Category Archives: Essays

August 4, 2012 · 9:11 PM

Where Have All the Chest Hairs Gone?

The Chief in a moment of self-adulation, c. 2006.

The Chief in a moment of self-adulation, c. 2006.

While taking classes at a community college several years ago, I met a guy who – when asked why he had such a smooth chest – would respond that “hair doesn’t grow on steel.”  In their youth, every male can hardly wait for at least two things: facial hair and chest hair.  It’s a man thing, so you ladies just have to shrug and roll your eyes.  But, in looking at shirtless men on television, in the movies and on fitness magazine covers, you’d think a chest made of steel is the norm.  It’s as if that part of the Y chromosome didn’t quite take hold when they reached puberty.  I mean, seriously!  What’s that all about?

Admittedly, not all men are hirsute.  But, it’s just one of the many attributes of the human male species – along with a unibrow, a fetish for cars and constantly reaching for a ruler when he gets an erection.  (This latter fact is something no man would confess to publicly.)  So, this trend of men with clean-slate torsos is confounding.

I know that most male bodybuilders shave or wax their physiques to enhance the lines in their muscles, especially their chests and stomachs.  I suppose the hair wouldn’t mix well with the baby oil and spray-on tan mist.  But, even some male strippers wipe their torsos clean.  Check out the latest Matthew McConaughey movie, Magic Mike, and you’ll see.

Matthew McConaughey

It wasn’t always that way.  Even as recently as the 1980’s, men on TV and in the movies still had chest hair.  But then, came the 1990’s and a growing antagonism towards anything and everything male.  We can thank the likes of Geraldo Rivera and Bill “Puff Daddy” Clinton for that.  Suddenly actors and male models were shoved through the pre-pubescent car wash where their bodies were rendered as close to looking female without being castrated.  If it wasn’t for their deep voices, you’d think these guys still ride bikes with training wheels.  The American male has been feminized to the point of androgynous stupidity.

From the Spring 1977 JC Penney Catalogue

I recall reading an Ann Landers column where a woman stated that she made her husband shave his body because she didn’t find it attractive – and the poor sap apparently felt desperate enough to do it!  The letter writer was now worried that he’d start letting it grow back because their young son might ask him questions about it.  Landers – an older version of Gloria Allred, but not as bitchy – told her just to explain gently to her son that his father shaved his body because he loved her.  I thought the man should just tell his wife to fuck off, grow the chest hair back, grab his son and leave her ass.  It’s interesting that women don’t like men telling them what to do with their bodies, yet somehow, many feel they have that prerogative when things are turned around.

1970’s Winston Cigarette Ad

I find it equally curious to note that, among gay men, body hair is not just appreciated, it’s celebrated.  Here, political correctness is tossed into the trash like a used Trojan, and Gloria Allred’s face forms the backdrop of a dart board.  I think it’s this crowd that made shaved heads and goatees fashionable.  Just don’t tell that to the NFL!  But for once, I’d still like to see a hairy-chested male on TV who isn’t a child molester or a serial killer.  In other words, I’d like to see an adult male who looks a little like me and not a store mannequin – steel-plated chest and all!

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July 28, 2012 · 9:02 PM

Brown Out

The death of actress Lupe Ontiveros made me think again about the roles that Hispanics are often forced to play in mainstream American television and cinema.  In a 2009 interview with NPR, Ontiveros mentioned that she’d appeared as a maid more than 150 times during her career.  In fact, her biography on entertainment web sites note that she’s best known for playing maids and housekeepers.  I’m certain she had aspired to do more.  But, maids and housekeepers are pretty much the only roles available for Hispanic actresses in the otherwise eclectic American entertainment industry.  Other stereotypical roles include, at best, gardeners and busboys; at worst, gang members and drug dealers.  Is that all there is for us?

Not long after she won the 1939 Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her role in Gone with the Wind, Hattie McDaniel received staunch criticism from the NAACP for her constant portrayals of Black women as domestics.  McDaniel retorted, however, that she’d rather make a living portraying housekeepers than actually working as one.  That didn’t really satisfy the NAACP, but McDaniel was going to lose either way.  Yet, the housekeeper role was just about all any Black actress could get for decades.  Now, even a cursory glance at television and movies will show Black women as lawyers, judges, doctors, law enforcement officials and business women.

But, Hispanic women still wear that traditional apron, while holding a dust rag.  They aren’t the Hispanic women I’m accustomed to seeing.  Most Hispanic women in the U.S. have done more with their lives than get married and bear children.  They, too, are lawyers, judges, doctors, law enforcement officials and business women.  As with Black women, the vast majority aren’t involved in drugs or prostitution; they’re not gang members; they don’t breed like rabbits.  Yet, that’s what’s presented to the American populace in various entertainment mediums.  Hollywood just can’t seem to move past the stereotypes.  Its producers and directors are stuck in neutral.  It really must hurt to admit the truth, though, and the truth is that the American entertainment industry isn’t as open-minded as it thinks it is.

