My Turn

For years I’ve heard all the ailments of my friends and family. Bad knees, tummy tucks, broken bones all requiring a trip to the hospital. I’ve visited some when I could. Some came home, some didn’t.

I’ve tried to avoid the hospital because that is where they keep all the sick people. I’ve avoided the doctor because getting a exam will always find something wrong (just like taking your car to a mechanic). As long as I was not bleeding and felt OK, then I was healthy.

Then the other day my body started acting up with something I couldn’t shake off and rub some dirt on.

It was my turn.

On June 18, the year of our pandemic 2020, I checked into a hospital.

Backstory: I had a red spot on my leg. It didn’t itch or hurt so it was ignored. Self-evaluation was it would go away. Cause? Some unknown weeds in the yard or a spider bite were all good choices. Shake it off. Rub some dirt in it.

Then I pulled my back and started hobbling around to stretch it back out. After a couple of days of stretching, the back was getting better but that red spot was getting bigger.

Due to the back pain, I could not lie down in bed. I slept in a chair sitting up. My feet were never elevated.

The red spot was bigger and now my legs started swelling up. All my lotions and creams were not having an affect. Now my legs felt like the Stay Puff mans tight sausage legs.

Whatever this was… Gout? Diabetes? Scurvy?... was happening on the inside of my body.

The decision was to go to a professional medical worker was made.

The first stop was the local Doc-in-a-Box. They did their prep work with height, weight, and temperature plus take some blood. When the doctor came in, she took a quick look and said I’d have to go to the hospital.

Still ambulatory, I rode my bike back home, scanned the papers they had given me, then walked the 3 miles to the emergency room.

Entering the doors pass the covid-19 testing stations, I handed my paperwork and asked for help. A guy in scrubs (everyone wears scrubs in a hospital) looked at my legs, listened to my story and sent me to another room to get a paper bracelet. That bracelet was to become my new identity.

Then he walked me down the hall to the Control Room.

This is a room with a center surround desk full of computer screens, lots of people walking about and surrounded in gurneys. Like a scene out of some space movie of chaos with no commander there was an orderly pattern of hubbub.

I was plopped on gurney #14 and left for the next person to interview. From here on everything was out of my control.

I was walked into a room, laid on a cold aluminum table and had my legs scanned. Then back to #14. Some woman came by and took my blood. A nice black guy asked me to lie back on the gurney and rolled me out through a row of doors that magically open automatically to an elevator down to the basement for some more scanning. Back upstairs and rolled by to my pit area, I gave more blood. An oriental woman wearing a stethoscope mumbled some questions through her mask while looking at my legs. Again I walked back to the scan room and had my chest scanned. Plopped back on #14 I gave more blood and a temperature. All around were people scurrying about; rolling computers that took information, blood pressure and all sorts of medical wonders. Firemen brought in patients but surprisingly with all these people there was no screaming or crying. A young cutie came by and typed some more information into a rolling computer that seemed like a repeat of what I’ve already told several times before.

Then the Indian Medicine Man arrived. Not that Indian; India. Dr. Raiyoni said he was checking me into the hospital for the night. Seems right because it had been 5 hours and they have a gallon of blood to test. I hadn’t planned to stay so I just had what I walked in with. A pair of shorts, a long sleeve shirt and sunglasses. I’d not brought another pair of glasses so I would have to wear shades inside.

Then came the big question: If I died would I want to be revived?

Clinical death that occurs unexpectedly is treated as a medical emergency. CPR is initiated. In a United States hospital, a Code Blue is declared and Advanced Cardiac Life Support procedures used to attempt to restart a normal heartbeat. This effort continues until either the heart is restarted, or a physician determines that continued efforts are useless and recovery is impossible. If this determination is made, the physician pronounces legal death and resuscitation efforts stop.

If clinical death is expected due to terminal illness or withdrawal of supportive care, often a Do Not Resuscitate (DNR) or “no code” order is in place. This means that no resuscitation efforts are made, and a physician or nurse may pronounce legal death at the onset of clinical death.

Answer: No!

If I die, why should I be resurrected? I’m not Jesus.

Up to the fifth floor into cell 516. Change my shirt to the backward cape gown but I get to keep my pants on. Then my jailer comes in and takes some blood. A gurney shows up and I’m off on another adventure to a dark room where I’m slathered with gel and rubbed all over my chest and sides with some handheld device. Then off to another spot for more scanning into a computer that beeps and makes sounds like some sort of video game. I can’t see the screen so they all must be playing the same game online. I just hope I don’t hear “Game Over”.

