A Very Tragic Day!

There are a few significant days that I remember vividly, one is the birth of my son. It was a long day, and after failed attempts at a vaginal birth, we rushed to the hospital from the birthing center for an emergency C-section. I was not there for my Daughter's birth 5 years earlier. But aside from that, there are two days which are indellibly scratched into my brain. February 8th and February 9th, 1996.

There are many things about those 2 days that I have previously shared in one writing or another, but I am not sure if I gave all the sordid details.

I was working for Tuned-In Broadcasting, and we occupied the L&C Towers on 4th and Church Street in Nashville, the 30th and 31st floor, the top two floors of the building. I don't remember at that point how long I had been working there, but I was doing several jobs, including some on-air shifts, copywriting for sales staff, writing marketing proposals, producing the Nashville Knights hockey games.

It was about 11:30 on Thursday the 8th of February when I was at the front desk, answering phones, and a young lady came in and asked if the observation deck was open to the public, it was. She asked to see it. At that time there was no accompanying guests on the deck as there was never an indication that anything serious could or was likely to happen.

After allowing her to visit the deck, I went on about my business. After about 20 minutes, she came back in and thanked me and asked me if it was alright if she came back tomorrow. I said sure! There was nothing eventful about that day just looking at it from the day.

But then, it was Friday.

Although it was 30 years ago this year, the memories of the day are as vivid as the day they happened. Around lunch time, again, Morningstar Green (her name I would learn later) appeared out of the elevator. She was wearing blue jeans and a dark grey hoodie. She had a determined look on her face and did not stop at the front desk for permission to go onto the deck. I wasn't worried, although I should have been.

Lunch time arrived, and my friend Lyndie and I went down the elevator and walked to the arcade (a place filled with eateries and shops for the downtowners). We had lunch and returned about 45 minutes later. My boss Kimberly Morrisey was at the desk as my relief. She relinquished the station and I went back to work, never thinking again about the visitor on the deck, rather assuming that during my lunch break she had left.

She hadn't.

She had apparently taken up a spot on the east side of the building where the windows were covered by thick curtains on the end of the building that was the home of Bone Magazine, an offshoot of Tuned-In Broadcasting.

The day went on without any idea of what was boiling outside until a call from the First American Bank building (now Regions).

The caller reached Kimberly. Kimberly came to me, and now I was in the WRLG studio doing my afternoon air shift as a DJ. Kimberly said, "We just got a call from the bank building saying that there was someone on the ledge and it looks like they are going to jump."

I did not know instantly that it was the young lady that I allowed to visit the observation deck, but when Kimberly asked ME to go out and see what was happening, I got the sick sense that it was indeed her.

Time was still relatively steady in my mind, there was nothing troubling nor was there a sense of urgency make the approach. The next :30 seconds would be the shortest and the longest of my life. Shortest out the door, but longest in my memory.

Because the building was in the shape of an L, the inside vertex, or the point where the horizontal meets the vertical, was where the large sliding glass doors led to the deck. Once on the deck, it was a left down the long side of the building. Another left led to the short corridor, and another left led to the 4th Street side of the building. From the phone call, I knew that she was likely perched on the 4th Street side, and when I turned on the corridor leg, she was not visible, so I was correct.

The very thing that occurred next was swift and calculated. A surety that I did not see at the time, but upon reflection was quite obvious. The act required a catalyst. I was the catalyst.

There was about 6 feet of distance from the corridor sliding glass door (each end of the building had one as well as the center), the corridor door was the offices of Bone Magazine. As I passed that final door, I could begin to see around the corner of the building facing the street. First, I saw a hand, grasped on the metal rail. It was a smooth tubular railing that was attached with the same type vertical rail imbedded into the 4 foot concrete wall. Then I saw the silhoutte of the young lady. Dark Hoodie, blue jeans, tennis shoes. It flashed so quickly in my mind. Her bottom was setting on the rail. The right hand also grasped on the opposite side rail.

She sensed my presence, turned her head to the right to make eye contact with me, as she stood she released her hands from the rail, never losing eye contact. Her feet planted on the small edge of concrete. Her left foot left the wall first, followed by her right as she lurched ever so slightly forward. Purposefully. She relinquished eye contact and then focused on her descent. Her arms windmilling so that she would stay upright.

