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Ralph Friedly

Monthly Archives: May 2014

How to Become a Liberal

29 Thursday May 2014

Posted by ralphfriedly in Uncategorized

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Republicans, Conservatives, Tea Partiers, are you fed up with the success of Obamacare?  And you can’t really get angry anymore about the old and tired Benghazi “scandal” or the IRS “conspiracy”? Are you tired of still claiming that Obama “stole” the last presidential election when he won it fair and square? Are you getting tired of defending a government bought by the corporations and the wealthy with the Supreme Court ringing up the sale? Tired of defending gun nuts when you know perfectly well that the Second Amendment refers to militias, not individuals and you know that background checks and registration make perfect sense? Are you getting just a little bit concerned about climate change and the rape of the environment by big energy and big business, tired of defending fools who deny overwhelming scientific evidence about global warming, and are you perhaps turning a little green yourself? Tired of millionaires, billionaires and corporations paying a smaller percentage of income in taxes than you do? Tired of defending Mitt Romney’s comments on the “47 percent”, when you know full well that you are part of the 47 percent? Concerned maybe about a Republican do-nothing House and a Senate hobbled by Republican filibusters? Fed up with trying to defend airheads still claiming that Obama was born in Kenya?…then maybe you should embrace another political philosophy – become a liberal…or a progressive…or, or, even a card carrying Democrat! But….you have been a Republican for too long, have grown accustomed to the drone of conservative talk radio and love the empty headed blond bimbos on Fox News. Your Republican parents trained you too well and it’s hard to make the break and besides, you don’t want to disappoint them. I mean, with all this, it’s really hard to make that left turn. You need help, you need a plan. You are in luck – I have such a plan. Here it is.

How to Become a Liberal  

Step 1 Get a heart – grow one, buy one, or steal one if you must, but you have to get a heart. You need compassion. You need empathy. You need to care. Care about the poor, the homeless, the less fortunate, the unemployed, the uneducated. People with hearts know that in the richest country in the world, everybody willing to work should have decent jobs, enough to eat, obtain adequate medical care, have adequate clothing to wear, have a decent place to live and provide security and a future for their families. People with hearts know that good health care should be a right, not a privilege. To believe all this, to embrace this, you do need a heart.

Step 2 Get an education, read – read newspapers, novels, history. Anybody who has read history and economics knows that Keynesian economics works and that the New Deal, the government providing jobs when the private sector fails, worked to get us out of the depression and that the biggest jobs program of all, World War II, was further proof of the efficacy of government action to end serious economic downturns. Read newspapers, maybe the New York Times, read columnists, read Harpers, The Atlantic, The Nation, the New Republic, the New York Review of Books, and even the Weekly Standard and the National Review if you must, but READ. Remember the quotation attributed to George Orwell:”Journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed: everything else is public relations”. Reading the novels of Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, and Emile Zola will help you grow a heart (see Step 1 above). These authors wrote eloquently and passionately of the poor, the downtrodden, and the exploited. And get a new view of the history of the United States by reading Howard Zinn’s “A People’s History of the United States”. Or, never mind, read any history book. There is nothing like history to help gain an understanding of the world and why it is the way it is.

Step 3 Get your eyes checked. You may be suffering from myopia, blurred vision, blind spots, short-sightedness, lack of focus or simply inability to see the light. Vision problems have long been rife in the right wing. Conservatives simply can’t see that our country is being taken over by corporations and that corporate money now controls both houses of Congress and exerts its nefarious influence on the judicial and executive branches as well. They can’t see that corporations exist for profit, not public welfare and therefore need to be regulated. Conservatives can’t see clearly how corporate processed “food” is destroying our health. They are blinded by talk of “big government” when clear vision would reveal that government protects our water, our safety, the purity of our food and drugs, and builds our roads, bridges and airports. They are too shortsighted to realize that big banks have become gambling casinos rather than anchors of commercial communities and lenders to businesses.

Step 4 Think rationally, logically, maybe take a course in logic. If Keynesian economics helped us out of the Great Depression, why would it not help us out of the Great Recession. If most of the money in tied up in the one percent, and the middle class is dying, who is going to buy the cars, the appliances, the homes and the merchandise, to keep our consumer based economy going? Hey, the Koch brothers can buy only so many stoves, refrigerators and houses. If everyone who worked full time was paid a living wage sufficient to provide for a family’s comfort, security and future, they would spend that money and the economy would improve dramatically. See? Logic. And when we hear corporations crying about too many regulations and yet they are still able to poison our air, pollute our water, destroy the environment, feed us sugar and fat in processed “food”, lie to consumers about their products, pay full time employees less than a living wage, logic should tell us that we need more regulations, not fewer.

Step 5 Form opinions and make decisions with facts, not fibs, fiction or fluff. Read (see Step 2 above) climate change facts, corporate food facts, big pharma facts (surprise -the biggest health problems facing the world today are not COPD and erectile dysfunction) and inequality facts. Look at the facts about the income tax and corporate tax when our country had a strong middle class that could buy houses, take vacations and send its children to college. Look at the facts about the national debt and facts about Social Security and Medicare (surprise – they are not the reason for the deficit; they are not going broke, and with a few minor changes, will be solvent for many decades to come). Look at the facts about who makes money from wars; maybe corporations enjoy war and death and destruction – there is big money to be made. Look at the facts about infant mortality, longevity, happiness, satisfaction, upward mobility, education, daycare, and health and then think twice about those “socialist” countries in Europe.

Step 6 Read an economics book or take an economics course. Or at least read anything by Paul Krugman, Joseph Stiglitz, Robert Reich, David Cay Johnston, Richard Wolfe or the recent book by Thomas Piketty, or even something by John Maynard Keynes himself. Learn that the free market does not solve all problems. Learn that the natural end result of unregulated capitalism is self consumption, self immolation. Find out what socialism really is (surprise – President Obama is not a socialist!) and while you’re at it, find out what communism is (he’s not a communist either!).

Step 7 Change your listening and viewing habits. Turn off Rush Limbaugh and Fox News and tune in to NPR or maybe even Democracy Now. On your television, try watching MSNBC for starters. As you progress toward becoming a genuine liberal and quite properly develop a distaste for any corporate media, turn off MSNBC (it’s corporate) and watch an interview with Bill Moyers on PBS or watch Link TV or Free Speech TV and see what honest brave news reporting and truthful documentaries are like.

Step 8 Read (again, see Step 2) your Bible (or your Koran…or any other book anchoring a major religion) Jesus had much to say about wealth and the poor (See Matthew, Mark and Luke). Jesus cared about the poor, fed them and clothed them, was critical of wealth and drove the money changers out of the temple (He would have particularly enjoyed chasing out Lloyd Blankfein and Jamie Dimon!) In order to become a liberal you need to take a page from the Good Book and care for your fellow man. To become a liberal you need to ask what Jesus would say today about the huge disparity between rich and poor, about spending billions on war and the instruments of death instead of spending on education, jobs and helping those in need. What would Jesus (or Mohammed, or Confucius) say about rapacious banks, CEO’s making 300 times an average worker’s pay, or destruction of the environment?

There you are. Change your political opinions in eight easy steps. Follow the plan, disgruntled Republicans, conservatives and Tea Partiers, and you will finally be able to turn left, the right direction. Good Luck! You will feel much better!

Barbara My Sweet Sister

29 Thursday May 2014

Posted by ralphfriedly in Uncategorized

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Barbara Friedly, Barbara Gross

Not long ago my sister Elaine reminded me of the date of our sister Barbara’s passing – April 27, 1984. I have always remembered Barbara’s birthday, May 26, but had forgotten exactly when she died, which was just a month short of her 46th birthday. When I think of her, I feel a void in my life that will never be filled. She had been not only my sister, but a friend and confidant for many years, someone with whom I shared good news and bad, success and failure, joy and sorrow.

