When we got wheels there were no limits to our wanderings. We ranged all over Long Island. One place we loved to go was a pond in Brookville, I think, that froze solid in the winter. It was of course on private land, but we found a place to park and a way in. There were a lot of us that knew about this spot and when the word went out that there was going to be a skating party a bunch usually showed up. Good clean fun. Freezing cold. No fire. So, well, we had to have something to keep us warm.
Now you remember the deli by the record store? Well he sold something called "Apple Jack" that had a tiny bit of alcohol in it. Low enough so it wasn't regulated. You needed gallons to get the slightest buzz, but we were ready for the challenge. And we were suggestible. And so, we hoped, were the girls.
Ah the girls. We went to a small school by today's standards so most of the kids had grown up together. The girls knew us very well and were alert for anything that looked like we were up to something.
One night we were skating and freezing and drinking Apple Jack and getting nowhere. Well one of our "older" friends was there, one grade up from us, and he said he was going to get some beer from somewhere. He walked off into the darkness. Next thing we knew he was back with no beer but a good sweat. He had walked into somebody's open garage and was rummaging around for some beer when the owner came out to see what the noises were.
Our friend thought fast and before the guy could say anything he said "Don't the Whitenhours still live here?" They had a brief conversation about the mistaken location of the Whitenhours and our bud left.
No beer that night. The Apple Jack didn't work either.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
OMG!! Scalia thinks innocence is no reason to stop execution.
Read the quote:
"This court has never held that the Constitution forbids the execution of a convicted defendant who has had a full and fair trial but is later able to convince a habeas court that he is 'actually' innocent," Scalia wrote.
Do you understand that Scalia actually said that as long as the trial was fair, the guy should be put to death even though he is later shown to be innocent!!!
What the hell is this anyway? The Taliban? The Nazies?
Fortunately Justice John Paul Stevens "... suggested that it would be "arguably unconstitutional" for the federal law to not provide relief for a death row inmate who has established his innocence. "
Reason enough to impeach Justice (where is his justice?) Scalia.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/08/17/AR2009081702748.html?hpid=topnews
"This court has never held that the Constitution forbids the execution of a convicted defendant who has had a full and fair trial but is later able to convince a habeas court that he is 'actually' innocent," Scalia wrote.
Do you understand that Scalia actually said that as long as the trial was fair, the guy should be put to death even though he is later shown to be innocent!!!
What the hell is this anyway? The Taliban? The Nazies?
Fortunately Justice John Paul Stevens "... suggested that it would be "arguably unconstitutional" for the federal law to not provide relief for a death row inmate who has established his innocence. "
Reason enough to impeach Justice (where is his justice?) Scalia.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/08/17/AR2009081702748.html?hpid=topnews
Is anything wrong with this picture?
Two different sets of news items caught my attention this morning. A piece about food banks going short of food because of the demand (30% more hungry Americans than one year ago). Several states are allowing prison inmates to glean fields for leftover veggies for food banks, planting crops with donated seed for food banks and putting work release prisoners in food banks and kitchens where they help for free and get trained to be cooks, fork lift operators and sanitation specialists. A win/win situation. Everybody benefits. Some stated are killing the farm programs because they cost too much to patrol. One inmate featured in the story was a 28 year old that now works for a food bank who worked in the food bank release program. He was serving a 23 month sentence for possession of marijuana. Why are prisons overcrowded and underfunded? Why are so many Americans hungry?
In New York City a 10 year old girl and her father were given a ticket (now rescinded after the publicity) and told to get out. Of where? A park where she was selling lemonade for fifty cents a cup. Fined. Moved on. Am I the only one that sees something wrong with this picture?
Case two: Charlie Crist is by far the most popular governor in Florida for a long time. He remains over 60% favorable in the polls. Yesterday he announced the latest results of Florida's school testing program and proudly stated that 90% of the schools now score either "A" or "B" in the ranking. One school went from "F" to "A" in one year. He called it nothing short of miraculous. Or maybe suspect? Or even fraudulent?
