Ray's Book-FireHouses

Making good progressLet's get together just us and talk books. Hank doesn't know shit. You have to admire a guy like Hank, he's out there trying stuff but let us not forget the story Andy told us: the Adm got thrown out of ukelele class because he tried to take over the class as he thought he knew more than the teacher. To me, there are mainly two things that have to be considered: what do you want to do with the book and what are you willing to do. Something like LuLu is OK if you want one copy amd mostly do the work yourself. If you want a really good looking book that you are proud of, you have to go another route and set it up. Let's think toward next week for a sit down. on the rewrite/reprint of the Firehouse Almanac. More consultations in the near term for technical details. Hank has offered to help with the upload to the Web printer. Would you be interested in putting the Airborne Press cachet on this edition? No big deal, I think it would be a good fit.

I WILL MISS YOU

Sometimes I find that one of the best ways to deal with grief is by writing, not so much about the grief itself as something related to it or a story. Take a look at this.


I’LL MISS YOU
By
GusDavis Aughtry

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us. Albert Schweitzer
Standing outside the door, I thought to myself, I'm not cut out for this. And, I wasn't. I'd run across many in the ministry who as clergy had some passion to be a hospital chaplain. Not me. The only reason I was in it today was through internal politics and a fluke. I'd just come back from Korea and was trying to get retired. Thus far, I wasn't having any luck. I was a Southern Baptist and there weren't all that many churches anyway. Plus, I was about as far removed from emotionally being a Southern Baptist as being on another planet. And, hell, they were political themselves and what Church wanted an Army chaplain anyway.
Ms. Byerly, (not her real name), looked at me but didn't really see me. One of the things I hated about hospital work was that I never felt I could do anything. A doc could give a shot or sound like they knew something and talk about treatment. I could say, I'd pray or some other innocuous bullshit, not that prayer was not important but nobody saw the results of it. Well hold it, I didn’t want to go overboard here. But, regardless, it always seemed to me to have a hollow ring like you didn't have anything else to say, so you said, "God bless you or I'll pray." Plus, it brought up all these questions in me. I could process the "mothers" in milliseconds. What about suffering, why did some suffer, others didn't. Why did the assholes of the world benefit and the good people suffer. F..k, during a hurricane or tornado, everybody in trailers or if you prefer mobil homes, got the shit kicked out of them immediately. See what I mean, I processed all of this in five seconds or less.
I said something like , Hi." And, then she threw up. All over my shoes. I got the nurse, the orderly came traipsing in: a big black guy who was imcredibly empathetic. "Don't worry bout it, this is my job and the chapain looks kind of scruffy anyway. This is good." He laughed. I laughed. But, I was ready to get the hell out of there but for some inextricable reason, I didn't but sat down in the chair beside her bed and watched her sleep. A couple of times, she opened her eyes and looked at me. So, very unlike my ADD self, I just sat. Finally, without opening her eyes she said, "Chaplain, there are three things I want to do before I die.” Without waiting for me to asked what, she moved on: “I want to go to Yosemite. I want to make peace with my mother and I want to have sex one last time. No, I'm not going to seduce you." She faintly smiled and then I could tell she dropped into a deep sleep.

Olivia and I became good friends. Once she was diagnosed with cancer, her husband had not touched her. We men are such f..king assholes. Then her Mom, from what she told me, was this narcissistic mother where everything revolved around her. We could be a TV movie she told me. My two brothers haven't spoken to Mom in years. She is on man three for marriage and several between. I suggested she call her. It was a disaster. It only works out in the movies or TV.

