'TIME FLIES' & OTHER TRUISMS

      Or, as the Romans might have said it: Tempus Fugit !
And, here's a similar truism  : "Time and Tide wait for None"  Not very long ago I resonated with the quip, "Inside every old person is young person wondering what the heck happened"  Here at the almost end of another year as I move towards an 81st birthday, the Simon and Garfunkel words carry especial poignancy: "Slow down, you're moving too fast !!"

    Several recent experiences have focused my awareness of this phenomenon:  First, in late November while reviewing dates on inactive client charts I was struck by the awareness that those I  thought were just recently terminated had been closed for 8 or 10 years or longer.

    Then, my daughter posted  pictures of our two grand-children next to their Christmas tree ---one was when they were wee kidders ten years ago.  This year when she and her husband realized that the teenagers were taller than the tree itself, they had to build a platform for the tree.  But then, their mom was that  size 'the day before yesterday' !

    This Christmas we returned to the same coastal area where we have frequently vacationed, most recently the previous two holiday seasons.  Passing familiar locales conjured memories of events we thought occurred recently but upon closer review, we realized happened way back then.

     Well, then, is there a 'lesson' or a 'moral' or a 'truism' for me within all the above?  Closest that I have been able to ascertain thus far is Carpe Diem --- "seize the day" --- (which contrary to one wag does not mean 'the catch of the day' nor the full Latin quote which some 'translate' as  'eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow you may die'.)  I tend more towards something like 'be grateful for each day I have; for enriching memories and for Hope for the future.  And, I know, it all can sound  idealistic or naive.  But I believe it comes close to what the Psalmist had in mind when he prayed, "Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom". (Psalm 90:12).

     Satchel

    

"Here Comes Santa Claus . . . "

      
             "Why write about something as whimsical as Santa Claus when there is so much  tragedy around us ?"  Fair question.  I have been mulling that for much of the evening.  After all, there are children  who 'believe' and will still awaken to NOTHING on the    25th.  And, that is just the beginning.  But you have seen the headlines and pictures and heard the  'talking heads' and, I hope, have extended yourself to mitigate some of the pain and suffering.

      Even into the harshness can there be a brief respite to remember a time of innocence and childhood wonderment ?  Do you have a memory of your first ever sighting of the Man in Red?  I do.   It happened in the early 1940's in Mr. J.G. Williams's store in the cotton mill village of Bynum, NC.  Only years later  did I discover that Santa was busy that day and sent Mr. Walt Hatley to substitute for him. I can retrieve several Christmas memories from 1938 until we moved to another town in 1943.

Christmas 1941 or 1942

           However, were it not for this photograph, any recollection of this particular Christmas would be lost.  I do remember earlier Christmas gifts ... a pair of boots and a tool box from an uncle and aunt; a 'China Clipper' metal toy airplane from Santa,  I guess.  But this one ?  Only the slightest trace of recall.  I think that it was the following year that a metal toy car, complete with pedals and steering wheel, appeared under the tree.  I promptly drove it into one of the brick columns underpinning our mill village house and had to have medical attention for scalp cut.

      The 'cowboy' in this photo carried his pistol on his left hip, even though he was a 'righty'. (Though my brothers and I had subsequent toy cap pistols, neither of us has become violent men.)

    Dad sang a ditty that I suppose was his original: "Santa Claus is coming here, he's coming here tonight;  He'll bring us nuts and candies sweet; Oh, what a beautiful sight" and I could feel the anticipation escalate.  Never did he or mom threaten the proverbial lumps of coal or  bundle of switches reserved for kidders who had been 'naughty' rather than 'nice'.  However, in my adolescence he often teased "if you get anything for Christmas this year, you will know it's from Santa Claus !". Through a Santa mixup, Tommy received this lump of coal in his 2005 stocking.

          During 2018, on the domestic and international stages there have been many who richly deserve not just a 'lump' but an entire truckload of reprimands for undermining the prospect for "Peace on Earth, Good-will to ALL." For us,  may Santa be not a representation of greed and 'give me more'; instead, a reminder of the kinder and generous parts of our being.

      Satchel 

CALM BEFORE THE WINTER STORM

An area radio station has had Bing singing "White Christmas" for weeks.  There are yet 18 or so days til December  25.  A few years ago, we actually had a white Christmas in central North Carolina.  A bit early yet  to know if there will be an encore.  But why wait until Christmas Day, right?

  For several days now local meteorologists have been telling us to get ready . . . there's a 'big one' coming, with up to 8-12 " possible.
Please understand, that is a lot of snow for us.  So, customers are stocking up on supplies of bread and milk (someone asked if these are for 'milk sandwiches'), the Department of Transportation has been loading salt solution for covering the roadways, and the Governor was just on television warning us to be prepared for the possibility of needing to stay indoors for several days.  It's time to inventory your food supply, check batteries, locate flashlights, put extra blankets on beds, pray that the electricity does not go out and generally prepare to hunker down.  Or, so goes the conventional wisdom and common sense.

    But there are those who have no option: homeless people, electric company personnel, mail carriers (if the old slogan of nothing preventing them from their rounds is still in place), hospital staff (already the hospital where I work has activated its inclement weather policy effective tomorrow) , EMT workers, and others that you likely can add to this list.  My clinic is exempt from this particular policy.  However, I anticipate going to my office sixty five miles away tomorrow (Saturday) before the precipitation is expected to begin that evening. By Monday, if the local roads are passable, I will meet any clients able to drive in.