When Ontiveros took the role of Yolanda Saldivar in the 1997 movie Selena, it was quite a departure from the usual.  This was a tragic true story about the brief life and sudden death of Selena Quintanilla-Pérez, a Spanish-language music star popular in the early 1990’s.  Saldivar had been head of Selena’s fan club.  But, the singer’s parents caught Saldivar embezzling money from their daughter.  When confronted, Saldivar shot Selena in a hotel room.  The younger woman was about 2 weeks shy of her 24th birthday.  That Saldivar had engaged in criminal behavior sort of feeds back into the stereotype that – overall – Hispanics are of the nefarious mindset.  But again, that may have been the best Ontiveros could get.  It was still different than portraying a housekeeper.

It’s ironic that the main star of Selena is Jennifer Lopez who is now undoubtedly one of the most well-known performers in Hollywood.  When Lopez won the part, Mexican-American groups complained because Lopez is Puerto Rican.  They viewed it almost as an insult, which is like some people saying they’re Sicilian, not Italian.  What’s the difference?  And, who really cares?  But, it could have been worst.  Ironically, Hispanics altogether protested loudly just a year earlier when the movie version of the musical Evita came out with Madonna in the title role of Eva Perón and British actor Jonathan Pryce as Argentine president Juan Perón.  I had to wonder, at the time, if the producers couldn’t find any real-life Hispanic actresses who could actually sing and act.  But if you think about it, Eva Perón and Madonna had a lot in common; they’re both ersatz blondes who only think they had talent.  But, Jonathan Pryce?

One of Ontiveros’ last roles was as a cantankerous mother-in-law opposite Eva Longoria’s bitchy suburban princess in ABC’s Desperate Housewives.  Longoria, for one thing, fit in quite well with her Anglo co-stars, and I’m sure no one besides Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly noticed the difference.  Actress Shari Headley, who starred alongside Eddie Murphy in the 1988 film Coming to America, once commented that auditions often felt like family reunions; the same actresses would show up whenever a casting call for a Black female character was announced.  Ontiveros, Longoria and other Hispanic actresses could have easily said the same.

I know Ontiveros wanted more from her career and could have done more with it, if given the chance.  But, she took what she could get.  It often wasn’t much, but she wasn’t just going to fade away.  And, neither is any other Hispanic performer.  They won’t just drop into oblivion somewhere, so a handful of Americans can feel comfortable with what they see on the TV or movie screen.  That’s an impossibility.  Stereotypes may persist, unfortunately, but we’re changing that – one character at a time.

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July 26, 2012 · 9:36 PM

Road Killers

I read two articles in the Dallas Morning News recently that Texas is home to two of the worst counties in the nation for road rage accidents: Bexar (which comprises San Antonio) and Dallas.  I was surprised.  You mean, Dallas isn’t number one?  Anyone who lives in the Dallas / Fort Worth metropolitan area can feel my pain.  It’s one of the largest and most populous in the U.S.  Both cities are ringed by suburbs with impressive populations.  The entire region is commuter-based.  And, that’s the crux of the problem.  There are too many people on roads and highways that are in a constant state of repair.  I guess you could point to overpopulation as a factor in that mess.  And, no one wants to take what little mass transportation there is.  The Dallas Area Rapid Transit (DART) system has spent decades trying to convince people to use their services.  But, in 1996, when they opened their train line from North Dallas to downtown, I laughed.  The Japanese already had a train that topped 200 miles per hour.  Dallas had one that looked like a glorified toy ornament.  In fact, I called it the ‘DART choo choo train.’

But, it’s not so much congestion and road work.  It’s how people drive.  They’ve become assholes in recent years.  Cell phones count as one of the greatest technological inventions of the 20th century.  But now, they pose a health hazard.  People who talk while driving run the risk of either hurting someone in a wreck, or getting their head blown off because they forgot there’s a turn signal on their vehicle.

It’s easy to get pissed off while driving in traffic.  People do the stupidest things.  I’ve leaned on my own horn more than a few times.  I’ve come close to dropping into road rage hysterics more times than I can count.  Sometimes, I honestly wish I had a gun – just for show.  Seriously!  Just to hold it up and let that idiot on a cell phone know I have it.  I must admit I have anger issues.  But, that’s mainly because I’m not a people person and because most people are jerks – especially when they get behind the wheel.

I feel rather secure in my big black Dodge Ram 1500 truck.  The driver of one of those new eco-cars tried to get tough with me, while traveling up I-35 a few years back.  I have ‘Hot Wheels’ bigger than those stupid things.  I hated to give in to someone else’s stupidity (I really do!), but this guy deserved it, as I cut back in front of him and slammed on my brakes.