I didn't know the husband. He was a Sergeant Major stationed in Korea. I knew Korea. It is a culture that is inexplicably unknown unless one is immersed in it. I had believed for some time that we should get out of Korea. We had saved the country. The South Koreans had the best "ground" Army in the world. Meaning, of course, if they were attacked by the North, they could handle it and were prepared. I loved Korea but always stayed a little ticked off that they don't show more appreciation that we'd saved their ass. A GI, serving in Korea could get caught up in the milieu of life there: mainly involving a "business/working girl. Some might call them prostitutes. I never did as somehow I always thought they were doing what they had to do. Korea is a caste society. Plain and simple. It is governed by a strict Confucian code. If you were born the son or daughter of a taxi driver, you died the son or daughter of a taxi driver. Many of those on the lower rung of the cultural ladder, especially females moved to the little towns surrounding the military camps. It became a subculture that, for lack of a better term, trapped many a GI. He became ensnared, fell in love and the next thing you know, he's wanting to get married. At one count, there were 5000 American/Korean marriages a year. And, they did not all meet at the University.
When one of my young chaplains came with the request that we maybe could help in contacting Mrs. Byerly's husband, her pictured surfaced immediately on my radar screen. "Why couldn't she contact him?
"I don't know but one of the "Interns" thought would be good if her husband came home as she was terminally ill.
“Why wasn't he already home?” I suspected I knew.
"I don't know."
“I’ll check it out. “

Here is the basic difference in military chaplains and civilian clergy. Civilians will say God bless you and I'll pray for you. Military chaplains will say, "tell me what I need to do."

I wandered into Mrs. Byer's room on a Monday morning. She turned her head toward me and smiled weakly. We chatted for a moment. No, I take that back. We didn't chat. She looked like chatting was the last thing she wanted but she did do something very uncharacteristic. Reached out and took my hand. It was weak but touched me and said, "where have you been? I told you I was not going to seduce you." I smiled. She smiled and closed her eyes.
What the f..k, where is that sorry ass husband and then I ventured forth with a comment on him. "No, I'm fine without him."
" Why?"
" Well, he could have come if he wanted too."
"Sure but still..." My voice kind of trailed off and I thought to myself as she drifted into that drug induced slumber that took her away from my presence. I thought to myself,"looks like he's not coming and we can't make him". This was one of those times when I wish that I didn’t know about Korea. Are you sure now as I continued the conversation with myself. "I am sure."

I sighed as I left the room, still doing that 5 second think. This was one of those thousands of dilemmas that I often found myself in. A personality thing I guess. Nothing was required of me. But, I knew I wouldn't let it alone. Hell, I'd been fired four times in my not so illustrious career.

I had my suspicions about the good Sergeant Major Brown. The MFer was probably shacked up in Korea with some Korean business/working girl. I didn't blame him. Whoa! You don't know that. Reserve judgment until you really know what is going on. Give the man the benefit of the doubt. I'd learned a long time ago, none of us know what goes on inside families. This has probably been hard all the way around. Wife getting this insidious disease. A husband who couldn't step up to the plate. I don't believe my bullshit for a minute. The Sergeant Major, leader of men, this guy is suppose to be able to handle it. I was a little biased. I never could figure out what any Sergeant Major was suppose to do. In Vietnam, I remember thinking that all I saw them do was follow the commander around. Major Sansom, the Ops officer, probably prejudiced me as he kept saying, "if the Colonel stopped abruptly, the Sergeant Major would break his nose."
Anyway, this was all rolling around my head as I kept trying to find the Sergeant Major. Finally I chased him down at one of the support commands at Camp Humphrey. I knew it well. "Sergeant Major, this is the chaplain at Letterman." Long pause.
"Yes."
"I'm calling about your wife." Long pause.
"Yes." What is it with this fucker.
"Well, Sergeant Major, she's pretty sick."
"I know that. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Sergeant Major, I sure don't want to intrude but it might encourage your wife if you came home.”
"Chaplain, my wife and I have talked about it and frankly, it is none of your business." He hung up. Well, damn, that went well.
He would have been better off had he hit me in the face. One sorry son of a bitch. I walked around for awhile, went outside, sat down, stood up. I was seething. What the hell to do?
“Well Chaplain, if the Command Sergeant Major doesn't want to come home, I can't make him." Long pause.
“Colonel, you are his boss and this looks like one of the times for him to do the right thing. " Long pause
“Sorry Chaplain, not my call.” Long Pause.
Sir, I tell you and I understand but I can't let this go. My next call will be to the General or some general.” Long pause.
“Chaplain, are you threatening me?"
“I am” and this time I hung up.