    Well, it gives us something to talk about that differs from typical fare.  And, Mark Twain was correct: "Everyone talks about the weather but no one does anything about it."  However, do you have 
enough milk and bread ?
  Stay safe.

       Satchel

Ghost of Winter storms past.

" I HEARD THE BELLS ON CHRISTMAS DAY . . . "

       "I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play. And wild and sweet the words repeat of Peace on Earth, Good Will to men [all]."  

     No, I am not attempting to 'rush the season'.  That is already  being done rather universally in American commerce.  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem written in the depths of anguish of the Civil War was greatly on my mind yesterday . . .  because in a subsequent verse, he lamented : "And in despair I bowed my head. 'There is no  peace on earth' I said. For hate is strong and mocks the song of 'Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men.'

    Longfellow had lost his wife in a tragic fire and was seriously injured when attempting to save her.  Then a year later, his older son was gravely wounded by a Confederate bullet. In time the son recuperated but the accumulated personal sorrow  against the backdrop of a national tragedy
took its toll on his spirit, as the words of his song reflect.

   Yesterday's horrific violence at a synagogue in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, followed the most recent rapid succession of hate-filled Terrorism and insults to human dignity and life: the spate of pipe bombs sent to critics of the current political administration; then the cold-blooded murder of persons of color at a Kroger store in Kentucky.  And, now, this . . . at least eleven (11 ! )  persons dead at a house of worship !  Within the past few years there have been deadly shootings at places of worship across the spectrum of faiths. This particular gunman, however, apparently had a history of hatred of Jews.  Anti-Semitism has a long, ugly past . . . and present.

      In an earlier post, I cited Mark Erelli's song, Passing Through:  "Injustice and indifference are the only things I see. But I refuse to let my Hope become the latest casualty."  And, Longfellow in a subsequent verse wrote "Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, God is not dead, nor doth he sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right prevail. With peace on earth, good will to men."  Today, to both of those sentiments, one inquiry is   WHEN ? Other appropriate questions: "Am I contributing to the poisoning of society ?";  "What can I do to live 'good will to all'? " 

    "How long, O Lord, how long? "
        
        Satchel

CAPTION THIS . . .

SEEN  NEAR  HILTON HEAD, S.C.

Recently I posted this picture on Instagram with the invitation to create a caption.  Seemed to me like an excellent  Rorschach test of one's imagination and projections.  Alas, no accepted the opportunity.Now it's your turn.

       And, while you are casting about for the right title, ghoulish or otherwise, add this dimension . . . in a few days it will be that controversial occasion known as  'Halloween'.  Four years ago (!) I published a blog post that I called "Boo!" about the day.  Theories abound about its origins and its suitability in a 'Christian' context.

   I took this photograph near Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, earlier this year.  Each time I see it, I conjure all sorts of questions:
  .Whose grave is this?  The inscription is illegible .
  .When did they live?
  .What was their life like?
   .When did the person die?
   .Are there descendants still living?
   .How long have the tree and marker been growing together?
   .Surely someone must have noted the growth early on. What prompted the decision to let it grow?
   .And, a subject that has interested me of late ---What was this person's legacy; what 'difference' did their having lived make?

    No, this latter is not morbid.  It is a common and (I would insist) necessary question that holds interest for many people, particularly those who have passed the 'three score and ten' mark.   The eminent psychotherapist, Dr. Irvin Yalom, wrote that there are essentially but four meta-issues that enter into a person's therapy: Fear of death, freedom, loneliness and meaning and purpose in one's life.  
  
     Since reading Yalom, I have noticed how one or more of those topics are often intertwined within the immediate issue(s).  A large percentage of my therapy clients are sixty years old and over. Two are well into their mid-80's.  It does not take a 'trained ear' to hear 
them address these matters.

    Having reached my own four-score years, I intend to give more focused attention to such inquiries.  Amazing what you can see when you see a tree growing into a tombstone.

   Satchel


    
   

SHAME TO THE VICTIMS . . .

       A sorry display of intolerance was there for the entire world to see.  Yesterday's Senate Judiciary Committee hearings regarding the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh for the US Supreme Court blatantly revealed many things that are amiss within American society and politics, especially the reflexive practice of disparaging female victims of sexual assault.

     Questions abound . Why have victims of sexual abuse typically been reluctant to speak out about what has happened to them?  Why have so many in power , typically  but not exclusively white males, been either dismissive of their claims or downright condemnatory?  And why would someone wait many years after an assault to report such and how reliable can those memories be?

   To the first question, several responses have been offered: not being believed (even Dr. Freud could not/would not believe his early patients' stories of incest.); fear of further harm; being shamed with innuendos about one's own 'morality'.

   Why not believed or acknowledged?  There is the myth that 'nice guys' would not do that. Underneath is the ugly fact of misogyny ... "dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against women".

    As for the accuracy and persistence of traumatic memories ... Not many years ago, a since discredited practice of Recovered Memory Syndrome caused all kinds of havoc, relationally and legally.  These 'memories' were typically considered to have been generated by outside influences and were not actual occurrences. 

    Memory is not always an accurate instrument.  Having acknowledged that does not discount the validity of repressed memories being stored in the brain and impacting one's subsequent life.  Allow me to write from experiences that have occurred in my therapy office over years.

