On Aging...

When you're young you seldom thing about becoming old, maybe never, but unless some event happens to interrupt our lives--we grow old.  My next birthday I'll be 67 years old, or to quote Mark Twain, "nearly so if I'm dead".  I figure I have about 14 years left, maybe not all of that in the relatively good health I now enjoy.  So I wonder, "what's ahead?"

Being older is a strange place, because I don't think of myself as old.  In spirit, within the confines of our head, most of us think of ourselves as young.  I still relate well to the younger set.  I work part-time, and most of the people I work with, better than half, are under thirty; indeed, several are under twenty five. I'm the different one, separated by age, and their attitudes towards me remind me of that always.  No unkindness, but a tacit acknowledgement of the age gap on their part.  It matters not how I perceive myself, outwardly I waste away.

Yet, do I wish to be younger?  No.  Although I am understanding my age insofar as aches and pains, I wouldn't trade my experiences, my knowledge and the portion of wisdom that I have accrued in my nearly 67 years for youth:  For what? To go through life again?  I think not.  Talking to young people is like trying to fill a wine vat with a teaspoon: You want to impart to them your knowledge, experiences, your wisdom, but you realize that most of what has been learned that's worthwhile is gained only with time.  What they learn in great part must come from their experiences. It'll happen, but there are few shortcuts.

Do I fear death?  No, but I do fear dying, but only because of the spectre of suffering.   Behind me as I write is a large photo of my dad dated May 6th 1938, leaning casually on his Nash roadster, a youth of 25 years. In his last years, he suffered  a series of small strokes which slowly robbed him of his life and vitality. He who was intelligent and humorous became helpless and unable to care for himself. For some time I went twice a day to his apartment, got him out of bed and cleaned and dressed him, and took his soiled bed linen and washed it.  It was a burden, yet I treasure the memory. I wonder:  Will my children be so honored?  In some ways, I hope so. In others, no.

Certainly 2014 was the year I came to realize that I really don't have all that I had in youth, that the body deteriorates.  My strength has deteriorated to the point I can't "whip my weight in wildcats" any more, and a younger assailant may well take me down, unless I'm willing to cheat  (and I am!).  I realize that I'm perhaps (and this is harder to admit) not as quick mentally as I once was.

2014 was a wake-up call in other ways as well.  My sister died, my wife's uncle died and her oldest sister died. We're entering the age of funerals and memorials, Those are the 'awards ceremonies' we will likely be attending in the coming years. I haven't lost any of my close friends yet, but that's around the corner as well-- unless of course my close friends lose me first.  Old people talk about their aches, pains, and medical problems. When I was young, I wondered why, but now as I've reached that age, now I know why they talked about them so much:  First, health and maintaining it becomes a priority, an always in-your-face situation, and second, everyone of my age has health problems. It's just the way it is.

I looked at google earth the other night, thought I would try to find something worthwhile to discover or research.  As I zoomed in from, I don't know, five thousand miles above the earth to near where we live, it left me with this uncomfortable feeling of how small I am, something less than a pinprick on a pinprick in this universe.  Reminded me of the time we flew to Washington D.C.. As I looked out the window from thirty thousand feet, I saw this little town, maybe in Indiana or Kansas somewhere with its grid of streets, and I thought to myself that somewhere in that little knot of civilization, there was someone who took great pride in being one of the leading citizens, on how he or she had had his or her way with the city council, or maybe had swung some big real estate deal.  But even from a mere 30,000 feet their accomplishments became insignificant.  "For what shall it profit a man...?".

As I grow older I find I don't crave material possessions--as much.  The urge to get stuff is still there, but the breadth of the desire is narrower.  I've gone through the motorcycle phase; the old car phase; the fast car phase, even the big house phase, and probably a few other phases I can't recall.  But those things just don't mean as much as they once did. I've realized that much of what I bought and did were done for the approval of others.  I remember an old woman I used to see driving around our neighborhood in a Cadillac sedan, when Cadillacs were still huge.  Her hair was carefully coiffured, the car was large and immaculate, and she practically sat sideways in the drivers seat facing the window so everyone could see her.  I don't want to be remembered like that.

