The last summer of Joey Martin...

To the locals it was a big deal. To friends it was a puzzling, and bigger deal. To the family, it was a heartbreak, and to make it worse, it was unsolved. Biggest deal of all: find out what happened to Joey. As someone posted on Facebook today, a blurb from a television show about the case:
"In 1996, teenaged Joey Martin sneaks out of his bedroom window to watch a comet from a cabin in the woods-and disappears. Despite multiple leads, there is no sign of Joey until 2008 when a young detective uncovers the shocking story of Joey's fate."
And so it was, back in 1996, that Joseph Patrick Martin, fifteen years old then, and I guess one could say still fifteen years old, left the planet and entered into the collective consciousness of thousands of people who never met him in the flesh.
I lived in Joey’s town, then. I was just beginning a teaching career, working in the Hudson Valley’s Rondout Valley School system, the very district that Joey (and myself had, years earlier) attended. A small, farming and industrial community in the beginnings of its own death throes as big employers closed their doors and fled town. A small town with not a lot to do if you were a teenager with a wild hair.
Several comets had passed over in the years prior to Joey’s disappearance: Kohoutek, Halley’s, and, in 1996, Hale-Bopp, were all very interesting and visible, and when Joey left his house on that cold evening to go look at the comet with “friends” it would have not been an unusual event, given the dearth of entertainment available in Kerhonkson, New York.
So he left. Originally the people he was supposed to meet said that he never arrived, and the search began. For over a decade the search continued on some level, but family, friends and the law were stymied, and other than a few posters, annual vigils and other more or less symbolic acts, the trail went cold.
Then, in 2008, a cop revisits the case and talks to one of the two people that Joey was supposed to meet that night. An adult, this guy now lived in Brooklyn. He unexpectedly opened up the cold dead organ he called his heart and spilled his conscience all over the table. A few court appearances and trials later and the case was solved. Two scumbags, supposed “friends” who murdered a kid as revenge for a small weed rip-off, or something trivial. It doesn’t seem like the punishment fit the crime for Joey. But it did for the miscreants who killed him, and then shared a table and prayers with his family in the days and months after his “disappearance” and who got to live lives of their own for a while. They got to laugh, date, work at a job, make money, go fishing, get laid, all the things that young men do, while Joey’s bones lay crammed under a big rock in the woods, and later scattered in trash bins all over New York City. Their punishment is apt: prison sentences---loooong ones, and a life sentence with the label of “murderer” in front of their names. They will never be free of that, and every day that they look at their situation, they know how and why they are there.
When I was teaching I often got to substitute for an 8th grade English teacher named Buddy Clark. On his desk, neatly and forever tucked in a corner, was a vocabulary textbook, with the plain paper bag book cover still on it from the last student to use it. Written on that cover was a small note: To Mr. Clark: Have a good summer! Your friend, Joey Martin.”
Im guessing that Mr Clark still has that book somewhere, and that it still has that cover with its message.
We still have our memories of a nice kid, forever fifteen, as well. Rest in Peace , Joey, if you can.

Hungry and outta luck in Tampa....

