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.

What hope is there for us?

Oh my, What have we become?

 On my YouTube podcast page, I posted a video on my thoughts about the recent murder/assassination of political influencer Charlie Kirk. I expressed my sadness and my hurt over the senseless taking of his life. I mentioned that I did not agree with everything he said or stood for, which is true; however, after reflecting on the body of work that I had seen prior to his death, I realized that the principles he stood for were good. He spoke often about the construct of the family and how it has broken down and is now part of the problem in society. How we have made it more financially beneficial for single moms to raise children rather than supporting the two-parent family model. Now, that is just one issue, but I received some comments after posting that video, and one was a woman who is on my Facebook page, and she said that she asked another friend of mine what I was. This, in reference to what my political leanings were. This alone tells me that this person is not concerned with having conversations with a broad spectrum of beliefs, but rather only wants to know that she is talking with someone who will support her belief system. So, as I ruminated on this, I came up with some math with a little help from Pew and Gallup, and my initial estimations were not far off from their research. I estimated that about 5% of America fell into the fringe category of Left and Right—5% each side that is—and the polling concluded that somewhere between 5 and 8 percent each were the numbers. Which leaves about 84–90% of the rest of the country somewhere in between. It is within those percentages that I find myself. And depending of the topic of conversation, I can be a little left of center, and others a little right of center, but definitely center. I fall within the groups that want less government involvement on some issues and more on others. I am with the group that believes that the system is likely broken beyond repair. I am with the group that strongly believes in the First Amendment and equally with the group that believes in the Second Amendment. I believe in compassion for the downtrodden, and I also believe in making people earn what they receive in handouts. Even if it is just picking up trash on the highways. I believe in the family model, but also believe that resiliency in people make it possible to thrive in a single-parent household. There is no one answer or one solution to America’s problems, but to start solving them, we have to start communicating, make concessions, and treat those that don’t believe like we do with respect and common decency. And most importantly, we need to Think. Use our brains. We cannot continue to go in this direction without utter disaster reigning.

Morningstar Greene

February 1996- if anyone has a different memory of this...let me know...

February of 1996 was memorable to me in so many ways. None of them, at the moment, are more notable than two days that would live with me forever. I was working at Tuned-In Broadcasting in Nashville, Tennessee. At the time, it wasn’t a very glorious job in broadcasting. I had had a few air shifts, produced some hockey games, written and voiced a few commercials, but my main duties were manning the front desk, answering phone calls, and keeping track of the comings and goings of the staff (okay, that last one was probably not a job requirement, but a mental lesson in organization for me).

This particular day was a Wednesday—February 7th. Most of the Tuned-In staff was in Atlanta at the Gavin Convention. A few of the staff remained behind to keep us on the air. In-house that day were members of Bone Magazine, a publication that was part of the Tuned-In Properties owned by Lester Turner, who at the time was the owner of a series of semi dealerships across Tennessee—Kenworth of Tennessee. Other staff that were around included Turner himself, GM Ned Horton, Executive Assistant Kimberly Morrisey, and Rusty Miller (DJ). Others that were there remain sketchy to me, but throughout the day, I would see one or more of them for a conversation. There was also the Sales Staff that were atop the L&C Towers on Church St. They were perched on the 31st floor, helmed by Carl Brenner.

It was early afternoon, if memory serves me, when the elevator doors opened and several individuals piled out of the 6x6 car. They were seeking access to the observation deck, which was open at the time per our discretion. One of the visitors was a young girl who had an ear-to-ear smile and a desire to see the Nashville skyscape, which was not yet cluttered with numerous buildings that would eventually dwarf the L&C. I showed them through the sliding glass doors at the apex of the L (you see, the building was shaped like an “L,” and the balcony was on four of the six sides overlooking Broadway and the Cumberland River). An item of note, to be added later in the story, was the large green letters that were part of an old sign and were being used as decoration on the deck. I remember the other two individuals who accompanied me were Asian.

We generally did not accompany individuals past the outside of the doors, and as I was manning the phones, I went back to my job. Several minutes later—could have been half an hour—they returned, thanked me, and disappeared behind the elevator doors.

The following day, February 8th, at about 11 a.m., I was at my desk when the elevator door opened again and a familiar face emerged, but this time with no smile. A green hoodie covered her head, and she desired to go back to once again see the sights of Nashville. She went out on her own. Several minutes later, Kimberly Morrissey came to the desk and suggested I go to lunch… so away I went.

Now, this is where the events begin to be slightly unclear, but here is my recollection. Due to some of the air staff and management being in Atlanta, I went from my lunch break to the WRLG studio. (WRLG was a modern rock format that aired music from artists like Third Eye Blind, Nine Inch Nails, Pearl Jam, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers). Several songs into the hour, Kimberly came into the studio and told me that she had just gotten a phone call from the bank building adjacent to the L&C and that she needed me to go out on the deck and check on what she was told was a woman who looked like she was going to jump. I had no idea what I was preparing to see when I went out there. It had been two hours since the young woman had gone out on the observation deck, and I had no reason to believe that it was the same woman. My recollection is that I left the WRLG studio and was replaced by The Reverend Keith Coes.

Now, there are three access points to the deck—one outside the WRLT studios, which was on the opposite side of the bank building that had purportedly called in the situation. The other I mentioned before, and the third was from the offices of Bone Magazine. While Bone had windows along two sides of the building, they were always closed, and full-length curtains blocked the sunlight. So, I made my way out of the center of the building. There were three turns that had to be made before reaching the side of the building where the young woman was. After the second turn, I walked past the shuttered doors of Bone Magazine and instantly saw her.

