Press/Police

It is interesting that the ‘fake’ news and the ‘defund the’ police take the headlines every night.

They both do the same thing.

Both come into our neighborhoods and ask questions.

Some carry microphones and cameras while others wear uniforms and carry weapons.

They both appear after a crime. They both want to know who, what, where, when and why from bystanders.

One wants to report the events for the next edition. The other wants to find the perpetrator.

One can put up yellow tape and the other must just look on and ask questions.

One became necessary to dig for sleazy news and the other became militarized.

They both used to be well respected and welcomed into the neighborhood like the milkman or the mailman or the paperboy.

The police would tell us safety habits and guard us as we walked across the street and the press would record our sport scores.

Today everyone with a phone is a recorder but journalist must verify the facts. Social media presents events, real or fake, that shapes our opinions.

The flat foot on the beat has sheltered into cars but still respond to everything from a lost child to a murder.

When there is an event they both show up, but they have different task.

I like seeing them both but I ain’t answering any questions.

Unions

I was lucky when I got a job.

The local newspaper was running ads about hiring, so I took a lunch break and walked the block away and applied for a job.

I was about to graduate college, planning a wedding and looking for an apartment so walking through a picket line didn’t mean anything to me.

Originating in Great Britain, trade unions became popular in many countries during the Industrial Revolution.

A trade union (or a labor union in the U.S.) is an association of workers forming a legal unit or legal personhood, usually called a “bargaining unit”, which acts as bargaining agent and legal representative for a unit of employees in all matters of law or right arising from or in the administration of a collective agreement.

Labour unions typically fund the formal organization, head office, and legal team functions of the labour union through regular fees or union dues. The delegates are made up of workplace volunteers who are appointed by members in democratic elections.

Today, unions are usually formed for the purpose of securing improvement in pay, benefits, working conditions, or social and political status through collective bargaining by the increased bargaining power wielded by the banding of the workers. The trade union bargains with the employer on behalf of union members (rank and file members) and negotiates labour contracts (collective bargaining) with employers. The most common purpose of these associations or unions is “maintaining or improving the conditions of their employment”.

This may include the negotiation of wages, work rules, occupational health and safety standards, complaint procedures, rules governing status of employees including promotions, just cause conditions for termination, and employment benefits.

Unions may organize a particular section of skilled workers (craft unionism), a cross-section of workers from various trades (general unionism), or attempt to organize all workers within a particular industry (industrial unionism). The agreements negotiated by a union are binding on the rank and file members and the employer and in some cases on other non-member workers.

At the time I didn’t connect-the-dots that the newspaper was changing over from hot metal type to cold type. That meant the production of setting type was moving from mechanical to computerize.

The linotype operators didn’t like that so their union decided to walk out. A few from other unions showed their support but most stayed.

All this was going on in another building as I was trying to learn what I was suppose to do in an empty office.

The pickets lost their battle and the company moved on through the transition.

I was there long enough to see more changes, but under it all were the unions.

The artist in the news department had a guild. The writers had a union and the photographers had some form of negotiation with management. The pressmen had a union and I think circulation had a bargaining association (but kids were still delivering newspapers on bikes). The sales department was paid on commission and the ‘art department’ was a paid-per-job shop.

At one point there was a discrepancy in the pay of the advertising ‘art department’ and the news ‘art department’. It caused such a stink that a vice-president called each and everyone individually up to his office to find out what the problem was. The Human Resource director did his homework with comparison charts and pay scales. The solution was everyone got a minimal raise and the problem dissipated.

Years later two disgruntled artist had investigated the news ‘art department’ arrangement and were trying to organize a similar situation in the ‘creative service’ department. Once discovered, they were taken to HR and immediately “at will” dismissed.

I never joined a union, other than management.

As a manager I was involved in a negotiation with some personnel who were hired to maintain property and their job description was being expanded into processing press plates. The pressmen had done this process until it was discovered their job description did not cover such activity and became null and void.

So another union was about to be formed and management didn’t want it. Posters were made Meetings were held. Reports were written.

They formed a union.

Ever think about it?

When it is hot…. like it is today for it is too hot to trot, what about that guy on the ladder fixing a roof? It was a good light show storm last night and maybe it found a way to find a crevice to leak into the house. You know you can’t fix it so you call someone with a ladder who will come over on the hottest day of the year (so far) climb that ladder in long pants on what must be a sweltering black asphalt platform to try and find and patch the damage through a waterfall on the face.

I’m just riding by slowly watching with pity of these folks who must be out in this heat. The kids going out into the parking lot to retrieve carts at the Tummy Temple, the tree murderers who at 8AM are already drenched or the construction (renovation) guys who want to do a good job, but in this heat the mind gets foggy. Sometimes that may be fatal to quality workmanship or be redone when it is cooler.