Second piece of this puzzle? In today's news Florida rank ahead of Mississippi and Kentucky and the District of Columbia in ACT scores (tough to beat them in education isn't it?), Florida's students did worse than last year, and by some measures Florida ranks dead last in public education statistics. We do have the highest dropout rate, though. And community colleges are overflowing with students in the "developmental education" courses (for you not in the trade, read that "remedial",)
Crist has overseen the gutting of education in the state since his election and he is popular. Am I the only one that sees something wrong with this picture?
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The 32 Caliber Revolver
There were 4 of us that hung around together most of the time. I am the last one so my testament must stand for all. Murph was in and out, around the edges, never in trouble but in on many adventures. He died in a car crash when in his early 2o's. DePue was one of the "mad scientists" and was in on almost everything. He never got caught. He died in his 30's from kidney failure. Max and I were the inseparable pair. Always together in the early days. My mother wondered about us. Damon and Pythias she called us. We got caught.
We had a record store at the corner strip mall (didn't call it that then, but that's what it was.) Candy store on end, a deli, a record store and another store I don't remember. Frank owned the record store. An Italian from Brooklyn getting out of the hood and making his way to the American Dream. We hung out there, listening to records, getting advice from Frank, trying to survive in a world we didn't really understand. We were on the edge of gang violence, had switchblades but never actually had a gang fight. We went to a few "rumbles" but got lucky and got home in one piece.
We were about 14 when we decided that we needed a revolver. Why I do not know. Just needed it. Big men. Or would be with a piece. So we asked Frank where to buy one. He was reluctant at first to tell us but finally gave us an address in Brooklyn, in Red Hook, in the tenements. Go to this address and ask for Mario-da-pipe. His name. Take the cash. Don't worry. He'll take care of you.
So we went, found the place and found "da pipe". We went down into the basement from the front, along a dangerously dark and cluttered path to a door in the back and up into the back yard. Mario went into a shed in the back and came out with a pretty little 32 snub nose. With 6 cartridges. Two for each of us (Murph wasn't on this caper).We paid him and left to go home on the subway and train and back to the burbs.
Now you have to understand the gun laws of New York State then. Called the Sullivan Act and it made possession of a handgun an automatic felony with automatic jail time. No exceptions unless you had permit. We didn't.
So we got the gun home and hid it in Depue's basement for a few days. We handled it, pointed it, loaded and unloaded it, and them went shooting. Took a couple of shots each, ran out of shells and scared the piss out of ourselves. Big men.
We cut the gun into pieces and spread it around the neighborhood storm drains.
What were we thinking? Thinking? At 14? We were thinking that the girls would go crazy for guys with a gun. Had to be the only one in the school. Big men.
We didn't get caught this time so that chapter ended. We did have another gun, though, a Czech automatic with a bent slide that wouldn't shoot. Sweet looker, though. That went on a few trips too. But that is another tale for another time.
We had a record store at the corner strip mall (didn't call it that then, but that's what it was.) Candy store on end, a deli, a record store and another store I don't remember. Frank owned the record store. An Italian from Brooklyn getting out of the hood and making his way to the American Dream. We hung out there, listening to records, getting advice from Frank, trying to survive in a world we didn't really understand. We were on the edge of gang violence, had switchblades but never actually had a gang fight. We went to a few "rumbles" but got lucky and got home in one piece.
We were about 14 when we decided that we needed a revolver. Why I do not know. Just needed it. Big men. Or would be with a piece. So we asked Frank where to buy one. He was reluctant at first to tell us but finally gave us an address in Brooklyn, in Red Hook, in the tenements. Go to this address and ask for Mario-da-pipe. His name. Take the cash. Don't worry. He'll take care of you.
So we went, found the place and found "da pipe". We went down into the basement from the front, along a dangerously dark and cluttered path to a door in the back and up into the back yard. Mario went into a shed in the back and came out with a pretty little 32 snub nose. With 6 cartridges. Two for each of us (Murph wasn't on this caper).We paid him and left to go home on the subway and train and back to the burbs.
