Interesting article
SJ-R.COM - Priest found beaten in park
Friday, December 24, 2004
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Closing Time
“Closing time – You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”
Few people mourn the passing of a retail store. You shop at the local K Mart for fifteen years, you know the layout. You know where they keep your favorite brands of toilet paper and candy bars. You know where the clearance items are displayed. You never know what might be there at the clearance aisle. Maybe it’s that CD that you’ve been wanting but has only the one song you’ve heard on the radio and liked – the rest of the CD is an unknown quantity. And you don’t want to pay full price for a CD that has only one good song and the rest is garbage.
And then, seemingly just like that, they announce that the store is closing. Your shopping habits are changed. Maybe you attend the Going Out of Business Sale. In your mind, you plan alternatives. You think that once the store closes for good and you’ve finally run out of the 24-pack of Charmin that you bought at the Going Out Of Business sale, you’ll have to bypass the carcass to park far out in the parking lot at Wal-Mart and wait in interminable lines to get through the checkout.
You never think about the people who worked there. You never think about the front-end manager who runs out of one-dollar bills on a holiday weekend. You don’t know about the store manager who worried about the next district manager visit or running out of an item advertised in the Sunday flier or how he’s going to run the store with so few employees. You never question where they went. Did they go to another store? Did they leave retail all together? Maybe they went back to school.
And what of the building? In a mall, the space is usually recycled pretty quickly. Most of the time a new tenant is in the space before the next Christmas season. If the store’s in a strip mall, it can languish for months before it’s filled again. If it’s a stand-alone store it may never be recycled. It may sit and quietly rot until moss and mushrooms grow on the floor like the old Goldblatt’s store in Park Forest.
In any event, there seldom is any evidence that the old store was there. Just memories. There’s no memorial or testimonial to the people who labored there or the people who shopped there.
I was a retail manager for ten years. I managed a B. Dalton bookstore. It was different from other retail, at least that’s what I told myself. It took brains to manage a bookstore. It took knowledge and intelligence.
B. Dalton, like other retail chains, liked to start their managers out at small stores and let the individual managers rise through the levels. I started out that way. The first store I managed was in Park Forest. I had been assistant manager there for a year before becoming manager and I helped open the store. It was a very slow store. There were days we just barely made $500 the entire day.
The Park Forest store closed two years later, and I helped pack the remaining computer books to return to the publishers. Years later, the whole Park Forest Plaza was “demalled” and a street was paved down the center, where a flowing fountain used to be. The B. Dalton store was partially demolished for a connecting street.
My next store was in downtown Chicago in the Xerox Building. It was a very plush store. There were lockers and a kitchenette in the break room. It had a mezzanine where we displayed the children’s books. It was meant to be the District Manager’s office but the DM had moved from there, wisely, before I got there. The store was a mess when I inherited it. I spent the first two months just cleaning it up. It closed a year later. My district manager called me at home on Tuesday night and told me the store’s last day of business was Friday. I had been blindsided but I learned a lesson, or at least I thought I did. Retail is never permanent and the only constant in retail is change.
That store remained vacant for a short time then it was remodeled into an investment firm.
My third store was in Yorktown Mall, near Montgomery Wards. It was a healthy store, nonetheless. Still, on summer weeknights I could have rolled a bowling ball down the center aisle not hit a customer. While I was still there, Woolworth’s closed its huge two-story store directly across from B. Dalton. It hurt business, especially since we had to stare out at the empty windows for the last nine months I was there. Still, we managed to do $16,000 on one day before Christmas.
By then, the writing was on the wall, although I refused to see it. Barnes and Noble had opened their first store in Wheaton, just a few miles west.
For my last store, I transferred to Bloomington. I had attended ISU, so I knew the community. And there were no superstores. Yet.
Within the first year I transferred, Barnes and Noble announced plans to open a store. It opened by the time my first year anniversary in Bloomington rolled around. I held tight. I didn’t want to transfer to the superstore division. Besides, my store was being remodeled.
In May of 95, we packed most of the store up and moved it to a temporary store in the Bergner’s wing. The store was expanded and remodeled from floor to ceiling in the new purple and sea-foam green color scheme. It was such a beautiful store.
But by that time I was burning out. I had had enough. I wanted weekends off, like normal people. I refused to see the writing on the wall. I denied that there was a problem and kept holding onto the illusion that retail is permanent.