I have a few ‘handyman’ jobs that I don’t want to do, but think twice about calling someone else to endure this heat. Even crawling under the house to change the filter on the heater can wait.

We should be considerate to those who will and can do the projects we no longer attempt.

The same is true when the temperature drop. One should also consider holidays (though everyday is a holiday now). If the person answering your call for assistance would also like to be spending time with their family, attention to detail will be distracted.

A few years ago I called a ‘new’ contractor to replace an old broken down fence and replace it. What surprised me was the professionalism. First a guy from the power company showed up in my yard spraying a line for where the underground cable ran (at no charge). Second a clean truck showed up at the designated hour and two men examined the job and immediately set out to work. I rode off to the Tummy Temple and left them to their task.

Upon return the old fencing was gone and so was the truck. I thought that was it for the day for rain was coming, but they came back with post to plant in cement. At one corner there was a left over post of the neighbors chain link fence that was also buried deep. The two of them worked for an hour to dig it out of the ground to replace it with a new wooden post.

They left as the rain fell to let the cement set.

The next day they were back with braces and rails and boards and hardware. They double-checked which way the gates should open before beginning. Measure twice, cut once.

In a period of two days they had complete the task I requested and approved after inspection. The bill was given and immediately paid with a check. They seemed happy with a job well done as was I but before they drove off, I handed them a 6-pack.

It wasn’t an expensive tip but they seemed to appreciate a thank you gift.

Hope those out in this heat get the respect for their efforts.

Still a mime is terrible to waste

-      Captain’s log: Nineteen hundred hours in this year of the pandemic.

Open my eyes. The sun was shinning but that was early. Woke up wet so it will be another summer day. Found the coolest shirt I have with vents on the sides and dampened off for an early ride. The day is as silent as it should be on a Sunday morning but this is the same as everyday now. The air was still and hot for such an early time. Tried to avoid the morning feeding but they demanded breakfast.

A few brave souls were facing the summer heat with an early morning walk or jog but they were just as hot as I was.

The AC felt good but I had to search out a zip cart and then a scanner. The produce was off the shelves. The cheese was removed from the cases. Meats and melons and dairy products were being covered in gaze and management was on the phones. Not a good sign.

Once home settled down to trying to stay cool in front of a fan blowing hot air. Yesterday went upstairs to the sauna to open windows but didn’t stay long. It is summer in the city.

While during this new normal isn’t that different from the old normal, without any conversation to another human does intensify seclusion.

With minor distractions of music and writing (for television is too boring and social media is quickly becoming the same) one is alone with your own thoughts.

A mime is a terrible thing to waste.

After a week or two from my brief vacation at the St. Mary’s-ott Hotel and being of a certain age, one can only think about the ultimate mortality. Telling a doctor not to revive is different than just thinking it. Putting a signature on the line seals the deal with the grim reaper.

Not to be morbid but it is the next bucket list. There might be another book idea or another song but for the most part, it is over. Aches and pains will take longer to go away, cold will seem colder and hot (like today) will be unbearable, little chores become projects and time marches on.

If you were going to fall in love, you’ve already fallen. If you were to procreate, you’ve produced your offspring. If you were going to make your mark on the world, you’ve made it and now pass it on to the next generation. If you were going to try guilty pleasures, you done it and by now survived where others haven’t.

The key to marching through each day until the bell rings is maintaining your mime. To be able to read and understand what the letters mean even if they all appear smaller is helpful. To understand the spoken language, comprehend what was said, the thoughts behind the words helps keep the mime alert. To be able to tie words together to speak thoughts and ideas that another can understand shouldn’t be an accomplishment.

My next-door neighbor Edna had Alzheimer’s. She could walk about when led and could eat but her view was vacant. Still she had an expression as if something was going on inside her head that could be said.

My first wife had a brother with Down syndrome. He could eat and make inoperable sounds. I sat with him for some time and he had the same expression. His view of the world was not the same as mine.

So I write this continuous stream of conscience not only for your viewing entertainment but also for my mime. If all the other parts fail and they put you in a rolling chair and feed you with a variety of pharmaceuticals to slow you down or speed you up and other methods to keep the sagging body going to squeeze another dollar out, when the mime becomes useless you are a robot.

Being White in America

This was the life I was born into. I started out blue but after a good whacking I turned pink.

My father was the manager of a private gentleman’s club across the street from the state Capitol. It was very similar to this photo. White males only served by blacks in starched jackets run as an antebellum plantation.

Take another look at the photo.