Now you have to understand the gun laws of New York State then. Called the Sullivan Act and it made possession of a handgun an automatic felony with automatic jail time. No exceptions unless you had permit. We didn't.
So we got the gun home and hid it in Depue's basement for a few days. We handled it, pointed it, loaded and unloaded it, and them went shooting. Took a couple of shots each, ran out of shells and scared the piss out of ourselves. Big men.
We cut the gun into pieces and spread it around the neighborhood storm drains.
What were we thinking? Thinking? At 14? We were thinking that the girls would go crazy for guys with a gun. Had to be the only one in the school. Big men.
We didn't get caught this time so that chapter ended. We did have another gun, though, a Czech automatic with a bent slide that wouldn't shoot. Sweet looker, though. That went on a few trips too. But that is another tale for another time.
gun image: http://www.guncollectorsclub.com/
Monday, August 17, 2009
Chinatown, Max and me.
Heard a piece on Chinatowns around the country the other day. Got to thinking about my visits to Chinatown in New York when I was in the ninth grade. My old buddy Max and me decided to go into the fireworks business, buying in bulk and selling singly, so we pooled our money, about $20, and headed for the city. We picked up the subway in Jamaica and ended up at the battery. We walked to Chinatown and found a bench in Columbus park and waited. Very soon a Chinese teenage boy sat down by us and asked what we wanted. We told him and he led us through a couple of alleys to an old building. We went in, climbed worn wooden stairs and at the top found a paradise of fireworks. You name it and it was there. We bought cherry bombs and packages of 1.5 inchers (80 packs of 20 per package). Twenty dollars worth.
Back on the subway with brown paper grocery bags, to the railroad and home. We sold all we had by the piece to everyone that was interested, including some really young kids. Stupid, I know, but that was our middle name.
We made nearly $80 on the sales and went back the next weekend for more. This time we bought cherry bombs and ash cans by the gross, aerial bombs, chasers, several packages of 1.5 inchers, some 2 inchers, a few roman candles and a few rockets. We struggled with 3 grocery bags each, one with the wooden tails of rockets sticking out.
Now you have to understand: fireworks of any kind were illegal in New York. Period. Shooting them off, having them, buying or selling them. All illegal. Probably a felony, but we never found out.
So, back on the subway in front of a subway cop who looked us over and moved on. Back on the train then home. No trouble. We stashed some and sold the rest.
One more trip to our dealer and were set for the fourth of July. We set up a display on the beach near our house and blew up nearly $100 worth of fireworks in about 15 minutes. It was glorious, and our parents never once asked where we got them. And the miracle is that no one that we sold them to, or us, ever got hurt.
We moved on to bomb making after that. Another tale for another time.
Back on the subway with brown paper grocery bags, to the railroad and home. We sold all we had by the piece to everyone that was interested, including some really young kids. Stupid, I know, but that was our middle name.
We made nearly $80 on the sales and went back the next weekend for more. This time we bought cherry bombs and ash cans by the gross, aerial bombs, chasers, several packages of 1.5 inchers, some 2 inchers, a few roman candles and a few rockets. We struggled with 3 grocery bags each, one with the wooden tails of rockets sticking out.
Now you have to understand: fireworks of any kind were illegal in New York. Period. Shooting them off, having them, buying or selling them. All illegal. Probably a felony, but we never found out.
So, back on the subway in front of a subway cop who looked us over and moved on. Back on the train then home. No trouble. We stashed some and sold the rest.
One more trip to our dealer and were set for the fourth of July. We set up a display on the beach near our house and blew up nearly $100 worth of fireworks in about 15 minutes. It was glorious, and our parents never once asked where we got them. And the miracle is that no one that we sold them to, or us, ever got hurt.
We moved on to bomb making after that. Another tale for another time.
