Both Sides of the Galaxy…Now
Imagine that Chewbaka and Lando Calrissian grew up together. If you are familiar with the two Star Wars characters, you picture them “in a galaxy far, far away…”. In this particular case, that galaxy is a place called the Midwest. The planet is Ohio.
I was in high school when the original Star Wars film was released. “The Empire Strikes Back” was the second film in the original trilogy. By now, over 40 years later, generations have these films firmly implanted in our cultural literacy. These characters are now as established as Santa Claus in a red and white suit was by the time I was born.
When Lando and Chewy left their high school years, they set off on their respective tours intergalactically. In the film universe, there was much danger and adventure. It was and is the stuff of escapism. Within the galaxy, and without, there are all sorts of challenges, and nefarious characters that young men run towards for the experience, and parents would be mortified by if they actually knew what their progeny were up to. The galaxy is huge, and the universe is exponentially larger. One can imagine that old friends can go years, even decades without crossing one another’s paths.
In Star Wars, Chewbaka formed an association with Han Solo, eventually a kid named Luke Skywalker, and even met his twin sister Princess Leia. These new associates of Chewy’s met all manner of challenges, and eventually crossed paths with Lando again, who had a comfy gig in a distant galaxy. Watching Lando and Chewy interact was entertaining for the fact that Lando always pronounced Chewbaka’s name differently. To this point in the trilogy, the name Chewbaka was always pronounced {chew-BAKA}. Lando had a different version, making one wonder if this is how they did it in their high school. Lando always called him {CHEW-baka}. Either way, you always knew who they were talking about.
Chewy is a big dude, which is also quite obvious. He’s an affable, confident character who is quite lovable. He’s approachable, clever, and very athletic. Chewbaka lettered in two sports in high school, but was also All-State. He was a pitcher and 3rd baseman in baseball. He was a “5 tool athlete,” which meant that he hit with power, hit for average, ran with speed, fielded with skill, and threw with skill. Chewy was offered a football scholarship to college, and then played in a city recreational game the Summer before college, where he threw a no-hitter and was offered a scholarship to play baseball at another college. Chewy declined the baseball scholarship and chose to honor his football commitment.
Chewy and Lando were off on their different courses of adventure at this point, and not in contact often. Chewy was a big, good looking kid, and started taking jobs in the Summers working at fine dining restaurants in different parts of the universe. Lando spent his Summers in school taking classes to speed the process along. Lando eventually joined the Marines to expand his access to adventure. There were dangers in that process, but there was a process, and structure. Chewbaka, on the other hand, was free-wheeling and impulsive.
He was always a happy go lucky, almost goofy sort of dude, and, in my view, that characteristic did not translate easily into the universe of young adult life. In high school, on nights of pool hopping and going to see monster movies, or arguing about which guitarist was best, goofy had its place. It was one odd ornament, but as long as homework was done, and good grades were awarded, goofiness presented no dangers. The galaxy, and the outer universe presented additional dangers, however, and, that good, goofy kid ran into one of them. Chewbaka tried crack cocaine.
Chewy was just getting home one night from a shift at a restaurant. He had a lot of money in his pocket, and nothing to do. One of his dangerous new friends came by and asked if he wanted to go out. He said, sure, why not. Chewy hopped in the friend’s car and they drove into a bad part of town. This new friend explained that he had to see a guy about something, and Chewbaka should just wait. What ensued was some argument between the new friend, and some drug dealer about debt. The new friend attempted to buy crack, and the dealer just took the money and sent them away. (I assume the new friend thought Chewbaka’s size might be some sort of protection in his downtown transactions, but Chewy was nobody’s enforcer.) Chewy was a kid from the ‘burbs. He was big and powerful, but about as menacing as a cocker spaniel.
Having been robbed by the first drug dealer, the new friend suggested that they go see another one. He asked Chewy if he had any money. It just so happened that Chewy had a large wad of cash on him, having just finished a serving shift. The ever affable Chewy gladly gave his new friend some money, and they went and successfully bought crack cocaine on the second attempt. The new friend took a hit, medicating his withdrawal sickness that comes in hours after using, and then passed the pipe to Chewbaka. Chewy took his first hit and was hooked.
