[My son-in-law, Peter C. Franklin lost his battle with cancer on August 8th, 2014. This is the longer version of remarks I gave at his memorial service]
I did not wear a suit to this evening’s memorial in solidarity with Peter. I believe in the hereafter, and in my version Peter is wearing a Batman tee-shirt and a pair of shorts, the latter because he no longer has to be embarrassed about wearing compression socks. I wanted to wear a Batman tee-shirt tonight, but it was impossible to find one in my extra-large size. There were a smattering of mediums, but the majority of shirts were small. I think there’s a lesson to be learned from my search: superheroes like Peter only come in small sizes!
Don’t let all the talk about superheroes fool you. Peter Franklin was also a world-class intellectual, but the thing that set Peter apart in my mind was the fact that he was one of the humblest individuals I’ve ever met. Brilliance and humility don’t frequently go hand in hand. With Peter, they did. The guy didn’t have a single conceited bone in his body. The world has lost a true gem.
Peter became my son the first time I met him, not because my daughter, Abby had already told me how crazy about him she was, but because I saw something in the way he looked at her that set my mind at ease. It wasn’t a starry-eyed gaze, a fawning facade or the fake expression of somebody trying to make a good impression. In fact, I’m quite certain he didn’t realize I was watching. What I observed was a young man interested in what my daughter had to say, curious about what she thought, unafraid to challenge her opinions or argue for his own, but not overbearing or disrespectful. Peter exuded a humble confidence that the world is in such short supply of these days, and I could tell by the way Peter and Abby spoke that they valued one another in a way that good people should. Sometimes, you just know that two people are right for each other. I know I did, and I gained a son because of it. Now, he’s gone, and I have to admit there’s a big hole in my heart.
It’s a testament to Peter’s diverse interests there are so many things in my daily life that remind me of Peter. Whenever I see somebody wearing a superhero tee-shirt, I think of Peter. If I hear about Toronto’s crazy mayor or the Comic-Con Convention, I think about Peter. Whenever I pass the classics section in a bookstore, Peter’s face comes to mind. I even think about him in the supermarket. There’s a case in the vegetarian section where black bean vegetarian burgers are kept. Peter once assured me that those burgers were very tasty, and I assured him that there was not enough ketchup in the world for me to eat one!
A few days ago, I was writing at the desk in my den when my gaze fell upon the bronze paperweight that Abby and Peter gave out at their wedding last year. The paperweight bears an inscription from a line written by the poet, E. E. Cummings – “Love is the voice under all silences.” As I pondered that inscription, it occurred to me that while Peter’s physical voice has been silenced, the voice behind his love has never been louder. If you allow yourself, you can hear that voice, you can feel it, you can be warmed by it, and it will comfort you for as long as you live!
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Thursday, July 24, 2014
ANOTHER BOTCHED EXECUTION
When the state of Utah executed Gary Gilmore by firing squad in 1977, I remember thinking that Utah’s method of putting a capital murderer to death was barbaric and constituted cruel and unusual punishment. A large segment of our society was agreed with this opinion, too. The publicity surrounding Gilmore’s execution fueled an already widespread discussion about alternative methods of imposing the death penalty, and later that year the state of Oklahoma enacted legislation authorizing death by lethal injection. Subsequently, the state of Texas followed suit, and in 1982 became the first state to execute a prisoner using that method. The notion of putting a convict to sleep and then stopping the convict’s heart seemed like a humane way to bring about the prisoner’s death.
A lot has changed since 1982. World-wide, only a handful of countries employ the death penalty, and the multi-national pharmaceutical companies that produce the drugs typically used in the lethal injection process are no longer willing to sell those drugs to American states that still have the death penalty on their books. As a result, those states have had to secure the drugs used in their executions from unregulated compounding pharmacies, and the track record of those pharmacies has been woefully deficient in providing drugs that will bring about a death row inmate’s demise without the cruel and unusual suffering that the Eight Amendment to the United States Constitution prohibits.
Yesterday’s botched execution of Joseph Robert Wood III by the state of Arizona was just the latest in a string of gruesome executions conducted by states over the past two years using ineffective drugs secured from compounding pharmacies. Instead of a short, painless procedure that was supposed to take around ten minutes to bring about Wood’s death, Arizona’s procedure took almost two hours, during which time Wood repeatedly gasped for air. When will this kind of torture end?