The end came on a bright October day with a surprise visit from my district manager. Unsubstantiated accusations were heaped on my head and unpleasant words were exchanged. He gave me a choice – an untenable set of working conditions or quit. I chose the latter. Suffice it to say the parting was not magnanimous. To punctuate my decision, I threw – really tossed – my store keys at him and told him to run the store through the Christmas season.
Seven years have passed and I found out that the store in Eastland Mall was to be closed. I was saddened but unsurprised. By now I beginning to let go of the myth that retail is permanent.
I wanted to make one last trip to the store. I planned on it. They were having a Going Out of Business sale and perhaps I could pick up some bargains. I had only been in the store once since that day in October. About a year later I stopped in while Sears installed new tires on my car. The last day of business was July 30.
I never made it. I was not working on July 30, but I was tired and needed a day just to vegetate.
I realized that I really didn’t want to see the store again. And I wouldn’t know anyone working there.
Still, I wondered about some sort of memorial. Some kind of testament to the people and hours, worry and sweat that had been invested there.
Today, I went to the Bloomington Public Library. There’s a book that I’ve wanted to read and we can’t check out any books from Borders because inventory is coming up. Our library is open on Sunday and I was surprised at the number of patrons on this beautiful, sunny afternoon.
In the middle of the aisle on the adult side, there it was in all its purple and sea-foam green glory. We called it the foursquare display. B. Dalton had obviously donated it to the library.
As I sat down at the computer to look up the book that I wanted, I spotted several other displays, some of them still empty as if they had just been moved into the library. They looked out of place in the main circulating room which dates from the mid-seventies. The purple and green shelving units clashed with the orange carpet and the original dark wood shelves. As I went to find my book, I spotted even more shelving from the store. The entire Young Adult section made use of the shelves from the store.
I smiled to myself. I smiled from ear-to-ear. Here was the memorial. These shelves were being put to good use. Even if the library decides to discard them in three years or open the branch that they’ve always talked about (providing they ever pass the referendum) they will have served a good purpose. They have provided more shelving for the library and they will remind everyone that there was once a B. Dalton store in Bloomington.
Swinging my book and with a smile still on my face, I stepped out into the bright sunshine. And I remembered that nothing is permanent. Not even in retail.
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
Semisonic, Closing Time
© 2004 Nick Archer
Few people mourn the passing of a retail store. You shop at the local K Mart for fifteen years, you know the layout. You know where they keep your favorite brands of toilet paper and candy bars. You know where the clearance items are displayed. You never know what might be there at the clearance aisle. Maybe it’s that CD that you’ve been wanting but has only the one song you’ve heard on the radio and liked – the rest of the CD is an unknown quantity. And you don’t want to pay full price for a CD that has only one good song and the rest is garbage.
And then, seemingly just like that, they announce that the store is closing. Your shopping habits are changed. Maybe you attend the Going Out of Business Sale. In your mind, you plan alternatives. You think that once the store closes for good and you’ve finally run out of the 24-pack of Charmin that you bought at the Going Out Of Business sale, you’ll have to bypass the carcass to park far out in the parking lot at Wal-Mart and wait in interminable lines to get through the checkout.
You never think about the people who worked there. You never think about the front-end manager who runs out of one-dollar bills on a holiday weekend. You don’t know about the store manager who worried about the next district manager visit or running out of an item advertised in the Sunday flier or how he’s going to run the store with so few employees. You never question where they went. Did they go to another store? Did they leave retail all together? Maybe they went back to school.
And what of the building? In a mall, the space is usually recycled pretty quickly. Most of the time a new tenant is in the space before the next Christmas season. If the store’s in a strip mall, it can languish for months before it’s filled again. If it’s a stand-alone store it may never be recycled. It may sit and quietly rot until moss and mushrooms grow on the floor like the old Goldblatt’s store in Park Forest.
In any event, there seldom is any evidence that the old store was there. Just memories. There’s no memorial or testimonial to the people who labored there or the people who shopped there.
I was a retail manager for ten years. I managed a B. Dalton bookstore. It was different from other retail, at least that’s what I told myself. It took brains to manage a bookstore. It took knowledge and intelligence.
B. Dalton, like other retail chains, liked to start their managers out at small stores and let the individual managers rise through the levels. I started out that way. The first store I managed was in Park Forest. I had been assistant manager there for a year before becoming manager and I helped open the store. It was a very slow store. There were days we just barely made $500 the entire day.
The Park Forest store closed two years later, and I helped pack the remaining computer books to return to the publishers. Years later, the whole Park Forest Plaza was “demalled” and a street was paved down the center, where a flowing fountain used to be. The B. Dalton store was partially demolished for a connecting street.