The Lady of the Lake
We called him "E.T." A young man and a clerk in an old rural Fina convenience store. Old and ratty. The kind of place that sold boiled peanuts, milk, SlimJims and sand maggots. We rented an old slave house down the road. One day I had a load of firewood in my Pinto wagon and E.T. asked me if I ever used the old fireplace in the house. I told him we used it all the time since it was the only heat in the main room, and it really got cold in there.
The house was a "cracker" built place. No frame at all, just cut-on-the-property 4 x 4 corners holding up 4 x 4 top beams sitting on 4 x 4 floor joists. The walls of the entire house were rough-sawn planks of various widths nailed to the top and bottom beams sealed with narrower battens. No insulation, no interior walls, no studs. The outside was the inside. Sometime in the distant past someone had separated the house into 2 rooms, living room and bedroom, and added a bathroom on the back side under the porch. The early morning sun reflected off the white sand under the house and came up through the floorboards. Tin roof. Cool and breezy. Freezing cold in the winter.
Well, E.T. asked me if we had ever seen the faces of an old couple in the flames of the fireplace. We hadn't and he seemed disappointed. Other tenants had told that story many times.
In between our house and the equally old farm house was a small lake with a long dock that went to the middle. Probably used for fishing. Sally and I sometimes walked to the lake and went out on the dock to just enjoy the stars and quiet. One night we were out at the end of the dock as usual. No moon, clear winter night, no light pollution and no wind. I swear we couldn't tell the sky from the reflection of the stars on the lake surface. Still. Quiet. Dark.
From the right I saw a bit of fog, I thought, form at the edge of the lake. As the fog slowly glided toward the dock it took on the form of a woman. She got to the end of the dock, stood there for a minute or so looking out at us, and then just drifted apart. We stood quietly for a time and then I asked Sally what she saw. Exactly the same thing. I asked her if she felt afraid, and she said she did not, and in fact felt that the lady was no threat at all. I felt exactly the same.
We left the dock and discussed what we might have seen, and never returned there again. I don't to this day know why we didn't go back.
Months later we were up at the farm house paying our rent and I told our landlord about E.T. and his question about the fireplace. Louie laughed and said "For a minute there I thought you were going to tell me you saw the Lady of the Lake." The hair stood up all over my body and still does when I think about it. He told us that from time to time a ghostly woman wanders from the lake into the farmyard and just disappears. She might have been killed there, he said, or was a suicide. Rumors from the very old days not substantiated.
I don't know the truth of that, but I know this: Sally and I saw and interacted emotionally with the Lady of the Lake. She looked as us and projected "calm" and "no fear". I wonder if she still walks the lake shore on cold winter nights. What could she be looking for? I guess there are some things we will never know.
The house was a "cracker" built place. No frame at all, just cut-on-the-property 4 x 4 corners holding up 4 x 4 top beams sitting on 4 x 4 floor joists. The walls of the entire house were rough-sawn planks of various widths nailed to the top and bottom beams sealed with narrower battens. No insulation, no interior walls, no studs. The outside was the inside. Sometime in the distant past someone had separated the house into 2 rooms, living room and bedroom, and added a bathroom on the back side under the porch. The early morning sun reflected off the white sand under the house and came up through the floorboards. Tin roof. Cool and breezy. Freezing cold in the winter.
Well, E.T. asked me if we had ever seen the faces of an old couple in the flames of the fireplace. We hadn't and he seemed disappointed. Other tenants had told that story many times.
In between our house and the equally old farm house was a small lake with a long dock that went to the middle. Probably used for fishing. Sally and I sometimes walked to the lake and went out on the dock to just enjoy the stars and quiet. One night we were out at the end of the dock as usual. No moon, clear winter night, no light pollution and no wind. I swear we couldn't tell the sky from the reflection of the stars on the lake surface. Still. Quiet. Dark.
From the right I saw a bit of fog, I thought, form at the edge of the lake. As the fog slowly glided toward the dock it took on the form of a woman. She got to the end of the dock, stood there for a minute or so looking out at us, and then just drifted apart. We stood quietly for a time and then I asked Sally what she saw. Exactly the same thing. I asked her if she felt afraid, and she said she did not, and in fact felt that the lady was no threat at all. I felt exactly the same.