Barbara was born in Salt Lake City, Utah at a Pillar of Fire Church home. Then the family of three moved to the church headquarters in New Jersey where Elaine and I were born. After an assignment at the Oakland, California church home we returned to New Jersey in early 1946, with Barb going on nine years old, me almost five, Elaine three and Robert an infant, to live in a church residence called Lock Haven. Already just a home of modest size, we shared it with an elderly couple, the Schisslers, in one separate part of the house and an elderly widower, Mr. Wittekind, in a furnished room upstairs. We occupied another area, large enough for the kitchen and eating area and living room on the first floor and upstairs a bathroom, Mom and Dad’s (and various infants’) room and small bedrooms for Barb and Elaine and for Robert, me and later Charlie, after he came along.

Since Barbara was almost four years older than me and was a girl, we were rarely playmates. She was more my boss or my teacher: giving advice and clarification, issuing deadlines, making sure jobs were done and so on. One of the common childhood chores was “scrubbing the bathroom, hall and stairs”, performed at different times by Barb, me or Elaine, with Barb always setting the standard and making sure the younger ones followed. With Barbara and Elaine on both sides of me, their common interests often bridged me, perhaps accounting for why I have always been a bit of a loner. However, I do remember taking some interest in a couple of their activities – playing with the furniture and figures in a dollhouse and playing with paper dolls. I remember helping Barbara cut out paper doll clothing, taking care not to cut through the little tabs which folded down to fasten the clothes to the doll figures. Image When we were little Barbara was often the one who made sure we got ready on school days and then led the way to catching the bus on time. Since Mom often was either pregnant or caring for little ones and Dad was absent much of the time, this help must have been greatly appreciated by her. Our home was always somewhat chaotic so each of us older children became very adept at carving out a little personal world of order and predictability. I remember Barbara being especially orderly, with clothing neatly arranged or put away in her area of the closet or her designated drawers of the dresser. Image A great memory from the Lock Haven days was listening to the big cabinet radio (Silvertone? Philco? Can’t remember) in the living room. On Saturday mornings Barbara and I would lie on the floor and listen to a show called “No School Today” featuring Big John and Sparky. Sparky, whose high pitched voice with clipped words and sentences was likely the taped and speeded up voice of Big John himself, opened the show by greeting by name all the children listening. Barb and I were thrilled to hear our names mentioned several times. Another show that we enjoyed was Bobby Benson and the B-Bar-B Riders, a child oriented western show, that like all radio shows in the fifties was fabulous to listen to because so much was left to the imagination.

The church used to show “movies” on Saturday nights which was a real treat for us to attend. The word is in quotes because seeing real movies was not acceptable in the church. So these were 16 millimeter educational films for the most part, enhanced occasionally with a cartoon or a comedy. Mom’s rule was that we could not go unless we took a nap on Saturday afternoon, so we all made the effort. However, then as now, I simply could not take a nap so used to emerge from the bedroom unsteadily with my eyes half closed so as to appear as though I had just awakened. I was crushed when Barb saw through my ruse and exposed it to Mom, claiming I was just pretending, that I was only squinting and had not really slept.

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An important event in Barbara’s childhood was raising a flock of ducks while at the Lock Haven house. On the house grounds there were several other buildings – a large barn, unused for the most part, a dozen or so bee hives and what we called the “bee house”, a small frame structure housing Mr. Wittekind’s bee-keeping equipment. Also there was a hexagonal wooden structure that became a home for Barb’s ducks. She raised them herself from downy little ducklings, feeding and watering them faithfully, so they became quite dear. I recall the sorrowful tears she shed the day when the ducks were sold for food.Image

Barbara always had a boyfriend or at least someone of the opposite sex in whom she was interested. And her pretty blond hair, ready smile and engaging personality assured that this attention was in most cases mutual. Such relationships among children and teenagers were frowned upon in the church schools we attended, so pursuit and conduct of these relationships and courting in general, had to be conducted surreptitiously. I enjoy recalling that when Barb was ten or eleven and I was six or seven, she had me sit between her and a boy named Joe Kruger so that they could hold hands behind my back without the bus driver or any of the children noticing. .Image As a little girl and on into her teens, Barbara was a big help to her mother, her sister and all her little brothers. She helped Mom with care of the children, washing and ironing clothes, house cleaning, cooking, washing dishes, canning and sewing. She developed marvelous sewing skills which she enjoyed practicing all of her life. As a student she used to sew her own brown and tan uniforms required by the schools and earned money by sewing uniforms for other girls. Also a good hairdresser, Barb during this time made a few dollars giving other high school girls permanents.

By this time the family had been moved to another church home, this one called “Morningside”, a house that we again shared with yet another family, the Chambers. This home was located in among some of the church crop fields, very fertile because they were on the floodplain of the Millstone River. As I recall, the move was necessary because of severe damage to the Lock Haven house by Hurricane Hazel in 1954. By this time there were two more additions to the family – Richard and Glenn.

As a teenager at the church high school, Barbara was very popular. She was well liked by everyone including her teachers and her friends. Barb was popular I think because she was generous – generous with her time, her good humor, her sympathy and her empathy. As noted above, she was always popular with boys, even going out over time with all three brothers from one local family, the Weavers. Another reason for her abundant friendships was that she was by nature an optimist, always looking for the good in a deed or event.  Barb rarely said negative things about others and always preferred to look for the personal difficulties that caused someone to behave badly toward her. Image One fond teenage memory involving Barbara was when she babysat for a church family living across the fields from our house. This family had television, which we did not, so Barb occasionally invited me along to stay up late and watch the “Million Dollar Movie” on Channel 9 (this show’s intro and theme music I will forever remember). These were among my first movie experiences so I enjoyed these opportunities immensely. Several times Barb also invited a friend, Phyllis Finlayson, to come over as well to watch and swoon over Perry Como on his weekly show earlier in the evening.  Image Sometime during Barb’s teenage years she began to have foot problems. While Mom was concerned and supported whatever measures Barb took, Dad was much more direct and blamed her problems on the “flats” that she and her teenage friends were wearing at that time, insisting that she wear unattractive and unfeminine lace-up oxfords, what we called at the time “Girl Scout shoes”, to give her feet more support. Wishing to assert herself, appear as attractive as possible and wear what she wanted, Barbara protested bitterly, but Dad insisted, bringing Barb to tears. The battle apparently ended in a draw since I can remember Barbara acceding to Dad’s dictum and wearing her lace-up oxfords but still wearing the flats as well, especially when the occasion required.

My love of reading was inspired in a large way by Barbara. When visiting the Zarephath library which served both the church high school and college, she was always ready to recommend staples of her favorite genre, animal stories. She loved reading the “Silver Chief” books there and on her recommendation I joyfully followed. Also I will always remember a favorite author of hers (I recalled the name instantly), Albert Payson Terhune, who I am sure was a favorite of hers for his famous book “Lad, a Dog”. We both also read and extensively talked about “Black Beauty”, a book that made both of us cry. But I do not remember questioning how a book about a horse could have been written in the first person. That strange fact never crossed our minds, we loved the story so much. Another book that we both loved and that Barb surely read first and then brought to my attention was “Smoky the Cowhorse”

Silver Chief to the Rescue JACK O'BRIEN 1937 Kurt Wiese color illus.   Vintage LAD A DOG Hardcover 1976 Printing - Excellent Condition - Albert TerhuneSmokey The Cow Horse Written And Illustrated By Will James 1954 Edition★ ★ ★ ★ ★BLACK BEAUTY BOOK BY ANNA SEWELL - Hard Cover Literature Book★ ★ ★ ★ ★

After high school Barbara worked for a short time at the RCA plant near Somerville, New Jersey, which if I recall correctly, manufactured transistors. Barbara was obviously a good worker at the plant because she was advised by the union shop steward to slow down and not work so fast. My anti-union Republican parents loved to tell others about this incident.

