New Year Reconciliation

Rembrandt's Prodigal Son

Many of us have a tradition of making resolutions for the New Year.  We give some thought to how we would like to improve ourselves and create a better coming year.  This is certainly one of the best customs that we follow.  It is true that many of the promises fade into oblivion prior to the Spring Thaw but some of them do not.  We really do put an effort into changing.  What a wonderful transformation might occur if one of those resolutions was to begin engaging in the process of reconciliation with those people that we have wronged or who have harmed us.  The weight of resentment would be lifted from our shoulders.  Our world would be made over with the clouds of bitterness dispelled.

Reconciliation is very different from forgiveness.  Forgiveness means letting go of the offenses that have caused us pain and suffering.  It means releasing thoughts of revenge and retribution.  We do not need an apology from the person who has harmed us.  Forgiveness is first and foremost for the forgiver.  The other person may never know what you have done.  Your heart is unburdened by the past that is unchangeable.

Reconciliation is a commitment to the future. This process, unlike forgiveness, cannot happen unilaterally.  It means actually returning to some degree of friendliness between parties.  A mutual trust has to be reestablished. The first step to reconciliation requires that we accept our own part in the wrongdoing.  We cannot be reconciled if we hold ourselves completely innocent.  We have to establish that each person is responsible for their own actions and that all of us have a right to our feelings and perceptions.  We must commit to ethical standards that enable us to trust that we won’t be hurt in the future.

Genuine reconciliation cannot solely be based on a desire for harmony. It requires a mutual commitment. There are four ethical principles which are indispensable foundations for meaningful reconciliation.

1.  First do no harm

2.  Everyone deserves respect

3.  We have a responsibility to put ourselves in the shoes of the other person

4.  We are always responsible for our own actions

Forgiveness alone isn’t enough to make reconciliation possible. It’s only possible when both parties in the dispute have the willingness, maturity, integrity, and honesty that are essential to the process. Forgiveness is never impossible even in cases where there is no chance for reconciliation. May this new year be one in which we all attempt to engage in amends making, forgiveness and reconciliation.

The Christmas Boxes

I really love Christmas. There is nothing else in the calendar that makes me so happy. My head and heart are full of stories that are rich with traditions, family and friends. It is difficult to imagine that there is anyone who has been blessed any more than I. There has always been abundant love easily accessed for me. Despite my failings and shortcomings most of the people in my life have hung in there and supported me. I am so thankful.

One of the warm Christmas memories that I have comes from 1992. I had been living in the mountains of North Carolina near Brevard for almost two years and had just moved into an A Frame home near Lake Toxaway. My good friend, Michael Sessom, had been staying with me. He was quite a spiritual teacher and guide. The move took place in November and it was obvious that the house would lend itself nicely to holiday decorations. Michael called it a Christmas House. The steep two story ceiling would accommodate a huge tree but buying one that tall would be impossible. Friends of mine from Madison County, Steve Magin and Boone and Kathy McFalls came to the rescue. They chopped down a gigantic pine and hauled it down to the house for Thanksgiving. A wood frame had to be constructed just to hold it. Hours of planning, building, pulling and yanking finally resulted in success. The living room was filled with the magnificent tree. Michael spend days putting balls and ornaments on it. He made dozens of “God Eyes” and other things to hang. It took lots and lots of lights as well. The finished Christmas tree was impressive to say the least but the few presents underneath looked a bit paltry. This led Michael to make a decision that would change the way that I would look at presents for the rest of my life.

We were admiring the tree after work at Bridgeway Treatment Center one chilly December night. Michael was disappointed in the emptiness underneath and made a terrific suggestion. “Let’s wrap up the moving boxes like Christmas presents.” He said. “You take half of the boxes and I will take the other half. Then we will write a Christmas memory and put it in the box. On Christmas Eve we can open them and share our memories.” I agreed and we went about the job for the next several days. The big, gaily wrapped boxes looked stunning around the tree. It was perfect. The Christmas Eve opening was actually moved to the day before. I was headed up to Illinois to be with my daughters. There was never a more emotional or deeply moving present exchange that I can remember. Each box contained such joy and happiness. Some of the memories had sadnesses but all of them reflected the great riches and love that we had experienced in our lives. The meaning of Christmas went far beyond the material things that year and has traveled with me ever since.

We are all loved more than we will ever know. Merry, Merry Christmas to you!

Christmas Eve

There is seldom a Christmas Eve when I don't watch the 1951 classic "A Christmas Carol" with Alistair Sim.  It has been a tradition since they started showing in on TV back in the late 50s or early 60s.  There are plenty of messages that the movie sends.  Perhaps the strongest is one of awakening and redemption.

It was a painful process that finally brought Scrooge to his Christmas epiphany. He promised that he would "honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year."  Startled shock did not do it. Reliving his past sadnesses and joys did not. Experiencing the suffering of others didn’t either. It was being faced with his own mortality and the fact that time was at hand which delivered him to an awakening.

We always think that there is plenty of time. We will give to charity when we are better off financially, spend time with the kids when we aren’t so busy, visit an old friend next week or call that special relative later. But time is at hand for us just as it was for Ebenezer Scrooge. Christmas reminds us that we have an opportunity, right now, to change the way that we operate. It is about redemption, reconciliation, forgiveness and a celebration of life. It is about new birth.

Merry Christmas to all!

A Puppy for Christmas

Bobby Jones & Santa 1957

There is nothing that can compare to the joy felt by a child when receiving a dog for Christmas. More elaborate and bigger gifts might be forgotten in a relatively short time but a puppy from Santa will always be remembered. My own experience was 53 years ago but is as vivid in my mind as if it happened last year.

