CONVERSATIONS WITH A DEAD MAN

I have many memories of being confused as a child, but few exceeded my bewilderment at watching my father calmly carry on a conversation with a dead man. I was six years old.

The whole thing started in the winter of 1952 when word reached the Corcoran household that Sam Hope was dead. I didn't know exactly what that meant, but it caused the important people in my life to be upset, so it must be big. When my father took a day off from work, whatever that was, it took on gigantic proportions. Still not sure what dead meant, I consulted the fountain of all knowledge, my 9 year old brother. He was always happy to fill in the gaps in my learning. I still didn't quite get it, but I knew being dead was not something to work towards. Especially the parts about underground and rotting.

So imagine my surprise the following summer, when something like the following conversation took place around my Uncle's farmhouse table during one of our visits.

Uncle Pete: “ Hen, why don't you stop and visit Sam Hope on your way home. He'd love to meet the boys ( indicating Mike and I).”

My father: “ Well, I could go back through Laceville and do that. Good Idea.”

Uncle Pete: “ He always asks about you, and since the horse kicked him, he doesn't get out much. The kids will get a kick out of meeting him.”

Well, I can't speak for the other boy, but this one was not the slightest bit interested in meeting Mr. Hope. And exactly how did you arrange a meeting in the first place? Could it involve a shovel?

Deeply troubled by the whole idea, I did exactly what generations of males in my family have always done. Said not a single word. Not then, not ever.

So we arrived at a normal looking farmhouse, knocked our way into the living room and spent an hour or so having a very pleasant conversation with Mr. Sam Hope. Sam was not nearly as pale as I expected, and close observation showed very little decay. He seemed genuinely happy to see us, but I suppose it broke up the boredom of being dead.

It took another 6 years to fully understand the story. My father and I were in the family cemetery and as so often happened each grave site invoked another story.

Now long before the place I call “ down home” and the world calls Stowell, Pennsylvania existed, there was a young Irish immigrant named Peter Hope – henceforward and for reasons soon to be clear called “Old Peter.” Now how “Old Peter” came to be working for the Hattfields of Scottsville is a tale of great interest, but for another time. Suffice it to say he worked, he fell in love with the youngest Hattfield and being Irish and Catholic, two persuasions not shared by the Hattfields, he moved on - quickly because as it tuned out, the youngest Hattfield moved on with him to what would become Stowell.

All things work out in good time and it seems the young”Old” Peter and his bride lived happily ever after, producing any number of children with good Irish names, like Samuel, born sometime around 1860. Now hang onto that name because you will soon see why such happy events of the 1860's could cause such confusion to a child of six in 1952.

Into the area now officially called Stowell came another Peter Hope, henceforward known as Peter F. This Peter's great claim to fame , other than being my Great Grandfather, was that in 1849 he parked his plow and walked to California, not to mine the earth, but to mine the miners. He opened a store in the gold fields and became quite wealthy. By 1852, he walked back to Stowell and settled down, producing a number of children with good Irish names like – Samuel, born around 1880. A 6 year old's confusion clearer?

Like many American’s, I have lately been giving a lot of thought to the question, “ What is wrong with America?” I’ve read a lot about where we supposedly went wrong and brought about our own doom. One set of beliefs is that “Liberals” over spent and have bankrupted our great Christian Nation. Since most of the liberal spending has been to ease the plight of the sick and elderly, it may be impractical, unaffordable or even naive, but I find the idea it is Unchristian confusing. Especially when the counter argument is to protect the rich and powerful because they will look out for the little guy, just like they have done throughout history.

There is also the argument that much of our troubles, especially the natural disasters, are because God is angry at us for Gay Marriage or some other perceived moral failing. I reject the idea that God is punishing us. If that were true Washington DC would be the target, not rural New York. I doubt God’s aim is that bad. But if he is angry and this is his way of showing it, why is it never because we spent billions blowing up innocent people in Iraq? I know, we killed lots of really bad people, but we also crashed a number of wedding feasts and had to apologize afterwards.