Not long after I had foot surgery in 2007, I headed to another follow-up appointment; my first since getting off crutches and into a walking boot.  Some idiot in a sedan weaved in and out of traffic, as if she had designed and built the road, cutting in front of me and I don’t know how many other drivers – more than once.  When I cut back in front of her – just to show her other people can be assholes, too – she had the audacity to get pissed off.  When I stopped at a left turn red light, she got out of her car and stormed up towards my truck.  Here I am – my still-damaged foot encased in a walking boot – and some bitch wanted to start a fight.  But, I quickly grabbed my old truck club and hopped out onto my right foot.  Turning to face her, truck club held up like a ninja sword, I was ready for battle.  She was a big girl, too.  I’m barely 5’8,” but none of that stopped me.  I was already in a bad mood because of that foot.  I didn’t want to reinjure it stuffing up her crotch or her ass.  She stopped when she me holding up that club / sword and approach her.  We exchanged nasty verbiage; the words “asshole,” “bitch,” “fuck” somehow wound their way into the terse dialogue, before she retreated to her car.  I scribbled down her license plate number, as I’m sure she did mine, and thought of calling 911.  But, I had to get to that doctor’s appointment.

The North Texas Transit Authority (NTTA) tells people to drive nice and be considerate of others on the road.  That sentiment worked well in the immediate aftermath of 09/11, when everyone realized how precious life is.  Now that the compassion has worn off, people have gone back to being…well, people – assholes.  Drive friendly?  Well – I do most of the time.  I really do!  I use my turn signal.  I don’t tailgate.  I try to keep my middle finger in its place between its brothers.  But, it’s so DAMN HARD!  Have a nice day.  And, use your freaking turn signal!

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July 23, 2012 · 9:06 PM

Goodbye to Another Cyber Friend

For the second time in less than a year, I’ve pissed off a cyber friend.  This time it was over something rather innocuous – at least in my opinion.  But, you never how people will react to things.  Last year a guy told me to remove his email address from my list.  I complied without a word.  I really didn’t know him, as we’d met online.  Strangely enough, though, he connected with me through Facebook several months ago.  Okay, great, I thought.  Can’t stay mad forever!  What good are cyber friends, if you can’t connect with them anyway?

Ironically, I met that guy through Gary, the one who told me Sunday night to stop sending him “dog crap.”  He means any information about dogs – funny or serious.  As a canine devotee, it’s almost impossible for me NOT to send out something related to the loveable beasts.  But apparently, Gary hates dogs bad enough that the mere mention of them turns his bulging stomach.  I thought he was just joking, or having one hell of a Maalox moment.  But, he issued me a dire warning: send him anymore “dog crap,” and he’ll spam me.  Oh my God!  Not the dreaded spam folder!  That’s not as bad as being blocked – the “Death Penalty” of the e-world – but it’s still pretty hideous.  When someone blocks your email address, you’ve either called them for bail money once too often, or said they look fat in designer overalls.  The spam folder is your computer’s automatic trash disposal; a dumping ground; slush pile.  If you send them a birthday greeting, they won’t get it.  If you tell them you’re dying of cancer and want to make amends, they won’t see it, and you’ll die without either of you knowing what could have been.  If you find an extra World War II bond and offer it to them with a 48-hour acceptance deadline, or it’ll go to charity, they won’t notice it.

I had met Gary more than a decade ago via a web site he runs.  We struck up a quick and curious electronic friendship.  He gave me pointers on taking digital photographs and setting up this blog.  He’s liked my stories and essays.  We’ve had disagreements before – usually over something much more serious, like race or gender.  But, dogs?  All this drama over an email I sent with the attachment below?  I don’t know what’s wrong with Gary, but it must have struck a raw nerve.  I didn’t think anybody could despise dogs that much.  I’m not a cat person, but I don’t get upset when someone sends me cat stuff.  I’ve never threatened to – SPAM someone over a cat-related email.

Gary had gotten annoyed with me recently about another email I sent out regarding pit bulls being put down, or something, with my comment about there being no bad dogs, just bad people.  Gary replied, ‘Yea, until it attacks your kid sister.’  I don’t have a kid sister, or brother, so I can’t relate.  But, when I sent out this one email, he replied, ‘My sister is still injured, and you’re not helping!’  Whoa, I thought.  Is this for real?  Surely not.  So, I replied again – this is where I guess I made my big mistake – pointing out that he was “the only one bitching about the dogs.”  And, that’s what did it.  That sent him over the edge.