Her name was Morningstar Greene. She was a recently divorced 20-year-old woman who had been married to a 46-year-old man and was living in a communal-type facility in Tompkinsville, Kentucky. Unbeknownst to me, the young lady was suffering from depression and, as I would later learn, was the victim of abuse. She had been saved from jumping off what is now known as the John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge in downtown Nashville on two different occasions. But today, there would be no talking her down.

I was within five feet of the young woman, who was already perched on the outside of the observation wall and sitting on the metal rail above the concrete. She recognized that I was there, turning her head toward me and staring me straight in the eye. In less than a second, her gaze still upon me, she stood up on the concrete wall and stepped off. I am not sure if I screamed aloud or whether it rattled around in my brain—"NO!"

I quickly ran to the edge to see if I could reach her, but her descent had already begun. The picture is still alive in my head, even to this day, 29 years later. The woman in the green hoodie, her arms straight out to her sides like the Vitruvian Man sketched by Leonardo da Vinci, began to rotate her arms as if trying to keep upright. I could not avert my eyes—I was frozen, not only physically but also in time. In seconds, it was all over. Morningstar Greene hit the first-story protrusion of the L&C Tower after falling 30 floors. I stared for a brief second at the lifeless speck on the ground before the shaking began, followed by sobs and uncontrollable tears. I don’t remember who came to my side first to console me, but at first, they were unaware of what had transpired.

“What’s wrong?”

“She jumped… she jumped” is all I remember saying. As I was escorted back into the building, I looked down on the deck and saw the large green sign letters that could be plainly seen from the elevator lobby—"LEAP" is what they read. I pointed to them and said, "It spells LEAP!"—still shaking and sobbing. It was ironic, but not malicious, nor did anyone ever believe that it would be the sign that one person needed to confirm their destiny. The letters were quickly rearranged by several members of the station, knowing that the publicity would be detrimental to the station.

I was brought to Ned Horton’s office, and shortly after, he and owner Lester Turner were there to support me and discern the course of events. Within about what I perceived as 15 minutes, the Nashville/Davidson police were in the office asking me questions about the situation and how it unfolded. The aforementioned story is what I told the officers. And now that I am remembering, I believe they called the pastor of the church I was attending, and he came and visited with me. The police said that she had a crushed Walkman with a Green Day tape in it—Insomniac. When they shared that with me, I remembered her whisking past me, hearing the song “Brain Stew” blaring from her headphones.

Several minutes would pass before I slowly calmed down, yet all that I could hear in my head was, What could I have done to save this young woman? Was there anything?

The days that followed were equally as stressful as Morningstar’s family came to the L&C Tower to see where she was when the incident happened. Of course, they wanted to visit the last place she was before her death, but being on the observation deck would not be allowed. I was at the desk when they arrived, and her mother introduced herself to me, as well as a brother and sister. I learned from them of the troubles that she had been having, and they were quick to reassure me that they knew it was not my fault, nor did they hold any animosity toward me. I also learned about her living in a commune and the tumultuous relationship with her elder husband.

It was a tough day, and the trauma was not quite over. On Monday, I returned to work, and after parking my car, I walked to the building and looked at the place where Morningstar would come to rest. All clean, as if nothing ever happened. But then I walked past the Kinko’s that occupied the first floor, and I was quickly triggered again when I saw pieces of the young woman still on the outside of the window—small, but noticeably human flesh. I went inside, took the elevator up to the building offices, and told them they needed to wash the windows.

Now, the last thing of note was several months later when the musician Junior Brown’s video crew was at the building and was allowed to film on the observation deck for a music video—a video that would eventually depict a woman falling to her death from the exact spot where Morningstar had leapt to her death. And in case you don’t believe me… you can see the video yourself: Venom Wearing Denim. In poor taste, to say the least, considering what had happened.

Now, as a side note: when I mention the trauma continuing, I have to say that it was more indignation on my part. I have never had any wild or crazy dreams or sudden outbursts from having witnessed this and have even used humor at times to brush off any of the effects of the events of those two days in February—1996!

Part of My Journey

 

Here is a piece of information for you. For you to determine whether it is cool or not...

In 1973, I was 12 years old. I went to Sacred Heart School on 1st and Ft. Lowell in Tucson, Arizona. I was in 8th grade. Our school was set up in a horseshoe, with the first-grade room on the tip of the left heel of the shoe. Second and third grade followed, and then a breezeway. After that, I believe there was an office of sorts. I kind of remember it that way because it had a ditto machine.

After that was a small room off the porch that had a window. Inside the room was a microphone that was connected to the loudspeakers in the courtyard. Next, in the left corner, was the cafeteria, then the fourth-grade classroom, the nun’s office, and then a catechism room. After the turn were the 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th-grade rooms. By that time, a hole had been cut through the concrete walls on that side of the school, and a self-paced learning system was implemented with science, language arts, math, etc.

I don’t remember when lunch was served, but after grabbing a quick bite, I would go to the room with the microphone, plug in a small record player, and start spinning tunes—announcing the songs and the artists. (Occasionally… if I remember, George Toto would join me.)

At that time, I had no idea what significance that would have on my life, but here I am, 52 years later, the owner (with my lovely bride, Deb Jameson) of Coast Radio—KCST and KCFM—with our partner, Jon Thompson.

