True Tales.....
Note: I changed the names in some of these tales. Though true, I don't want to cause anyone discomfort by disclosing sensitive information. So far, the True Tales with name changes include The power of Love and A Guiding Hand.
Compensation.....
A group called Al Qaeda kidnapped an American named Warren Weinstein. Unfortunately, before his release, he was killed by a drone strike carried out by the United States military against Al Qaeda on January 14th, 2015. His family demanded a fair settlement. A decade earlier, Warren and Elaine Weinstein, along with two other people defaulted on millions they owed my husband, Stephen Morton for the purchase of his company. Steve was never compensated for this terrible loss.
When my husband was a graduate student attending New Mexico State University, he was approached by a man representing a wealthy woman from Brazil who was intent upon investing in technology that might help improve Brazil's environment. As it happened, Steve was working on an idea to remotely monitor metals in rivers. His specialty was telemetry, an offshoot of electrical engineering. Of course the Amazon River runs through Brazil's Amazon Rainforest, and is constantly jeopardized by mining effluents such as mercury which poisons the water, and everything in it. This was a perfect match, and following several meetings, Steve and Elisabeth Zocchio, head of Global Advanced Technologies (GAT) formed a company called Intelligent Monitoring Systems that centered around the research, development and production of Steve's idea, and began making steady progress toward this end. Just as the invention was ready to go into production, the company along with the patent for Steve's invention, was sold to a group called Ross RWB & Associates, Inc. ("RWB"). The group was incorporated to purchase the IMS stock. The owners were John B. Ross, Richard Bissell, Elaine L. Weinstein, and Warren Weinstein, who becomes the focus of one of my True Tales.
A group called Al Qaeda kidnapped an American named Warren Weinstein. Unfortunately, before his release, he was killed by a drone strike carried out by the United States military against Al Qaeda on January 14th, 2015. His family demanded a fair settlement. A decade earlier, Warren and Elaine Weinstein, along with two other people defaulted on millions they owed my husband, Stephen Morton for the purchase of his company. Steve was never compensated for this terrible loss.
When my husband was a graduate student attending New Mexico State University, he was approached by a man representing a wealthy woman from Brazil who was intent upon investing in technology that might help improve Brazil's environment. As it happened, Steve was working on an idea to remotely monitor metals in rivers. His specialty was telemetry, an offshoot of electrical engineering. Of course the Amazon River runs through Brazil's Amazon Rainforest, and is constantly jeopardized by mining effluents such as mercury which poisons the water, and everything in it. This was a perfect match, and following several meetings, Steve and Elisabeth Zocchio, head of Global Advanced Technologies (GAT) formed a company called Intelligent Monitoring Systems that centered around the research, development and production of Steve's idea, and began making steady progress toward this end. Just as the invention was ready to go into production, the company along with the patent for Steve's invention, was sold to a group called Ross RWB & Associates, Inc. ("RWB"). The group was incorporated to purchase the IMS stock. The owners were John B. Ross, Richard Bissell, Elaine L. Weinstein, and Warren Weinstein, who becomes the focus of one of my True Tales.
Coming Out.....
When Jake was about twelve years old, he said, "Mom, I need to tell you something." Although over the years I had little hints that he might be gay, I'd pushed the thought out of my mind as soon as it emerged because at that time, being gay, especially in a conservative, supposedly Christian Texas town, meant being Christlike, "despised, rejected, and acquainted with grief."
As time passed and Jacob transitioned from grade to grade, I noticed unusual things about him. For example, in kindergarten, his best friend was a little boy named Vincent. He talked about Vincent all the time. "Mom," he'd say, "Vincent's so adorable. He's got these cute little glasses that circle around his bright, blue eyes, and his little, chubby cheeks are so squeezable," and he'd go on and on about Vincent. He adored Vincent, and was sad when we moved away because he never saw Vincent again.
Later on, when Jacob was turning eleven, he decided that he wanted a birthday party. We had the party at a pizza and game place, and he invited about ten to twelve friends his age. The unusual part was that he wanted to invite a neighbor boy who was at least three years older than Jake, and to my surprise, he attended the party! Jacob had a wonderful time and was especially thrilled that the older neighbor boy attended. Later that year, when the family moved out of the neighborhood, Jake gifted him with a unique set of Michael Jordan collectible cards as a going away gift. The following year, he began middle school. About mid-year, he decided that he was going to bleach his hair. This was well before it was a trend among any of the kids, especially the boys. Of course, some of his classmates began teasing him, and I became very concerned, but I remained in denial, and his confronting me is another of my True Tales.
When Jake was about twelve years old, he said, "Mom, I need to tell you something." Although over the years I had little hints that he might be gay, I'd pushed the thought out of my mind as soon as it emerged because at that time, being gay, especially in a conservative, supposedly Christian Texas town, meant being Christlike, "despised, rejected, and acquainted with grief."
As time passed and Jacob transitioned from grade to grade, I noticed unusual things about him. For example, in kindergarten, his best friend was a little boy named Vincent. He talked about Vincent all the time. "Mom," he'd say, "Vincent's so adorable. He's got these cute little glasses that circle around his bright, blue eyes, and his little, chubby cheeks are so squeezable," and he'd go on and on about Vincent. He adored Vincent, and was sad when we moved away because he never saw Vincent again.
Later on, when Jacob was turning eleven, he decided that he wanted a birthday party. We had the party at a pizza and game place, and he invited about ten to twelve friends his age. The unusual part was that he wanted to invite a neighbor boy who was at least three years older than Jake, and to my surprise, he attended the party! Jacob had a wonderful time and was especially thrilled that the older neighbor boy attended. Later that year, when the family moved out of the neighborhood, Jake gifted him with a unique set of Michael Jordan collectible cards as a going away gift. The following year, he began middle school. About mid-year, he decided that he was going to bleach his hair. This was well before it was a trend among any of the kids, especially the boys. Of course, some of his classmates began teasing him, and I became very concerned, but I remained in denial, and his confronting me is another of my True Tales.