I believe that state-sanctioned execution of prisoners is wrong and should be eliminated, but barring the elimination of the death penalty, I also believe that a prisoner’s execution should be carried out without torture and in the most painless way possible. In retrospect, Gary Gilmore’s execution by firing squad seems a lot less cruel and barbaric compared to what states have been doing today.
A lot has changed since 1982. World-wide, only a handful of countries employ the death penalty, and the multi-national pharmaceutical companies that produce the drugs typically used in the lethal injection process are no longer willing to sell those drugs to American states that still have the death penalty on their books. As a result, those states have had to secure the drugs used in their executions from unregulated compounding pharmacies, and the track record of those pharmacies has been woefully deficient in providing drugs that will bring about a death row inmate’s demise without the cruel and unusual suffering that the Eight Amendment to the United States Constitution prohibits.
Yesterday’s botched execution of Joseph Robert Wood III by the state of Arizona was just the latest in a string of gruesome executions conducted by states over the past two years using ineffective drugs secured from compounding pharmacies. Instead of a short, painless procedure that was supposed to take around ten minutes to bring about Wood’s death, Arizona’s procedure took almost two hours, during which time Wood repeatedly gasped for air. When will this kind of torture end?
I believe that state-sanctioned execution of prisoners is wrong and should be eliminated, but barring the elimination of the death penalty, I also believe that a prisoner’s execution should be carried out without torture and in the most painless way possible. In retrospect, Gary Gilmore’s execution by firing squad seems a lot less cruel and barbaric compared to what states have been doing today.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
QUOTE OF THE DAY
"Never argue with an idiot. They will drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.” ― Sarah Cook
RAPING THE CHILDREN OF CENTRAL AMERICA
You can rape a child for $250 dollars! Maybe that’s an exaggeration. You can probably do it for a lot less at the Texas / Mexico border, and then you can watch the youngster get shipped back to Guatemala, El Salvador or Honduras where they are likely to get raped again, or perhaps more humanely, killed by one of those country’s violent drug cartels that prey on youngsters like hawks on mice. If you’re disgusted and repulsed by the notion of paying to rape a child, maybe there’s hope for you, but not if you’re going to turn a blind eye to the calamity that is occurring at our nation’s southern border or the callous indifference a majority of Americans are displaying in refusing to offer a helping hand to thousands of children in desperate need of a safe and nurturing place to live.
The children of Central America are not migrating northward with an instinctual drive for a cooler nesting ground, like Canadian geese in a National Geographic documentary. They are not fueled by a tourist-like desire to see Disneyland. Nobody treks on foot through the desert of death to shake the hand of Mickey Mouse. On the contrary, the children of Central America are chased by violence from the very bosoms and homes that gave them life. They are driven by poverty and starvation and a loss of hope into the unforgiving deserts of northern Mexico. If by chance they find themselves at the edge of the land flowing with milk and honey, they will also face the wrath of God’s American followers, who stand ready to rape their souls with hate and send them home again.
It’s sickening to read about those wealthy passengers in Titanic lifeboats who refused to pluck third class passengers from the frigid waters of the North Atlantic, because they were afraid of what might become of their possessions. It’s unpleasant to think about such cruelty, but cruelty hasn’t changed much since the Titanic went down. In fact, it’s alive and well in America today.
Equally vexing are pompous politicians who thump their chests and declare that all life is sacred. They don’t believe that notion for one moment! Most Americans don’t either, especially when that life originates from Central America and shows up on our nation’s doorstep with an outstretched hand. Nothing turns us off faster than a neighbor in need from the other side of the tracks. In fact, rotting corpses get better treatment from maggots, and at least the maggots are doing a public service, which is more than can be said about Xenophobic Americans and the politicians who are fanning the flames of hatred at our southern borders.
The children of Central America are not migrating northward with an instinctual drive for a cooler nesting ground, like Canadian geese in a National Geographic documentary. They are not fueled by a tourist-like desire to see Disneyland. Nobody treks on foot through the desert of death to shake the hand of Mickey Mouse. On the contrary, the children of Central America are chased by violence from the very bosoms and homes that gave them life. They are driven by poverty and starvation and a loss of hope into the unforgiving deserts of northern Mexico. If by chance they find themselves at the edge of the land flowing with milk and honey, they will also face the wrath of God’s American followers, who stand ready to rape their souls with hate and send them home again.
