LOCUSTS INVADE WALL STREET
By Leroy Garrett, Denton, Texas

Our guest essayist today has been a favorite author of our family for years. We receive his regular essays in his ongoing series, "Soldier On" and this one first attracted the attention of my friend Bob Tinsky and he urged me to consider using it in this website. After reading Leroy Garrett's essay it was not a difficult decision to write Leroy and ask his permission to publish this essay on our website. We urge you to read this essay and come to your own conclusions. THE WORDWRIGHT

Because of a devastating invasion of locusts a prophet emerged in Israel who saw the devastation as the judgment of God, and called upon the nation to repent of its sins. "Rend your hearts and not your garments," he urged, as he called upon them to "Wake up" to what was happening to them.

The prophet was Joel, concerning whom we know nothing except that the locust invasion, which had destroyed his own vines and fig trees, got his attention. He saw in it "the Day of the Lord," which was to bring promises as well as judgment. We remember Joel as the prophet that Peter quoted on the day of Pentecost -- on the birthday of the church -- to the effect that God's spirit was to be poured out on all nations.

Joel has its purple passages. A church group visiting President Truman sought to dissuade him from military action in Korea by quoting the Bible -- Isaiah 2:4 and Micah 4:3-- to the effect that nations are to beat theirs swords into pruning hooks and their spears into plowshares. The President surprised them by pointing out that the Bible also says, "Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruning hooks into spears." The President was quoting Joel 3:9.

Truman may not have understood that Joel was giving the earlier prophets an ironic twist. In summoning the nations to a holy war in the valley of Jehoshaphat God was bringing them to judgment for their warmongering. There they were in the valley before God caught red handed with their military hardware that had been instruments of peace.

Joel believed that the locusts were sent by God as a wake-up call to Israel. He has the Lord saying of the locusts, "my great army which I sent to invade you" (Joel 2:25). The destruction was so severe that "The beasts of the field also cry out to you, for the water brooks are dried up, and the fire has devoured the open pastures" (Joel 1:20).

It was so bad that the priests were called on "to weep between the porch and the altar" (Joel 2:17). His descriptions are graphic: the fields and the fig trees are wasted, the grain is ruined, the oil fails, the land mourns, the people's faces have turned white for want of food.

The prophet's call for repentance assures the people that the God they have offended is "gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness," (Joel 2:13) and that he will forgive. Unlike the indifference usually shown such prophets, the people repented. Joel and Jonah, who to his dismay elicited repentance from Nineveh, may stand alone among the Old Testament prophets, in attaining such results.

This led Joel to speak of a blessed future for Israel, which included the equality of women: There would be no gender test in the outpouring of God's spirit (Joel 2:29). The apostle Peter indicates that this began to be fulfilled at Pentecost (Acts 2:16), but when it comes to "no gender test" we are not there yet here in the 21st century.

But Joel could see a glorious God's tomorrow in an unknown future. A "Day" will come in which "the mountains will run with new wine and the hills will flow with milk" (Joel 4:18). The dark and dreadful locusts gave way to a bright and living hope.

If there is a Joel among us today he might well see the economic meltdown on Wall Street as an invasion of locusts sent from God. The "locusts" would be the greedy corporate bosses at the likes of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and the self-serving politicians in Washington, along with all those who lusted for ill-gained wealth in the housing industry.

The editor of U S. News, who describes the present crisis as "the worst destruction of wealth in our history," says there are 12 million homes across America that are worth less than their mortgage, and many are worth far less. Should half of these drop the keys in a box and walk, the loss would reach the trillions and undermine any effort to save the banking industry.

Greed is behind it all -- greed for an easy buck, and greed for a luxurious home that was beyond one's ability to pay for. And a lot of innocent people have been badly hurt by it all, and there are likely to be many more.

So, as bad as things are, it could get worse. I have asked several friends, all of whom are "comfortable" (a euphemism for rich), how they have fared during the crunch. They have all lost a lot of money. But many of us are so wealthy that we can lose large sums and still be well off. We are so spoiled by prosperity that it takes lots of locusts to get our attention!

I am not saying that God causes nations to suffer such tragedies as 9-11 or a financial meltdown, but I do believe that when such things come -- in whatever way they come -- he uses them in an effort to get our attention. They can be a call for repentance. But we have to be aware of our sins and of our need for God's saving justice before we can heed the call to reform our lives.

That was Joel's advantage. The locusts kept coming -- the prophet was aware of different kinds -- until there was nothing left. Man's extremity is God's opportunity. Repentance toward God has a chance when we have nowhere else to turn. It is when the sky grows dark from a cloud of locusts that our ears are opened to a message of hope.

If we do not heed these wake-up calls to take the weightier matters of life more seriously -- and to come to terms with the price of greed -- this may be but the beginning of our woes. Joel's cry, "Rend your hearts!" is a good place for us to start.