I remember very fondly the times as an adult I visited Barbara and her family at her various homes in and around Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I enjoyed so much the wonderful salads she would make and serve, full of all sorts of delicious greens, fruit, nuts, beans and other savory and healthy ingredients. Visiting Gross’ Natural Foods was always a thrill. Barbara introduced me to the Dr. Bronner’s products, notably the peppermint castile soap and the seasoning which was so good sprinkled on salads. Often her daughters would be helping out at the store as well and it was lovely to observe the expertise with which they would replenish stock or help customers.

But most of all, I enjoyed reminiscing about life and school at Zarephath, our little church town. We joyfully recalled social gatherings at “the fountain”, ice skating on the canal and the pond, what boy laced up which girl’s skates and who skated with whom. Barbara had a photograph album dedicated to her teenage years at ZA and I enjoyed so much when she got it out and we went through it page by page, picture by picture, remembering each person and specific incidents and occasions in which they were involved in our lives. Sadly, that album is now gone, neither her husband nor her daughters know its whereabouts. Her husband, however, did give to me a little stack of high school photos given to Barb by her high school friends, among them Genevieve Dobash, Phyllis Finlayson, Eunice Wilson, Lillian Hellyer, Miriam Snelling and Astrid Skeie. The messages to Barb on the back of the pictures are sweet and touching.

We joyfully shared memories of music in the church and the school, where everyone was expected to participate somehow in the musical life of both by singing in the chorus or playing a musical instrument. I remember the sound of Barbara practicing her clarinet and hearing her sing soprano or alto (her specialty) in the chorus. Of course Barbara, like most of us, took piano lessons as well. And we recalled the prayer meetings at the church, people getting “saved” or “sanctified” or simply “praying through” and thoughtfully mused on the guilt-driven nature of this process and about its veracity with certain individuals.

Barb and I drifted apart after high school as our lives moved in different directions. Barbara got married at 21 and embarked on a family life that had its share of both joys and sorrows. Two sweet little girls, Anna and Sheila, were born early in the marriage. Barb and Daniel hosted a wonderful Friedly family reunion at their Pennsylvania home in the summer of 1967.  And they opened their successful business, Gross’ Natural Foods, in Lancaster in 1969. They were eventually blessed with other children – Rhonda, Robert and Brian.

But I know there were also times when there was serious hardship, stress and need. At Bethany Fellowship, a missionary training institution in Minnesota where they began their married life, there were struggles to provide the basic necessities, complicated by Barb’s first pregnancy. After the move to Pennsylvania there were times when Daniel was sick or injured and could not work, and Barbara had to clean houses with a baby on her back to make ends meet. There was of course the tragic hubris of wholesale rejection of modern medicine and exclusive reliance on diet, holistic practice and quackery smacking of the occult to cure illness that contributed to the heartbreaking death of baby Vernon, their third child and to the misdiagnosis and maltreatment of Barb’s serious knee problem. When a real doctor was finally consulted a cancer diagnosis was made, but too late to save her leg. This hubris also played a role in the failure to properly monitor Barb’s condition afterward, resulting in the eventual recurrence and spread of the cancer, which took her precious life in 1984.

But through all of these troubles and tragedies, Barbara remained strong and resilient, and rebounded from misfortune again and again. Even when she lost that limb, she continued to be positive and look on the bright side. And she never lost the ability to burst out with the precious hearty laugh that was her trademark. To the last, she was always loving, kind and generous to friends and loved ones. Her children reflect those strengths today.

I miss my sweet sister Barbara still, after all these years.

A Winter Drive

13 Tuesday May 2014

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We had been in Scottsdale for two weeks checking on the house, visiting my sister and doing a few things for our daughter. Since our son was flying from Vermont to  Albuquerque, New Mexico on December 22 for Christmas, we had to return to our home in Bernalillo, New Mexico by that evening so we could pick him up at the airport.

With much winter driving experience in the mountainous west and southwest, I had become accustomed to the vagaries of winter weather in this part of the country, where rain can unexpectedly become snow as altitude increases and snow intensity and accumulation can vary dramatically with altitude. So I knew what risks I was taking by traveling during December, typically the worst winter weather month in the southwest. But I never anticipated the risk and danger of what challenged my driving skills later that day and night.

As we left Phoenix at around 11:00 AM I remembered the weather forecasts I had read early that morning on the internet: In Heber, Arizona, on the downhill side of the Mogollon Rim, “snow flurries beginning in mid afternoon, becoming heavy snow later in the afternoon:; in Gallup, New Mexico, the highest and coldest part of our journey on I-40, “snow beginning late in the afternoon”. Naturally I hoped and anticipated that we would be through most of the journey across the Arizona high country before the snow presented a serious problem. And it appeared that we would avoid the worst on our way to Albuquerque, arriving in late afternoon or early evening. This is not how we found the conditions we encountered on this four hundred mile trip, which normally takes a little over six hours, taking us from Scottsdale on state highway 87 up the mountains into Payson, then highway 260 over the Mogollon Rim to Heber, then down the mountains on 277 and 377 to Holbrook and finally Interstate 40 straight east to Gallup, Grants and Albuquerque, New Mexico. Another factor considered was that Arizona winter storms usually come from southern California, cross east over the deserts and greater Phoenix as rain and then become snow as they cross the mountains and head into New Mexico and Colorado. And a good sign on this particular morning was that Phoenix was partly sunny with no rain. So with this combination of forecast information and prior experience we hopefully and confidently began what turned out to be the most frightening and dangerous winter driving experience in my better than fifty years of driving.

As we ascended the mountains toward Payson, the sky became cloudier, changing from a gray sky with some cloud definition to the dreaded monotonous and featureless all-gray sky which almost always portends snow. And indeed snow began in earnest east of Payson but the highway information sign there warned only of “winter driving conditions”, not “chains or four wheel drive recommended” or “required” as is sometimes the case, so thus encouraged, we kept going through the town of Star Valley on toward the steady and steep inclines ascending the Mogollon Rim. As we did so, the snow became significantly heavier and began accumulating, covering the road surface and showing the tracks of previous vehicles. We continued on in our little front wheel drive stick shift Corolla first alone and then coming up behind a pickup truck which seemed at first to be proceeding fairly well. But as many winter drivers will tell you, keeping up momentum while going up an incline on snowy roads is important, and the vehicle in front of us, while at first providing a sense of security since it was leading and we were following, slowed to an intolerable crawl. We finally found an area where it hopefully could be safely passed, so I did so successfully, though with both hands in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. We were finally past the vehicle and moving ahead of it rapidly, but in the uncomfortable position of leading, with no one in front of us. Nevertheless, we were able to follow the still discernible but rapidly disappearing tracks of previous vehicles in the ever-increasing snow.

The snow increased dangerously in depth, but still the only signs of a snowplow were several of them stationary along with some highway department pickup trucks in the median of the road before one of the steepest inclines up the Rim. Needless to say there was no sanding of the roads going on either so our main objective was to keep the car moving onward and upward, to not lose momentum or lose sight of the sides of the road. I do not recall on this part of the journey any cars or trucks off the road. In the meantime the snow was increasing but thankfully bypassing our windshield. Even with moderate heat on in the car, no snow was melting and then freezing on our windshield. Finally we got to the top of the Rim on Highway 260 and proceeded on toward Heber with the snow getting deeper. In Heber, we quickly dispensed with our plan to stop at the Chevron and Dairy Queen because of the fairly steep drive up to the station from the highway and indeed there were several cars stuck in the snow up the street near the gas station and at the bottom of the gas station drive. Finally coming to Highway 277 toward Snowflake, from which we take 377 down the mountains to Holbrook, the snow seemed to lighten up a little. As we proceeded to the 377 junction, driving became much easier and we headed downhill toward  Holbrook on a much improved road surface, just snowy in spots and the snow coming down in occasional flurries. When we arrived in Holbrook and stopped at our favorite gas station (good prices and very clean restrooms) there was no snow at all, just very cold temperatures. My inquiries of a man at the pumps regarding road conditions on I-40 east were met with shrugs although he had heard of how bad the snow was between Payson and Heber.