    I began my training as a psychotherapist in 1990 and have subsequently practiced in various capacities within one of the major medical centers in our region.
Within the past ten years, I became aware of and trained in 'Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing', specifically for the treatment of traumas of various types.  (for further details, put your search engine on "E.C. Hurley,Jr" and follow any links suggested.)  Someone said that proof of the validity of EMDR as a mode of therapy is that Blue Cross and the VA reimburse for it.

     The earliest victim of sexual assault was referred to me by a colleague.  The 50+ year old Caucasian female had presented with issues of depression, subsequently attributed to her sexual PTSD.  Following adherence to the protocols of treatment, she revealed that as a 13 year old (40 or so years earlier) , she had been repeatedly assaulted by her father and one of his friends. After several sessions, she came in and said, "I'm ok !"  "Let's talk", I suggested.  At the end of the hour, I recommended a two week interval before our next meeting.  At that time , "I'm ok." and I responded as before.  Then I recommended a three week interval.  Same presentation.  I referred her back to her original therapist and she reported her depression gone there were no more intrusive memories.

   Since that client, I have seen many persons healed of their traumas whether originated in military experiences, in law enforcement, in automobile mishaps, and obviously, sexual abuse.

    Without attempting to explain the many nuances of neurological functioning (of which I am incapable),
it has been observed that EMDR does not remove the memory of the experience but removes the reliving of that.

    This is already a long post so I will not multiply examples.  From these, however, I know how wrong and and how hurtful it is to 'blame the victim' and her memories.  Perhaps it is apropos to note a recent meme that claimed there has been no condemnation of victims of priestly pedophilia from 35 years ago, particularly since the victims were young boys !

   Ron Wachs aka Satchel

    

"WE STILL HAVE WORK TO BE DONE . . .'

  DR. STEVE SCOGGIN

It  was  not a retirement luncheon; he is way too young for that and with too many innovative ideas, responsibilities and energy stores.
Dr. Steve Scoggin became President of CareNet in 2001.  Now that role goes to my former  counseling colleague, Bryan Hatcher.

Formerly known as the Pastoral Counseling Center, CareNet is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Wake Forest Baptist Health in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Under Steve's leadership, CareNet became the largest hospital-based counseling and psychotherapy network in the nation.  But I am getting ahead of the story.

In 2001, our network faced several challenges.  The Director of our local center told me that if anyone could move things forward, it would be Steve, the Executive Director of the relatively new center in the down East town of Greenville.  For three years while his son completed his high school career there, Steve weekly commuted the long drive between home and office.  He and I were often together in the Chaplaincy Department's house which he quickly dubbed 'the monastery'.

Mark Twain supposedly wrote that there are "lies, damned lies and statistics".  Still, there are impressive stats such as these: During Steve's tenure, CareNet grew from 6 Regional Centers across the state to 10.  Within the Regions  there are 30 offices serving individuals and families in 80 of the state's 100 counties as well as in four adjoining states.  In 2001, the counseling staffs generated 18,000 hours of therapy.  This last fiscal year, that number had grown in excess of  50,000 hours. The reserve of operating funds has likewise grown. And, the Residency training program in faith-integrated therapy (not the same as 'faith-based') has resumed. (Just last week, nine Residents were graduated from that three year program.) And while those kinds of numbers capture some of the vitality of the recent past, on their own they do not convey the influence, vision and personal qualities of the man.

As a clinician as well as administrator, Steve sometime ago became
an Assistant Professor in  Psychiatry and Behavioral Medicine and Associate Vice-President of Behavioral Health at the hospital.  Now, as consequence of transitions occurring  within Psychiatry, the Hospital's CEO has appointed him Interim Chair of that Department.  These expanding responsibilities meant a passing of the 'mantel of leadership' for CareNet.

So, yesterday family, friends, colleagues gathered for a luncheon in his honor.  It was a grand event with speeches, songs, gifts, tears, and other expressions of gratitude.  Steve's 'compassion' and encouragements were threads that ran through many of the comments.  

In his response to the tributes, Dr. Scoggin commented that a mantra-like phrase he often uses is "Thanks for having me".  He elaborated that within the phrase were sentiments such as: for   'welcoming me into your life', for 'trusting me enough to labor together for clients and community'; for 'giving me the benefit of the doubt even when I didn't deserve it'; for 'caring for me in spite of myself'; for 'risking your truth and honesty with me'.

While I have on many occasions personally experienced his encouragement, one particular period stands out.  'Ageism' is a sorry reality within many occupations and professions.  At no time have I encountered that 'beast' in my years with CareNet. In 2006, when I was 68 years old, Steve asked me to consider dividing my time between my Winston-Salem office where I had an established practice and becoming Executive Director of a part-time center elsewhere in the state.  The Director (and only therapist) there was retiring.  Throughout my six year tenure as ED, Steve provided constant encouragement and support. 

During one of our state-wide Directors meetings, Steve made an observation that crystallized a key distinction of human functioning.  During a clinical exercise, I quoted another clinician's statement that many persons who experience high anxiety are generally considered to be 'nice'.  Steve responded, "Nice is overrated." Wow!  He continued, "I have never been especially concerned to be considered 'nice'." Double Wow !  "But,  I am   big on compassion."  When someone is 'nice', public opinion  is the main informer of our actions; 'compassion' and 'kindness' suggest  that we do the Right thing because it's the Right thing to do.  Subsequently, I have found this to be a useful distinction . 

