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

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

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

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

The Presidential Party Protocol

Recently someone wrote about defining the constituents of elected officials. Probably he was regnostic and may have been suffering a case of collywobbles. Even so, his words made sense, even suggesting a long-overdue application of the principle. A fitting rubric for the topic might be the Presidential Party Protocol.
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In accordance with Article II, Section I of the U.S.Constitution, whenever a President is sworn in, these words are uttered: "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." Of particular note here is the absence of phrases such as "the interests of the _____ party." And a reading of the Constitution that is to be protected and defended is amazingly void of phrases such as "the Republican Party" and "the Democratic Party."

The logical effect of the oath is that the new Chief Executive swears to support the Constitution as it applies to all citizens, those who may have helped elect him as well as those who fought vainly to keep him out of office. As government is practiced (or malpracticed) in our country, folks who financed the winning campaign usually expect a return on their investment of dollars and time. Therein exists the real possibility that the only people represented by the winners are the ones with the deepest pockets. The likelihood is that donors whose checks ran to thousands or millions of dollars will be paid much more attention than the thousands of pensioners who could only contribute ten dollars.

The Presidential Party Protocol should profoundly alter the political landscape, perhaps profoundly improving the management of the nation. (Coincidentally, there should also be a gubernatorial version of the Protocol.) The most significant requirement is that from the day of inauguration the President is barred from participation in any way in party affairs. This includes endorsing other candidates while he or she is in office. One result is that no government agencies will be used to promote party candidates. Air Force One will fly for the people, not the party. It prohibits the Chief Executive from appointing people to positions because of party affiliation. In other words, the President will select the person who is best qualified to do a job, ignoring any pressure to filter nominees through a party screen. While such a constraint on the President may be difficult to define, it is like other aspects of that position: the moral integrity of the person in office.

If the President is concentrating on doing the job , being free of obligations to a party, time and energy may be dedicated to the business of the nation and the welfare of the people. This is highly preferable to presidents going around campaigning and fund-raising for their parties. Perhaps they would then know, for example, whether weapons of mass destruction actually existed before declaring war and that corporate greed was robbing hardworking Americans of their investments and pensions.

Though not direct aspects of the PPP, three other ideas need to be acted upon. Given the intermittent poor choices of vice president running mates, it is past time for the vice president to be elected just as the president is. And the term of office for both offices should be extended to six years with no option for a second term. It makes no more sense for a senator to serve six years than it would for a president and a vice president to also serve the same term. Finally, the electoral college should be abolished. If the nation is to respond to the actual poll of its citizens, then the results of that poll (the popular vote) should be the deciding factor in elections.

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Now, on with the ruminations. Thanks T. J. Again, BE SURE TO VOTE!

THE WORDWRIGHT

THANKS to Bob Tinsky of Oblong, Illinois, for providing the real reasons to "go vote". Unfortunately, the lack of participation in the voting system is evidence of apathy and shallow concepts of what America is all about. The existence of angst in any election seems to be a contrived concept to play down the importance of voting. In other words, if you get enough people discouraged or depressed sufficiently about issues in general, a covert movement might be seen "in the works" and thus benefiting surreptitiously from smaller crowds at the polls. I appreciate the personal testimony of my friend in Illinois and hope his essay is an encouragement and challenge for all who read THE WORDWRIGHT and accept the responsibility and recognize the privilege we have in the United States of America. BILL VENRICK 

            We Americans enjoy a privilege that is denied to millions of people in our world.  I am talking about the privilege that we have to vote and choose who will be our leaders.  It saddens me to know that almost half of the citizens of our great nation do not take the time to go to the poll and cast their vote.
 
            Several years ago I was in the small country of Guyana, South America when they had their first free election.  Guyana received its independence from Great Britain in 1966.  It was ruled by one party for 28 years before that government agreed to allow the citizens the privilege of voting.  I remember seeing the long lines of people who came to cast their vote.  Some of these people waited for several hours to exercise their franchise. 
 
            Some of those who waited for hours to vote were turned away because those in charge told them that they were not properly registered.  I remember very vividly hearing on the radio the sound of stones being thrown on the roof of the voting booth as those who were denied the right to vote endeavored to relieve their frustration.  I also recall hearing the reporter who was inside the polling station telling his audience that he was broadcasting underneath a table to protect himself from the rocks being thrown at the building.  Those people wanted to vote.  They wanted to have a say regarding who was to lead their fledgling nation.  
 
            Before the day was over mass riots broke out in the nation's capitol because people felt they were being denied the privilege of voting.  It was an awesome and somewhat frightening experience to witness the military airplanes flying overhead and the army vehicles loaded with armed soldiers drive pass our hotel prepared to use any means necessary to quell the riots. 
 
            We need to be grateful that we have the privilege to vote.  Further we need to be thankful that our nation can choose its leaders by ballots rather than by bullets.  But having the right to vote does us no good if we do have take advantage of this great privilege. 
 
            Regardless of your political affiliation and your personal preference for the various candidates, I plead with you to study the issues and learn all you can about the candidates.  Then exercise your franchise by going to the poll on November 4.  Remember, there have been elections that were decided by only one vote.