In that moment, I rushed toward the edge, in my mind I could grab her and keep her from falling, but the scenario was too quick, too unexpected. But as I reached the edge, I was locked on Morningstar Greene as she passed by 30 floors of the L&C Building. The first floor of the tower was a copy store, the roof of which jutted out from the rest of the building, and within seconds, she was at ground level, careening off the copy center roof and ejected onto the street missing the 8 foot wide concrete sidewalk.

Recalling this now, it does not even seem real, though I know it was. I can't remember exactly when I began screaming and crying at the top of my lungs, but it was quick to swell. As I remember, I was the only one on the deck with her, I ran back inside where I had exited. Yelling, "She Jumped, she fucking jumped," bellowing, tears flowing uncontrollably. Kimberly was the first to rush to my side. I was shuddering, wailing, the next several minutes were a blur, but somewhere in my chaos, I looked out the doors to the observation deck and noticed the big green sign letters positioned on the deck "L-E-A-P"

I looked to my left and saw Rusty. He was concerned for me, but keeping his distance. Without saying a word, I caught his eye and motioned my eyes and head toward the deck. He turned to look and immediately knew what I was saying. He went on to the deck and moved the letters so that they were no longer an Omen for the young woman that did exactly what the sign suggested.

I am not sure how long after that it was, but our GM Ned Horton, and the Owner Lester Turner showed up to lend me support. I was taken into Ned's office where I sat. It was not long after that the police showed up to survey the situation and ask me what happened. I gave them the exact explanation I just outlined for you, with one missing detail. The Letters L-E-A-P. It was not that I thought there was any culpibility on the station's part, but just the irony of it felt like a detail that needed to be omitted.

A couple days passed, and I was at the front desk again when the elevator opened and 4 people stepped out. An older woman, two young women and a young man. Family. The older woman was Morningstar's mother. I don't remember any introductions, but there were, she embraced me warmly and said to me, "We don't blame you!" Which I felt at the time was inappropriate to even begin to assess blame to anyone, but after hearing Morningstar's story, I realized that she was determined to take her own lift and no one was going to stop that from happening.

I am sure that I could come up with more details of that day, like the Sony Walkman with the Green Day Cassette blaring Brain Stew/Jaded, but none would make the picture any clearer. It was a tragic day, a very tragic day.

When I tell this story, people usually ask me how am I dealing with it today? I shrug, Good! I mean, what else can I do? I choose to remember it now and then, just to keep her memory alive. To remember that trauma can create a scenario that only leaves one way out for some. People leave this world every day. Some on their own, many by the hands of others, and some through the passing of time. But no matter what, we all leave...eventually.

Be Kind...Again!

 How do we get people to talk about an issue without being mean and degrading, or even duplicitous. If you are going to stand for something, and you take a firm stand, you should definitely be sure that both feet are planted firmly on solid groud. Or a giant boulder. If you want to be considered intelligent, truthful, compassionate, transparent, you should do that in all walks of life. not just when it is convenient. Now we all know (or should know) that emotions play an important role in life. "oh I love this car/house/gadget, whatever...I'm buying it right now!" but take the emotion out of it and maybe in a day or so you may feel different.

For me? I have so many things in my house that i could have definitely done without! That's right...I'm am an emotionally driven purchaser. I want the best and newest for me, my friends, my family. I don't always consider how to pay for it until after I am burdened with the debt. Then...the first bill comes..."Oh My!" but hey, I committed, I will find a way to pay for it! But no matter what, defend everyone's right to not agree with you! Enemies are built with prejudice. Mostly due to misunderstanding. Let's work on understanding. Some issues require a lot of it!

We do this...just in case!

I may have been in the past, but not so much in my little world I have created today, but there was a time when I would quote the Bible. Sometimes to prove a point, sometimes to establish my place. Now, in this little world today, I still believe in the principles of much of the written word. There is still good advice, good living practices, and instruction on ways to conduct oneself in society. But I woke up with one particular line in my head this morning, and here is how I twist it to my own particular thinking... Matthew 6:34, Take no thought for tomorrow.

Now, I am no Bible scholar, and there will be those that want to debate me on this, but I won’t take the bait. That line can have multiple meanings; I admit that, but what it says to me, and is backed up by other scripture, is that we are not promised tomorrow, so why try to live in a moment that hasn't happened yet? And how that becomes applicable in my world today is that there are a lot of things being done... to protect our future. Well, we have to do this, or we have to do that, in order to secure our future.