The young chaplain spotted in the doorway. “Sir, the Sergeant Major is here.”
“Good.” I went to Olivia's room. The Sergeant Major and I were civil. Olivia seemed to be a little more alert. As far as she knew, the Sergeant Major came on his own. Maybe he did.
There's some postscript to this tale. I was in the hospital early one morning and Olivia was in the little snack bar. I was so happy to see her and she me. We chatted and suddenly she said, "Chaplain, I have some great news.” Without answering she said, “God has healed me. I just know it.” For a moment I was at a loss for words. OK, where are my five seconds?
“Oh, that is wonderful., how did it come about.”
“I just felt it and can’t wait to see my doctor. I seem to feel so much better.” Maybe having the Sergeant Major home has made her feel better. I saw it in men all the time who had been to Korea, once they were home, they took another look at that life in the “land of the almost just right” as we often called Korea.
Olivia died two weeks later. I was sad beyond belief. Her services were a few days later. As I sat toward the back in a full Church, the Priest did his thing and I momentarily thought, how in the hell can people get into this stuff. The priest in all his garb, waving something that was water I guess and then a pot with smoke. What the hell was that. I immediately slapped myself. My five seconds. What the f..k is wrong with me. I am an asshole. I’m going to miss my friend, wish I could tell these folks how wonderful I thought she was. I guess this was the Sergeant Major’s last “got you”, not including me in her services. MFer, asshole. I am so awful.
The Priest stood. “It is always my custom to asked anyone who is here if they would like to say a word. If so, just please come up and comment.” I was on my feet and moving toward the front. I stopped momentarily and put my hand on the casket. Thanks Olivia, I’ll miss you.

Encouragement

Reverend Denise Autry and her husband Wally, have a wonderful ministry in North Carolina with prison inmates. Below is one among many with an interesting story. Hello. Thank you for visiting TYL CHRISTIAN CROSSES.I think you will find this site is a little different from what you usually see. If I may, let me tell you the reason and the meaning for our crosses.Seven years ago, after over 30 years in sales, I found myselfstanding in a courtroom in front of a judge. No, no drugs, noviolent crime, just,(as they call it), white collar/paper/moneycrimes. I had tried to do the right things, but ended up doingit in the wrong ways.If anyone had ever told me I would go to prison I would have told them they had lost their mind. You see, I had always tried to be a good person, to help people, and had gone to churchall my life. I took my children to church and, yes, had beenbaptized. But, as we sometimes learn, the Lord can bringyou to His purposes in some strange ways.As I lay on a plastic mattress, on the floor of the jail that firstnight, I closed my eyes and said, "Lord, I don't know what youdid today, but I know I trust you and that you will take care of meand my family." Thus, the journey began.I decided that instead of looking at it as being in prison I would look at it as going to college. I would read, learn, assess, research,and plan for the future. What happened was, I thought about the pastand what had brought me to where I was, and I studied, researched, andplanned new ideas for when I returned home. But most importantly,where I used to go to church once a week I now went 3 to 4 timesa week. I had read through the Bible years earlier, but I now took ayear and ahalf and studied through it, and then read it 2 more times.And, this is what I realized. I had had religion all my life, but there isa difference between having religion and having a relationship.I realized that it's not about me/us, it's about Him. We are here for Him.Of course, my entire outlook on life and way of living changed. I'm sureyou know and understand.Okay, where did the crosses come from you're asking? One of the jobs Ihad while there was in an engineering department. I had always worna cross, but had been without one for 3 years. I missed my cross. So,one day I hand made a stainless steel cross. I cut it out with a hacksaw,hand filed and shaped it, and polished it. Then came the idea to stampsomething across the front. I was so used to saying" Thank You Lord"all day, every day, whenever something good happened, or when I asked the Lord for guidence, that the perfect letters to me were, TYL, Thank You Lord.Wearing the cross, and touching it through my shirt each time I said this,gave me such a feeling of peace and comfort, but even more so it kept mein constant, all day, praise to Him. And, you know how when God gives yousomething you want to share it. I begin to think that maybe this was a wayHe gave me to share with you and maybe the cross would bring you somepeace and comfort and help you remember to give thanks each day to Him.The crosses are individually hand made from stainless steel, (chains are stainless also), so they will always stay clean and shiny. And last, in keeping with the teachings of the Bible, 10% of the price of each crosswill be given to -------------------. Shipping is free and each cross has a 100% guarantee.Thank you again for visiting TYL CHRISTAIN CROSSES. Have a blessed day. Jerry, for Bob it was considered a white collar crime. Basically he sold property that was not his to sell. He paid the money back to the individual but the judge still ruled prison time. Bob says he could have used the money for a "good" lawyer. He knows now there was a purpose for his time. He lived in Raleigh for a number of years but decided to move back to Lillington after getting out of prison a year ago. He stays with his 84 year old mother who has some bouts with dementia. He says sometimes he runs into old high school friends and they ask where he has been the last few years...then he has the opportunity to tell his story. Bob is 62 years old. He is involved in a local church in Lillington. He saved all his money that he made while on weekly work release in prison, he gets social security now. He also buys cars, makes upgrades and resells them. He also collects wood pallets that companies do not want and he resells them. He also sells scrap metal. He is not lazy for sure and has an entrepreneural spirit. He now documents all sales, saves all receipts for tax purposes for his own protection. You can tell he is thankful for his freedom. He does admit that $5000 was not a lot of money to do 7 years in prison but amazingly he has no regrets. Unfortunately most ex inmates do not have that attitude.