Back in the cell, on my accordion bed, my jailer comes back with bags of clear liquid hooked to a pump and then stabbed into my arm. When that isn’t good enough another machine is rolled in and stabbed into my other arm.

I got to pee.

Luckily they have a travel bottle that I can stand up and relieve myself while in bondage. The jailer said that would be a good sample too.

I’m finally calming down when a meal is brought in. I didn’t see the menu but I’d not eaten all day and was probably hungry.

The three square a day were pretty good and more than I normally eat. Meatloaf, French toast, tuna salad, salmon, scrambled eggs, tomato soup, chicken fajita salad, pancakes, Brunswick stew, pot roast, beef pepper steak all with desserts. When cut loose from my bondage I had to walk the halls to work off all of this grub.

Then the routine settled in. Different folks in lab coats would come in every half hour to poke and prod and draw more blood.

Note to all the fella’s out there (and the gal’s for this is the 21st century). Forget about clubbing and partying. Don’t hang out at bars, but instead go to the hospital. This place is loaded with cute girls. And they are all sweet enough to laugh at an ole man’s jokes.

Luckily I was not in pain, just discomfort.

On shift change the two jailers would compare notes speaking in medical talk so I could not understand. Numbers and procedures were discussed to follow a pattern where I was just the guinea pig.

Every pumping in or draining out was typed into a computer after scanning my bar scale bracelet. I told you this was my new identity.

On a white board at the food of the bed were written the names of my witch doctor, the current jailer and the commander. The concern was each day a new date was written on the board with no end in sight. There were also the names of the PCT’s.

The PCT is a Personal Care Technician. They are like ‘junior nurses’. Younger than the rest, these folks moved the gurneys, remake the bed, bring in a new backward cape or fill the water. I fell in love several times but I don’t think they would let me take Madison home with me. How do you put that on the bill?

On the third day the swelling was noticeably less. Whatever they were pumping in me seemed to be working. I wasn’t dancing yet in my rubber bottomed socks (because you can’t have bare feet on a hospital floor – it is too dirty).

Sleep was interrupted every night by another needle.

Otherwise I had a good view through my window. The clouds were wonderful with storms rolling through and foggy mornings.

Still without a laptop or a writing pad, my boredom turned on the television. The first time I’d watched TV in three years. Most of the shows that I remembered seemed the same and I quickly scanned through until I found the news channels.

There was talk of a rally in Tulsa. The talking heads did a build up live reports of a small crowd but none seem to cover the speech – except  for Fox.

While watching in amazement I had my blood pressure taken and the result was (another medical term) “wonky”. I figured one thing had to do with the other.

As soon as the talk was over, the Fox talking heads start their spin and I wonder what they were listening to. I change the channel to CNN and then MSNBC who seemed to have heard the same words I had. The rest of the night was repetitive chatter of what just happened from different points-of-view. It will dull you into a nap.

This floor was very quiet. I’d see the occasional cellmates shuffling down the hallway pushing a walker and trailing bags of meds-on-the-rack. Occasionally there would be an announcement of some emergency with some code and location. I didn’t see anyone running with carts and wheelchairs like on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’. Best of all they were not running in to my cell.

I asked my jailer if I was on the ‘ole folk’ floor and what was above on the other floors. She said the top floor was Intensive Care and the next floor up was the Psych Ward. Don’t get on the elevator saying “Going Up”.

After all my Auntie Bodies, saline, ultrasounds and echocardiogram with volumes of pressure reports and enough blood to fill Lake Gaston, I was cut free.

My jailer read me the rites of going back into the world and gave me a bag for my socks and paperwork.

The day was warmer than when I arrived so I took my time walking home stopping occasionally under a shady tree. My neighbor saw me walking down the alley and I told her of my adventure. What started out as a strained back turned into 5-days at the St. Mary’s-ott Hotel, Resort and Spa.

The medicine man told me that I’d be getting some prescriptions but I didn’t wait for the scribbled paper. Instead when I got home a bag was on the doorknob with 13 bottles of pills and instructions on when to take them.  This was the same medicine they had been pumping into me except in pill form. Everything from stool softener to keep the chocolate choo-choo running to vitamins to blood thinners with an Auntie Body or two with instructions of one to three a day was my follow up. I can still drink water with one hand.