For example, bombing Iran. "They may have nuclear capabilities. There may be missiles that could destroy us." Okay, that is one thing... but the idea is that we fret and worry over something that has not happened yet, may never happen, or, in an imperfect world, nothing we can really do to prevent it. If not them, someone else. Some will call it proactive; I would say it is somewhat alarmist. And we worry about being blown up while we contaminate the water, air, and land in which we live. I just can't make sense of it.

And those of you that are anxious to do this now, let me pose this to you: Your son or daughter, brother or sister, is sitting next to you. Would you let them be killed, this very instant, to prevent a scenario that may never happen? That is what we are doing. People are dying as I write this that should be here with us tomorrow. We have been controlled by fear for way too long. It has become second nature.

So what now? Status quo? Not that there is anything that I can do to change it, other than post this diatribe. I just want to say it so it doesn't go unsaid. By the way, we have nuclear bombs. Will we ever use them? NO, of course not. That would never happen. And that is my point. We don't know what tomorrow will bring, so live today, love today, be compassionate today, and pray for peace.

Truly: Can't We all Find Common Ground?

 WTF!

I just don't know anymore. I can't get a handle on all of the misinformation that is being passed out as truth. But now, I am not only seeing it from online, made up, targeted videos to my algorithm, but I am hearing it from people that I normally would have thought of as intelligent, reasonable individuals.

I know there is debate out there on who was the worst, Biden, Trump, Obama, Bush, etc., and honestly, depending on what particular policy you are talking about, there are valid reasons for choosing any one of them. But here is my take on what I am hearing:

Did Biden drop the ball on border security? I think the statistics would say, for the most part, yes. Up until 2023, more than 2.4 million people illegally crossed the border into the U.S. That is roughly the entire number of those deported under Obama. Under Trump’s first term, about 1.5 million were deported.

Yet you hear from each side how ineffective each administration has been. I heard a conservative pundit yesterday say that Trump is doing more than Obama did... it is just not a verifiable stat.

Now I am not criticizing the administration's policy. I think that getting rid of the worst of the worst is exactly what we should be doing. I would be surprised if not everyone agreed with that. But when I hear someone say (metaphorically) that you have to crack a few eggs to make an omelet... I have to draw the line.

When someone says an illegal immigrant raped and killed someone, and if they had not been here that would not have happened. Yes, without a doubt! But that does not make the tactics being used acceptable.

I mean, if you want to use the situation to bolster your support for going through neighborhoods profiling everyone that looks like an immigrant, then what do you say for the American citizen that is still out there that has committed a similar crime?

Let's see what available data has to say about that. Texas is one of the few states that tracks data from immigrants, both legal and illegal. And what we "know," not what I am trying to convince you of, is that based on the Texas data is that more U.S.-born citizens are consistently in the higher percentages for violent crimes, with legal immigrants falling in second and undocumented immigrants having the lowest rate of violent offenders. Don't take my word for it, look it up.

There hasn't been one mass school shooting that was by an undocumented resident. Don't get me wrong, I am not minimizing the crimes of those that might be coming over the border illegally, but I want some common sense discussion on the totality of violence in America. It is a problem in our society today, and I know in my heart that there are many factors that contribute to it. Society in general is seeing a decline in decorum. Respect is largely out the window when it comes to peaceful discourse, and when it comes to who is at fault in places like Minneapolis, it is multi-faceted.

Should a peaceful protester bring a gun to a protest? They have a right to, but common sense says it is not the smartest thing to do. Why? Because you never know how you might be perceived by others. Should an ICE or Border agent shove people to the ground just because they are being filmed, or should they shove someone into oncoming traffic? Of course not, but what I believe is that not all protesters are law-abiding and not all ICE and Border agents are thugs.

I would also like to see us quit comparing this president to that president, this demonstrator to that one, or this ICE situation to that ICE situation. We need to look at every situation as unique.

We all felt sorry about Alex Pretti, then video emerges of him spitting and kicking a patrol car. Some said, "see! he's not the sweet guy you thought," as if to say he then deserved to have 10 shots fired at him while he lay prone, unarmed on the ground.