WRITING SUGGESTIONS

I need some help with getting into the publishing world. Any ideas.

Cass, it almost seems criminal not to record these experiences you've had. I enjoy reading them. Publishing is so crazy and always has been. I've been working/messing with it seemingly forever, with limited or no success. I started Airborne Press to publish a children's book that my brother had written. And, it kind of evolved from there. I have had enough experiences about writing that I could write ten books. I go in these book stores and am blown away. Who is writing these books and who is reading them. Well mostly, nobody is reading the majority of them. And, for those who have a need to write, we have such a celebrity driven culture, it is super discouraging. Madonna writes a book on parenting, people are lined up for ten blocks to get a copy. You and I, even if we have it published, couldn't give it away.

The above is my realistic and discouraging view from experience. What somebody has to do is write out of their own need and decide what they want to do. For instance, for me, I mostly give away my stuff. Since I have a few resources, once it is ready, which I hire somebody to set up, I print just enough to give away and for Amazon. I tried publishing for Vietnam vets. It was a disaster as all Vietnam vets have things to say but with two that I worked with closely, attempting to edit their stuff was disastrous. What I do now is always buy lots of copies once they have published and give away.

It is mostly about marketing anyway. I've had an agent. We got to be great friends but she really didn't do much for me. I got a nice bite from UNC press on a memoir that my brother and I did but they wanted to take out mostly the very stuff that was important to me in particular and so said no. When I was at Leavenworth, I actually wrote, as I told you I think, this fictionalized account of my time in Vietnam. Of course, it was based on real guys. I sold it to a paperback publisher, Manor Books. Actually went to NY and met the editor. He said, "we'll publish as much of this sort of stuff as you can write." I thought I was off and running. Never heard from them again. They got sold, went out of business or something. And, they were a pretty big publisher, 200 titles a year. I still remember how impressed I was because they had dome a biography of Anwar Sadat, much in the news now of course.

Because I am a self diagnosed ADD and based on my own personality, once I have written anything, I do something with it and then forget it. I keep up about 8 blogs. In fact I have one called, More Writers Than Readers. Also, I put a lot of stuff on a site called, smashwords.com. It helps me with my needs. The last thing I put on there were three short stories which was a small book. I made them free but could have charged. You might want to check it out.

Cass, I've written a book here. I guess what I saying is that you have to decide what you want to do with your writing/experiences and charge. You have had, in a sense, more experience than me in terms of marketing your cartoons and it is all pretty similar really. I would like to use enough of your story to explain the cartoon on the AP website. My niece is the webmaster. I pay her to keep it up. We get about five thousand hits a week which isn't much but for a noncommercial site, pretty good I think, especially as the hits are so consistent.

THE HEARAFTER

My granddaughter and I saw "Hereafter", the Clint Eastwood directed "cogitate your navel" story. I really liked it. My granddaughter gave it a six. I gave it a nine on a 10 point scale. I thought the story narrative moved pretty well, not slow and just enough reflectiveness by shuffling between the stories to make it interesting. Three stories from very appealing characters could hardly miss in my view. One having had a near death experience trying very hard to put it in context of her life. A youngster with tragic loss in his life and desperately wanted to settle unfinished business. And, of course Matt Damon as the catalyst. Some of the things are so enigmatic to the story that only someone of Eastwood's statue, not to mention clout, could have gotten this movie made. And, one does wonder if his 80 plus years didn't have something to do with the question: "Where do people go when they die?"

In some ways it is the "near death" stories of a few years ago: the white glowing light, people pulled from the brink of the abyss wherever it might be. Good movie and I will use it for discussion with my buddies for a long time. (I hang out with a bunch of old guys like myself two or three times a week. Several have seen the movie) As a Christian, I accept the mysteries of heaven. Streets paved with gold. I doubt it and accept the Biblical views as metaphors but doesn't make any difference. I believe in the very existence of heaven. I don't have any doubt where people go when they die. It is the mystery. It is even the "faith" of it. And, the idea of heaven is tremendously comforting that this life is not the end. That in some great mysterious expectations, we'll see our loved ones again. See what I mean? The "Hereafter" evoked these comments from me and maybe Clint had this in mind. Probably searching himself.

Writing the Rose Book

Recently, I"ve been discussing the process of writing the Rose book. The blog is www.Tuesdayswithrose.com and I'm been working close to two years to turn the blog into a book. It is very hard.

Just a little background. I became Rose's transportation for treatment mainly because she was having to expend this enormous amount of effort arranging transportion. My thinking was that when you are as sick as Rose, you don't have the energy to do all of this. What the hell: I'll become her transportaion and every week, she'll know that I am going to be there for her. It worked and in that process of every Tuesday with Rose, I watched her die slowly. And, it took a much greater toll on me than I could possibly have known. During the process, I kept a blog and after Rose died, I thought, "someway I've got to honor Rose's bravery of fighting breast cancer.

Rose's doctor and I have been discussing where I am in the process and I emailed her the following comments. The second thing I wanted to comment on was the idea of writing about Rose, maybe what I hope to accomplish--might be better or do a greater good or see a wider audience--surely in a broader sense, more than one woman's struggle. I don't think so. Not for me. When you write, especially someone like myself, you never know how it's going to end up. I don't have a clue but I know it will and I'll use it to do what I promised Rose I would do, a fund raiser. I do wish you would help me though. You could write emails whenever it strikes you, when you have something you want to say about how you are doing your job, thoughts, etc, anything.

BREAST CANCER

THE MIDDLE PLACE. This is a book kind of coincidently about breast cancer with all it comes to mean, i. e., cancer taking over your life-- a big meaning is that you can fight and beat it. The author did. No small thing. It is also about what makes up a family.

The author is a good writer and lots of talk about the Irish. She has a couple of hilarious stories about her Dad in particular and hence the title of the book--"middle place," idenity with parents and idenity with her own husband/children.

Good story teller: One has to do with a time when she was trying to break in on the dotcom craze. Her description of that time has to be read, can't be told second hand.

The diagnosis with cancer sounds very much like always: the shock. The anxiety. Cancer taking over her life. Her trips to the Infusion Center for treatment. And for me, a kind of Gestalt, an "ah hah" moment. There's a vast difference sitting in the Infusion Center as a patient getting treatment, a family, in support; and even more of a difference when you are a supportive friend. Hard to explain. I use to sit by my friend Rose's bed and almost always experience every single emotion possible.

A question I always ask about books: is this a book I want to give to someone battling this horrible disease? Yes! Most cancer patients already understand the risks, will laugh with the book and more than anything appreciate the hope.