So we hit the road east on I-40 with high hopes that we had encountered the worst of it. And indeed on I-40 between Holbrook and Gallup there was no snow so we drove the customary 80 miles per hour trying to make up some of the time we had lost through the Arizona mountains where we had averaged perhaps 30 mph. And yes our spirits were buoyed by the clear highway and no sign of snow on the vehicles coming west toward us. Also, again, since storms typically move west to east, we had good reason to think we were now ahead of it. But the sky remained a sullen, threatening solid gray, again, very much the “snow sky” that we knew only too well. And sure enough, as we came into Gallup around 4:00 PM, a fine powdery snow began falling, making it appear that the other vehicles and nearby buildings were in a fog. However, we were still quite positive that we had gotten through the worst of whatever was coming and, with only 140 miles to go to Albuquerque, usually a quick two hours, that we could get home easily and by a reasonable timeHowever, this positive outlook quickly changed to grave concern as the snow continued to fall rapidly and began to accumulate, slowing our driving speed to around 50 mph. Also the wind had increased significantly and drifts began to extend onto the roadway. With no snowplows in sight and the snow getting deeper, we and the rest of the traffic, including many trucks, kept heading steadily east, but slowed to between 30 and 40 miles per hour. I began to feel very tense and stressed, since by this time the snow had increased significantly and we began to see a few vehicles that had spun off the roadway into the median and a few stranded in the growing drifts on the sides of the road. Several times I got a sickening feeling as I felt the steering slipping in the snow or the wheels spin when I accelerated slightly. In situations like this, a driver has two choices, neither very good: To keep both hands on the wheel and keep moving or take a suitable exit and get off the highway. With our requirement of getting to Albuquerque to pick up our son sometime that night, we had no choice but to take the first choice and keep going. However, in making that commitment, one mistake – accelerating too fast, using the brakes impulsively, over steering, slipping off the road and on to the shoulder on the left or right, and the car would end up stuck like the others we had seen. I couldn’t take my attention from the road or my driving for a split second for fear of making a mistake – thus the incredible stress and tension. We had listened to the radio for awhile on I-40 between Holbrook and Gallup, but now the radio and the music were silent because frankly they were potentially disastrous distractions.

After what seemed like an hour of tense driving we were dismayed to see that we were only at Thoreau, a mere 25 or 30 miles east of Gallup, with a huge distance yet to go to Albuquerque. It had seemed that we should be much further east, but of course, we were used to the distance covered at more normal driving speeds. It was around Thoreau that we finally passed a semi that we had been following for some time but had slowed to a crawl. In a few minutes were came up behind a late model Honda Accord that seemed to be handling the snowy highway quite well, moving along steadily at about 30 miles per hour without hesitation, moving into the left lane to pass slower vehicles if necessary.

While following the Honda over the next thirty or forty miles (distance on this night was very difficult to estimate) our little convoy, including maybe a half dozen cars behind me, was constantly threatened by eighteen wheeler trucks, who, with their greater weight, kept passing. It was horrifying to look in the mirror and see the lights of yet another semi approaching in the passing lane. Several times I thought a truck would strike our little car on the left, so close were the vehicles and so dubious was anyone’s view of the highway lanes. Up one long incline, where the snow was getting quite deep, our Honda led us into the snowy passing lane to get around a semi that had jackknifed in the right lane and shoulder, the trailer sort of in the right lane and shoulder, headed east, with the tractor at right angles to the trailer, pointed south, to the right. It seemed that the worst offenders were Fedex trucks, which always seemed to be going too fast and were too eager to pass.

At about this time, we noticed many more vehicles off the road, some at crazy angles on the broad median strip, and some off the shoulder, apparently stuck in the snow. An increasing number of trucks appeared off the road as we got closer to Grants, some being assisted by tow trucks and accompanied by the crazy flashing red lights of police cars. At this time, I wondered why the highway had not been closed heading east and decided that perhaps we were just ahead of any closing and thus being allowed to try to complete the journey. I was certain that west of us, maybe just east of Gallup, I-40 must have been closed off.

As we followed the Honda, a terrible thing began to happen to our windshield, which up to then had been clear. Either it was getting colder or we had too much or too little hot air on the inside of the windshield, but a problem that I had experienced on other winter trips in the past, was occurring again. Our windshield wipers began to ice up and became less and less effective, leaving just a little window of clear glass to see through. Making them go faster, to shake off some of the ice, worked a little, but the problem persisted and then got worse. This was horrifying – as if the road conditions, the trucks, the vehicles off the road, driving with both hands in a death grip on the wheel, feeling that at any moment I could make a mistake and end up hitting another vehicle or running off the road and getting stuck, were not bad enough – now I could not see out of my own windshield. The only thing I could do was to stop the vehicle and get the ice off the windshield wipers by hand – but how to stop under these conditions, and how to get going again? We soon decided that there was nothing to do but let the cars following us get around us and then stop to clean the wipers, so I waited for the highway to go downhill and then pulled gently to the right, with my right blinker on, hoping the several vehicles behind me would pass. At first, the car behind me slowed with me and didn’t appear to be passing, but finally it got the idea and he and the cars behind him did pass. Then putting my hazard lights on and seeing that there was no one behind us, we stopped right in the lane and Bobbie and I jumped out, grabbed our respective wipers and slammed them against the windshield to get the ice off, and then madly picked the remaining ice off by hand. We did get going again since we were on an slope but with no one to follow and clouds of snow coming down, we found it very difficult to get our bearings and follow the tracks on the highway. It had been so much easier to follow someone.

I don’t remember how quickly we caught up to another driver – I seem to remember someone in a four wheel drive vehicle, maybe a Yukon or Explorer, and us speeding up to follow them. However, during the next hour the exact same thing happened to the windshield wipers and we had to find another slope, check behind us to see that there were no cars, and then stop again dead in middle of the highway, to perform the same surgery to the ice on the wipers. After doing this a second time, we barely got going when traffic approached behind us and I was shocked to see everyone pass me on the right. Then my wife shrieked that I was driving off the left shoulder into the median. Frankly I just couldn’t see where I was, had entirely lost my sense of direction in the blinding whiteness and had almost indeed drove us off into the median where we would have stayed the night. Finally, we seemed to be back in the right lane where we belonged and moved ahead to follow the last of the vehicles that had passed us.

Now somewhere east of Grants, the snow seemed to get better, that is, less coming down and less on the road. However, this was deceptive for later the snow and the accumulations increased again to dangerous levels, and to make matters worse, the snowflakes began to get larger, making visibility a problem as our headlights illuminated an opaque curtain of snowflakes coming toward us. At this time, heading down one of the long gentle slopes on I-40 we saw a nightmare situation for the westbound vehicles that were heading uphill. First there were trucks in both lanes going nowhere, probably spinning drive wheels and not moving. And behind them, as far as we could see, long lines of headlights of stationary vehicles, likely stationary for the entire night since it was highly improbable that the trucks could get going anytime soon with the snow coming down as it was.

Another horrible distraction among the vehicles heading east with us were the foolish drivers who drove through the snow with their hazard lights on. To have your taillights blinking off and on was not helpful to anyone – certainly not the traffic following. We unfortunately came up behind such a vehicle and were so distracted and upset by the constantly blinking lights that we simply had to pass since we could no longer follow this vehicle and maintain our sanity. Finally we came up behind a panel truck that seemed to be going just the right speed with just the right amount of skill and initiative. We were now approaching the To’hajiili exit, 40 miles west of Albuquerque, where Bobbie’s school is located and it seemed to us that, thank God, we were just about home.

Although close to home and the end of this dreadful trip, the snow continued right on into Albuquerque, though, thank God, in lesser quantity so that we could keep our speed up to around 50 miles per hour. It was close to one of the first exits in the Albuquerque area that I passed the steady and reliable panel truck that had led us on the last fifty miles or so of the trip, and, looking at the driver, we saw that it was woman, undoubtedly a very skilled and resolute woman, for her vehicle did not appear to be a four wheel drive vehicle. I silently thanked her for her skill and leadership – it was a great experience following her.

