Midnight in the Garden Follow Up

It happened to occur to me several days after my Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil post that I think I know what the draw of the story is and why it has been popular.

Sure, there was the murder that still begs a firm reason beyond speculation no matter how rational. And, yes, the story is full of colorful characters, the most obvious being the city of Savannah itself.

But really, when you break it down to its fundamentals, parts of it read much like a Penthouse forum submission. It's a very sexual story, all of it illicit.

The sensuality of Savannah is quite feminine and I suppose that's rather true about much of the south. Hot, humid, lush, dark, gardens fragramt... need I go on? Compare that to the usually frigid north (albeit a different, less pleasant sexual picture) and you can start to see the allusion that can be painted with the descriptives.

Additionally, here is some info re: main characters:

Jim Williams was gay, though he didn't come out and admit it except for during the trials when he testified about sleeping with his assistant and victim, Danny Hansford. I did see an interview a day or two ago where the interviewee (I think it was Dep Kirkland who wrote Lawyer Games: After Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil) stated that Williams used to pay an assistant to go into the projects and offer money to kids to come to Mercer House for sex play which makes him a pedophile.

Danny Hansford was a male prostitute who would do anyone for money and that's apparently why he "worked" for Jim Williams. But even though he would be gay for pay, Hansford was a hetersexual. There were two sex scenes in the book of Hansford with a girl he had just met. After the second time, which took place in a cemetery, he asked her to marry him. She, of course, refused and this set off one of his rage responses.

Turns out Joe Odom, a major character in the story, was gay as well. It was implied that he and Mandy were a couple, but the real-life person Nancy Hillis negated that by saying Odom was gay. In fact, Odom died of AIDS in 1991 at the age of 43.

Joe Goodman, whose name was mentioned a few times, but not much detail had been sexually connected to Jim Williams as well.

Barry Thomas, another fellow who worked for Williams, died of AIDs in 1992.

Let us not forget the Lady Chablis, Empress of Savannah, the flamboyant drag queen who got weekly hormone shots but never had the surgery to finish the transition. He/she showed the author her real breasts that came about by regular estrogen injections.

And it was mentioned that unfaithful spouses were kind of the norm in that society. Infidelity was winked at but never reprimanded.

So, with this strong thread of sexuality woven throughout Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, I can only surmise that it's a sex story that includes a murder.

* * * * * * * * **

Since reading the book and writing these blog posts, I watched the movie directed by Clint Eastwood and released in 1997.

As movies usually do (because of the different story-telling format) it took some liberties with the timeline established in the book, which itself also took liberties with the timeline based on actual events.

Where I thought perhaps the movie would visually portray the landscape of the city in depth, in reality, it didn't. The actors all did a fine job, including Kevin Spacey who played Jim Williams.

But I was disappointed by the lack of establishing the atmosphere I thought necessary to fill out the movie. In that regard, it came across as rather flat to me.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

 SPOILERS FOLLOW

In 1981, Jim Williams, a middle-aged antiques dealer, shot and killed his live-in employee and paramour, Danny Hansford. Hansford was less than half Williams' age.

The reason Williams gave for the shooting was self-defense. which he maintained up until his death in 1990 from pneumonia. He was 59 when he died.

There were four trials. Williams was convicted of murder in the first two, but the conviction was overturned both times for various reasons. The third trial ended in a hung jury. The fourth trial was moved to a different city after it was decided that an impartial jury pool didn't exist anymore after the well-publicized three trials. The jury in the new venue acquitted Williams of murder and he became a free man.  His freedom was short-lived, though, as he died 8 months later.

This is the basic plot of the nonfiction novel Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil sounds like a crime mystery, right? But there was no mystery. After shooting Hansford, Williams rearranged some of his study where it took place, then called the police to report it.

Courtroom drama perhaps?

There was some drama, but not near as much as would be expected to deserve that label.

Love story? Triangle?

Neither.

So, what was Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

In my opinion, it was a study. A study in character, personality, insular society, and, predominantly, historic Savannah, Georgia, which is where most ot the story occurs.

I read the story for three reasons.

The first reason was that I was captivated by the title. In fact, I referenced it in one of the essays in my book, Lean to the Write. That chapter is called The Power of the Title. I wrote it back in 2010 when I was more active on my blog.

The second reason is that I'm a fan of Pat Conroy and his lush descriptions of the south and how he incorporates the elites of southern society in his tales.

The third and most relevant reason is that I love Savannah. The Army sent me to Fort Stewart, Georgia which abuts Hinesville. Both places are mentioned once int he book. I have been all over Savannah, River Street, the historic district, the Oglethorpe Mall. I proposed to my wife out on Tybee Island.

The city calls to me in ways that other cities don't. Its zeitgeist remains strong to this day. My wife and I returned to Savannah for our 30th wedding anniversary. We toured Fort Stewart, which was where we met and went out to Tybee Island. I would like to have explored the lovely  squares except we were limited in time. We did make it to River Street and stopped in at Kevin Barry's Irish Pub which appears to be closed now. I took a number of pictures.

I also took pictures back in the 80s, but I'm not so sure where they are at this time.

Besides Savannah and its rich environs, the eccentricities of the characters in the book are on full display. From Lady Chablis, the transgender drag queen performer, to Joe Odom who never really seemed to have a financial stake in where he lived but kept a revolving door of visitors coming in and going out all hours of day and night, to Lee Adler and his wife, mortal enemies of Jim Williams, to Williams himself who threw the socialite event of the year with an exclusive guest list - a yearly Christmas party.