BE SURE TO VOTE - THE WORDWRIGHT
 

People who lived through the Great Depression think differently than those born within the last three or four decades. THE WORDWRIGHT is privileged to have a full-fledged wordwright, Dean Rea, of Eugene, Oregon, as a guest essayist. When Dean writes about his boyhood experiences in Kansas, you can almost feel the grit of the sand seeping under the doors and through cracks in the window frames. With more than 55 years as a practicing journalist and professor of journalism, our guest essayist comes thoroughly equipped to "tell a story" and leave his readers begging for more but his short story style is sure to satisfy anyone who reads his reflections on "hard times."
Bill Venrick

A 5-year-old boy sits quietly on a chair in a Kansas farmhouse at mid-day. Dust whips across the drought-stricken wheat ranch and soon turns day into night.

The boy's mother closes the curtains while his father sprays water across rooms in the house to clear dust as it seeps through door and windows frames.

The boy worries about the watermelon vines that grow along a garden fence. He planted the seed, and he's looking forward to picking the melons when they ripen.

As the dust storm blows away the topsoil in what was to become the Dust Bowl, the last vestige of hope of raising wheat - and watermelons - vanishes.

Dust and the Great Depression drove my family from the farm and from Kansas during the early 1930's. With a grubstake from grandparents, they ended up in the Ozark Hills on a hardscrabble farm covered with rock, weeds and neglect.

The pre-World War II era is often referred to as "hard times." Fortunately, I wasn't old enough to know how difficult it was for my parents to feed a family and to finance a 40-acre farm operation.

As a 10-year-old, I recall racing across a field with my father, the sole of one of my shoes flapping with each step. We laughed about the flapping shoe, and dad repaired it with hammer and nails on a shoe last that evening after the cows were milked.

Maybe times weren't so hard because I was a boy and didn't realize that I was experiencing "hard times." We had food on the table. My mother canned everything we grew in the garden and meat from pigs and cattle that we slaughtered in the fall. We weren't teased about our patched clothing because everyone wore patched clothing.

No one had electricity, and the battery-powered telephone was mounted on a wall. Our ring was two longs and a short, and everyone on the line listened in on everyone's conversation. We packed our lunches and walked to school where we helped keep a stove stoked with wood during the winter.

We took a bath every weekend even though we had to hand pump every ounce we used from a well and had to heat the water on a wood-burning stove. We read books beside oil lamps at night. We wore clean clothing to church, and we looked forward to Saturday night community potluck meals, games and festivities.

We had a form of universal social services in which everyone in the community would help anyone in need. If you were sick, home remedies were shared. Serious sickness might require a doctor but certainly a prayer vigil. Sick or hurt and couldn't work? Neighbors pitched in and plowed fields, cared for livestock, harvested crops.

So, why the concern today about an economy going south? Inflation? High gasoline prices? Job losses? Mortgages in the dump?

While discussing today's "hard times" with a son, who is a pastor, I said: "During the depression many people didn't have much. Today, many people are losing their jobs, their homes, their toys. Maybe, it's more difficult to lose something when you have something than it is when you have little or nothing."

I often think of the 5-year-old boy seated in a darkened Kansas farm house and wonder about children today who are experiencing "hard times": domestic violence, sexual abuse, drug addiction, starvation, slavery, war, genocide.

On reflection, a dust storm and a depression hardly qualify.

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THANKS, Dean, perhaps you have struck a chord reminding us that "neighboring" was exactly that and not expecting an invasion of "the government" or help driven by committees and organizations from Washington and some kind of headquarters operating out of territorial jurisdictions. True, our population has grown so much larger since those days of the Great Depression and other calamities caused by Nature itself but the pristine neighborhood assistance from the communities themselves "back then" exemplifies something about which a bureaucracy knows little.

THE WORDWRIGHT

The title of this essay comes from Hebrews 11:38. The words that follow have not come easy to this writer since we live in a land of political correctness, casual life styles and a trading of virtues once deemed "natural" or even Christian, or no less than "godly" when one considers the oft used phrased, Judeo-Christian virtues or values. Let's face it, America, those of us who have lived in the era from the late 1920's until this 21st century have experienced what might be called "The Surviving Witnesses."  But such an accolade needs some sinews and meat on the bare bones.

How long the financial and economic crisis America, and even some parts of the world, will take to right itself (like cream coming to the top of its container, or oil and water separating in a laboratory beaker) will not be known until "later." We can pray that what happens will be better than the circumstances that caused this sickness we have experienced. And it is a sickness.

The phrase used in the title was spoken by the inspired writer of the book of Hebrews in the Bible. The writer has chronicled "righteous people" or "faithful people" of centuries past (back beyond or before the divisions we call, BC and AD.)  But back to the writings in the book of Hebrews. Two words, "by faith" precede sections or paragraphs of that New Testament book and a near symphonic expression of words are so profoundly put together that nothing less than a great musical score by Beethoven or Bach needs to accompany the reading of this chapter of the Bible.

By faith we understand...