All my family was white. All my neighbors were white. All my schoolmates were white. All my teachers were white. The entire church congregation was white. My preacher was white. My doctor was white.

Did I know segregation?

This is just the way it was.

All the stores had white clerks. All the police were white. All the parades were white. All the television characters were white. All the presidents were white. All the army heroes were white. All the cowboys were white.

There were ‘colored only’ restrooms but they were not noticed.

Toleration was the game of the day.

The textbooks talked of the glory of the Lost Cause and the monuments peppered the landscape without understanding the background. The confederacy and its symbols were celebrated even as a losing effort to maintain a economy based on the labor of enslaved people.

Take another look at the photo.

Racism is prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against a person or people on the basis of their membership of a particular racial or ethnic group, typically one that is a minority or marginalized.

Racism is the belief that different races possess distinct characteristics, abilities and qualities, especially so as to distinguish them as inferior or superior to one another.

Again, take a look at the photo.

Do the white men look privileged? Does the black man presenting the drinks appear to enjoy his job?

The server was doing a job he was hired to do. He got paid for his service. He had a family. He had bills to pay. He went to church. He had friends that lived around him that looked like him.

My first with any people of color (other than subservient positions) was high school. A handful of kids were bused in from the far side of town. They pretty well kept to themselves. None were on the cheer leading squad. None were on the football team. None were on the basketball team.

Don’t remember anyone I knew spouting racist comments for Richmond was a lazy town of toleration. There may have been words if the two sides crossed paths but there were no black golfers or swimmers or tennis players at the country club.

As I watched the black and white images of dogs and fire hoses on peaceful marchers I never remembered hearing any discouraging remarks from my parents although I knew they did not agree with the changes coming.

I remember riding by the black sharecroppers in broken down wooden shacks next to the road. I remember seeing the black chain gangs cleaning the tall grass next to the highway under watchful eyes of whites with guns. I thought it was just Carolina.

There were only white beaches. There were only whites at the hotel. There were only whites at the dance though the band may have the diversity to make it jive.

Didn’t follow the politics of the time but was fully aware my city didn’t want any part of intermingling with “the other race”.

I witnessed the highways cutting through neighborhoods providing for white flight to the suburbs. I watched attempts of realtors trying to gentrify broken down neighborhoods with no thought of where would the displaced go.

Take another look at the photo.

Was that the legacy of hundred of years of domination? Was this acceptable Jim Crow politics? What was the bartender thinking?

By college the diversity of classes were not only integrated but also a mix of old and young alike. We were in the same class. We shared information and ideas. We did not party together. We did not date each other. We did not marry outside of our own race.

I’ve seen ‘Roots’. I’ve read many books on the subject of racism from both black and white authors. I can logically comprehend what living on the other side of Broad Street was but I can’t live in their shoes.

Look at your Facebook friends list. Look at your phone contacts. Think about the latest restaurant you went to. Who attended your children’s wedding?

Are we there yet?

I personally try to be respectful of all people. I use ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ in all acknowledgments. If I get any propaganda, aggressive agendas or hate speak, I do not confront but yet walk away. The other person may have life events I do not know or could understand.

Maybe it won’t happen in my lifetime but there is hope for the future generations.

Roadblock

Haven’t written much about the Tummy Temple recently so here is my latest observation.

No one is assigned to wipe down the carts but they left the chemicals for a DIY clean up. I don’t wear gloves or disinfect the push bar for I also pick up the scanner and no one has cleaned that. You take your chances.

The shelves are well stocked. There are lots of yellow bananas and red tomatoes and plenty of blueberries.

All the nurses and doctors wandering the aisles seem to be following the personal space requirements. There are still plenty of elderly (like me) but seems to be fewer in the congregation that normal. The parking lot is full so maybe they have already visited?

I do notice that the call ahead and have it delivered to your car is picking up. Blue apron folks are pushing large instacarts back and forth through the aisles trying to find that particular selection you requested while you sit idling in the parking space with your trunk up like a baby bird waiting for delivery of dinner. If they can’t find rice noodles over egg noodles, what are your options?

I myself enjoy the walk through the aisles as exercise and watching humanity. I’ve followed personal space long before these guidelines.

Which brings us to the new pattern of shopper habits.

The roadblock.

With fewer people in the aisles, it seems shoppers feel entitled to leave their cart and wander through the store to bring back their finds to a stationary parking spot.

With my little zip cart I can normally move around vacant carts but I see this pattern of blockading the aisle as a privilege rather than a courtesy annoying.

I pack up my pony, strap on my helmet, lower my mask and peddle home. Tomorrow will be another day.