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THANK YOU LEROY! There is a passage tucked away in one of the smaller books of the New Testament, I John 2:15-17, which in the King James Version has been a Scripture I have memorized when a divine axiom is called for; however the Jerusalem Bible translation is a fitting translation to quote at this time: "You must not love this passing world or anything that is in the world. The love of the Father cannot be in any man who loves the world, because nothing the world has to offer - the sensual body, the lustful eye, pride in possessions - could ever come from the Father but only from the world; and the world, with all its craves for, is coming to an end; but anyone who does the will of God remains for ever." THE WORDWRIGHT

You may read more of Leroy Garrett's essays by visiting his website: www.leroygarrett.org
Click on "Soldier On."

Posted by Bill Venrick at 9:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

LIGHTENING UP A BIT - During the past few days, postings of some heavy subjects caused me to sort through essays that my friend Bob Tinsky wrote which have been on file for future use. Now that the election is over, and the two somber essays have been published, let's go back to yesteryear and read about how my friend, who is now 82, looks back to when he was 8 or 9 with his first roller skates. Since Bob has awakened some of my memory cells, I have decided to add my "Chapter Two" to an essay Bob sent a few months ago. THE WORDWRIGHT

Two old-timers tell about their roller skating days
by Robert J. Tinsky and Bill Venrick

Chapter One - by Bob Tinsky

I must have been about 8 or 9 years old when I got my first set of roller skates.  I don't remember when or why my parents got them for me. Probably they were one of my birthday presents since my birthday is in the spring.

Those roller skates did not come already attached to a pair of shoes. Instead they were metal wheels that I had to strap to my shoes.  Evidently it didn't take me too long to master the use of those wheels. I have some fond memories of a group of us kids going up and down the streets on our roller skates.  One drive way that we were particularly fond of was on a small incline with lines in the concrete.  Going down that drive way gave a pleasant tickling sensation to our feet.

When I was in my early teens I made the transition to skating in a roller skating rink.  It did not take me long to learn that skating in a rink was entirely different from skating on the streets.  It took me a few tumbles before I finally mastered the art of whirling around on those wooden wheels. 

The skates we had in those days had this similarity to the ones we used on the street--they did not come attached to shoes.  We had to use a special key to clamp them to our shoes.  If we didn't get them clamped on tightly enough, they would come off in the middle of the rink.  It was a big improvement when we could get shoes with the wheels already attached to them. 

It was quite the popular thing for many years for church youth groups to rent a roller skating rink for an evening.  In some areas where I ministered we had monthly skating parties.  Before the evening was over everyone was asked to stop skating for a few minutes while someone in charge would lead in a short devotional period.

The first roller skates were invented in the 1700's by an unknown Dutchman who wanted to ice skate in the summer time.  He accomplished this by nailing wooden spools to strips of wood and attaching them to his shoes.   The first skates with metal wheels were invented in 1760 by an Englishman by the name of Joseph Merlin.  Shortly after creating his shoes with metal wheels he decided to make a grand entrance to a masquerade party wearing his new invention.  He had one problem--he did not know how to stop on those wheels and crashed into a very expensive wall-length mirror.  We can humorously say, "That was the way he crashed into society."

Over the years many important improvements have been made in roller skates.  We have gone from wooden to metal to plastic wheels. I went on-line to one large box store and found out that they offered almost 600 different varieties of skates.

I think I could still maneuver my way around a skating rink with four wheels under each shoe.  I am not sure, however, how I would fare with the modern skates with five or six wheels in a straight line under the shoe.  At my advanced age, I doubt very seriously that I am going to try.  But then, I just might.

Chapter Two - by Bill Venrick

Bob has written about skating on the streets as well as the rink but to be specific, roller rink skating was a bit different because you could not use your "metal-wheel street skates" on the wooden floors of the roller rink. I too was among the youthful crowd who enjoyed going to the roller rink and getting a special kind of skates clamped to your shoes. I especially remember when the "skate boys" (the employees of the skating rink) would get a bit over-zealous and wind that crank a bit tight and your shoe soles almost started to fold under!

Nothing could beat the rush of excitement of being on wheels going in a cooperative ring with a hundred other kids around a huge room that had special hardwood floors that were especially conditioned and serviced to withstand such abuse of thousands of wooden wheels making paths that certainly must have created micro indentations in the wooden floors. We never gave that a thought though because it was such a thrill to do all sorts of special rink feats like crossing your leg over the other as you made the turns - and as Bob said, a spill would occasionally remind you that such feats needed a little more practice. There were always the regulars, who must have "lived there" because they could skate backwards and do all the sashaying possible only by the best roller rink regulars that made us ogle with envy.

As you may recall, those of you are enjoying this trip back memory lane, during the evening of skating, an organist (as it was in our skating rink) would be playing throughout the evening. At a specified time time in the evening, it was announced (on the speaker. system) we would reverse our direction and instead of skating clockwise, we would all change, and begin skating counter-clockwise. This little shift in direction made you have to relearn that cross-over trick with the legs and ooops, down we would go until we got used to that technique of crossing one leg with the other.