Another poignant remembrance was a visit to an elderly couple who lived in a large, wonderful home in a very affluent area near us.  They were both in ill health. He said to me, "All our lives we worked hard so we could have these nice things, and now we are too old and sick to enjoy them."  I hope he didn't exit this world with that lament, that his life came to mean more than the sum of his possessions, and his big house.

As you grow older your focus changes, you shift gears (downshift, that is).  My interest in stuff has lessened, and my interest in people has blossomed.  We have good friends in prison, and we visit them monthly;  I have a homeless friend, "Bible Mike", whom I see from time to time and help out, give him money, sometimes clothes, and once even a bicycle.  And I see others and have a greater compassion for them, even people I don't know well, like my co-workers.  I have a son and a daughter, and we are learning to be better parents, in-laws, and grandparents.  You never stop learning with those titles.

The saying is, "Time flies when you're having fun." To which I would add, "...and when you're not".  I wouldn't trade my experiences, especially in retrospect.   Life is short when viewed from the far end.  Making good use of it is more than being young and having good times.  All experiences in life are (or should be) important for what they teach.  I would argue that looking back is as valuable as looking forward. To be young again?  Nah.  First, it's not possible; second, I'd have to run the Gauntlet of Life all over again, and third, who needs it?  I've already been here.

There Are Certain Things......

There are certain things, actions, or events which threaten to upset the equilibrium of the universe. Occasionally they are seen in real time, and they are the most threatening.

Take for instance people who drive their cars with their doggy in their lap.  Just the other day I was driving home from my psychiatrist. Our meeting had resulted in a breakthrough in dealing with my anger and phobias, when I spied this SUV with a dog's head stuck out the driver's window.

I'm not an animal hater.  As we all know, there are a lot of dogs out there that should be driving the cars instead of people.

The driver is--almost without exception--middle- or upper-middle class, in an upscale car or SUV.  The dog is typically named Princesss or Tifffanee, or a similar gutless name. The dog eats better food than anyone in a rotting third-world nation, and lives in a nice upper-middle-class home.  No drafty doghouse for our Tifffanee.  Awwwww......

The canines fit a profile too: Small and professionally groomed, white or light brown, and always with a ribbon or two tied around their neck. How about a dog sweater for the dear one!? Another thing:  The beloved one is likely smarter than the driver. Hey, who's the one being chauffeured?

Really, do we love our dogs so much they have to be in our laps at all speeds up to 70 miles per hour?  I love my kids, but when they were little I put them in the rear seat, well restrained.

When I got home I made an emergency appointment with my shrink.

Friends in Prison Part 2: What Life is Like Inside, and What Should be Done to Make Prisons Work Better

Having friends in prison has made me rethink what prisons are and what we use them for. Of course prisoners have virtually no freedom, and that's part of their appeal, that is, to keep these individuals away from society at large.  What is life like on the inside?  Even little things are big deals. Again, pseudonyms are used in this account.

It's said a man's home is his castle, but that doesn't apply to a prisoner, or even his or her own body.  As I mentioned in part one, Ron's cell was tossed because I inadvertently walked through a metal detector with my cell phone on, so they went looking for lists of phone numbers in his cell.  Cells are routinely inspected for contraband.  Contraband can be cell phones,colored pencils, tattoo paraphernalia, drug paraphernalia, alcohol, needles, pornography, or any number of other items.  No sexual materials or literature of any kind are allowed, not even the swimsuit issue of  Sports Illustrated. Suggestive movies or television are forbidden.  There are consequences for having contraband, and these infractions earn you 'tickets'. Disobedience to an officer is another path to a ticket, and enough tickets can add up to a loss of privileges, time in solitary, or even more prison time if you don't wise up. A search of the person or his living space can occur at any time.

Ron told me that some months ago their unit was locked down with no notice, and everyone was sent to their cells. Then they were called out by face-covered dressed-in-black guards. Inmates had their hands tied behind their backs with zip ties (locking plastic straps) and made to sit cross-legged on the floor with their faces down.  They were shouted at and threatened continually while their cells were turned inside out.  When some complained of discomfort they were hit.  After an hour and a half  they were released, but left in the dark as to the what had caused this event.  Several of the inmates filed complaints about their mistreatment. The result was a ticket for disobedience to an officer.