It was December, 1957 and I had been campaigning for a dog since summer. The crusade was relentless. “Every boy needs a dog. “ I finally heard Mother say to my Dad. “He seems to want one so badly. I’m just sure he would take care of it.” Dad retorted that he knew better than that. “You and I are going to end up taking it out and feeding it.” "The answer is NO!" My heart sank. I knew that I would be a good master. Visions of Lassie and Jeff streamed through my brain. How tough could it be to take care of a dog? It was after Thanksgiving and the only recourse seemed to be going to Meis Brothers Department Store and asking for the intervention of Santa Claus. I would not have stooped to visiting Santa if it wasn't an emergency. Most of my friends were pretty sure that he did not exist. But it was sure worth a try. Mom made me get all dressed up and took me to the lap of my last hope. The plea of a lonely little boy seemed to be too much for my Mom. It looked like she had a tear in her eye when I completed my poignant begging. SUCCESS! It was all up to her and good ole Santa now.  Dad was no match for both of them.

The Christmas season was busy with family gatherings and school plays. No verbal mention was made again of my fondest wish. After all, I did not want to nix the deal with SC. There were longing sighs and lonely looks that should have transmitted my desperation but you never know how parents might interpret such things. Christmas Eve arrived. We always got to open one present prior to going over to my grandparents house. I was pretty sure what my gift was going to be. What a disappointment when there was no animal sized box with holes in it around the tree. I got a ping pong ball burp gun.  Geez.  How would Santa know to deliver a puppy to the home of relatives? Surely there was a mistake…some mixup with another kid down the block or something. We went to my grandparents house and there was no wriggling sack or whimpering crate. No way in the world would Santa take a dog to my Aunt Helen's home in DeLand, Illinois. That was never happening. So I began to settle into the bleak resolve that Santa did not exist and that my parents had hearts of stone.

Dinner time came and I had no appetite. My grandmother had prepared a feast for the families. Every favorite was displayed on good china. Goodies were overflowing the table. I couldn’t have cared less. My grandmother noticed and asked “What' wrong, Robby?" (She was the only one allowed to call me Robby).  I mumbled something but was interrupted by the back doorbell. It was tradition that only adults answered the door so when my grandmother told me to answer it I was dumbstruck. Dad said “You heard Noie, get the door.” I hopped up , ran to the door and opened it hard. There, standing in all of his glory, was Santa Claus himself. He asked if I was Bobby Jones. I stammered a "yes" and he went on to say that he had missed one of my presents and just made the discovery on his sleigh. He knelt down and opened his red bag. It was wiggling...and there before my very eyes was a little black puppy. I hugged Santa as hard as I could and scooped up my little pal. There he was…My pride and joy. Everything else became a blur for the next 24 hours. I named him Penny and he was by my side, in my bed and nipping at my feet at all times. There was never a better present and never again was there a doubt in my mind about the existence of Santa Claus. For the rest of my life. Really.

An Advent & Christmas Story

The greatest miracle of Christmas is an awakening.  We are not on our journey alone.  God has joined us on the path by becoming human.  He walks with us and participates in our joys and sadnesses.  We do not have to be afraid.  We have our loyal and loving companion.

There is a wonderful little story that is always worth sharing at Christmas.  It is a favorite of mine.  The fourth Sunday of Advent asks that we stand prepared to receive God where we are.  It asks for us to participate.  Here is the story:

"In New York City, on a cold day in December, a little boy, about 10-years-old, was standing before a shoe store on the roadway, barefooted, peering through the window, and shivering with cold. A lady approached the young boy and said, ‘my, but you’re in such deep thought staring in that window!’ ‘I was asking God to give me a pair of shoes,’ was the boy’s reply. The lady took him by the hand, went into the store, and asked the clerk to get half a dozen pairs of socks for the boy. She then asked if he could give her a basin of water and a towel. He quickly brought them to her. She took the little fellow to the back part of the store and, removing her gloves, knelt down, washed his little feet, and dried them with the towel. By this time, the clerk had returned with the socks. Placing a pair upon the boy’s feet, she purchased him a pair of shoes. She tied up the remaining pairs of socks and gave them to him. She patted him on the head and said, ‘No doubt, you will be more comfortable now.’ As she turned to go, the astonished kid caught her by the hand and looking up into her face, with tears in his eyes, asked her. ‘Are you God’? No, said the woman. I am only his child. The boy smiled and said. I knew it. I knew you were some relation of his."

Now is the time to act like a relative.  It is time to reach out and assist others in solidarity with God.  It is Christmas.

Joy and Anticipation

Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree

This third week of Advent shines it's light on what will come to pass.  There has been a sense that we were imprisoned with only a promise of liberation.  Trust and faith were our only companions.  But now our waiting is filled with joy as we can clearly see our way to freedom.  The world is just about ready to change and the signs are undeniable.  People are not as preoccupied with the daily grind and are more concerned with giving gifts and celebration.  Parties are breaking out all over the place.  Bright colored clothing, strange sweaters and interesting socks are replacing grays, blacks and browns.  Decorations and lights seem to be in every window.  It is impossible to deny the difference.

There is hesitation about going overboard especially when economic times are tough.  The barrage of negative forecasting goes on despite Advent and Christmas.  We worry about how to make ends meet and project an extra burden with the need to buy more presents for people in our lives.  There is nothing wrong with cutting back.  We have to learn that quanity has little to do with quality.  One gift thoughtfully purchased or made especially with the needs and desires of our loved one in mind will be more gratefully received than half a dozen that were bought in a frenzy.  We are only asked to give them with an outpouring of love and affection.  Then we can let go of our shortcomings and focus on our abundance.

This is the time to share joy and enthusiasm.  Let's stop worrying.  We have the opportunity to be fully present for our friends and families.  Put on a smile and attend the celebration.  Don't let this season happen without your full involvement.  Wear some antlers and jingle some bells.  What better time to be a kid again than right now?