I think the biggest thrill of all was when we finished skating for the night, they would un-clamp those special skates from our street-shoes and as you walked out of the rink you felt like you still had the skates on and you were walking on about three inches of air.

What Bob wrote about the origin of roller skates was news to me but when he mentioned ice skates I was immediately reminded of my father (who was born in 1901) telling about his winter fun. Winters must have been a lot different in those days; no great efforts were made to clear the streets or use salt and mobile snowplows - of course, there were not that many cars then. Dad told me about skating several miles "up the river" or "up the canals" (the canal transportation system had been phased out just decades before) and those ice covered water-ways were just the ticket for a day's enjoyment of ice skating. As mentioned about roller skates being attached to your street shoes, that is the way most ice skates were then too (some exceptions may have existed for the rich kids) and you used a special key to clamp your ice skates onto your shoes or or used leather straps with buckles.

As with roller skates first being clamped onto street shoes, and later a special shoe was developed onto which the skates were attached to the shoe, the ice skates went through a similar evolution. Reading further in the Wikipedia link, below, you will discover a common thread of circumstance about "how things got started" and ice skating originally was enjoyed as early as 1000 BC. Many years later when folk in the Netherlands introduced the sport to the British aristocracy it was soon enjoyed by all walks of life. However, and this was a surprise to me, in other places early on ice skating was limited to members of the upper classes. Humm? Sounds a bit familiar to certain sports or entertainment that only the elite consider themselves as proper participants - nah, that couldn't be, could it???

Pleasant memories to you all -- THE WORDWRIGHT

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Further resources and a necessary caveat (regarding dangers of ice skating) can be found by visiting Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Key words - ICE SKATING

Posted by Bill Venrick at 9:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

When Widowhood Strikes
by June T. Bassemir

Our guest essayist is June T. Bassemir, of Long Island, New York. We are fortunate to have in our group of friends and writers, ladies who have experienced life and are willing to share the difficult times. As our English friend wrote of her widowhood, June tells us about her experiences.

Something must be said about becoming a Senior Citizen - especially if one is a widow; perhaps, for a man it isn't so hard but for a woman, it seems she has three strikes against her: her gender, being the sole decision maker, and her age. 
 
Once widowhood strikes, she has to be the captain of the ship.  Moving through the water, keeping things afloat can sometimes be discouraging.  It doesn't matter too much if the decision centers on a car repair; a bathroom remodel or some other household maintenance job; quite often it seems we are fair game to be taken advantage of.
 
Take the case of Mrs. "X" who unbeknownst to the local quick oil change man, had in her earlier years restored a 1931 Model A Ford.  She knew the need for changing oil at regular intervals and how the internal combustion of an engine worked.  The price for this simple maintenance of having the oil changed; was an advertised bargain and so the work was agreed upon.  Mrs. "X" retired to the waiting room and was engrossed in a magazine when the mechanic appeared at her side.  He explained that in changing the oil, they found metal filings and he recommended they do some expensive work on the engine immediately.- costing much more than thee times what she expected.  She jumped up and said.  "Oh, really?.. metal filings?  Can you show them to me?"   Whereupon he disappeared only to reenter within minutes and said. "Oh, I'm sorry the other man emptied the oil container into the drum."  Upon reflection, Mrs. "X" decided to go ahead with just the oil change and no such trouble with that car ever appeared.   That young man thought she could be hoodwinked into paying for an unnecessary job.  No so, with Mrs. "X".
 
Not only manual laborers try to take advantage of us.  How about the Financial Advisor of a large corporation who billed an elderly client $100.00 which appeared on her statement without any notation.  When she questioned it, she really didn't understand his explanation but was too intimidated to question him further.  But her daughter called and found out it was a charge for a credit card that she didn't have....but he told the daughter "she COULD have one if she wanted too."  How fair is that????
 
Why do younger people and I am speaking mostly of men, seem to think that just because we have been around the sun a few more times then they have, that we have lost our sense of reason and revelation?  Whatever the situation, most of us do have the ability to sense when the wool is coming down over our eyes.  Don't try and befuddle us with improbably explanations of why the car won't start, or why the newly planted bushes planted last year by your company didn't live; or how the electric wire anchored  on the roof suddenly started to fray and spark as you were power washing that section.
 
Please, give us just as much respect as you would a man of your own age.   
If a man hired you to do the landscaping of his house would you try and buffalo him into believing plants would grow over an old existing hidden asphalt driveway, just by digging a small hole through the topsoil and the asphalt for such a plant?   Of course not!   He would tell you..."Under no such circumstances, plant things there....get rid of all the asphalt first."  So, please don't expect us, as "old women" to be so dumb as to fall for that! The underground economy (not paying sales tax), is a tempting thing.  However, if you pay cash for some work without paying the tax, and the work is done poorly or you have some complaint with it, don't be surprised when you try to get some compensation.  It won't happen.  It will be like standing on a two legged stool.  Bite the bullet and pay the tax.