And speaking of eccentric, the victim of the shooting, Danny Hansford, was reportedly a male prostitute out hustling men and women in and around the squares (if you don't know what I mean by squares, look it up on the internet). Hansford had a hair trigger temper and was known to threaten people at the drop of a hat.

Many of the people mentioned in the book have since passed away; some still live. But the two main players are gone and there no witnesses to the killing, so motivation has to have been assumed all these years. After all, there was only Jim Williams' word about it.

Charleston, SC seems to be a similar city in many ways. Pat Conroy writes about it in Lords of Discipline. In Charleston, much of the wealth is concentrated south of Broad Street. However, in Savannah, the line of demarcation for social status is north of Gaston Street (NOG). Today, one is able to buy tickets to a tour of hidden gardens NOG.

The title Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil actually refers to a hoodoo belief that good magic happens in the half hour leading up to midnight and evil magic in the half hour after midnight and is practiced in a cemetery.

But even with this specific reference, it fits very well with the Savannahian lifestyle north of Gaston. The hubris, envy, prejudice, the peccadilloes winked at all seem very expected to the point of trope or cliche.

For those who suspect that the underside of wealth and civility is quite filthy won't be disappointed by Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

Erasure

 When I was five or six, I started attending Willard School on Pillsbury Street in South Portland, Maine. The building is no longer there and the island of land it was on is now a park.

After a year at Willard, I went to Roosevelt School on Pine Street. That was to be my school until one was built much closer to where I lived. That building is no longer a school and it's not called Roosevelt anything now. It is Meetinghouse Lofts Condominiums.

When Dora L. Small School's construction was finished, I transferred from Roosevelt. There was a field behind Small School that had a pond we used to skate on in the winter when it froze over. The school building is now two to three time larger and the pond no longer exists.

When done with elementary school, I attended Mahoney Junior High School at the corner of Broadway and Ocean Street. Long afterward, it became Mahoney Middle School and now it's no longer a school. The city is looking at the building to house city offices and the SP police department.

After junior high, I went to South Portland High School on Highland Avenue. It's still there, though it has been added to since.

After graduating, I attended Eastern Nazarene College in Quincy, MA. The school just closed this year and submitted plans to the city to subdivide the property into 30 single family homes and a couple multi-family dwellings.

I went into the Army after college. My basic training post, Fort Dix, New Jersey, is still active. But my advanced individual training post, Fort Devens, Massachusetts is now a town just called Devens. Any military affiliation it has these days is limited to Reserves.

My permanent duty station, the 24th Infantry Division at Fort Stewart, Georgia was deactivated in 1996. My particular unit, the 124th Military Intelligence Battaltion doesn't exist any more. In fact, my MOS (military occupational specialty) 05H, Signal Intelligence, International Morse Code Intercept, no longer exists as well. The 3rd Infantry Division redeployed from Germany and now occupies Fort Stewart. My old battalion is now the Welcome Center for incoming soldiers.

Both my wife's and my childhood family homes are still family homes. Just not our families.

What I see reminds me of an episode of Start Trek Next Generation where little by little reality is obliterated. Time is a great eraser.

Fort Devens - excerpted from my book BDUDays

The world was defined by five long buildings all facing in towards a rectangular swath of grass sprinkled with a few large trees. Each building inhabited a side of the rectangle with one side sporting two of them. In the corner, there was another building squarer and smaller than the others.

That smaller building was the mess hall where meals were served three times daily.

This was the first battalion of the intelligence school at Fort Devens, Massachusetts.

Behind this battalion was Jackson Road. In front of it was MacArthur Avenue. To one side, beyond the massive parking lot was Givry Street. Peggy Street bordered the remaining side.

Across MacArthur Avenue was battalion headquarters, basically a little office building not much bigger than a small town post office. The commanding officer at the time was Lieutenant Colonel Worth A. Sweet. His executive officer was Major Meaney.

Seriously.

Colonel Sweet looked a little like Paul Newman. He had piercing blue eyes and was not unapproachable. During a NUG (new ugly guy/new ugly girl) orientation, he said a couple times, “I wear the glove.” I have no idea what he meant by that.

Down MacArthur Ave a little further west was the movie theater and across from that the enlisted club where you could congregate for beers, loud music and be puked on by a scrawny young soldier away from home for the first time in his life. That happened to me. He was nervous that I was going to do something to him because of it. I just looked down at the vomit I was wearing, looked up at him and left the building.

Behind Charlie Company across Jackson Road was Charlie Valley. It was a small depression in the woods where MilStakes was held. These were several soldier tests that required passing in order to avoid the pain of having to retrain and retake. I assume some partying took place in Charlie Valley as well. Partying took place almost everywhere.

Across from Echo Company on the corner of Peggy and MacArthur was a snack bar. In the snack bar you could buy nachos, a pitcher of beer for $2-3, pop a quarter into the juke box and listen to John Waite sing Missing You. Or you  could go into the darkened back area and play video games. The snack bar was a popular hangout for those with no bigger plans for the moment.

Fort Devens was a pretty post with well groomed grass and tall trees. If you could overlook the camouflage uniforms, the institutional barracks and barbed wire fences around the intelligence school buildings, it would be easy to imagine it as a college campus.

