 2,400 of the single-engine fighters.

 While the program has encountered cost overruns, schedule delays and mishaps in decades of development, including engine fires -- one in 2016 resulted in burns to a pilot's head, neck and face -- the airframe hasn't yet experienced a fatal accident.

 The deadly crash occurred a day before a pair of A-10 Thunderbolt II ground-attack aircraft crashed at the same training range. Both pilots safely ejected in that incident, according to a separate release from Nellis issued Thursday.

 The A-10C jets, known as Warthogs, from the 57th Wing at Nellis were also on a routine training mission when they went down around 8 p.m. The service didn't say whether the planes collided.

 It wasn't immediately clear why Friday's release came three days after an accident involving a fatality.

 Both mishaps are under investigation.

 "These are separate incidents and both are currently under investigation to determine their causes," Sukach said in a separate email.

 -- Oriana Pawlyk can be reached at oriana.pawlyk@military.com. Follow her on Twitter at @Oriana0214.

 -- Brendan McGarry can be reached at brendan.mcgarry@military.com. Follow him on Twitter at @Brendan_McGarry. ||||| USAF pilot and Annapolis native Lt Col Eric E. Schultz, age 44, tragically lost his life on Tuesday 05 September 2017 in the line of duty. Eric passed from this world doing what he loved most, leaving behind a treasured legacy of faithful service, devotion and loving kindness to his family, friends, brothers-in-arms, and country.

 The sudden and heartbreaking loss of Eric is a tremendous blow to his family and friends. We are all deeply saddened by this loss. Any donation you can provide to his family during this difficult time would be greatly appreciated. On behalf of Eric's family, we thank you for your care and support as his family deals with the tragic impact of losing a loving husband and proud father of five children. He will be sorely missed.

 ___________________________________________________________

 Eric was a combat veteran US Air Force Test Pilot with over 2000 hours flying numerous aircraft. During the past 24 years, his career spanned fighter combat and flight test operations, business management, and research and development applied to aerospace, energy and safety. His military experiences included: over 210 missions flight testing the F-35 and CF-18; Director of Operations and Exchange Officer at the Canadian Forces Flight Test Center; fighter pilot flying the F-15E with over 50 close air support combat missions in Afghanistan; and systems engineering for the Airborne Laser program.

 Prior to joining the military, he was the senior scientist and business development manger at the Pratt & Whitney Seattle Aerosciences Center, and a rotary wing flight test engineer at the Naval Air Warfare Center. He achieved six degrees including a Ph.D. in Aerospace Engineering from California Institute of Technology and a Masters of Business Administration from Penn State University. Eric was a graduate of Annapolis Senior High School, class of 1991 and was inducted into the high school Wall of Fame.

 Eric is survived by his devoted wife Julie, his five wonderful children: Noah, Elijah, Zion, OliviaMae, and Naomi; his loving parents Larry and Linda Schultz of Annapolis; and his brother Lars (his children Ava and Tristan) of Alexandria, Virginia; and many more aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. ||||| An Air Force pilot from Annapolis died Wednesday when his plane crashed during a training flight in Nevada.

 Lt. Col. Eric Schultz was flying an unspecified aircraft at about 6 p.m. over the Nevada Test and Training Range, approximately 100 miles northwest of Nellis Air Force Base, a spokeswoman at the air base said Friday.

 The aircraft was assigned to Air Force Materiel Command, which leads development of new combat technologies for the service.

 Maj. Christina Sukach, a spokeswoman for the 99th Air Base Wing, said Schultz died as a result of injuries sustained in the accident. The crash remains under investigation, and additional details were not immediately available.

 “Our immediate concern is for the family of Lt. Col. Schultz,” she wrote in an email.

 Schultz is a 1991 Annapolis High School graduate, and the son of Linda and Larry Schultz, of Annapolis. They traveled to Nevada on Wednesday to be with their son’s wife and other members of the family.

 A former civilian test pilot, Eric Schultz held multiple graduate degrees when he joined the Air Force in 2001. He went on to be an experienced flight training officer who was the 29th pilot to qualify to fly the F-35 fighter jet in 2011.

 His crash was one of two Air Force crashes near Nellis on Wednesday. Twos A-10C Thunderbolt II jets assigned to the 57th Wing crashed on the test range at approximately 8 p.m.

 An Air Force spokeswoman at Nellis said the pilots ejected safely. The aircraft were on a routine training mission at the time of the crash. ||||| LAS VEGAS (AP) — A U.S. Air Force pilot has died of injuries suffered in an aircraft crash at a training range about 100 miles (160 kilometers) northwest of Nellis Air Force Base in southern Nevada, base officials said.

 A brief statement released Friday by Nellis officials said the crash that killed Lt. Col. Eric Schultz occurred during a training flight Tuesday evening at the Nevada Test and Training Range.

 The statement didn't provide a hometown or age for Schultz or details on the crash, but it said the aircraft was assigned to the Air Force Materiel Command.

 The Capital Gazette newspaper in Annapolis, Maryland, reported (https://goo.gl/61qnq9) that Schultz was a 1991 graduate of Annapolis (Maryland) high school and his parents, Linda and Larry Schultz, live in Annapolis.

 The Materiel Command's website says it conducts researches and tests weapons systems.

 The Las Vegas Review Journal (https://goo.gl/nxWRmh ) reported that a 99th Air Base Wing spokeswoman, Maj. Christina Sukach, said the type of aircraft is classified. |||||
What is a shorter version of the above article?