All of this happened “in a galaxy far, far away” from Lando. Lando had for some time been in a place where drug use was absolutely forbidden. This sort of thing was illegal everywhere, but in Lando’s world, they were actively checking. That check, in fact, had become part of life. Eventually Lando was taking drug dealers and drug users off of the street. This particular drug was among the more dirty. It had devastating effects on the human body, and the addiction had devastating effects on all other aspects of human life. It is a filthy drug, and creates a pitiful, trashy lifestyle. Lando and Chewbaka had evolved into very different lifestyles, but their love for one another was unchanged. And although they were not in contact often at this point, Chewy reached out to Lando, this time to involve him in a scam to make money. Chewy didn’t describe it this way, of course. Lando had always lent money to Chewy in their young adult years. Chewy always addressed his requests as loans, but Lando always knew they were gifts, and had no problem with that.
The little scam, or hustle, changed things. Lando did not even suspect the hustle. He had to be alerted by a store clerk who informed him that his friend who was on the other end of the scam was conducting a scam. A light went on, and Lando apologized and left. Lando contacted Chewbaka and informed him that what he was attempting to do was illegal…as if he did not already know. Chewy came clean immediately and confessed that he needed the money for crack cocaine.
Lando was thrown from his seat as though someone had engaged warp speed without warning, allowing him to fasten his seatbelt. A long, long conversation ensued about the impossibility of crack, and the danger to Chewy, and his mother and dad. (Chewy was back living at home by this point). Lando expressed to Chewy that he had to seek help to kick this, and that sobriety could never be achieved without help. Chewbaka agreed all the way through, but insisted that he wanted to kick the addiction himself. Lando believed him, because the Chewy that he knew could always be captured by some loopy ideas. It was in his goofy nature. Chewy was also intelligent, and had always been physically superior. Maybe he did believe that he could do this, Lando thought.
Two days later, they spoke again. Lando asked if Chewy had sought help for addiction. Chewbaka said no. After that conversation, Lando wrote Chewy’s father explaining the whole event. Lando knew of Chewbaka’s ability to seduce his listener into clam and belief, so he instructed Chewy’s father to confront Chewy with the letter in hand, and make Lando the bad guy. A couple of days later, Chewbaka left an angry message on the answering machine. They would not speak for another 30 years.
Eventually, 30 years came and went. They were 30 and 29 when they parted. They are 60 and 59 now. When they reconnected, they spoke as they always had. The familiarity was almost entirely intact. They began with apologies to one another. Chewy apologized for becoming angry and splitting off. Lando apologized for taking the steps to anger him. He said he’d do it again, but still regretted the rupture. His thought at the time was about attending Chewy’s funeral, and seeing his mother cry, and knowing the whole time that he could have said something, but didn’t. For the first time in 30 years, Lando had the chance to explain that to Chewbaka.
Lando and Chewbaka speak several times a week now. Chewy has been to prison for a string of nonviolent crimes. These crimes are typical of a nonviolent addict. He devised a slew of what he called “hustles” like dumpster diving for receipts and petty shoplifting to get cash for drugs. I’m familiar with that end of it. I mean, Lando is. He arrested many of those shoplifters and dumpster divers. Our society is not accommodating to those in the grips of this disease, and once your record grows, you can never really re-enter the galaxy that the rest of us live in. Ex-cons with convictions that involve drugs and/or money…kind of keep you from working anywhere. Chewy is now on disability due to that fact, and two very, very bad knees. He needs two knee replacements, but those are hard to schedule and receive because he keeps going back to rehab.
Yes, 30 years later, Chewy is still having relapses. This is his life now. He is the same person, and very, very different. They relate as always, and not at all. They have known each other since Lando was in first grade, but half of their lives spent in very different galaxies have made them different by necessity.
When Joni Mitchell was 23 years old, she wrote, “…but now old friends are acting strange. They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed. Well, something’s lost but something’s gained in living every day.