Compared to basic training, the atmosphere was almost that of college as well. We were stationed there to learn our MOS - the Army jobs we signed up to do.
 
Because of the intensity of that training, some of the standard Army procedures were more relaxed. Not done away with, but easier than they could have been.

I had signed up to become a Morse code intercept and copy specialist. The Army designation for it was 05H. Even though it is a zero, five and letter H, we pronounced it as “oh-five-H”. And that was usually slanged out as hog. So we were “oh-five-hogs”.

Prior to starting the course, we were all required to take a typing test. The testers were looking for people who had the ability to type a minimum speed with all fingers and do it correctly. Those who didn't pass the test had to take a typing course.

I was a two finger typist. Because I typed a lot of papers for college courses, I could do it quickly and accurately. So I fudged my way through the test trying to look like someone who knew how to really type. When it was over, I took a breath of relief. I had succeeded.

The first part of the course was learning how to copy Morse code on a standard keyboard and build up speed in doing so. Once we were able to copy twenty groups per minute (each group containing five characters), we were ready to move into the second phase of training which allowed us to hear code that had been transmitted in real world situations. Some of it sounded like chickens clucking, some like watery bloops. There was all manner of background noise to have to listen through to hear the code.

• • • • •

Fort Devens was about an hour away from Boston. The commuter rail which services communities northwest of that iconic city had a station in Ayer, the town right outside the gate of Ft Devens. Cab fare to the station was cheap, so many of us caught the train to Boston frequently. I eventually bought my own car and drove instead. A college friend of mine lived in Quincy, so I would often spend weekends with him.

• • • • •

There was only one field exercise the entire time I was at Fort Devens. This exercise was a requirement for graduation. It consisted of a long march across post and into the woods where we bivouacked. There was a long night of being attacked by APCs, artillery simulators, grenade simulators. Blanks were issued for the M60s and M16s we carried. A few of us from Charlie Company had to go with Echo Company on their field scenario as our graduation date preceded our own scheduled exercise. Because it was Echo’s exercise, we didn’t feel particularly compelled to join in defending the position.  

So we just sat up most of the night smoking and talking while listening to the loud booms and rat-a-tat-tats taking place nearby. I heard that some from Echo were ‘captured’ and taken to a SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape) camp where they were abused as a form of POW training.
 
C Co was supposed to defend the rear of Echo. Word was spread that there would probably be infiltrators through our area. While sitting against a tree in the dark of night and heat of battle, we were approached by a member of Tac Platoon. I knew the guy, knew him immediately as one of the infiltrators. As he crouched down near us to talk and ask about defensive positions, I quietly raised my M16 and pointed it at his face. It couldn’t have been more than a foot, foot and a half from it. Then I wondered what would happen if I pulled the trigger.

There was a blank adapter on the end of the rifle, but still the flash from it - who knows. He had no idea; it was that dark out. Then he took off with a loud hoot as if he had done something incredibly daring.

I never fired the weapon. Just finished smoking my cigarette and stubbed it out.

Like I said, it was Echo’s exercise.

• • • • •

There are other activities I could mention. The parties at Robbins Pond and Mirror Lake, some unit-sanctioned, others open free-for-alls. There was one such gathering set up in a field somewhere not far from the PX. Music was playing, coolers were filled with cans of beer.

There were three tents erected for the occasion, for what purpose I don't know. It was a nice, sunny day out.
A crowd of guys gathered around the window opening of one tent. I moseyed over to check out what they were looking at.

Inside the tent was a guy and a girl totally naked having sex. And by that, I mean they were in the doggy-style position with all the appropriate moaning sounds..There were catcalls and comments from the group watching, and I wondered about this brave, new world I had joined. Was everything going to be this wild and uninhibited?

After finishing, the girl, fully clothed, left the tent and didn't look at or speak to anyone nearby. The guy, however, emerged from the tent complaining about having an audience.

• • • • •

Because a portion of my training was self-paced and I picked it up pretty quickly, I was ready to move on to my next duty assignment a month or two sooner than what was considered normal. For that I received a letter of commendation which has long since been lost. My experience at Devens was such that I strongly considered making the Army a career.

When it was time to pass out the permanent duty assignments, we stood in formation listening as the Charlie Company First Sergeant announced names and destinations. Since my MOS training included a Far East component, I figured I was headed to Okinawa, Japan, or maybe even Hawaii. Others called out before me were headed to locations like that and some to Augsburg, Germany.

Then the First Sergeant called my name, “Specialist Howe!”

“Yes, First Sergeant,” I responded.
 
“You are going to Fort Stewart, Georgia.” Then with a wry smile, he added, “Garden spot of the world.”

Something inside me thudded and I knew right then that the Army life would not be for me. I would get out after my enlistment was over.

But before I could do that, I had to make my way through Camp Swampy.

Little did I realize at that moment how it would change my life forever.

Élan School Thoughts

Some time ago, my son, Ryan, said he wanted to go see an old abandoned school in Poland which is the next town over from where we live. When I asked him why it was closed he said it was due to abuse.

Three days ago, on Sunday, he and I went. As it turns out, this place is less than 5 miles from my home. It was called Élan School. When Ryan told me about it, I just imagined a large brick building sitting alongside the road which would be a typical Maine school.

But Élan was anything but typical. It was a collection of several white wooden buildings set back into the woods at the end of a country road.

Ryan and I wandered around the grounds looking at broken, vandalized buildings with smashed windows. We found text books on the ground, furniture strewn around inside one building and graffiti. The atmosphere of the place was of dark melancholy.