If on the other hand a worker or contractor has done more than is required of him, make sure that they know you appreciate it. That form of gratitude does not always have to be a monetary one.  Think of unique ways of showing some kindness.  Maybe you can give a handcrafted item or a useful valuable article you no longer need or even a piece of pie you just baked.  We all like to be appreciated.
 
And lastly ladies, the next time you get a quote for work to be done, stand up and have it thoroughly explained.  If there is something you don't understand, ask to have it explained again.  Resist being little lambs marching to the slaughter house.  Question what the salesman, contractor or worker tells you and say. "That's very interesting.  I'll speak to my son about that and let you know."....even if you don't have a son... and IF you don't have a son, you can borrow mine.

June T. Bassemir

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  Once again we have been allowed to journey through another person's life to see that "other people" have similar or perhaps even greater problems than ours, but isn't that one of the reasons we have learned to communicate with others? Mere words are hardly the solution to problems as we experience them, but as for me I have grown to appreciate quotes or axioms that we can hide in our hearts and pull them out when needed. The following quotes are offered as equipment or tools to use in the quest of life:

"That which does not kill us, makes us stronger"
--- Friedrich Nietzsche

"Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."
-- George Bernard Shaw

"We must learn to live above life's losses."
-- Anon

THANK YOU JUNE -- THE WORDWRIGHT

Posted by Bill Venrick at 3:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

ECHOES FROM THE HILLS
By Bill & Jean Venrick
Copyrighted 2008

THE BARBER SCHOOL at Fairfield School for Boys
(Throughout the text, Fairfield School for Boys may be referred to as "FSB" or the "BIS" which are acronyms for the official name of the school through the years.)

Having a bad hair day does not just apply to the feminine gender. Ever since 1907* the BIS has made it a point to be sure their boys "look good". "Looking good" makes a person "feel good about themselves", at least this is the opinion of the popular TV personality, Carol Burnett. Carol Burnett tells the story about trying to interest her daughters in dressing up and going some place. The reaction she received was less than cordial and she temporarily gave up the idea (probably waiting for an inspiration that was yet to come). Sometime later Carol knocked on one of her daughter's door and suggested they play dress up. This little game went on for sometime until one of the girls said, "Let's go someplace!" Light bulb comes ON! The daughter, who only minutes before had no interest in going someplace, now that she looked nice, wanted to go someplace. So, embedded deep into the minds of the supervisors of the Boys Industrial School (BIS) was the need to provide a means, be it ever so small as a haircut, errant boys could "feel good" or "look good. Albert Einstein could have had these principles in mind when he said, "Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character." *Before 1907 the Family Officer was the official barber for the boys.

The Barber School was the only educational program that the teachers and instructors could be guaranteed they would have a dependable group of boys they could teach. You see, the average stay (or term) of boys assigned to the institution was about 7 months. During this time the educational needs of each boy were trying to be addressed and a state of flux was always present. Vocational programs for approximately twenty fields were in constant and continual class sessions as well as regular educational requirements such as elementary and high school. If a boy attempted to run-away, that would extend his stay (or term) and thus interrupt whatever educational program in which he was involved. A boy in the metal shop, for example, might be there only a few months, and before whatever he was in class was officially finished, he might be pardoned and "go back home" whether or not he was finished with the shop class in which he was enrolled. This scenario of change, multiplied by whatever the population was, became the only constant. Once, in a dinner meeting of some of the former employees, the teachers admitted this was the biggest disappointment they had to deal with - how many of the boys would finish their class.

The Barber School had an answer to this dilemma. Barbering is an occupation that is a bit more involved than learning how to tuck a bunch of hair into one hand and delicately clip extended hair away so the continued work would end as a good hair cut. Students of barbering, for years, would study for a year to learn much more than how to cut hair. They had to study anatomy of the head so they could determine where a specific drop of blood came from - a knowledge of the arteries, veins and nerves was a vital part of the barber's education. Classroom assignments helped the boys learn the psychological nuances of the trade as well. Mike Tharp, and his fellow instructors knew you could not train a boy to become a barber unless they could convince the boy to sign a contract that he would be willing to stay however long it would take to finish a 9-1/2 month program. In short, if a boy was only sentenced for 7 months, that means he would be signing a contract guaranteeing he would stay no less than two additional months. Any 16 year old boy with an 8th grade eduction could apply for the barber school. Immediately this developed a different breed of boys and one of the features or perks for students of the Barber Shop School would be they were classified as Honor Boys and they got to stay in the Dixon Honor Dorm. Remember the story about Carol Burnett? Give a boy or girl a reason to dress up and dressing up becomes natural.

Sure this sounds simple, and it was good for most, but occasionally one of the boys could just not stand the discipline and he would become a run-away but usually even such run-aways "came back" and honored his contract. So the concept of a guaranteed appearance in a classroom became the key to at least one of the vocational educational programs.