The Advent Conspiracy

Holy Name Cathedral, Chicago, Illinois

There is an interesting movement afoot during the Christmas Season this year. People around the country have become involved in something called the “Advent Conspiracy”. They are making it known that there is another way to fully celebrate the holidays. They also pray that we might change the way that we operate throughout the year and suggest that we consider the following things as a part of Advent and Christmas:

• Worship Fully: It’s a season where we are called to put down our burdens and lift a song up to our God. It’s a season where love wins, peace reigns, and where life is celebrated with each breath. A true thankfulness will arise as we awaken to the powerful comprehension of the gift of simply being alive.
• Spend Less: We are asked to buy one less present this Christmas. There is always a gift that is given just out of obligation. We are aware when we receive such a present. There is little joy that accompanies them. It is a small sacrifice but one that will be significant. Replace the present with the gift of presence. It is a chance to become more available to the people in our lives.
• Give More: This is a season of making time for love. We can go sledding with the kids, make great cookies, dig up old family traditions and practice them again. Take some time to sit down and listen to family members and friends without voicing our opinions, advice or constructive criticism. It is all about deepening relationships.
• Love All: It is not so difficult to love the loveable things and people in our lives. The problem comes when we are asked to love and accept the annoying or disturbing. Everyone in our lives is placed there for a reason. The challenge of expanding our love to as many of them as we can is precisely what we are asked to do.

It is difficult for most of us to access this level of consciousness as we are often consumed by the ups and downs of our individual experiences in the world. The thing to remember about the world, though, is that it ebbs and flows, expands and contracts, gives and takes, and is by its very nature somewhat unreliable. If we only feel gratitude when it serves our desires, this is not true thankfulness. No one is exempt from the twists and turns of fate, which may, at any time, take the possessions, situations, and people we love away from us. Ironically, it is sometimes this kind of loss that awakens us to a thankfulness that goes deeper than just being grateful when things go our way. Illness and near-miss accidents can also serve as wake-up calls to the deeper realization that we are truly lucky to be alive.

We can also awaken ourselves with the intention to be more aware of the unconditional generosity of the life force that flows through us regardless of our circumstances. In so-doing we are one with the great mystery that is life.

The season of Advent is here again and we are reminded us that Christmas is not far away. It is a time in which we more fully understand that we are the visible and participatory co-creators of God’s plan. This involves waiting in anticipation and being fully prepared. These are the elements of Advent.

Waiting is not something that we do not want to do. We live in an impatient world where long lines and delays are barely tolerated. Frustration accompanies waiting. This waiting with eagerness expectation is foreign to us. Yet this is precisely what we are asked to do. We are to find the joy all around us in the little giggles that come from babies and children, the raw beauty of nature as autumn turns to winter, and in words of encouragement from family, friends and co-workers. We wait behind the door for the guest who will arrive at any minute. Our greeting of welcome is ready to burst from our lips. We light the lights of our homes to clearly shine for their coming. There is a suffering associated with this kind of patient waiting as the voice of our childhood cries out “I can hardly wait!” This pregnant waiting is intended to provide our spiritual lives with hope and to make us ready for love. The longing of Advent will yield to wonder, wisdom, delight and awe.

Being fully prepared involves dressing for the journey, putting everything in order and becoming people of action. Preparing the way means that we clear a path for God. We finally make time for our children, listen to the voices that need our attention, give alms to the poor and say gentle and kind things to people in our lives as well as to strangers. It means that we are merciful and non-judgmental. We literally pour out our blessings for others.

May this Advent be a game changer for each and every one of us. May we take the lessons that we learn and carry them throughout the rest of our lives.

Happy Thanksgiving

Turkeys at Steve Magin's cabin

Today is a day to be thankful for all that is.  This kind of unfettered gratitude allows us to stop trying to control outcomes.  It is the key that unlocks positive energy in our lives.  It turns problems into blessings and challenges into gifts.  Thanksgiving has the potential to fill us with happy memories of friends, family and loved ones.  We have the opportunity to create space for true gratitude.  Worry, cynicism, greed and apathy can be set aside at least for 24 hours.  

There is great spiritual wisdom embedded in this tradition of Thanksgiving.  We slow enough down to realize that time is more precious and scarce than all of the material things that we seem to cherish, run after and covet.  There is a light of hope that shines as we affirm all that is good in our lives.  Be joyful as we all gather around our tables.  It is a chance for renewal.  You are loved.

King Of The Wild Frontier ~ Part Four ~ The Zone and Late Night Television

There was an amazing right of passage that occurred when a kid reached the magic age when babysitters were no longer really necessary. By the time most of us were about ten years old we had worn out the old ladies that watched us and exhausted the supply of exasperated teenaged girls who would be willing to be tormented by us anymore. The decision was in the works for me by my Mom and Dad. It was November 11, 1960 and a week away from my 10th birthday. Lots of things were being talked about that day. The final results of the presidential election were almost a sure thing but California could swing the tide toward Richard Nixon and away from John Kennedy. Not likely with electoral outcomes but Republicans were holding on to hope. My folks were going out for dinner and were debating not only the future of the country but my fate as an independent kid. I heard the discussions about my trustworthiness, and having friends for sleepovers (in lieu of sitters) when they were going out for the evening. My anticipation was increasing. The decision was made. They were going to get Janice, an older teen sitter and one of my favorites, to come that night and allow me to have friends…with no sitter…on Saturday night when they went out dancing. It all depended on how well both evenings went as to future consideration. No doubt in my mind that it was going to work. Little did I know that spreading your wings is not always safe. There are scary things that lurk in the dark and even scarier ones hiding in our television.