…I’ve looked at life from both sides now, from win and lose, and still somehow, it’s life’s illusions I recall. I really don’t know life at all…”
How did she know this at the age of 23?
Suzanne
02/12/2024 @ 12:50 pm
My Lando’s name was Beth. Two weeks ago, a high school acquaintance looked me up through my employer to tell me Beth had passed away. The acquaintance didn’t know me well, but knew Beth would want me to know.
Beth spent a few years homeless, another year living in a gross old man’s basement, exchanging bjs for bottles of vodka. Another year she spent in jail. During those years, I didn’t hear from her, except once, when a man who said he was her husband called to ask if she could come live with me. I told him no. He died from an overdose not long after that.
About ten years ago, she reached out. She’d suffered a massive heart attack, had bypass surgery, and was told if she didn’t quit drugs and alcohol she’d die within the year. She managed to stop, got counseling, got into subsidized housing. We’d talk on the phone, and meet for coffee when I was visiting my folks.
As you described, it felt like nothing had changed our bond. She sounded the same. We laughed at the same things. She was so smart, so funny. A couple years ago, she stopped returning my calls and emails and didn’t tell me why. At the time, I thought maybe it was something I’d said. She was like that, would disappear if you pissed her off or refused to do something she wanted.
Now I wonder if it was because she got sick. The addiction she would not quit was cigarettes, two packs/day. “After everything I’ve been through, I’m entitled to smoke,”she’d say. The acquaintance reported she died from heart failure that resulted from chemo for lung cancer.
She told me that I was the one who got away, a concept that typically refers to lovers. In our case, we were childhood friends joined though the alchemy of becoming of adults, who began a journey as bratty neighbors, then angsty teenagers, then apartment roomies through college, then wives, then divorced women. She was my history, for a long time, until last month, when she peeled off the page.
You wrote a piece to honor Lando, and also, for Beth. Thank you for that.
P.S. as adults, we know Joni was looking back at only a few years when she wrote her song. Wonder what she’d say now 🙂
Bitey
02/12/2024 @ 1:05 pm
Wow, it helps a lot that…to hear from someone who has had this experience. (Actually, he’s Chewbaka, and I’m Lando.).
There is so, so much to this thing. One thing that weighs me down quite heavily is that I can’t stop thinking of this as something that happened to me. It didn’t. It happened to him. I scold myself when I think about my loss because it is his life. All the while, it feels to me like I have lost something because I can’t fully have him as the friend that he was when we were kids. It feels like the most selfish thought I have ever had that I can’t quite keep myself out of his tragedy.
Suzanne
02/12/2024 @ 1:26 pm
Hesitate to tell you I’m not versed in Star Wars, and apologize for confusing the two names.
I know how you feel. His life and how he lives it is about him. However the story of your friendship belongs to both of you. It would be weird if you did not grieve the part you own.
Even as kids we keep bits of ourselves secret. Maybe our childhood best friend gets as close to the secrets as anyone, and the bond grows from that, welded, like twins, formed in the same spot, breathing the same air. The reality is that no one can ever know another completely. It’s a beautiful illusion. Your friend leaned into things you would not choose, and the things that you did, he would not have understood.
I admire how you manage to remain connected to him. I wanted to do that with Beth, but she made a different choice.