We left the dock and discussed what we might have seen, and never returned there again. I don't to this day know why we didn't go back.
Months later we were up at the farm house paying our rent and I told our landlord about E.T. and his question about the fireplace. Louie laughed and said "For a minute there I thought you were going to tell me you saw the Lady of the Lake." The hair stood up all over my body and still does when I think about it. He told us that from time to time a ghostly woman wanders from the lake into the farmyard and just disappears. She might have been killed there, he said, or was a suicide. Rumors from the very old days not substantiated.
I don't know the truth of that, but I know this: Sally and I saw and interacted emotionally with the Lady of the Lake. She looked as us and projected "calm" and "no fear". I wonder if she still walks the lake shore on cold winter nights. What could she be looking for? I guess there are some things we will never know.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Bundy's tree.
What a surprise!!! Out of nowhere comes a gulf tropical storm. Raining like hell and gusty winds. It's not a hurricane but may drop 3 - 5 inches of rain in this area. Looks like an inch has fallen in the last 10 minutes. Welcome Claudette.
I remember my first hurricane. I was 6 or 7 and lived just outside of New York city in a little railroad stop called Rosedale. No idea what the storm was called, or even if they named them in the late 1940's. It was dark and the power was out. Wind blowing like crazy and raining like mad.
My neighborhood was a great place to grow up. Lots of kids to play with, lots of trees to climb, lots of vacant lots to play in and the forbidden "pipeline" next to the railroad. Ah, the pipeline. It was a strip of land probably 100 feet wide and probably a utility right of way. We didn't know or care. It was a wild land with trees, humps of sand perfect for digging in, and lots of places where we could build a fort. But the best of all was it was forbidden. Too close to the tracks to be safe, so our parents told us. We went there to play anyway and once in awhile someone would call a mother and tell. Then we got called in and grounded for awhile. Or maybe got a "session" in the bathroom with a tired and overworked dad.
Anyway, on that windy rainy night we were all sitting around the tiny (I know now since I went back to see the house) living room with a candle or two waiting for something to happen. My brother and I wanted to perch by the window and look out to see what we could but my mother was worried about flying glass so tried to keep us away. I was looking out once and saw something big move and said "Their goes Bundy's tree". A very big poplar directly across the road from our house and in their front yard. Everybody looked out and saw nothing and figured I had made it up or saw something blowing around in the street.
The next morning when we got up there it was. Bundy's tree. Down across the road in the power lines. Got our fence but not the house. Vindicated!!!
The linemen got the wires cleared from the tree pretty early and all the kids in the neighborhood spent the rest of the day climbing sideways in the big tree. The weather was perfect as I now know post-hurricane weather usually is and we had a ball. The next day someone came and cut it up and hauled it away and life gradually returned to normal.
Other hurricanes since were fun or scary or dangerous, but none compare with the big one that blew down Bundy's tree.
I remember my first hurricane. I was 6 or 7 and lived just outside of New York city in a little railroad stop called Rosedale. No idea what the storm was called, or even if they named them in the late 1940's. It was dark and the power was out. Wind blowing like crazy and raining like mad.
My neighborhood was a great place to grow up. Lots of kids to play with, lots of trees to climb, lots of vacant lots to play in and the forbidden "pipeline" next to the railroad. Ah, the pipeline. It was a strip of land probably 100 feet wide and probably a utility right of way. We didn't know or care. It was a wild land with trees, humps of sand perfect for digging in, and lots of places where we could build a fort. But the best of all was it was forbidden. Too close to the tracks to be safe, so our parents told us. We went there to play anyway and once in awhile someone would call a mother and tell. Then we got called in and grounded for awhile. Or maybe got a "session" in the bathroom with a tired and overworked dad.