To further point out the path, I was in Greenville, South Carolina, going to a very strict Bible college and was taking a break after the first semester of my second year of undergrad. I was dating a young woman who worked for the local 100,000-watt Christian/classical radio station. One evening, I arrived to pick her up after her shift and was introduced to Willie Thompson, the program director of the station. When we spoke, Willie said, "Have you ever thought about a job in radio?"

Oddly enough, I had. He hired me right then (sort of like Jon Thompson did 36 years later).

Back and forth across the country—marriage, struggle, moving to Nashville to become a hit songwriter—I ended up in a crappy restaurant job that fired me because I was blowing the whistle on all of the drug trafficking that was occurring with the kitchen manager and the regional vice president in cahoots. (I complained to the RVP, which was my mistake… who knew?)

I then took a job in telemarketing, and after several weeks, I began to think about those radio jobs I had and how well they fit my personality. But the trick was, "How do I get a job like that?" Well, this was in the early '90s, and faxing was the norm. I wrote a letter and faxed it to several radio stations in the area, and I heard back from three of them. (It was a comical piece of writing where I "tongue in cheek" purported to be the perfect candidate for toilet cleaning, car washing, and whatever else I could do to get in the door.)

It was here that I met Kimberly Morrissey. She was the assistant to the GM, Ned Horton. To my surprise, they hired me and put me at the front desk to answer phones... but I wasn't destined to stay there. I was one of those multitaskers who simultaneously knew the exact location of each sales staff member, wrote copy for Bob Dale, wrote a marketing plan, and researched air handlers for the studios. It was only a week before I was able to procure my first "fill-in" air shift for the legendary Keith Coes.

I then got the chance to do production, voice commercials, and produce the Nashville Knights hockey broadcasts as the board operator. Unfortunately, a traumatic incident that I witnessed kind of turned the tides momentarily, and I left to work for the president and CEO of Gibson Guitars. Through my restaurant experience, I was able to convince him to let me operate his coffeehouse music venue on Broadway, next to Planet Hollywood, as COO.

I did that until one night, when another staff member and I were counting the money, and she was turning in her tips, the door burst open. A cocaine-fueled individual accused us of stealing because I was giving her the cash for her "ones" that she was turning in. We managed to calm this person down and show them what we were doing, and he left satisfied. But it was at that moment that I realized this was not a good relationship.

So, after about six months there, I revisited the radio station "Lightning 100." It was under new management with GM David Tune and Sales Manager Erin Rosiello. They hired me for sales but soon realized that I was much more valuable in production, on the air, and in marketing. (Many cool stories surrounding that, but another time.)

I remained there for several years until 2000 when, out of a sense of fatherhood, I left for North Carolina. My father-in-law gave me one of his businesses to run so that we would move closer and he could be part of his two grandchildren's lives.

To make this extremely long story even longer—that lasted until the marriage fell apart. I left for Arizona with my son, Kai, and we stayed away for a year before moving back to North Carolina. I then got a job with WTZQ Radio and met my buddy, Mark Warwick. I worked my way up, got the morning show, paid well, and then left for Oregon.

With the exception of a year-long stint with KXL News in Portland, I landed in Florence—where, as I mentioned before, I was hired in the parking lot less than five minutes after meeting the owner and now partner, Jon Thompson.

The end… but not!

Pork Roll Obsession Defined

 If you follow my posts, but don't read my blogs, I understand.  I actually don't write them for anyone but myself, but I thought that many of you who are not family would probably like to know what the obsession is with posting pictures of my Taylor Ham sandwiches.

We all have that one memory, don't we?  The one that brings back a smile or a warm feeling that we haven't experienced since we were children.  Not that we haven't had warm feelings and smiles all along the way, but that somewhat special time, that nostalgic time that we hold on to, because nothing in the present will bring it back.  That is what Pork Roll is to me.  Those of you who were not born or had family ties to the Garden State of New Jersey, will have little to no knowledge of what a pork roll sandwich is...but there are many deviations.  There is just the meat, grilled with a little char, on a toasted and buttered Kaiser roll, and by kaiser roll, i don't mean those soft, preservative filled ones that you can buy on the grocery store shelf, I mean the bakery ones that have a crisp outer shell and tender bleached white dough in the middle.  You place a stack of sliced pork roll in that and you have all that you need to satiate your apetite.  However, there are those that like it different.  My cousin, Jim Klak, posted that I did not have the egg and cheese in one of my latest postings, so I made one that way and posted it.  Oh, and I ate it too and i hat to say it but Jim was on to something!  But I still favor the plain, buttered kaiser, toasted, with the pork roll.  and here is where the obsession takes root...