It almost seems strange that if this is all it took, why could it not work in the other trades, such as masonry, sheet metal, machine shop or carpentry. The answer to that problem was to work up some kind of guarantee that the boy would finish what he started. In itself, that very principle was already lacking in many of the boys - they had not finished their education, let alone finish maturing into men with character. At the beginning of a boy's decision to choose barbering as a trade, there was a 30-day Trial Program and if, at the end of this trial, he could either continue or drop out of the program. The goal of becoming a Certified Barber in the State of Ohio clearly created a different kind of academic program for some boys at the institution.

Education has become a stumbling block in our nation for years and it usually becomes a political football that boards of education kick around whenever a bond issue or levy runs out. Usually their main ploy is to use the phrase "our children". Well, truth involves the children, but how education is wrought is an entirely different matter. The concept of how to educate, unfortunately, is a consistently reoccurring issue - no doubt, for centuries. The sad fact is, for example, whenever any "new way" is developed, e.g, the "new math" popular for a while (1956-60), if a student could not grasp the concept, he grew to hate math. We have to ask, "What is so wrong with working with proven methods instead of continually dreaming up new ideas and abandoning the tested and tried methods?"

The field of education and its foibles created a virtual pathological study (of the boys) who came to the Fairfield School for Boys, regardless of the criminal reason they were there. Education in our society has been played with, adjusted, re-programmed, put in committees, you name it and it is a description of education as our academic society is seen today. T. J. Ray, a former and now retired professor of the University of Mississippi put it this way:

"Teachers are very important people. Not because they have degrees, appointments and publications lists. Not even because they know more about their subjects than their students do. Their lives are significant because they are trusted with the sacred duty of helping others, usually younger and less experienced, to prepare for a complex adult world. Teachers are variously cantankerous, snobbish, erudite, obtuse, cynical, Socratic, or superfluous. Students are often rebellious, dense, naive, eager, and innocent. And jointly and separately they fail each other. But the primary hope for mankind rests with teachers--not with family, church, or government--with the teacher and his students. There can be no more precious moment in human existence than when a teacher leads a student to know a truth.

"Some aspects of education have gotten worse. Standardized tests have almost eliminated the need of teacher evaluation of students, and teachers spend far too much time under the shadow of those tests. Dropout rates are higher, and strange experiments are being trotted out in an effort to keep kids in school. While [this] essay was more about public education, its essence was and is applicable to the college level, where things are as bleak as in lower grade levels. In a craze to have large and larger student bodies in order to get more and more money from the State, colleges have very steadily and readily admitted people who would have been turned away not many decades ago. Now a major state university has gone so far as to admit a student who cannot read or write. That might be surprising
were it not so patently clear that the tail (athletics) has come to wag the dog (academics)."

The above comments from T. J. RAY, Professor of English at the University of Mississippi, were written in an essay he first wrote in 1975 and later revised in 2006; hence the problems and principles covered in his comments and the issues in the historical environment at the FSB Barber School are evidence that essentially, the problems that confronted Mike Tharp and the other instructors (by theory teachers at the Ohio State University). The boys at FSB were already products of a faulty educational system (in some ways). Obviously not every educator will see this issue the same way because there have always been "smart kids" and then "the rest of the kids". The real smart kids, the college bound students, have a built in drive that will not allow anything to stand in their way -- they're self-starters. But it is the average students who are affected by such educational faux pas and the average kids will struggle for years because of flawed theories. Unfortunately the aggregate of incriminating flaws in our system unmistakably points towards issues some leaders of education have simply failed to acknowledge. (Anyone needing further proof of these summations could read "The End of Education" by Neil Postman. Postman's book has a demonstrative sub-title: "Redefining the value of school". Perhaps there is some wisdom in the criticism leveled against teachers by George Bernard Shaw: "He who can, does. He who cannot, teaches." Postman further cites another caustic thought against professional educators when quoting Lewis Perelman, who argued that "modern information technologies have rendered schools entirely irrelevant, since there's now much more information available outside the classroom than inside.")

In 1964, Mike Tharp started his career at the Fairfield School for Boys (FSB); being just under 21 himself, Mike was pushing the envelope a bit but by the time he was really an apprentice-barber-instructor he was 21. (Some old-timers in Lancaster, Ohio, just might remember a red-haired barber at the Fountain Square Barber Shop [behind Kresge's] as that is where Mike was working when recruited for the FSB Barber Shop School.) There were only nine chairs in the FSB Barber Shop when Mike started but a new 15 chair barber shop was just being finished as a part of a new vocational barbering program. Union qualifications for State Barber Schools required instructors to go through an apprentice program and Mike was one of two Vocational Instructors who had to complete a four week and an eight-hour In Service Training program at the new FSB Barber Shop for two years themselves. Upon fulfilling those requirements Mr. Tharp became a certified Barber School Teacher, moving up from Vocational Instructor to Vocational Teacher. When the vocational educational program for the FSB Barber School was being updated, in classes for the instructors at Ohio State University, whose professors were using their education prowess as a lever and were insisting their principles as used in "regular" classrooms were necessary but Tharp and fellow instructors, taking the class, were able to prove the concepts by the university professor were simply not applicable in the classrooms at the FSB. These boys already had two strikes against them and the system needed to do everything in its power to teach these boys something, and that something was a viable trade in which they could officially become a part when they left the institution. Furthermore, even the principles and methods used in regular public schools were certainly not applicable when dealing with students in an institution like a reform school.