It’s sickening to read about those wealthy passengers in Titanic lifeboats who refused to pluck third class passengers from the frigid waters of the North Atlantic, because they were afraid of what might become of their possessions. It’s unpleasant to think about such cruelty, but cruelty hasn’t changed much since the Titanic went down. In fact, it’s alive and well in America today.
Equally vexing are pompous politicians who thump their chests and declare that all life is sacred. They don’t believe that notion for one moment! Most Americans don’t either, especially when that life originates from Central America and shows up on our nation’s doorstep with an outstretched hand. Nothing turns us off faster than a neighbor in need from the other side of the tracks. In fact, rotting corpses get better treatment from maggots, and at least the maggots are doing a public service, which is more than can be said about Xenophobic Americans and the politicians who are fanning the flames of hatred at our southern borders.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
ON THE PATH TO CIVIL WAR
The other day I was running errands in my car when I pulled up behind a guy with a bumper sticker on his car that read:
“IMAGINE A WORLD WITH NO LIBERALS ☺”
What drives such hatred? Is it really just ignorance, or a sign of the growing animosity that has poisoned political discourse to the point where another bloody civil war is inevitable?
I wonder how that guy would react to a bumper sticker with this message:
“THE ONLY GOOD CONSERVATIVE IS A DEAD ONE”
You could replace “conservative” with “republican” and make the same point, except that liberals don’t generally resort to the kind of mean-spirited hatred that ultra right-wing conservatives and republicans have adopted as their rallying cry.
A lot of people brush-off the suggestion that another civil war is coming, but I’m starting to think that there are a lot of conservatives and republicans in this country with itchy trigger fingers on their weapons, and after the first shots are fired, there will be a lot of dead liberals bloodying the streets.
I hope civil war doesn’t come, but I wouldn’t bet it won’t.
“IMAGINE A WORLD WITH NO LIBERALS ☺”
What drives such hatred? Is it really just ignorance, or a sign of the growing animosity that has poisoned political discourse to the point where another bloody civil war is inevitable?
I wonder how that guy would react to a bumper sticker with this message:
“THE ONLY GOOD CONSERVATIVE IS A DEAD ONE”
You could replace “conservative” with “republican” and make the same point, except that liberals don’t generally resort to the kind of mean-spirited hatred that ultra right-wing conservatives and republicans have adopted as their rallying cry.
A lot of people brush-off the suggestion that another civil war is coming, but I’m starting to think that there are a lot of conservatives and republicans in this country with itchy trigger fingers on their weapons, and after the first shots are fired, there will be a lot of dead liberals bloodying the streets.
I hope civil war doesn’t come, but I wouldn’t bet it won’t.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
ELLEN WALDECK'S EULOGY
Children’s book author, R. J. Palacio once said,
“...we should be remembered for the things we do. The things we do are the most important things of all. They are more important than what we say or what we look like. The things we do outlast our mortality. The things we do are like monuments that people build to honor heroes after they've died. They're like the pyramids that the Egyptians built to honor the Pharaohs. Only instead of being made out of stone, they're made out of the memories people have of you. That's why your deeds are like your monuments - built with memories instead of with stone.”
The very first thing Ellen ever did for me was offer me a chair. That was in January, 1976. I was a freshman in college and she was the assistant dean of resident students at Millersville University…well, actually it was Millersville State College back in those days and the tuition was a lot cheaper. I’d just been elected as my dorm’s representative to the Resident Student’s Association and Ellen was the Association’s faculty adviser. When I arrived for my first RSA meeting, Ellen was in the process of assembling a circle of chairs. We introduced ourselves and then she offered me a seat as I waited for the meeting to start. That’s where our friendship began, and during the course of the next thirty-eight years, Ellen continued to offer me a chair, hundreds of lunches, thousands of laughs, an abundance of stimulating conversation, an occasional shoulder to cry on, plenty of helping hands, several dry comments about my choice of girlfriends in college and the best example any person could have, of what it means to have a true friend. That was Ellen’s monument to me!