We finally reached the big Albuquerque junction of I-40 and I-25 and took the latter north toward Bernalillo. The first ten miles or so of I-25 were snowy but tolerable and as we approached Bernalillo, the highway finally cleared. There was no snow as we drove through town to highway 528 to our home. The driveway was clear and it was 11:00 PM. This normally six plus hour trip had taken twelve stressful and agonizing hours. I never appreciated a celebratory scotch on the rocks more in my life and was so thankful we had survived this terrible experience.

Our son’s flight was late, so we were in plenty of time and later drove into the Albuquerque airport to pick him up at 1:00 AM.

We had not seen an operating snow plow during the entire twelve hour trip.

Dear President Obama,

12 Monday May 2014

Posted by ralphfriedly in Uncategorized

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I eagerly and joyfully voted for you twice and am happy that you are my president, especially when considering the opponents who ran against you and the reckless and shameful eight years preceding your election. Although not a wealthy person, I supported you with contributions during both elections. I have largely been happy with your presidency but am still troubled by a few things.

I am not going to mention the obvious – multiple pledges unfulfilled, not insisting on a public option in the Affordable Care Act, your dithering on Syria which has cost thousands of lives, and your continued caving in to corporations and Wall Street, to mention just a few disappointments.

No, I am going to complain about something else – the totally classless communications, exhortations and requests that come to me via my email connection to Organizing for Action, Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle Obama and DNCC.

President Obama, you are a very dignified person. Your intelligence, education, erudition and eloquence, are impressive. You inspire confidence in your speeches and press conferences with your choice of words, your sincerity, your expression, your demeanor and your common sense. But I have a real problem with so many email communications that fall far short of the lofty standards you have set in your appearances. I am insulted and demeaned by the flip tone, the careless and casual choice of words and the tenor of so many official communications from your office and those of your supporters. They need to show some class, some good taste, and some dignity, some maturity in addressing your faithful supporters. I know that I am not alone in this opinion and beg you to pay attention to what I am saying.

First Lady Michelle Obama, I respectfully ask that you please not send emails addressing your husband, the President of the United States as “Barack”. Please in your emails talk about yourselves as, “The President and I” or “President Obama and I”, not “Barack and I”.  Mrs. Obama, your husband in these communications should be referred to as “the President”, not “Barack”. Also, don’t use greetings like, “Ralph, it’s me…”. Come on, please say, “It’s First Lady Michelle Obama…” Or what’s wrong with simply, “Dear Ralph…”?

And Organizing for Action, DNCC and Barack Obama, please don’t insult me with greetings like, “Hey….,” or “Hey All”, or “Ralph, I’m blown away…” or “Ralph, I’m counting on you…” or “Ralph, can you confirm this?” or “Reporting back (spoiler – it’s awesome news)”. This is teenage or Facebook level communication, trivializing the communication itself and entirely unreflective of the dignity of your office.

I’m also very tired of messages like, “Ralph, sign Michelle’s card…” and “Top notch zingers from the President” or “Woot! Woot!” Last call!”, or “Sign here to wish the First Lady a Happy Birthday” or very recently, “…sometimes we have to share something awesome just to make sure you are having a good day”. I find the word “awesome” very overused today and seeing that word, I didn’t read the rest of the communication.

Mr. President, First Lady Michelle Obama and whoever is in charge of the other sources of emails, please, please treat your supporters as people with dignity and intelligence who do not need to be talked down to.

And another thing, Mr. President, please stop using the word “folks” so much. The use of this word by someone of your background rings hollow. You do not know “folks”, you have never known “folks”. Please use the word “people”, simple enough and much more genuine for you. Using the word “folks” rings false with you so don’t use it.

Mr. President, I respect you so much and I know that you have the toughest job in the world. But your lofty position requires that your supporters speak using dignified language and expressions appropriate to that position. I don’t wish to sever my email connection with your office or those of your supporting organizations. I just wish to be treated as an adult with dignity and intelligence.

Thank you very much,

Sincerely and still a supporter,

Ralph Friedly

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ida Marie Friedly

11 Sunday May 2014

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Ida Friedly

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Ralph and Mom 2006

It’s Mother’s Day this weekend and Mom is on my mind. Born on April 7, 1915, Mom was one of seven children born to Swedish immigrants, Nels Baxstrom and Anna Johnson, who met in Minnesota and farmed in North Dakota as they raised their family. All seven children – Clarence, Ruth, Vernon, Glenn, Elma, Ida and Emil – at some time attended Belleview schools in Westminster, Colorado, where Ida met Charles Ralph Friedly, my Dad. I am the second oldest of Ralph and Ida’s eight children: Barbara (passed away in 1984), Ralph, Elaine, Robert, Charles, Richard, Glenn and Stanley.

I remember Mom for her love, patience, generosity, kindness, faith and love of music, which all of her children have exhibited in their own lives to a greater or lesser degree. Mom always demonstrated an absolutely unconditional love for each one of us. No matter what mistakes we made, what feelings we hurt, what promises we broke, we could count on Mom’s love. Mom approved of her kids no matter what. It’s not that she was in denial about our shortcomings, but she always had confidence that we could right our wrongs and make good on our mistakes.

Mom had patience as well, maybe to a fault. She put up with an awful lot from many of us, particularly me. It must have saddened her incredibly but I remember once when I was playing Little Richard rather loudly, she lost her temper and asserted that this was likely the kind of music they had in hell. My response was, “Well if this is what they play in hell, that’s where I want to go”. I am sure my siblings would have many stories to tell about Mom’s patience much more illustrative than mine.

Mom was generous with her time, her energies and her talents. She gave unstintingly to not only us, her family, but to others, even when her resources were limited and strained. She worked hard for the church organization to which we belonged, putting in time cooking, canning, sewing, and doing whatever she was asked

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Stan and Mom 2006

My memories of Mom are many but some stand out in my mind and deserve mention  here:

  • Mom drinking her coffee in the morning. Like most Swedes , Mom was a dedicated coffee drinker and never missed that morning cup of coffee. The dominant image in my mind is of Mom sitting on the radiator at our Morningside house in the winter, drinking her coffee and trying to keep warm.
  • Canning fruits and vegetables in the summer, drenched in perspiration with a big copper kettle full of Mason jars of vegetables boiling on the coal fired stove.
  • The smell of Vicks, which Mom caringly rubbed on our chests when we had a cold or the flu. It was not only the smell, but the loving feeling of her rubbing it on my chest that I remember so well.
  • Mom lying on her bed with her legs up to relieve the pain of her varicose veins. Mom always had this problem and later had surgery to help alleviate the condition, but being on her feet all day caring for us must have produced unbearable pain.
  • Sewing dresses for Barb and Elaine on her old Singer pedal sewing machine out of the beautifully designed and printed cotton sacks of Purina chicken feed we used to buy.
  • Mom’s pride and relief in finally getting an automatic washing machine, a Whirlpool, making it so much easier to keep up with the diaper and clothes washing requirements of this family of ten.
  • Her additional pride and relief in getting finally a deep freeze, so that the vegetables formerly canned in Mason jars could simply be blanched and frozen in plastic bags, along with the peaches and berries frozen instead of canned.
  •  Mom’s care for us when sick. I remember especially when she had to scrounge the cash to buy penicillin for us when sick with a serious infection. And these expenses came from mostly from her own funds, saved from selling eggs or chickens.
  • Mom having most of her babies at home – the suspense, the waiting, the presence of Miss Sturma, the midwife, the occasional visit by Dr. Edelberg if there were problems, the preparation and disposition of mysterious materials needed for the birth. I used to think after eight children, that the births were easy for Mom. But they were not as I later found out. She suffered terribly with several, almost died from one.
  • Her dream, shattered for sure, of Rob and I becoming the new Billy Graham and Tedd Smith – Rob with his prodigious talent on the piano pounding out hymns while I preached hellfire and damnation sermons.
  • Mom never getting over Barbara’s passing. Barb, her oldest child and our oldest sister died sadly at the age of 46. Any time a child dies before the parent, upsetting the natural order of events, it is a terrible experience for the parent. Mom always became serious, thoughtful, sad and teary when the subject of Barbara’s passing came up.
  • In later years, picking through shelves and cupboards of different vitamins to find something to correct what ailed you. Mom was a great believer in vitamin and mineral supplements and behaved a bit like a doctor in her selection and administration of each. “Upset stomach? Take this. Headaches? Take some of these. Constipated? Here’s what you need. Aching muscles? This will take care of that problem.” I used to be astonished at the quantity of vitamins and minerals she kept on hand and thought that they might be bad for her. But…she lived a really long life and maybe the vitamins helped.
  • Mom listening to youngest son Stan on the radio. Stan worked a long time for the church radio station KPOF and did a great job announcing for the station, doing news and music programs. Mom used to always tune in when she knew Stan was on and beam with pride listening to him.
  • In later years Mom needed the help of an oxygen tank. I can remember entering the house and wondering where Mom was and then by following the oxygen tubes, I would know if she was in her bedroom, the bathroom or maybe in the living room.
  • Beaming with pride at living in a house her sons built. Indeed, Richard, Glenn and Stan had worked with the church to construct a wonderful modern house for Mom and Dad on the church compound. I can remember the warm feeling I had pulling up in the front of the house on my many visits over the years, knowing the comfort, love and hospitality that awaited me inside.