The Fairfield School for Boys had a fifteen (15) chair barber shop. Their class work was basically two hours of text book and six hours of shop work and this plan was worked out to last twelve months. The boys learned how to cut hair the same way one learns anything else - by doing it! But to become a certified barber, a specific educational program had to be followed. In the 15 years Mike Tharp and his fellow instructor Alfred Sanders were there, they worked 150 boys through the Barber School and when those 150 boys went to Columbus to take their Barber School certification test, not one failed. Ethics and integrity were being taught and yet the words themselves were not, per se, in the lesson plans of the instructors. But those boys knew by nature and life itself, that the only way they could become a barber was to do what they had to do. Unfortunately, although it served as a specific lesson in integrity, there was an incident at the FSB, when one of the instructors became involved in a plot of escape for one of the boys. This incident alone served as a certain object lesson that rules were meant for everyone--instructors as well as "the boys". This was "education in progress" and consummately that employee was fired.

At an institution where hundreds of boys were regularly shuffled through there was plenty of work for the barber students. The schedule was simple: Every three weeks, boys from each of the fifteen cottages were in the shop for a hair cut--the barber shop was busy cutting hair five days a week - employees of FSB could also get their hair cut at the shop.

Other incentives were apparent when the boys cut hair for employees of the institution. Each boy of the FSB had an account for any financial benefits they earned. The Barber Shop boys, once they became proficient in cutting hair, routinely cut employees hair and and they received tips. The pricing of a haircut had levels of financial expense tallies and whatever was left would be credited to the financial records of each boy. Any tips given to the boy were turned into the office to go into that boy's account. When the Barber Shop School boy graduated, those collective amounts were usually more than sufficient to pay for a complete Barbering Kit that was his to keep (Clippers, six combs, hair brush, two razors [straight] and a leather strop, shaving mug and brush, and a haircloth.) Some boys had enough in their special cash fund to purchase two clippers, the one basic clipper was a vibrator type and a motor-driven clipper was a bit better for some work, and all the tools of the trade were carried in a nice attache case which was their personal property when they left the institution.

It needs to be mentioned that those boys learned more than how to cut hair - they were introduced to a level of loyalty and integrity many of the boys never had a chance to learn. An incident was related about a boy not wanting his hair cut and the instructor was called over by the student barber. The instructor immediately took charge by taking the clippers from the student barber, ran them through the unkept hair and said, "He needs one now." As the instructor turned away, the boy jumped out of the chair and attempted to strike the instructor from behind and the student barber simply bopped the "customer" on the head with his clippers! Naturally there was talk and and a "write up" for the student barber but the instructor straightened out the matter. The student barber obviously was also learning structures of loyalty, and conformity to rules and regulations. No lessons had been taught for such infractions. The barber school curriculum did not include this kind of infraction so the student's reaction was totally in line with the old-fashioned "respect for authority", which, for the most part, has been totally replaced with "casual concern for discipline" in most classrooms as well as lack of respect for teachers.

After nine and one-half months (or 1500 hours) in Barber School, those boys had a jump on their peers at the FSB--they had an Ohio State Certificate as proof they were barbers and could have a job in any barber shop in Ohio. Unfortunately some changes were made in the system later to extend the class time to 1800 hours and issues surfaced causing enrollment in the Barber School to fall.

Unique examples and levels of education were uncovered as we researched for this book. Interviewing the person who was Chief Cook in the last few years of FSB, he made a point of fact that in the kitchen, the work could not be set up in classes like the Barber School. The boys who worked in the kitchen were not there to learn how to become a cook. If they learned this lesson it was something they learned on their own, which of course, was possible but the reason for such a confined view was the kitchen crew had a regular job to do and it took many different but related fields of labor. The kitchen crew had to start at 4:00 a.m., and at approximately 6:00 that morning there would be several hundred walking through those doors to eat and everything better be ready. Certainly different from a schedule that ran all day with the Barber School where there was a regular routine to "cut hair" at a specific time throughout the day justs like a commercial barber shop has appointments. (More details about the boys who worked in the kitchen will be found in another part of the book.)