Now, Steve turns his expansive energy and compassion to an even larger scope of service for Mental Health needs.  At the conclusion of my brief comments yesterday, Steve affirmed  that "we still have work to be done !" 

     Satchel

RABBIT EARS

     "If I hear anything else out of you, you will be escorted out of this gymnasium !"  Well, that is not a word for word of what colorful basketball referee Lou Bello said  back in 1958 to Charlie Holcombe, one of our college's cheerleaders.  But whatever the words, the message was clear.  Lou having heard Charlie's deriding several calls stopped the game and delivered his ultimatum in front of a hushed crowd.

    Several years later, a referee at a North Carolina State University game tossed two former players (who had also played in the NBA)
for apparently unexplained reasons.  When that same ref returned to call an  NCSU  game about three years later, he called a technical foul on the State coach within four minutes of the start of the game.

     'Badmouthing' officials at athletic events is practically within the fabric of the contests  . . . and usually remains within the confines of  decency and propriety. "Kill the Ump !" is not a call to mob violence.  Although when I was umpiring high school age recreation league games in the 1970's, there was one particularly obnoxious  fan who constantly criticized my officiating.  I ignored him.  But on the day when within hearing of the boys, he questioned the legitimacy of my parentage in blunt language, I stopped the game, walked back to the  screen and essentially told him that if he felt the need to talk like that in the presence of these kids,  "I feel sorry for you".  I did an about face and  proclaimed "Play Ball! "  At the next game, he came to me and apologized and thereafter there was no disrespect, though he did not always agree with my calls.

    The ears of most officials work well and while many comments are heard, it is essential to remain  oblivious to the criticisms.  A referee or umpire who reacts to the 'noise' is said to have  'Rabbit ears'.  An on-line dictionary defines the term as "acute sensitivity to jibes, insults, sarcasm. . ."

    Whether in officiating athletic events, politics or just 'life', it is important to be open to legitimate feedback which can include complaints and, sometimes, criticisms. 'Complaint' refers to actions, decisions, etc. as contrasted to 'criticisms' which become attacks on the person's very being and character.  And, having made the distinction, it is important to say the obvious:   Mean-spirited, evil persons can and do make wrongful, malicious decisions which prompt legitimate 'criticisms'.  

     Having attained a PhD in American History and having taught that subject  for many years, I know that even George Washington thought he was sometimes treated harshly by the  press.  The same has been true for all subsequent Presidents.  Frequently the feedback aroused public outcries that led to changed policies and/or administrations.  To seek and to hold public office in America has meant being open to public scrutiny of one's self and behaviors.  Too often, many of those same public figures have had finely tuned 'rabbit ears' and  lashed out at their critics in  punitive, less than mature behaviors.

    In  1950,  President Harry Truman replied to a non-complimentary  Washington Post review of his daughter's singing
concert by firing off a petulant letter to the newspaper's reviewer, even suggesting that he would do him bodily harm.  Still, he apparently often said, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen", showing that he sometimes did not rise to his own standards.  One on-line dictionary alternately translated the phrase as "If you cannot handle the pressure, you should not remain in a position where you have to deal with it."

     "Don't take it personally !" makes no sense to someone with 'thin skin' or 'Rabbit ears' and whose actions are self-serving.  My fraternity brother, Navy Captain (Retired) Ken Sullivan correctly noted, " The bigger the 'rabbit ears' the smaller the confidence, conviction and rightness the rabbit." When there is understandable push-back and public criticisms, the aftermath of retributive reactions and rhetoric serves to demean the necessity of civil  conversations and decisions.  There is a lot of that going 'round these days.

        Satchel
    

"He took care of a lot of people . . . "

       He had had but 50 birthdays.

          In that short span, Tommy McNeill "took care of a lot of people" through his 30+ year EMS career.  At the time of his death, he was leading a training exercise for a wilderness search and rescue course.     
   
     At last night's wake and today's funeral,  personnel from numerous  public service agencies from around the state came to pay their respects and to participate.  Those included representatives of  police and sheriff's offices, fire departments, EMT's and Paramedics, EMS Honor Guards, North Carolina Highway Patrol, and air medical services (med evac) from area hospitals (with a 3 helicopter fly-over at the end of the interment service).  Uniformed persons were everywhere.  The procession to the cemetery was lined by numerous fire trucks, ambulances, law enforcement vehicles, as well as friends' automobiles.  We commented that many towns' Christmas parades are not as long as this tribute.  By all accounts, he was a good person.  Colleagues spoke of his "servant legacy"; a minister praised Tommy's 'care', 'commitment' and 'call'. 

Immediately after the service, the procession begins to form

      

     One minister acknowledged to the EMS contingent
 that we largely "think of you only when we need you" and commended their spirit of service, "especially in our self-centered culture."  I observed that these men and women form a diverse fraternity . . . of gender, race, and ages . . . of great mutual respect born of having trained for and faced many life or death events. I witnessed men unembarrassed to exchange hugs and to shed tears.

    The "Emergency and Rescue Squad Member's Prayer" that appeared in the worship bulletin reflected the spirit very much in evidence today: "O God, whose mercy, love, and compassion are given to each of us, help me to share that love through my concern for others. Make me sensitive to the needs of people not only when their lives are in danger, but also when their spirits are being drowned in the pools of loneliness, despair and discouragement. . ."