– A US Air Force pilot has died of injuries suffered in an aircraft crash at a training range about 100 miles northwest of Nellis Air Force Base in southern Nevada, base officials say. A brief statement released Friday by Nellis officials said the crash that killed Lt. Col. Eric Schultz occurred during a training flight Tuesday evening at the Nevada Test and Training Range, the AP reports. The statement didn't provide a hometown or age for Schultz (Military.com lists his age as 44) or details on the crash, but it said the aircraft was assigned to the Air Force Materiel Command. The Materiel Command's website says it conducts researches and tests weapons systems. The Las Vegas Review-Journal reports that the type of aircraft is classified, per a 99th Air Base Wing spokeswoman. The crash, which happened around 6pm Tuesday, was the first of two consecutive-day crashes: Two fighter jets crashed on Wednesday, the base announced. The two pilots in that incident reportedly ejected from their aircraft and were released after being examined by medical staff. The Capital Gazette reports Schultz was a 1991 graduate of Annapolis High School in Maryland and that his parents, Linda and Larry Schultz, live in Annapolis. Schultz joined the Air Force in 2001 with multiple college degrees under his belt—a YouCaring page set up to help his family says there were six, including a PhD in aerospace engineering. His parents reportedly traveled to Nevada on Wednesday to be with his wife, Julie, and other family members. Schultz is also survived by five children.


Article:

See more of Steve Sadow on Facebook ||||| FILE - In this Jan. 27, 2018 file photo, T.I. attends the Roc Nation pre-Grammy brunch in New York. Police say rapper T.I. has been arrested for disorderly conduct and public drunkenness as he tried to... (Associated Press)

 FILE - In this Jan. 27, 2018 file photo, T.I. attends the Roc Nation pre-Grammy brunch in New York. Police say rapper T.I. has been arrested for disorderly conduct and public drunkenness as he tried to... (Associated Press)

 ATLANTA (AP) — Police say the rapper T.I. was arrested early Wednesday on disorderly conduct, public drunkenness and simple assault charges as he tried to enter his gated community outside Atlanta.

 Henry County Deputy Police Chief Mike Ireland said T.I. was arrested around 4:30 a.m. after he got into an argument with a security guard. Media reports say the Grammy-winning artist, whose real name is Clifford Harris, lost his key and the guard wouldn't let him into the community.

 Ireland said T.I. and a friend were arrested. The rapper has been released on bail.

 An email and call to the rapper's representatives were not immediately returned.

 The rapper served about seven months in prison in 2009 after his arrest on federal gun charges.

 He also spent about 10 months in federal prison on a probation violation in 2010 after he was arrested on drug charges in Los Angeles. The drug arrest violated his probation — he had been ordered not to commit a crime and not to illegally possess any controlled substances — and led to an 11-month prison sentence at an Arkansas prison.

 T.I. is one of the biggest names in hip-hop, with multiple platinum-selling albums and singles, production credits and roles in films like "ATL" and "American Gangster." ||||| T.I. says his early morning arrest was completely B.S. and believes he got locked up by white police officers for being an affluent African-American celebrity.

 The Blast just spoke with Tip minutes after he was released from custody in Georgia, and he says the entire argument was with a security guard outside of his gated community while returning from the studio and started because the dude was allegedly asleep in the guard shack.

 T.I. says he called out the guard for sleeping on the job and an argument ensued between the two. He says it was a “very heated debate,” but nothing ever became physical. He says the guard eventually called the police, but says the law enforcement near his home are “white cops in a very white area,” and he was promptly arrested.

 The artist tells us the security guard involved in the argument is black, which added to the frustration of the situation. He says he gave the guard “every opportunity” to apologize for sleeping, but the guy refused.

 T.I. is adamant that the guard was the aggressor and “antagonized” him. He says he demanded the guard’s name, but the guy refused.

 As for the assault charge, T.I. says he “may have been hurt by my words,” but says he never laid a hand on the guy.

 We’re told T.I. plans on pursuing legal action against his HOA for the incident with the guard.

 As we reported, he was charged with simple assault, disorderly conduct and public drunkenness. T.I. believes when the truth comes out, the charges will be dropped.

 Wednesday after he bailed out, T.I. was able to spend some time with his family and celebrate his son Major’s 10th birthday.

 T.I.’s attorney has now released a statement on behalf of the hip-hop star, reiterating The Blast’s interview with Tip that he believes he was wrongly arrested: |||||
What is a summary?

– Police say the rapper T.I. was arrested early Wednesday on disorderly conduct, public drunkenness, and simple assault charges as he tried to enter his gated community outside Atlanta, the AP reports. Henry County Deputy Police Chief Mike Ireland said T.I. was arrested around 4:30am after he got into an argument with a security guard. Media reports say the Grammy-winning artist, whose real name is Clifford Harris, lost his key and the guard wouldn't let him into the community. Ireland said T.I. and a friend were arrested. The rapper has been released on bail. His lawyer posted a statement to Facebook alleging that the guard was asleep on the job when T.I., who also goes by Tip, arrived and that he continued to deny the rapper entry even after T.I.'s wife was contacted and instructed the guard to let him in. "Words were exchanged and apparently the guard and/or a supervisor called the police. When the police arrived, they were not interested in hearing Tip’s side of the story and wrongfully chose to end the situation by arresting Tip," the post reads. T.I. himself spoke to the Blast and said he was arrested thanks to "white cops in a very white area." He says he never touched the guard. T.I. served about seven months in prison in 2009 after his arrest on federal gun charges. He also spent about 10 months in federal prison on a probation violation in 2010 after he was arrested on drug charges in Los Angeles. The drug arrest violated his probation and led to an 11-month prison sentence at an Arkansas prison. T.I. is one of the biggest names in hip-hop, with multiple platinum-selling albums and singles, production credits, and roles in films like ATL and American Gangster.