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The research and writing of of the book, "ECHOES FROM THE HILLS", by Bill & Jean Venrick, continues. Additional chapters are planned to be released as soon as they are finalized.
THE WORDWRIGHT

Posted by Bill Venrick at 6:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

By Ruth Dant, England

THE VENRICK HOUSEHOLD has enjoyed a special treat for many years as a result of Jean having an English pen-pal. My wife began writing to Ruth in 1947 and because of this dedicated exchange of letters through the years, the thoughts and family notes between an American girl and an English girl have been uniquely shared via letters. For 61 years the discipline of the "old fashioned" way of correspondence (hand written letters) has produced a sincere appreciation of each pen pal; and as life became crowded with family, for both my wife and her English friend, their correspondence settled down to an annual Christmas letter. That annual contact was sufficient excitement though in receiving a sometimes stuffed envelope with photos and nearly a dozen two-sided handwritten pages of news and notes back and forth from England and America. With the advent of e-mail, our joy has been increased many times. The article you are about to read is a very personal story by Ruth Dant as she shares the health problems and the ultimate passing of her beloved husband, Charles. Ruth wanted us to be sure to mention her UK or English nationality, and thereby "...explain the weird way of spelling we UK citizens have." The Venricks, here in America, are grateful to my wife's English friend, Ruth Dant, for deciding to share her very personal experiences. It is our hope readers of THE WORDWRIGHT will find Ruth's experiences equally interesting and informative. ###

My Husband Suffered With Depression

After nearly forty years sharing life with a husband suffering from Depression, albeit controlled for twenty-seven of those years by the drug Lithium, to hear the words "you don't have Depression any more" was such a relief. However, it was not to be, someone had got it wrong, instead shortly after the information was given he became mentally ill again, was diagnosed with manic depression and told this was a bi-polar disorder. It may, however, be better to go back to the very beginning of his illness and diagnosis so that you can more easily understand what life has been like for most of those years.

When we married, just over 53 years ago, there was no indication that my husband might one day become a victim of Depression. After living with my parents in law for 18 months we bought a small two-bedroomed house almost in the centre of Cambridge, where we lived then, and settled down to enjoying married life together in our own home. After we had been married almost 4 years our eldest son, Philip, was born in the local Maternity hospital, followed almost 2 years later by our second son, Mark, this time born at home. We enjoyed our sons as they grew up but sadly when Mark was about ten months old my husbands father died, following a spell in hospital with Clinical Depression, where they also diagnosed prostate cancer. My husband was told that, with medication, his dad could possibly survive for four to five years. This was not to be and, losing his will to live, he died in August of the year in which he was diagnosed. About three weeks before he passed away he had told me that my mother-in-law had been sectioned in her late teens as she was suffering from paranoid delusions, seeing people in the garden where there was no one, for example. This also happened again during the early part of their marriage before my husband was born, and she spent some time in a psychiatric ward, although she was not sectioned at that time. It seems, therefore, that my dear husband could have the tendency, given the right trigger, to fall victim to mental illness, since both his parents suffered from it in different ways, as did some of my father-in-law's close relatives.

About four years after my father-in-law's death I gave birth to our daughter, Joy, thus completing our family. Our family life was very happy, although with its ups and downs, Philip had started school at 5 with Mark following in the term in which he would be 5. Then, just before our daughter's third birthday, we moved into a three-bedroomed terraced house in Cherry Hinton, which before the war had been a village but was now included within the City boundary, settling in very happily to life there, joining the local Baptist Church and becoming involved in its various activities. Our daughter started school in the term in which she was 5 and our life as a family continued very happily. Philip sat for the 11+ and gained a place at the local grammar school and then at the beginning of his first year there my husband was diagnosed with Clinical or Endogenous depression (which apparently means 'from within' rather than having an external cause e.g. a death in the family). It began when he developed an abscess under one of his teeth and upon its extraction was given pencillin to prevent problems, however it was thought this could have been the 'trigger' which began his Depression problems One day, Mark's 10th birthday actually, I returned from my morning job at about 1 p.m. to find my husband and a colleague sitting in the kitchen. He had been sent home because he had had a breakdown at work and couldn't cope any more at that time. Visits to the surgery and psychiatrists followed but no firm diagnosis was made then. Shortly after this he began to think he had prostate cancer like his dad and began a circle of 'couldn't pass water because he had prostrate problems' and then wouldn't drink because 'it would make the problem worse'. He was admitted to a special psychiatric clinic which was a part of Addenbrooke's Hospital, but after only a few days there was transferred to Kent House which was in the grounds and part of the local Psychiatric Hospital called Fulbourn Hospital. If my memory is correct he was sectioned at that time and I was asked to sign a form allowing them to give him emergency ECT in order to break the circle. The reason for this ECT I was told was that he would suffer dehydration because he wasn't taking fluids and then become physically ill. He had five sessions and began to improve although now they had to find the right medication to continue the improvement.

During the next few years he had more ECT's both as an in-patient and as an out-patient, but to his credit he manfully struggled to work even though I often had to push him to get up, washed and shaved and out to his employment. There was one particular day when I followed him to make sure he actually did go in the right direction. Another time I rang his Chief Assistant to ascertain that he had actually arrived and was assured that he had. When he was well he enjoyed our family life and we had quite a few good family holidays at the seaside staying either in a caravan or other self-catering venue. As we had no car at that time we usually travelled by coach or train although one year, the boys having gone to a Scripture Union camp, my husband, daughter and myself went off to the Norfolk coast on a Moped and a Honda C50 motor bike respectively. On these occasions he seemed to be 'normal' and we were able to ignore his illness, then there were other occasions when he would be extremely difficult and either on a high, or down deep in depression when he wouldn't talk to us, or want us to talk to him. Although there were short periods when he was unable to work, because of more ECT's some in hospital and some as an outpatient, he continued to go when he was able. He was also given a different job in the laboratory where he worked at the time, which needed less concentration and he didn't need an assistant to help him with it. Eventually the funding for this particular post came to an end and no more, unfortunately, was forthcoming so he was given 'as much time as he needed' to find another job. After many job applications and refusals, he at last secured a position as Chemistry Technician at a local Independent boys school where he was able to continue, suffering only one bout of depression shortly after commencing there. During this bout they found that Lithium would keep him on an even keel, which it did once they had worked out the correct dosage, for the rest of his working life.