Tina told my wife about her first ticket.  She had arrived at the prison as a new inmate, and when she awoke in the morning she did her toilet duties.  Immediately afterward, she was summoned for a drug test. Because she wasn't able to pee, she was awarded a ticket, and a loss of privileges. In prison no reason is a good reason.

Mailing items to inmates can be difficult.  Just before Christmas last year I sent some books to Ron from Amazon.com. They were sent back because (this is my understand) although Amazon sends such items via the U.S. Postal Service, when they get jammed up, (as during holidays), the postal service will subcontract package deliveries to to outfits like FedEx.  However, shippers like FedEx won't deliver to a post office box, and since both Ron and Tina's prisons are post office addresses, the items were returned.

The correctional officers are a subset of people on the outside, which makes sense, since they are a part of the outside crowd.  They go home every night, just like the rest of us.  Some exert more power than they should, either because they can or because they operate with a cold heart. From my admittedly limited observation I would say the hard-nose types are the exception.  Most of them are regular people, just doing a job, albeit one with many of society's worst.  There's more of a rapport between the officers and the prisoners than one might think. Ron's unit is quite relaxed, and though structured, the relationship between guard and inmate seems respectful. That's not the case in units that hold violent offenders. Of course, I am speaking in general terms, and one bad correctional officer can poison the well for all of them.

There are two dress codes in prison.  The one for the inmates is: Orange--orange shirts, orange pants, no belts.  People coming to visit are welcome to wear anything they want except for anything the officers object to.  My wife visiting the women's prison has been turned away for wearing a knit top  (no way revealing), too low a neckline (must cover shoulders), and having clothes in an inappropriate color (passed the first time, not the second). Underwire bras are a cause for rejection because they set off the metal detectors.   I've been rejected for wearing off-white shorts (too close to the guard's khaki uniforms). No glasses except prescription.  I could go on for ever. Arguing with prison officials is of no value and should be avoided.

Medical treatment (or lack of) leaves much to be desired.  In the book Slumber Party from Hell, author Sue Ellen Allen recounts how her roommate suffered and complained of terrible pain to the officers and the medical staff, only to be repeatedly rejected and sent back to her cell.  She died of breast cancer within weeks.  Ron told me of an inmate who complained of chest pains and shortness of breath. The officers were were called and dithered about, and finally sent him to a unit with a working EKG machine.  The medical staff determined it wasn't a heart attack and sent him back to his unit.  Later that day, he again complained of chest pains, but since the medical team had already gone home, he was told he would have to wait until morning.  Around 4:30 a.m. an inmate found him on the floor of a toilet stall.  He died of a heart attack on the way to the hospital.

There are two recent books on life inside a prison, both by women who have served time.  Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman is a memoir about her time in the federal correctional institute in Danbury Connecticut (read the book, don't bother with the television series).  The other, less known but an excellent read, is the aforementioned Slumber Party from Hell  in which Sue Ellen recounts her six-year stretch in the women's prison in Goodyear, Arizona (Perryville).  Both books are a worthy read and give a glimpse into the frustrations of the incarcerated.

So what's the point of all of this?  Hey, I'm a conservative Republican, and I'm not soft on crime. I believe in long sentences for violent offenders, and for that crowd I'm not big on 'second chances'. I also believe the death penalty, properly applied, is of great value. In fact I would argue that it be expanded to include those found guilty of rape. But I especially believe that right is right and wrong is wrong, and after having read the books and heard the stories, I know there needs to be reform in our prison system.  In their present configuration, prisons breed hopelessness and despair, and in the long term that is neither good for the inmate or society.

Prison should do what they are presently not doing: Allow for prisoners to be rehabilitated and make restitution.  Therefore, I propose the following reforms:

--Prisoners should have access to proper medical care, not band-aid service.

--Punishment to fit the crime, i.e., non-violent or white-collar criminals should be given shorter in-house sentences and then be returned to society with appropriate electronic monitoring restraints and be made to make restitution to their victims.  This will allow those who have abilities to be useful to society and be far less disruptive to the families of both the offender and his or her victims.

 --Find businesses in the community who are willing to hire those who are newly released, along with perhaps a subsidy or a tax break, so these people aren't turned loose with no place to go.