The Priest, the Power and the Pennies….
We lost our precious eldest son several years ago to liver disease caused by alcohol consumption. Of course, it was devastating, and we were heartbroken. A year earlier he miraculously received a liver transplant and we were very hopeful. But, the transplant eventually failed for a number of reasons. Thankfully when the transplant began failing, he did not languish, and we were very grateful for that. However, he passed so quickly that we couldn't get to him to say goodbye.
We were all very sad about that but grateful that his friend Gloria was by his side. Many people attended his memorial service, and it was so nice to know that these people really cared about him. However, prior to the memorial service, several strange things happened. Our daughter wanted a priest to give the traditional catholic blessing prior to the service. She received rejections from every Catholic Church in the area until finally, she reached a priest who, answering the phone himself, agreed to attend. It was highly unusual for a priest to answer his phone and more unusual to agree to attend without asking about Bernie's standing in the church.
While Bernie was a baptized Catholic, he did not attend mass or tithe to the church. Ordinarily, for a priest to attend someone, they had to be in good standing. However, to everyone's surprise, the priest Stef spoke to agreed to come, and indeed he arrived precisely on time. He was very interesting-looking. He appeared to be about Bern's age and had a lot of Bernie's mannerisms. Moreover, he seemed too cool to be a priest. However, his attire was the old Spanish Franciscan missionary style, including his hat and the rosary that hung past the loose rope belt at his waist. He had shoulder-length black hair with white strands, a mustache, and a short beard. Also, to everyone's surprise, he said his last name was Archuleta, too, just like Bern's. Even though everything relating to the priest was very unusual, none of us realized its extent until several months later, when we began trying to find the priest to thank him and offer a stipend for his service to the family. The priest and other strange events surrounding Bernie's passing is one of my True Tales.
We lost our precious eldest son several years ago to liver disease caused by alcohol consumption. Of course, it was devastating, and we were heartbroken. A year earlier he miraculously received a liver transplant and we were very hopeful. But, the transplant eventually failed for a number of reasons. Thankfully when the transplant began failing, he did not languish, and we were very grateful for that. However, he passed so quickly that we couldn't get to him to say goodbye.
We were all very sad about that but grateful that his friend Gloria was by his side. Many people attended his memorial service, and it was so nice to know that these people really cared about him. However, prior to the memorial service, several strange things happened. Our daughter wanted a priest to give the traditional catholic blessing prior to the service. She received rejections from every Catholic Church in the area until finally, she reached a priest who, answering the phone himself, agreed to attend. It was highly unusual for a priest to answer his phone and more unusual to agree to attend without asking about Bernie's standing in the church.
While Bernie was a baptized Catholic, he did not attend mass or tithe to the church. Ordinarily, for a priest to attend someone, they had to be in good standing. However, to everyone's surprise, the priest Stef spoke to agreed to come, and indeed he arrived precisely on time. He was very interesting-looking. He appeared to be about Bern's age and had a lot of Bernie's mannerisms. Moreover, he seemed too cool to be a priest. However, his attire was the old Spanish Franciscan missionary style, including his hat and the rosary that hung past the loose rope belt at his waist. He had shoulder-length black hair with white strands, a mustache, and a short beard. Also, to everyone's surprise, he said his last name was Archuleta, too, just like Bern's. Even though everything relating to the priest was very unusual, none of us realized its extent until several months later, when we began trying to find the priest to thank him and offer a stipend for his service to the family. The priest and other strange events surrounding Bernie's passing is one of my True Tales.
Belonging....
My husband Steve got into trouble with several other young men from his high school as a teenager. He was living on a military base in Japan at the time with his mother, who had recently divorced his father, so Steve was likely acting out due to his family's breakup. As a result of his illicit activities, he was ordered to juvenile Court because, thankfully, he was still seventeen and a senior in high school. His mother suggested that he could go to relatives in the British Virgin Islands rather than detention. The judge agreed, and Steve's mother arranged for his travel to Anegada, BVI, to live with relatives. She thought this might help him settle down and think about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Also, there was absolutely nothing to distract him on the isolated island of Anegada and no way to get into more trouble. Anegada is part of the British Virgin Islands and lies fifteen miles north of Virgin Gorda. Rather than emerging from volcanic activity like most of the other islands in the area, it was formed entirely of limestone and coral. While hills cover the other islands, Anegada is relatively flat, rising slightly in the middle, and it is surrounded by reefs, with a great barrier reef protecting the south side. Adjusting to Anegada's climate was not difficult for Steve because it is similar to Tokyo's, including temperatures ranging between seventy and ninety degrees. However, the two islands had nothing else in common. However, having no other choice, Steve made the long journey from Japan to St. Thomas, where some lobstermen traveling there daily from Anegada to sell their catch to area restaurants picked him up. Thus, Steve transitioned from Tokyo, a sophisticated city in Japan, to a crude, rudimentary settlement in the British Virgin Islands. His experience there is one of my True Tales.