My sister, Georgette, was getting married to Edwin Stromenger back in 1973.  I would have been 12 years old then. She was living in New Jersey while the rest of the family had moved almost a decade prior to Arizona.  So we traveled to the great state of New Jersey for the wedding.  I clearly remember one day, when it was just my father and I heading to my great-aunt Agnes' house on Lindbergh Boulevard in Bloomfield and we stopped short of her house to a little deli that was somewhere near the Garden State Parkway and Lindbergh.  We sat at the counter and my father seemingly knew the owner of the establishment, we ordered.  Both getting the Taylor Ham on a Kaiser.  It was the last memory of Taylor Ham in New Jersey with my dad that I remember.  There were several times in Arizona when my great-aunt Mary on my mother's side of the family would send a christmas care package with a roll in the packaging, but it wasn't the same.  I mean it was the same, but different.  and in fact one year, we had gone on a short trip and the package came and we had to toss it out because we feared that it had set too long without refrigeration. But back to the origination of my obsession.  I lost my father in October of 1984.  12 plus years after my sister's wedding and 12 plus years after the last childhood memory of pork roll and dad.  When I think of the ability to get pork roll today almost anywhere in the United States, dut to the wonderful world of the web, I know I can relive that memory with just a single  bite of the sandwich, even though you cannot get a fresh baked Kaiser Roll to save you life.  I honestly cannot eat pork roll without reliving something about my dad and New Jersey.  A birthright of sorts I guess.  

That's my memory and my reason for obsessing over the overly processed meat treat that few know.  Recently I saw an interview with Jon Bon Jovi and he was discussing the Pork Roll phenomenom.  he had expressed that many think of New Jersey in halves.  the North and the South, one likes mustard on their pork roll and the others like ketsup.  Well, Jon, I have never heard of such a travesty, but I guess there are those who just don't like the greasy, salty flavor or it all by itself.  as for me...just give it to me like i described earlier.  No need to doctor it up with any condiment!  And for the record, Jim Klak, I have been doing the egg and cheese on occasion, and I admit, I kinda like it!  I think it is because I can't find the right roll to put it on!

 Some things to think about:

Have you ever entertained the thought that being pro-choice is not automatically being pro-abortion?  The thought that someone has the right to choose for themselves when it comes to their own body, their own health, their own well-being should be about personal responsibility.  I could not see myself standing in someone elses shoes and telling them "this is what you should do."  Is there a possibility that someone would do something morally wrong or even morally reprehensible?  Absolutely, but that is the case in so many acts of life.  I have actually witnessed someone ranting about women who get abortions and then turn around and get in a car after having one too many drinks.

I understand those that have a personal belief based on their religion.  But even in that I have noticed that people tend to pick and choose what parts of their religion to support, while dismissing other important tenets. 

I still think the best way forward is to be introspective and fix the things in our own lives and live  fully according to our belief system.  If that were done, I believe you would see a much kinder world.

I made the observation that being pro-gun does not mean you are pro-murder, however murders do occur sometimes from a gun. There are so many comparisons that can be made to things inherently good that have the potential for bad outcomes, and again it should come down to personal responsibility.

Mirror Mirror on the wall...

When I look in the mirror I don't see what you see when you look at me.  The blemishes are different, the faults are different, the beauty is different.  But what is even more evident is that the mirror itself is not without its flaws. While inanimate, it also has a perspective that differs from our own.

What initiated this train of thought for me was a recent text conversation with one of my grown children.  He was seeing me from a light that I did not know existed.  Harboring resentment towards me for his upbringing and the turmoil that he witnessed from the father and mother dynamic.  While, I believe, we tried to provide the most for our children, we were often embattled in our own relationship with bitterness, and anger  (which both parents will have a different perception of).

He said he felt discarded by me, and while I cannot characterize it as he did, there were circumstances that led him back and forth between his mother and I after the marriage crumbled.  Backing up, I watched him as he grew up and he was an angry child, battling demons that may or may not have been a result of the home environment. but abandonment was not one of them.  It is complicated, no doubt.  I can think of many things that I could have done better, many ways I could have improved upon my own life and by osmosis improved upon his.  But over the years, he always had a home should he have chosen to be with me.  But my desire to fight with his stubborn nature waned and as he grew older, any advice I had for him was heard, I suppose, but not heeded.  So as a parent of an adult child, I felt it was time for him to make his way.  Still willing to add advice, but never unsolicited.

So during our conversation, he said he needed me as a mentor.  A role I honestly was not aware of him needing.  Mostly due to the fact that he oft times did it the way he wanted, against better judgment.

When he said that i was not there for him, I started the list in my head.  The list of times that may or may not have added up to sufficient.

He quit school in his freshmen year - Helped him get his GED.

Wanted to go to school for mechanics - arrainged funding through my sister to pay for it.

Got a call....needed money (several calls over the years) - was there most if not for all of those calls.

I know that money is not a substitute for personal interaction, but i helped him where he said he needed help.  Do I wish that things had been different?  Sure, what parent can't look back and see areas where improvement could have been made.

Was I a bad or neglectful parent?  I didn't think so until this conversation.  

But when I look at the circumstances I see how perspective can rule how we see life.  My perspective is obviously skewed, as I believe his is.

But what it all comes down to is that he and I both miss each other.  We have different ways of expressing it.  And now at almost 33 he feels it, as do I.  It was never my intention to let so many years and miles go between us, but it has.

We have something that I did not have growing up.  You see, I lost my dad when I was 23.  I never got the chance to ask him advice as a young father, worker, husband.  And that is not what I wanted for my kids. yet at the same time, I never pictured my dad coming to me and offer advice unsolicited.  I am who I am because of the decisions I made on my own, and to be perfectly honest, I am in a great place.  But it took me a few years to recognize it.

We HAVE to be thankful for what we have, where we are, and the road it took to bring us to the place we are in.  To harbor ill will, regret, and anger will only serve to bring us poor health, poor wealth, and unhappiness.

To my children:  I love you. Maybe not how you want to be loved, but it is how I know how to do it from my experiences.  Room to Grow?  Most Definitely.