--Prisoners must be allowed to have computer time and be able to access appropriate internet services.  Of course, inappropriate sites would be blocked.  By allowing inmates such access, they will be much more able to fit into the world they are returning to.  Many prisons lack any computer access for inmates.  Yes, this might be difficult, but it can be done.

--Education is a must, and inmates should be allowed to take mail-order or computer courses from colleges and universities or trade schools.

--A mandatory savings account for all prisoners, taken as a percentage of what they earn or are given while in prison.  I propose this not only for short-sentence people but also for long term.  A large number of freed inmates end up back inside because they leave prison nearly broke; they have little choice except to violate. This gives the prisoner a leg up on his or her return to society. If an inmate dies while inside, the money could be given to a relative, a victim, or a charity.

Prisons are a fact of life in every country in the world. They probably work as well or better in the United States as anywhere, but even here they are far from perfect--or even good.  I am a big proponent of  'better and cheaper.'  I believe we can do better and cheaper with our prison population.  It will be a win for  the people who have served their time, and it will also be a win for society.  It's worth a try.

Epitaphs

My wife's oldest sister died last week.  Janice had a stroke on Saturday and by Wednesday she was gone.  It was a shock.  She will be greatly missed by our family.

When my mom died in 1999, I decided to say some appropriate things at the graveside service.  For inspiration I visited the cemetery where she would be buried.  It was and is rather unkempt, weedy and overgrown--the kind of cemetery I prefer. Kind of a back-to-nature place.

While walking among the monuments I noticed the gravestone of a young boy. He had died in the 1880's at around 10 years old.  It didn't say how he lost his life, but many of the young were taken by disease in those days.

In my mind's eye I could see a line of carriages coming up the dusty road led by the horse-drawn hearse. I saw the mourners dressed in black gathered at the tomb saying their goodbyes. I could see it.  And then it was 1999 again.

Inscribed on the granite was the boy's name and his dates, and beneath them was inscribed the promise for which those of us who believe await:  "Safe in the Arms of Jesus".  

That child is over 125 years gone, but that hope and that promise remains to this day for those of us who know Christ.

Friends in Prison--Part One: The Power of the Judicial System

No one gives much thought to prisons--unless you're in one or know someone who is. People like you and me don't end up in prison. Prisons are where bad people go--society's rejects. Everyone inside deserves to be there, and that keeps the rest of us safe. The less heard or seen of the inmates the better.

Clear cut.

  That was me six years ago, but I've changed my mind. Now Mr. Middle Class has friends in prison, and all the 'clear-cut' in me is long gone. I now see things through different eyes--theirs.  Until Ron and his wife Tina  (pseudonyms) got caught up in the machine legal system, I always assumed that everyone was truly "presumed innocent until proven guilty."  If you went to trial and were found innocent, you went free. If not, you served your sentence and then you could rejoin society, get a job, and all was well.  If you were a repeat offender you went back inside.

Perryville Women's Prison, Goodyear Arizona

Logical.

About once a month I drive the 90 miles from my home to the Arizona State Prison Complex in Florence, Arizona to see my friend Ron. Ron and his wife Tina were members of our church. They got into some legal difficulties, and he is now serving a twelve-year prison sentence. She is serving seventeen years in the women's prison for women (Perryville) in Goodyear, Arizona. Fortunately, Goodyear is close to our home, which makes visiting easier for my wife. Neither of us can visit the other prisoner.  No one can visit two different prisoners.

Ron has an engineering degree from a prestigious west-coast university and held a responsible position in a nearby city. Tina was a full-time homemaker who home schooled their two natural children. Both were law-abiding citizens with no past history of crime. None.