If his sister – or any other relative was attacked by a vicious dog – I can empathize.  That would be a horrible sight.  My mother became terrified of Dobermans at the age of 6 when, she saw one attack a man.  Her family had a golden retriever-type dog at the time.  I have a sepia-toned picture of her at age 2 with it.  But, my mother eventually developed a phobia about all big dogs.  Still, she swallowed her fear, when we moved to suburban Dallas in 1972, and my folks got me a German shepherd.  She fell in love with that dog as much as I did.  Then, some neighbors bought a Doberman puppy; a chocolate one who developed an affection for my mother.  He was the type of dog that, once you touched him, you had to keep touching him, or he’d nudge the crap out of your hand.  But amazingly, my mother would sit there at the neighbor’s house and caress that mocha monstrosity that looked like a small horse.

Gary, however, seems to think animals have the exact same psychology as humans and therefore, should be held accountable for their actions.  It’s kind of sad that we kill animals that show aggression towards humans and can’t be integrated into society.  When people display similar tendencies, we suggest aroma therapy.

The city of Dallas has launched an aggressive campaign to pick up stray animals and either try to socialize them, or euthanize them.  No word yet on how they’ll handle the city’s gallery of drug dealers, prostitutes and criminally insane homeless people.  But, I have the perfect solution!  Save the animals – even those that show aggression towards people – and kill the humans who show aggression towards others: human or animal.  It’ll save a boat load of money and heartache for everyone involved.  Their bodies can be used to train medical students, or feed rescued big cats.  Since these humans can’t be socialized back into society, I suggest at least neutering them to prevent their kind from breeding.  We need more German shepherds and Dobermans – not more homeless crack addicts.

But, Gary feels humans who commit even the most heinous of crimes shouldn’t be put to death; they should be sentenced to prison for life and made to suffer.  Like animals.  At taxpayer expense.  He’d never win political office in Texas.  In some ways, he’s a stereotypical West Coast liberal; the kind who thinks Jeffrey Dahmer was worth saving, but an unfriendly Rottweiler needs to be slaughtered because they’re not sociable.  He became frustrated whenever I made negative comments about Judaism and Islam, although he was just as hateful towards Christianity.  Personally, I’m an equally opportunity offender, since I deplore all three of those religions.  As a recovering Catholic, I feel I’m entitled to such angst.

Animals, of course, don’t possess religious beliefs.  In that regard, they’re much more highly evolved than humans.  But, like humans, animals are products of their environment.  If an animal has lived a life of abuse and neglect, their natural response to a person is hostile.  Who can blame them?  Yet, because of their limited mental capacity (relatively speaking), I feel they should be forgiven.  When people react in such a hateful manner, they’re prescribed Xanax and a wine cooler.  If they’re lucky, they get to talk to Dr. Drew.  If they’re really lucky, porn studios reach out to them.  Look at Casey Anthony.

I’m not upset that Gary threatened to spam me.  I guess I need to be more considerate of other people’s feelings – especially those I met online.  Those relationships can be as fragile as the band width on which their lovingly formed.  I have done something with Gary that I haven’t done with many other cyber friends: I’ve talked to him on the phone.  But, that was a long time ago.  A lot of wine has passed over the tongue in the years since.  I said to hell with it and removed Gary altogether from my email address book.  I really didn’t know him THAT well.  But, even with one less email contact, I’ll still be able to pick up the tattered pieces of my life and move forward.  Besides, I have other things to worry about: my new full-time job, my elderly parents and my dog who’s having trouble getting used to me being gone all day.  But, who knows?  I may meet Gary again in another electronic life – with a bottle of wine in one hand and a big black snarling canine at my side!

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July 21, 2012 · 8:56 PM

Retroacting

In light of yesterday’s massacre in Aurora, Colorado, every media talking head, politician and self-proclaimed expert on psychosis is speaking out.  Folks from CNN and MSNBC rushed to the scene yesterday morning, hoping to corral anyone who was within a mile of the theatre and ask, ‘What did you see?’  Even Nancy Grace – who normally doesn’t care unless an adult White female goes missing or turns up dead – jumped into the fray, so you know this shit is serious.

Meanwhile, idiot extremists on both sides of the gun control debate are already lining up to take – pardon the verbiage – shots at one another.  Gun control advocates say this is once again proof that firearms are too easily accessible in the U.S.  Gun rights supporters – who always seem to think the 2nd Amendment to the Constitution trumps the 1st Amendment – claim that guns don’t kill, people do.  In a way, they’re both right.  I’ll let them engage in their usual vitriolic tangos.

But, I have to wonder; are we now going to have metal detectors in movie theatres?  If we do, it’s yet another example of how the U.S. seems to behave retroactively to whatever crisis of the decade pops up.  Our elected officials and law enforcement don’t always have the foresight to cogitate ahead.  That’s what happens when they’re more concerned with election year politics and budget restraints.

Here are just a few examples of after-the-fact-responses.