Living in a Dream.

 As some people may know, I consider myself an Arizonan.  Most of my formative years were spent in the desert.  Catholic school for most of my education until college and growing up in the family business of restaurants. But my mother and father were born and raised on the east coast in New Jersey.  It was actually the place of my birth, and for some weird reason I shyed away from that part of my heritage.  As I am growing older, the place has taken on more meaning for me, so much so that what little memory I do have is being replayed over and over in dreams.  Dreams that have a similar theme or place that change ever so slightly with each time they occur.

My birthplace was Bloomfield, New Jersey. For the first three and a half years we lived in two different homes in the same general neighborhood (within walking distance of each other).  The first was on the corner of Hickory and Sycamore street in a neighborhood where many of the homes were built by my great grandfather whom i never met.  Some of the homes were taken when the state constructed the New Jersey Turnpike, but many of the homes still exist.  I was going to add "oddly enough it was the same street (Hickory) that my mother grew up on", though history tells me that it was not odd at all, it was how many families lived.  I visited the area several  years ago, and as i have recounted at least once before in a similar post, the concrete outline of the above ground swimming pool that was erected in 1960 was still prominant in the back  yard.  My great-aunt's home, now inhabited by my cousins, still looking the same.  There are pictures of me and my family that jog memories of those early years, but I can still remember several of them as if they happened yesterday.  One vivid one was that of our pet pig, Willy, (yes we had a pet pig) running through the house and out the back door into the pool area, my mother swatting at it with a broom.  I can also remember my dad taking me in the pool and bouncing me up and down and pulling me around in a plastic inflatable doughnut.  My father, at this point in his life, I believed was a salesman, possibly working for Proctor and Gamble (i know that was one of his jobs), but had previously been a Bloomfield Police officer and a fireman.  My godfather was the mayor of Bloomfield, Ralph Conte, a close friend of my Fathers. My mother, if memory serves me, stayed at home and raised the children (4- I was the youngest).  She had worked for Bell Telephone for a while and had dreams of being a clothing designer in New York.  

At some point in my first three and 3/4 years we moved out of that house into a home on Belleville Avenue.  The home was marked by a bright red front door and sat upon a hill.  At one point the circus came to town and was sponsored by the Jersey Jaycees (junior chamber of commerce).  As a publicity stunt a trailer loaded with two elephants pulled up in front of our house and unloaded.  The elephants were brought up our driveway and posed for a picture of several men trying to fit them into our barn (it seems odd now that we had a traditional barn in our yard complete with a loft).  There are a couple of photos of my dad holding me while I feed one of them a peanut and a photo of the men pushing the elephant's behinds into the barn.

I could go on and on, but I know how attention spans work, so I will get to the inspiration of this post...

We moved to Arizona in the summer of 1964.  I was three and a half years old.  We only lived there for a short time before heading back to New Jersey.  I am not sure why we moved back, maybe home-sickness, maybe a failed attempt at the restaurant business, maybe my dad didn't like working for the mines as security, I don't know, but we left.  We returned to Bloomfield and stayed for a short period in an apartment while my parents looked for a home.  I am not exactly sure of the time frame, but i remember attending first grade at Sacred Heart School.  So, to the point...Last night I dreamed of a little deli/sandwich shop that my father would take me to get a pork roll sandwich on a toasted, buttered Kaiser roll.  It seems that is was on a main street, possibly Bloomfield Avenue, but time and memory have changed that truth.  My first dreams were that of my father interacting with the owner, someone he was obviously acquainted with, from his youthful years in the town. But through my years the dream has changed with the location being different, yet oddly familiar. The way you ordered, the seating setup etcetera. Thankfully the memory of the smell has remained even to this day and in last night's recollection.  But last night there was a new owner of the establishment, an older, grey haired woman that was working the grill with patrons standing at the raised counter where you could view the making of your sandwich.  There were rolls slathered in marinara and cheese awaiting a meat ball topping and pork roll sizzling on the grill.  There was an older gentleman sitting with another in a booth and I told the lady that he was the son of the original owner, late 70's in age.  She told me that he was also in a band that went around on tour that played for the likes of Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennet.  While the dream was a total fabrication of my mind, there were many familiarities.

So going back to my original sentence...I may have grown up in Arizona, called it home, and told many a folk that it was where I came from, the truth is that I cannot escape my geographical DNA.  I'm a Jersey boy.  It is in my blood and most definitely in my dreams.  Mom and Dad are gone, ties are no longer there, at least not for me.  You see we moved again back to Arizona within two years. This summer some cousins are organizing a family reunion which my oldest sister plans to attend, but that is because she did not return to Arizona with us in the late 60's, she went back to Bloomfield where she attended Trenton State College.  I thought about going, but I don't know any of them, not one.  I remember brief interactions with some, but not enough to buy a ticket and spend a day with them.  Most of the evidence of my Jersey roots are gone, leaving Arizona in the forefront where I went to school and made friends that are still around today.  but the one lasting, vivid memory will always be me, my dad and pork roll on a grilled, buttered Kaiser roll.

Hopefully I will feel inspired to continue the story, there is so much to tell...

Lucky Me

 I have said it many times before, but I consider myself the luckiest man alive (my apologies to Lou Gherig).