WOW - and what is it that is now being attacked?   Attempts are being made to wrestle godly faith from the mouths of our nation's forefathers by saying the Bible (or God) had no place or the background or lives of those spiritual giants who framed the Constitution, the By Laws and many other legal documents through which our nation was birthed. That very constitution is being challenged and attempts to virtually rewrite it by the men and women who were appointed as Supreme Court judges. The argument appears to be: "Is the constitution living or dead?"  At the rate spiritual values are being changed, it looks like the latter is the consensus of the majority of the individuals wearing black robes.

By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God's commands. The words continue to flow: "By faith Abel offered a better sacrifice than Cain..., by faith Enoch was taken from this life...,by faith Noah...built an ark..., by faith Abraham...obeyed and went... All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised them...By faith Abraham offered Isaac (his son) as a sacrifice..., by faith Jacob...blessed each of Joseph's sons, by faith the people passed through the Red sea..., by faith the walls of Jericho fell..., by faith the prostitute Rehab...was not killed." And the writer of Hebrews went on to describe still more spiritual giants or heroes and because they lived lives of faith and died without seeing their goals - that is when we find the words: "The world was not worthy of them."

The moral application of this essay so far would be to say, "Our nation's leaders have, at least the majority who have ruled us lately, have sunk in their own stench of broken promises and misconstrued values -- they are not worthy of the hundreds of thousands of young men and women who have died on battle fields in our land and in lands across the seas. Their utter contempt for the bravery of fallen soldiers by attempting to discard the basic spiritual values our nation has held dear for over two hundred years smells worse than the foulest barnyard excrement produced. Our current leaders are not worthy of the men who gave their most for the very purpose of keeping our freedom.

I regretfully say, "It is disgusting to see our great nation floundering in financial chaos after the Great Depression and congressional shenanigans involving Social Security and broken promises, "IOU" slips left instead of refilling the coffers with cash; stealth-withdrawals used to invent programs liberally using money apparently with little or no intent to repay. In the recent decades our congress has gone along with [even] fake-sounding names like Fanny Mae and Freddie Mac that would make our grandfathers laugh out loud - "Loan people money to buy a house with no down payment? That's silly and unheard of!" "Nothing down? Ridiculous!" In actuality, the truth of the matter is: "If you cannot save to buy, you cannot borrow to buy." That is why there have been "renters" and "landlords" -- is that so difficult to understand? Even when manufacturers or companies project new products, they may have to invest (through borrowing) monies that require stocks to be sold. Our city and state governments work through bonds where the purchaser of bonds invests money to take care of our roads, dams, buildings and anything else deemed valuable enough for the most (or the citizenry). Those bonds are "paid off" in taxes levied against home-owners or property owners. The money lent was not freely given.

And they are trying to dupe us into believing that the right and proper ways that formed our land are no longer practical? Who are they trying to fool? They have already fooled themselves and apparently enough of our citizens to continue to reposition the parasites sitting on both sides of the aisles of our nation's capital. If this circumstance and situation is a catharsis, I pray we will see the best flushing that Washington has had for decades! No incumbent is worthy of any more terms to misguide, misuse and mismanage our treasury and taxes any longer. Term Limits should be the first order of business.

By faith we understand, and to put it another way - is it by no faith required (or allowed) that we are being cloned into dupes who will give our governmental leaders whatever they want? The new $1 coin which has received customary criticism from "concerned religious citizens" seems consistent with the covert workings of some leaders. True, they retained the motto "In God We Trust" but that motto has lost any significant place on the coin - its location is more like a riddle to solve. We went through one revolution (from a purported tyrant King) and now have we merely traded hats and some kind of crown is worn by men in $400 double-breasted suits and feet shod with wingtip shoes? And yes, men who have convinced themselves and us that they "have to have" two homes and all the other accouterments known and maintained by the members of our congress. Seems most, if not all, have never read the accounts in our nation's history where when members of the congress or government, from the President down, wrote letters like this:

"Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great theatre of Action; and bidding an Affectionate farewell to this august body under whose orders I have so long acted, I here offer my commission, and take my leave of all the employments of public life." (-- and he went back home.)
-- George Washington (Address to Congress on Resigning his Commission, 23 December 1783)

I think what I would like to see is the National Guard being so busy directing traffic of our congress and senators leaving Washington every two years, they have to use auxiliary units of the Boy Scouts of America to make sure all evacuees get out by midnight of the day their terms expire. And the next day (or two or three, whatever it will take) the same National Guard and Boy Scouts, if needed, will have to do this all over again, directing traffic as the new crew comes in to try to do something with the circumstances left by the previous folks. The only problem is maybe some kind of an extermination crew might need to be used making sure no unhealthy residue remains before the new folks get there.
 
Perhaps we ought to at least try to smile and see some value in the philosophy of the cartoonist, Charles Schulz: "Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia."
Charles M. Schulz

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THE WORDWRIGHT

Something that has intrigued me for years is: Many things in life are the way they are as a result of things we cannot see with the naked eye. For a typical example, consider my thumbs, which cause my wife to smile when she sees them as "just another finger"-- they're not formed like her genetically inherited thumbs. Her thumbs turn "backward" in an obvious curve, like her father's, and mine stick proudly straight without a curve at all (like a finger). Her father's thumbs were even more pronounced in shape to almost a quarter of a circle but actually appearing to be a right-angle from the last joint. Why do I bring this up? We can't see what causes such things because it's in the genes!