Anyway, on that windy rainy night we were all sitting around the tiny (I know now since I went back to see the house) living room with a candle or two waiting for something to happen. My brother and I wanted to perch by the window and look out to see what we could but my mother was worried about flying glass so tried to keep us away. I was looking out once and saw something big move and said "Their goes Bundy's tree". A very big poplar directly across the road from our house and in their front yard. Everybody looked out and saw nothing and figured I had made it up or saw something blowing around in the street.
The next morning when we got up there it was. Bundy's tree. Down across the road in the power lines. Got our fence but not the house. Vindicated!!!
The linemen got the wires cleared from the tree pretty early and all the kids in the neighborhood spent the rest of the day climbing sideways in the big tree. The weather was perfect as I now know post-hurricane weather usually is and we had a ball. The next day someone came and cut it up and hauled it away and life gradually returned to normal.
Other hurricanes since were fun or scary or dangerous, but none compare with the big one that blew down Bundy's tree.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Death: A dream and a meeting
The other week I had a vivid dream that showed me my death in the future. The landscape was solid white and disappeared over the horizon. There was a tiny black figure near the horizon and I wondered what it was. An unknown narrator answered that the distance away from me was the future and the figure was placed at the exact time of my death. I wondered if that time was fixed or could be moved, and the narrator said it could be moved up or back by all sorts of things, but it never went away. In other words, my simulacrum would always be there ahead of me, waiting for me to catch up with it. As we get closer it gets larger until finally it is the same size as we are and when we meet it, we die. There the dream ended.
The other afternoon I was laying down for a nap or rest when suddenly I heard a snapping sound like an electric spark. I looked around and found myself in a totally black space with an ordinary looking man standing in from of me. I said "What the f*** was that?", and he said "a heart attack". "A heart attack?" "Yes, you just died of a heart attack.". Calmly I said "and who would you be?"
"God." I asked him why he looked like an ordinary man dressed in casual clothes and he explained that he varied his look to make the person he was talking to more comfortable. He asked me to watch carefully, and then he changed into Shiva, Ganesh, Mithra, Thor, Zeus, an unrecognizable but very large and scary dragon of some kind, and then back to the man. Impressive. I told him that dying was ok, but the timing was not good. I told him that I knew that he knew Sally, and that she would not be able to cope with this sudden loss, that it would be cruel beyond feeling and that he should reconsider taking me. We talked for a bit and he said that we had better come to closure because my body was nearly at the point of physical death. Finally he said "OK, go back. I'll take care of the damage, but remember, you owe me. And I won't do this again." I thanked him and the next thing I knew - back on the bed.
So what exactly was that? Stuffed if I know. But I'll tell you this. If that really was god, and I really did talk to him, he is an OK guy. And I hope that my simulacrum has moved way off on the horizon.
I looked, but couldn't find the white landscape. Maybe tonight.
The other afternoon I was laying down for a nap or rest when suddenly I heard a snapping sound like an electric spark. I looked around and found myself in a totally black space with an ordinary looking man standing in from of me. I said "What the f*** was that?", and he said "a heart attack". "A heart attack?" "Yes, you just died of a heart attack.". Calmly I said "and who would you be?"
"God." I asked him why he looked like an ordinary man dressed in casual clothes and he explained that he varied his look to make the person he was talking to more comfortable. He asked me to watch carefully, and then he changed into Shiva, Ganesh, Mithra, Thor, Zeus, an unrecognizable but very large and scary dragon of some kind, and then back to the man. Impressive. I told him that dying was ok, but the timing was not good. I told him that I knew that he knew Sally, and that she would not be able to cope with this sudden loss, that it would be cruel beyond feeling and that he should reconsider taking me. We talked for a bit and he said that we had better come to closure because my body was nearly at the point of physical death. Finally he said "OK, go back. I'll take care of the damage, but remember, you owe me. And I won't do this again." I thanked him and the next thing I knew - back on the bed.
So what exactly was that? Stuffed if I know. But I'll tell you this. If that really was god, and I really did talk to him, he is an OK guy. And I hope that my simulacrum has moved way off on the horizon.