My husband Steve got into trouble with several other young men from his high school as a teenager. He was living on a military base in Japan at the time with his mother, who had recently divorced his father, so Steve was likely acting out due to his family's breakup. As a result of his illicit activities, he was ordered to juvenile Court because, thankfully, he was still seventeen and a senior in high school. His mother suggested that he could go to relatives in the British Virgin Islands rather than detention. The judge agreed, and Steve's mother arranged for his travel to Anegada, BVI, to live with relatives. She thought this might help him settle down and think about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Also, there was absolutely nothing to distract him on the isolated island of Anegada and no way to get into more trouble. Anegada is part of the British Virgin Islands and lies fifteen miles north of Virgin Gorda. Rather than emerging from volcanic activity like most of the other islands in the area, it was formed entirely of limestone and coral. While hills cover the other islands, Anegada is relatively flat, rising slightly in the middle, and it is surrounded by reefs, with a great barrier reef protecting the south side. Adjusting to Anegada's climate was not difficult for Steve because it is similar to Tokyo's, including temperatures ranging between seventy and ninety degrees. However, the two islands had nothing else in common. However, having no other choice, Steve made the long journey from Japan to St. Thomas, where some lobstermen traveling there daily from Anegada to sell their catch to area restaurants picked him up. Thus, Steve transitioned from Tokyo, a sophisticated city in Japan, to a crude, rudimentary settlement in the British Virgin Islands. His experience there is one of my True Tales.
Boats, Motors and Prayers….
We've owned a property in Birch Bay, Washington, for about twenty-five years. We found it when we traveled to Blaine, Washington, a town bordering Canada. Steve was consulting with people just across the border in Aldergrove, Canada, and while he was working, Jake and I spent our time exploring the area. That's how we discovered the lot in Birch Bay. It had a "For Sale By Owner" sign, and when Steve got back that evening, we showed him the lot. It was perfectly placed, just across from the public access to the beach, and yet, not right on the Bay. We didn't want bayside property because of the expense of maintaining a seawall and potential flooding.
So, we called the owner and offered ten thousand down, with owner financing for six years. He agreed, and we became owners of our beautiful lot in Birch Bay. Paying it off in six years stretched our finances, but we're so happy we did that. At the time, we owned a little townhouse in Linwood, Washington. However, shortly after we made the deal for the Birch Bay property, the buyers of Steve's company defaulted, forcing a move to Houston where he found work at NASA's Johnson Space Center. We rented our Linwood townhouse and proceeded to pay off the Birch Bay property. Once the property was paid for, we sold the townhouse, netting sufficient funds to build in Birch Bay. We found a contractor there, and he built a solid little beach house on our property. I'll never forget how wonderful it was to visit our newly completed home with a sweeping view of the bay during our Christmas break.
Our fantasy was to eventually live there full time and enjoy everything the Bay offers, including fishing and crabbing. But participating in these activities becomes an expensive endeavor. It requires a boat, motor, and other miscellaneous equipment, none of which we owned, and our acquisition of these items is another of my True Tales.
We've owned a property in Birch Bay, Washington, for about twenty-five years. We found it when we traveled to Blaine, Washington, a town bordering Canada. Steve was consulting with people just across the border in Aldergrove, Canada, and while he was working, Jake and I spent our time exploring the area. That's how we discovered the lot in Birch Bay. It had a "For Sale By Owner" sign, and when Steve got back that evening, we showed him the lot. It was perfectly placed, just across from the public access to the beach, and yet, not right on the Bay. We didn't want bayside property because of the expense of maintaining a seawall and potential flooding.
So, we called the owner and offered ten thousand down, with owner financing for six years. He agreed, and we became owners of our beautiful lot in Birch Bay. Paying it off in six years stretched our finances, but we're so happy we did that. At the time, we owned a little townhouse in Linwood, Washington. However, shortly after we made the deal for the Birch Bay property, the buyers of Steve's company defaulted, forcing a move to Houston where he found work at NASA's Johnson Space Center. We rented our Linwood townhouse and proceeded to pay off the Birch Bay property. Once the property was paid for, we sold the townhouse, netting sufficient funds to build in Birch Bay. We found a contractor there, and he built a solid little beach house on our property. I'll never forget how wonderful it was to visit our newly completed home with a sweeping view of the bay during our Christmas break.
Our fantasy was to eventually live there full time and enjoy everything the Bay offers, including fishing and crabbing. But participating in these activities becomes an expensive endeavor. It requires a boat, motor, and other miscellaneous equipment, none of which we owned, and our acquisition of these items is another of my True Tales.
The House on Bradley Street….
We bought our property in Seabrook, Texas, more than fifteen years ago. It happened like this. When Stevie, my stepson, was about sixteen years old, his mother discovered that he was changing his grades on the school computer. Consequently, when she thought he was on the honor roll, he was actually failing several classes. She discovered that he had done this for two complete semesters. He failed math an entire year of math and English. She called Steve and told him that Stevie needed to live with us.
I agreed, of course, because we love him very much and wanted the best for him. However, before we brought him to Houston, I delineated some rules. He would not be able to drive until he completed the necessary classes and must make up all the credits in summer school, meaning he had to attend all day for the entire summer. I explained that I'd be driving him back and forth to his classes.
In the meantime, we purchased an old yellow Mercedes for him and parked it in the driveway, telling him the vehicle was his to drive to school after he gained his summer credits. Everyone agreed, so Stevie arrived at the end of May, and we signed him up for summer school. He began his classes in early June. I drove him there at eight in the morning and picked him up at three in the afternoon. After a week, I became worried that the days were too tedious for him. I felt terrible about that, so Jacob and I began picking him up at noon, grabbing a drive-through lunch, and then cruising around the area for the hour between his morning and afternoon classes. Our discovery and acquisition of property during one of these cruises is the foundation of another of my True Tales.
We bought our property in Seabrook, Texas, more than fifteen years ago. It happened like this. When Stevie, my stepson, was about sixteen years old, his mother discovered that he was changing his grades on the school computer. Consequently, when she thought he was on the honor roll, he was actually failing several classes. She discovered that he had done this for two complete semesters. He failed math an entire year of math and English. She called Steve and told him that Stevie needed to live with us.