So along with the high blood sugar (diabetes?) and the Cellulitis skin infection, seems one of those scans showed fibrosis of the liver. NO BEER.

Every day I was asked about my birthday and my name. I found out that was the question to see if I was going through detox or withdrawal.

Back on my feet and feeling better everyday. I would advise if you have any stock in Coors, sell it now. I predict it is going to drop.

Policing

The police are a constituted body of persons empowered by a state, with the aim to enforce the law, to ensure the safety, health and possessions of citizens, and to prevent crime and civil disorder.

Their lawful powers include arrest and the use of force legitimized by the state via the monopoly of violence.

The term is most commonly associated with the police forces of a sovereign state that are authorized to exercise the police power of that state within a defined legal or a territorial area of responsibility. Police forces are often defined as being separate from the military and other organizations involved in the defense of the state against foreign aggressors; however, gendarmerie are military units charged with civil policing.

Police forces are usually public sector services, funded through taxes.

Law enforcement is only part of policing activity. Policing has included an array of activities in different situations, but the predominant ones are concerned with the preservation of order. In some societies, in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, these developed within the context of maintaining the class system and the protection of private property. Police forces have become ubiquitous in modern societies. Nevertheless, their role can be controversial, as some are involved to varying degrees in corruption, police brutality and the enforcement of authoritarian rule.

A police force may also be referred to as a police department, police service, constabulary, gendarmerie, crime prevention, protective services, law enforcement agency, guard or civic guard. Members may be referred to as police officers, troopers, sheriffs, constables, rangers, peace officers or civic/civil guards. Ireland differs from other English-speaking countries by using the Irish language terms Garda (singular) and Gardaí (plural), for both the national police force and its members. The word “police” is the most universal and similar terms can be seen in many non-English speaking countries.

Numerous slang terms exist for the police. Many slang terms for police officers are decades or centuries old with lost etymology. One of the oldest, “cop”, has largely lost its slang connotations and become a common colloquial term used both by the public and police officers to refer to their profession.

In British North America, local elected officials initially provided policing. For instance, the New York Sheriff’s Office was founded in 1626, and the Albany County Sheriff’s Department in the 1660s. In the colonial period, elected sheriffs and local militias provided policing.

In the 1700s, the Province of Carolina (later North and South Carolina) established slave patrols in order to prevent slave rebellions and enslaved people from escaping. For example, by 1785 the Charleston Guard and Watch had “a distinct chain of command, uniforms, sole responsibility for policing, salary, authorized use of force, and a focus on preventing ‘crime’.”

In 1789 the United States Marshals Service was established, followed by other federal services such as the U.S. Parks Police (1791) and U.S. Mint Police (1792). The first city police services were established in Philadelphia in 1751, Richmond, Virginia in 1807, Boston in 1838, and New York in 1845. The U.S. Secret Service was founded in 1865 and was for some time the main investigative body for the federal government.

In the American Old West local sheriffs, rangers, constables, and federal marshals carried out law enforcement. There were also town marshals responsible for serving civil and criminal warrants, maintaining the jails, and carrying out arrests for petty crime.

In recent years, in addition to federal, state, and local forces, some special districts have been formed to provide extra police protection in designated areas. These districts may be known as neighborhood improvement districts, crime prevention districts, or security districts.

When growing up, a police officer was immediately recognizable. The uniform was brown with light brown pants. It was like the junior army but with only a shield instead of medals. The police always stood out because they wore a uniform.

I recall they would direct traffic after a wreck or ride around downtown on horses handing out parking tickets. The only protests were the Negros at the lunch counters that was still illegal at that time.

Maybe once a year a police officer would come to the school and talk about obeying the law. We were all propagandized by the message (just like the allegiance to the flag every morning, the doxology every Sunday and saying your prayers before you ate or went to bed). Most of the kids I grew up with would wait at the crosswalk for the light. Any mischief like stealing a jawbreaker from the Five & Dime was handled by the parents rather than calling in the long arm of the law.

The police cars changed from the old 40’s clunkers to the modern sleek cruisers. I’m sure the car dealers had battles out biding every year to get the new black and white fleet. One year all the cars were Ford’s and the next year they would all be Chevrolet’s. Motorcycles came and went and the paddy wagon was a rarity to see. The police station was downtown, the courts were downtown, the city jail was downtown and even the state penitentiary was downtown.