A young ballplayer with a crippled arm and leg stands out in my memory as another example of something that was caused by things we can't see. This young man's hand was crippled, causing it to hang limply from his wrist and appeared useless. Boy was this a mistaken observation. I remember seeing him play ball in the outfield, crippled though he was, running awkwardly to where the ball was going to hit the ground, he caught it with the gloved hand (the one not crippled). He shifted his glove from his good hand, using his crippled hand to remove his glove without letting loose of the ball and used his good hand to grip the ball and accurately threw it to the baseman scoring against the runner. All this happened within seconds and with an adeptness so slick you wondered how he did it. Many kids would have given up even thinking about playing ball if they had such a crippled hand. What caused that boy to have a crippled leg and arm is something we can't see.

John K. Fink, M.D. Of University of Michigan has a laboratory committed to finding the causes and developing treatments for hereditary spastic paraplegia. A long time mystery of mine came to an end about a specific problem caused by things we can't see came to an end unexpectedly at a high school class reunion. My wife and I shared a table with a lady whose body suffered from HSP (hereditary spastic paraplegia). Her father had this disease, which is not really a disease but rather a group of clinically and genetically diverse disorders that share the primary feature of progressive, generally severe, lower extremity spasticity. She was the only one of four children who inherited HSP from her father. Our classmate transmitted this disorder on to five of her seven children, and the disorder can now be seen to be in two of her grandchildren. Our friend noticed in adulthood she was stumbling or tripping a lot and as this intensified she saw this trait occurring one of her children. It was at this time a physician zeroed in with a diagnosis of the problem that causes leg stiffness and gait disturbance due to difficulty dorsiflexing the foot and weakness of hip flexion - in other words, the problem was in her legs, knees and ankles. Our friend was glad to find she was not just a stumble bum but what she had was something caused by something no one could see. (That is, until Dr. John K. Fink came along, and obviously her physician had read reports of or by Dr. Fink)

Life is filled with such maladies, diseases or disorders - most of which the causes cannot be seen with the naked eye. We could go on with a suggested list: retardation, Down's syndrome, any brain connected disorders (strokes, tics, etc.), leprosy, the color of our hair, the shape of our fingers, the way we stand (our posture), the way we act or speak and so on to make a list without end. As I thought about this malady, learning it had a technical name, or HSP, I recalled the book by Philip Yancey & Dr. Paul Brand, "Fearfully and Wonderfully Made" (Their title was drawn from the Scripture in Psalms 139:14, the King James Version.)

Designers of the internal combustion engine and every other involved invention worked from sketches written on bits and pieces of paper to be finalized into involved drawings before the essential parts could be made to combine with yet more parts utilizing additional skills of pattern makers, mold makers and mechanical engineers. Great scientists like Leonardo da Vinci yearned to discover why or how the body worked and they intently sought cadavers to dissect. Some of their research exists yet today guiding men of medicine and anatomy to see the marvels of the human body that was truly "fearfully and wonderfully made."

To some, all of this has been simplified, at least in their own minds, to say all of this has "just happened" through hundreds of millions of years evolving from slime that had washed up on the beach. Perhaps such an unsophisticated generalization by this writer is not fair but a shortening of what would seem to be an involved creation process in an attempt to deny the existence of a creator God is just as unsophisticated and unfair in my mind. Just because doctors before Dr. John K. Fink could not "see" what caused our friend's serious malady, and some perhaps even concluding she, and others like her, were simply clumsy, did not make the malady or disease any less a reality to her and the thousands similarly affected. After stumbling, excuse the pun, on this subject, talking with a doctor friend about this malady, he asked me if this crippled friend of ours was from Logan, Ohio. I thought that was a strange question but he quickly allayed my concern by saying, "There is an near clan in Logan (Ohio) with such maladies." It should not come as a surprise to discover problems involving our body, and everything around us occur, and as the created being, could it be that "all of this" is one great program or scheme of learning for us?

Yes, it is strange that humans are plagued by maladies, weaknesses and even diseases that are caused by things we can't see. Perhaps some critics of "the church" might think "all of this" as a cruel joke by a creator God to hem us in with skin in a body that is not perfect and required -- sometimes, deigned to do near impossible deeds. Early on in God's dealing with man, Moses tried to convince God that he couldn't talk (properly, I am sure was his main concern) but Moses, like us, was overlooking the very fact that he was talking with the One who designed and made his body!

No, I do not feel I have answered any great anatomical questions or solved any genetically transmitted maladies in a few hundred words but I do hope it might be a bit easier to believe many of our problems are caused by things we can't see. If the reader is sincerely seeking enlightenment I would urge you to search for the book mentioned, "Fearfully and Wonderfully Made" or perhaps one yet easier to find, "In His Image" by Philip Yancey and Dr. Paul Brand. The simple, though complex discoveries, uncover or perhaps unwrap this subject unfolding layer after layer enabling us to see things we cannot see. Is it faith? Is it acceptance or admission of some spiritual workings that cannot be seen with human eyes and minds clouded somehow with a spiritual blindness? Whatever - we do not have to stay ignorant or uninformed about things we can't see.