Personally, I think the argument that George Bush spent us into the mess we are in now, is just as wrong headed. It took lots of people, including many Democrats to vote through the things that went wrong. “We were lied to” just means you were stupid enough to not do your homework.

So why is America so messed up and so angry? Well, if Anger is just fear in disguise, then we are not really angry, just scared. We are terrified of the other guy, the other idea. So how did we become so frightened?

I think it all traces back to 9/11. We were attacked and unlike World War II, when everyone was given a chance to fight back, to enter the military or the work force, to sit on hill tops and watch for enemy aircraft or at the very least buy War Bonds, we were told to go shopping and ignore the event. People needed to be involved, to be useful. After 9/11, George could have asked everyone to send him $1000 bucks to help pay for the war, and he would have gotten it. The big failure of Bush’s Administration was to not give the American people an outlet to serve. It could have been a totally stupid and useless job, but it would have put us all in the position of sharing the burden. Instead we were shut out and told to go about our lives as if nothing had happened. With nothing constructive to do, we turned to fear.

And then Hate radio took over. Everything the other side did or said or thought was torn apart and explained in the darkest possible motivation.

And Television added to the level of fear in a strange way. Every night we were bombarded with advertisements for medicines. All these did were to remind us of all the horrible diseases out there waiting to kill us in horrific ways. Sure this medicine slows Alzheimer’s or CODP or incontinence or insanity or depression or cancer or heart disease, but it does have a few side effects – like death.

Gee, I wonder why people are feeling insecure about the future?

I stole this article from Inside football whose editor is Pat Traina, someone I highly respect and recommend as a football commentator. It is so well written and expresses my thoughts so clearly I could not resist. The author is identified as Alan R. I truly apologize to Alan for not knowing his whole name.

by Alan R.

September 11, 2011, is the first day of the Giants 2011 season. It is also the 10th anniversary of the most dastardly act ever perpetrated on the citizens of this great country along with the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, another Sunday when the Giants were playing football.

It is apparent that to many the start of the Giants’ NFL season is some sort of special day. I hate to be a “party pooper” but it is not. It is just the start of one more professional sports season.

The performance of the Giants this year or any year will not really affect our lives. There will still be those that want to destroy us, there will still be hundreds of thousands of US kids in places like Iraq, Afghanistan, Korea and God knows where else that will not be able to see the game and unfortunately may not see nightfall, there will still be tensions in the Middle East, and we still will not have a cure for cancer.

All that the Giants – Redskins game is today is a three-hour diversion from whatever drudgery we face every day in our lives. In reality, all you are doing is rooting for laundry.

Last year, WR Steve Smith was a hero, today, he will be a bum. Last year, DT Barry Cofield was the source of your cheers; today, he will be the foe. The laundry stays the same (and no one really cares what pants they wear) and the human beings inside change. We root for laundry, nothing more.

I have followed the Giants since 1947 when I saw my first game at the Polo Grounds. I have enjoyed the good and suffered through the very bad. I have been fortunate enough to have a number of friends who have played for the team during the years and they have been amused by the comments of the modern day fan, many of whom have never played the game.

They scoff at those who worry about their “Fantasy Football” teams while at the same time not knowing the basic rules of the game or the concepts within which it is played. They shake their heads at some of the discussions that are found on the various websites. They smile at those who throw around terms like “Mike” and “Will” and “Sam” while not knowing that “Wanda,” “Sara” and “Meg” were once used to describe the same positions.

The Giants – Redskins game today — and any of the NFL games for that mater — are really not that important. What is important is that we, as a country come through the day whole, that you have your health, that you love your spouse and that e/she loves you back, that your kids are doing well, and that you have a roof over your head and a good meal at the end of the day.

Whether you wear a blue Justin Tuck jersey, or a white Eli Manning jersey — no one really cares nor does it make a difference. You will not have had an iota of impact on the outcome despite your thoughts to the contrary. The Giants will win or lose, life will go on, and hopefully we all get up Monday morning and go on with our lives.