My next store was in downtown Chicago in the Xerox Building. It was a very plush store. There were lockers and a kitchenette in the break room. It had a mezzanine where we displayed the children’s books. It was meant to be the District Manager’s office but the DM had moved from there, wisely, before I got there. The store was a mess when I inherited it. I spent the first two months just cleaning it up. It closed a year later. My district manager called me at home on Tuesday night and told me the store’s last day of business was Friday. I had been blindsided but I learned a lesson, or at least I thought I did. Retail is never permanent and the only constant in retail is change.
That store remained vacant for a short time then it was remodeled into an investment firm.
My third store was in Yorktown Mall, near Montgomery Wards. It was a healthy store, nonetheless. Still, on summer weeknights I could have rolled a bowling ball down the center aisle not hit a customer. While I was still there, Woolworth’s closed its huge two-story store directly across from B. Dalton. It hurt business, especially since we had to stare out at the empty windows for the last nine months I was there. Still, we managed to do $16,000 on one day before Christmas.
By then, the writing was on the wall, although I refused to see it. Barnes and Noble had opened their first store in Wheaton, just a few miles west.
For my last store, I transferred to Bloomington. I had attended ISU, so I knew the community. And there were no superstores. Yet.
Within the first year I transferred, Barnes and Noble announced plans to open a store. It opened by the time my first year anniversary in Bloomington rolled around. I held tight. I didn’t want to transfer to the superstore division. Besides, my store was being remodeled.
In May of 95, we packed most of the store up and moved it to a temporary store in the Bergner’s wing. The store was expanded and remodeled from floor to ceiling in the new purple and sea-foam green color scheme. It was such a beautiful store.
But by that time I was burning out. I had had enough. I wanted weekends off, like normal people. I refused to see the writing on the wall. I denied that there was a problem and kept holding onto the illusion that retail is permanent.
The end came on a bright October day with a surprise visit from my district manager. Unsubstantiated accusations were heaped on my head and unpleasant words were exchanged. He gave me a choice – an untenable set of working conditions or quit. I chose the latter. Suffice it to say the parting was not magnanimous. To punctuate my decision, I threw – really tossed – my store keys at him and told him to run the store through the Christmas season.
Seven years have passed and I found out that the store in Eastland Mall was to be closed. I was saddened but unsurprised. By now I beginning to let go of the myth that retail is permanent.
I wanted to make one last trip to the store. I planned on it. They were having a Going Out of Business sale and perhaps I could pick up some bargains. I had only been in the store once since that day in October. About a year later I stopped in while Sears installed new tires on my car. The last day of business was July 30.
I never made it. I was not working on July 30, but I was tired and needed a day just to vegetate.
I realized that I really didn’t want to see the store again. And I wouldn’t know anyone working there.
Still, I wondered about some sort of memorial. Some kind of testament to the people and hours, worry and sweat that had been invested there.
Today, I went to the Bloomington Public Library. There’s a book that I’ve wanted to read and we can’t check out any books from Borders because inventory is coming up. Our library is open on Sunday and I was surprised at the number of patrons on this beautiful, sunny afternoon.
In the middle of the aisle on the adult side, there it was in all its purple and sea-foam green glory. We called it the foursquare display. B. Dalton had obviously donated it to the library.
As I sat down at the computer to look up the book that I wanted, I spotted several other displays, some of them still empty as if they had just been moved into the library. They looked out of place in the main circulating room which dates from the mid-seventies. The purple and green shelving units clashed with the orange carpet and the original dark wood shelves. As I went to find my book, I spotted even more shelving from the store. The entire Young Adult section made use of the shelves from the store.
I smiled to myself. I smiled from ear-to-ear. Here was the memorial. These shelves were being put to good use. Even if the library decides to discard them in three years or open the branch that they’ve always talked about (providing they ever pass the referendum) they will have served a good purpose. They have provided more shelving for the library and they will remind everyone that there was once a B. Dalton store in Bloomington.
Swinging my book and with a smile still on my face, I stepped out into the bright sunshine. And I remembered that nothing is permanent. Not even in retail.
“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
Semisonic, Closing Time
© 2004 Nick Archer
Monday, August 23, 2004
Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?
Guess who was in town this weekend? The Phelps clan. You know, the fascists who run God Hates Fags.com and protested at Matthew Shepard's funeral?