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THE WORDWRIGHT

A resource of interest: http://www.med.umich.edu/hsp/analysis.htm

Alright already! We have heard from the high level economists, and both parties, or so it seems and they have given their opinions and cast dispersion and blame on the folks across the aisles (from whichever side these "well dressed representatives of the nation" holler from) and naturally the various wise guys from the assorted media; so I thought "Why not say something myself?" (My good friend, Bob Tinsky, recently shared his thoughts comparing governmental antics with Laurel & Hardy as you may recall(*).

I know some from the ages of 55ish get a little tired of it but I just cannot think there are enough comments made from the citizens who were born in or lived through the Great Depression. My wife and I wrote a book highlighting a small orphanage in Fairfield County, which operated for nearly 100 years, taking care of children who had been victims of societal malfunctions. Early on into our project it became obvious that the reason any children's home concept, even if you go back to the indentured servant days, existed was simply because some people don't know what they don't know. Of course when the indentured servant concept came to view (at least in our country) was when towns had developed and children came along to families with economic problems just keeping their heads above the water while trying to stand on their tip toes. Some folks obviously had trouble understanding "how kids came along" and once they did it became a choice of whether you became celibate or found another way to pay for all this family that, somehow, made their presence known.

Then, of course, during those days when indentured servants were in vogue, folks just didn't live all that long and some of those children were left for relatives, neighbors and ultimately the courts to care for. My wife's descendants had their own sad story to tell when both the parents died within a matter of months and "all of a sudden" there were six kids whose lot was to raise themselves, but it was a help that Grandma & Grandpa were in the near neighborhood. Without going into a lot of details, that brood did a pretty fine job of raising themselves but that is another story. But back to the Great Depression days.

I was born in 1932, which appears to be the wearing off times of that depression but the ripples of those slim days was still a bad taste in the mouths of most and "things" were still not easy to get unless you were fortunate enough to have money. My father told the story many times about a house on the SW corner of East Wheeling and Livingston Streets that he couldn't buy because he didn't have the 10% required for a down payment. The house was selling for $1,200. (Yes, twelve hundred dollars.) Back in those days banks were not in every neighborhood shopping center. In fact, you walked to the tune of the drummer boy (the banks) if you wanted to do any business with them. They were not open all that long during the day - just customarily 9:00 til 5:00, and they closed Thursday afternoon, and Saturday they closed at noon. It was pretty much, if you had money in the bank or a good credit rating you could get whatever money you needed to buy a house. Also, back in those days, our city was made of 80% property owners and the rest of the folks rented. We had schools where teachers were routinely career people. with the small exception of some teachers who should never had been given the job to begin with but most teachers were the kind who were very concerned about teaching their pupils "reading, writing and 'rithmatic" and throwing in enough geography and history to know where all these people came from and how they all got here in the United States. But I digress.

Plain and simple, you bought what you could afford and if you couldn't get a loan, you kept on renting. Since my Dad could not come up with $120 dollars (one-hundred and twenty dollars) he simply did not qualify for a loan from the bank. There were other ways to get money though, small amounts that is. If you needed a new refrigerator or furniture, the store would "carry you" and let you pay for it with monthly payments and charge a small interest. If you were still wanting more, there were always those City Loans who loaned money at a much higher interest rate but if you couldn't meet their payments they had ways of getting their money back by turning you over to a collection agency and you might even have your wages garnisheed and then your employer would be legally empowered to deduct a certain amount of your pay until your debt was paid. People moved pretty often in those days. When I graduated from high school I had lived in twelve (yes, 12) different places but fortunately stayed within two school districts in all that time. One summer we even moved over to Wheeling Island (in the middle of the Ohio River between West Virginia and Ohio) when my Dad wanted to express his patriotism by quitting his job at the glass factory and went to work in a "defense plant" (making pom pom guns for the Navy)--sometime during WW 2.

People had it rough but for the most part, to be blunt, people either had it or didn't have it. Those who didn't have it, were not babied or coddled like people are today and there was no such thing as NO MONEY DOWN loans. That almost qualifies for an oxymoron--how could you get money (a loan) if you didn't have any collateral? It just wasn't done!!

And that is just about all I wanted to say - our country has gotten itself into one big mess, probably the nearest to the Great Depression that I have ever experienced but our great leaders (of this nation) do not seem to want to admit how bad off we are but when you see interest on Certificates of Deposit go from 12% to 2%, the dumbest guy in the class can tell you "somethings wrong!" Oh, there is money being printed and there is some around but have you noticed how much it looks like Play Money - why, any real printer would never print such currency--the type chosen doesn't even match. There might be a larger figure (or numeral) in one corner that is an entirely different style of type - no professional printer would have dared made that choice. For years we have used the motto "In God We Trust" (on our currency) but our country has gotten so casual (and bending to "new concepts") the motto has become so small (of course it had to be small on coins) that now the new dollar coin has it obscured so that it had to be put on the edge of the coin. Try to read that without a jeweler's magnifying glass!