Today I will miss the first hour of the game, as I along with a group of folks will be helping deliver lunches to the first responders in our town who will be on duty so that the rest of us can sit in our homes and root for our favorite team.

I will be fortunate enough to catch up by the end of the afternoon assuming that the DVR works and I can cut through the commercials — and if I cannot, it is no big deal.

Many of those who will be on duty will not get to see their favorite team until late in the evening or at all. They are the American heroes (along with the folks in our armed forces and those who perished in the WTC, the Pentagon or on Flight 93), not some rookie linebacker who is getting more than $30,000 or a defensive end who will make $150,000+ to play a single game. Recognize and understand what is important and what is not.

So at the end of the day, kiss your spouse, hug your kid or your dog, thank the next police office or firefighter that you see, and give thanks for the three hours of (possible) enjoyment that you had.

But please keep it all in perspective. It could be gone in a heartbeat.

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Last weekend, we were quite content to watch small towns and villages to our east take the brunt of Irene. Little towns we had driven through for years were suddenly on National News. Never a good thing. While we spent lots of time saying how sorry we felt for them, in truth we were equally glad it wasn’t us. And then it was us.

Pick any five minute period of rain and it would have been among the hardest rainfalls we have ever experienced. The fact that it went on for twelve hours explains the water levels.

Like most upstate New York Towns, Binghamton has struggled with its economy, especially downtown. The big hope was brand new Student Housing next to the Downtown Campus of BU. Lots of kids, lots of money, lots of hope. Washed away with lots of water.

River Read Books opened a year ago and has struggled to hang on until the students arrive. The Regency Hotel has done a wonderful job of morphing itself into a very good downtown restaurant and meeting place. Both gone with the river.

As I write this, my head is below the level of the Chenango River. What keeps me from needing scuba gear, is an earthen Dike built in 1938. As of Thursday morning, it was very questionable whether the dike would be breached. During the last flood, I was a Village trustee and part of my job was to accompany the Core of Engineer Dike expert as he inspected the Dike. I learned a lot from him, of especial interest the fact that once an earth dike starts to go, it goes quickly and that the top several inches of an earthen dike quickly turn into mud and do very little protecting. He noted that while the water was about 18 inches from the top, it really was only about a foot from failing. That was the 2006 flood. The 2011 flood was at least a foot higher. That’s as close to swimming as I want to come for some time.

A lot of things struck me this time. How quick people were to help out, how well they worked together, how many outside fire departments and agencies rushed in to help. Very inspiring.

Then there is the tragic side. People drag their lives out onto the street and stack their memories in piles to be hauled away. Most of us are lucky enough to leave that job to our survivors.

Finally there was the local radio station. On my way to stock up on milk and essentials, I turned the radio on to get the latest emergency update.

What I got was hate radio. Michael Savage was savaging someone, probably the President or the Democrats, but I didn’t leave it on long enough to get the full picture. It just struck me that at a time when lives were being challenged and changed, when real people faced real problems, here was an idiot practicing, “Keep em scared and keep em angry” at its best.

Binghamton deserved better. Then again America deserves better.

Now don’t get me wrong, Lipitor is a wonderful drug that undoubtedly saves lives every day. In my case the cure was much worse than the disease.

As is far too common knowledge, through my own stupidity I managed to have a heart attack despite being in excellent condition, having great cholesterol numbers and having good average blood pressure.

Recovery went very well for the first three weeks, then I started to have flu like symptoms without having the flu. I felt like I was running a fever, could not tolerate the sight of food, and had no energy. Lots of theories were put forth, but none seemed to fit completely. We cut back the Metoporol and I felt great for three days, then my blood pressure started to shoot up.

Now I must admit that the Dr. told me in mid July to stop taking Lipitor for a couple of weeks and see what happened. But since that was not likely to be causing problems, why bother.

Anyway, two weeks ago we went away and I did stop taking Lipitor. By the end of the week I felt much better and blood pressure had come down to normal levels. When I got home I took one dose, and felt awful with a return of the high blood pressure. It was agreed I should stop for a month, then try something else.