I agreed, of course, because we love him very much and wanted the best for him. However, before we brought him to Houston, I delineated some rules. He would not be able to drive until he completed the necessary classes and must make up all the credits in summer school, meaning he had to attend all day for the entire summer. I explained that I'd be driving him back and forth to his classes.
In the meantime, we purchased an old yellow Mercedes for him and parked it in the driveway, telling him the vehicle was his to drive to school after he gained his summer credits. Everyone agreed, so Stevie arrived at the end of May, and we signed him up for summer school. He began his classes in early June. I drove him there at eight in the morning and picked him up at three in the afternoon. After a week, I became worried that the days were too tedious for him. I felt terrible about that, so Jacob and I began picking him up at noon, grabbing a drive-through lunch, and then cruising around the area for the hour between his morning and afternoon classes. Our discovery and acquisition of property during one of these cruises is the foundation of another of my True Tales.
Portrait of a Terrorist….
I became acquainted with a troubled young man named Raymond Sandoval in the mid-eighties when I began my teaching career. Over the months, he shared his life story with me, which was very sad. By the time I met Raymond, he and his father were estranged. He had lost his brother to a terrible motorcycle accident that Raymond believed was suicide, and he was forced out of his mother's home because he could not get along with his stepfather. His grandparents always tried to help him, but they were elderly and lacked the resources necessary to provide for him. Moreover, some of their help laid the foundation for his drug problem. His Uncle Pat loved him but had a young family to care for.
So, by the time Raymond was twenty years old, he was on his own, and it did not turn out well. This account of Raymond's life is based on our hours of conversation and other communication with his Uncle Pat. I completed his story from court documents, newspaper accounts of the Oso fire, and obituaries. I am happy I met Raymond because he was kind, sensitive, and brilliant, but I regret engaging with his inner guide, Kodiak, who ultimately controlled Raymond's decision-making and was responsible for one of the most egregious arsonist events in New Mexico's history. Because he related his utterly tragic life story to me, I understand how actions and events came together, ultimately creating Raymond "Kodiak" Sandoval, and I am sharing this account as one of my True Tales.
I became acquainted with a troubled young man named Raymond Sandoval in the mid-eighties when I began my teaching career. Over the months, he shared his life story with me, which was very sad. By the time I met Raymond, he and his father were estranged. He had lost his brother to a terrible motorcycle accident that Raymond believed was suicide, and he was forced out of his mother's home because he could not get along with his stepfather. His grandparents always tried to help him, but they were elderly and lacked the resources necessary to provide for him. Moreover, some of their help laid the foundation for his drug problem. His Uncle Pat loved him but had a young family to care for.
So, by the time Raymond was twenty years old, he was on his own, and it did not turn out well. This account of Raymond's life is based on our hours of conversation and other communication with his Uncle Pat. I completed his story from court documents, newspaper accounts of the Oso fire, and obituaries. I am happy I met Raymond because he was kind, sensitive, and brilliant, but I regret engaging with his inner guide, Kodiak, who ultimately controlled Raymond's decision-making and was responsible for one of the most egregious arsonist events in New Mexico's history. Because he related his utterly tragic life story to me, I understand how actions and events came together, ultimately creating Raymond "Kodiak" Sandoval, and I am sharing this account as one of my True Tales.
Love and Life Lessons…..
I met Bruce at the beginning of seventh grade when he joined my class for the first time. We attended a private school called McCurdy in Espanola, New Mexico, run by a mission group from Ohio. By the time Bruce joined the class, all of us knew each other very well because we’d attended together for years. In fact, during our sixth-grade year, we all paired up and broke up, with everyone taking turns "going around" with one another. Someone would pass a note to another saying, for example, Troy wants to go around with you, with a yes or no that you are meant to circle in response. That's how you started "going around" with a classmate, which usually lasted for about a week.
During the "going around" time, you stood or walked together at recess while everyone else was having fun. It was pretty confining and miserable for those like me who were very active during recess but pretending to be ladylike instead of the tomboy I was. Most of us had attended together from first grade, so there were very few surprises, and we knew each other very well by the time Bruce joined us in our Seventh-grade year. Until then, Bruce lived with his parents in Dulce, New Mexico, where they worked for the Jicarilla Apache educational system. I think Bruce's father, James was a principal, and his mother, Mary, was a teacher. Bruce attended elementary school on the Reservation, but as soon as he was old enough, they sent him to school at McCurdy as a boarding student. My relationshup with Bruce during our time at McCurdy is another of my True Tales.
I met Bruce at the beginning of seventh grade when he joined my class for the first time. We attended a private school called McCurdy in Espanola, New Mexico, run by a mission group from Ohio. By the time Bruce joined the class, all of us knew each other very well because we’d attended together for years. In fact, during our sixth-grade year, we all paired up and broke up, with everyone taking turns "going around" with one another. Someone would pass a note to another saying, for example, Troy wants to go around with you, with a yes or no that you are meant to circle in response. That's how you started "going around" with a classmate, which usually lasted for about a week.
During the "going around" time, you stood or walked together at recess while everyone else was having fun. It was pretty confining and miserable for those like me who were very active during recess but pretending to be ladylike instead of the tomboy I was. Most of us had attended together from first grade, so there were very few surprises, and we knew each other very well by the time Bruce joined us in our Seventh-grade year. Until then, Bruce lived with his parents in Dulce, New Mexico, where they worked for the Jicarilla Apache educational system. I think Bruce's father, James was a principal, and his mother, Mary, was a teacher. Bruce attended elementary school on the Reservation, but as soon as he was old enough, they sent him to school at McCurdy as a boarding student. My relationshup with Bruce during our time at McCurdy is another of my True Tales.