Folks, I think it is about time we get used to the idea of maturing into people who are capable of being satisfied with what they have. The asinine motto of one rent-to-own company, whose motto is: "Because we all should have nice stuff." Oh??? The key words are "we all"; we all may want better stuff - whether or not people can afford it is another matter.

When we get back to buying or living within our means - that's for everybody: homes, schools, towns, factories, stores, the country, then we will see some semblance of normalcy - not before. I cannot resist saying that somewhere along the way, whether it was entirely the Union's fault is an argument for sure, but when the employee started telling the company how to plan their pay scales, and provide financial benefit packages (ad nauseam) for every worker, this was the beginning of the new way of doing business. Back in the post depression days when my Dad's union fought for a pay raise, it might have resulted in "mere cents on the hour" and if there had been a strike (to boot), whatever pittance they gained was already lost after their first new contract took affect. Another axiom, "The only thing we learn from history is we don't learn anything from history." That in itself is not too encouraging though, is it?

Competition has always been "good for business", but when that competition is on the other side of the globe and wage earners there are making a fraction of what Americans demand, could it be we have gone amok with our high standards of living? Drive down the streets of any town and look at the older homes - typically you will see many more smaller homes than big homes; you can be sure that those homes probably produced the same size families, maybe even larger, than those who are trying to buy the multi-level near-mansions. One great difference though, those home owners probably had their "smaller homes" paid for in 25 years or less and one wonders if the big home mortgages of today's market will ever get paid off. #####

THE WORDWRIGHT

* TINSKY essay "Another Nice Mess" check in the archives)

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WELL, Bob, you've made it short but not so sweet. It certainly is a prayer of many that our country can work their way through this crisis, however it might involve re-teaching an awful lot of people that lesson us old-timers had to learn years ago--knowing the different between "wants" and "needs". THE WORDWRIGHT

My mother was a young woman during WWII and was one of the early liberated types called in those days a 'Rosie the Riveter' type. She loved working and going out with friends and soon developed a love of alcohol. In fact she was out drinking and dancing the night before I was born. Today that would be child endangering, then it was just a fact of life.

She was a good mom and loved me dearly but her love affair with alcohol was still with her. She taught me to read and by three I could read rather well for a little child. I read well enough to know the words Gin, Vodka and Bourbon for sure since those bottles were always around.

We only had one car since mom never learned to drive so we walked everywhere or rode the bus. By the age of five I was dutifully walking with mom everywhere we went. One of the places we walked about every three days was to the liquor store since mom would polish off the booze pretty quickly. This was lost on me, being five, but I knew where we were going and knew the clerk there by name and I could immediately find the brand of booze she wanted. This soon led to my knowing what kind of drinks she liked and knew how to make them. It was not long before I knew how to make a dry gin martini (her favorite drink) as well as whiskey sours and now and then a Tom Collins. I was probably the only five year old bartender in Cincinnati. My wife kids that mom taught me to read so I could learn to read the Barkeepers Friend drink mixing book.

As time passed I learned that not all moms drank like mine nor did their kids mix drinks. It made me worry about her but despite my protests she continued to drink anyway. It eventually took its toll on her and on August 11, 1978 when I was 26 years old, she died of liver failure. She was 56 at the time and it has taken me many years to get over her untimely death. But even now I remember our walks to the liquor store every three days. That liquor store is gone now and so is mom but I can still make one helluva dry gin martini.

If you are an irresponsible drinker, please stop. It affects more than just your liver, it ruins lives and makes some of the worst memories a child can carry through to their adult life. Don't live your life serving as a bad example. I have forgiven my mom, you may not be so lucky with your kids.

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I encourage every parent to read this essay and print it to pass on to other parents. My friend, Bill Volkart, in Cincinnati, Ohio, has written a story that is a virtual mirror of my life as a teenager. My mother was also an alcoholic and abused her body to the extent that she passed away before she was 42 and I was 15. The incidents I experienced often haunt me to this day as I recall the stigma and embarrassment because most of my friends knew my mother was a drunk--there were few "soft terms" then for alcoholism as "political correctness" was yet to be discovered. I was not like my friend, who learned how to mix drinks; rather, I became a professional at finding where mother hid her booze, and then I would throw it away, naively thinking I was doing the right thing. Sixty-one years later I vividly remember helping my mother as she struggled getting off the bus late at night, after having been in a bar most of the evening. Those experiences were sufficient warnings to me about the control some people lose when they become drinkers. THE WORDWRIGHT

When I asked June for some bio information, she wrote: "My biggest accomplishment (besides having 4 children who have produced 9 grandchildren) was restoring a 1931 Model A Ford - and no.... I was not the original owner. " June lives on Long Island, New York and her family is among the first settlers, after the Indians, that is. I appreciate June's ability to work with words--yes, another Wordwright for sure. And, just for the record, Mrs. Wordwright thinks June is "right on" with this subject! - Bill Venrick, THE WORDWRIGHT
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    After many decades on this planet I have decided we all seem to be governed by the market place. I am not talking about the market place in Africa where peanuts, and manioc is sold on the ground, but the Market Place in the United States.  The big office room with the mahogany table and chairs, where the CEOs of mattress companies like Seally, Beauty Rest, Serta and Temperpedic get together with linen companies such as Cannon, Wamsutta, JCPenny Home and Burlington.
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    I'm not suggesting that these two different products are in bed with one another but it is entirely possible that Mr. Burlington's middle name is Serta and Mr. Seally's first name is Cannon. In this sacred room they discuss business and quite naturally the conversation goes like this: "How can we stimulate more sales?" One bright twenty two year old boy, [the son of one of the company heads] has a brilliant idea and he responds thusly: "Let's change the size of our mattresses making them thicker and then everyone will have to get new sheets to go with them?" Now this dear fellow has not been very attentive to his mother's folding of sheets and pillow cases. After all, they probably had a maid to do it, and so he puts forth his idea and they all agree - "It is a capital one." (Of course, aren't they capitalists?)