They had two boys, but they wanted more children, so they decided to adopt four small sisters that were in the CPS system who came from a severely abusive, dysfunctional background.  The youngest was four years old and was very difficult, and although child protective services was kept informed of these difficulties, and the methods being used by Ron and Tina in trying to discipline her, there was an incident and they were arrested and accused of child abuse.  The rest reads like a horror story because it is a horror story: The state tried to persuade Ron to divorce Tina, and testify against her.  In turn they would grant him probation, and Tina would receive a five-year sentence.  In addition they would have to relinquish parental rights to their natural children.  Believing in their own innocence, they decided to take their case before a jury and risk a full-blown conviction.  At this point, child protective services asked for a hearing and tried to persuade the judge to sever their parental rights before their trial.  Had the judge agreed to sever their rights (he did not), they would have lost all rights to their children forever--even if at trial they were found innocent.  Such is the power of the government.  The mandate of child protective services is to look after and protect at risk children, as their title implies. But in my opinion, that mandate often devolves into their trying to look good when they screw up. To them, an accusation amounts to guilt. The only hope for someone accused in a CPS crossfire is to have an expensive and skillful attorney, which most people can't afford.

I now understand that "innocent until proven guilty" is a rather empty term.  Police don't arrest people they think are innocent, and the courts don't prosecute people unless they think they have a reasonable chance of conviction.  Their jobs are to convict suspects using all the power and resources of the state.

It's estimated that about six percent of prisoners are serving time for crimes they did not commit. Until recently I would have disputed this, but I've seen first hand the power the state possesses, and their willingness to ignore evidence and facts which might prove a person innocent, and additionally a willingness to embellish or ignore evidence where it advances their case.

Some people are in prison because they are technically guilty. Ron tells me of one inmate who was living with his 17 year old girlfriend--with her parent's consent. While they were together she became pregnant and had a child. Eventually the relationship withered, and they went their separate ways. Eventually she married someone else, and years later brought charges of statutory rape against him. He was convicted and sent to prison. I'm not defending the relationship, but one can see that in such cases there can be mitigating cirucumstances.

Perryville Women's Prison: Chain Link and Concrete Gray

 Ron and Tina are better off than most.  A number of friends from their church family have stepped up and they both have visitors monthly, often weekly . When they are released, they will have some modest resources, and Ron's education will make his ability to find a job easier than most who are released. Their natural children are being cared for by a responsible family. Most inmates don't enjoy such security.

The system does well at bringing people to court, and prisons do a good job of locking people up, but  they do a poor job of rehabilitation.  Prisons are the most dehumanizing institutions on the planet.  They are, simply stated, people warehouses. But that's a story for a future article.

Requiem for Robin Williams

With great sadness I heard the news of Robin Williams' death.  Like so many comedians he used his humor as a barrier to fend off the demons that milled about outside his door--perhaps as an unsuccessful cry for help.  I didn't actually care for his humor, but there was something of a connection through my daughter and son-in-law who were acquainted with him in Marin County, California.

I remember a snippet of an interview on, I believe, 60 Minutes some years ago when he was asked why he was the way he was, why he was so frenetic.  His answer went something like "It's more fun to pretend than to live in the real world."

John Lennon once said "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans".  Perhaps the saying might be changed a bit to "Life is what happens while you're busy trying to keep the demons away from the door."

We all have our means of coping with diversions: Toys, drugs, sex, travel.  Others through work. Some dodges work better than others, but the demons are always at the door.  For some they tap gently; for others they beat with hammers.  Robin heard hammers.

Robin had family, friends, wealth,everything that we are told makes life worth living, but everything wasn't enough: "For what shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his soul?"

I shall miss him.

The Franklin Auto Museum

We recently took a trip from our home in Phoenix to Tucson, Arizona to spend couple nights at the Ventana Canyon Inn, to relax and do some shopping and some tourist kinds of things. I've always wanted to tour the Franklin Automobile Museum, but for one reason or another I've missed going.  This year I made the connection. Actually, we made the connection, as my vivacious wife accompanied me, but then of course I had to go shopping with her. It's a marriage thing, you know, and it works. 

The museum is small and relatively unknown, and it's tucked away in--of all places--a residential area. Even some of the neighbors don't know they're neighbors to a museum. The website said they were closed in the summer, but it also noted that one might call "for other arrangements". So using that as my cue I called and left my phone number on the answering machine.  I didn't expect a reply, but early the next day (Saturday) the curator called and said he was going to be on the property, and "Would we like to take a tour?" provided we didn't mind the air conditioning being off in the summer.  And so off we went.