As the residents expanded into the counties, so did the police making new precincts. The police even changed their uniforms to a dark blue/black like all the other cops on television.

The police band radio could tell you where the hot spots were or you could just listen to the sirens chasing speeders or congregating at a crime scene.

I’ve had some experiences with the thin blue line. Though I’m sure I could have out run them, I’d always pull over for the red flashing lights and was always polite (to anyone wearing a sidearm).

Not that handing out parking tickets or directing traffic is too difficult, but to “Serve and Protect” means dealing with people, and people are the problem.

I look at the call log to see what types of problems the police deal with these days. There are still auto collisions, break-in alarms, disorderly conduct, public nuisance, suspicious person and loud music to name a few. There is hardly time to get a doughnut.

Every television network had at least one police show and we all learned from what we saw. Everything from cowboys to comic partners in a cruiser on patrol or young undercover cops changed each year with fresh-faced actors reading scripts from the community conscience. Stories from the headlines, softened for the sponsors, the cop shows presented the ‘Good Guy gets the Bad Guy’ prophesy and everyone went home at the end of the day.

There were no handling a belligerent drunk driver or screaming family and neighbors as a person who skipped bail is taken back to jail or wearing armor to protect against bricks and bottles.

Through the years having watched the ’68 Democratic Convention, the Rodney King incident and the reoccurring riots from LA to Baltimore to now my hometown, I’ve seen many slow moving marathons making speeches and chants until night falls.

Masses of community may move the hearts and minds of others, the long walks doesn’t change any laws. Some will take it another level to collect money and run for an office to persuade others to pass a bill for your agenda.

Another group might not like the results?

The police stay on the sidelines, taking the verbal abuse with more patience than most of us could tolerate. The next day they get up and do it all over again, not knowing what that person who just got pulled over, thinks about the uniform.

Have no idea where all of this is going.

Stay tuned.

The Backdoor

We decorate our front door with impressive shiny hardware and Christmas wreaths. We welcome people into our house through the front door, but the back door is the one that gets all the action.

Growing up the back door was the entrance into the house. There was a small porch that was enclosed and the back door was the one used to go to church, school and (unless riding the bus) was the only door used. I only saw the front door open when the census takers or the encyclopedia sales person came by. The front door was fully decorated with special lighting for Christmas and the walkway was shoveled of snow. I only had a key to the back door.

My first house had a giant glass front door and no insulation. There was a tiny back door but used the basement door more because the kitchen was so small. That house had four back doors with skeleton keys.   

When I was handed the two keys to this house, I used the front door to walk to the bus stop. I’d picked up the mail and the newspaper off the front porch.

Then the landscaping began and the back door was the preferred exit and entrance to wipe off the mud. Then I had the ‘man’s land’ delivered and it became storage for the bikes and tools and an office. After the fence was installed, I never went out the front door. Most of the time the back door was left unlocked.

Now if I hear the doorbell I wonder who would be coming to the front door? Now with the gate and only using the back door I avoid all the real estate agents and Jehovah Witnesses. Haven’t seen any vacuum salesmen?

Every couple of days I walk out to the gate and bring in the junk mail then close the front door and lock both locks.

Back doors should get more respect. They are normally used to let the pets out or get to the backyard patio, grill and lawnmower. The front yard is the presentation to the neighborhood, but the backyard is where we enjoy ourselves.

I’m a back door man.

Is it time to take the stairs?

Are we opening up yet? Are we in Phase one or two? Are you being protected with lucid divider walls, ½ the chairs missing, printers wiped down, lunchroom closed and mumbling through your facemask on the phone?

There is one space that will be difficult to social distance.

The elevator.

Usually packed like a sardine can there is no space to hide. Then on every floor more and more climb aboard reducing any available recycled air.

Maybe this is the time to take the stairs. Might want to wear gloves no knowing when the railings were disinfected.

Since climbing may be new to most, there will be more huffing and puffing.

When all this is over, we can go back to that game of stuffing a telephone booth (if you can find one)

Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (CDA) of 1996

Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act (CDA) of 1996 (a common name for Title V of the Telecommunications Act of 1996) is a piece of Internet legislation in the United States, codified at 47 U.S.C. Section 230. At its core, Section 230 provides immunity from liability for providers and users of an “interactive computer service” who publish information provided by third-party users: 

No provider or user of an interactive computer service shall be treated as the publisher or speaker of any information provided by another information content provider.