In the fall of 1982, seven people in Chicago died after consuming cyanide-laced Tylenol.  The manufacturer, Johnson & Johnson, pulled every single Tylenol product off store shelves across the country and almost went bankrupt because of it.  But, they bounced back with an aggressive marketing campaign and reintroducing their products with safety seals.  Other manufacturers followed suit.  I’m old enough to remember when you could buy something and just open it up without worrying if it was a death sentence.  Now, you occasionally have to have pugilistic hands to open a bottle cap.

On April 19, 1995, Timothy McVeigh parked a moving truck outside the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.  A few minutes later, the truck exploded and almost completely destroyed the building; killing 168 people.  Now, you can’t just drive into a building; federal or otherwise.  You have to approach a guard post where they check your identification and confirm that you’re really supposed to be there.  You also can’t park outside any building for too long, especially in major cities, unless you want a cop or overweight security guard giving you dirty looks first, before asking what the hell you’re doing.

Law enforcement never took animal abuse seriously until psychologists made the connection between that and serial killers.  Now, anyone caught chaining a dog to a tree is threatened with jail time.

School boards always thought bullying was just kids-being-kids crap until the victims started committing suicide – or homicide.  The 1999 Columbine massacre sort of drove that message home.  So, schools started bullying intervention programs and installed metal detectors.

The best case scenario for an after-the-fact-response is September 11, 2001.  Who would have thought someone would use jet liners as weapons of mass destruction?  Actually, someone had made a concerted effort several years earlier.  In February 1974, Samuel Byck tried to hijack a Delta Airlines plane from Baltimore and crash it into the White House.  He wasn’t really a terrorist; he was a failed businessman with a seething hatred for Richard Nixon and a suicidal death wish.  He was shot to death after a brief standoff with police.  The incident received minimal press coverage because the growing Watergate mess had everyone’s attention.  And, it got lost in the historical shuffle – until 09/11.

For one thing, immigration never thought that people with expired VISAs could pose a threat.  People with past-due VISA bills always got harassed half to death by the banks however.  So, the airlines starting checking people’s identifications more closely.  Then, they started thinking that pilots should be armed and cockpit doors should be fortified with more than duct tape.  Even flight attendants started wondering if they had to start carrying nunchucks instead of extra bags of peanuts.  U.S. airlines could have taken a queue from Israel, which hasn’t experienced a hijacking since 1970.  Their airline pilots are armed and their flight attendants are trained to fight back with whatever they have.  But, over here, airline executives complained such changes wouldn’t be cost-effective, meaning they’d have to take a cut in their million-dollar paychecks.  So, the Transportation Security Agency (TSA) is content with confiscating bottles of Evian and fondling people in wheelchairs.

In December 2001, Richard Reed tried to set his shoes on fire, while aboard a flight from Paris to Miami.  Now, everyone has to take off their shoes.

In December 2009, Abdul Farouk Umar Abdulmutallab, a Nigerian-born Al-Qaeda operative, tried to set his explosive-underwear on fire on a flight from Amsterdam to Detroit.  The stuff didn’t ignite, but fellow passengers tackled him anyway, as the plane approached the airport.  People feared they’d now have to tolerate underwear checks, but the TSA amazingly drew the line at that.

So, I ask again – will theatres begin installing metal detectors beside the ticket windows?  All day Friday and into Saturday, theatres around the country employed extra security measures to ward off any copycat incidents – another uniquely American aberration.  Here’s another question – when will we stop reacting to these events and start thinking ahead to the possibility of stuff happening?  It’s not beyond the scope of reality or human intelligence.  It happens all the time in business and science – people think of what could be and what could happen.  Then, they act on it.  It’s not a crystal ball type of mentality.  It’s just being practical.

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July 18, 2012 · 8:59 PM

Exhausted, Fatigued, Aching – and Loving It!

After my second day on the new job – my first full day of work – I’m tired beyond belief.  My head is starting to hurt from looking at the tiny screen on the laptop they gave me because they ran out of desk tops.  My hands are numbing from working on said laptop.  And, I’m happy about it.

It’s such a strange feeling though – going back to work like this.  It’s a contract job that I hope will metamorphose into a permanent position.  But, in the current business environment, hardly anyone is full-time, permanent with benefits and stock options.  Those were the glory days of – oh – circa 2000.

Still, I’m satisfied thus far.  I’m doing the type of work I’ve always wanted to do – full-time technical writing and editing.  I sit in a large cubicle all by myself.  My supervisor is on another floor, handed me a platter full of documentation to scrutinize yesterday and has pretty much left me alone since.  She’s already learned that I can be brutally honest; something I emphasized in my interview.  But, she seems to appreciate that.  The other associates have been friendly; periodically introducing themselves.  There’s a huge break room, and I park my truck in a garage.  It takes me 15 minutes to get to the office.