An Early Franklin with a
Renault-Style Hood

Outside of antique and classic car fans, few people are aware there was a car produced called the Franklin.  My earliest encounter with the make was as a kid in the 1950's.  Just north of  our little town in Washington State was a gravel pit, and therein was the bullet-riddled corpse of a Franklin sedan along with its engine. My dad told me that that engine was what made the Franklin unique, because instead of a water-cooled engine, which most manufacturers used, Franklin used a system of forced-air which kept the motor from reaching critical mass. Air-cooling was relatively rare in cars (and still is), but Franklin engineers figured out how to make it work, even with a relatively large engine.

The Franklin was produced in Syracuse, NY between 1902 and 1934.  They were quite technologically advanced, and besides their unique air-cooled engines, they introduced a number of other firsts, including the use of aluminum engine components, aluminum bodies (most builders used steel) and the utilization of fully-elliptical springs for suspension, which gave them a better ride than most cars of the day.  If you're wondering if  Franklins were expensive, you wonder correctly.  A deluxe 1930 Ford cost maybe $500; a big Franklin could run as high as $3500.

Like many upscale cars of the 1920's and early '30's, Franklins relied on outside body manufacturers for many of their vehicles. They had standard designs of course, but many of the bodies were made by custom body builders and were one-offs.  The metal bodies were internally braced with hardwood frames (a common practice in those days), and that accounts for the relatively low number of survivors. The effects of wind, rain, snow, and summer heat as well as normal wear and tear from driving on the rough roads of the '20's and '30's, took their toll on the hardwood. Unless babied, most car bodies got pretty limber after a few years.

There are about thirty cars in the museum, including a smattering of non-Franklin makes. Most of them are restored, but there are a number of  unrestored, running survivors. In fact, almost all of the cars in the museum are operating vehicles. Our guide Sparky was very knowledgeable and even started one of them for us.  I expected it to sound like a jet because of that large cooling blower moving all that air, but I was surprised at how smooth and quiet it was.  Those Franklin boys knew their stuff.

This '32 Open Sedan Was Striking with its Teal Green Fenders and
Second Windscreen at the Rear Seat

My favorite Franklin was a beautifully restored 1932 teal green open car which was a true eye-catcher complete with wire wheels and whitewall tires--and a windshield for the rear passengers.  Next to it was the town car limo in which H.H. Franklin himself was carried.  H.H. must have loved this particular car because it was reportedly modified three times and subsequently had the serial number updated from a 1929 to a '30, and finally a '31 model.  Why?  Who knows...

ThisV-12 Dual-Cowl Touring Sedan is the Only Franklin in the Museum
that Wasn't Manufactured by Franklin

In another room is a pretentious 1932 dual-cowl touring car with Franklin's massive air-cooled V-12 engine, and lots of brightwork.   But this car is especially unique in that it is the only Franklin in the place--that wasn't manufactured by Franklin!   About the time the V-12 was introduced, the depression happened and the company went into receivership.  This one-of-a-kind vehicle was built after the fact as a "what if" car out of Franklin pieces and parts, and then had a handbuilt body applied many years after Franklin dissolved.

The Franklin Museum was instituted by the late Thomas Hubbard, whose foundation perpetuates the Museum.  Mr. Hubbard was from Massachusetts and came west to work for the Magma Copper Company.  After leaving there he restored his first car in the early 1950's and did a number of restorations over the years, including some for the Bill Harrah collection. The Franklin collection continued to grow, and after Mr. Hubbard passed away in 1993, the foundation took over the reins.

The museum collection numbers approximately thirty cars of all body types, from coupes to roadsters to the limo. The museum is well laid out and the cars, though they are somewhat confined by limited space, are well displayed.  Unlike many museums where the cars are cordoned off, you can get up close and really look them over--although it is understandably a "don't touch" proposition. The grounds are also the home of a Franklin research library for restorers.

 Thanks to Sparky who Took Us on a Personal Tour
Through the Museum 

 If you're lucky enough to get in during the summer expect warm to hot buildings. Best time to visit is during the normally open months, mid-October to Memorial Day.The website for the museum is easy:
franklinmuseum.org, and the phone number is (520) 326-8038.  Take a few hours next time you make it to Tucson and get a look at a very nice collection of elegant American Iron.  For $10 a head--or less--you can't go wrong.