I grew up blessed and knew at an early age that I had an angel on my shoulder, albeit there was a devil on the other one, but nonetheless.  I had opportunities and experiences that I deem as wonderful and transformational.  some of the stories I have shared in this blog, so I will not go into all of those, but some of the highlights, which obviously molded my path stick out.  as those of you that know me know that I am somewhat enamored with celebrity.  Not because they are anything special to deserve praise or adulation, but rather that they found a path that led them to success.  Okay, that's a little bit of BS...yes of course it is because they are famous, but let me tell you how my reverence for the celebrity came about...

I was introduced to my share of celebrities in my formative years, individuals that came off of the television screen and wandered into my life.  as early as 8 years old I can remember meeting them from Bill Bradley to Forest Tucker to my all time favorite Ricardo Montalban.  then when my parents opened a restaurant just 2 1/2 miles from Old Tucson, the famous movie studio, they kept coming.  in my early 20's it was religious leaders, rock stars, pro wrestlers and a few politicians.  then in the 90's it was all rock and roll.  working for a AAA format radio station I was introduced to folks like Billy Preston, Jewel, Bernie Taupin, Keith Urban (the Ranch version, not the current one), Natalie Merchant and the list goes on and on.  in the 2000's it was politicians and more musicians/actors.  Football players turned Congressman, first ladies turned Senators (wink wink), Playwrights, famous songwriters, etc.  it took a little different turn in the 2010's it was all about authors.  Judy Collins, Lee Child et al.  Most recently I got to meet La Femme Nikita actress Peta Wilson.  She and her partner were at our house for dinner and for a brief moment she considered maybe settling down in Florence and working for our Radio Station.  and as I am reminiscing through the ages I realize that this was just the tip of the iceberg and many were left out.  Yes I know it is name dropping and I say so what.  I am sharing my experiences.  

All this to repeat that I have been blessed.  and I have gravitated towards the famous and sometime infamous for some reason.  the thing that I have learned through all this is that they are people.  Just like me, just like you, and at the same time, not like anyone else on earth.

If you ever hear me complain...mention this to me.  I have not reason to complain.

Thankful, blessed.  but wait, that's not all. over the years I have been married, divorced, married and divorced again, tried and was not as successful at the end as I thought I would be going in to it, but that too has come full circle:  A loving, beautiful, joyful creature to spend these days with, who also considers herself blessed.  Thanks!  Her name is Deb.

The Asparagas Separation

 As a child, I can only imagine that my memories are a bit skewed by circumstances, lack of available perspective, and the utter lack of understanding the triggers my parents brought to each life event that i personally experienced.  It was 1972, i was 11 years old.  My parents, particularly my mother, would complain that we had little, and at times just a few years earlier only $.20 in the checking account, yet as i sat at the kitchen counter of our 2nd home in Tucson awaiting dinner I did not know what was about to transpire.  My sister, Joanne, was also joining us that evening.  I believe the main dish was pork chops, but on the counter sat a can of vegetables.  Asparagus!

Now it may be hard to believe, but at 11 years old I have no memory of ever eating asparagus before, but I do have a memory of the taste of it, so it must have happened, or perhaps the smell was enough to dissuade me.  

Dad was at the sink, back to me, and was washing something or perhaps preparing the breading for the pork.  Mom was opening a can of asparagus when i exclaimed (blurted out, casually announced, vehemently opposed - I leave all possibilities open) that I did not like asparagus and that I was not going to eat it.  It was then I experienced something that I have never before seen:  A well of volcanic lava in the form of verbal frustration exploded from my mom (now i will admit, it may have been a little less explosive but the following events make me say no)

The parental go to, from mom, started with the obligatory "When I was a child, we ate what was put before us."

then the childlike response of "I am not eating it!"

"Then you will go to your room and get nothing!"

That is all that i remember of the conversation, but I remember resigning to my room.  There was then some conversation in the kitchen that i was not privy to and a bag was packed and mom was gone.  She had left the house and gone to the Spears' house.  Everett and Iris, a much older couple than my parents and friends that were customers of one of the restaurants that my parents owned.  it was the last time I would see my mom for about 3 months.  and it was now summer time.  School was out and I was hanging out with dad at our other restaurant, the MCW (Museum Chuck Wagon) "The Restaurant."

This is only the second time I had seen cracks in the familial foundation, the other was a night that my father stormed out of the house (back when we only had one), but was only gone for about an hour before calling and begging to come home.  He was not as determined as my mother, or perhaps not as willing to fin for himself.  Mom, on the other hand, was Mrs. Determined.  after spending the weekend at the Spears, we learned that she had moved back into the house out in the desert.  for the next three months I am not sure what conversations my parents had, but there was obviously some renconciling going on, because by the time school resumed, all had returned to normal.

As an adult, I can look back at that time and realize that my place in what happened was a minor nuisance compared to things I was unaware were happening, but it did remind me that children often see things for what their involvement was and that carries on into adulthood and how they then react to circumstances.  And with that deeper understanding, I also realized that my mother and father were carrying their own triggers.  The only way to avoid those types of altercations is through learning, Unfortunately the learning usually comes after the event.  and after the can of Asparagus is opened.

Well, well, well, so how have you been?

Fine, thanks for asking.  it has been a while since I spent time to specifically write something for the blog, in fact I often dismiss the feeling of "need" because I am the only one who truly knows of its existence, but just for shits and giggles, I thought I would catch myself up on what I have been doing.