Ellen was big on “life lessons”…you know, the little things that guide people in everyday life. The first “life lesson” she tossed at me was, “women like men who put the lid down after they’ve used the toilet.” I guess I’d dropped by her apartment and didn’t put the lid down, and Ellen didn’t like that, so she decided a teaching moment was in order and tossed out that tidbit like Aristotle might have done to Plato or one of his other students. The last time I visited with Ellen at Kindred Hospital, we laughed about the fact that I can’t leave a bathroom now without thinking of her and whether I’ve remembered to put the toilet seat down.
Ellen was a learned woman, too, and she felt a great sense of accomplishment when she earned her doctorate degree, though she wasn’t the type to rest on her laurels or make a show of the title she received as a result of her educational accomplishment. But Ellen also had something that doesn’t necessarily come with a doctorate degree, and that was wisdom. William James, a 19th century American philosopher and psychologist, once noted, “The art of being wise is knowing what to overlook,” and Ellen exemplified that kernel of truth in her ability to look past people’s faults and see positive possibilities in others instead concentrating on their negative actions. She once told me about an incident where she had to kick a student out of the dorms for violating the university’s code of student conduct, but then she spent about an hour or so strategizing with the student over how to make other living arrangements to weather the storm. Many administrators would have pointed to the door and simply said “get lost,” but Ellen saw a way to help that student overcome adversity and be successful – that’s wisdom!
Personally, I’ve made my share of mistakes in life, and Ellen would be the first to say, “That was a boner move” whenever I did so, but I never doubted for a second that Ellen had my best interests at heart. That’s why I considered her one of my nearest and dearest friends.
Another thing I thought was remarkable about Ellen was her devotion to family. She took great pride in being a loving wife and mother and sister, and I admired the way she poured every ounce of energy she had into being the best she could be in those roles. Before she met Bob, she frequently lamented that she’d never find love or bear a child, but once she met Bob, those worries just withered away. When Andrew was born, Ellen slid into motherhood like a hand into a glove. Ellen was the President of the Andrew Waldeck fan club, and not a conversation went by where she didn’t toot his horn.
And then, there’s Ellen’s brother, Frank. I wish I had a sister like Frank had…a sister who thought he did no wrong! Given the frailties of human nature, I’m sure that Frank does have some flaws, but in the thirty-eight years I knew Ellen, she never mentioned any…so Frank, don’t ruin it now!
When Ellen was in Kindred Hospital in Havertown awaiting a chance at a transplant, she had a photo of Bob handing on the wall. It was an older photo of Bob…one taken back when you didn’t need a magnifying glass to see the hairs on his head…and his hair was brown…and he had a confident smile on his face…the kind of smile a guy has when he knows he’s got a good thing going. Anyway, I pointed to the photo and asked Ellen what drew her to Bob, and she said that “he was a handsome stud with a warm heart and made her laugh!” Yeah, Bob…she actually used the word “stud!” That’s when I wondered whether she was starting to get demented, too. We had a good belly-laugh over that description. Afterward, she got a bit pensive for a few moments, and then she said that she admired the fact that Bob was always steady and didn’t wilt under fire. She loved the fact that he went out of his way to help people, and was still nice to people who had wronged or slighted him. I didn’t say this to her that afternoon, but those are things I admired about Ellen, and I suppose that’s why Ellen found Bob to be a kindred spirit.
My son-in-law Peter has cancer. He’s been battling it for several years now, but despite battling her own physical ailments, Ellen corresponded with Peter regularly, and my daughter, Abby has frequently said to me that Peter was always very touched by the interest that Ellen showed in him. Her words of wisdom and encouragement were treasured and a source of inspiration. That’s how Ellen touched the lives of others.
After Ellen died, Bob passed on to me a letter Ellen wrote to me, to be delivered after her death. In it, she thanked me for being a life-long friend. She added a few private laughs, and she also reminded me that she shared my belief in an afterlife…and said she’d keep an eye out for me. That was Ellen…always planning. I’m pretty sure she left Bob a “honey do” list that will keep him busy for quite some time.