Bitey
02/12/2024 @ 2:13 pm
Thanks, Suzanne, but as you might imagine, this story has quite a lot of complexity. Just over this incident, there are story paths which go off in all directions. For example:
If he and I were best friends, there were not just two of us. There were four. The other two are physicians. One in particular is an internist and a psychiatrist in California. He and I split over the fact that I wrote Chewbaka’s dad. My shrink friend called it “disloyalty”. I explained that I was trying to save his life. When I reconnected with Chewy, he asked me to reconnect with the shrink. I said, “I don’t know that dude.” He pressed it a bit and I explain to him that our shrink friend got angry with me out of loyalty to him. When Chewy spoke to him about it, he claimed no memory of it, and said we had just drifted apart. I don’t blame either of them for what happened, but I am not lying to myself about it either. The shrink is a deeply liberal person, and has many qualities that I admire. (I’d be willing to bet that he is more liberal than anyone you know). One aspect of that liberal-ness involves recreational use of drugs. He was always much more, let’s say, experienced. Chewy knew that when he confessed to me about his addiction. He did not confess to the shrink. And we all knew I was not going to give him an attaboy about it. I didn’t like writing his dad, but I’d do it again. I thought I was saving his life. I would have preferred if he had unburdened himself to the shrink. But, would he have gotten into worse trouble sooner, and maybe his family as well? When his life changed, my life changed…and the shrink can’t see to it to even remember accurately.
Suzanne
02/12/2024 @ 4:24 pm
The extra two people sound like planets in orbit around a sun that is your friendship, or who sit nearby on a different bench from you both. A father is deeply invested in their child, but you two shared a friendship that dad wasn’t part of.
For me, the psychiatrist is the bug in the ointment. Was he a friend, or involved in a professional capacity? If he was your friend’s shrink, perhaps he’s used to people other than clients seeking his help, but it sounds like you didn’t do that. If a friend, he would know that you can’t be someone’s shrink and their personal friend. It’s not how the profession does it. Like you said upstream, people make their own choices. Yours was to tell your friend’s father his son needed help. Btw, that ‘disloyal’ stuff* is classic drug and alcohol abuser talk.
With Beth, there were many points in the big picture where if different choices were made, there might have been a different outcome. For example, if I had agreed to take Beth into my home when the man who said he was her husband asked me, would she have started to get well then? I regret having to say no, yet have no regret for saying no. She would have dragged me down with the weight of her addictions at a time when my career was just beginning to get off the ground. I was also engaged. For a long time, I felt like a bad friend who didn’t love her enough. Btw, that self-sacrifice stuff is classic drug and alcohol abused talk.
Something I did learn, will toss out there, maybe it will fit you, maybe it won’t. If I had the last two years to do over, I would have made more of a pest of myself. I emailed and called multiple times, no response. Months later she sent a card apologizing, saying that she’d been really super busy and would get back in touch during the holidays. She didn’t have a job, knew two other tenants in her building, had no car or driver’s license, so I figured the busy thing was an excuse. Now I wonder if she was sick then. If she was sick, I would have gotten in the car and driven down there.
Your friend is still alive? Can you check in periodically and take the temperature of things? As we get older and people peel off, old friends become more precious, no matter how screwed up they are. Maybe you go for an occasional drink or movie, rather than a weekly rendezvous. Maybe you send him the url to this post.
tl;dnr I feel for everyone in your story except the shrink!
* the orange man also accuses others of being ‘disloyal’, it’s not healthy.
Bitey
02/12/2024 @ 5:31 pm
The four of us have been friends since the shrink and I were 5, and the other doc and Chewy were 4. The shrink is a few months older than me. The next was me. Third was Chewy and the other doc is the youngest. That order is also the order of our academic prowess. The second doc was the worst student…but not a bad student. Chewy was the best athlete, I was second, and the docs in reverse order of their age. The shrink was last, but he was deeply obsessive compulsive and ran 10 miles per day until he was about 50. Now, he has bad knees like Chewy. The other doc is a little butter ball multi-millionaire. The shrink donates his entire psychiatric practice to indigent people. Entirely pro bono. He works in internal medicine to pay the bills, and refuses to make more money than he thinks he needs. The younger one is a specialist, and has bought into a conglomerate that owns medical technology. He thinks that illness exists for him to make money. (He’s a greater disappointment than Chewy).
Our parents all knew each other well. My parents died first. Then the younger doc’s parents died. Chewy’s dad died just a few years ago. His mom is alive and well. The shrink’s mom died some years ago, and his dad is still alive. The shrink’s dad was also the head of the English dept at our high school. We attended all of our first birthday parties that included friends. We were at each other’s graduations. We were at each other’s weddings (except Chewy, who married someone from his lifestyle…now divorced).