The statute in Section 230 further provides “Good Samaritan” protection from civil liability for operators of interactive computer services in the removal or moderation of third-party material they deem obscene or offensive, even of constitutionally protected speech, as long as it is done in good faith.

Section 230 was developed in response to a pair of lawsuits against Internet service providers in the early 1990s that had different interpretations of whether the service providers should be treated as publishers or distributors of content created by its users. It was also pushed by the tech industry, and other experts, that language in the proposed CDA made providers responsible for indecent content posted by users that could extend to other types of questionable free speech.

After passage of the Telecommunications Act, the CDA was challenged in courts and ruled by the Supreme Court in Reno v. American Civil Liberties Union (1997) to be partially unconstitutional, leaving the Section 230 provisions in place. Since then, several legal challenges have validated the constitutionality of Section 230.

Section 230 protections are not limitless, requiring providers to still remove criminal material such as copyright infringement; more recently, Section 230 was amended by the Stop Enabling Sex Traffickers Act (FOSTA-SESTA) in 2018 to require the removal of material violating federal and state sex trafficking laws. Protections from Section 230 has come under more recent scrutiny on issues related to hate speech and ideological biases in relation to the power technology companies can hold on political discussions.

Passed at a time where Internet use was just starting to expand in both breadth of services and range of consumers in the United States, Section 230 has frequently been referred as a key law that has allowed the Internet to flourish, often referred to as “The Twenty-Six Words That Created the Internet”.

President Trump has a new rallying cry in his escalating crusade against Twitter. As he put it in a tweet Friday: “REVOKE 230!”

It's a reference to Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, a law passed by Congress in 1996. It says online platforms are not legally responsible for what users post. Many say this protection enabled the creation of the modern Internet. But critics — on both the left and right — say it gives tech companies too much power at a time when they are essential to many peoples’ lives.

Trump seized on the once-obscure legal provision after wrangling with Twitter this week. The social media platform put fact-checking labels on some of his tweets that claimed, without evidence, that mail-in ballots were fraudulent. Trump then signed an executive order seeking to peel away the sweeping legal immunity social media companies and other online sites have long used as a shield against an avalanche of lawsuits.

The movement to revoke those safeguards is increasingly becoming a bipartisan consensus, with presumptive Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden even saying Section 230 should be scrapped.

But experts caution that eliminating the legal protections may have unintended consequences for Internet users that extend far beyond Facebook and Twitter.

Left and right criticize Section 230 — for different reasons

Some Republicans, including Trump, accuse social media sites of muzzling conservative voices. They say undoing Section 230 would let people who claim they have been slighted sue the companies.

Sen. Josh Hawley, R-Mo., introduced a bill last year aimed at ending the legal protections for tech companies unless they agreed to an independent audit to ensure they were moderating content without political bias. Following Twitter’s actions this week, Hawley promised to introduce new legislation to end the legal immunity for tech companies.

“It's pretty simple: if Twitter and Google and the rest are going to editorialize and censor and act like traditional publishers, they should be treated like traditional publishers and stop receiving the special carve out from the federal government in Section 230,” Hawley wrote on Twitter.

Democratic skeptics of the law, including House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, have other complaints. They say Section 230 has created a fertile environment for the rampant spread of online misinformation, harassment and abuse. They argue, if Section 230 is jettisoned, tech platforms like Google, Facebook and Twitter would have to do more to curb problematic content.

“Section 230 is in extremely precarious straits right now,” said Eric Goldman, a professor at Santa Clara University Law School and co-director of the High Tech Law Institute. “But both parties don't agree on why it should be repealed, which may become tricky for both parties to find consensus. If there is a proposal for a flat repeal, though, maybe both parties will just agree.”

Goldman and other experts interviewed for this story say the most likely outcome of a repeal of Section 230 is one that neither the left nor the right want to see: more censorship by major tech companies and potentially paralyzing other websites.

“We don't think about things like Wikipedia, the Internet Archive and all these other public goods that exist and have a public-interest component that would not exist in a world without 230,” said Aaron Mackey, staff attorney at the Electronic Frontier Foundation, a digital civil liberties nonprofit.

Without Section 230, experts argue, sites would have less tolerance for people posting their opinions on YouTube, Reddit, Yelp, Amazon and many other corners of the Internet.