What the hell were they doing here? Good question. The Pantagraph seemed to know they were coming. I'm thinking a press release tipped the usually clueless Pantagraph off. Obviously, they invited themselves to Bloomington-Normal to protest at the Eureka vacuum headquarters. Why Eureka? They are owned by Electrolux which is a Swedish company. And Sweden allows same-sex marriage. That makes sense, doesn't it? I can almost hear the planning session: "Maybe if we protest at the American branch of Electrolux, the entire Swedish nation will change their gay marriage policy." Right. Just as soon as hell freezes over.
Seems that Eureka wasn't the only protest site on their hit list. They protested at a total of six churches as well including St. John's Lutheran (the church that looks like a giant toaster,) Vale Baptist and Holy Trinity Catholic Church.
I cannot possibly fathom what they were doing at Holy Trinity except for the fact that it's kitty-corner from the Eureka headquarters. Obviously, these idiots don't read the news. They apparently don't know that the Catholic Church is in full anti-gay marriage mode itself and still reeling after a decade of sex-abuse scandals involving priests.
And obviously, these morons don't know the community very well. St. John's Lutheran is right next to the Unitarian Universalist Church. This particular UU Church is a Wecoming Congregation which means that they welcome people of every sexual preference. And they didn't protest at Illinois State University, which grants benefits to same-sex couples. Very sloppy homework.
So why didn't they protest at ISU instead of a Catholic Church and the Eureka headquarters? Perhaps they DID know that ISU has it's own police force.
Which leads me to believe they're cowards as well as stupid. Why risk getting arrested on the ISU campus when they can protest at churches and buildings that don't have security guards or a police force?
I've lived here 11 years (God, has it been that long?) and mostly I've felt like a fish out of water. I am native New Yorker Joel Fleishman plunked down in the middle of a cornfield. It's too conservative, too Republican, too white-bread middle American for me here.
But I have to say my fellow residents of Bloomington-Normal made me very proud this weekend. For the first time in 11 years, I can actually say I'm proud to live here. We responded in the only sane way to these mindless losers: We ignored them.
Nick
Guess who was in town this weekend? The Phelps clan. You know, the fascists who run God Hates Fags.com and protested at Matthew Shepard's funeral?
What the hell were they doing here? Good question. The Pantagraph seemed to know they were coming. I'm thinking a press release tipped the usually clueless Pantagraph off. Obviously, they invited themselves to Bloomington-Normal to protest at the Eureka vacuum headquarters. Why Eureka? They are owned by Electrolux which is a Swedish company. And Sweden allows same-sex marriage. That makes sense, doesn't it? I can almost hear the planning session: "Maybe if we protest at the American branch of Electrolux, the entire Swedish nation will change their gay marriage policy." Right. Just as soon as hell freezes over.
Seems that Eureka wasn't the only protest site on their hit list. They protested at a total of six churches as well including St. John's Lutheran (the church that looks like a giant toaster,) Vale Baptist and Holy Trinity Catholic Church.
I cannot possibly fathom what they were doing at Holy Trinity except for the fact that it's kitty-corner from the Eureka headquarters. Obviously, these idiots don't read the news. They apparently don't know that the Catholic Church is in full anti-gay marriage mode itself and still reeling after a decade of sex-abuse scandals involving priests.
And obviously, these morons don't know the community very well. St. John's Lutheran is right next to the Unitarian Universalist Church. This particular UU Church is a Wecoming Congregation which means that they welcome people of every sexual preference. And they didn't protest at Illinois State University, which grants benefits to same-sex couples. Very sloppy homework.
So why didn't they protest at ISU instead of a Catholic Church and the Eureka headquarters? Perhaps they DID know that ISU has it's own police force.
Which leads me to believe they're cowards as well as stupid. Why risk getting arrested on the ISU campus when they can protest at churches and buildings that don't have security guards or a police force?
I've lived here 11 years (God, has it been that long?) and mostly I've felt like a fish out of water. I am native New Yorker Joel Fleishman plunked down in the middle of a cornfield. It's too conservative, too Republican, too white-bread middle American for me here.
But I have to say my fellow residents of Bloomington-Normal made me very proud this weekend. For the first time in 11 years, I can actually say I'm proud to live here. We responded in the only sane way to these mindless losers: We ignored them.
Nick
Friday, August 13, 2004
I love the Olympics
The Olympics are the only sports I watch on TV. That statement will either cause fear or applause.
The opening ceremonies were tonight and they were spectacular! I was very impressed. The Greeks certainly look like they were prepared, the stadium was beautiful, the welcoming ceremony was very cool.