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        Richard, Glenn, Mom, Ralph, Stan and Charles 2004

Mom absolutely loved music, all kinds (except maybe Little Richard!). She would be absolutely mesmerized by certain classical pieces, country songs, hymns and folk music. She especially liked to hear George Beverly Shea, the Cliff Barrows choral arrangements and Tedd Smith’s piano on Billy Graham recordings. Another favorite was the rich baritone of Tennessee Ernie Ford. Though gospel music was perhaps her favorite, she used to dance around to Sousa marches and Strauss waltzes. I always thought it tragic that she did not get the opportunity to develop her musical talent completely. I will always remember her playing “Star of the East” on the piano which she did sensitively and artistically. Mom was always open to new music – new artists, new instrumentation and new songs, and I always knew I had a receptive and appreciative listener when I brought something new for her to listen to. She was so proud of any music her children made, especially Robert’s wonderful piano playing. It’s too bad that her passing predated my wonderful collection of music in my iTunes library. I would have loved to present her with a loaded  iPod and some speakers to play it aloud on. She would have absolutely loved the variety and the new music in my collection. I can’t say how many times I have thought to myself when hearing something new – wow, Mom would have really loved this song.

Mom had incredible faith – in her God and in each one of her children. She always had hope and faith that Dad would get over his Alzheimer’s Disease. She had faith in each one of her children, that they would be successful and find happiness. Most of all she had a staunch faith in God – reading the Bible and praying regularly. She had faith that she would see Barb and Dad again when she passed away and that the whole family would be together again in heaven someday.

Mom also had a remarkable capacity to forgive. After fights, serious differences of opinion and hot tempers, she always was the first to forgive. She totally forgave me for the difficulties I presented as a teenager and for my marital difficulties later. She completely forgave Dad for serious neglect for much of their marriage and was totally and passionately in love with him during their last years before Alzheimer’s slowly took him away from her.

After collecting random credits for courses taken since the 1940’s Mom was finally presented with a college diploma by Alma White College, the church college, in 1980’s.  She accepted it with pride, considering that she had raised eight children and struggled against all kinds of obstacles for all those years.

There were some sad memories also. I had serious arguments with her and hurt her grievously with my quick temper, sharp tongue and profanity. Mom maybe was too lenient in disciplining her children and applied discipline more as guilt and shame than as hard rules and consequences. During serious emotional crises often the best she could do was to say, “Please pray about it”. She gave me too much emotional baggage to carry as a young boy but neglected and lonely from an often absent husband she needed the shared confidence and support. But even considering all this, I am sure she did the best she knew how with all of us and of course had the faith that all would turn out well in the end.

Ida Marie Friedly passed away on October 10, 2006. She was a wonderful mother and I miss her terribly. I am sure my brothers and my sister feel the same way and join me in remembering her on this Mother’s Day 2014.

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Mom and sister Elma 2004

My Son and I

08 Thursday May 2014

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Conrad Friedly

On our way back from Vermont to Arizona in early January, we were able to stop and say hello to our son, now living in Gallup, New Mexico, and briefly visit his home, shared with another attorney, and his office, soon to be vacated for a move to a new public defender office building, conveniently placed next to the court and the jail. But we did not get the opportunity during this brief stop to really visit and talk so I looked forward to a weekend trip to Gallup I had planned in early February to really spend some time with Conrad and watch the Super Bowl with him before returning to Scottsdale.

I arrived on Saturday in early afternoon and after having lunch went with him to his new office where he had to do some Saturday work to prepare for the following week. I finally got an opportunity to see his new building and office, say hello to his colleague Jamie and meet his boss Steve. So after visiting for a bit, Conrad started his work and I sat down to stay out of his way and quietly read my book.

During that afternoon while reading my book I was struck by some unusual feelings which I eventually hoped to describe in written words. There was my son, a newly graduated and employed lawyer, sitting at his desk reviewing some cases and making notes for his attention when meeting with clients on Monday. His office was nicely decorated – Navajo rugs, framed diplomas and some pictures on the walls. Two comfortable office chairs served his needs while sitting at his desk or at his work table. Also a large couch along one wall served quite well for me as a comfortable place to read my book while he worked. So there we were – Conrad working and I reading in his Public Defender’s office in Gallup, New Mexico.

At that moment the reasons for the unusual feelings struck me – our situations were completely reversed from the last time we both sat in an office together. The last time we met in an office, it was mine, also adorned with the accoutrements of achievement and power – the framed diplomas, the pictures, the Navajo rugs and my son killing time and waiting for me while I made some last minute calls and made some notes for tomorrow’s duties. And now, retired and powerless, without the slightest bit of influence, I had to sit and kill time by dutifully reading  my book while my son worked amid all of his accoutrements of achievement, power and influence.

Why was this experience and realization so powerful? Perhaps because I realized finally that I was done, finished, with the accumulation and exercise of power, that I would not work again, that my office decorations would ever be randomly heaped on my humble desk at home, that my office work would be limited to merely paying bills and filing receipts for tax time, writing some letters to friends and relatives, downloading some new music and the like. Now my son had the real desk, the real office and I did not.

I suppose that this is but one more example of the inexorable passage of time – the old person finishing up the profession and the young man starting out and eventually replacing him. But the realization was traumatic and stunning – comparing my diminished stature with my son’s exalted stature, his power with my powerlessness, my limited future with the long life ahead of him, his prospects and hopes with my sense of finality and resignation.

I knew I had retired and, although it had taken some time, I finally accepted it. I was busy with many activities – going through my books, reading a few, keeping up with NFL games on television, catching up on correspondence, turning up the frequency and the variety in my exercise program, seeing my specialists in Arizona to check the numbers on my health and getting the vehicles serviced and repaired.

But it had not dawned on me that I was truly finished with my professional life until I was there with my son observing his energy and enthusiasm for practicing his chosen profession, wistfully remembering the energy and enthusiasm I had in my first teaching position, my first principalship, and my first superintendency, and realizing that I would never be there again.

This experience was not as much disheartening as revelatory. I finally realized where I was in my life and where my son was in his. At my age I was right where I belonged and at his age he was where he belonged too. I needed simply to finally accept this new state and reordering of affairs.

Miracle on Monomoy

06 Tuesday May 2014

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Monomoy Island

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Monomoy Island National Wildlife Refuge is a narrow north-south couple of islands off the southeast corner of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Established in 1944 as a habitat for migratory birds and later declared a wilderness area, this long stretch of sand and plant life is a very special place, unspoiled by humans and indeed a refuge for a numerous variety of birds. Stretching for about eight miles off the coast the Refuge consists of sand dunes, salt and fresh water marshes, fresh water ponds, and is always expanding and receding with the waves and winds from the seasonal storms that regularly hit the Cape area.

In the summer of 1979 I was invited by my good friend Joseph O’Hara, to join him and two of his brothers, Edward and Richard O’Hara, on a sightseeing boat trip around Monomoy Island. The trip was to consist of transporting his Richard’s outboard powered boat, a 14 footer, to Chatham on southern edge of the “elbow” of Cape Cod where it would be launched, then travel south along the western shore of the islands, around the southern tip, then back on the eastern side north back to the launch site in Chatham.

First, I need to introduce Joseph O’Hara. I first met Joe in 1975 when I was shopping for a good airtight wood-burning stove. At that time with the dramatic rise in heating oil prices, there was a rush of people trying to reduce their heating bills by burning wood, and the preferred wood burning stove was an airtight, which controlled the burning of the wood with a thermostat regulating the air supply to the combustion. The Riteway stove was recommended to me and upon calling and inquiring, the local distributor of this particular brand happened to be one Joseph O’Hara from the town of Carver, Massachusetts. I called and Joe and his wife Joanne came for a visit with informational brochures, advice and recommendations. Upon meeting Joe it truly seemed like I had known him for a long time. I ended up buying a Riteway Model 37 and when it arrived, Joe assisted me in getting it installed. Subsequently Joe and I became fast friends. Both of us into running at that time, I often ran with Joe through the cranberry bogs near his house and after the runs, enjoyed his wife’s grapefruit juice and vodka drinks, which were not only delicious but wonderfully inebriating, especially after a three mile run. My friendship with Joseph O’Hara has continued to the present day, with gaps imposed by changing locations and evolving personal situations.

Typical of Josepth O’Hara, by profession an engineer, the trip was well organized and planned. I was to bring the beer, Joe and his brothers the food plus of course the extra gasoline for the outboard motor needed for this better than twenty mile trip. The trip was to be especially meaningful for Richard because not only was the boat his but for many years he had exhibited a great interest in birds, sea birds in particular and even had a hobby of carving birds from wood. His detailed and perfectly proportioned likenesses included seagulls, sandpipers and ducks. So Richard was really looking forward to this trip.

Everything proceeded according to plan. The day was quite beautiful – sun, perfect temperature and very little wind – the last point very important since our boat was a bit small for the open sea. We successfully backed the trailer into the water at the launch point in Chatham, provisioned the boat and headed out to sea. Again, a blue sea, gentle waves, a glorious sky and abundant sunshine made for a perfect outing. We proceeded toward west side of Monomoy Island, enjoying our first of many beers for the day.

 

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After cruising about halfway across the western shore of the islands, we stopped along the beach and pulled the boat onto the sand so that we could take a walk through the grass and the dunes and enjoy the wildlife and the natural unspoiled beauty of this remarkable place.  It was at this time that that Joe discovered that we did not have the extra gasoline with us. His brother Richard had apparently forgotten to put the container in the boat. Joe was enraged and scolded and berated his brother for forgetting it. His brother’s response was one of simple disengagement, responding to Joe’s tirade with, “Wow, what a beautiful day this is. I can’t believe this great day – a perfect day for a boat trip”.

Actually Joe’s concern was well founded. The currents and breezes were favorable for the trip south but returning in a northerly direction would be against this wind and current and would require more fuel. Joe feared actually that we would not have enough fuel to even return to the launch point in Chatham. So this lack of extra fuel meant that we would have to end our journey right there where we had pulled up the boat and we would just have to hope that we had enough fuel to get back.

So making the best of a bad situation, Joe, his brothers and I decided to enjoy the island for a little while before attempting to return and proceeded  to walk east across a narrow part of the island, taking some food and drinks with us to enjoy while exploring.

After walking through the dunes and native plants on this beautifully preserved island, we sat for awhile on a driftwood log among the dunes to enjoy the sun, the sky and the breezes and have a go at our food and drinks. It was at about this time that Joe noticed an anomaly on the smooth white surface of the dunes that surrounded us. About twenty feet away the whiteness of a sand dune east of us was spoiled by an incongruous dark angular object. Walking over to this spot he saw the rusted red paint on what looked like the handle of a container. Digging away some of the sand he exposed a rusted rectangular metal gas can. With some effort, Joe removed the main lid, sniffed the contents of the can and was astonished to smell the familiar odor of two cycle engine fuel – gasoline mixed with oil. Finally digging the container free, we saw that the entire five gallon container was full. We all looked at each other in disbelief – how could this be? Right when we needed it, this can of fuel, probably washed off of someone’s boat in a storm and washed up onto the island, appeared as if by magic. We could not help but wonder about all the what-ifs – what if we had gone inland a little more to the south, or a little more to the north? What if we had not gone this far inland – all manner of what-ifs and what-if-we-had-nots. If any of these had occurred, we would not have found this old can, still full of fuel, truly a miracle!

So Joe, his brothers and I finished our lunch and our walk, carrying the can of two-cycle fuel back to the boat, and poured it into the fuel tank, filtering it through a piece of cloth, in case of any bits of rust. Actually the gas was incredibly clean. So we confidently and joyfully cranked up the outboard, resumed our trip, and cruised leisurely all the way around the southern tip of the island, basking in the realization of what had just happened and feeling quite special.

To this day, Joe and I recall this special day and this miraculous event with wonder and pleasure, still thinking why, how and what if, all the while knowing that somehow the special powers or fates that sometimes appear to determine events in life, decided that we should find this old can of fuel to continue our outing and return safely to our cars and our homes.

 

Nicknames

05 Monday May 2014

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Nicknames

 

Sorry, but I have a real problem with nicknames. Supposedly precious and endearing, these poor substitutes for real names are a cop-out of sorts, a demonstration of the inability or unwillingness of the nickname-giver to give an acquaintance, a friend, a son or daughter, the precious gift of the sound of their own names.

My heart shrivels when I hear a young father address his little boy as “bud” or “buddy” when he could be using his name. I feel insulted by salespersons who says “thanks, bud” or “have a good day, pal”, when my name is right in front of them on the credit card. Or if they don’t wish to use my name, then they should address me respectfully as “Sir” and leave “Bud” or “Pal” out of the conversation. Conversely, I feel warmly thrilled when a salesperson, waiter or even the invisible voice on the phone cares enough to address me as “Ralph”. Always, I will ask such individuals their names, so that I might return the favor. “Your name again? Susan? Thank you Susan, you have been really helpful. Susan, have a great day”.

I also disdain the sectional (typically western or southern) habit of posting a notable’s name with his nickname in quotes: Charles “Hos” Hoskins, Maricopa County, Arizona, Treasurer, for example, or Alabama state senator James T. “Jabo” Waggoner, or Texas Justice of the Peace Norris “Stretch” Rideaux. Forget it – if the name is Charles, or James, or Norris then call him Charles or James (Jim will do) or Norris for God’s sake. I should add that this aversion to nicknames does not extend to the common use of “Bill” for William, “Susie” for Susan, “Johnny” for John, “Joe” for Joseph, “Charlie” for Charles, “Jim” for James and so on. These are often “short” or “familiar” versions and are acceptable enough to pass for the real name. But I never question Joe’s preference for Joseph, Bill’s preference for William or Johnny’s preference for John. I know what they mean; that request impresses me and I am eager to oblige.

Nor does this nickname aversion extend to terms of endearment. “Sweetie”, “darling”, and “sweetheart” are all complimentary and are rarely substitutes for real names. They are more, as terms of endearment, of love and respect, and perhaps in some cases even more welcome and sweet to the ear of the listener than the real name.

Also, please spare me the habit of nicknaming a child with the beginning letters of the first name and second names. I have had it with the J.D.’s, the J.T.’s, the A.J.’s, the J.R.’s, the T.J.’s and the weary rest of them. Frankly, parents in love with this initial nicknaming business ought to be required to use it if the child’s given first and middle names are Brendan Stuart, Bernard Oliver, Pauline Ursula, Thomas Blake or Owen David.