Law created to eliminate ‘the moderator's dilemma’

Back in the 1990s, when now-quaint-sounding companies like CompuServe, Prodigy and GeoCities were household names, the Communications Decency Act was passed to address what Mackey calls “the moderator's dilemma.”

At the time, if online service providers took a hands-off approach to what users posted — no matter how offensive or potentially illegal — they were in a better position legally than if they chose to remove content that was abusive or harmful, because doing so would make the companies look like publishers and open to the door to a wave of defamation lawsuits.

Critics said online platforms had an incentive to ignore any obscene or illegal content posted to their pages.

“Section 230 was designed to remove that dilemma, so a platform can choose to do nothing or actively engage and set their own rules,” Mackey said.

The law enshrined websites in a special legal category by considering them distributors, rather than publishers. That gave them immunity from lawsuits over online content, while letting them establish terms of services for what is permissible or not.

There are some exceptions, however. Websites can still be held responsible for child pornography and the violation of federal criminal laws. In 2018, another exception was added to the law to hold websites like Backpage.com responsible for promoting sex trafficking and prostitution.

More responsibility online, or greater censorship?

Since President Bill Clinton signed the original law in 1996, countless people have gone to court over inflammatory comments or videos found on Facebook, Twitter, Google and other sites. But courts overwhelmingly have sided with the Internet companies.

“If those lawsuits had a chance to succeed, we'd see thousands times those lawsuits,” Goldman said. “Every time someone was aggrieved with Internet services, they potentially would have a claim and take it to court. Section 230 had kept that tsunami of complaints from hitting the courts.”

The tech industry, unsurprisingly, is fighting hard to preserve Section 230, said Jeff Kosseff, the author of a book about Section 230, ‘The Twenty-Six Words That Created the Internet.’

“The major platforms came into existence because of Section 230,” Kosseff said. “Without Section 230, their operations would have to be substantially changed.”

In particular, Facebook, Twitter and Google would likely become aggressive about removing content and may side more often with complaining users, Kosseff said.

Mackey with the Electronic Frontier Foundation agrees.

“It could create a prescreening of every piece of material every person posts and lead to an exceptional amount of moderation and prevention,” Mackey said. “What every platform would be concerned about is: Do I risk anything to have this content posted to my site?”

Another possible ripple effect of repealing, Kosseff said, is making it more difficult for whatever company is hoping to emerge as the next big social media company.

“It will be harder for them because they will face more liability at the outset,” Kosseff said.

Goldman with Santa Clara University Law School said rescinding Section 230 could reduce the number of online platforms that welcome open dialogue.

Section 230 is “a statement by Congress that we can do a better job if we add in some additional protections for free speech.” Goldman said. “Without it, a lot of things online we take for granted today will not work the way they currently work, and some things will no longer be available at all.”

The Isolation Booth

Hope you have been enjoying isolation.

Staying away from others.

Time to yourself.

That private time everyone wants but were too busy for.

Read that book you’ve been saving.

Binge a series without interruptions.

Have time with your family.

Now you know.

Then the government sent you money.

What a time to be by yourself.

I’m now the Ruth Farber of the neighborhood

When I moved in this house some 40 years ago, it was an established neighborhood with sidewalks, streetlights and neighbors.

On one side was “White Shoes” Bob and Edina. They watched me move in but we didn’t introduce ourselves until later.

On the other side was Ruth Farber.

Ms. Farber (I have no idea of her status) was this old lady with kyphosis or curvature of the spine. She lived alone. She’d go out into the backyard everyday with a little rake and a cane, wearing a big hat and a raincoat. She’d move a few leaves around then slowly walk back inside. Around noon, she would walk to the gray car parked out front and drive off for an hour or so. She’d then come back and park in the same spot and walk back inside.

The only time I’d speak to her was when I would cut the grass. She had a chain length fence we would say a few words to each other, then I would go on and she would go back inside.

Now and then I’d see her standing at the side window. She would just stand there staring out.

She never made any noise and never complained about my loud music or that sweet smoke drifting out the window.

Most of the neighborhood residents were retirees. Most of the houses were built in the late 40’s and most were brick cape cods. Everyone parked in front of the house, had the grass cut every week, and mostly stayed inside.

Ms. Farber’s yard appeared to have had a beautiful flower garden in the backyard that had fallen into disrepair. Otherwise, it looked like all the other houses.