Bobby on Easter Morning 1960

Still innocent of The Zone and Late Night Monsters

Mrs. Tuttle ~ "Tutty"

My very favorite babysitter

I announced my finding to Janice when she came over. It was a week night so Mom and Dad would not be out real late. Janice was a student at Danville High School. She congratulated me on my good fortune and upon reaching such a pinnacle in my life. It was not a horribly difficult task to convince her that I should be allowed to stay up and watch The Twilight Zone. Parents did not like for kids to see that show. It seemed to have had a negative effect, in their opinion, on the passions of my friend Mark Faulkner. He had even created a Monster Club. They did not want for me to be involved in such dark thoughts or to have nightmares. It seemed strange to me because there was no problem with watching Alfred Hitchcock. It made The Zone a tantalizing forbidden fruit. Anyway, Janice said it would be okay…but probably not a great idea to tell my parents about. Ahhh, a secret!

I approached the hour in eager anticipation. Dressed in PJ’s and confident of my bravery, I perched on the couch by the Magnavox. Next thing I knew…it was time! The opening was other-worldly with the instrumental tune and Rod Serling’s intriguing voice…

“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity.”

WOW! IT WAS ON!

“It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition. And it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.”

YOU GOTTA BE KIDDIN’ ME! WHAT?! I could feel the little hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

“This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area that we call…The Twilight Zone.”

MAN…IF THE GUYS COULD SEE ME NOW. Janice was doing her homework at the dining room table and not aware at all of my juiced up pre-adolescent psyche.

The episode that was airing did not seem all that scary at first. More intriguing really…kinda like Hitchcock. It was called “The Eye of The Beholder” and was about a bandaged ugly woman who had undergone some radical plastic surgery to reconstruct her hideous face. The bandages must hold something that only the devious Serling would keep for us until the ending. We were in the hospital with the woman as she was taken into a surgical type suite surrounded by doctors and nurses. One of them was talking the patient through the facial unwrapping. Layer by layer the gauze was taken off. She could begin to see light through the coverings. The doctor announced the last of the procedure.

THIS IS TOO MUCH. WHAT IS UNDER THERE? By now I was in front of the Magnavox on my knees only inches from the screen.

“I am going to remove the last of the bandages now.” “Would you like a mirror?”

WOULD YOU LIKE A MIRROR? C’MON!

Now…just when I am ready to crawl out of my skin…the stupid doctor starts lecturing the patient about the fact that they have done all they could and that she could still live a long and fruitful life despite her appearance.

WHAT THE HECK?! HOW BAD COULD SHE LOOK?

Then she asks the doctor if she can be “put away” or exterminated as an undesirable by the state.

OH, MY DEAR GOD!

The doctor replies that probably would not happen. That she would be transferred to a communal living situation with people of her kind with her disability.

THERE WERE MORE OF THEM!?

He said, “Now remain very still and keep your eyes open. Here comes the rest of it. I wish you the very best of luck.”

WAS HE TALKING TO ME? My hands were ready to cover my face like my friend Gary did in situations like these.

We could see through the patient’s eyes as the gauze was removed. The shadowed faces of the medical staff began to show. A nurse gasped and the doctor dropped his scissors and hopped back exclaiming “No change…no change at all!”

I KNEW IT! HERE COMES HER AWFUL FACE! BUT WHAT? SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL!

She touched her face and started freaking out. The nurses and doctors restrained her against the wall. “Turn on the light” said one of the doctors. He shifted and revealed his horrible and disfigured mug as well as the contorted faces of the other medical staff. Face after face after face! Then a huge hypodermic needle!

I TURNED OFF THE TV AS QUICK AS I COULD AND RAN UP TO MY ROOM.

There was a question from the dining room table from Janice but I had no intention of sticking around to talk or listen. My door slammed.  The only safe place was in my bed. It was not a good night for dreams let me tell you. But I couldn’t reveal them to my folks. I shuddered alone.  My independence was at stake. The light of day hardly diminished the impact of the television show. I went outside and was met by Gary who walked to school with me every morning. Nothing was said about The Zone. Things changed when I was able to announce to Mark and Joe that I had watched the episode. I bragged. “They weren’t scary. They looked like pigs.” What a lie bu what a triumph! Three young men who were unified in the love of monsters. MARBOJO. Now I was only a day away from my ultimate dream. A sleepover at my house with Steve Magin (sans adults) watching Terror Theatre with Egor and The Master. I knew there would nothing could be worse than “The Eye of The Beholder”. I haven’t watched the ending to this day. It is on YouTube. I am tempted but…

Stay Tuned...Another exciting episode will follow.

King Of The Wild Frontier ~ Part Three

We were ordered out of the house and banished from TV all of the time. At least it seemed that way. The adults had obtained an effective tool of control and punishment. We always made more of a big deal out of it than was really deserved though. You have to make parents think that they are effective or they get squirrely and mean spirited. The idea is to moan, whine and complain all the way to the back door. Once outside…freedom reigns. There were no thoughts about real dangers in the community in those days. First of all, the neighbors were all extensions of the family. Everyone knew you and had a reading on wrongdoing from kids and strangers alike. The United States had not yet moved from the front porch to the backyard so people were actually interacting with each other right on the street level. Secondly, kids had the ability to become invisible in those days. There was an internal cloaking devise that allowed us to be unseen whenever we wished. We got caught only when we made the mistake of not turning it on. Some kids had better cloaking than others. Mine was almost perfect. And last but not least, we were army guys, Indian fighters, cops, firemen and super heroes. We were fighting crime and evil. Who would dare mess with us? We were invincible as we went where we pleased on bikes (without helmets), played tackle football (without helmets), fell out of trees, jumped off rooftops with capes (oops!), swam unsupervised (and sometimes naked) in filthy Lake Vermilion, constructed elaborate forts in the woods with sharp Boy Scout knives and sometimes shot each other with real BB Guns (not good). All we had to do was holler in the door our destination and we were good at least until the next meal. Yelling through the screen words like “Going to the woods” or “Going to Gary’s” would elicit responses that gave us a free pass. We faintly heard the reply “Don’t be late for dinner” or “You boys be good”. We were halfway down the block and in mid-adventure already.