Put on your boots…it is going to get messy.
In typical fashion, with the big Republican National Convention scheduled for Tampa Bay next year, the basic rights of American citizens have been shoved aside in an attempt to make the picture as rosy as can be.
Im talking about a story that appeared in the paper this week, here in Tampa. It would seem that a permit is now required to feed homeless and hungry people. Can you imagine? After six years of doing good work, a married couple, Dennis and Nancy Holt, along with a loosely organized church group, have been feeding the homeless in a city owned parking lot, at 7 AM, daily, giving out bagels, OJ, coffee, and more. Now, the city says they have to secure a permit to feed human beings in need of food. The police actually moved in last weekend and shut down the Holts’ impromptu breakfast buffet. They were told they needed a permit to feed the homeless. Only one problem to that: there are no permits available to feed the homeless. Apparently it is a gray area, according to another volunteer “feeder” who was ordered to stop several years ago, and who took the issue up with the then-mayor. That mayor took it upon herself to order the police to leave the feeders alone. Now, however, it is a different mayor and a different time.
One excuse that has been put forward is that the city of Tampa has not enacted the same tough anti-panhandling laws that others have put into place, and as a result the homeless population here has swelled to large proportions. That may well be, but it does not address the simple fact that people have to eat. Not allowing volunteers to feed hungry people isn’t going to make them go away. It is just going to make them hungrier and more likely to commit crimes, or even more likely to get sick or die. The early hour that they are being fed should not have much effect on traffic, and since they are basically being handed food and beverages, and then leave, the amount of time spent on the site is minimal. PLUS it has been going on for six years with no problems. If it was anything more than bureaucratic nonsense that was getting in the way, there is a good chance that no one would even be aware of this story.
It happens all the time. A bunch of suits and big money fat cats come to a city. The city wants to put on the best face possible for the national media that follows those fat cats. Thus, the poor, the homeless, the mentally ill are scooped up, swept under the rugs, so to speak, and everything appears to be shiny and new. Except for the fact that they are still there, and out of sight, which means out of mind as well. It doesn’t matter if it is a Republican Convention, a Democratic Convention, a Shriners Convention, or any other large deal.
It is possible that someone privately will allow the Holts to carry on, on private property, but who wants the publicity or the hassles from the city?
I wonder if the city will adapt some of the signs that are all around the zoos and Busch Gardens. “Do Not Feed the Homeless”.
These are human beings. People. Hungry people down on their luck.
Shame on you, Tampa.

A Gift from MItt

A lesson for Republicans: don’t try to fight a battle of wits when you are unarmed.
Case in point: Mitt Romney, former governor of Massachusetts, and he of the perfect hair and magic underpants. At the Iowa State Fair, where it can be inferred that tens of thousands of regular folks go for good times and cheap entertainment, old Mitt shows up on his campaign trail and immediately sticks his foot in his mouth, alongside the sno-cones and fried dough. He also ably demonstrated the ever-widening chasm and the disconnect between the haves and the have-nots in this country.
“Corporations are people!” he exclaimed.
Ummmm, no, they are not. People are people. Corporations are large entities established for many reasons, including as a way to shelter “people” from liabilities. The other ways they differ from human beings are many and well known.
Suffice it to say that a statement like Romney’s only goes to further show the disdain that the right has for the common man and is part of the reason that the middle class has almost disappeared in this country.
They have allowed corporate greed to replace common decency. For some inexplicable reason, they choose to lionize the criminals who run these corporations, and whose every word seems to be covered in greasy slime as they lie, twist and spin and basically run roughshod over the laws of this country. They have managed to turn this country into their personal Monopoly game, and the bank is just about empty for the majority of us less skilled or devious players. Suits and haircuts like Romney, Newt Gingrich, that moral hypocrite, and others, bring nothing to the table that will help feed the average American.
What is sadder still: despite the obvious scorn for the common man, the right will still convince millions of voters that they are the good guys. If people actually thought about what was being said, and questioned it, as a brave spectator did in Iowa when he heard the drivel coming out of the former governor’s mouth, then there would be no contest. Still, if Romney is the front runner for the Republicans, then he may well have just handed the President his second term in office. On a golden platter.

Laugh til it Hurts!

Well, when you're down in the dumps, nothing beats a night at a comedy club.
I wasn't in the dumps, but if I had been, Id be declaring myself cured at this moment. All because of a very cool and relaxing night out at the Improv, in Ybor City, a cool retro-Cuban section of Tampa, Florida. Now, I AM aware that most people have been to a comedy club at some point, including myself, and sometimes the humor is run of the mill, sometimes transcendant, and sometimes you will see something you have not seen before, as I did this night.
Tonight, I experienced the strange and over the top world of Pretty Paul Parsons.
I've seen them all in one way or another---George Carlin, Rodney Dangerfield, Steven Wright, Woody Allen, Richard Pryor, and so on, but never have I spent a night saying, "Oh, no, he didn't" as many times as I did this evening. Following stellar sets by Jim Choquette and Susan Saiger, the sixty something Parsons, clad in a navy blue jumpsuit ambled onstage. He then began to rattle off jokes like this one:
Oh, hell, this is a family blog, and I cant repeat that one. Well, the one about the bald headed....crap, I cant tell you that one either. In fact, about the only one I can repeat here has more to do with racist attitudes than hilariously perverted shots at every group from Catholic priests to farmers and goats. And I wont repeat it here either. His act went on and on, each joke more vile and hilarious than the one before, with a few clunkers thrown in for good measure, almost a relief from the sidesplitting laughter of the ones previously told.
This isn't intended as an advert for Paul Parsons. It's not even an advert for the Improv. The full house this evening tells me that they dont need my help, and neither does Pretty Paul Parsons, or Susan Saiger or Jim Choquette, for that matter.
What it is, though, is an advert for comedy, that incredible gift to us all. In a world where every damned thing seems to be involving war, violence, poverty, and all of the other sorry situations we hear about every day, we need all the laughs we can get.
Next time you are tired of the world as it is, head out for an evening at a comedy club. You dont have to see a Pretty Paul Parsons, or any other established stars. The MC for the show tonight,a local guy whose name I did not get, sadly, was almost as funny on his own level as Parsons was. Funny is funny, no matter who is preaching it.
Laugh like hell, groan just as loudly, and enjoy life. Its a gift.

Happy Birthday, Sir.

Today is the president’s birthday. Marilyn Monroe will not be singing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” to him, but we all should be.
He has done a remarkable job of moving the country forward when so many are trying to hold it back.
Putting party politics aside, when someone is elected to the highest and most important office in the land, maybe in the world, for that matter, he should be given the respect and cooperation due him, or her. Almost since day one the party that was defeated has been resisting his efforts to fix the huge mess that was here. They scream that he is spending the country into oblivion, and yet, in the corporate world that backs that party, it is common practice and knowledge that you have to spend money to make money. They scream that he is soft on illegal immigration. They scream when he tried to reform health care, even though he left their beloved insurance companies involved in the mix. They trot out the same old candidates and their old and backward ideas for the next election. The only time you heard a good word about the president uttered by that party is when he did something that they could relate to: he authorized the use of deadly force against Osama Bin Ladin. After Bin Ladin was killed, then all of a sudden old Barry O wasn’t so bad. Then, that memory faded pretty quickly and it was back to the same old same old.
No president is perfect, and no president is going to please everybody, but this man is doing a fine job of fixing a lot of broken stuff and should be given credit where it is due. Even Franklin Delano Roosevelt wasn’t loved by everyone, even after pulling us out of the Depression and creating a New Deal that restored confidence in the US and made us a super-power once again. We elected him four times. Need I say more?
So, today, as the president celebrates half a century on this planet, lets give him a break from the ridiculous name calling and rhetoric and just wish him a happy day, allow him to enjoy it with his lovely family, and as a gift, cut him the slack he needs to do the job we elected him to do. Its always easier to do good things when you have the backing of the people.

The Agony of the feet.....

It is still a form of culture shock sometimes, for me, living the life of a poor American. That is to say, a typical American. The haves and the have-nots all live here, and to many the difference is hard to tell.
I never feel the divide as strongly as when I try to get that most basic and fundamental right of all---health care.
Yesterday, while visiting friends in Mammoth Lakes, California, an outwardly upscale but basically typical American town, I had the need for a doctor. Because after finishing a 2800 mile walk, my foot was very badly swollen and I began to worry that a severe infection was going to possibly cost me the foot if left untreated. My hostess took me to the local clinic, where it was announced by the receptionist that just to get in to see the doctor would be anywhere from two hundred to almost four hundred dollars. Of course the dreaded question was asked, “Who is your insurance provider?” and they received the same dreaded answer, ” I have no insurance.” It was also announced for the second time that payment was expected at the time of service. We couldn’t justify that kind of money, nor did we have that kind of money and I opted for the old standby—the Emergency Room at Mammoth Hospital. There, I received a brief checkup that consisted of a blood pressure check, a temperature check (where a gizmo was swiped across my forehead and I was told that I had no fever) and that was it. After a few minutes an X-ray tech took me in and three x-rays were taken of the foot. A doctor then came to see me, asked me a few questions, looked at the X-rays, and after a short while told me that I had a stress fracture, would need no antibiotics and basically if I just took ibuprofen and didn’t do too much walking it would heal. And that was it.
This all happened before any mention of payment, or insurance. When I told them that I had no insurance, there was no big gasp, or exaggerated reaction. A woman from the billing office came in and ran down some options for me, and I will try to make payments as I can, in installments. Where I have a problem is that no one could tell me how much the bill was. A cursory checkup, three e-rays, and a non-prescription should only run me a hundred bucks or less.
Back to that divide that I mentioned. It has happened many times in the past as well. It is almost as if the insurance companies have managed to make their “product” so desirable and such a symbol of status that those of us who can’t afford it are mere peasants. I actually feel ashamed and embarrassed to tell the receptionist that I have no health insurance. In reality, I am very angry that insurance companies have all of the power that they do, because insurance at its most basic level is just you, the consumer, paying money on speculation that something is going to happen. You pay your money, and nothing happens. You keep paying money, and nothing happens. Then, when something DOES happen, the insurance companies dont want to cover it because it means they dont get to keep all of your money. It is so fundamentally screwed up that it is almost criminal.
So we go through life hoping we don’t get sick, or hurt. Yesterday I went to the medical office with nothing more than a broken foot, a slightly broken foot at that. I will undoubtedly receive a bill for 4 or 5 hundred dollars for a medic, albeit a very pleasant and kindly medic, to tell me what I basically already knew. In all of the avenues of American life, the medical arena seems to be the one where we get the very least value for our money. Let me re-phrase that: we do not get our money’s worth.
And its one aspect of daily living that makes me ashamed of this country, My friends from other countries who are here now still lament what they left, and I cant say I blame them. Do we need to make that tradeoff? I think not. Health care should not bring a feeling of shame.

Overeaters Anonymous: the meeting

So tonight Jim, formerly large fellow, attended an Overeaters Anonymous meeting.
I was visiting the local library in a small town near where I am staying on the west coast. The meeting was being held there and I was invited to attend. I accepted. I had envisioned that the meetings were a big group of people , or a group of big people, all there to cry on each other’s shoulders. Maybe that is the case in some places, but this is a small town and there were only a couple of people there, and I made three.
There is a format to the meetings, which open, and close. with the serenity prayer, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the power to change what I can and the wisdom to know the difference.” It is the standard prayer used at all so called twelve step programs, from the original Alcoholics Anonymous to Narcotics Anonymous and so on. A list of the tenets of the group is read, and focus is given on one or more of them, almost as a reminder. Small donations are voluntarily offered up for expenses and then, after the formal part of the meeting is taken care of, it is open floor time. This is where the attendees introduce themselves, tell what their problem is, i.e. “I’m a compulsive overeater” and go on to relate things that happened to them over the time since their last meeting. This evening, a lovely, not overly large woman told about how she has been waking in the middle of the night and has been making peanut butter on toasted bread. It is a habit she has been visiting for a while, and I can relate. I used to wake at odd hours in the night and eat a bowl of cereal, and I would also, at times make a peanut butter sandwich. I related this at the meeting and a dialogue of sorts opened up.
While I have heard that some of these type meetings can turn overtly religious, with a “higher power” being recognized in all of us, and before which we are all powerless, I did not feel it was brought up too much or too strongly this night. Granted, there were only three of us there, but what did happen was that a nice, and I feel productive three-way discussion opened up.
The meetings are a way to find that shoulder if one is needed. They are a place to commiserate with others in the same boat, and to find solutions through talking about what is going on. For a species of animal that can express ourselves through speech, we waste our voices on so much crap sometimes that we don’t hear the things we need to hear. We speak but do not listen. Here, people do listen, even small groups of three.
That can’t be a bad thing. It could come off too “churchy” for some people, but it does put everyone in the same frame of reference. Higher power? To me it is my brain, and the nature that created me. To others, it is God, or another deity. No matter. The problem to be solved is still the same—an addiction. And this approach is at least an attempt to work with it, and any step in the right direction is a good step.
Im glad I went. And I even get it that there were no coffee and donuts. That is for the “Cops Anonymous” meeting.