Have no history of who she was. Was she married? Was she a schoolteacher or librarian who was living off her pension?

When my wife moved in, she wanted to change things up. One of her goals was landscaping. All the trees and bushes were removed. All the grass was dug up. Black landscape plastic was pinned down and giant holes dug for new plants.

This riled Edina (“White Shoes” Bob had passed) and there was a skirmish over property lines and she had a 10’ chain length fence installed. Ms. Farber would just walk down her property line and pick up whatever had blown into her yard and toss it over the fence.

I don’t know if Ms. Farber and my wife ever came to words, but her constant staring out the window bothered my wife to the point of making the windows opaque.  

Her house was sold in 1999 to a series of young folks who stay a few years and then move on.

Now I’m the neighborhood Ruth Farber.

I’ve replaced the opaque windows and now can time my day by who is parked until they go to work. In the evening I can watch people coming home, picking up their kids from school. I know when someone moves because there are different cars parked out front.

I would wait until people went to work to do my yard chores. 

In these strange days, none of the cars move. It is just a stationary parking lot.

I stand at the window and watch people walk their dogs or push their baby carriages. I watch the bicycles go by and see the occasional delivery truck stop. At night I stare out into the darkness. When I hear a car start, I walk to the window to see who is leaving isolation.

My window is about ten feet away from the sidewalk, so the passerby can also see me. Some wave when they see me, staring at them.

I’m the Ruth Farber of the neighborhood.

Entitlement?

The other day returning from the Tummy Temple, I arrived at the top of the hill waiting for the light to change. A bus stopped and let a passenger off. He started walking up the sidewalk and then crossed over to the other side of the street before the light changed.

I peddled across the street then pulled over to the curb behind a parked truck waiting for the traffic to pass by me. This is a usual routine. Even though it is a wide street, cars parked on one side and trucks parked on the other side leave little room for two cars to pass, much less a two-wheeler.

I rode up to the corner of my block and pulled over to the curb. There wasn’t any traffic coming, but the fella was walking down the sidewalk and I anticipated we’d both meet at the alley so I waited for him to go pass. I do the same for joggers and people walking their dogs. Besides, in this time of social distancing, I can give other’s personal space.

As I waited, he turned back and saw me watching him.

I was not making any threatening actions and he was not acting suspicious, but at that moment time froze.

It was a sign of these times.

He continued walking and disappeared down the alleyway. I paused for a minute or two before crossing the street and dismounting. The guy was halfway down the block so I continued to the gate and finished my unpacking.

I have no idea who that guy is but he is not from around here. The usual vision of ponytail moms pushing strollers or walking their dogs or jogging up and down the streets do not wear camo pants, purple dashikis and black do-rags.

Did I mention this guy I saw was Afro-American? I hate that term so I’ll just say he didn’t look like others from around these parts.

This neighborhood has changed little from the time my father moved here in ’53. Everyone drove the same type of car, had the same type of house, went to the same schools and churches and all looked the same. This was the Jim Crow south of conformity and everyone accepted it.

Sure there were ‘coloreds’ (excuse the terminology but using the most acceptable slang of the time). Negro, I believe, was the term used in the newspaper. I saw them on the other side of Broad Street. I saw them cleaning the dishes or the floors but they were like children ‘only to be seen and not heard’. It wasn’t until high school I ever had any interaction with a person of color.

We had a culture they were not invited to and they had a culture we were not invited to. The church taught we are all God’s Children, but there were exceptions.

I have worked with many ‘people of color’ but have not invited them out for a drink after work or been invited to their BBQ. I think I feel no remorse or anger to another unless they do me wrong, but not the color of their skin. I learned a lot of good music rhythms and beats and some jokes I’m still laughing at. Yet you can’t hide the difference.

Still there is this divide?

I have records of my ancestors buying people. That is history. I grew up in a time before the Freedom Riders and Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, but I’ve learned along the way.

I also know that racist feelings are still in my generation and hope the next generation or the one after that can blend together.

Entitled?

I like my neighborhood. While the diversity might not be the same as the Fan, it is not a gated community. There are ‘people of color’ living here. Anyone who can pay the prices for these houses and keep their plots of land neat, I welcome them, but the black jogger I pass on my daily ride still stands out among the others.

When you don’t look like you belong around here, people get suspicious, then fearful.

Will it change?