We should not be left to our own devices

Imagine, if you will, one day you are told not to come to work. You are told not to go to school. You are told to close all the businesses. You are told to stay home.

Sounds like a holiday? Maybe this is the eternal vacation?

You can do whatever you want as long as you do it by yourself.

Wake up whenever you want. Don’t worry about personal hygiene because no one is going to see you (or smell you). Wear the same clothing everyday. Binge watch movies on the couch gorging on whatever is in the refrigerator.

Sounds good for a while until the thrill wears off.

 Our species are social creatures and not engaging with another person becomes lonely. We organize our day by working with others, sharing meals and swapping stories. Our lives are fulfilled with interacting with others.

You can’t shake the hand of someone on the computers screen. A phone call can’t give a hug. Commenting on social media or email becomes redundant.

So after reading all the books and viewing all the movies do we take up exercising or changing our diet or learning a new skill. After all the DIY chores are done do we break them to make some more? Gardening is a diversion but what happens when it snows? How often can the closet be rearranged?

If we are lucky enough to be quarantined with family, how long before you want to play hide and seek and don’t go looking? When does planning three meals a day for the little ones in between trying to teach them calculus and entertaining them with board games and pictures books until you turn to the television to babysit? When does walking the dog become a relief to get out of the house instead of a chore?

Some have said, “I never have enough time.”

Well now you do.

Musicians can write music that no one else can listen to. Authors can write the Great American novel only to post it online for free. Hobbies like sewing or knitting or woodworking can become obsessive until you run out of materials or space to put them.

Even sex loses it thrill after time.

It is surprising that with cheap gas and little traffic there are not more people making road trips, but there is nothing open. Pizza delivery will be a cherished moment worth waiting for. A load of laundry may take a week to fold.

We are bored.

This is when we start getting into trouble. All the little things we thought about but were too extracted with life, become passions and with the help of cell phones can become a movement.

What is that bump on your arm? Check it out on the Internet and then call the emergency room with your self-diagnosis. The car is running rough to DIY and tinkers under the hood until the car won’t start. Try a new recipe but forget some of the steps while checking your phone and wind up poisoning your family and starting a fire in your kitchen.

Move deeper into philosophical thoughts and all hell breaks loose. Assemble without a permit and say whatever you want because we have the ‘freedom of speech’ with no consideration on whom else it might offend. Wonder why statues to losers that have been tolerated for years are still there? Get upset by those in uniform try to keep order as anarchy reins. Arise again the discrepancy of race that has lasted for over 400 years.

Perhaps this is the new revolution of awareness or just something else for social media, but there still is no work, no restaurants, no sports, no travel, etc.

There is still plenty of fear of the unknown.

Where do you put all the bodies?

Everyday there is an updated list of all positive test, hospitalized and deaths from this Corona virus. There are charts and graphs and scientist and politicians but the body count keeps adding up.

The state has numbers to compare with other areas, the country has a running total and the globe has estimates for bad accounting or guesswork.

There are reports of hospital wards filling up and without storage space filling refrigerated trucks with body bags.

Normally the family will sign some papers and hiring a mortuary to pick up the body and prepare it for display, services and burial, but can they handle the mounting numbers? Are coffin makers working overtime? Is there enough room in the cemetery?

This last act is supposed to be Rest In Peace but when death becomes a assembly line who has time for a wake for the deceased? Perhaps the obituaries should make a page for Covid-19? Can the crematoriums keep up with the volume?

Lest we forget there are also those who die from strokes, cancer, car crashes, gunshots, falling off a mountain or suffocation, the bodies are stacking up.

I’ve signed my paper informing the last to see me exhale to do whatever with the carcass. Wherever we go from here, I won’t need this body anymore.

Fragility and Morality

I opened my eyes this morning. The sun was shining through the window.

I have another day.

When young and invincible, these things go unnoticed. Our focus is on going shopping, having times with friends, taking care of children, making repairs and seeking a better life.

All the abuse we do to our bodies become cocktail party stories until it is not funny anymore.

We wander around in this little space suit called ‘skin’. It comes in several sizes and colors and stretches. Without a zipper it contains all the stuff that keeps us living. All the miles of tubes and pumps and wires that keep us breathing (even asleep) we carry around with us. All the entrails are the same and all the blood is red.

At the end of the day, our parts and pieces start breaking down with age. What was simple becomes difficult.

We are fragile creatures. When we bump into something, we get a bruise. When we forget where we put our keys is a joke, until it isn’t. When standing up takes assistance and sleep becomes an avoidance of reality our fragility shows our age.

In some cases the offspring will be more than happy to take over their parents lives (with or without their consent). Some times community organizations will volunteer to fill in the gaps that are no longer available.

