Downtown Minneapolis skyline w/ Guthrie theater on the right.
Lessons learned on my 1st job or how my views on war were shaped.
Every Memorial day I reflect on this, I have talked with a few people about it, this marks the first time I have shared and documented.
During my sophomore and junior years in high school (1966 to 1968), at the young age of 14, I had a job as a paperboy at the Great Lakes Naval Hospital in Illinois (shared and then taken over by my younger brother). This was not anything like your typical newspaper delivery route, where you tossed the paper onto the steps of a house and may see the recipient when it was time to collect for the month. This required pushing a cart and going to 10 of the 15 floors, and then bed to bed in the wards on each floor and ask the patient(s) if they were interested in the news that day (sold a number of papers including the Chicago Tribune, the Sun-Times both the Army and Navy Times).
Important to remember, the hospital, besides caring for normal every day needs of patients, was the Midwest location for those troops coming from the MASH hospitals in Vietnam often 1 or 2 days after being wounded in country.
This was a shocking eye opener for me as a young person, seeing firsthand the effects of war on young men just a few years older than me. Walking between the floors listening to them share stories of the wounds received in battle, watching as many a young man lay and remove shrapnel from his belly, leg or arm even after having had surgery in the field and then again upon arrival.
One experience out of many, was that of a young man who had been buying a paper from me for several weeks, he was confined in a halo bed with a broken neck reading it by rotating the bed and using a mirror to do so. One day I stopped on my route and asked if he wanted a paper, he said yes and to get the money from his bedside table as usual, he only had a $20.00 for a $.15 paper and told me to keep the change. I thanked him profusely, went to the end of the bed where my cart was and turned around to set the paper up for him, only to discover he had passed away. This was not the first nor the last time this occurred while delivering papers, but one that is as fresh in my mind as the day it happened.
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The Brimham Rocks of North Yorkshire, England. These balancing rocks formations were created by gradual water and wind erosion. One of the most striking formations is Idol Rock, a massive 200 tonne boulder balanced on a small pyramidal stone.
Nature is truly amazing
Back in high school, I did some dumb things and if anybody was hurt by that or offended, obviously I apologize for that. I participated in a lot of hijinks and pranks during high school and some might have gone too far and for that, I apologize.
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Mitt Romney, on the Washington Post’s story about his high-school bullying.
How can this man think his words right a wrong? |
This had been posted on Facebook, it is well worth reading.
A sweet lesson on patience.
A NYC Taxi driver wrote:
I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’
‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive through downtown?’
‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’. We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.
‘Nothing,’ I said
‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.
‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
#patience
60 Minutes on the Plight of Palestinian Christians
Last night’s 60 Minutes segment about the plight of Christians in the West Bank has gotten a lot of attention, in part because of the attempt by Israeli ambassador Michael Oren to intervene with CBS brass while the segment was being put together. (See the 11-minute point in the video above, where CBS correspondent Bob Simon confronts Oren with this fact.)
You can see why Oren might rather the piece hadn’t aired. Things that Palestinian Muslims routinely say about the Israeli occupation may get more traction in America when Palestinian Christians say them. Such as this, from a Christian clergyman: “The West Bank is becoming more and more like a piece of Swiss cheese, where Israel gets the cheese — that is, the land the water resources, the archaeological sites, and the Palestinians are pushed in the holes.”
Also, Oren clearly doesn’t want this document, mentioned by Simon, to get attention. In it an interdominational group of Middle Eastern Christian clergy — Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant — refer to the occupation as “clear apartheid.” (Oren hints that they’re anti-Semitic.)
Finally, the 60 Minutes piece complicates the post-9/11 Israeli narrative according to which Israel and Judeo-Christian America are involved in a common struggle against Islamic radicals, and the occupation should be viewed in that context. Hence the importance of the moment when Oren insists Christians are leaving the West Bank under duress from Islamic radicals, not because of the occupation, and Simon presents testimony to the contrary.
This was a great story last evening, it would be a tragedy for a number of reasons.