I decided to do some research on it when I got home.

This is what I found out.

According to the American Bar Association's website:

"The 'troubled teen' industry is a network of private youth programs, therapeutic boarding schools, residential treatment centers, religious academies, wilderness programs, and drug rehabilitation centers and it dates back at least 50 years. The facilities are operated by private companies, nonprofits, or faith-based groups and they promise to help youth with problems related to behavior, addiction, and eating disorders."

Also from ABA:

"The 'troubled teen' industry is a big business. It receives an estimated $23 billion dollars of annual public funds to purportedly treat the behavioral and psychological needs of vulnerable youth.” 

***************************************************************

Élan School was founded in 1970 by Joe Ricci, David Goldberg and Dr. Gerald Davidson. Their publicly-stated goal was to turn self-destructive teens into productive adults, which in and of itself, is noble. However their methods and results are questionable at best.

In an oddly similar method to other such behavior modificaiton therapeutiv "schools", the teens targeted for admission by parents, a social worker or judge, are basically kidnapped in the middle of the night by 2 to 4 large men and taken away from their homes. This is with the parents' permission.

And with no explanation.

When at Élan, they are subject to intense hazing, food and sleep deprivation and, sometimes, physical abuse. Actual schooltime was from 7pm to 11pm and several of the articles I saw basically stated that the kids were given text books and told to read them.

Many of the staff are Élan graduates.

The following is a Reddit post from a former resident. This is a link to the post.

Reddit post

Even skimming this post once will blow your mind, most probably think thats its made up but you would be dead wrong

This place only still exist because so many people believe that it doesn't or that it can't. I believe that the internet is our #1 tool for exposing these horrid blind spots for what they are. Help me Reddit!

I was sent to a place called The Elan School in 1998 and I was only 16. The scary thing is that Elan is still open, kids aged 13-20 are there right now. Normal kids, many whom may have smoked a joint or two, or who swore at their parents. Of course there were also real criminals there, but they did not make up the majority.

The "school" accepted anyone and then held them as long as they possibly could depending on the age of the child. If you were sent at 14 (many were) you may have been looking at 3-4 years. This is because The Elan School collects $50,000 a year per child, either from the child's state, school, or parents. And, of course, money was the only motivation of the staff and directors. These were the people in charge of your "progress" in the program.

I could write for hours about it, instead I ask you to skim the following bullet points and to understand that I am telling the truth.

• We were forced to participate in staff-organized fight clubs, none of which were fair, all were designed to humiliate one child who would be put up against at least 3 others. So even the children who "followed the rules" were forced to fight: in the name of "good".

• Children who tried to rebel or be free-thinking were thrown into an isolation room where they had to stay for months at a time, they had to sleep at night on a dirty mattress on the floor of the isolation room The mattress was brought to them at midnight and they were woken up around 7am.

• We were all forced to perform in a ritual called a "General Meeting" where the entire house (60 or more boys and girls) screamed at one child who stood behind a broomstick. Many times they were forcibly held up by two other students so they would have to accept the punishment.

• Education was considered a right, but those of us who earned the right were still robbed of an education. School was from 7pm-11pm: no homework, no test, no projects. Ex: math class consisted of grabbing a math book and handing the teacher at least one page of work.

• The other 12 hours of the day consisted of constant conditioning and brainwashing. In the beginning you obviously rejected it, but then you would be "dealt with". You would not be able to rise through the ranks of the program to earn more 'rights' until you could prove yourself to be a good candidate for more brainwashing. Eventually it became your responsibility to begin indoctrinating the newer residents (basically you, six month earlier). You had Strength and Non-Strength. Non-Strength's were not allowed to talk, interact, or communicate in any way with other Non-Strengths. It took a minimum of 6 months to earn the title of "Strength". It took some kids years to earn "Strength". Some kids never did.

• Elan made money based on the amount of time it took for you to graduate "the program". You had to have a minimum of 7 promotions before you were a candidate for "graduation". Each promotion took a minimum of 3 months, and 90% of the kids never made it past the 5th promotion. These kids had to wait until they turned 18 and could legally sign themselves out. Other kids stayed past their 18th birthday, which is a true testament to the effectiveness of the brainwashing, I remember one dude was 23.

• Your level of high-school had no reflection whatsoever on your ability to leave Elan. I was forced to do my senior year of high school twice, even though I was technically done after the first senior year.

• The staff members were primarily former students who were hired by Elan after graduating from the program. Many arrived in BMW's and clearly made 6 figure incomes. None of them had degree's in psychology, education, social work, etc... Many of them never went to college at all.

• All outgoing letters to parents were screened, many of us having to write many different drafts until they were accepted. All phone calls to our parents were monitored, we were allowed about 15 minutes a week and the person who monitored the call would have their hand hovering over the hang-up button as a constant reminder of our reality.

• We were not allowed to write or receive letters until we earned the right (this could take 8 months or more). When someone found out where I was and wrote me, my unopened letters were ripped up in front of me as motivation to move up in the program.

I feel like I am beginning to write too much and I do not want to overwhelm anyone who made it this far. Because most of the bullet points honestly require further explanation to give the full impact of what Elan truly was.

The most important thing that anyone can do is to be aware of this place and make sure that nobody you know ever gets sent there for any reason. If you are a parent then do not send your child there. If you know someone who is there now then beg the parents to do more research.