Then there are those who wait for the grim reaper.

If one boards a plane that doesn’t reach its distention, one can only hope that they had gotten all their affairs in line. Wills, life insurance, financial and family arrangements are signed and sealed by lawyers and notary publics are agreed upon before they put you in a box.

While we don’t like to think about our mortality, no one gets out of here alive. No one wants to think about the coffin they will spend eternity in or what suit they prefer to wear or how they would like to comb their hair.

When the last breath is exhaled, it is someone else’s problem. After that we are caucuses just like the dead and dying on the battlefield. No one wants to think that our space suit is nothing more than a bag of leftover liquids decomposing.

Tomorrow if I open my eyes and the sun shines through the window, I get another day.

If not…

Are you celebrating July 4th?

Independence Day (colloquially the Fourth of July or July 4) is a federal holiday in the United States commemorating the Declaration of Independence of the United States, on July 4, 1776. The Continental Congress declared that the thirteen American colonies were no longer subject (and subordinate) to the monarch of Britain, King George III, and were now united, free, and independent states. The Congress had voted to declare independence two days earlier, on July 2, but it was not declared until July 4.

Independence Day is commonly associated with fireworks, parades, barbecues, carnivals, fairs, picnics, concerts, baseball games, family reunions, political speeches, and ceremonies, in addition to various other public and private events celebrating the history, government, and traditions of the United States. Independence Day is the national day of the United States.

Over a decade ago I was retrieving my phone from outside and calling 911 when the thought came to me. “This is independence day.”

Independent is not influenced or controlled by others in matters of opinion, conduct, etc.; thinking or acting for oneself.

This is what the colonies wanted to rid itself from the crown. It was too expensive to control the revolutionaries so the King withdrew leaving what would become America to fend for themselves. A few white aristocrats declared freedom for all (with restrictions) and off we went.

For the most part, we’ve done pretty good. We spread out across the land building railways and highways and cities and in the quest of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness (though we had to walk over other along the way).

Still this country we now call the United States of America has never been invaded so all our dilemmas have been created by ourselves.

Getting back to being independent, without the authoritarian oppression to rule our every move, we are free to travel, work for pay, sleep on the couch and make babies. There are restrictions and laws they tell us not to walk into walls or fart in elevators, but for the most part, we are free.

But being independent is another phase of life. Some have been independent from birth, being orphaned and shifted about from place to place to people with no connection. Others are born into families dependent on food, clothing and shelter to be provided for certain restraints like going to the potty and not having girls in your room.

Most of us are communal creatures and seek companionship. Dating or marriage or whatever requires compromise with another. It may (or not) be total dominance, but it is not independence.

Living on your own is like living in the woods. If you accomplish a goal there is no one to share it with and if there is a failure there is no one else to blame.

In the end, we make our own decisions and must abide the consequences.

Anarchy

Anarchy is a state of disorder due to absence or non-recognition of authority.

You want to see Anarchy?

Leave your kids alone for an hour.

Our species can come up with all sorts of mayhem when left unattended.

Recently there are videos of kids who have been quarantined for months, blocking the streets, screaming obscenities, spraying graffiti, breaking windows, torching cars and looting. Those were the sensational moments of peaceful protesting racial inequality or police brutality or housing gentrification or sexual identify or educational cost or pay divergence or…

As the public has a right to peacefully assemble and state their objections to politics or religion or whatever the cause, when the yelling turns to violence it breaks the law from disturbance of the peace to malicious damage of property.

In my lifetime there have been disturbances, unrest and riots through the years and for every possible reason. Some seemed to get more than just the 15-minute of fame and some just faded away.

At the end of the day, someone has to sweep up the broken glass, call the insurance company, tear down the smoldering buildings, remove the burnt cars and start over.

The Revolution WILL Be Televised

Seems everyone has a camera today. Actions and events that were never covered by the established media can now be captured and distributed to social media without context or background checks.

The viewer can assume what the visual means by the bias comments that follow.

Sometimes the nightly news will headline a viral video and add some context from investigative journalism.

Still the options for everything from some interaction in a parking lot to a one point-of-view that was not covered from reporters at the scene.

Cutting the grass? Buying groceries? Washing your car? Backyard barbecue? You are being filmed.

Some call it security. Some call it invasion of privacy.

The truth is any occurrence will have someone will pull out their phone and start filming.

There is no script. This is live TV.

And there is sound.

A brief capture of time without explanation what went on before the camera started rolling leaves the interpretation to the viewer?

So put on your makeup. Make sure your hair is combed. Walk out the door and you are a star.

Action!