My cousin Steve, buddy Scott Golden, me and cousin Dave

with a freshly caught Bluegill from Lake Vermilion.

I donned my Skipper Chuck hat.

The summer of 1958 brought expanded freedom for me. I was allowed to go beyond the imagined limits of parental control to meet kids at the further reaches of our neighborhood. Gary Cox had moved in across the street, Steve Magin lived two doors down from him. Gary and I quickly became great friends. We were in the same classroom in 2nd grade. Magin came into the fold through a fight. Some of us had been playing baseball in Golden’s side yard when two strange boys approached from the alley. We stopped play and gawked. Who dared invade our domain? Without a second thought I picked up an apple and threw it at them. They returned fire…but with ROCKS! Heathens! Interlopers! A spirited battle began. Ammunition was getting thin so we ran to the apple tree to get more missiles. Some adult must have intervened because they were gone when we got back. The nerve! It was the next day when I met Steve face-to-face. The encounter was friendly. I asked him where his brother was and he replied that it was not his brother but a friend from school. “What school?” I asked. “St. Paul’s.” came the reply (Oh, man! A Catholic kid even). Anyway, one thing led to another and we were practically inseparable. Steve’s Dad was the engineer and genius at our local TV station WDAN as I mentioned before. It’s funny, but I was always afraid to ask Mr. Magin anything about how TV worked. I guess I didn’t want to know the secrets.

The Vast Land of Our Adventures

Gary CoxSteve Magin

Imagination went to new extremes with the help of television.  You could take on the persona of anyone that had appeared on screen and develop them with your friends at will.  Superman made regular appearances on West Winter Ave.  The Battle of The Little Bighorn was fought often.  We sometimes had to find little kids to play the part of Indians.  Nobody wanted to be the enemy very much so we would commandeer them.  The enemy was certainly not confined to Indians.  They were often Nazi's, Japanese, or supervillians such as Lex Luthor.  Good guys wore white hats.  Bad guys wore black ones.  No question about who was who back then.  And the good guys ALWAYS won.  Our idols were easy to find.  Mickey Mantle was already in contention for the new God of baseball with 42 home runs in 1958.  Zeke Bratkowski, a Danville boy, was the QB for the Chicago Bears.  Everything was simple, cut and dried.

We played kick-the-can and flashlight tag until bedtime and were forced to come back inside by the very parents who had kicked us out.  They just couldn't resist messing with us I guess.  Sometimes there would be "Just-One-More TV Show" before turning in.  Little did we know what great things were going to happen soon.  Mark Faulkner would have his ninth birtday party LIVE right on Sheriff Sid's TV show with his good buddies (including me) invited. 

Sheriff Sid

The intriguing world of late night television was also just around the corner the following year in fourth grade.  It was then and there that MarBoJo came to be.

Mark Faulkner, Bobby Jones and Joey Cooke

Intermission...Don't Go Away!

King Of The Wild Frontier ~ Part Two

This is the second installment of four pieces written about growing up in an age of innocence and the emergence of television.

And so…it came to pass that I became a sidekick to all of the western heroes of television. A loyal follower of The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers and Sky King.  I kind of had feelings for Sky's pretty niece, Penny.  Davy Crockett came to the big screen too, but was always more welcomed by kids who sat two feet from the magic box in the living room.

I was there to assist for Jim Bowie, Wyatt Earp, Maverick, Sugarfoot and of course… El Zorro.

My Grandfather owned a ranch in Colorado, wore a Stetson Cowboy Hat, hand tooled western boots and was permanently disabled by a fall from a horse while herding cattle. Not only that…my brother, Jack, was a rancher on that very spread near Limon, Colorado. I was a NATURAL sidekick with all of that family history to back me up. I had my official Davy Crockett outfit, holster, chaps, six shooters, trusty lasso and a full array of associated gear. They needed me…and I was there to serve.

The truth is that there were PLENTY of bad guys and renegade Indians all OVER the North Side of Danville. They lurked in the side yard, behind the carport and under the basement stairs.  My home and my family had to have someone to protect them. My motto became, just like Palladin, "Have Gun, Will Travel". It was a wild time to be alive back in the 1950s.

Our Frontier Home in Danville, Illinois in 1956

That great big Magnavox made for terrific sleepovers with friends. We would gather around the TV and watch for hours on end. Kids who were older and probably would never have given me the time of day stopped by. My favorite drop-ins were The Cooke boys. J.D. Cooke was our trustworthy and loyal paperboy. He was “a big kid” probably a real teenager. He, and later his brother Allen, seemed to adjust their route to end up at our house. Lots of evenings, after delivering The Danville Commercial-News, JD or Allen would plop down in front of the TV with me to watch Popeye and Sheriff Sid. This was a big honor for me. Wow! Big kids! Sometimes one of the guys would drop off Joe, who was in my grade at Edison Grade School and then pick him up at the end of the route (staying for awhile themselves). Mrs. Cooke would usually have to call and remind them that dinner was ready and to come home. Joe and I would become life-long friends.

TV created two new command lines from parents to kids that are still in use today (and will probably never die).  They created a friction between generations that probably set up the whole revolution thing of the 60's.  They were "Turn that thing down!" and "Turn that thing off!"  There were sometimes expletives that went along with the words and often followed by phrases such as "...and go outside!" or "...and do your homework!".  No matter how many excuses, gnashing of teeth or whining came from us the result was always the same.  The miraculous electronic friend was silent.

Stay tuned for Part Three!

King Of The Wild Frontier ~ Part One

I took a month off from writing.  It was a good vacation.  This first entry is nostalgic.  It's all about growing up in the first generation of television and coming of age during the sixties.  It is a personal memoir that many of my age will appreciate.  Times have changed for sure.  I hope that you enjoy this multiple part story.  BJ

One thing is certain. TV belongs to us. It was a gift proudly and lovingly given to the children of The Greatest Generation.  Those of you who know television as hundreds of channels with movies, sports, and a wide variety of just-about-everything are getting a souped up version that is almost unbelievable to us.  We, the inventors of more-is-better, are glad that you have TIVO, multiple remote controls and 3D-HD.  But let me tell you about how it all came your way.  The journey was magnificent.