1st Amendment? Yes, we have the right, but what we choose to say should be self-edited so as not to be filled with algorithmic inaccuracies.

I am much more willing to hear an opposing viewpoint when they are articulated with clean facts and not through the lens of rhetoric.

All our awareness is heightened, and it is our desire to be heard more than our desire to be accurate that is filtering through.

Let's all take a breath. Admit that both sides could do better and have a dialogue that promotes those conversations.

I Never Expected This...

Holy crap.

I am about to tell you something that I don't like to talk about, partly because it exposes my youthful indescretions and my inability to make right a wrong.

You think you have all the time in the world to make up for mistakes in the past, but the stark realization is that it all passes too quickly, and sometimes that moment of opportunity is suddenly just an image in a rear view mirror.

When I was going to Bob Jones University in the late '70's, I was there because I was heartbroken. Someone I thought was going to be in my life for “ever after” had disappeared. She was taken away secretly by her mother, who was in an abusive marriage, one that left her daughter vulnerable to a sick, perverted man who shrouded himself in the gospel but was anything but godly. He was the reason that they disappeared without notice. It could not be known to anyone where they went for fear of this man finding them. My family knew the family, familiar with them. He knew that his stepdaughter and I were a couple, and if I knew where she was they might be in jeopardy. So... they disappeared... and so did I... not physically, but emotionally. I had to move ahead, despite my heart being attached.

So I started going to a church, a small fundamental Baptist church that the love of my life had ties to. Her best friend was the preacher's daughter.

I was introduced at that time to a world that I had never seen before. It was the mix of religion and constitutionality, the likes I had never seen nor knew existed. While attending the church, I met Jolyn. She was sweet, but more than that for a teenage boy, she was present. I took all the heartbreak and emotions and switched them to Jolyn. She was preparing to go to Bob Jones University in the fall of 1979. So I said, why not. My other plans of going into the Air Force had fallen through, so why not religion.

What I knew, and what was realized, was that Jolyn would never be the replacement for what I had lost. No surrogate love there. I left for Bob Jones as soon as I could that summer. I wanted to get acclimated to the area, the climate, and the people. I worked at the commissary on the campus with all of the other summer workers and realized that this was a huge new world for me, and I refocused my attention to the work, the studies, and the new restrictions the university would put upon me.

When Jolyn got to BJU, it was quite evident that we would not be together. Frankly, I was relieved. I was newly focused. School became my love, and I jumped in wholeheartedly. First semester came and went, and I realized that working on campus was not going to pay my tuition. In fact, I was in debt to the university and was told I could not return until I had made the balance of my tuition (which is another story... one that I have shared before).

But anyway... I got the money... gifted to me... and I returned for the next semester. It was uneventful, well, except for accusations against me not living up to the social requirements the school had set (yet another story). I stayed through the summer, continued working for the university, and began semester three. I decided that finances would not allow me to go to my fourth semester, but I would hang around and hoped that God would provide for me to continue.

I dated some during this time, hung out for Christmas in Dade City, Florida, with the Tillmans. Twins Rebecca and Rachel... (you get their family was religious... right?). When I came back to South Carolina, I got a job with the local radio station, the one associated with the university, WMUU. It worked into a pretty good part-time job that I supplemented with a cook's job at the local Shoney's restaurant.

It was in February of 1981 that I met my first wife, Deena Maerene Hester. She was sweet, simple, and was dealing with a lot of demons that I had no knowledge of. You see, the way BJU was set up, you couldn't really get to know the real person, probably why the divorce rate among BJU students was so high. Deena and I dated in accordance with the BJU policies. Never alone, always supervised (if even from afar), met in the dating parlor, ate in the snack shop, talked extensively.

Somewhere in the whole four months that we had known each other, I began to think about what life would look like and did not have the foresight to see what was to come, only that I wasn't going in any direction that showed promise. I felt that I could move back to Tucson, work for my parents’ restaurant, and eventually take it over. So I did the most stupid, and what I realize now was the most insensitive thing I could have done. I asked Deena to marry me, and she said yes.

Being honest with myself now, it felt like a surrender. A pitching aside of the potential I believed was there but stymied after the loss of my first love. It was unfair to Deena.