After a very bitter divorce, but well worth the freedom that followed, i returned to the Oregon Coast at the behest of my former boss, Jon Thompson.  You see after flitting around the country following a broken spirit, I decided to do what was best for me.  I don't often think about taking care of myself, but then I get a little bitter when i find myself in the position of "having" to think of others.  That is some pretty inane thinking when I step back and objectively look at it.

So anyway, I packed up all my belongings from my Mount Juliet, Tennessee residence and headed back to Oregon.  It was quite a prophetic thing that happened.  On the day that I pronounced that I was "finished" being manipulated, the phone rang -not more than an hour later-.  It was my predecessor, Bob.  He informed me that he was quitting and that I could expect a call from Jon inquiring of my current situation.  I thanked Bob and hung up the phone.  30 minutes later it rang again.  It was Jon.  Job offer, quick turn around (three weeks) and I had to be in my seat at the station, ready to go by May 1st.  

This was going to take some divine providence to make happen.  Afterall I had just dropped the divorce bombshell and she was not too happy about it.  I had to file for divorce, get an agreement with my soon to be ex...promise her a butt load of money, and find a way to get back to Oregon with little or no money in my pocket.  Not a big deal.  Been there, done that, and was better off and I knew that this time would be no different.  So I went to work on it.

The biggest difficulty was talking to my then boss, Tony Didier.  You see, I had just been offered the GM position at the new radio station that I had spent the last three months remodeling: WHIN.  The plan was for me to take over the morning show, do news, day to day operations and the rest.  I had committed to the job, but when the phone rang and Jon gave me the details of what I would be earning, it far exceeded what WHIN was offering with half the responsibility.  Added to that that there was the possibility that I would remain in the same town as my ex... and no way was I up for that.  So I broke the news to Tony.  Long story, long... I made all the deals I needed to make, filed the papers I needed to file, rented the truck and car dolly and waved goodbye to the town that I have loved since my youth (ok, since my late 20's).

In a side note, I had agreed to pay my ex $1650.00 a month for 13 months. and pay half of her tuition bill that she had accrued during our marriage.  Fine, no problem.  I knew that the money I would be making would more than allow for that to happen...more on that later.

So I said my goodbyes, hit the road and headed west.  by this time I had about 7 days left before my deadline and i knew that if I wanted to start from a successful advantage, I should arrive a few days early to at least have time with my predecessor to glean what I could from him.  So I beelined for the coast.  I arrived on April 27th of 2017 (an interesting date to be explored later) and I had prearranged living quarters through Tim Sapp at TR Hunter Real Estate.  It was all coming together.  Got to my work, acclimated to the office climate and hit the ground running.  WHEW!  did I say Whrilwind?  I certainly meant to.

The next 12 months were the most difficult 12 months that I can remember, not because of the job, but because of the ex.  I had to block nearly everyone that was a friend of hers that also accumulated over time, because she was starting a Russian-like incursion into my life that consisted of half-truths and some outright lies.  Then there was the financial aspect, while not a burden it was a fight.  I will go back to my "more on that later" segment.

According to the documents signed before a judge and submitted to the courts in Tennessee I had agreed to pay spousal support of $1650.00 a month for 13 months.  Enough to allow her to pay rent and utilities for over a year.  she would just have to provide food and car insurance and gas.  I began paying the money on June first meaning that my last payment would be on June 1st equaling 13 months.  Well, she did not see it that way.  the finalized divorce papers were not signed by a judge until July 7th, which she decreed entitled her to a 14th month of support.  There were threatening letters, texts, phony lawyer letters (or maybe real) demanding another payment of $1650.00.  HA!  I could tell that I was not concerned by the way I argued through the situation.  You see the documents only said 13 payments, not 13 payments from the date of the divorce decree.  It took some time, but she finally quit harassing me after a few demands to cease and desist.  Despite my consistent adherence to the decree she refused to let me abide by the decree and constantly accused me of breaking the agreement, however the court saw it differently.  It was a slow process, but the nasty posts on Facebook quietly calmed down to vague references of her ex rather that the spewing out of my name.  Friends came out in my defense and even shared personal private conversations that painted an entirely different light.

I still have some of the emails back and forth and as I read them I see the different realities we were both living in.  Quite a shame honestly.

enough for now.  If you want to read more, just ask.  

Hard Feelings

 

It is difficult at times for me to have compassion for those who determine to wreak havoc with their words.  Today was the passing of a very controversial figure in media and as i scrolled through many of the posts on social media I noticed friend after friend being compassionate.  Many, I believe, because they were on the same side of the fight as the person who died.  I immediately looked to see how many likes they had regarding their post and made a mental note of the individuals that agreed with the sentiment.  I have often said that i would not judge a friend for having different beliefs than me, but that does not mean that I will put myself in a position to argue the point.  I find it senseless to engage in political or religious debate because I will not change their way of thinking, nor will they mine.  It's set.  That program in my brain has chummed through all the data and added the wisdom of years and cemented my position.  My politics and religious choices will not differ.  That is not the same as an education though.  I am very open to learning new things and hearing new ideas...if they are truly new.  but rehashing the old is not something with which i want to waste my time.  Give me a new discovery in medicine, enlighten me about the cosmos, update me on the latest technology...my ears are open.  The rest?  Keep to yourself.  Bring me joy, love, peace, and happiness.  Leave your pettiness, hate filled speech,  and conspiracies behind.