It had always been my husband's wish that we move into a smaller property when he retired so we began looking for a Bungalow. However, the prices in and around Cambridge were too expensive for us so we decided the only thing was to look wider. Although we looked for something equidistant from our children, this proved impossible and eventually we bought the one I now live in which happens to be only three miles from our daughter's home. One of my husband's doctors in Cambridge had told him that he would probably be able to cease taking Lithium once he retired. However, the doctor whose practice we joined on moving here, told him he would need to keep taking it for the rest of his life, so he continued with it. Life proceeded on a fairly even keel and we decided to attend the small Methodist chapel in the village where we lived. They were very happy to have us join their congregation and we were able to help them in various ways. My husband continued with his Lay Preaching which he had been doing since his early twenties, mostly in the Bedfordshire Baptist churches but he also helped out in some of the Methodist circuits, particularly the St. Neots one. When the village Methodist chapel was forced to close, due to lack of numbers and an ageing congregation, we went back to our Baptist roots and attended Ampthill Baptist Church where we continued worshipping during the last five years. All this time his depression had been controlled by the Lithium he was taking until three years ago when he began to suffer from tummy trouble and, to cut a long story short, it was found that he was suffering from mild Lithium poisoning through taking too high a dosage for his age. The doctor reduced the dose and eventually he recovered and was back to normal. A year or more later, he began once more to suffer with the same tummy trouble he had had previously which went on almost the whole of the summer, culminating in him collapsing in our bathroom and having to be rushed by ambulance to hospital where it was found he was again suffering from Lithium poisoning although this time, much more seriously. At the hospital they immediately stopped his Lithium and endeavoured to clear his system of the drug which took quite some time. While they were doing this he remained in hospital refusing in the beginning to drink or eat and becoming dehydrated, so was on a saline drip for two or three weeks. Eventually he was well enough to come home but it took some time for him to fully recover.

Our doctor was reluctant to prescribe another anti-depressant without a Psychiatrists say so, therefore, he arranged for him to see one and an appointment was eventually made. During this time he seemed to be perfectly normal and not to be suffering from depression at all, which brings us back to the beginning of this article when I mentioned the relief we both felt on being told "you no longer have Depression". At last we were both free of the effects of this very difficult illness.

However, as I said in the beginning this was not to be: he began a course on a different anti-depressant which first started to improve his condition but this did not continue. Following this he was diagnosed with manic depression or bi-polar disorder. This was followed by several other anti-depressants on a trial basis, together, if my memory is correct, with the original new medication. However, his condition did not improve, if anything it got worse and he become quite aggressive and difficult to live with including various mood swings. One moment he would be the kind and loving man I had married and then he would digress into a very unpleasant person indeed, doing all kinds of strange things, so much so that I began to think he was suffering the first stages of Alzheimer's. To cut a very long story short he was finally admitted on Section (detained under the Mental Health Act) to the Psychiatric Wing of our local hospital where he remained for about six to seven weeks. He became a voluntary patient after four weeks and was allowed several day visits, some of them to home and it was planned he would come home for his first overnight visit on the day before his 76th Birthday so that I and my daughter could take him out for lunch to celebrate. We were also to have a celebration tea on the Sunday when our elder son, his wife and family were due to come and share this with him. Sadly, during the week prior to this event, he developed a urine infection and was sent over to the AAU ward to be given fluids overnight. Then on the Saturday he died very suddenly of a massive bleed to his brain stem, totally unexpected and what caused it we will never know. Whether he would have ever been found a suitable anti-depressant to control his manic depression, again we will never know. However. I was told by my doctor when I had to see him for my medication a couple of weeks later, that "he was showing signs of dementia and I could have been facing five very difficult years" so perhaps his death was a blessing for him, rather than the tragedy it seemed at the time.

Tailpiece:

Perhaps in this article I have glossed over much of the happenings of my husband's life as a depressed person, or rather a person who suffered with Depression, but I feel that many of the things which occurred are better left un-recorded and in any case are probably buried so deep in my memory that I have been unable to tease them out. Should any one reading this article feel unable to understand why I have written it after my husband's death, may I say that it was commenced long before that event and I felt it only right to revise and complete it.

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THANK YOU RUTH, for writing about a very personal time of your life.
THE WORDWRIGHT

Posted by Bill Venrick at 5:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)