This past Tuesday afternoon, at precisely 3:40 p.m., I received an email from LinkedIn – that’s a professional social media website where I have a profile listed. The LinkedIn email indicated that somebody had just visited my profile, and if I wanted to know who had done so, I should just click on the link and log in…so I did! Imagine my surprise when that somebody turned out to be Ellen Waldeck…and I have the email here to prove it! The very first thought that popped into my mind was – Ellen hasn’t been gone for a month and already she’s back on the Internet. My next thought was - They say you can’t take it with you, but apparently Ellen found a way to take her tablet. And then a third thought popped into my mind – My son, who works with computers says that anytime a computer gets too hot, its circuits can get fried. So, wherever Ellen is, if she’s using her tablet, it must be a cool place! That’s comforting to know.
John M. Simmons, author of the “The Marvelous Journey Home,” noted in his book that “Friends come into our lives and friends leave our lives. But friends never leave our hearts. And best friends always get to stay in the best places in our hearts.”
I feel sad that Ellen has died, but Ellen is still in one of the good places in my heart, hopefully with a good supply of oxygen at hand, and I will always be better because of it. If she’s at home there, I am, too.
“...we should be remembered for the things we do. The things we do are the most important things of all. They are more important than what we say or what we look like. The things we do outlast our mortality. The things we do are like monuments that people build to honor heroes after they've died. They're like the pyramids that the Egyptians built to honor the Pharaohs. Only instead of being made out of stone, they're made out of the memories people have of you. That's why your deeds are like your monuments - built with memories instead of with stone.”
The very first thing Ellen ever did for me was offer me a chair. That was in January, 1976. I was a freshman in college and she was the assistant dean of resident students at Millersville University…well, actually it was Millersville State College back in those days and the tuition was a lot cheaper. I’d just been elected as my dorm’s representative to the Resident Student’s Association and Ellen was the Association’s faculty adviser. When I arrived for my first RSA meeting, Ellen was in the process of assembling a circle of chairs. We introduced ourselves and then she offered me a seat as I waited for the meeting to start. That’s where our friendship began, and during the course of the next thirty-eight years, Ellen continued to offer me a chair, hundreds of lunches, thousands of laughs, an abundance of stimulating conversation, an occasional shoulder to cry on, plenty of helping hands, several dry comments about my choice of girlfriends in college and the best example any person could have, of what it means to have a true friend. That was Ellen’s monument to me!
Ellen was big on “life lessons”…you know, the little things that guide people in everyday life. The first “life lesson” she tossed at me was, “women like men who put the lid down after they’ve used the toilet.” I guess I’d dropped by her apartment and didn’t put the lid down, and Ellen didn’t like that, so she decided a teaching moment was in order and tossed out that tidbit like Aristotle might have done to Plato or one of his other students. The last time I visited with Ellen at Kindred Hospital, we laughed about the fact that I can’t leave a bathroom now without thinking of her and whether I’ve remembered to put the toilet seat down.
Ellen was a learned woman, too, and she felt a great sense of accomplishment when she earned her doctorate degree, though she wasn’t the type to rest on her laurels or make a show of the title she received as a result of her educational accomplishment. But Ellen also had something that doesn’t necessarily come with a doctorate degree, and that was wisdom. William James, a 19th century American philosopher and psychologist, once noted, “The art of being wise is knowing what to overlook,” and Ellen exemplified that kernel of truth in her ability to look past people’s faults and see positive possibilities in others instead concentrating on their negative actions. She once told me about an incident where she had to kick a student out of the dorms for violating the university’s code of student conduct, but then she spent about an hour or so strategizing with the student over how to make other living arrangements to weather the storm. Many administrators would have pointed to the door and simply said “get lost,” but Ellen saw a way to help that student overcome adversity and be successful – that’s wisdom!
Personally, I’ve made my share of mistakes in life, and Ellen would be the first to say, “That was a boner move” whenever I did so, but I never doubted for a second that Ellen had my best interests at heart. That’s why I considered her one of my nearest and dearest friends.
Another thing I thought was remarkable about Ellen was her devotion to family. She took great pride in being a loving wife and mother and sister, and I admired the way she poured every ounce of energy she had into being the best she could be in those roles. Before she met Bob, she frequently lamented that she’d never find love or bear a child, but once she met Bob, those worries just withered away. When Andrew was born, Ellen slid into motherhood like a hand into a glove. Ellen was the President of the Andrew Waldeck fan club, and not a conversation went by where she didn’t toot his horn.