What makes it more hurtful was the day of our marriage. We decided on a church in Traveler's Rest where a mutual friend of ours played the piano. Everyone was going to be there. Her mother and father (aunt and uncle that raised her), my mother and father who flew from Tucson to be there. And then it happened, the shitty, selfish-minded event that spun me out of control, but not enough to call off the wedding.

My mother handed me a stack of letters that had been accumulating. On the top of the pile, I saw it. I froze. My heart felt like it wanted to beat out of my chest. I was wanting to cry, I was wanting to scream, I wanted to run from the chapel and never look back, but I did not. On top was the familiar handwriting I had seen many times before. The envelope still had the smell of strawberry. It was from my first love.

My mother handed me the stack, and I looked at her when she said, “This came several weeks ago for you.”

“What?” my inner voice screamed. “Several weeks ago? You have had this in your posession and you are just now giving me this? On my wedding day?” All those words still silent in my head.

I walked aside, found a private spot, and opened the letter. “How are you, how have you been? I have been thinking about you, are you seeing anyone? Here is what happened to me...”

That is not the letter you want to get when you are about to make the biggest mistake of your life. No, of course it is. But I did not do the right thing. I opted to move forward and marry despite knowing that Deena would never be loved like “she” was loved.

This began the downhill spiral even before the “I do’s” were spoken, but we moved forward. Married, moved to Arizona, worked for my parents. I was angry, and not only that, but I found myself with someone that I really did not know. Someone who had deep-seated issues due to a father that was not there and had been abusive when he was, leaving her to be raised by her mother's aunt and uncle. Her mother struggling with mental health issues and Deena dealing with a lot of anger as well.

We hid it well in public, but in private it was volcanic. The yelling, the screaming, the frustration, the disagreements, the pregnancy. Yup, that's right, the pregnancy.

I decided, or we decided, not sure now after all these years, that we needed to be in a place that was nurturing for both of us religiously, so it was back to Greenville with the hopes of me returning to the ministry and finding my footing and the peace that had thus far escaped me. We left in June of 1984. Found a place nearby the college, and I started to work on building a life. I got a manager's job at the Shoney's I had previously worked at and began working 10, 12, 14-hour shifts. At first, stressful, but as the months went by, a blessing.

It was later that year in October that another twist of fate occurred. October 8th, 1984, 6:30 in the morning, the phone rang. I instantly knew it was bad news. Deena handed me the phone, and my mother told me my father was dead. It was at that moment that everything fell apart. The floodgates opened, and I could not hold back the years of feeling that I had been holding in.

Now Deena tried to be supportive, but I think her relationship with her own father might have had something to do with the ineffectiveness I felt in that support, or perhaps it was just my grief.

Fly to Tucson, alone. Deena was six months pregnant, and we couldn't really afford to both go. As it was, I got a grief rate, and my mother paid for it.

God was no longer on the table. Dismissed, forgotten, blamed. Everything else was on autopilot. And because the autopilot was set with the wrong heading, it was only a matter of time before I started to make changes that would affect my life, Deena's life, and our soon-to-be-born son, George's life.

Needless to say, by the summer of 1985 the marriage was done. Divorce court was tough. No lawyer on my part. I just said “whatever” and succombed to the wishes of her and her lawyer, even as the judge said, “Mr. Henry, are you sure you don't want a lawyer on your behalf?”

Hindsight, right?

The next several years were rough. A new relationship, new responsibilities, more and more separation from my son. Deena dragged me into court several times over the next year. I just kept mailing the check.

Eventually, we were all estranged from one another. Deena took George in the middle of the night and moved out of state, despite my visitation rights. (Learned later that Deena's aunt and uncle counseled her to “make it as hard as possible on him,” me, and he would come to his senses and come back and get on track.) I think that when she saw that had the opposite result, she would just move away and separate herself in distance from me.

At the time, I didn't know where she went, only that she was gone. I was still supposed to pay support even though I no longer had visitation... that was tough. In fact, after about six months of no communication, no updates from family court, and neither hide nor hair of them, I did the worst thing possible. I stopped writing checks. They were going to family court in South Carolina. Deena was no longer in South Carolina, and she refused to let me know her location so as to reestablish contact with my son.

Now I know there will be judgment by some, support by others, but that is not what I am after here. I have fallen on my own sword time after time over this.