    So the Seally, Beauty Rest, Serta and Temperpedic blue-suited men decide together to do exactly that -- on the first day of the next year. The linen people follow suit thus causing women young and old, housewives and executives to head to "Linen and Things", or "Bed Bath and Beyond" to replace all their old sheets which of course, now do not fit the new mattresses.

    There are a few drawbacks to this scenario which affect you and me and the first is, .have you noticed that cotton sheets and/or cotton & polyester sheets do not wear out? I mean, when was the last time you climbed into bed and put your foot into a torn area? Never. Sheets just don't wear out. Have you ever asked, "What should I do with this perfectly good sheet now that it won't fit my new mattress?"  I had a solution one time and that was to make rags. Yes, indeed, cotton sheets make good rags especially for people who restore and repair old cars. However, unless you are a member of one of these clubs, your rag recipient will be hard to find.  And there you are, with a pile of nicely folded twin and double sheets ready for something...to go somewhere - but where? Another bad feature is that the linen people have decided it is easier for them to put elastic all around the whole bottom sheet edges, instead of just in the corners, which makes the folding of them for the linen closet, (if you are lucky enough to have a linen closet), just about impossible.

     Before this, I had educated myself in the art of folding the old style of fitted sheets and received much applause from friends and family alike for my expert folding ability. If they gave out degrees for such, I would have one but now I not only have lost my degree in Folding 101, I have failed utterly with these new "pillow top" sheets.  I have tried over and over to get a decent folded object that will fit on the shelves of the closet, but try as I may, I have yet to succeed.Â

    If money was no object, I would donate this new mattress to the Salvation Army along with two sets of new double sheets but Sleepy's is still waiting for the remainder of their money... so I am stuck! Besides, where am I going to go for a mattress of the old kind?

    Climbing into bed each night used to be an anticipated seductive pleasure but now it has become a dedicated effort.  One does not just flop into bed.  No no...a step stool should be considered and a box of Kleenex kept handy for eventual nose bleed from the high altitude.   And for heaven's sake - don't fall out of the bed in the middle of the night - it's a long way down.

    Due to "Junior's" suggestion at the CEO meeting when he came up with his brilliant idea for "stimulating sales", we are all in this quandary together and it was created by ...the market place.  I would like to be invited to join the next planning committee meeting to give these executives some advice on homemade practical design.  Sadly, they only seem to be interested in the black figure of the last column on that green ledger sheet and not Mrs. Little Known Homebody.    Â

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THANKS, JUNE, for another unique essay from the woman's point of view.
THE WORDWRIGHT Â Â Â Â

Recently my long-time friend, Bob Tinsky, sent this to his local newspaper as a LETTER TO THE EDITOR -- sounded like something THE WORDWRIGHT readers would enjoy, so here it is:Â

I don't know about you, but I will be glad when this year's election is over.  I am getting really miffed listening to all the petty things being floated around about each candidate.
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I don't care how many houses either candidate owns. I don't care whether or not either one knows how to bowl. It makes little difference to me whether or not either one has ever fired a gun. It is not important to me that either one be able to give a rousing speech. I don't give a hoot about the color of the skin of the candidate or whether the person is male or female
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I also am not interested in hearing all the promises either candidate makes. Promises are easy to make. What I want to know is how they propose to keep any of those promises. Can they guarantee me that they can get their proposals approved by Congress? Where is all the money going to come from to pay for all the things being promised? Does either candidate have any concrete suggestion as to how we can pay off our national debt? Will the person elected be the one who can lead us out of the moral swamp our nation has gotten into and restore the moral and spiritual dignity that once characterized our great nation?
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Another thing I don't care a snap about is all the misdeeds that can be dug up concerning the past of either prospective president. I did a lot of stupid things when I was young. I surely don't want anyone hanging the mistakes of my youth around my neck today. I am not interested in knowing about all the foibles in their past. What I want to know is what kind of a character the candidate has developed that will assure me that he or she will be a good and respectable and moral leader of nation today.  I want to be assured that the person I vote for is a person of integrity.
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Also I want to know what qualifications each person has that can assure me that he or she will be the right person to lead our nation during the next four years. Is the candidate a person who can reach across the aisle and bring the two parties together so they can work together for the good of our nation rather than simply for the betterment of their political party?Â
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I believe that we need to set aside all the petty nonsense and deal with the genuine issues. If you agree with me, let's all say it together "Enough already!"

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ANYONE ELSE out there who has wanted to write such a letter? THANKS BOB!
THE WORDWRIGHT
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GASOLINE - Just two grades, Regular and Ethyl. Diesel, to the best of my knowledge was not around then, unless it was a restricted commercial item. You could buy "coal oil" or kerosene as it is known today which is comparable to diesel fuel, I believe. Then people used kerosene as fuel in small kitchen stoves with one, two or several burners that were designed for people who did not have a natural gas or electric stove in their kitchen. Today, the price of gasoline, and especially diesel fuel, might well be labeled GOLD, liquid gold that is.

CEREAL - When I was a kid, I think it was about then, they started using the word "preservatives" in certain products. One I remember for sure, was a box of Kellogg's (I think) PEP cereal. For some reason, it got old at our house or the grocer's shelf because it was about the stalest tasting stuff you could find - and we probably threw it out. Not that PEP was not a good cereal, but that cereal simply got stale. Today, cereals and such products are so hyped up with chemicals that even bugs don't bother eating it, but as people, we don't know any better and we gobble it up without another thought. Today there are also "expiration dates" on most products. Sometimes, of course, this is a code or an embossed type of identification but it is there just the same. Also, years ago little trinkets or awards were in a box of cereal, or no less than a coupon that you could send off and get a whistle, compass or other "valuable" item most kids would want. Or you could send in the BOX TOP, or several box tops and, with a few coins, and get a secret code ring!

HOSPITAL CARE - Close to the house we lived in when I was a teenager was the original hospital of our town. It was a two story house where nurses and doctors took care of patients in a very personal way. It was not unusual for the doctor himself, to carry a patient up a flight of stairs to the 2nd floor, after surgery, taking them to their room. Of course, most my age remember when "house calls" were more than a funny situation comedy on public TV. In my early adult life, it was also not unusual for our doctor to instruct his patients to "Pick up your pills in the box at the office front door." There, on the porch, just a few feet from the sidewalk, among packets of pills for sometimes a dozen or more, would be a packet of pills with the name "VENRICK" handwritten on the little envelope. There was no slip to sign, no validation required - trust and integrity were a part of the society in which we grew up. It is obvious such trust is not visible in today's society where you have to put your "signature" on a slip of paper and then "print" your name and phone number on the slip, and oh yes, PAY FOR the medicine before you leave the counter.

YES, I am aware my age has something to do with my desire for "the plain and simple". As I mentioned earlier about the PEP cereal going stale or flat, you can just about bet that we are not plagued with that because of all the additives they use in food products. However, the recent experience my wife and I had, acknowledging, accepting and adjusting to the facts of life - both of us had let ourselves go, weight wise, and excess weight and blood pressure are not "friendly facts"; so we have been quite conscious of the portion of boxes, bottles and bags called "Ingredients". Some may remember my rant about wanting chocolate milk without high test sweeteners or why they have to include high fructose corn syrup and (more) corn syrup in tomato catsup; well, it took all of about 60 seconds for a best friend and my wife to "inform me" you have to include sugar (or some kind of sweeteners in some things. OK, alright, OK, sweeteners are necessary but that still doesn't keep me from studying "ingredients". I am glad there are some food products prepared "plain and simple", e.g., Peanut Butter, dried fruit and some cereals. A popular food chain in this area, KROGERS, has a line of peanut butter that has, for ingredients: "Roasted peanuts, salt. Contains: PEANUTS" Pick up a jar of the top sellers and you will find that peanuts and a LOT of other stuff is in that great spread that doesn't stick to the roof of your mouth. (If you too would like some "plain and simple" peanut butter, and you are in an area where KROGERS is known, look for their product: "Natural Creamy" Peanut Butter.

The same is true with cereals. I prefer Shredded Wheat that has a list of ingredients with as few lines as possible. A POST "Shredded Wheat (with wheat'n bran)" only has three lines: "Ingredients: Whole grain wheat and wheat bran. To preserve the natural wheat flavor, BHT is added to the packaging material. And for "Contents: WHEAT" Again, take a look at those whiz bang popular brands and see "what else" is needed for most cereals. (End of commercials - no, I have not been promised a dozen cartons of any of the above products but I sure do like them!)

Yes, I am aware there are folks with unique health issues and "plain and simple" is virtually impossible. Rather, you will find a notice like, "This product was manufactured in a building where wheat flour and peanuts were processed." Pure and simple, our society has become quite complex, and let's face it, most of us are glad food producers recognize generalizations like "plain and simple" are simply not always possible.

Those who have experienced similar problems as my wife (stroke and diabetes), they and their caregivers, simply must become very thorough readers of foods products we find on the grocery shelves. Since we have drastically reduced our desire for sugar we have found even sour fruit tastes sweet! We have a hybrid blackberry bush in our backyard that is thorn-less but boy is it sour! Funny thing, that real sour taste has been reduced since we "gave up" sugar - fresh fruits have sufficient sweetness and if we add fruit to our cereal, that is sufficient sweetener. And boy do /we like the ingredient list on a package of dried plums: "Ingredients: California pitted dried plums. Potassium Sorbate added as a preservative."

Yeah, "plain and simple" is still around too!

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THE WORDWRIGHT