I got along with all 8 of our parents. The shrink was ideal to the friend’s parents, but fought like wild with his own. He and his dad still do not get along. Chewy got along and was respectful to all of the parents, but was the most babied by his mother. Positively swaddled up until college. His dad was a former Army officer, and was like something out of a film. Chewy didn’t get along with him well.
The feeling of loss for me is manifest in many ways, but one that really gets me is the loss of an ability to track how they are taking these massive changes in our society. We breathed the same air, drank the same water, knew the same people, had the same teachers up until college, so as a sort of core sample, they are unique for me. But I can’t mine that ore like I would like to…for comparison sake. For all different reasons, the connections just ain’t what they used to be.
Suzanne
02/12/2024 @ 8:49 pm
Bitey, they sound like an extended family, multiple brothers and parents, complicated dynamics.
There is a sweetness to the times before we gained adult perspective and responsibility, before we could hear the clock ticking. You seem connected to your friends in ways that respect everyone’s broken places as you grow old together. They’ve known you since you were a child, and you them. You can see your kid faces in your old faces. That makes them special, even when they’re being a••holes
Alan Milner
02/12/2024 @ 1:45 pm
I spent 20 years of my life in human services (and what a misnomer that is) working mostly with substance abusers, from 1976 to 1996. I was never an addict. I didn’t even like pot. I was a heavy drinker for awhile, but I was never an actual alcoholic. I didn’t go into human services from any urgent need to help my fellow human beings. There was this social service agency that was in trouble and needed help raising money, and I knew how to do that. And then there was another agency, and another one after that. When I finally walked away in 1996, I could not figure out how I had gotten into the business, or why I stayed in it for so long….until I figured out that I was addicted to helping people, which might be the most destructive of all addictions, especially when they people you are trying to help don’t want to be helped.
A few months ago, I received word from a mutual acquaintance that the last person with whom I was associated during those years had passed away, which means that EVERYONE I had worked with in human services was dead and gone, except for me.
The final shock was that I always thought that Saundra was much older than I was, a grandmotherly figure. According to her obituary, she was just two years older than I am. She had been a state legislator, a city counselor, and was a historic figure in the Cambridge and Boston communities. We had fallen out a few years ago over a business venture that turned sour. I was trying to get back into human services work, doing what I had done before, raising money…but the people she had hooked me up with were trying to skim money from an empty pot and refused to listen when I told them that the pot was empty.
That was when I knew that I was finally retired for good.
PS: One of the reasons I didn’t become an alcoholic was that I had stopped drinking when I took that job in 1976 as a gesture of solidarity with our clients.
Bitey
02/12/2024 @ 2:00 pm
If there is such a thing as a non-addictive personality, I am that. I don’t have a deep history with drugs or alcohol, but what history I do have, I have enjoyed. I used pot 4 times in college. Four. I loved it, but it had no place in the world, so I didn’t use. After having moved to Virginia, where the sale, purchase, and possession is legal, I bought some. I’m 60 years old now, and I bought my first bag of weed. And it is amazing! But, I have no time for it. I have tried it twice, and it nearly incapacitates me. I have zero time for that, so I have a stash. I say this because I can’t share this information with my friend who is currently in rehab. Even when I go to my football fan club to watch my favorite team, I drink Coke if I am going to discuss it with my friend. I won’t say otherwise because that would be lying to him, and he needs a foundation of truth around him. That’s how his rehab works.
He has gone into some detail about the addictive pull of his addiction. Beyond that, I have sought other explanations about how this monster hooks people. It’s not something I would ever try because I have seen its effects, it is quite illegal, and I am fully aware that there is no getting over that addiction. I’m not under any illusions that my non-addictive nature, if such a thing exists, would insulate me from that powerful drug.
Today, with Youtube, you can find people discussing almost anything. I recently watched a young man talk about how he used to rinse poppyseeds and make tea…which contains the opiate in heroin. Curiosity doesn’t have to kill me. But it does nearly kill me that it killed my friend’s life, if not his actual being alive…yet.