The only quibble I have is with the way the Americans were dressed. Everybody else had on exotic costumes or jackets and ties and/or skirts. Then out tramp the Americans in warm-up suits. Very sloppy. Dressing up is a sign of respect to the host nation, the other athletes and to yourself, really.
Of course we all know why they did it -- so NBC could market the warm-up suits and make even more moolah.
Capitalism at it's finest, ladies and gentlemen.
Nick
The Olympics are the only sports I watch on TV. That statement will either cause fear or applause.
The opening ceremonies were tonight and they were spectacular! I was very impressed. The Greeks certainly look like they were prepared, the stadium was beautiful, the welcoming ceremony was very cool.
The only quibble I have is with the way the Americans were dressed. Everybody else had on exotic costumes or jackets and ties and/or skirts. Then out tramp the Americans in warm-up suits. Very sloppy. Dressing up is a sign of respect to the host nation, the other athletes and to yourself, really.
Of course we all know why they did it -- so NBC could market the warm-up suits and make even more moolah.
Capitalism at it's finest, ladies and gentlemen.
Nick
Monday, July 05, 2004
Life Was Hell for Gay Teen Jock - Outsports.com
A very inspiring story. Seems to be a bit dated, I wonder what the current story is
A very inspiring story. Seems to be a bit dated, I wonder what the current story is
Friday, June 04, 2004
The Care and Feeding of Cashiers
Cashiering at both the bookstore and the office supply store this summer reminds me of some of the basic cashiering etiquette rules I'd enact if I were king.
--We don't want your pennies. Really. We have plenty in the register. And if you insist on giving us your pennies, have them ready. We don't want to watch you dig through your purse or pockets for the damn things. And don't even attempt to pay for your purchase with pennies unless you have them completed counted out and rolled in fifty-cent denominations. Also, don't act like you're doing us a big favor by unloading your pennies on us.
--Want your change handed to you? Yes, so do we. Not on the counter. Plus, handing the change to us will make the transaction go faster.
--We're really not kidding when we tell you your check or credit card has been declined. Why would we kid about a thing like that?
--Speaking of checks, if you're looking to get out the door quickly, don't write a check. Use a credit or debit card. Even with technology, writing a check is still the most time-consuming way to pay. We still have to verify the information on the check.
--What's with "I need this in two (or three) separate transactions?" Just buy the shit in one shot and figure it out later.
--We'd be glad to do a price check for you but remember if you don't like the price, we don't have a magic wand to change it. If you want a price adjustment the cashier is probably going to have to get a supervisor involved, which is going to delay you, and the people behind you even more.
--Guess where you can shove that cell phone? What the hell is so important that you can't call back after the transaction is over? When you carry on a conversation with someone on a cell phone while you're trying to check out you run the risk of missing an important question or part of the transaction. Often, your conversation is at best not pertinent and sometimes contains Too Much Information.
--Most major corporations require a tax-exempt letter on file to make purchases. Don't show up with your tax-exempt letter and expect to get your purchase tax-free. Register it. And don't cop an attitude about it.
--Don't cut in line.
--Don't try to return shit that you have obviously shredded.
Cashiering at both the bookstore and the office supply store this summer reminds me of some of the basic cashiering etiquette rules I'd enact if I were king.
--We don't want your pennies. Really. We have plenty in the register. And if you insist on giving us your pennies, have them ready. We don't want to watch you dig through your purse or pockets for the damn things. And don't even attempt to pay for your purchase with pennies unless you have them completed counted out and rolled in fifty-cent denominations. Also, don't act like you're doing us a big favor by unloading your pennies on us.
--Want your change handed to you? Yes, so do we. Not on the counter. Plus, handing the change to us will make the transaction go faster.
--We're really not kidding when we tell you your check or credit card has been declined. Why would we kid about a thing like that?
--Speaking of checks, if you're looking to get out the door quickly, don't write a check. Use a credit or debit card. Even with technology, writing a check is still the most time-consuming way to pay. We still have to verify the information on the check.
--What's with "I need this in two (or three) separate transactions?" Just buy the shit in one shot and figure it out later.
--We'd be glad to do a price check for you but remember if you don't like the price, we don't have a magic wand to change it. If you want a price adjustment the cashier is probably going to have to get a supervisor involved, which is going to delay you, and the people behind you even more.
--Guess where you can shove that cell phone? What the hell is so important that you can't call back after the transaction is over? When you carry on a conversation with someone on a cell phone while you're trying to check out you run the risk of missing an important question or part of the transaction. Often, your conversation is at best not pertinent and sometimes contains Too Much Information.