I looked, but couldn't find the white landscape. Maybe tonight.
Lies and damn lies
"Lie" : An act or instance of lying; a false statement made with intent to deceive (OED). "Damn lie": An act of repeating over and over a false statement that you know is false. (Woody).
Now nobody out there should doubt that I am at times a liberal, but I have some conservative notes in my song. But I like to think of myself as a thinking person.
That said, I am sick to death of the damn lies being repeated by Sarah Palin *and other conservatives about the health plan and euthanasia. Read the plan Sarah. It isn't in there. It just allows payment for end of life counseling if the person wants it. Does that sound like some kind of Nazi death provision?
I don't know all of what's in the plans that are floating around, but I know there is NO EUTHANASIA PROVISION. What the hell is wrong with people? Ahhhhhh. Right. Easily lead and easily fooled. Hale-boppers (Heavens Gate)and Jonestowners and Wacoers. And millions of others in the world that don't bother to think.
So the health plan may suck. It may not work. It may need work. Something certainly needs to be done. What? Stuffed if I know.
*http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090813/ap_on_go_co/us_health_care_end_of_life
Now nobody out there should doubt that I am at times a liberal, but I have some conservative notes in my song. But I like to think of myself as a thinking person.
That said, I am sick to death of the damn lies being repeated by Sarah Palin *and other conservatives about the health plan and euthanasia. Read the plan Sarah. It isn't in there. It just allows payment for end of life counseling if the person wants it. Does that sound like some kind of Nazi death provision?
I don't know all of what's in the plans that are floating around, but I know there is NO EUTHANASIA PROVISION. What the hell is wrong with people? Ahhhhhh. Right. Easily lead and easily fooled. Hale-boppers (Heavens Gate)and Jonestowners and Wacoers. And millions of others in the world that don't bother to think.
So the health plan may suck. It may not work. It may need work. Something certainly needs to be done. What? Stuffed if I know.
*http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090813/ap_on_go_co/us_health_care_end_of_life
Sunday, August 9, 2009
"A mind is a terrible thing to waste" *
She was a pretty girl with a great personality and bright future. But she had been kept in a cruel prison for most of her life. She didn't understand why she was imprisoned only that the torture of seeing herself trapped forever by circumstance was nearly more than she could bear. All she ever wanted was a normal life. This was denied to her by her prison. When she looked in a mirror she saw not the pretty girl with the great personality and bright future, but a beautiful pair of eyes looking out of a mountain of fat. She was in there somewhere, imprisoned by her own body.
I read this short story (alas the citation fails me) many years ago. It left me feeling sad for the girl within and angry at the girl without. Those emotions are probably best left for another day. This story came to mind when I thought the other day about the terrible and very real possibility of a stroke victim being a prisoner in a body that no longer responded to commands. A cruel trap for the mind. How, I asked, could someone endure the isolation of one-way communication? The humiliation of daily care? The being overlooked by others as they talked about you as if you were not a presence in the room? I am talking here about those massive strokes that don't kill but leave a person in a prison of flesh with an intact mind. Not the kind where recovery is likely, but those that have little hope of normalcy. No walking. No talking. No independent activity what-so-ever.
This brought to mind another kind of prisoner. The cerebral palsy sufferer. (CP). I have been with many CP people over the years and have found most with beautiful minds and good intellects. Why not all you ask? Doesn't CP usually leave the mind intact while the body fails? The answer is yes, the mind is almost never functionally damaged by CP. But the ravages of the body can lead to the stroke-like situation of one-way communication.
Imagine a baby born with a very sever level of CP. Potentially normal mind that cannot reach out. Babies and the children they become have in the past often been considered mentally retarded because they couldn't respond. Well guess what? If a person with normal thinking potential is treated as if they are mentally retarded they can become functionally that way. Not because the latent ability was absent, but because the latency was never developed. Every day thousands of human being's minds are wasted because they are cut off from the world.