Suzanne
02/12/2024 @ 4:43 pm
Bitey, so you are in touch with your friend…the friend you don’t discuss weed with is the same friend who is Chewy?
Hilarious that you can remember the number of times you smoked as a young person. Four. Not five. Not three. Exactly four. My high school boyfriend was a dealer, so I’m unable to do any counting. Hash was my jam then. Whatever happened to hash?
Several years ago, went to hear a friend’s band play at the Middle East (remember the Middle East, Alan? In Central Sq?) and someone passed around a joint. My friend said to take one drag, that it was stronger than the weed from back in my day. One toke I took, and do I remember a moment of that evening? I do not. Wait. The booth wall was burnt orange. I spent most of the time staring at that.
My buddy Dave smokes every night now, to calm his GI issues. I have GI issues as well, and he wants me to go to the pot shop with him, will fix me right up.
Bitey
02/12/2024 @ 5:42 pm
Everyone is still alive, and Chewy and I are in contact several times per week. We reconnected just as I was moving from Ohio to Virginia. I spent my last week in Ohio looking for him in Pa. We were playing email tag, and I could not get timely responses to track him down. Once I got to Virginia, I found out that he was in rehab, and was restricted from using his phone. We began to piece things together 6 months ago, and generally did not let 3 days pass without someone checking in. Then a few weeks ago I didn’t hear from him for a week. I sent him text saying I must have angered him with something and whatever it was I was sorry for. Then he explained that it was nothing of the sort. He had another relapse, and was back in rehab, and restricted from his phone. I won’t hear from him now for another few weeks.
As for remembering the weed from college, it was absolutely four. And when I got polygraphed by the LAPD I told them two times because they considered more than two times to be habitual use. I passed the polygraph, With the only thing showing was an increase in blood pressure. I triggered the confirmation bias of the person investigating me because the rest of my background was squeaky. I didn’t have a blemish. My teachers and friend’s parents raved about me. So, when I lied and turned 4 into 2, the investigator reasoned that “good people can become annoyed by the type of questioning, and that raised your (my) blood pressure.”
JP Hart
02/17/2024 @ 4:39 am
How you got Big Foot and Lionel Richie to stand still smiling is epic and true dat it’s somewhat of a Hurricane Party … makes me wonder if Steven Spielberg had a guffaw …! Albeit Space Odyssey 2001 held more of a seismic implosion for many of us … you know with all our sacred soldiers reappearing like O!M!GOD! And here’s a final disconnect of what probably sounds like a 04:00 prayer for peace: please favor U.S. with your ten best books for the fallout shelter, Bitey. I guess that’s why they call it the Moody Blues.
Truth has no eulogy.
JP Hart
02/27/2024 @ 4:11 pm
If I may:
today’s inter-woven-clover-search:
‘…define vulnerable….’ And cowabunga!
Ashwath Kaushik Singaporean chess prodigy!
One big show! Bitey did you hear of:
‘The New York Times
A former professor donated $1 billion to a Bronx medical school, with instructions to provide free tuition in perpetuity.
Monday, February 26, 2024 9:13 AM ET’
Hey:!: Bitey!::!
Patiently we await your ten best books for us slow down and live readers, [TY]. Or ought we braille through the cosmically-cyber Ten (10) Commandments?!
I’m marathoning J.Fogerty’s ‘Centerfield’. As I outline sketch/contemplate essay:
‘Co$t$ of Federal Medical School Tuition Payoff’ & thus far research indicates that America has 1,011,100 doctors. Whoa! Apparently each graduate owes 1/4 million at least …. Please let me conclude this extemporaneous somewhat confined comet with an iPhone friendly attempt at cosmic creativity chuckles (rolling @sea):
S inbad
T icToc
E mc2
M 00LA
Bitey
02/27/2024 @ 4:41 pm
People can’t be trusted for such information.
JP Hart
02/27/2024 @ 6:55 pm
WOW
Shall we CURE cancer
X Flag Day 2024 Dr. Beck?