The Power of Love……
“Of all the lies I ever lived my favorite was you and I.”
from David Jones, Love and Space Dust
During our senior year in high school, my friend Gracie started dating a young college guy from our hometown named James. That meant she quit hanging around with me and our third friend, Sharon. Her boyfriend started coming home every weekend, so she was busy dating him every weekend. He could hardly stay away. Later in the year, Gracie told me that they began having sex. Sex was risky in the late 60s because birth control was not readily available, primarily because young women weren't expected to be intimate until marriage, even though it was the decade of free love that didn't apply to every place in the country.
Gracie and I were both very naïve and depended on our friend, Sharon, to inform us about sex. Sharon was sexually active and had been since her freshman year in high school. Despite this, she never had a pregnancy scare, so we thought she was a trustworthy source. Many years later, we discovered that she could not have children, so all of her tips and secrets were meaningless. Toward the end of our senior year, Gracie became less and less infatuated with her college boyfriend and tried to break up with him once. However, he responded by escalating his trips home. So, by the time we graduated, the two became inseparable. Gracie acquired her first STD around the time she realized she was pregnant. Her life with James is another of my True Tales.
“Of all the lies I ever lived my favorite was you and I.”
from David Jones, Love and Space Dust
During our senior year in high school, my friend Gracie started dating a young college guy from our hometown named James. That meant she quit hanging around with me and our third friend, Sharon. Her boyfriend started coming home every weekend, so she was busy dating him every weekend. He could hardly stay away. Later in the year, Gracie told me that they began having sex. Sex was risky in the late 60s because birth control was not readily available, primarily because young women weren't expected to be intimate until marriage, even though it was the decade of free love that didn't apply to every place in the country.
Gracie and I were both very naïve and depended on our friend, Sharon, to inform us about sex. Sharon was sexually active and had been since her freshman year in high school. Despite this, she never had a pregnancy scare, so we thought she was a trustworthy source. Many years later, we discovered that she could not have children, so all of her tips and secrets were meaningless. Toward the end of our senior year, Gracie became less and less infatuated with her college boyfriend and tried to break up with him once. However, he responded by escalating his trips home. So, by the time we graduated, the two became inseparable. Gracie acquired her first STD around the time she realized she was pregnant. Her life with James is another of my True Tales.
The Mango Shack…..
“To write is to fight forgetting.”
from Annie Ernaux Interview
We have a little house in Waianae, Hawaii, that we call the Mango Shack. We acquired this property after our youngest son moved to Oahu despite many reservations on my part. He decided to move after attending a community college in Mount Vernon, Washington. His performance there was lackluster, making average and below-average grades in this community college primarily because he spent most of his time smoking pot. The pot utterly decimated his initiative, and I had little hope of his ever overcoming his dependence on it. However, following several counseling sessions, I also discovered that he did it to self-medicate as he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which impacted him daily.
First, he managed it by smoking pot, but then pot began to manage him. So, when he decided to leave Washington, move to Oahu, and try to join Job Corps to get a skill of some time that would allow him to make a living, I had very little confidence in his plan. In my opinion, Jake's decision to move to Hawaii would just be a lot more expensive when we had to go save him! On the other hand, his father, Steve, insisted that we support him as he tried to make his way. He told me we needed to give him a chance to choose where and how to live his life, so that's exactly what we did. As it turned out, Steve was right, and I was utterly wrong. This was the best decision Jake ever made, and I'm very happy that my husband, Steve, supported him. Jake and our connection to Hawaii became another of my True Tales.
“To write is to fight forgetting.”
from Annie Ernaux Interview
We have a little house in Waianae, Hawaii, that we call the Mango Shack. We acquired this property after our youngest son moved to Oahu despite many reservations on my part. He decided to move after attending a community college in Mount Vernon, Washington. His performance there was lackluster, making average and below-average grades in this community college primarily because he spent most of his time smoking pot. The pot utterly decimated his initiative, and I had little hope of his ever overcoming his dependence on it. However, following several counseling sessions, I also discovered that he did it to self-medicate as he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which impacted him daily.
First, he managed it by smoking pot, but then pot began to manage him. So, when he decided to leave Washington, move to Oahu, and try to join Job Corps to get a skill of some time that would allow him to make a living, I had very little confidence in his plan. In my opinion, Jake's decision to move to Hawaii would just be a lot more expensive when we had to go save him! On the other hand, his father, Steve, insisted that we support him as he tried to make his way. He told me we needed to give him a chance to choose where and how to live his life, so that's exactly what we did. As it turned out, Steve was right, and I was utterly wrong. This was the best decision Jake ever made, and I'm very happy that my husband, Steve, supported him. Jake and our connection to Hawaii became another of my True Tales.
A Guiding Hand….
“To write is to fight forgetting.” Annie Ernaux
I recently read that the Barnes Corporation holdings belonging to lifelong friends were sold to a new owner, including a thriving little restaurant that was started in the late 1960s. I was delighted because Peggy, the manager of the holdings, confided several years earlier that she was trying to sell everything and had been for more than a decade and couldn't do it. At the time, she predicted that she would die refilling items in the salad bar. I was so pleased for Peggy and her family because I knew that the sale meant that her mother could afford the care she needed as she aged, her brother, who had recently gone through a difficult divorce, losing almost everything, had a nest egg, and Peggy was finally free of the stress and hard work involved in maintaining everything.