--Most major corporations require a tax-exempt letter on file to make purchases. Don't show up with your tax-exempt letter and expect to get your purchase tax-free. Register it. And don't cop an attitude about it.
--Don't cut in line.
--Don't try to return shit that you have obviously shredded.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Remembering 9/11
I get a Daily Digest from one of the Yahoo! Groups I belong to. Most of the time, I glance over it quickly because it's filled with silly jokes, useless information and platitudes. Today was different.
In the Digest today there was a link to a tribute site for the terrorist attacks of September 11. I followed the link and waited for the Flash Movie to download. Since I'm still on dial-up I had plenty of time to wait. The file was 7mb! I had more than enough time to nuke another cup of coffee.
Emotions that were long dormant welled to the surface as I watched the images and listened to the ethereal, melancholy sounds of Enya. I sat watching the images with tears streaming down my face. Everything just came flowing out.
Remembering where you were on that horrific morning is an essential bookmark of our time. Although I am a baby boomer -- technically -- I don't remember where I was when Kennedy was shot. I was only 3 at the time. I vaguely recall the RFK and Martin Luther King assassinations but again, I was a young boy at the time. I didn't quite grasp the enormity and repercussions of those heinous acts. I was miffed that my favorite TV shows had been preempted by news coverage. I do, however, remember where I was when the Challenger exploded.
On September 11 2001, I was collecting bills for St. Francis Hospital at AFNI. My desk was near the east wall of the cubicle farm where we labored. I remember the weather was crystal clear, calm and soft. It seemed to be a morning like any other.
Jen arrived at work about 10 AM. She was the first to announce about what had happened. She had heard the bulletins on her car radio. At first, I dismissed her reports. 'Oh, that's just Jen' I thought. She always was prone to exaggeration. Gary, who sat in the corner of our vast cubicle farm both confirmed and conflicted her story. Unlike the Museum of Science and Industry we were not permitted radios and of course there were no TV's anywhere. It was on the radio that I first heard of the Challenger explosion.
So we turned to the Internet. Internet surfing was strictly controlled and supposed to be only for business matters. Gary, the resident know-it-all in our area, was first to log on. He stood at his desk and read aloud what he was reading on his monitor. I threw caution to the wind, as did most of my coworkers and opened Internet Explorer. I surfed first to cnn.com and I was disturbed to learn that the site apparently had been deluged. They were down because too many people were trying to access the site at the same time. This fact almost made me panic. It surely must be true! Maybe Jen wasn't exaggerating.
I frantically thought of alternatives. I rejected sites related to newspapers such as The Pantagraph and The Tribune. Then I turned to CBS News. There, I saw the first frightening images. The news was sketchy at first and until the second plane hit the north tower, the news reports weren't really sure what had happened.
When my break time arrived at 10:15, I made a beeline for my car and tuned the radio to an all-news AM station from Chicago. They reported that O'Hare and Midway were both closed and the Sears Tower had been evacuated.
It was a difficult day to work. I got very little done. When I finally got home, I watch the images in shock over and over again on the various networks.
I think I was in a state of shock at first. When the shock wore off, I found I was angry. Now, please understand something. I am a pacifist. I am a dyed-in-the-wool liberal. I believe in gun control. I think the Second Amendment is outdated; created for citizens in the 18th century who needed guns to survive and manage their environment.
But I wanted blood revenge. I wanted those people responsible killed and by any means possible. And I was shocked at myself for feeling this way. I had never felt this way in my life. I wanted them dead.
When the stories of heroism began to surface over the next few days, my anger and fury turned to grief. I was especially mesmerized by the story of the passengers on Flight 93 which crash landed in Pennsylvania and how they had attempted to wrench control of the aircraft from the hijackers.
Seeing the flash movie again reminded me of the work we need to do to free the world from terrorism and the conditions that allow it to breed like mold on bread.
Here's a list of mirror sites for the 9/11 Tribute Flash Movie.
I get a Daily Digest from one of the Yahoo! Groups I belong to. Most of the time, I glance over it quickly because it's filled with silly jokes, useless information and platitudes. Today was different.
In the Digest today there was a link to a tribute site for the terrorist attacks of September 11. I followed the link and waited for the Flash Movie to download. Since I'm still on dial-up I had plenty of time to wait. The file was 7mb! I had more than enough time to nuke another cup of coffee.
Emotions that were long dormant welled to the surface as I watched the images and listened to the ethereal, melancholy sounds of Enya. I sat watching the images with tears streaming down my face. Everything just came flowing out.