Go 4 Aye 👁️👩💻🧑🏻💻👁️
Bitey
02/27/2024 @ 10:43 pm
Number five, “Invisible Man” by Ralph Ellison. Sometimes when you read something, a thought that you have been having is fleshed out by a great author, and you find a kindred where you thought you may have been alone. In the case of this story, I had thought for a long time that Black people in America and…others, live in parallel worlds where Black people see the other world, but others do not see the universe that Black people live in. Then, I read this novel about being “invisible”, and something clicked.
Sixth, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” by Milan Kundera. This book has to be in here somewhere. I am fascinated with the concept of three forces in this story, which, I think, is repeated in many stories. In this particular case, there is the Russian tank roaming through Prague to represent Russian oppression, and there are the three people in the love triangle. (I recall writing something about the tank playing the same role as the shark in Jaws, which also had three people on a boat). The precise way this narrative worked escapes me, but I remember feeling that it revealed something true, universal and permanent in the human experience.
Seven, “The Jungle” by Upton Sinclair. I read this book before I knew that Lithuania was a real country. If you’re familiar with it, you know how shocking the story is. I think this book shook me from my childhood. A week doesn’t go by where I don’t think about the baby that fell off of a boardwalk/sidewalk in the muddy Chicago street and drowned in the mud. This book was an absolute mind blower.
Eight, “The Giving Tree”. To even type the title makes me sad. The book was so beautiful to look at, but the story absolutely carves your heart out.
Nine, wow, I nearly forgot about “The Autobiography of Malcom X”. I don’t recall why I read this book. I think it was just pure curiosity. The story is exceptionally well told. I can recall that at one point, I was so angered by the story that I threw the book across the room. I think it was when his teacher told him that he was worthless and should become a plumber or something. I don’t remember the elements, but I remember that it was a page turner.
I’ll round out with tenth, “The Onion Field” by Joseph Waumbaugh. The true story took place in the division that I worked, Hollywood Div. I saw the portraits of the officers who died in the lobby most days that I worked, and was curious about this published author who had also worked in my division. Much of what we did as officers was developed based upon what happened to the partners in that story, so it holds a special meaning for me. My curiosity about police work led me to becoming one. I was curious about what it was like on the inside. After doing it, I discovered that it is quite different from what practically everyone thinks they know about it. And living that experience was a springboard to learning about humanity more broadly. Mainly, what I learned is that we have hard intellectual shells around ourselves. People never really learn about each other. They hold on to their perceptions in defiance of actual facts or testimony from experience. Becoming a police officer, and having been one, only added another, smaller, less understood minority to my minority profile.
JP HART
02/28/2024 @ 12:17 am
Adamant danke schoen, Bill! You’re right up there with the pulsations of Clayton-Jagger-Richards’ Gimme Shelter!
5 DEC 1969 {…} silent prayer that you’re not torn and covered with scars ✌
JP Hart
02/29/2024 @ 5:25 pm
B.B.Bitey’s 10 for the Money — Ten for the Show
“I Know This Much is True” by Wally Lamb
“Collected essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson” by Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Catch-22” by Joseph Heller
“All the King’s Men” by Robert Penn Warren
[one two three four five six seven eight nine ten]
“The Unbearable Lightness of Being” by Milan Kundera
“Invisible Man” by Ralph Ellison
“The Jungle” by Upton Sinclair
“The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein
“The Autobiography of Malcolm X” Malcolm X
“The Onion Field” by Joseph Waumbaugh
[12345678910] 🚀
{L0;} sound over {L0;}
The Righteous Brothers — Rock and Roll Heaven
JP Hart
03/09/2024 @ 1:21 am
At risk of a polo positive possessive we apparently concur that Shakespeare and Ken Kesey have had too much influence. At the moment I am outside Denmark, WI challenged by Neal Stephenson’s REAMDE — the book weighs 6.4 lbs., so it promises to be a journey to the end of the night … no doubt happy for awhile … rather curious hOWLever if I am the only one thinking of Roberto Clemente