I still don’t feel 100%, I have an upset stomach about 30% of the time, and a low grade headache part of the time etc. But much of that may come from just being in lousy shape. Seven weeks on a couch does not prepare you for life.

Last week, I was able to go to Cardiac rehab and do the full work out for the first time in three weeks. It was hard, but by Thursday it was better. Saturday I was able to walk three miles, mow the lawn and work on the back porch for awhile without feeling tired. So --- maybe, just maybe things are on the upswing. About time.

AUGUST 3. 2011

No one was more surprised to be dead than me. After all, look at the numbers. Cholesterol 130 with the good cholesterol double and the bad exactly where it should be. Blood pressure under control. Walking five miles a day in 70 minutes, same time I have walked it for the last twenty years. Absolutely no symptoms.

But it is hard to rule out humane stupidity and that I had in abundance. I decided it would be a wonderful idea to ignore obvious heat sickness signs and finish “just a bit more mulching.”

Well, long story short, didn’t turn out well, got to spend a brief time on the other side, where sadly there were no bright lights, visits with lost relatives or meaningful messages. Just a very warm, toasty nap.

The first three weeks out of the hospital were fine. They said go home and do what ever you had been doing and I pretty much did. Then, whether the flu, Dressler’s Syndrome , reaction to medication – whatever I spent most of the next few weeks on the couch. By last Thursday my heart rate was 48 and my blood pressure was 190/ 104.

During this period I had no energy, no interest in anything and no desire to eat. This was not a bad thing since one of my goals was to reach a weight of 165. I just didn’t plan to do it in three weeks.

After they cut back on one medicine and included a copy of one I had been on for years, I started to feel better. Then Sunday night I just started to feel like my old self. I actually was enjoying myself again. Enjoyed walking, enjoyed breakfast, enjoyed planning the porch repair. Today I actually picked up my guitar and started practicing again. Sadly, the cat still left the room while I played.

For the first time in weeks I wanted to write something, plan something and get on with life. Being sick sucks, as all too many people lots worse off than I, are aware. God has a wonderful way of showing us how easily the things we take for granted can be lost. If this really is the end of the illness, I will appreciate good health a lot more in the future.

End of Doldrums?

It seems to me that much like the oceans, life flows in and out. I would like to believe that I am a perpetual motion person, that I wake each day with new ideas, enveloped in joy and anxious to tackle each new thing. In fact, I am occasionally like that, but often just getting up and feeding the cat pretty much consumes my day’s allocated ambition.
As a member of the working, striving, ever onward working world, I never questioned the need to rise, do the chores, show up at work and at least put on a show of being productive. That carried over to home. Get the yards done, finish this project, complete the home improvement.
And Then:
I discovered that tomorrow comes whether I complete anything or not. What may not be there tomorrow are the people, the animals, the scenery. So, I stop and enjoy each moment and if a nameless project is slow in completion, so be it.
Is that a sign I’m slowing down or getting smarter? That would take more energy than it’s worth to figure out.
What I do sense right now is that I have been in a lull, one of those valleys between the peaks. Maybe it is Spring, perhaps a feeling that America is coming out of its self absorbed fear, a sense that all is starting to come right, but I feel some old urges to be productive arising again. About time.
Personally, the last two weeks have been great. I got a clean bill of health from two doctors, Ben Laden took one for the team* some long festering personal problems seem to be resolving themselves, and most wonderfully I arrived at the horse farm about five minutes after a new foal was born. I was pretty much mesmerized for two hours while he went through all the early stages of joining the herd.
I might have had a better perspective, but mother seemed intent on not sharing. Out of maternal respect and the fact mother weighs two thousand pounds, I graciously watched from the outside.
And so perhaps the lawn will get mowed this week, the life story may get written, this blog may get done again, or perhaps I will meet a puppy and all bets are off.
*I have no sense of joy or celebration over the death of a human being. I see this much like the time an ugly dog in the neighborhood had to be put to sleep. It was sad, but the dog’s own actions left no choice. The neighborhood was then, and is now safer.