But I want to get at the whole reason I started writing this... Every now and then, when thinking about the son I never knew, I take a look online, or at social media, and see if I can find him again. We had a brief encounter around 2010, but Deena shut that down quickly.

So yesterday I got that urge again to see what I could find. I found a few references with my son's name on it, and one struck me odd. It was the sale of a house with his name and the name of another man on it. So I did a whitepages.com search, which will bring up his name and usually family members with which he is associated. Sure enough, the last name of the man appeared again, so I made the assumption that he was the stepfather to my son. So I googled his mother's name with the new last name, and it popped up on Google.

An obit. February 21, 2021, at the age of 61. It was linked to a mortuary website, and I clicked on it. No posts, no pictures, no messages at all, just one picture of forget-me-not flowers. I used the same tactic and went to Facebook with the same name, found a blank Facebook with everything erased. The only thing that made it real was one profile picture. Everything else... gone.

Even with what I just wrote, I maintain that I had no regrets, but I must say, I wish I had the chance to at least make amends to the mother of my son. Now as to my son, not sure what comes next, but the last time we connected, he reached out to me. Perhaps it is my turn, and be prepared to be disappointed.

My Best Friend?

 My beautiful, talented, compassionate wife asked me last night randomly as we were standing in the kitchen: "who's your best friend?" Without hesitation i said "you are!" I got that look. you know the one that says "no i mean the real answer!" Which was shocking to me, because that was the real answer, but she pushed me for more information. I told her, "I don't really have 'another' best friend." I have people that i call friends, some closer than others, but none that i would comfortably call up and bare my soul to. That's not to say that there are not people that i like hanging around and doing stuff with, but i have never been the guy that calls someone up and says: "Hey, let's go do this, or that!" It is just not comfortable for me to do that.

On the other hand, if someone calls me, and I have the time and the inclination, I will usually say "sure!"
Again, I am not sure why I am like that...deep seeded (or is it Seated) issues? Low maintenance in that i don't need a lot of outside stimulation for survival? or something else? Not sure.
Am I the only one that feels this way?
I can look back on a time when i think something of significance changed me for all time. I was 12, I went to my sister's wedding in New Jersey and then up to my grandmother's house in the Catskills for most of the summer. When i came back, my dog, Sam, was gone. I was told by my father that they (actually my mother) gave the dog to a farmer (desert arizona..farm? hmmm?). Sam and I had always been inseperable. We explored the desert side by side. She went everywhere I went, except of course school. I think something broke in me when i got home and Sam was gone, and even worse that she was given away, because a parent did not want to be responsible in my absence. Whenever I am asked a question like my wife asked me today...I draw a blank because I immediately think "human" In the animal world the answer is instant: Sam.

Have you ever written something that you want everyone to read, but know that you can’t publish it because if everyone read it than they would know way too much about your life?

I have.  More than once.

What I have learned from that is that it is important to have friends to lean on and share those times with.  Friends that won’t judge you, just listen.

In my case, however, I am not prone to making those kinds of friendships and therefore haven’t got the support to share my stresses.  Being married is great, but because your spouse has a vested interest in your emotional state they cannot really remain neutral.  No matter how much you ask them to remain that way.  There will always be words of wisdom, sage advice, and positive feedback.  But if all you are looking to do is vent…you better find another outlet.

Again, all those things are great in a spouse, but I drive myself crazy trying to figure out a way to vent that doesn’t illicit conflict.  So what do I do?  I hold it in until I can’t.  And then ‘kaboom’!

I have been accused of not being a good communicator, and I guess that’s true in some respect.  The difficult part is that I have so much to say, but feel stifled.  Stifled out of my own fear.  Fear of rejection.  Everyone wants to feel accepted by the ones who love them and sometimes the only way to get that is to say as little as possible.  I have often put my foot in my mouth and since shoes are rarely made out of leather any more, the taste is quite plastic.

This is certainly not a blog on being discontent.  In fact it is merely rambling on about wanting to be more verbal and not being able to find the voice to do that.  So I blog it.  Knowing that if anyone does read it, I don’t necessarily get a response.  And if I do…I don’t have to read it!

So I guess to sum it up…  Shut up or live alone… okay, that might be a bit drastic.  But I have to do something to relieve stress…or it’s going to kill me.