I knew all of this because I helped Peggy navigate a devastating time in her life, during which she disclosed everything to me. Peggy never wanted to manage this business. She planned to spend her life as a homemaker and mother but was forced into the role of businesswoman and corporate manager. It happened this way. I've known Peggy Barnes since I was around six years old. Actually, I was friends with her brother Kenny, and my older sister was friends with Peggy. Kenny and I were boyfriend and girlfriend for a short time. He brought me a darling little stuffed dog for Christmas, and I saved it until I got married and moved away from home. I knew little of Peggy during my early years except for what I learned second-hand from my sister. But when I moved back to my hometown, I was drawn into what I now see as a shocking turn of events which is another of my True Tales.
“To write is to fight forgetting.” Annie Ernaux
I recently read that the Barnes Corporation holdings belonging to lifelong friends were sold to a new owner, including a thriving little restaurant that was started in the late 1960s. I was delighted because Peggy, the manager of the holdings, confided several years earlier that she was trying to sell everything and had been for more than a decade and couldn't do it. At the time, she predicted that she would die refilling items in the salad bar. I was so pleased for Peggy and her family because I knew that the sale meant that her mother could afford the care she needed as she aged, her brother, who had recently gone through a difficult divorce, losing almost everything, had a nest egg, and Peggy was finally free of the stress and hard work involved in maintaining everything.
I knew all of this because I helped Peggy navigate a devastating time in her life, during which she disclosed everything to me. Peggy never wanted to manage this business. She planned to spend her life as a homemaker and mother but was forced into the role of businesswoman and corporate manager. It happened this way. I've known Peggy Barnes since I was around six years old. Actually, I was friends with her brother Kenny, and my older sister was friends with Peggy. Kenny and I were boyfriend and girlfriend for a short time. He brought me a darling little stuffed dog for Christmas, and I saved it until I got married and moved away from home. I knew little of Peggy during my early years except for what I learned second-hand from my sister. But when I moved back to my hometown, I was drawn into what I now see as a shocking turn of events which is another of my True Tales.
#MeToo?......
I started working for George Rose when I was eighteen, married, and with a two-month-old child. I became his dental assistant, a skill I acquired as a teenager working at a free clinic for doctors in my hometown. Dr. Rose was married but had no children at this point. When I started working for Dr. Rose, he also had a receptionist who didn't think she should be required to stay at work until we were completed with our last patient. So, she left every day at five, leaving it to us to close out the final patient’s work and shut everything down when we finished.
I knew Dr. Rose was slightly aggravated with her, but it surprised me when I arrived one Monday morning to discover that he had fired her. That meant I had to spread myself thin trying to take care of the front reception area and assist with dental procedures until he found a new receptionist. Thankfully, he quickly found a good candidate and asked me to interview her and see what I thought. I liked Belinda very much. She had a great sense of humor filled with innuendo and sarcasm. Ultimately, she brought her humor into the workplace, and when patients weren't around, we spent a lot of time bantering among ourselves, including Dr. Rose. The banter eventually led to more, and that is the subject of this, the next of my True Tales.
I started working for George Rose when I was eighteen, married, and with a two-month-old child. I became his dental assistant, a skill I acquired as a teenager working at a free clinic for doctors in my hometown. Dr. Rose was married but had no children at this point. When I started working for Dr. Rose, he also had a receptionist who didn't think she should be required to stay at work until we were completed with our last patient. So, she left every day at five, leaving it to us to close out the final patient’s work and shut everything down when we finished.
I knew Dr. Rose was slightly aggravated with her, but it surprised me when I arrived one Monday morning to discover that he had fired her. That meant I had to spread myself thin trying to take care of the front reception area and assist with dental procedures until he found a new receptionist. Thankfully, he quickly found a good candidate and asked me to interview her and see what I thought. I liked Belinda very much. She had a great sense of humor filled with innuendo and sarcasm. Ultimately, she brought her humor into the workplace, and when patients weren't around, we spent a lot of time bantering among ourselves, including Dr. Rose. The banter eventually led to more, and that is the subject of this, the next of my True Tales.
Asylum Seekers…...
“To write is to fight forgetting.” Annie Ernaux
I became aware of American immigrants in middle school when a young girl, I will call Maria, joined my seventh-grade class. My school was a mission school run by the Evangelical United Brethren Church and initially started to combat the Roman Catholic Missions prevalent in the area for centuries. When Maria joined my class, we were all very curious and spent our recesses gathered around her as she told stories of her life in Cuba and how she escaped to the United States. Maria told me her story, and I could hardly imagine her plight when she talked about the revolution in Cuba and Fidel Castro taking over and displacing her father, who owned sugar cane fields.
For that reason, he became one of Castro's targets, and he needed to try to get Maria, his only child, out of the country. Cuba was colonized by sugar plantation owners, and the work was done by slave labor. Although slavery ended in the late 1800s, plantation workers remained in poverty, and their working conditions were abysmal. By the time Maria entered my school in the early 1960s, sugar remained Cuba's most important export, leading the rest of Latin America economically. However, the plantation workers remained in poverty despite Cuba's thriving economy. The United States and other foreign investors controlled most of the arable land and nearly half of the sugar production, while men like Maria's father found favor with the Bautista government and retained ownership of the remaining plantations. This and other stories of individuals seeking asylum in the United States ia another of my True Tales.
“To write is to fight forgetting.” Annie Ernaux
I became aware of American immigrants in middle school when a young girl, I will call Maria, joined my seventh-grade class. My school was a mission school run by the Evangelical United Brethren Church and initially started to combat the Roman Catholic Missions prevalent in the area for centuries. When Maria joined my class, we were all very curious and spent our recesses gathered around her as she told stories of her life in Cuba and how she escaped to the United States. Maria told me her story, and I could hardly imagine her plight when she talked about the revolution in Cuba and Fidel Castro taking over and displacing her father, who owned sugar cane fields.