The End Game

 As I sit behind my desk and contemplate the final hours of our current president a thought stumbled through my brain:  What if the Pardon/Commutation aspect of the presidency was his End Game.  What if all along he was waiting for the end so that he could protect some of the people that either supported him, or had "something" on him.  I know that is sounds crazy, but as I looked at the previous list of people that he pardoned, I didn't see a whole lot of wrongfully accused.  I saw Wall Street Cheaters, Drug Dealers, Murder suspects, etc.  There were no socially significant individuals.  Not that former President Obama didn't have a share of equally questionable people on his list, but he also righted some injustices along the way a feat that has yet to materialize with the Trump list.  But that should be known shortly.

The state of things...

 It is probably good that I have the job that I have.  Everyday I look at the news and try to glean stories that relate a factual message without adding my own bias.  It is normally an easy thing to do, and thankfully I work in news at a local and regional level.  If I were someone who had to report the current national situation, I might find that my integrity would come in question.  I get so frustrated watching events unfold and then watching everyone react to them.  Left side, Right side, the ones in the middle all wanting people to believe in their causes.  And when mainstream media portrays them you rarely, if ever see mainstream America represented.  you see the country as it has been fractional-ized.  You see the dreads and the downtrodden.  You see people that are upset with their lot in life and rather than try to do something to make it better, they find someone to blame for it all.  Then comes along a leader, that for all intent and purpose, is one of them.  At least in words and deeds.  Someone who knows how to manipulate for his own purpose.  And at first he comes across as a beacon of light, a distraction from the norm for which we have grown accustomed,  but a closer look and cracks begin to appear in the shiny bright picture that has been painted.  it happens slowly over time, not that many of us didn't notice it, but so many were oblivious, because he spoke as one of them.  He used their rhetoric and their vernacular and he became the voice of the disenfranchised.  He brought out the bias and prejudice and flaunted it before the nation.  He was foul, uncouth, and any reverence he had was self-directed.

I know that many of my friends supported, and many still support, him without regard to his behavior or his twisting of the truth, or outright lies created from his own mind.  They didn't see his character based on the company he kept, the people he surrounded himself with, and many who knew him, perhaps didn't know the real him.  The celebrities that spoke highly of him were in a circle all their own.  Because He craved adoration, so he acted in a way that made others adore him.  And the ones that did speak out were vilified in public forums, ridiculed over social media platforms and called 'stupid' or 'idiot'.

We have seen the worst of human nature in the recent past, and I am afraid that the future holds more of the same, even in His absence.  Others will take his lead and build upon the rubble left in his wake.  I would pray for redemption, but i fear we are far removed from that.  I will pray, however, that my words are not a prediction of a future dark and filled with the socially unconscious.

A Teachable Moment

A Teachable Moment.

As a young man, growing up in the desert southwest, I was not privy to some of the prejudices that permeated the nation...Wait, yes I was.  I was just not aware at that time in my youth as to the effect prejudices had on those whom prejudices were being inflicted.  I can remember telling off color jokes against every race, culture, and socio-economic class.  I never once thought of the effect I might be having against those groups or individuals.  I then moved to South Carolina when I was 18 to go to Bob Jones University.  It was a religious institution, but at the time it was still filled with the racial prejudices for which the south was well-known for identifying.  It had been less than 10 years since they allowed their first black student on campus and interracial dating was not permitted.  It was during my college education that I began to see a change in myself.  At first I was following the college's line and justifying their reasoning behind their prejudices, using bible versus to support their beliefs, but I began to work in local restaurants and worked along side a diverse group of people, people of different races, different and alternative lifestyles, and economic status.  This is where my growth potential, I believe, had the advantage over those who were born and raised in the south.  I didn't have the history ingrained into my psyche that would prevent or inhibit me from learning.

For example, in high school in Arizona I went to school with one, maybe two black families. In South Carolina I worked with a large population of blacks, as well as those who lived alternative lifestyles and I began to see that prejudices were a result of a lack of education on my part, because when you work with a group of people, you begin to see the human side of prejudice and how it negatively effects them.  It also taught me that prejudice is not always a result of how people view differences, but how prejudice actually influences those differences.  How you may perceive the way a person acts may actually be a direct result of prejudice.  I would hear whites say things like, "you haven't had to live with them your whole life, you don't know what they're like."  But then speaking with another person who has been affected by prejudice who says "my race has been minimalized for the last several hundred years" I began to see why the clashes cut so deep.

So moving ahead to more recent events, things once again arise that make it necessary for me to re-evaluate.  I have come to learn that people that have been distanced from the direct result of prejudice don't necessarily have the same take on prejudicial things.  People that I have met, and had specific conversations with, on the west coast don't necessarily get the "big deal" of the Confederate Flag.  They haven't had to look at the systemic problem in the same way that someone from the south, or even the northeast in some cases, look at it.  And don't get me wrong, I certainly understand the argument that says we have a right to fly a flag, whatever flag, but we also have a social responsibility, that unfortunately was not written into a constitution, that says we must exhibit the human decency that respects all life.

I, for one, am a living testament to change on this issue.  I am thankful that my children have had parents that look past race and other stereotypes to see individuals instead of color, lifestyle, and economic status.

Am I free of prejudice?  No, not in the least.  It is in human nature to pre-judge, the beautiful part of it, though, is when you educate yourself and make new judgments based on personal knowledge.  For I have found, that when I familiarized myself with an issue I come away with a much more balanced view.  Broaden your views…or not, but at least understand something's complete influence on society and not just how your little corner of the world sees it.

My 2 cents.