So yes, I’m starting to like it there.  But, I won’t push my luck, or let myself get too comfortable.  I’ve always been the cautious type anyway.  Whenever I’ve taken things for granted, I’ve gotten sideswiped.  I guess you could say I don’t trust happiness too much.

In the meantime, I’ll deal once more with crawling out of bed at 5:30 A.M.; wearing business casual attire; trying to stay awake all day; and seeing the joy in my dog’s mocha brown eyes when I return to the house.  Now, if I could keep my own eyes from reacting to these damn pollens, I’ll be happy enough have an orgasm!

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July 17, 2012 · 7:40 AM

In Play Again

Today I return to work for the first time in almost 11 months.  It’s a strange feeling.  I’m once again entering the corporate underworld that apparently keeps spitting me back out.  But, I don’t play the lottery, and my gold bullion investment hasn’t paid off yet.  I’ve been laid off three times from major companies within the past 23 years – two banks and an engineering corporation.  I guess that’s a pretty good track record.  I don’t jump from job to job.  As creative as my mind is, I do like some semblance of order and stability.  I definitely want my fiction writing career to be as successful as my dreams think it is.  But, in the meantime, there are these awful creatures called bills and an especially evil entity known as a student loan debt.  This particular job is a contract technical writing position that should take me into the first of the year – provided the Mayan calendar doesn’t prove to be truthfully apocalyptic.  Besides, I enjoy technical writing as much as I do creative writing.  Sometimes, the boundary between the two is as clear as a fog bank.

One good thing about working in corporate America is the slew of operatic real-life stories I’ve gathered for equally juicy stories.  I’ve met some incredible people and endured some traumatic ordeals.  I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  Well, except for a lump sum payoff from that gold bullion and a million-dollar book contract.

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July 16, 2012 · 8:00 PM

Penn State’s Real Hero: Lte. Michael P. Murphy

Several people have commented on the Steve Breen cartoon about the Penn State scandal I posted on the 14th.  Many are starting to think differently about the school’s late football coach Joe Paterno who died this past January of lung cancer, after being forcibly retired.  Paterno espoused a strict code of moral integrity and personal ethics; attributes he bestowed upon his players and – vicariously – upon the Penn State student body.  But, investigations into the scandal involving former Penn State assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky reveal that Paterno and other university officials knew more about Sandusky’s pedophilic behavior and did nothing to stop it.  Their biggest concern was the school’s football program.  As with many such institutions, Penn State regarded its football program with divine reverence.  It’s an extension of how this nation feels about its professional athletes.  But, as Penn State grapples with how to survive in the aftermath of the Sandusky mess, I feel the school should remove its statue of Paterno and replace it with an alumnus named Michael P. Murphy.

Murphy grew up on Long Island, New York and graduated from Penn State in 1998 with dual degrees in political science and psychology.  He immediately joined the U.S. Navy and became a Navy SEAL, the same elite warrior force that took out Osama bin Laden last year.  But, Murphy died in Afghanistan in June of 2005; caught up in a firefight, as he and his comrades were ambushed by Al Qaeda locals.  In an operation called “Red Wings,” Murphy and his fellow SEALs entered hostile mountainous territory to search for an Al Qaeda leader.  They encountered a goat herder.  As commander of the team, Murphy suddenly had a difficult decision to make: kill the goat herder, or just let him go.  They couldn’t tell if the man was an Al Qaeda operative, or just a simple villager tending to his goats.  If he was the latter, the SEALs risked killing an innocent civilian; a fact the American press would exploit once it became known.  But, if the man was sympathetic to Al Qaeda, he could reveal the team’s presence in the region.  Murphy chose to let him go.

Hours later the group became embroiled in gun fire.  It’s likely that innocuous goat herder had turned on them.  Murphy had to dart into an open area to call for backup.  Once exposed, he suffered several fatal bullet wounds.  Two of the other SEALs also died.  Only one, Marcus Luttrell, survived and managed to escape.  A helicopter bearing 8 additional SEALs and 8 Army Night Stalkers arrived, but was shot down by a rocket-propelled grenade and crashed.  All 16 men aboard it were killed.  Eventually, the military recovered all the bodies of the dead Americans, and Luttrell made it home.

In 2007, President George W. Bush awarded Murphy the Medal of Honor.  Murphy became the first Navy SEAL since the Vietnam War to receive the medal and the first to receive it posthumously.  He was also the first MOH recipient in the modern “War on Terror.”

In 2009, Luttrell published a book detailing much of the mission, Lone Survivor.  In 2010, Gary Williams published a brief biography of Murphy, SEAL of Honor, which focused heavily on “Operation Red Wings.”  On May 7, 2011 – on what would have been Murphy’s 35th birthday – the U.S. Navy launched a destroyer vessel, the U.S.S. Michael Murphy.

I never met Michael Murphy or anyone in his family or circle of friends.  I’d never heard of him or “Operation Red Wings” until Bush awarded Murphy the Medal of Honor.  But, I’ve become fascinated with him and his accomplishments.  He’s become a personal source of inspiration.  Murphy packed more into his 29 years on Earth than most people do in a lifetime.  More importantly, he appears to have been an individual of higher moral character and integrity than any football coach or university executive.  If Murphy was willing to risk his life over a goat herder, I’m quite certain he wouldn’t have kept silent about a child molester in his midst.

Although I never attended Penn State and I’m not a football fan – I got upset in 1990 when the local NBC affiliate interrupted an episode of The Golden Girls to announce the Dallas Cowboys had fired head coach Tom Landry – I feel a statue of Murphy is more appropriate for Penn State.  It won’t erase the memories of the horrible Sandusky incident.  But, it would be better for the school to acknowledge a real hero.

Murphy in Afghanistan, June 2005

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July 14, 2012 · 8:09 PM

One Good Friend

How many friends do you need to make your life complete?  For me, it’s only a handful.  I’ve always had trouble making friends and therefore, I’ve never been a people person.  People usually get on my nerves – especially when they’re driving.  Earlier today, I had lunch with a good friend, Preston*, who I’ve mentioned before.  We try to meet for lunch on a Saturday whenever our schedules permit.  He’s definitely been busier than me lately.  Married with 3 kids, he and his wife have their hands full.  I’ve always envied Preston; he has a beautiful wife and 3 equally beautiful children, all living a pleasant suburban existence.  I would have liked to have that for myself, but it never happened.  I’ve told him that in past conversations, and he’s always expressed appreciation for my candor.

But, today he said something that surprised me: he envied me because of my close relationship with my parents, especially my father.  I met Preston at a tae kwon do studio around 1995.  We struck up a casual friendship, but found we had a lot in common; mainly exercise, jogging and rock n’ roll.  He’s an avid runner, though; having competed in a few marathons.  I just like to run around the block at my own pace.  That year, 1995, had been a bad one for me.  Everything in my personal and work life seemed to be going wrong.  Occasionally, in between flying fists and legs at the tae kwon do studio, I’d tell Preston what was happening.  He became one of the few friends who could relate to my dilemmas.  But, he honestly couldn’t comprehend whatever situations I encountered with my parents.  He wished he could though.

Preston’s parents had divorced when he was young.  I never exhorted him for details, but I suspect he was never close to his father.  His dad had moved to coastal Texas not long after the divorce and died several years ago.  He had perused his father’s belongings with a strange sense of detachment; occasionally surprised to find a curious bit of information about the man, or learn of a relative he never knew existed.  I don’t know the exact nature of his relationship with his mother – knowing how sensitive those subjects can be – but I gathered they weren’t too close either.  About the spring of 2003, he sent me an email with ‘Feeling kind of blue’ in the subject line.  I called him and asked what happened.  His mother had planned to visit and see her grandson for the first time.  Preston and his wife already had a daughter, and their son had just turned one.  Why Preston’s mother waited more than a year to come visit for the first time bothered me; but again, I just didn’t want to ask.  He was upset, though, because his mother had cancelled at the last minute; something else more pertinent had arisen.  From what I recall, it was nothing Earth-shattering; like a sudden illness.  It was more of a ‘I need to buy a wedding gift for a friend’ type of thing.

‘That’s more important than the grandkids?’ I asked myself.  “Don’t feel too bad,” I assured Preston.  “You get to spend time with your own family.”

His voice brightened.  “Yeah!”

On that level, I can’t relate to Preston.  I can’t imagine either of my parents passing up an opportunity to see their grandkids.  Of course, the closest they have to a grandchild is my dog.

Even though I’ve been unemployed for the better part of a year and will start a new job next week, I bought lunch for both us today.

“You’re unemployed!” he retorted.

“And, you have three kids!” I said.

Besides, I was feeling good.  I’m approaching this new job with caution, I told him, especially since it’s a contract position.  In that regard, he can certainly relate; contract work is pretty much all he’s done since about 2001, when the tech bubble burst.  Except for a brief stint at a home improvement store, he’s labored at a number of different software programming jobs; forced to jump from one place to another to keep a steady paycheck.

Like most men, we discussed work and family.  But, we also talked about religion.  Preston and his wife are devout Baptists; their two oldest kids have been to church summer camp since school ended.  Having been raised Roman Catholic, the Baptist religion had always been a distant entity; to Catholics, Baptists are the heathens of Christianity.  Another close friend calls them “heretics.”  Neither of those terms apply to Preston and his wife.  But, I emphasized that I am very spiritual.  I believe in a Great Creator and an afterlife.  I just don’t care to worship in the confines of a religious environment.  Yet, when we said a prayer over our meal, Preston expressed some concern that casual observers might “look at us funny.”