Remembering where you were on that horrific morning is an essential bookmark of our time. Although I am a baby boomer -- technically -- I don't remember where I was when Kennedy was shot. I was only 3 at the time. I vaguely recall the RFK and Martin Luther King assassinations but again, I was a young boy at the time. I didn't quite grasp the enormity and repercussions of those heinous acts. I was miffed that my favorite TV shows had been preempted by news coverage. I do, however, remember where I was when the Challenger exploded.
On September 11 2001, I was collecting bills for St. Francis Hospital at AFNI. My desk was near the east wall of the cubicle farm where we labored. I remember the weather was crystal clear, calm and soft. It seemed to be a morning like any other.
Jen arrived at work about 10 AM. She was the first to announce about what had happened. She had heard the bulletins on her car radio. At first, I dismissed her reports. 'Oh, that's just Jen' I thought. She always was prone to exaggeration. Gary, who sat in the corner of our vast cubicle farm both confirmed and conflicted her story. Unlike the Museum of Science and Industry we were not permitted radios and of course there were no TV's anywhere. It was on the radio that I first heard of the Challenger explosion.
So we turned to the Internet. Internet surfing was strictly controlled and supposed to be only for business matters. Gary, the resident know-it-all in our area, was first to log on. He stood at his desk and read aloud what he was reading on his monitor. I threw caution to the wind, as did most of my coworkers and opened Internet Explorer. I surfed first to cnn.com and I was disturbed to learn that the site apparently had been deluged. They were down because too many people were trying to access the site at the same time. This fact almost made me panic. It surely must be true! Maybe Jen wasn't exaggerating.
I frantically thought of alternatives. I rejected sites related to newspapers such as The Pantagraph and The Tribune. Then I turned to CBS News. There, I saw the first frightening images. The news was sketchy at first and until the second plane hit the north tower, the news reports weren't really sure what had happened.
When my break time arrived at 10:15, I made a beeline for my car and tuned the radio to an all-news AM station from Chicago. They reported that O'Hare and Midway were both closed and the Sears Tower had been evacuated.
It was a difficult day to work. I got very little done. When I finally got home, I watch the images in shock over and over again on the various networks.
I think I was in a state of shock at first. When the shock wore off, I found I was angry. Now, please understand something. I am a pacifist. I am a dyed-in-the-wool liberal. I believe in gun control. I think the Second Amendment is outdated; created for citizens in the 18th century who needed guns to survive and manage their environment.
But I wanted blood revenge. I wanted those people responsible killed and by any means possible. And I was shocked at myself for feeling this way. I had never felt this way in my life. I wanted them dead.
When the stories of heroism began to surface over the next few days, my anger and fury turned to grief. I was especially mesmerized by the story of the passengers on Flight 93 which crash landed in Pennsylvania and how they had attempted to wrench control of the aircraft from the hijackers.
Seeing the flash movie again reminded me of the work we need to do to free the world from terrorism and the conditions that allow it to breed like mold on bread.
Here's a list of mirror sites for the 9/11 Tribute Flash Movie.
Sunday, May 30, 2004
Jimmy, Jimmy
I remember digging in the sand underneath the slide at Brookwood School with Jimmy. I can't remember Jimmy's last name but I seem to recall it was a color, like White or Brown. It might have even been Gray. It probably wasn't Pink or Yellow and certainly not Cerise or Lavender.
In any event, I recall that we were perfectly happy doing what we were doing, though exactly what we were doing escapes me. Were we building a castle? I have a vague recollection of plastic army men, but I could be wrong.
The rest of the boys in our class were playing baseball in the field beyond. I can still hear their voices and I still remember how uninterested I was in sports at the time. In Jimmy I had found a kindred spirit. Who needed to sweat in a field and run stupidly after a ball? We had our imaginations.
I do, however, remember that this is the precise moment I realized I was different. I wasn't like the other boys and this revelation produced a certain sense of discomfort.
I remember digging in the sand underneath the slide at Brookwood School with Jimmy. I can't remember Jimmy's last name but I seem to recall it was a color, like White or Brown. It might have even been Gray. It probably wasn't Pink or Yellow and certainly not Cerise or Lavender.
In any event, I recall that we were perfectly happy doing what we were doing, though exactly what we were doing escapes me. Were we building a castle? I have a vague recollection of plastic army men, but I could be wrong.
The rest of the boys in our class were playing baseball in the field beyond. I can still hear their voices and I still remember how uninterested I was in sports at the time. In Jimmy I had found a kindred spirit. Who needed to sweat in a field and run stupidly after a ball? We had our imaginations.