It had been a long time comin’ for most of us who lived in the vast Midwestern USA dotted with few large cities. The FCC had frozen us out from 1948 to 1953 so that none of the visions of Ed Sullivan, The Original Amateur Hour, Howdy Doody or Uncle Milty could miraculously travel trough the air, find our antenna towers, boosters and rabbit ears to the awaiting Television Set. No sir. Not in places like Danville, Illinois. We got to see the new magic when we went up to Chicago. Man Oh Man. Even at three years of age I could appreciate the excitement about this thing. Everyone wanted one. Our next-door-neighbor, John Bookwalter couldn’t wait and got a set in 1952 at Christmas. By Spring of 1953 they had constructed a huge tower at the side of the house. Lots of fancy boosters and amplifiers according to John. The set was big with a little green screen. The closest stations were in Indianapolis and Chicago so my Dad was more than skeptical. Most of the neighborhood gathered at their house when the set got turned on for the first time. All you could really see was snow. There was an electric rotator on the antenna that kept moving it a degree or two at a time. Then, all of a sudden you could make it out…A TEST PATTERN! Everyone seemed really impressed. Then there was some more snow and what appeared to be a boxing ring. Sure enough! There was sound. It was snow. No. Fights. A little more adjustment. People gasped and cheered. It was The Friday Night Fights…Look Sharp To Be Sharp. Wow. Not much was really seen but snow. Aunt Wilma Bookwalter made her famous fudge. People drank a lot of cocktails. Dad vowed not to get a TV until you could actually see a picture. Listen…I can remember all of that and I was only two and a half. Anyway…it was 1953 and the dye was cast.

Life Before TV...I was already saddled up

Mr. Magin at WDAN Channel 24 made it all possible..,

Little did I know that his kid would be my best friend five years later

(and for the rest of my life)

We got our first TV from Santa on the next Christmas in 1953. It was a Magnavox Embassy. All appliance name brands were VERY important in those days. People often referred to their new shiny electronic wonder with special emphasis on its’ name…”The electric range has a double oven…It’s Fridgidaire by the way” might elicit a response such as “Oh my, I hear they have an automatic clock that turns the oven on. We have a Philco…It has the biggest widest oven you know.” Anyway, The Embassy came to us with thrilling chromatic realism. It had the television, a phonograph that played LP, Standard or even 45 RPM records, AND a genuine AM FM and short wave radio…all with three speakers for perfect sound reproduction. The Magnavox had a sleek mahogany console with doors that closed to hide the huge 24” screen, radio and dials. Those doors were rarely closed let me tell you. The people at Thomas Music sold us ours and came over to install it. Dad had an even bigger TV tower with boosters and automatic rotor with rotator controller. The tower was at least 5000 feet high. It was sunk in concrete at the side of the house near the window. You could easily climb the thing without fear and get right out on the roof. Unfortunately, a major ice storm took out much of the tower and antenna. It was replaced by the VEERRY MODERN rooftop antenna that was capable of UHF and VHF reception. Safer too...considering the habitation of future adventurers and renegades that inhabited the area.

1954 ~ In front of The Magnavox

Test Pattern…We saw a LOT of these

For me…it all started in December 1954 with Davy Crockett (Fess Parker) , King of The Wild Frontier and best friend Georgie Russell (Buddy Ebsen) search for Indians that had assaulted a military outpost. They fought skirmishes under the command of Andy Jackson. Along the way Davy kills a bear using just his knife. Davy has to fight the Indian chief to save the life of his friend and to keep the frontier safe. My first record (played on the phonograph located conveniently above the radio in the TV console) was the Davy Crockett theme song. But Davy was leading up to something even bigger.

July 17, 1955 was the grand opening of Disneyland. The pre-opening show was on July 13. It was a regular TV extravaganza. All of us in kiddom had been prepped for NINE MONTHS. We had been watching the Disneyland TV show since October 1954. There was a lot of Mickey Mouse stuff, Treasure Island and cartoons to start out with on the show but mostly the whole thing was a promotion for the BIG DAY. Nothing and nobody prepped it better than Davy Crockett. It was the most important event in the world. We met Annette Funicello and Bobby Burgess for the first time. The Mousekateers were in perfect form along with Fess Parker himself, Buddy Espsen, Ronald Reagan, Art Linkletter and everybody-who-was-anybody including our host and creator extraordinaire, Walt Disney. They even had Frank Sinatra and people like that for the adults who were watching. After all…they were the ones who might actually TAKE us to Disneyland.

July 13, 1955

Davy Crockett and Disneyland Come To Life

I Become A Frontier Indian Fighter

Nothing would ever be the same.  Pandora's Box was open compliments of good ole Walt Disney...and we were hooked.  The world was being delivered to our living rooms in glorious, fuzzy black and white. 

Stay tuned...there's more to come...and now for a word from our sponsors!