The point, you ask? Well, for one thing each of us can hope we don't have the massive stroke that takes away the body but leaves the mind. Better for the more massive one that just drops you like a sack of sand. And as far as CP is concerned, the next time you get a chance to talk to someone that has it, let them talk, and listen carefully to what they say. It's hard sometimes, but if you just smile and nod and say not much at all, then you are just patronizing them, not talking to/with them. If you don't understand what they say, be persistent. They know it's hard for you to understand them. They want you to. They will work hard to help you. Just let them.
Now for the future. What we need is a brain-computer interface that allows a brain to speak directly through a processor without the need to physically talk. You can think talking in your head, so the formation of all the speech is there. We need a device that will read those outputs and convert them into algorithms that can be formulated into speech by a computer of some kind. I think research into this is already underway and I hope it gets ready by the time you or I need it. Think of the minds that could be unlocked from prison.
And for the girl there is hope too: research has uncovered many genetic connections that make body proportions difficult to manage. Genes for extremely efficient use of food, and genes for resistance of the use of stored fat in metabolism have been identified. So with some counseling, maybe some surgery and some genetic manipulation genetically obese people may walk away from the prison they live in. Don't tell me all they need to do is quit eating. Ever try it?
*http://www.uncf.org/?gclid=CNW5zqCevZYCFQpOMAodsnxMzA
I read this short story (alas the citation fails me) many years ago. It left me feeling sad for the girl within and angry at the girl without. Those emotions are probably best left for another day. This story came to mind when I thought the other day about the terrible and very real possibility of a stroke victim being a prisoner in a body that no longer responded to commands. A cruel trap for the mind. How, I asked, could someone endure the isolation of one-way communication? The humiliation of daily care? The being overlooked by others as they talked about you as if you were not a presence in the room? I am talking here about those massive strokes that don't kill but leave a person in a prison of flesh with an intact mind. Not the kind where recovery is likely, but those that have little hope of normalcy. No walking. No talking. No independent activity what-so-ever.
This brought to mind another kind of prisoner. The cerebral palsy sufferer. (CP). I have been with many CP people over the years and have found most with beautiful minds and good intellects. Why not all you ask? Doesn't CP usually leave the mind intact while the body fails? The answer is yes, the mind is almost never functionally damaged by CP. But the ravages of the body can lead to the stroke-like situation of one-way communication.
Imagine a baby born with a very sever level of CP. Potentially normal mind that cannot reach out. Babies and the children they become have in the past often been considered mentally retarded because they couldn't respond. Well guess what? If a person with normal thinking potential is treated as if they are mentally retarded they can become functionally that way. Not because the latent ability was absent, but because the latency was never developed. Every day thousands of human being's minds are wasted because they are cut off from the world.
The point, you ask? Well, for one thing each of us can hope we don't have the massive stroke that takes away the body but leaves the mind. Better for the more massive one that just drops you like a sack of sand. And as far as CP is concerned, the next time you get a chance to talk to someone that has it, let them talk, and listen carefully to what they say. It's hard sometimes, but if you just smile and nod and say not much at all, then you are just patronizing them, not talking to/with them. If you don't understand what they say, be persistent. They know it's hard for you to understand them. They want you to. They will work hard to help you. Just let them.
Now for the future. What we need is a brain-computer interface that allows a brain to speak directly through a processor without the need to physically talk. You can think talking in your head, so the formation of all the speech is there. We need a device that will read those outputs and convert them into algorithms that can be formulated into speech by a computer of some kind. I think research into this is already underway and I hope it gets ready by the time you or I need it. Think of the minds that could be unlocked from prison.
And for the girl there is hope too: research has uncovered many genetic connections that make body proportions difficult to manage. Genes for extremely efficient use of food, and genes for resistance of the use of stored fat in metabolism have been identified. So with some counseling, maybe some surgery and some genetic manipulation genetically obese people may walk away from the prison they live in. Don't tell me all they need to do is quit eating. Ever try it?
*http://www.uncf.org/?gclid=CNW5zqCevZYCFQpOMAodsnxMzA
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