I think my aversion to nicknames is firmly based in psychology and preferred social and interpersonal practice. As expressed so well by Dale Carnegie and often quoted, “There is no sweeter sound to any person’s ear than the sound of their own name”. I would add that when a name is used, it signifies to the listener that the speaker cares enough to know and use the name. Using a nickname signifies lack of diligence and caring. And “Sir” and “Madam” are not nicknames but terms of respect. There is a huge difference between being addressed as “Sir” or “Buddy” or “Stretch”.

Personally my aversion to nicknames goes deeper and farther than being respectful, getting along better and feeling good. It is an aversion that goes back to a father who rarely if ever called any of his children by their given names. He had nicknames for every one of his eight children. And this habit of nicknaming extended to everyone in his social circle – students, friends and colleagues. Growing up, I often heard compliments about my father’s penchant for nicknames. When he gave someone a nickname it stuck and he was renowned for this ability. While I largely received such compliments about my father favorably, I nevertheless felt a strong sense of disappointment that this talent of his was so much admired. I would rather have had people marvel at his capacity for love, kindness, generosity or humor than at his ability to apply nicknames so successfully. Furthermore, especially with my father there was always an element of teasing or derision in his nicknames for us and for others, making this habit even more distasteful.

My father’s inability to use given names I think was a sign of an inability to give, which he exhibited in a myriad of other ways as well both with members of his family and others. When a person uses a proper given name, they are giving part of themselves to the listener or recipient. Again, they are caring enough to use the name and, Dale Carnegie was right, it does sound sweet. I was never exactly proud of my name – Ralph – although it was also my father’s name. Too many people name their sheepdogs “Ralph”. But on the other hand, the name is employed sensitively and sweetly in Jean Shepherd’s “A Christmas Story”. Further, I think it was ill advised to choose a name ending with the same consonant sound as the beginning of the last name. I always feel that I need to make very clear to others that my name is not “Ral Friedly”, or “Ralph Riedly” but “Ralph….Friedly”. But I still am thrilled when someone addresses me as “Ralph” or “Ralphie” because that’s my name, that’s the name my parents chose for me and that’s the name I should be called.

But I digress – back to nicknames. When I think of my father’s nicknames for all eight of his children, while perhaps meant to be endearing, they all seemed demeaning. They took away rather than added, diminished rather than enhanced. Recalling these nicknames, saying them again in my mind, is not pleasant and does not make me feel good in any way. Instead, I get a chill in my heart and a feeling of sadness and loss. My Dad’s practice of using nicknames for his children seemed to be not only distancing himself from his children but also a conscious or unconscious attempt to reinforce his vaunted reputation for cleverness and prowess in nicknaming.

So although the reader may disagree, may in fact enjoy his or her nickname and even call his or her little boy “bud” or “pal”, we at least should agree that names are important, that “there is something in a name” and that the sound of one’s name is sweet indeed.

 

 

All Posts

  • Our Grand Canyon September 18, 2022
  • On Turning Eighty June 18, 2022
  • The Blood of Children and the Tears of Parents June 8, 2022
  • Growing Up in the Pillar of Fire: A Memoir February 6, 2022
  • The Medicare Advantage Scam December 21, 2021
  • Yet Another Rant December 7, 2021
  • Majority Rule? Think Again – Why a Minority Rules America November 27, 2021
  • The United States of Incrementalism November 27, 2021
  • Short Story November 24, 2021
  • The Troublesome Challenge of Choice November 6, 2021
  • Down Memory Lane July 31, 2021
  • Face It July 24, 2021
  • Elder Statesmen July 20, 2021
  • A Covid Winter in Vermont June 15, 2021
  • A Way with Words: The Devious and Devastating Genius of Frank Luntz… and More January 14, 2020
  • Wooster High September 11, 2019
  • Vermont Redux August 6, 2019
  • Oh Please, Come On Now July 3, 2019
  • The Trump Whisperer June 15, 2019
  • Still Ranting June 8, 2019
  • Connections March 21, 2019
  • Rant February 9, 2019
  • “White Poison” November 1, 2018
  • What We’ve Lost October 12, 2018
  • The Vote: “Cornerstone of Our Democracy” September 26, 2018
  • Justice and Accountability  September 25, 2018
  • 6 November 2018 August 31, 2018
  • Flying August 11, 2018
  • On the Minus Side of Dying: Musings on End of Life May 23, 2018
  • Sanctimonious Hypocrisy May 9, 2018
  • Foresight in 2020 May 6, 2018
  • Black Ice April 24, 2018
  • Why We Drink April 22, 2018
  • Reasons for Seasons March 20, 2018
  • Fitness Frustration: Pet Peeves at the Gym January 18, 2018
  • They Are Missed December 23, 2017
  • Hollow Patriotism: Honoring the Troops December 21, 2017
  • Interstate of Mind: Reflections on Highways and the Trucking Industry December 7, 2017
  • The Real Problem With Taxes in America November 8, 2017
  • From Chaos to Clarity: My Undergraduate Education September 11, 2017
  • Should Ken’s Thoughts About Gender Offend Her? August 25, 2017
  • Simple Solution to a Perennial Problem: Raise the Fuel Tax August 25, 2017
  • Rx for a Sick Democratic Party July 5, 2017
  • Well, Trump Voters… June 19, 2017
  • Home Sweet Home June 11, 2017
  • Summer 1957 May 2, 2017
  • The Backwards Hat April 24, 2017
  • Sears, Roebuck and Company March 3, 2017
  • “Shared Values” February 25, 2017
  • Thank You, Trump Voters: Amateur Hour and Executive Disorder in the White House February 16, 2017
  • The Sounds of Music February 14, 2017
  • Is This a Conversation? February 13, 2017
  • My Hank Williams Movie February 10, 2017
  • The NFL and I January 23, 2017
  • Election Reflection II December 24, 2016
  • Election Reflection November 11, 2016
  • “Cat’s in the Cradle” Comes True? November 11, 2016
  • Daylight Saving Time….Why? November 5, 2016
  • When I Fell in Love with Country Music November 4, 2016
  • Obit for Obamacare October 8, 2016
  • Irwin Elementary School 1965-1968 August 23, 2016
  • Micro and Macro: Ruminations on Life and the Cosmos July 25, 2016
  • Rotten Apple July 13, 2016
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  • Self-Driving Car? Really? Why? July 7, 2016
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  • Stressful Life Events July 4, 2016
  • Why? I’ll Tell You Why July 3, 2016
  • Generational Generics May 15, 2016
  • Let’s Change the U.S. Constitution April 18, 2016
  • Economics 101 April 18, 2016
  • Talk to Your Doctor About… April 12, 2016
  • Tractors April 7, 2016
  • The Noxious Cloud of Republican Orthodoxy April 7, 2016
  • A To-Do List for our Broken Congress January 20, 2015
  • Quitting Smoking: A Mindful Experience December 6, 2014
  • My World of Work November 8, 2014
  • Golden Rules for Living November 7, 2014
  • Tennis Anyone? September 10, 2014
  • Mirror, Mirror, on the Car August 30, 2014
  • Making Time July 23, 2014
  • Massachusetts Driving Rules July 23, 2014
  • Retirement July 18, 2014
  • Mount Evans by Motorcycle July 18, 2014
  • The Kite Contest July 14, 2014
  • More than Transportation July 7, 2014
  • Books that Influenced My Life July 1, 2014
  • The Death Penalty June 25, 2014
  • Dear Dad, June 14, 2014
  • Is There a Right Wing Conspiracy? June 10, 2014
  • Living in Vermont June 10, 2014
  • What Is a Billion? June 9, 2014
  • How to Become a Liberal May 29, 2014
  • Barbara My Sweet Sister May 29, 2014
  • A Winter Drive May 13, 2014
  • Dear President Obama, May 12, 2014
  • Ida Marie Friedly May 11, 2014
  • My Son and I May 8, 2014
  • Miracle on Monomoy May 6, 2014
  • Nicknames May 5, 2014

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