Don't Worry, Don't Hurry & Don't Hate

Roy Jones 90th Birthday surrounded by his family

Don’t Worry! Don’t Hurry! And Don’t Hate! These words have been touchstones for me throughout my life. I heard them first when I was a little boy from the lips of my grandfather, Roy H. Jones. Grand Dad was a man of the ages. He was born in 1875 (the year before both the birth his beloved Chicago Cubs and the Battle of The Little Bighorn or Custer’s Last Stand). His lifetime spanned almost 100 years. During that time Roy saw the world transformed from one in which he worked behind a horse drawn hay wagon at age eight to one in which humans walked on the moon when he was 94. Cars, Airplanes, Indoor Plumbing, Electric lights, World Wars and most everything else happened in between. Very few things remained the same (except perhaps the lovable losers at Wrigley Field). He affected the lives of many, many people. That motto, “Don’t Worry! Don’t Hurry! And Don’t Hate!” was what he lived by. It was his guiding principle, his ideal. It helped him live his life as a farmer, a teacher, a businessman, a husband, a parent (grandparent, great grandparent, great-great grandparent), and a community leader. It saw him through the Great Depression in which he lost his fortune, the death of his mother and father, wife, two children, the death of grandchildren and the murder of a grandchild as well as countless other heart aches. It was his guide in gaining riches, influence and political authority. He passed those words along in what he said and in what he did. Most of all, Don’t Worry! Don’t Hurry! And Don’t Hate!, was the mantra of sorts that led him to his spiritual center. It was the place that he went to for perspective. He was a deeply spiritual person. Roy attended church services at the Methodist Church in Monticello, Illinois all of his life. Admittedly, Sundays sometimes found him at his office with some of “the boys” playing a friendly game of poker or gin rummy. But his spirituality went way beyond the doors of the church. He was the most positive person I have ever met. He radiated love, compassion, confidence and a good natured sense of humor. The question that I have asked myself over and over was “How the hell did he do it?” The world can be a pretty tough place with a pretty tough crowd. How do you stay centered with all of the noise and turmoil and demands of our lives?

There never seems to be enough time. I believe that this problem of time plagues us today…perhaps more than any time in history. We seem to be victims of it, really. From our waking to our falling asleep we are in a kind of battle with time. Determined to win and destined to lose. There is either not enough of it or there is too much of it. It moves too slowly or quickly. Our competitive system demands that we not only succeed at something but that we are constantly accountable. Time is the marker by which we determine how well we are doing against these provisos. Many of us live our lives filled with the exceptional stress that accompanies such an existence. We feel that we are only present and surviving. When will there be time for me and for the ones that I love? Where is the fulfillment that I desire? What is the purpose of it all?

I have the daily experience of encountering people who carry cell phones and lap tops with them wherever they go. I must confess that, at times, I have been one of them. We stand in line at the market and hear cellular beeps everywhere. They are ringing and chiming in movies, at ball games, concerts and even at church. This is a recent encounter that I had: 

A solitary person sits at a table at his favorite restaurant pecking away at the computer. Abruptly, the cell phone goes off. “Hi Tom what’s up?” (He knows who it is already of course because of the caller ID feature). “I’m working on it right now, boss.” (He has probably already put in eleven hours at the office). “I can’t get on line at this restaurant. No WIFI.” (He listens for a minute as his entrée arrives). “Sure I can adjust to that deadline. I’ll head back to the office right now and finish it off tonight.” (He asks for a Doggie Bag and leaves).

Do we really have such a desire and need for security, money or power? I hope not. We are attempting to escape in the name of survival. We do not want to feel the unpleasant feelings of fear, loneliness, sadness, shame and frustration (among others). Our excessive use of alcohol and other drugs is an indicator of this truth. We are seeking comfort and relief. The alleviation that we are pursuing is attainable. We do not have to run away from the world and the culture in which we live. On the contrary! The goal is to say YES to life with all of its pain and all of its joy. In order to do this we must participate in it fully.

The stressors and difficulties that were just mentioned as well as the ability to say YES are, in fact, spiritual issues. The good news is that you already have the spiritual answers. You can achieve emotional and spiritual peace in an insecure world. There is a way to stop competing with time. There is a way to follow your own program for living. Even in the face of war and terrorism, a volatile economy and a worsening ecology we can live in harmony and serenity, live without worry and hate. We can be happy. We can stand to be vulnerable. We can find acceptance within ourselves and with our God. The rewards are immense. Just ask Roy Jones, “Don’t Worry! Don’t Hurry! And Don’t Hate!” Life is good!

The Mystery of Hard Times

There is a mysteriousness that surrounds the interruption of our plans and visions.  It has been said that this mystery is the doorway to all understanding.  One day everything seems to be going according to the script that we have written and then, out of the blue, things turn upside down.  Jobs are lost, health situations become problematic, losses occur.  Life has taken us to places we didn’t want to go. John makes scriptural reference to this when he quotes Jesus as saying "I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go."  None-the-less, it makes us feel as if something has gone wrong.  We must have made a mistake somewhere along the line. Perhaps we are being punished for something.  It is acutally sometimes the only way that we can be taken the different place.  There are reasons that go furhter than our own ability to reason. These hard knocks and trials are designed to deepen our experience of life.

Often it takes something major to wake us up. It is loss of control more than anything else that humbles us and enables us to see the big picture. It reminds us that what we know and understand is a small fraction of the great mystery of our existence.  The key to the understanding lies in what we do not know. This awareness broadens us as we release our resistance to reality. Joy exists within us independently of whether things go our way or not. We can trust that we will find that joy if we are willing to surrender to the situation. It is a matter of allowing our difficulties to deepen our understanding of life rather than leading us to despair.  We will emerge transformed, braver and more confident for having moved through the darkness.

Wounded Healers

Lighthouse at Hillsboro Inlet, Pompano Beach, Florida

It is impossible to go through life without suffering. Henri Nouwen once said that "When our wounds cease to be a source of shame and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.” We are scarred by losses, disappointments, cruelty and a variety of tragic experiences. The result can be as devastating as the wounding itself. We find ourselves closed off from each other, isolated in our pain or filled with resentment. Some of us turn to the numbing effects of drugs and alcohol for relief. Time does not heal. It is almost impossible to forget or to go on as if nothing happened.

We each have the ability to rise above the issues of pain and shame. There are many people who are testimonies of inspiration. Lance Armstrong, diagnosed with life threatening cancer, was determined to overcome it.  He continued to win cycling tournaments and is a tireless fundraiser for others with the disease through his LIVESTRONG foundation. Bill Wilson, a failed Wall Street broker, turned into a hopeless drunk.  He was inspired in his darkness and created Alcoholics Anonymous.  Millions around the world have been saved through his example.  These men, like so many people, became teachers who have empowered others to trust themselves to go beyond the pain. We call them wounded healers.