For that reason, he became one of Castro's targets, and he needed to try to get Maria, his only child, out of the country. Cuba was colonized by sugar plantation owners, and the work was done by slave labor. Although slavery ended in the late 1800s, plantation workers remained in poverty, and their working conditions were abysmal. By the time Maria entered my school in the early 1960s, sugar remained Cuba's most important export, leading the rest of Latin America economically. However, the plantation workers remained in poverty despite Cuba's thriving economy. The United States and other foreign investors controlled most of the arable land and nearly half of the sugar production, while men like Maria's father found favor with the Bautista government and retained ownership of the remaining plantations. This and other stories of individuals seeking asylum in the United States ia another of my True Tales.
James Kline, the Blacksmiths and the Social Gospel.....
Cornelius Vanderbilt became one of the Gilded Age robber barons beginning with the shipping industry and culminating with control of the railroads. Following the Civil War, wealthy industrialists began laying thousands of miles of railroad tracks. Congress authorized public land use to build more tracks, and many took advantage of the offer. Vanderbilt began buying the resulting rail lines and then standardized and merged them, making shipping by rail more efficient and giving him control of the railroad shipping network in the United States. Although the railroad became increasingly profitable, workers' wages remained very low while Vanderbilt made millions.
When confronted about the plight of the workers, William Henry Vanderbilt, the son of Cornelius, declared, "The public be damned!" William extended the Vanderbilt railroad holdings throughout the west, growing their estate to equal billions in today's economy. As with current mega corporations, his only concern was his stockholders, and, like other industrialists of the age, he ignored the plight of the workers. Most lived in poverty, working long hours in dangerous conditions with little compensation. Rail workers in Chicago lived under terrible conditions in tenements providing little space. In contrast, the Vanderbilts lived in luxury, as demonstrated by their summer home in Newport, Rhode Island.
I toured the mansion on one of our trips, and it was a definite eye-opener. Hearing about the Vanderbilt wealth and seeing it firsthand personalizes robber baron history and underscores Mark Twain's designation of the era as the "Gilded Age." Materials and furniture imported from all over the world fill the seventy-room summer home, including platinum-coated metal adorning the walls of the morning room and every other piece of metal in the mansion. My great-grandfather, James Kline, became employed by the railroad as a blacksmith at the turn of the century. He eventually organized his coworkers into a local that grew into a union with members coast to coast and faced legal injunctions. After becoming president of the railroad workers, he, along with other union leaders, helped end the control of monopolies in the United States. He was in exactly the right place, at the right time, in an era that changed the economic history of the United States. His story is another of my True Tales.
Cornelius Vanderbilt became one of the Gilded Age robber barons beginning with the shipping industry and culminating with control of the railroads. Following the Civil War, wealthy industrialists began laying thousands of miles of railroad tracks. Congress authorized public land use to build more tracks, and many took advantage of the offer. Vanderbilt began buying the resulting rail lines and then standardized and merged them, making shipping by rail more efficient and giving him control of the railroad shipping network in the United States. Although the railroad became increasingly profitable, workers' wages remained very low while Vanderbilt made millions.
When confronted about the plight of the workers, William Henry Vanderbilt, the son of Cornelius, declared, "The public be damned!" William extended the Vanderbilt railroad holdings throughout the west, growing their estate to equal billions in today's economy. As with current mega corporations, his only concern was his stockholders, and, like other industrialists of the age, he ignored the plight of the workers. Most lived in poverty, working long hours in dangerous conditions with little compensation. Rail workers in Chicago lived under terrible conditions in tenements providing little space. In contrast, the Vanderbilts lived in luxury, as demonstrated by their summer home in Newport, Rhode Island.
I toured the mansion on one of our trips, and it was a definite eye-opener. Hearing about the Vanderbilt wealth and seeing it firsthand personalizes robber baron history and underscores Mark Twain's designation of the era as the "Gilded Age." Materials and furniture imported from all over the world fill the seventy-room summer home, including platinum-coated metal adorning the walls of the morning room and every other piece of metal in the mansion. My great-grandfather, James Kline, became employed by the railroad as a blacksmith at the turn of the century. He eventually organized his coworkers into a local that grew into a union with members coast to coast and faced legal injunctions. After becoming president of the railroad workers, he, along with other union leaders, helped end the control of monopolies in the United States. He was in exactly the right place, at the right time, in an era that changed the economic history of the United States. His story is another of my True Tales.
The Mighty Eighth….
My father, Harold K. Hartell was born in 1921, and lived through very significant historical eras, including the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, and World War II. He was born on September 7th, 1921, during a very prosperous time in the United States. The era was a time of “conspicuous consumption.” The surging U.S. economy began producing items that the average American could afford, creating a demand for consumer goods throughout the nation. At the same time, Prohibition created underground activities where young people frequenting speakeasies listened to Jazz, emerging as just one uniquely artistic American creation among others during the so-called Harlem Renaissance. However, like all good things, this came to an abrupt halt with the stock market crash in October 1929. The crash ushered in The Great Depression, where economies world-wide began a steep decline. However, Germany never emerged from the harsh economic penalties it suffered as a result of the World War I Reparations it was required to pay for causing the war. Therefore, as the world fell into economic decline beginning with Black Tuesday, Adolf Hitler was struggling to gain power in Germany. As early as 1922, he began to proclaim that Germany was in a life-and-death struggle with the Jew. He organized the Nazi Party and promoted his idea of Aryan superiority to gather members into his group. By 1932, his party had the largest number of members in the Reichstag, Germany’s congress, and Hitler was named Chancellor of Germany. When a fire began in the Reichstag building, he convinced President Hindenburg to declare a state of emergency. From this slippery slope, he began consolidating power, murdering his enemies, and dismantling Germany’s democratic institutions. Then, when Hindenburg died in 1933, Hitler assumed power as the Fuhrer and included in his power complete control of the military. He immediately began mobilizing for war which he launched when he invaded Poland in 1939. Eight years earlier, on September 18th, 1931, when Harold was exactly ten years old, Japan invaded Manchuria. They made this move to obtain raw materials required by their many thriving industries, mostly developing military items as they planned their expansion across the Pacific. Following the invasion of Manchuria, Japan expanded into other areas of China committing horrific war crimes in the process and continuing through 1937. Thus, Germany and Japan initiated actions eventually sparking World War II, and, following the bombing of Pearl Harbor, all young men in Harald’s age range either joined the cause or were drafted. His experiences in the War comprise another of my True Tales.