The amount of suicides and tragic deaths of former Elan students is reason enough to take this post seriously.

The following is an NBC report done around 1979.   For The Childs Own Good - Elan

And this link is to a website made by a former resident who was at Élan from age 16 to 18. He created the website in the form of a comic book. It is a long read.

Joe vs. Elan School  https://elan.school/

There is a documentary on Amazon Prime  about Élan School.
You can watch it here. The Last Stop

There are many videos and articles about Élan that you can find using Google.

Joe Ricci died in 2001 from lung cancer. His wife Sharon Terry took over direction of the organization after and ran it until 2011. Then it closed for good.  The stated reason for closure was financial, but the reality was that the internet caused a lot of problems with people talking about their experiences. There are many aspects of that talked about in the Prime Video documentary.

I tried to watch videos and read articles with a sense of objectivity. I know how things can become hyperbolic in such things because they are all attempting to affect one's perception. I also understand the idea of discipline and breaking down of someone's will. I did go through Basic Training in the Army. But I was in my 20s when I did and it was totally voluntary. These behavior modification institutes will take kids as young as 13. Maybe younger.

One statement I heard in a video basically said that parents need to stop sending their kids off and start parenting and I would agree with that. But some kids are uncontrollable and get into drug and alcohol addiction early on and may come from abusive homes. I'm not so sure that these "schools" are the right answer, though.

Here is what we saw Sunday.

 

Awesome Achievers

Both of my sons have awesome achievements.

The youngest has crane certification allowing him to run these behemoths that lift tons of weight. Additionally, he has a CDL which means he can drive 18-wheelers in order to haul large loads for the company that employs him.

The oldest just finished Army Airborne School which qualifies him to jump out of an airplane and drift to the ground using a parachute.

The funny thing is that if you approached either and commented on their achievements, they would probably just say, "No big deal, man" as if what they achieved was the normalest thing in the world.

But what they don't understand yet is that they are both members of statistically miniscule fraternities.

The vast majority of people wouldn't even think about doing what they've done let alone attempt any of it.

Sure, they have peers and colleagues doing the same type of work with the same achievements, but that's not the point.

In this day and age of graduating high school, then maybe college and going out and getting a 9-5 office job in some corporation, my sons have opted to go different routes that appeal only to certain types of men.

I'm proud of both boys and if anyone asked me what my awesome achievement was, I would have to answer that it's my sons.

But I'd have to share that achievement with my wife.

inFAQ's Top 40

 I thought to do a top 10 list of my all time favorite songs. Like such endeavors, I kept thinking about other songs that should be on the list. I figured I would just pick a bunch of songs and pare it down to 10.

Didn't work.

So, I expanded the list to be my top 20. Then top 30. Now it's top 40 and will end there. Briefly flirting with the idea of top 100, I realized that would be too much. Even now, I tend to think 40 is too much, at least in this day when people don't bother reading beyond a certain point.

I didn't place the songs in any particular order. Rather, the list is organized by what came to mind at any given moment. Also, I had considered making commentary on each, but won't bother.

As for list criteria, I'd have to say that these songs are welcome to me any time they come up on the radio or a YouTube suggestion. Some may ask why Stairway to Heaven isn't on the list. Or Smoke on the Water or ____________... name any song. And it's partly due t o the fact that I over heard songs back in the day when I listened to the radio more than I do now and developed a fatigue  from it.

So, here's the list and it could change eventually. But it stands for now.

1. The Great Gate of Kiev - Modest Mussorgsky
https://youtu.be/vw7OM_Q810k

2. Little Darlin' - The Diamonds
https://youtu.be/jGcx5fVZRkI

3. The Weight - The Band
https://youtu.be/q-w9OclUnns

4. Drift Away - Dobie Gray
https://youtu.be/NIuyDWzctgY

5. O Tannenbaum - Vince Guaraldi
https://youtu.be/YLdTU25vsVo

6. Heart of the Night - Poco
https://youtu.be/MN7y1Qys2f4

7. Peace in Our Time - Eddie Money
https://youtu.be/I7iRe81VTq4

8. Missing You - John Waite
https://youtu.be/k9e157Ner90

9. You Are the Girl - The Cars
https://youtu.be/DmFdW1JyccA

10. Texas Sun - Khruangbin & Leon Bridges
https://youtu.be/Whe7MURlKLw

11. Home at Last - Steely Dan
https://youtu.be/Hx5ZlTyzU-k

12. Gentle on My Mind - Glen Campbell
https://youtu.be/ETkzK9pXMio

13. Don't Stop Believing - Journey
https://youtu.be/VcjzHMhBtf0

14 - Funeral - Devin Townsend Project
https://youtu.be/0ItzTi4CVMw

15. Time - Pink Floyd
https://youtu.be/oEGL7j2LN84

16. Tennessee Whiskey - Chris Stapleton
https://youtu.be/IBLruNfUqUs

17. Where the Streets Have No Name - U2
https://youtu.be/GzZWSrr5wFI

18. Christmas Must Be Tonight - The Band
https://youtu.be/Y5bKtRU0Q6c

19 - The Reach - Dan Fogelberg
https://youtu.be/HEL_qqXGjHU

20. November Rain - Guns N Roses
https://youtu.be/8SbUC-UaAxE

21. Driver's Seat - Sniff n the Tears
https://youtu.be/9SCzVEUlqqA

22. King of Glory - Exit 244
https://youtu.be/tDqEsuUmzUI

23. Finlandia - Jean Sibelius
https://youtu.be/F5zg_af9b8c

24. Humans Being - Van Halen
https://youtu.be/b9e5fT8migI

25. Hysteria - Def Leppard
https://youtu.be/UIlHi15I9YQ

26. China Girl - David Bowie
https://youtu.be/NEl6BBLwSa0

27. 1812 Overture - Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
https://youtu.be/QUpuAvQQrC0

28. Sing - Travis
https://youtu.be/eYO1-gGWJyo

29. Hold On - Tom Waits
https://youtu.be/0P5jV4lHHR0

30. Money Talks - AC/DC
https://youtu.be/LBYZoc9lnvE

31. Dig a Little Deeper - The Fairfield Four
https://youtu.be/-fOmKNOeJpc

32. On the Water - Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers
https://youtu.be/7prhBlma3Ys

33.  I Heard The Bells on Christmas Day - Casting Crowns' version
https://youtu.be/M7670CXvPX0

34. Waiting on a Friend - Rolling Stones
https://youtu.be/DltGvCatNwA

35. Bittersweet - Big Head Todd and The Monsters
https://youtu.be/Wyd9OcI37AY

36. Out of This World - The Cure
https://youtu.be/1SSPOsf09JA

37. Mavis - Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats
https://youtu.be/i8cogQpcTYA

38. Turn of the Century - Yes
https://youtu.be/zY9gopSNptQ

39. Solsbury Hill - Peter Gabriel
https://youtu.be/_OO2PuGz-H8

40. Copperline - James Taylor
https://youtu.be/QAaAhi37IHg

Ghost Runners

I wrote something years ago that has stuck with me. It was describing a place we used to play baseball as kids. Being short enough players to field two teams, we utilized ghost runners for the team at bat. For those unfamiliar with this practice, say six kids decide to play. That would be three per team in a game that fields nine players normally. When the team at bat got hits, any kid who was still on base when his turn to hit came up again would declare a ghost runner would be taking his place. Thus, the game progressed and ghost runners could score or be forced out. They could never be tagged out, of course. But it was a way to be able to continue the game.

What I wrote years ago included this part:

one day
we left the ghost runners stranded
standing on their bases,
waiting, a setting sun
shining on their faces
and there they remain
among houses sprung
up from the weeds

Here's what stuck with me about this.

I don't recall there ever being a collective agreement to not play there any more. We didn't change fields. We weren't forced to stop playing there.

We just stopped.

In the normal evolution of life, people moved away and kids grew up and this is obviously the root of it all.

1 Corinthians 13:11 says "When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things." (NKJV)

Neighborhoods change. Friendships change. People change. With age comes new responsibilities, new challenges, different circumstances in different locations, some far from the old homestead.

I can think of many things I used to do with friends that we just stopped doing. Not by agreement or decision, but we all just moved on to something else.

I still like to think those ghost runners remain at their bases waiting for us to return and continue playing. It's a fool's dream, of course, because that field is now cluttered with houses.

But they're still there. I know it.

And they are patient.
 

Chuck

I recently finished watching Chuck, the action-drama-comedy TV show that aired from 2007 to 2012 on NBC.

It was only 4-1/2 seasons long as the fifth season ended with only 13 episodes. For some reason, it never really garnered ratings strong enough to keep going.

I watched it on Amazon Prime and somewhere in mid-fourth season, Prime started requiring payment for the show. Prior to that, it was part of the Prime package and free to watch.

My wife decided she didn't want to watch any further, so I ended up doing it by myself. And I'm glad I did.

Like many TV shows, it started off with an interesting premise. Chuck Bartowski, a computer nerd, worked for the Nerd Herd at big-box store, Buy More. This was modeled after real-life Best Buy's Geek Squad.

Chuck received an email from an old college friend that had an attachment which downloaded the CIA's database into Chuck's brain. This database was called the Intersect.

Two agents, Sarah Walker from the CIA and John Casey from NSA, were assigned to Chuck. Sarah was a gorgeous blond  and Casey a no-nonsense, sharpshooting, rough-and-tumble guy.  Both were tops in their fields with assassin and close quarters combat training under their belts. It was their job to be handlers and protect Chuck as an invaluable asset to national security.

The first couple seasons, Chuck fumbled and bumbled his way through missions relying on flashes from the Intersect to recognize villains and even perform kung-fu in hand-to-hand combat situations. His background as a tech nerd came in handy many times for hacking computers and disabling bombs.

As was expected, a romance developed between Chuck and Sarah. It was rocky at first as both resisted their feelings though Chuck more readily admitted to his. Dalliances with other people were something of an issue, but eventually their relationship flourished and they married at the end of the fourth season.

Other characters included Morgan Grimes, Chuck's best friend and colleague at the Buy More, Ellie Bartowski, Chuck's sister, who ended up marrying Devin Woodcomb (Captain Awesome), Jeff Barnes and Lester Patel, a pair of loser doofuses who also worked at Buy More but played an incredibly redeeming role in preventing a bomb from going off in the finale, General Diane Beckman, NSA director who handed out assignments to the team and Big Mike, originally manager of the Buy More, but later assistant manager.

As the series progressed, Chuck became a capable agent and used the alias of Charles Carmichael when out in the field. Early on, there was a touch of Michael Scott to him, but he outgrew it quickly.

In the fifth season, Sarah downloads a corrupt version of the Intersect which caused her to forget she's married to Chuck and is instructed to kill him. With her amnesia, she is led to believe that her whole relationship with Chuck was just a deep-cover assignment by rogue agent Nicholas Quinn who wanted the Intersect all for himself.

In the end, Quinn is defeated and Chuck is left to try and get Sarah to fall in love with him again. The final scene where they are sitting on a beach and he tells her their story of which she had no memory and no feelings attached to it, leads to a kiss as music plays and the screen goes black. The producers wanted to leave it to the audience's imagination as to whether or not they rekindled what they had. I tend to think they did. But, apparently, a lot of watchers were miffed that it was left open-ended like that.

The finale tied up everyone's storylines with Ellie and Devin moving to Chicago to work as department heads in a hospital there, Morgan moving in with Alex (John Casey's daughter), Casey heading off to Germany to find the woman he loves and Jeffster (Jeff and Lester) getting a recording contract from a German record producer.  

Of course, the two main characters' ending wasn't conclusive, but I prefer to think of it as Chuck and Sarah starting over and building their relationship again from scratch with all the excitement and magic that implies. It's a sweet ending despite what the naysayers complain.

I found the cast to be likeable as the characters they portrayed were all very well rounded with their own quirks and nuances.

As for eye candy, there was Sarah, Ellie, and Alex to appeal to men and Devin for the women. Perhaps other male characters had some appeal to women, but I'd have to ask one to find out. I'm talking strictly looks here.

It's no surprise that Hollywood uses attractive females in television and movies. After all, they offer a lust factor that keeps men coming back to watch the show. Or, at least, keeps their attention long enough to hook them on the storyline.

But I prefer to view them as a mental exercise in choosing a mate. Which character would I want to spend the rest of my life with?

Of all the television I have watched over the years, I can certainly say that Elliot Reid, Pam Beasley, Temperance Brennan, Angela Montenegro, Kate Austen, Claire Littleton,  Lisa Braeden, April Ludgate, Ann Perkins, Juliet O'Hara, Elizabeth Keen, Liv Moore, Elaine Benes, Daphne Moon, Dana Scully, Maggie Greene, Audrey Horne, Deanna Troi, Diane Chambers, and so on, ad infinitum, all had a hotness factor.

But Sarah Walker is the only one I could envision spending my life with. The character portrayed by Yvonne Strahovski had an immeasurable sweetness and kindness (not to mention toughness) to her that few, if any, of the others generated. Maybe it's just the nature of the show and casting, but Strahovski, whom I had never seen act before, captured an essence not usually seen.

Anyway, that last bit is neither here nor there in real life but just some musings I had.

I would watch Chuck again if it was available on Netflix or Hulu. But I most likely won't buy the entire run of it. The last 20 or so episodes I bought is enough. Besides, it's probably available on Peacock streaming as NBC has been pulling in all their content for its service and I won't subscribe to it.

Give Chuck a look if you're so inclined. I think it's far better than the ratings made it out to be.

Everything Looks Worse in Black and White (2011)

Can so much recollection be tied up in so small a place in such pictures and imagery as I know to be inaccurate at best? It’s like the song So Long by Fischer-Z that I so wanted to re-obtain from decades before, and I remember riding with Dave in his Celica listening to its thrumming beat, its synthesized lull. Then when I finally got my ears around it for the first time in eons, I was disappointed to realize that it had disconnected from me long ago.

But even so, I still see the images, and I have to wonder what portions of them are real and what are fabricated from a mind trying to fill in the blanks. Snippets I recall from the field, standing on dirt roads in full combat gear with LBE, ammo packs and gas mask hanging limply at the side, steel pot tipped back on the head, boots dusty from the march, M16 dangling from nonchalant fingers. Probably smoking a cigarette because that’s what we did when we got the chance. That and beer. And these pictures fade in and out with some inconsistency of background.

Lush vegetation beside some ramshackle wooden structure. Many pathways through brush with something to do with weapons or grenade training. A hornets’ nest between trees in an opening in the woods. Different forts, different flora, but the same pose. Those are the faint times, somehow impactful enough to plant a picture, but not near enough to hold onto it like a life preserver. Who would want to?

Were there really armored vehicles in that one sand pit? Or was that a dream? The older, the harder it is to differentiate.

Riding down Hancock Street, heading south, already past that sporting goods place - can’t even remember the name. Then there was a tuxedo shop on the right beyond the intersection, and the ski shop up the hill where I bought $50 skis on sale and had to borrow the money for those because that was a lot back in 1982. Further down Hancock, there’s a package store, called a packy by the locals, where they sold Genessee Cream Ale which was really nothing but stanky pisswater in a can. What cream?

But I know that somewhere heading in to Weymouth, or some other place on the south shore, that the road came down into the city with a sort of panoramic sight, and I only went there once or twice, so it’s not even recognizable in street view any more. More’s the pity. What could be a useful tool for retracing steps has left me unsettled and a bit confused for the lack of ability to match the scene on the screen to the one in my head.

Hendrie’s Ice Cream plant. I’ve searched for it in Google. It was somewhere near Mattapan, but it’s elusive now, hiding way back in the nowhere land that exists in the small place with so much recollection.

I know I painted a house in Winthrop. I know I went snorkeling in Boston Harbor.

I know I walked through Braintree to someone’s house. That fellow is a friend on Facebook now, and no one should tell him that he is middle-aged.

Go figure. I’m still walking old streets while everyone else has gotten older.

A beach south of Boston, but still in the city. To me who is accustomed to broad sweeping beaches looking out over a wild Atlantic Ocean, this had the makings of being caught and canned in a lagoonish setting with a building on the left and every square inch of sand covered with supine bronzed bodies. I know it exists, for Pete and Pat and I went there one summer. But I don’t know where exactly and street view isn’t helping.

These images refuse definition, as if by doing so they will be rendered even more harmless than they already are. I know there’s a swimming pond out off 84 somewhere, and pretty Janine wore her pretty bikini there, but I could only look nonchalantly because Chad was there, too.

Perhaps the dirt road that led out to it is now paved and homes were built all around it so as to provide easy living for those with money. Change does that to a place and nothing can save it after all, except memories.

But what will save the memories? Like jigsaw puzzles, pieces go missing even as they sit unused in a box in the closet until one day they are pulled out and an attempt is made to reassemble them.

Unfortunately, not every memory is worth saving, even though they may be pleasant. So we find ourselves in something of a construction business as we try to remold them enough to be able to describe them in stories or poetry because we know... WE KNOW... they would absolutely add the necessary seasoning to make the written piece taste real and exotic. Or at least just real.

So, A Corner of Nowhere gets written. There’s no mention of Shevlin and his doings, but I can still decode it though others may frown and walk away none the wiser. And that all took place out.... out.... out there somewhere and the maps aren’t being specific enough.

Just do something with it and re-sculpt everything, though it may only be a fantasy.

No one will know

Not even me.

Note: The words “street view” in here refer to a feature in Google maps that allow you to virtually drive any streets that they have recorded with their street view car.

Eulogy

 So my father died a little over three weeks ago on Christmas morning. When it was apparent he didn't have much time left, I prayed that God would extend him at least into January so my mother wouldn't have to associate Christmas with the loss of her husband of 66 years.

God ignored me.

I don't know what thoughts I have of all this. It seems like everything now is really geared towards getting his funeral arranged and taking care of death business. I suppose all the contemplation will come later when there is less organized chaos.

I do know that my father was never about taking care of himself physically. He didn't exercise or care that he ate way too many sweets. Those things just weren't important to him.

I could also make the point that his son wasn't that important to him either, though he did take me fishing when I was a kid. Other than that he really took little interest in the things I liked and wanted to do.

That last statement is probably unfair of me. There were other things he did for me, but I remember him showing up for one little league game I had and left because I wasn't in the game. He showed no real support for that or other things I did.

If I sound bitter, I'm not, really. He admitted that he wasn't a very good father to me and I can agree with him. Yet he provided a roof over our heads and food to eat. We never went without what we needed physically. For those things, I am thankful.

And I'm also thankful for the negative things as well, for it has instructed my own parenting with regards to my sons. I spent time with them doing things that he was unwilling to do with me. I can still see places where I could have done better. That's probably the curse of hindsight.

I can say that my father was an honest man and there are many examples. He held to fairly firm principles, though at times he was easily led astray by narratives that appealed to him. We are probably all guilty of that at one time or another.

But I can't really put together a glowing outline of his life to use as a eulogy if asked. Not if I'm being honest and frank. If asked to say something, I'll probably refuse, though I confess to a sense of obligation as I was his only son.

My dad was okay to me and not abusive and maybe that's enough.

Thuoghts on Marriage

From the beginning, marriage is full of dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin.

Starting while dating, these hormones run at high speed and are notched up with the words, "I do."

From first kiss to wedding vows to buying a home to first pregnancy, hormones and neurotransmitters make everything feel like Disneyland.

At some point, however, life changes. Drudgery sets in, routine takes over. And what seemed so marvelous from the start becomes commonplace.

This is the period where many people bemoan the 'magic being gone' and start to seriously consider that they may have chosen the wrong partner even though that person may not be abusive, cold or indifferent.

Sometimes eyes wander and sometimes feet follow. Infidelity becomes a more attractive option than changing another dirty diaper. Or the couple  may simply drift apart which can be just as traumatic as an affair.

This is where commitment needs to come in. The vows taken during the wedding ceremony should be front and foremost as a promise from one person to another, a verbal contract, so to speak. It is all too easy to break contract when things just don't feel good like they used to.

But that's the point of contracts. They stipulate a certain type of behavior to be conducted through the entirety of the contract. And the entirety of wedding vows is supposed to be for life.

Expectation is a funny thing. It can add spice to your days or terror to your time. Or it can turn quickly from breathless anticipation to sharp disappointment.

The expectation of a marriage to remain on a highly charged loving and sexual note is unrealistic. This isn't to say that those ingredients will go away, but things do change and that is something most won't really realize until they have some age under their belts.

Unfortunately, destructive decisions made during emotionally down times result in pain for everyone involved.

The dopamine addiction is real. It's why people engage in behaviors they shouldn't. The obesity trend in the population bears this out as does the number of children born out of wedlock and raging credit card debt.

But here's the thing: if a couple gets through the down times and endures then they will come out the other side stronger. As Lewis states, "If once they get through this initial dryness successfully, they become much less dependent on emotion and therefore much harder to tempt." CS Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, pg. 18

And this reduced dependency on emotion opens up a whole new world of freedom to actually choose to love the person to whom you have committed your life, your world, your entire self.