And then, there’s Ellen’s brother, Frank. I wish I had a sister like Frank had…a sister who thought he did no wrong! Given the frailties of human nature, I’m sure that Frank does have some flaws, but in the thirty-eight years I knew Ellen, she never mentioned any…so Frank, don’t ruin it now!
When Ellen was in Kindred Hospital in Havertown awaiting a chance at a transplant, she had a photo of Bob handing on the wall. It was an older photo of Bob…one taken back when you didn’t need a magnifying glass to see the hairs on his head…and his hair was brown…and he had a confident smile on his face…the kind of smile a guy has when he knows he’s got a good thing going. Anyway, I pointed to the photo and asked Ellen what drew her to Bob, and she said that “he was a handsome stud with a warm heart and made her laugh!” Yeah, Bob…she actually used the word “stud!” That’s when I wondered whether she was starting to get demented, too. We had a good belly-laugh over that description. Afterward, she got a bit pensive for a few moments, and then she said that she admired the fact that Bob was always steady and didn’t wilt under fire. She loved the fact that he went out of his way to help people, and was still nice to people who had wronged or slighted him. I didn’t say this to her that afternoon, but those are things I admired about Ellen, and I suppose that’s why Ellen found Bob to be a kindred spirit.
My son-in-law Peter has cancer. He’s been battling it for several years now, but despite battling her own physical ailments, Ellen corresponded with Peter regularly, and my daughter, Abby has frequently said to me that Peter was always very touched by the interest that Ellen showed in him. Her words of wisdom and encouragement were treasured and a source of inspiration. That’s how Ellen touched the lives of others.
After Ellen died, Bob passed on to me a letter Ellen wrote to me, to be delivered after her death. In it, she thanked me for being a life-long friend. She added a few private laughs, and she also reminded me that she shared my belief in an afterlife…and said she’d keep an eye out for me. That was Ellen…always planning. I’m pretty sure she left Bob a “honey do” list that will keep him busy for quite some time.
This past Tuesday afternoon, at precisely 3:40 p.m., I received an email from LinkedIn – that’s a professional social media website where I have a profile listed. The LinkedIn email indicated that somebody had just visited my profile, and if I wanted to know who had done so, I should just click on the link and log in…so I did! Imagine my surprise when that somebody turned out to be Ellen Waldeck…and I have the email here to prove it! The very first thought that popped into my mind was – Ellen hasn’t been gone for a month and already she’s back on the Internet. My next thought was - They say you can’t take it with you, but apparently Ellen found a way to take her tablet. And then a third thought popped into my mind – My son, who works with computers says that anytime a computer gets too hot, its circuits can get fried. So, wherever Ellen is, if she’s using her tablet, it must be a cool place! That’s comforting to know.
John M. Simmons, author of the “The Marvelous Journey Home,” noted in his book that “Friends come into our lives and friends leave our lives. But friends never leave our hearts. And best friends always get to stay in the best places in our hearts.”
I feel sad that Ellen has died, but Ellen is still in one of the good places in my heart, hopefully with a good supply of oxygen at hand, and I will always be better because of it. If she’s at home there, I am, too.
Monday, June 16, 2014
POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER IS EVERY BIT A CAUALTY OF WAR
If a wartime bullet hits a soldier’s brain, there would never be any question that the soldier’s injury was a casualty of war. If the shock wave from an exploding bomb blew out a soldier’s eardrum, nobody would contest that the soldier’s loss of hearing was a casualty of combat. Why is it then, that servicemen and women who march off to combat and stand ready to sacrifice life and limb for their country, must have their injury questioned when that injury is a mental one? Have we no shame as a country, that we would turn our backs on those who defend our liberty simply because we cannot see their pain? It’s a truly sad day if that’s the case. PTSD is just as deadly a killer as a bullet fired by a rife, and the mental injury it can inflict is just as painful and debilitating. War is hell, and hell is gruesome and bloody and shocking in its depravity, and those conditions injure even the strongest of psyches. It’s about time we all recognize that fact and step-up to help our mentally wounded warriors. They’ve all earned and deserve it!
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