Rest in Peace

       My office is located at an intersection where emergency vehicles frequently turn, heading to the Hospital's Emergency Department.  Now when I hear those sirens, I want to remember to say a prayer of thanks for the Tommy McNeills who work to make our society safer.  And I intend to say 'thanks' to any of these folks whom I meet in everyday situations.  I urge you to do the same.

      Satchel

"It Ain't My Fault !"

         "Responsibility" . . . now, there's a BIG word  whose application  seems to be largely absent in contemporary American society.  "Credit" ? Now, that's another matter altogether. 

    Two of President Harry Truman's observations capture the distinction:  For 'Credit": "It is amazing what you can accomplish if you don't care who gets the credit." "Responsibility": "The buck stops here", the motto that he kept on his desk while President.

    While on these 'big words', here is another similar one : "Accountability".

    When the Holy One asked  'Adam' why he had eaten the forbidden fruit, he answered that 'the woman you gave me caused me to do it.'  When given the opportunity to own responsibility for her part of the drama, she answered that she had acted at the urging of 'the snake'.  At that point, the serpent 'didn't have a leg to stand on'.  The comedian Flip Wilson drew laughs with his line: "the devil made me do it !'

   'Pass the buck' of accountability or responsibility to someone else is a  frequently sung song with a long history.  As an example, listen to "Gee,  Officer Krupke !" from West Side Story. And, we all do (have done) it.  There just seems to be an overabundance of the trait these days throughout our society, beginning with the institutions that ostensibly promote the common good: the worlds of politics, institutional religion, education, health care,  justice, and on it goes.

    Decades ago when I was in grammar grades, our school had weekly assemblies in the auditorium.  Often the 'program' was a local clergyperson urging some moralistic platitude, all long since forgotten . . . except one:  Our Methodist minister told a story in which someone acknowledged their culpability and clearly said, "I was wrong."  Then Mr. Walton invited us to repeat, "I was wrong." When we had done that, he noted something to the effect that having said that  'didn't break your jaw', which I understood to mean we can survive honestly accepting responsibility for our behavior.

  "It's his (her) fault!"; "You are the one to blame !" ; "You think I'm bad? Just look at my predecessor!"  This all seems too much a part  of news reports these days.  On the other hand, "Let's work together for peace, justice, respect, etc " gets crowded out by the push of weak egos searching for public applause to 'make themselves look good' by getting the credit which rightfully belongs  elsewhere.

   The late Rabbi Edwin Freidman excelled as a psychotherapist and teacher.  His definition of maturity:  "The capacity to take responsibility for one's own emotional processes and behaviors."
God, give us more adults . . . beginning with me.

    Satchel

"Uncle George" and Changing Times

    "Uncle George" Mowry told our History Seminar that the word "nostalgia" had as it parent-words something invoking "a homesickness of the soul." I heard that to mean 'a strong desire to go back to the good old days'.  Then I remembered reading " 'The Good Old Days' ?  They were Awful." citing artifacts such as polio and typhoid epidemics, slavery, outdoor toilets, subservient women, high infant mortality rates, child labor, air pollution, and other such 'plagues'.

   Dr. Mowry was a highly regarded  Historian who had done extensive research in early twentieth century America, particularly the 1920's, sometimes called "The Roaring Twenties" His book, The Twenties: Fords, Flappers, & Fanatics provided an inside look at several of the cultural conflicts prevalent at the time.  By all accounts that era brought a lot of life-changing inventions and attitudes to American society.  It was also a time of tremendously repressive laws, groups, behaviors.  For example,  a resurgent  KKK terrorized large segments of the population at the time.

   Great changes have a way of provoking great anxieties and impulses to enforce conformity to the values of a once powerful  societal group that sees its advantages  threatened.  Mowry observed, "Societies do not give up old ideals and attitudes easily; the conflicts between the representatives of the older elements of traditional American culture and the prophets of the new day were at times as bitter as they were extensive. Such matters as religion, marriage, and moral standards, as well as the issues over race, prohibition, and immigrations were at the heart of the conflict."

    And, at such times the things that the 'stronger' inflict upon those deemed 'different', 'inferior' or a 'threat' stagger  decency, civility, kindness, common humanity, compassion, and other such humane virtues.

   We do not have to be 'professional' historians to recognize that we are living in an era that provides huge challenges to the longing for the  'way things used to be' (or presumed to have been).  Even a cursory reading of the history of the American people  (even in pre-Revolutionary War times) provides strong evidence that efforts to 'turn back the clock' do not prevail in the long run.  Often the anxiety goes 'under ground', to reappear in different manifestations the next time great societal and cultural challenges loom. 

  Well, maybe there is truth in the late George Santayana's observation that "those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it. "  Is there yet validity in Bob Dylan's 1964 warning to those who resist when "The Time's They are a'Changing"?

   HAPPY JULY  FOURTH !! 

      Satchel
     

" Thumbin' "

 

           "Son, I don't know where Pittsboro is but I'll give you a ride if you have some identification."  Whereupon, I, who had been holding a sign for my destination while standing alongside U.S. Route 64 in the little town of Ramseur, N.C., brought out my picture-less driver's license.  The gentleman in the car with the Alabama tags must have been satisfied because in less than an hour he dropped me off right in front of my parents' house.

    That 'hitch' was but one of many that I hailed in the four years (1956-1960) that I was an undergraduate in a college about 60-70 miles from home.  Even before that, I had 'stuck up the thumb' in order to travel.  My earliest memory of that mode of transportation occurred when dad and I hitchhiked the 15 miles or so to another town in order to pick up a new truck for his dry cleaning route.  As a high school senior, needing dental work at a time when dad was unavailable, I 'thumbed'  the 15-20 miles to Dr. Milliken's office and then back home.

    Once upon a time, a serviceman in uniform had little difficulty securing rides.  Late one Sunday afternoon, dad drove me the 35 miles or so to the Charlotte highway.  Eventually, a kind soul
took me to that city.  By then, it was dark and I was still some distance from base.  Someone I knew in Charlotte gave me a ride to the bus station and I made it back to avoid being AWOL.

     After leaving the Army, I hitched from Durham, N.C., to Washington to spend time with a former seminary classmate.  My next hitching destination, however, was the Port Authority Terminal in NYC and from there by bus to a friend's  home in Rhode Island.  On the return trip, I flew back to DC to spend a few more days.  The ride I hitched back to NC was with a driver who when he learned that I had been to seminary asked if I 'had noticed that Biblical prophecy was coming true ?" When I said "No", there was little conversation til we reached NC.

      During  the era of the Great Depression and World War II --- when money, cars, tires, gasoline were often in  short supply --- hitchhiking was commonplace around here.  Wikipedia defined hitchhiking as "a means of transportation that is gained by asking people, usually strangers, for a ride in their automobile or other vehicle. A ride is usually, but not always, free."  In my youth, it was also termed 'Bumming a ride.'

     Now, 'thumbers' are seldom seen.  Among the 'reasons' sometimes cited are a proliferation of car ownership, the interstate system of highways, and perceived dangers.  For me, I stopped picking up folks after reading the true scene in Truman Capote's In Cold Blood where a garrulous traveling salesman barely avoided being murdered by his two passengers who were on the run after killing a family in Kansas.  The driver had stopped to give a ride to a third passenger.  Capote later sought out that driver to tell him how close he had come to losing his life.

     Now when I see the occasional extended thumb, I remember times when I did then what I will not do now.  Did you, do you, ever 'thumb a ride' ?

       Satchel

     

DON'T DO IT, PLEASE . . .KEEP SAYING IT !

  

September is "Suicide Awareness Month".  Every day is a time for awareness and attention.  We still await  knowledge of the impact of Covid-19 on suicide. However, as the  Johns Hopkins Psychiatry Guide reported "previous pandemics have been associated with increase in suicide rate" and "The  Covid-19 pandemic exacerbates multiple factors that may increase suicide".  In light of that, I am reposting an entry from a few years ago.


        SUICIDE

           There's the word, 
               the anxiety provoking word,  
                    the monster  word
  that we fear to say.
             It's a taboo word and we use all kinds and sorts of euphemisms to avoid speaking it: "Are you planning to harm yourself?";  "You're not going to do anything  to yourself, are you?"

And, by the way, asking someone if they intend to kill themselves has been shown neither to plant the idea nor to 'cause' someone to do so.  Quite the opposite.  On more than one occasion when I have asked the question in straightforward manner, the response has been something like, "Thank God someone finally asked !"

   Deaths by suicide of 'celebrities' has been the news recently.  But, grimly, it is a Public Health issue that impacts persons all across the socioeconomic spectrum.  Between 1999 and 2016 deaths by suicide increased by 30 % and suicide is now the # 10 cause of death in the United States.

    "Why?" is a usual question and there seem to be many "answers".   Not all those who took their lives by suicide had known mental health issues.  Major Depression while still a huge risk factor hardly accounts for all the misery.  Among the reasons sometimes offered are: to escape pain; not to be a burden on family and friends; purposelessness; financial pressures; relationship tumult; military deployment and trauma being among those often cited.  White males with firearms are the demographic that has the highest death toll.  

    Dr. Richard A. Friedman in a June 11, 2018, New York Times column wrote, "The simple reason suicide has been neglected for so long is stigma. . . .  It is wrongly seen as a character or moral flaw --or  even a sinful act. . . . We should declare war on suicide--just as we've done with  other public health threats like H.I.V. and heart disease -- and give it the research and clinical funding needed to beat it."

   Crisis hot lines have experienced a huge spike in calls since the latest headlines.  Skills in spotting  and addressing  potential suicidal situations while obviously anxiety producing can be learned.

    Among the more accessible competence building  programs that I have known are Living Works based in Alberta, Canada, but with educational programs over wide geographic areas and QPR (abbreviation for Question, Persuade and Refer).  More information about these programs can be found by an internet search.

   The national suicide hotline is reached by dialing  1-800-273-8255  (TALK).  Also,  texting "Talk" to 741741 puts a person in touch with help.

    While some persons may believe that they are a burden and believing their being gone would make life easier for their survivors, the truth is to the contrary. 

    Several years ago, I attended the memorial service for a friend whose depression had resulted in his death by suicide.  During the service, several persons expressed the hope that his soul was now at peace.  His adult son later expressed his anger and hurt in saying, "He might be at peace but I would like to dig him up and kill him!"

    To anyone inclined to "end it all", the plea is simple:
"DON'T DO IT , PLEASE !"

      Satchel
   

"LITTLE BROTHER" turns 70

                  He started out as a child . . . On May 31, 1948 !
That means he is 10 years and 3 months younger than I and even now I have difficulty understanding how we reached these ages so quickly (as well as our other brother who will soon be 77 !)  But, here we are and I am grateful.

   Bob "weighed in " at well over 10 pounds and our Grand-ma Ida often called him "Big 'un".

    Those ten years were huge at the beginning, owing in part to his first grade year being at the Governor Morehead School in Raleigh.  Dad and Mom would drive him the thirty miles to school on Sunday evening and pick him up on Friday afternoon.  The following year, corrective lens allowed him to attend public school. As an eight year old, Bob could not understand why Big Brother did not want him tagging along on his dates.  He sometimes parlays experiences such as those into hyperbolic tales of child abuse by his two older brothers.

   When I was a college sophomore, I dated a girl named "Mary" (name changed to protect the innocent).  My parents agreed that I could invite her to our home during Christmas.  The next year when I was dating "Joyce" (again, name changed), the folks consented to another Christmas invitation, although mom expressed her concern that she might address her as "Mary". Well, the second visit was going well until mom asked, "Mary, would you like more tea?"
"Joyce's" blush turned a deep shade of red when Bob blurted, "Mom, you said you would punish me if I did that !"  And, there was no visit the following holiday season.

                         The shirt captions are accurate !


    Bob often tells that he majored in his 'freshman year' at UNC-CH, there being all kinds of diversions and alternatives to class attendance in Chapel Hill.  In time he was graduated with a journalism degree. (His interview and experience with the late UNC coach Dean Smith has been the topic of an earlier blog.) Thereafter, he worked with several print publications.  In his early 30's after marriage to Shirley and the births of his two children, he felt a call to ordained ministry and returned to seminary.

   For several years, he was Editor of our county newspaper and wrote a folksy weekly column (which he has continued for well over 30 years).  During those years he has also served as  pastor in three area churches as well as ministering to numerous persons not of his congregations.  Often, he is requested by families to conduct funerals of their deceased as well as perform frequent weddings.  I admiringly have called him the 'Chaplain' of our county.  He is widely known in our area and as we have an uncommon surname, I am often asked "Are you kin to Bob ?" to which I routinely ask playfully, "Before I answer that, tell me how you know him?"  Actually, I am pleased to acknowledge that he is my brother.

        Bob has always held a 'special place' in the hearts of my children (now adults). When Chris, the younger son, died, Bob assisted me in conducting his funeral. His nephew and niece contributed to this blog with these memories:

  Nephew: "I have so many fond memories through the years with Uncle Bob and the entire family. . . . I remember always being so excited to visit [the family home]. The laughter, the love, and the stories hold such strong memories that make me smile and feel good inside as I recall the moments. . . . [When I was  11 or 12 years old] I unintentionally got Bob into trouble with Dad and Pa {the kids' name for their grand-father}about his fast driving. I was riding back for Chapel Hill with Uncle Bob (in a Mustang I think) and we were following Dad who drove very slow.  Bob veered on a side road and took off and we were going over 90 mph. Of course we beat Dad home and I bragged about how fast we went. It didn't set well with Dad nor Pa. Sorry, Bob. I didn't mean to rat on you. It was fun though."

   Niece:  "A simple birthday wish just doesn't suffice because you're such an important person in my life.  I hope you know how much I appreciate you . . .  [and your]  taking the time to support me at all the big events in my life. . . . I vividly remember spending time with you when I was young [and your] driving faster than anyone I had ever ridden with in life. . . . Family time together has always been some of my happiest memories. . . . And when 'uncle Bob' was around at family events, it was sure to be a hoot. You always knew how to make all the cousins laugh. . ."

    She went through her 'archives' and forwarded this photo :

                   As Flower Girl at Bob and Shirley's wedding

     Bob is now 'officially' retired, although he still assists a nearby church during their pastoral interim.  And, he works with his son in his tending to his beef herd.  As father of two and grand-father of six, he much of his time is spent with family.

    Maintaining a long tradition, every Thanksgiving the extended family gathers at Bob and Shirley's home for glad reunion, too much good food, thrice told tales repeated annually with occasional slight embroidering, and, of course, maintaining the family tradition of naps.

        His one grand-son and five grand-daughters luxuriate in the abundance of love and nurture that Bob and Shirley give them.  This  recent picture captures his delight in being with them.

   He's my 'baby brother' and I am proud of him and love him.

      Satchel

The best time of the day . . .

   "Morning has broken, like the first morning . . . " . So sang Cat Stevens in his version of the song written in 1931.  Today at 5:45 a.m., I revisited  a frequent option . . . back to bed for another hour or so or get up, have coffee , meditate and enjoy the quiet.  Gratefully, I opted for the latter despite hearing the long-ago lyrics: "Oh, how I hate to get up in the morning".

   Now, I am a bona fide Myers-Briggs Introvert.  I love my wife, our dog, family, and friends .  Still (was going to change that word, but it seems to fit ): [Being] still, I can feel my soul's  'batteries' being recharged.  And, early morning seems to be the ideal zone.
As an added bonus, sometimes that makes me easier to live with (sorry about the preposition).

   Sacred scriptures extol the need and the benefits of early morning quiet.  And, I remember lines from a pious poem learned when a teen: "I met God in the morning, when the day was at its  best." ( apologies to the late Bishop Cushman if I misquoted).  My late friend, J.R., regularly arose around 4:30 for meditation and reflection.

   'The world' makes a lot of noise of varying decibels.  Early in the morning, even  the whirring of a refrigerator is LOUD.  My corner office faces a busy intersection across from a large hospital .  After several years in that location, I can distinguish the sirens of fire trucks, police, and emergency vehicles without even a glance out the window.  And sometimes, just for added volume, the AirCare helicopter joins the raucous. 

   But, back to mornings. The above photograph of a December sunrise over the Atlantic captures for me the restorative benefit of watching morning 'break' yet again.

   Years ago, there was a   Pogo Possum cartoon where the Owl motions to Pogo to join him in a boat. After a time of  shared silence, Owl commented that nothing compares to early morning silence.  Pogo: "Makes you wonder why more people don't try it."

     Satchel

"IF IT WERE NOT ATTACHED" . . .

         Dad was a kind, truthful man, not given to saying deliberately hurtful things to his sons.  Early in my life, however, he identified a .  . . what? . . . habit, trait, behavior, . . . that has persisted throughout most of my now 80 years.  Consequently, 'age' cannot carry the explanatory freight.  It occurs with annoying regularity, never at a 'convenient' time and often  involves somewhat expensive items.  More often than I would like to acknowledge, his observation raises its troublesome truth: "Son, reach behind you and see if you have your butt.  If it were not attached to you, you would lose it." Dad died in 1992 and I seem still to 'honor' his observation frequently.

    Last week it was a credit card which I finally located on the front seat of my wife's automobile which I had driven to the pharmacy instead of my own.  Several months ago, I could not locate my new  bi-focals.  My wife found them a couple of days later at the bottom of the hall closet where they had fallen when I was fetching the dog's outdoor paraphernalia .  Keys ? Regularly !  Today, it is the hearing aid for my left ear.  The tiny computer in that apparatus costs more than the  laptop with which I am  typing this.

   About 1 p.m. I discovered the 'absence' and called my Audiologist in a nearby town.  Her office telephone answering machine notified me that Friday's closing time is noon, with a Monday morning reopening.  Well, by that time I will be well into my office appointments.  My clients may have to speak loudly.  Thankfully, my hearing is not greatly restricted.  And the hearing aid is insured, so that reduces the stress somewhat.  While there are scheduling and monetary components , those are not  what make the entire matter bothersome.  

   Over the years, some things have been 'found'; others, not so, notably a wallet some 18 +  years ago.  Once after attending a movie, I discovered that I no longer had my check book.  After providing identification, the theater manager returned it.  On our wedding trip, my wife and I spent the second full day retracing our steps of the first day in search of the checkbook.  "What will be next ?" is a troublesome specter.  

   Maybe I should organize a 'search party'; after all I have been away from our house only briefly today.  Or, perhaps offer rewards for those who find my prizes.  So, if you spot it, it looks like this . . .  only for the other ear.

     

                          Satchel

PITCHIN' HORSESHOES

           

    Does a RINGER count five points or three ?
       Do you give three points or one for a LEANER ?
          If my ringer tops (lands over) yours, does that cancel yours or count double for my throw?
            Is a game 11, 21, or 40 points ? And, if we are playing the 21 version and one team scores an 11-0 advantage, is that still called a 'skunk' and a win ?

  These are not esoteric considerations for the serious horseshoe pitcher.  There now is actually a  NHPA ---which i assume means 'National Horseshoe Pitchers Association'.  Their 'rules' vary significantly from those that informed my early playing, one particularly noteworthy variation being the actual 'instruments' of play.  I was an adult before I saw the 'regulation  shoe' that no self-respecting equestrian would consider wearing. These weigh approximately two and a half pounds whereas actual horses' shoes vary in size and weight, like the facsimile above. The game likely was 'invented' by blacksmiths and ferriers who provided and fitted the original footwear.

   The origin of my love of the game probably  goes back to the Christmas gift of a  Ring-toss set when I was  three or four years old.  When I was early teen ager, I was either 
"'fair to middling' " or dad was a very indulgent parent.  He would take me along as his pitching partner for the frequent Sunday afternoon games with the men  gathered at Mr. George Brooks's yard.  He encouraged me to develop my own 'style' of gripping and throwing. I never mastered his technique of holding it on the side and spinning it towards the stake. I preferred the 'hold it by the back and toss end over end' method.  

    My most memorable game occurred in the 1970's at a faculty picnic.  I was paired against my colleague Norbert. He threw a double ringer ... worth 10 points.  To my amazement and his consternation, I also threw a double ringer which by our rules counted 20 points.

   I seldom play now. Not many folks have 'pits' and ,anyway, my shoulder protests the weight and motion.  There was a time when I played reasonably well. A kind of horseshoe tournament once was a staple of our family Thanksgiving gatherings.  (Now the game of choice seems to be BeanBag toss. )

Waiting to follow brother Dennis's pitch.  Family Thanksgiving gathering
when our shoulders and arms were younger.

    
    And I have known some fierce competitors. My cousin Clarice's husband, Roy, was essentially unbeatable, as he often let us know.  My fraternity brother, Jack Sugg, won the intramural horseshoe  competition in the late  1950's. (I learned this a few years ago when I came across a journal that I wrote intermittently in those years.)

    According to an old superstition, horseshoes are a symbol of good luck and were (are) placed in prominent locations in homes.  Well, I've 'lost my horseshoe' for playing but think it would be great fun to pitch one more ringer.

      Satchel