My father, Harold K. Hartell was born in 1921, and lived through very significant historical eras, including the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, and World War II. He was born on September 7th, 1921, during a very prosperous time in the United States. The era was a time of “conspicuous consumption.” The surging U.S. economy began producing items that the average American could afford, creating a demand for consumer goods throughout the nation. At the same time, Prohibition created underground activities where young people frequenting speakeasies listened to Jazz, emerging as just one uniquely artistic American creation among others during the so-called Harlem Renaissance. However, like all good things, this came to an abrupt halt with the stock market crash in October 1929. The crash ushered in The Great Depression, where economies world-wide began a steep decline. However, Germany never emerged from the harsh economic penalties it suffered as a result of the World War I Reparations it was required to pay for causing the war. Therefore, as the world fell into economic decline beginning with Black Tuesday, Adolf Hitler was struggling to gain power in Germany. As early as 1922, he began to proclaim that Germany was in a life-and-death struggle with the Jew. He organized the Nazi Party and promoted his idea of Aryan superiority to gather members into his group. By 1932, his party had the largest number of members in the Reichstag, Germany’s congress, and Hitler was named Chancellor of Germany. When a fire began in the Reichstag building, he convinced President Hindenburg to declare a state of emergency. From this slippery slope, he began consolidating power, murdering his enemies, and dismantling Germany’s democratic institutions. Then, when Hindenburg died in 1933, Hitler assumed power as the Fuhrer and included in his power complete control of the military. He immediately began mobilizing for war which he launched when he invaded Poland in 1939. Eight years earlier, on September 18th, 1931, when Harold was exactly ten years old, Japan invaded Manchuria. They made this move to obtain raw materials required by their many thriving industries, mostly developing military items as they planned their expansion across the Pacific. Following the invasion of Manchuria, Japan expanded into other areas of China committing horrific war crimes in the process and continuing through 1937. Thus, Germany and Japan initiated actions eventually sparking World War II, and, following the bombing of Pearl Harbor, all young men in Harald’s age range either joined the cause or were drafted. His experiences in the War comprise another of my True Tales.
Helping Mom Die….
Hearing recently about former president Jimmy Carter deciding to go into hospice made me think about my precious mom, who made the same decision several years ago. A year earlier, my sister had written a letter to her, relating many of the beautiful things she did for us. I happened to be there when my brother read the letter to her because my mom was unable to read due to macular degeneration. In her letter, my sister Vickie related many things our parents did for us. She specifically reminded Mom about how she always made sure that we had nice things to wear, including the fact that she made us cute little dresses all the time we were growing up through our high school years. The clothes were always fashionable, and we felt like we fit in with the other kids. Vickie also recounted how our parents made Christmas such a wonderful time, reminding Mom of how she made each of us new flannel nighties every year. Santa Claus always provided things on our list or did his best. She reminded Mom of the Easter bunnies and Valentine's heart candy and how they went out of their way to make every holiday an event. She said much more in her letter, triggering memories of what my mother did for us and her accomplishments. My mom graduated valedictorian from High School and went to college in Portales, New Mexico. She emerged with a teaching certification and got her first teaching job in her hometown of Tres Piedras, New Mexico. Her time there was precious because she helped several kids who otherwise would not have been so successful, and some of them came around to tell her so many years later. However, her role as a mother was central to her being. I am so happy that I was able to help her as she came to the end of a life well lived and this event is another of my True Tales.
Hearing recently about former president Jimmy Carter deciding to go into hospice made me think about my precious mom, who made the same decision several years ago. A year earlier, my sister had written a letter to her, relating many of the beautiful things she did for us. I happened to be there when my brother read the letter to her because my mom was unable to read due to macular degeneration. In her letter, my sister Vickie related many things our parents did for us. She specifically reminded Mom about how she always made sure that we had nice things to wear, including the fact that she made us cute little dresses all the time we were growing up through our high school years. The clothes were always fashionable, and we felt like we fit in with the other kids. Vickie also recounted how our parents made Christmas such a wonderful time, reminding Mom of how she made each of us new flannel nighties every year. Santa Claus always provided things on our list or did his best. She reminded Mom of the Easter bunnies and Valentine's heart candy and how they went out of their way to make every holiday an event. She said much more in her letter, triggering memories of what my mother did for us and her accomplishments. My mom graduated valedictorian from High School and went to college in Portales, New Mexico. She emerged with a teaching certification and got her first teaching job in her hometown of Tres Piedras, New Mexico. Her time there was precious because she helped several kids who otherwise would not have been so successful, and some of them came around to tell her so many years later. However, her role as a mother was central to her being. I am so happy that I was able to help her as she came to the end of a life well lived and this event is another of my True Tales.