“Well, let them come over and say something,” I replied.

As we left, I reminded Preston that he’s one of the few friends I have.  A loner and an introvert, I no longer crave the attention and approval of others.  Their rules don’t apply to me.  I generally prefer the company of my dog to most people.  But, Preston’s friendship is too important to dismiss.  His thoughts and opinions rest comfortably with me.  I guess his quiet, unimposing demeanor have managed to work their way into my mind without being intrusive.  And, that’s just fine.  We men often have trouble forming friendships with other men in this society that says a man isn’t whole unless he has a woman in his life.  But, I can’t bring myself to follow those confines anymore.  One good friend, a simple Saturday lunch, and that’s all I need to make my life complete.

*Name has been changed.

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July 12, 2012 · 7:50 PM

Grudgefest

Jason Carroll Moss apparently couldn’t let go.  Memories of high school bullying gripped him like sand grips a desert and wouldn’t just dissipate.  So, he planned to exact revenge upon his tormentors – even though it all happened more than 20 years ago.  That’s what police in San Antonio, Texas claim, when they arrested Moss July 6.  Moss supposedly threatened retaliation on the web site for John Marshall High School’s 20th high school reunion.  Moss bonded out of jail on Saturday, just hours before the reunion.  Police patrolled the area nearby, but Moss never showed up.

“I stayed away from graduation at the time because I would have started the Columbine shootings early,” Moss purportedly wrote on the reunion’s social network page.  “I was picked on and bullied by a bunch of you when I went to school and I wanted to kill everyone that hurt me.”

It probably would have been a good thing if he at least did arrive at the country club venue where the reunion was held and stood off in a corner somewhere; making other attendees feel squeamish about his presence.  I’m only saying that because I can relate to Moss’ angst.  I grew up shy and introverted and endured bullying throughout grade and high schools.  My parents, oblivious to my plight, just didn’t understand why I couldn’t make friends.  I wasn’t outgoing like they were.  I didn’t grow up mean like they did.  They came from a different environment, and it felt – back then – that we occupied two completely different universes.

My mother once told me how they worried about me every morning they dropped me off at the parochial grade school in Dallas I attended for eight miserable years.

“Well, why didn’t you just pull me the hell out of there?!” I retorted.  Even after that length of time, I remained angry.

I can still recall incidents of torment dating back to the early 1970’s.  That Moss couldn’t forget the brutal antics of his classmates isn’t so much a sign that he’s mentally unstable.  It’s proof that bullying can have an impact on people for a lifetime.

It’s only been in recent years that bullying has taken on some significance.  Like animal abuse, authorities no longer consider it cases of “kids will be kids.”  Bullying is a symptom of more serious problems within the social structure of a school, and the adults around those kids shouldn’t ignore it, much less downplay it.  Excessive harassment can lead to suicide and even murder.  In every incident where a kid shot up his own school, authorities later find out the youth had been the target of bullies.  And, since the parents and school administrators either didn’t believe him, or were too busy with their own lives, that young person felt they had only one recourse: death.  They simply wanted to end the torment and could think of no other way out.  Their young minds couldn’t fathom a peaceful solution to the crisis.

I don’t know what will become of Jason Carroll Moss now.  He may be in serious legal trouble.  Surely he was the subject of conversation that night at the reunion.  I’m certain he was mocked – just the way he was mocked twenty-plus years ago.  And, I’m certain some other self-righteous fool will begin crooning about forgiveness and just letting go.

Spare me such pathetic psychology.  You can’t just let go of the past like a cold or a bad day at work.  And, forgiveness means nothing if someone didn’t ask to be forgiven.  Did the people who bullied Moss in high school feel bad as they matured?  I don’t know.  Some bullies don’t.  Many reach adulthood and allow their tactics to metamorphose once they enter the workplace.  I’ve dealt with bully bosses and managers before.  Punks usually don’t grow up.  They develop a false sense of self-esteem and carry on with such cruel behavior as if nothing was wrong.  Eventually, though, all bullies meet their proverbial match.  They encounter someone who isn’t scared of them, or won’t just tolerate it.  They get it shoved back in their face, which usually hurts their feelings.  That’s the only consolation I have for my own memories; that many of those goons got bitch-slapped by someone who just wouldn’t take their crap.

But, until then, they leave people like Moss in their wake.  I personally don’t see him as a threat to society.  The police should just forget about it.  After all, there are real criminals that deserve more scrutiny.  If I could meet Jason Carroll Moss, I’d probably want to treat him to dinner and drinks, just to offer him some empathy; an ‘I know what it feels like’ kind of sentiment.  He deserves that much.

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