The wounded healer is a beacon of hope.  Those who suffer are able to see a flicker of light from the distant lighthouse.  The healer represents the possibility that things can actually work out.  Their willing hand, guidance and encouragement has meaning because of their common experience and solidarity with us.  The message becomes a clear one. If I can survive this...so can you.  A transformation takes place.

Suffering and illness do not have to define us in a negative way. Making the wound visible allows us to become a source of wisdom, healing power and an inspiration to others.

Independence Day ~ Coming Home

Joan French Home in Peoria

There are so many good memories that surround the 4th of July that it has the feeling of coming back home.  We take time off from work-a-day life in anticipation of something spectacular.  Families gathering at reunions, grills firing up, baseball games, trips to national parks, vacations and picnics are just some of the activities that surround our national birthday celebration.  The fireworks from Washington, DC to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Peoria, Illinois, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and San Francisco, California spread "the rockets red glare" across the skies of America.

2009 Fireworks in Peoria, Illinois

The nostalgic sense of coming back happens regardless of the things that we do on Independence Day.   We leave home in one way or another by pursing our dreams and fortunes.  We go out on our own, fulfilling obligations, succeeding and failing in our many endeavors.  This process does not require moving or running away from where we are born. It happens even when we stay put in the place of our birth. There comes a longing for home, that which we have experienced in the distant and not-so-distant past. We want to be welcomed by loved ones without a need for explanations or excuses. We want to be honored guests at a party that are embraced by the happiness of being seen again. Much of this seems to be realized and gained on the Fourth of July.

I was in Peoria, Illinois last year among my extended Jones family. All of the first cousins and many of their spouses, children and grandchildren came together for a reunion in celebration of our eldest cousin’s 80th birthday. There was a steam boat trip up the Illinois River, big parties, a trip to the Wildlife Prairie Park, fireworks and little gatherings of kinfolk for several days. It reminded me of what is really important. I had the undeniable sense of being home even though Peoria was never a place where I lived.

Wildlife Prairie Park

We have much for which to be thankful. The founders of our country set up a dynamic system of freedom that allows us to have such strong feelings of home, connection and patriotism. There is no other place on earth that has such a celebration.  Disgruntled people on the extreme right or left of the political spectrum can put aside their quarrels with the knowledge that our virtues far outweigh our shortcomings. It is the most exceptional culture and form of government that has ever been. We should never take it for granted. It is our country. We are welcomed back home from sea to shining sea every 4th of July.

French Family at Peoria Reunion

The Hero's Journey

The great legends, mythology, and scripture are told and retold throughout the ages by storytellers and authors. There is always a consistent theme. The hero finds him or herself in a situation that is unlike any other. Life as it was is no more. Overcoming or succumbing to the problem will result in a change for not only the unsuspecting hero but for the community at large as well. A young hunter finds a mysterious feather and ends up in perilous struggles until he overthrows evil and marries the woman of his dreams. Moses discovers his true identity and leads his people to freedom. Jesus goes into the desert and emerges with the message of salvation. Jason goes on a quest for the Golden Fleece and becomes king. Cinderella finds her fingerprints in the ashes of the hearth and becomes the princess. The tales can be found in practically every novel ever written or film produced. They are what we want to read, see and hear. The stories are told and endure so that we can identify and follow the hero path in our personal lives.

The work of Joseph Campbell has been compelling to me. He made the point that everyone is the hero of their own story. It is being written from the time of our birth until we draw our last breath. The acceptance of this fact, whether we choose to participate and engage life with that knowledge, is relevant only to the extent that we meaningfully play the part. Sitting on the side of the road and waiting for something to happen is as much a tale as crossing the threshold and slaying our personal dragons. Either way, it is the process that underlies any growth, learning, and self discovery.

The idea is to accomplish something that transcends the ordinary. These situations present themselves in every challenge or change that happens in our lives. Every love found or lost, every birth and death presents the prospect of transformation. Every move to a new school, job, or town opens the chance to stop being what we were and to start becoming who we can be. Every situation which confronts us with something new or which forces us to re-evaluate ourselves presents us with possibilities for insight and growth.

We can own the fact that we are the hero and, in so doing, will discover that we have defined ourselves too narrowly. There will be a transformation in our behavior. We find ourselves with a new perspective and skills needed to face challenges that present themselves. We begin to act with honor and gain the wisdom to guide others through their own challenges. There is no time like the present to seize the opportunity. This is the way to a life filled with flavor and adventure.

Loneliness

There is a song by John Prine which explores the intensity of loneliness like few others that I have heard.  It is called "Hello In There".  The lyrics of the chorus are compelling:

Ya' know that old trees just grow stronger,

And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry day.

Old people just grow lonesome

Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello."

Loneliness is certainly not experienced only by the elderly. We all know how it feels.  It is a sense that we are cut off from the rest of the world. Loneliness is unchosen and unwanted solitude which can lead to depression and hopelessness.  It becomes intolerable.

We may be tempted to feel that our bond of belonging has shredded or snapped after a painful rejection or a loved one’s death. Our heart breaks and we feel ourselves falling into a vastness too frightening to enter. There is a fear that the love we have lost came only from that source.

The truth is that we have always belonged to something greater than ourselves. We have always been loved. 

Loneliness disappears when we begin to accept each sorrow as a part of life that will come and go. It will leave us when we extend our hand to another. We will become connected by exploring new alternatives and paths to relationships.  Always remember that you are fully loved at all times and in all places.  It extends beyond the difficulties of here and now or the limits of time and space.

So if you're walking down the street sometime

And spot some hollow ancient eyes,

Please don't just pass 'em by and stare

As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello"