LET NO MAN PUT ASUNDER

“Did you see that news piece about the Stock Market?”

“Yup, they only put it on the news to scare people. I’ve never seen good news.”

“Do you think we should worry about our investments.”

“Doesn’t matter what I think, you are going to worry anyway.”

“Why do you always put me down?”

“Here we go again. I’m not putting you down, just stating the fact that you worry about everything. You worry about the weather, the kids, the economy, immoral TV shows. There is always something to worry about.”

“That’s not true. I get tired of you putting me down every time we talk.”

Then it escalated until John left the kitchen, turned on the TV with his can of beer. Sharon quietly cleaned the kitchen and headed to her room to call Betty about tomorrow’s birthday celebration at work.

It hadn’t always been this way. John and Sharon used to laugh a lot. They had plans. They both enjoyed traveling and camping. There were so many places to see and things to do. Slowly those days faded to non-existence. The children moved away for better jobs. John’s job was “redefined”. That meant more work, less pay and an intolerable supervisor. Sharon took her new job and got very involved in committees at work. She also volunteered at the hospital four days a month. The camper was sold to help the finances.

It was predictable but conversations became shorter and less meaningful. Then the resentment and sarcasm slipped in. Now it was often better to have no conversation then the incessant bickering. Although it was never shared, both John and Sharon had become lonely people in their own home.

The home. It used to be filled with laughter and children. There were soccer games and school dances. There were sleep overs and family parties. There were the wonderful camping trips to the mountains. Today the home had changed. It was no longer “home”. It was a house where two people ate, watched TV and slept.

Fortunately, this tale has a wonderful resolution. It started one night when the phone rang and Sharon heard the voice of an old high school friend. Bill Torrence had gone to high school with both John and Sharon. He was in town and wanted to come to dinner. It had been 39 years since high school and both Sahron and John were excited to see Bill.

Bill had been a friendly guy who always seemed sincere. His sense of humor made him popular in the little school. Neither John nor Sharon knew what had happened to Bill. There was a rumor in town that he had become a successful real estate developer on the West Coast but nobody knew for sure.

The doorbell rang. When Sharon and John opened the door they saw Bill. He was holding a bottle of wine. There was something else that made both John and Sharon open their mouths in surprise. Bill was dressed in black and wearing a Roman Collar. Bill appeared to be – well – a priest.

“I suppose I should have told you because I can see on your face that you are quite surprised to see that I am a Catholic priest. Don’t be afraid. It is really a simple and old story.”

After pouring some wine, learning a little about John and Sharon, the high school sweethearts who married so young, Fr. Bill started his tale.

“Without the long details which would take weeks, it goes like this. Man starts out to be successful. He builds some financial success. The he falls in love and plans to marry the woman of his dreams. As the wedding plans were being made some poor financial decisions caused a crack in the finances. The crack became a serious fissure and some serious financial problems as debt grew much larger than assets and income crumbled. The woman of his dreams becomes more distant and head off with a young doctor with a brighter financial future. Young Bill was ruined at the age of 30.”

“I had to start over again but this time I wanted to do if by building a more solid foundation. I had to ask myself what are the really most important things in life. I realized it wasn’t money, property or toys. Finding out what isn’t important is easy. Looking for truth is much more challenging. It took several years but I finally decided that I had to make a decision about this historical figure Jesus Christ. I’m not going to lay on some emotional testimony. Just leave it that I concluded the stories about Jesus were true. One thing led to another. I have never been happier. This year I will have been a priest for 20 years.”

John went first. “Fr. Bill that is a great story but what moved you to call on us?”

“I had to come here to give a talk on marriage and for some reason I remembered that you live here. So call it nostalgia, but I thought it would be fun to catch up.”

Sharon was next. “You are speaking on marriage? No offense but you have never been married. How did you get this assignment?”

“Sharon, marriage is my main ministry. I have written two books and give retreats for couples who are in crisis.”

“Do your retreats actually help couples? They must be pretty messed up when you meet them.”

“Sharon life is tough. Our culture doesn’t support marriage like it once did. Good couples find themselves in unacceptable situations. It doesn’t have to be physical abuse or infidelity. Couples who once loved being with each other find themselves distant without any idea where to turn.”

John jumped in with a cynical comment that he regretted as soon as it slipped from his tongue. “So you tell them to go back to Church and everything will be better?”

“John, not every couple in trouble has stopped going to Church. A lot of people sitting in the pews, singing the songs are feeling dead inside.”

That was the beginning for John and Sharon. They did go and hear Fr. Bill speak. His passion for marriage woke a flame inside of them. They followed the talk by going on the retreat. It took some time but things did get much better for Sharon and John. As they planned their second camping trip to the mountains in the last five weeks, John said, “Do you believe a celibate man could help married people so much?”

Sharon thought and said, “I happened before. Jesus said ‘What God has joined together, let no man put asunder’.” The aroma of fresh baked pie filled the kitchen as John was completing his repair on the cooler handle. Looking at each other both John and Sharon broke into a warm and genuine smile.

HAROLD, THE MORALLY OFFENDED

Harold had made it to the age of sixty. He wasn’t sure how it had happened. Mostly it was a series of waking, working, eating and sleeping. Suddenly he was sixty. Along the way there had been a few people but they were all gone now.

There was a wife for ten years who moved away with the two children and most of his possesions. There was one brother who went to Europe and was never heard from again.

Vaguely Harold could remember one dog but for the most part it was WWES (Wake, Work, Eat and Sleep).

Harold looked around his apartment and wondered what would entertain him this Sunday. Sunday was the one-day of the week when he woke, ate and slept but did little work. This was a challenge because he had to think of something to do with eight or ten hours. It was a weekly challenge.

Some Sundays, he would go to the park. He could walk around the village and maybe buy some ice cream. Other days he would read a library book that interested him. Harold was never very entertained by television, had no patience for movies, and for some reason never developed an interest in professional sports. He had given up reading newspapers as he found them to be depressing. He occasionally enjoyed music by playing records he had collected. This became more difficult as stores no longer sold records and Harold had no interest in newer electronic devices.

You could say Harold was a very simple man. He was shy and almost anti-social. He was very intelligent but found the culture of his society boring and uninteresting.

Six days a week Harold busied himself with his work. Harold worked at a publishing company. His responsibility was to read and write comments on manuscripts that had been submitted. Harold had the responsibility of reading historical manuscripts. He did not read fiction. He only reviewed research about different historical events. Harold’s personal preference was Western Civilization during the 19^th century.

He had a tremendous interest in the worldwide abolitionist movement to end slavery. There were heroes like William Wilberforce, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Nat Turner, and many others throughout the world. In the struggle for social change, Harold was touched by the bravery of people who were motivated the stop an injustice. They did this work at great personal risk. It was not a national movement but a worldwide and uncoordinated work driven by some force that was unmistakably admirable.

Harold loved his work. He felt like he spent his days meeting people locked in unselfish virtuous and often life taking endeavors. It was exhilarating and inspirational. He was struck by the fact that his current world that he abandoned many years ago lacked such courage.

Harold would spend his days with courageous missionaries of justice. As this took over his life he lost interest in modern narcissism. His wife had left to “find herself”. Television and movies were filled with people seeking personal gratification. They would spend their efforts seeking more things, possessions, sex, and fame. The leaders of the world all preached narcissism and had personal lives of wealth and self-serving pleasures.

As this became more obvious to Harold he gave up media. He became Harold the morally offended. As he recognized that current culture was boring and offensive to him, he withdrew more and more. The personal tragedy was that in a period of ten or fifteen years Harold had become a man without friends. He lived like a modern hermit. Were it not for his sixty hours a week spent with moral heroes and heroines, Harold would be an angry depressing lonely man. Instead he was an intellectually stimulated energized lonely man.

He rarely allowed himself time for self-pity. He also never felt rejected or neglected. He was a hermit by choice. He had consciously decided to live his life with 200-year-old idealists. By living this way, Harold spent no time being offended by his world because he ignored it. Once he decided to ignore the culture he found himself less angry and more peaceful.

Occasionally he did have his personal battles. They revolved around the issue of personal worth. If he admired people who were long dead and ignored his present world, who was Harold? Was he a person born at the wrong time? He appeared to be a man of no consequence. While he could ignore people they also could ignore him. In many ways his work had become a personal opiate. He had no responsibilities. He had sedated himself in history to not feel the anguish of the day.

It was as if he had chosen to stay in his cabin on the Titanic.

These inner struggles were starting to bother Harold more lately. He seemed less content with his hermitage. The thought of participating in a culture of narcissism was unacceptable. Because he lived by himself without access to others he felt impotent to leave his hermit’s cave.

There was a slight shift, although temporary, one Sunday afternoon. It was at the end of August. The tyranny of summer was ever so slightly starting to relax. Today was sunny and warm but a slight breeze gave hope to the more merciful season of Fall.

Harold decided to walk down to Ida’s Café. He could get his favorite cream and sugar coffee with a fresh cheese Danish. Then he could settle into his volume of Abraham Lincoln. The waitress, Phyllis, was about Harold’s age and would allow him to stay in his favorite booth for hours without interruption except to keep the coffee cup filled.

As Harold strolled down Sycamore Street an elderly woman was ahead of him. She had a cane but was very well dressed. Her light yellow sweater seemed to match the flowers in the pots on the street. Suddenly Harold heard the fast pace of feet. Yes, somebody behind him was running. A young man streaked by him, grabbed the old woman’s purse and violently shoved her to the ground before running off with such speed that nobody could stop or apprehend him. People came over to check on the elderly woman. Cell phones came out as medical and police help were summoned. Harold came forward and noticed that the elderly woman lay unconscious. Her glasses had come off and were broken on the sidewalk. Then Harold noticed a stream of dark red blood coming from her head onto the sidewalk.

At first Harold was confused and somewhat bewildered. He broke from the crowd and headed to his planned destination deep in reflection. That young man was a true example of what is wrong with our world. He saw what he wanted and took it. He did this without any regard for the victim. The only thing important to this creep is HIMSELF. He is a result of our immoral culture, which idealizes selfishness.

After ordering his repast, Harold’s thoughts turned to the old woman. That old lady was very well dressed. She probably was a woman of some wealth. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had left her husband and sued him for all of his earthly belongings while taking the children. She probably justified her actions because her husband was emotionally distant and showed little regards for her. After winning her legal actions she probably spent the rest of her life accumulating wealth for herself. She probably collected jewelry, real estate, and lovers all for her own ends. In some way she probably deserved what she received.”

Harold took a bite of his cheese Danish, sipped the warm delicious coffee and turned to his volume about Abraham Lincoln. After twenty minutes or so he had left the wickedness of our times and was in the presence of a great man. Lincoln was speaking to him about virtue and living for others because principles are more important than selfish gains. This was the delightful world of Harold the Morally Offended. He felt safe. He felt validated. He felt at home.

What Harold was not aware of was that Shirley Hathaway had just left a meeting at her Church. At the age of 81, Shirley was in charge of a clothing drive for the homeless. The people at Risen Savior Church had all been so inspired by Shirley’s energy and loving manner. A cancer survivor, Shirley continued to be one of the most generous and positive people of the congregation.  The last memory of  her final afternoon was opening her eyes to see the blurry image of a man with a thick book walking away from her as she lay helplessly on the sidewalk.

Abraham Lincoln was speaking.

“He has a right to criticize, who has a heart to help.”

“I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”

Harold smiled and made no connection. He was too busy thinking how the world was ignoring these important words.

LOSING AS AN ART FORM

In a game measured by statistics, at some time one looks toward the Lovable Losers. What teams were so bad that they set a standard for losing? Previously I wrote about the St. Louis Browns.

http://forgetfulhistory.wordpress.com/2009/06/03/losing-as-a-trademark/

As a fan of the New York Mets when I was young, I thought their 1962 season when they only won 40 games while losing 120 had to be the benchmark of losing. Two games were not played due to rain so they could have lost 1 or 2 more games had nature cooperated.

In 2003, the Detroit Tigers won 43 games and lost 119. That effort rivaled the Mets so much that it motivated me to spend my own money and buy a Detroit Tigers hat. This is the last time I spent my money on a hat. I have to admit that these Tigers deserved my business.

Now I have found some baseball history that is most significant. In the year 1899, the owners of the Cleveland Spiders were allowed to buy another team. As irony works out, they bought the St. Louis Browns. They made a decision that they could make more money on the Browns so they took the best players from both teams and put them on the Browns. This included the Hall of Fame pitcher Cy Young. It left the poor Spiders with a terrible roster of very bad players.

The owners recognized that nobody in Cleveland would support the Spiders so they scheduled few home games. On top of being a bad team, the Cleveland Spiders played almost all of their games on the road. When they were home, their average attendance was 199. That is not a typo. Their home attendance was under 4,000 for the whole season.

How did this all work out? The Cleveland Spiders of 1899 set records that are unbreakable. For example they lost 101 road games. Since teams only play 81 road games now, this is a record that will stand forever.

The 1899 season ended and the Spiders won only 20 games. They lost 134. This is a winning percentage of .130, the lowest ever.

So there you have it. This is the most losses, the worst winning percentage and absolutely the worst professional baseball team ever.

After 1899, the team was abolished and removed from the National League. In 1900, under new ownership the Cleveland Lake Shores joined the brand new Western League. Within two years, Cleveland was renamed the Blues and eventually the Indians. The Western League became the American League.

Today at Progressive Field in Cleveland, there is a hidden history of a team, which was so bad, they could only win 20 games in a year and drew less than 200 people to their infrequent home games.

So when I think of Lovable Losers, there the Mets of 1962, the Tigers of 2003 but they were great teams compared to the 1899 Cleveland Spiders.

 

 

 

FOUR SWEET WORDS

It is February 15 and if you listen closely you can hear four very sweet words. They are

PITCHERS AND CATCHERS REPORT

Yes it is baseball time. You remember. This is the sport that is too slow and boring. Nobody watches it anymore and TV ratings are horrible. It is too slow and boring. It can not compete with football, Martial Arts, reality TV and so on.

So I did a little research. It seems that in 2010 over 72 million people paid money to attend a Major League baseball game. Others went to watch Little League, College, and Minor League games. Others sat quietly at home and watched their favorite team as they enjoyed a summer beverage or two. Perhaps they watched with a friend and discussed whatever was on their mind as the game slowly moved to its’ conclusion. Perhaps for a few hours they stopped thinking about their lost fortunes in real estate and investments. They may have stopped worrying about their job. They watched as the hometown heroes tried to wrestle a victory from the foe of the day.

As they watched, they had some time to remember games in the past. They remembered games they saw or games they played. They winced at bad plays, laughed at opponents’ mistakes, and yelled at the umpire and manager with equal vigor. At the end of the day, whether it was a victory or defeat, there was always the chance that tomorrow would be better.

One game is not life or death in a 162 game season. It is one act of a play. It is like a chapter in a good novel. It is interesting but the whole story has not been told yet. So it goes on. It is that respite from the daily grind of life.

Today when “PITCHERS AND CATCHERS REPORT” every team is undefeated. Every team begins with the hope of improvement. It is like that New Year’s Resolution that we made 45 days ago. This is THE YEAR.

The days are getting longer. Winter is losing its’ grip and no matter what is happening today, it will yield to Spring soon. Take a deep breath and enjoy the Hope of a new season. This IS the YEAR, and PITCHERS AND CATCHERS are reporting.

OCTOBER VIRUS

As a point of self-revelation I will admit that I am a Yankee hater. I can not honestly remember when this started. I actually have fond memories of Roger Maris in 1961 chasing Babe Ruth’s Home Run record. Something happened along the way the turned me very sour.

Memories of Reggie Jackson’s three home runs in one game, Bucky Dent, Aaron Boone and many others can bring on hives. Every year in October I long to watch the Yankees lose. However, more often than not I watch washed up old players and  average players rise to the occasion and perform mighty feats to bring the Yankees to victory.

So here it is October 2010. The Yankees have won the first two games against the Twins. I am starting to have all physical symptoms of my disease. The air doesn’t smell as fresh. The food tastes a little rancid. I have a dull headache and am not sleeping well. Every time I close my eyes I see Chris Chambliss hitting a Home Run to defeat the Royals. Then I take some deep breaths only to see some third string catcher homering against the Braves.

Now there are dark circles under my eyes and my pulse is beating too fast. I tell myself that this virus is seasonal and infrequent. It has only happened seven times in the last forty years. Fortunately, I can endure my suffering in private. I read the TV ratings and found out that nobody watches baseball anymore. It seems like the Food Network has more viewers. So when people ask about my drooping shoulders  and dark circles under the eyes, I can just say that I have allergies. They wouldn’t understand the truth anyway.

As the next few weeks move on, if the Yankees continue to win and my health starts to fade, I can blame the poisonous environment  for my friends edification. They will joyfully discuss Bobby Flay and his Steak Tartare. I will nod approvingly with my aching neck knowing that the only cure for my illness may lie with the Rangers, Phillies or Giants.

 

OCTOBER 22, 2010 VIRUS CURED IN ARLINGTON, TEXAS.

CALM BEFORE THE STORM

“Fill er up” the man with the bald head said to the young attendant. He sat back and contemplated the upcoming 200 mile journey. He knew the places where the State Troopers tended to stay and once past those spots he could open it up and cruise home.

It had been a successful trip. He had landed three new accounts and this put him in line for a Christmas bonus. It would surely come in handy this year as his wife had to scale back so much and the children all needed some better clothes. Maybe there might even be a little extra to get some fresh paint around the house as it had been ignored too long.

The day dreams ended when he heard “That will be three dollars and sixty cents.” After handing the young man a five, our traveler took out a book and recorded the purchase on a form that he would submit for reimbursement. He called out from his window “I need a receipt for that.”

If everything worked out, he could be home by eight o’clock and the two older children would still be up. The November sky showed a few clouds but it was the wind that hinted at the future days. There was a coldness in the evening winds and the upcoming winter of snow and cold winds could be be sensed as mother nature gave her polite and direct warning. After thirty nine years of living in Northern New York, nothing was really a surprise anymore. The winter would be cold and Spring was so far in the future that normal imagination could not conjure its’ existence.

After accepting the receipt our young hero started his 1957 Ford Fairlane and headed to his home. His castle housed his amazing wife and four wonderful children. It was going to be a good weekend with them. At the same time, Ski Doo was introducing the brand new vehicle to ride in snow. It was the first snowmobile. Mattel produced a new doll they named Barbie, and the “Rocky and Bullwinkle” television show was introduced.

Around the globe Ho Chi Minh declared the people’s war against South Viet Nam seeking to unify Viet Nam under his leadership. This started the second Indochina War. Two American military advisors were killed in South Viet Nam becoming the first American casualties of the Indochina War about to be renamed Viet Nam. Yes indeed the cold winds were coming.

Addendum: History behind the scenes;

In 1959, the St. Lawrence Seaway had just been completed and the economy of Northern New York was booming. In the United States the average family income had risen to $5,400 a 6% increase over 1958 and an all time high. In the United States the divorce rate was 8% and unwed births were about 6% of all births.

It was a time of outward peace and prosperity.

However, under the surface the United States still allowed Jim Crow laws. These laws made public segregation legal. Fidel Castro came into power in Cuba. This brought Communism within 90 miles of the United States and served as a base to spread it through South America.

Two American military advisors were killed in South Viet Nam, stimulating American interest in helping defend this South Viet Nam against the communist North Vietnamese similar to what was accomplished in Korea.

Martin Luther King resigned as a pastor to dedicate himself full time to the Civil Rights movement after traveling to India and studying about Gandhi.

In 1959 about one out of every three women held jobs outside of the home. However, those who worked earned 42% of the male salary.

57% of men had college degrees and 39% of women were college educated.

The top ten songs of 1959 featured one Black Artist. Hit songs that filled the AM airways were performed by white acts. They included Johnny Horton, Bobby Darin, Frankie Avalon, Paul Anka, a white singing group named The Fleetwoods and a group named The Browns, who were of course, white.

If 1959 was the calm, in 1960 the changing times were irrevocably launched.

Fidel Castro signed a major trade agreement with the USSR. These brought Russian goods and eventually attack missiles to Cuba fueling anti-communist sentiment.

The Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) was formed to work for Civil Rights. The philosophy of nonviolent revolution, hatched by Mahatma Gandhi in India, and embraced by Martin Luther King would find enthusiastic disciples among white college students.

Ngo Dinh Diem regained power in South Viet Nam. Dissident groups secretly met and formed The National Front for the Liberation of South Viet Nam (the Vietcong).

The birth control pill was legalized offering a new definition for human sexuality.

At the end of the year, the United States elected its’ youngest President ever. John F. Kennedy was 43 years old.

Change did not come softly as a gentle breeze. It did not come quickly as a seismic shift. It came as a storm that increased in intensity. It lasted for at least 13 years. When it subsided the landscape of America was changed forever.

SCOUNDRELS AND FRODO

It seems that the Florida Marlins paid millions of dollars to a company owned by Jeffrey Loria. So what? Well, Jeffrey owns the Marlins and by moving the money, he created a team “on paper” with financial problems. This data was used to get public funds for a new baseball stadium.

The players of the last fifteen years seemed to have produced record setting numbers by taking prohibited substances (Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa, Barry Bonds, Alex Rodriquez, Roger Clemens and countless others yet revealed).

The beautiful women who sell clothing, make-up, beer and almost anything else you can think of are air brushed creations that do not look like their pictures.

How many beliefs do we carry that were transmitted to us by illusion and deception? We spend our money, vote, make major decisions based on false information all the time. Searching for the truth in a land of deception is the new challenge for young Frodo. Are we ready for the adventure?

“A lie is still a lie even if everyone believes it. The truth is still the truth even if nobody believes it.”