I do, however, remember that this is the precise moment I realized I was different. I wasn't like the other boys and this revelation produced a certain sense of discomfort.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Review: The Lord Won't Mind by Gordon Merrick
In some ways, it's like reading ancient history; I just purchased a copy of Gordon Merrick's The Lord Won't Mind and One for the Gods. I got a really good deal from hamiltonbook.com.
The publishing date for The Lord Won't Mind is 1970; Gods was published in 1971. The setting is initially Connecticut, later on it's New York. The time is 1940.
Merrick wastes no time in preliminaries. Charlie and Peter have sex the first night. Later on, they discover they're in love. I like this aspect of the story and I think it still rings true today. I still believe that for most men -- gay straight or otherwise -- sex is priority and love follows. Legion of women and established Christian religions would have us believe otherwise or maybe they want us to believe otherwise or perhaps they want to convince themselves otherwise. Sex is first, then men may discover they're in love.
Charlie is deeply closeted; no -- he's behind the closet. He even goes so far as to get married to a woman. And he never really accepts himself until the end of the story. It's a central theme and pivotal to his relationship with Peter, who readily accepts his lot in life. And if you think that this aspect of the story is anachronistic, think again. There are still men, even in the new millennium, who marry or have sex with women to deny their sexuality.
The story is rife with anachronisms. The endearments they use with each other as well as Charlie's grandmother, C.B. are almost enough to send a diabetic into insulin shock. Peter and Charlie rapidly fall into a male-female, dominant-submissive partnership which is somewhat a throwback, although some couples even today do follow this pattern. Even the housekeeping and cooking is designated to Charlie, the submissive partner.
I was kind of disappointed with CB. At first, she is fun and campy if a bit controlling. Later on in the story she becomes a domineering, homophobic bitch which was sad. It reminded me of Mary Anne Singleton in the Tales of the City series, although CB was never naive. I found myself rooting for CB as I did for Mary Anne until she, like Mary Anne, reveals her true stripes.
I was also surprised by the explicitness of the novel at first. Then I remembered that the early 70's were still steeped in the sexual revolution and perhaps Merrick took the opportunity to shock and titillate his audience.
One giant part that did not ring true with me was when Peter's benefactor just gives him $50,000. That just doesn't jive with reality at all.
It was a fun read but as a writer, there were really few ideas that I would use in a story.
In some ways, it's like reading ancient history; I just purchased a copy of Gordon Merrick's The Lord Won't Mind and One for the Gods. I got a really good deal from hamiltonbook.com.
The publishing date for The Lord Won't Mind is 1970; Gods was published in 1971. The setting is initially Connecticut, later on it's New York. The time is 1940.
Merrick wastes no time in preliminaries. Charlie and Peter have sex the first night. Later on, they discover they're in love. I like this aspect of the story and I think it still rings true today. I still believe that for most men -- gay straight or otherwise -- sex is priority and love follows. Legion of women and established Christian religions would have us believe otherwise or maybe they want us to believe otherwise or perhaps they want to convince themselves otherwise. Sex is first, then men may discover they're in love.
Charlie is deeply closeted; no -- he's behind the closet. He even goes so far as to get married to a woman. And he never really accepts himself until the end of the story. It's a central theme and pivotal to his relationship with Peter, who readily accepts his lot in life. And if you think that this aspect of the story is anachronistic, think again. There are still men, even in the new millennium, who marry or have sex with women to deny their sexuality.
The story is rife with anachronisms. The endearments they use with each other as well as Charlie's grandmother, C.B. are almost enough to send a diabetic into insulin shock. Peter and Charlie rapidly fall into a male-female, dominant-submissive partnership which is somewhat a throwback, although some couples even today do follow this pattern. Even the housekeeping and cooking is designated to Charlie, the submissive partner.
I was kind of disappointed with CB. At first, she is fun and campy if a bit controlling. Later on in the story she becomes a domineering, homophobic bitch which was sad. It reminded me of Mary Anne Singleton in the Tales of the City series, although CB was never naive. I found myself rooting for CB as I did for Mary Anne until she, like Mary Anne, reveals her true stripes.
I was also surprised by the explicitness of the novel at first. Then I remembered that the early 70's were still steeped in the sexual revolution and perhaps Merrick took the opportunity to shock and titillate his audience.
One giant part that did not ring true with me was when Peter's benefactor just gives him $50,000. That just doesn't jive with reality at all.
It was a fun read but as a writer, there were really few ideas that I would use in a story.
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