Pssst... NY27 Republicans, We Need To Talk

Grab a chair, make yourself at home.

Listen, we really need to talk.

Wait, where are my manners? Would you like something to drink? Beer? Single malt? Fine, have it your way, let's get down to business.

You know primary day is tomorrow. You also know that I'm not into your agenda, but for just one day I want us to be on the same team.

What I want, what I've always wanted from government, is honest representation and I'm still young and stupid enough to believe that that there isn't an inherent contradiction there. I don't define 'honest representation' as having a President/Senator/Congressman/Dog Catcher that agrees with everything I think. I don't need my representatives to spend all day doing the bidding of my personal ideology and I hope we're all adult enough here to agree on that point...at least in theory.

What I do need from my representatives is a standard of professionalism, intellectual honesty and an understanding that their only duty is to their constituents and their country. There are no noble bloodlines in America. The people we elect to serve us are raised up from our neighborhoods and cities. We send them off to the seat of power with our trust and hopefully our good will because that is how a representative republic like ours functions and thrives.

There is no noble class in America, no single person is born to serve in government, our representatives choose to do so and we, in turn, choose them.

Tomorrow, your party will be making a choice. It's not a simple one, at least not on the face of it. I've spent a fair amount of time trying to distance myself from this thing because I didn't really see it as any of my business. It doesn't matter to me ideologically who wins tomorrow. When asked about it, I've generally said that the difference between Chris Collins and David Bellavia as potential Congressmen will be maybe a few votes no one will ever hear about deciding issues that no one cares about. In essence, you're choosing one suit and pair of dress shoes over another if all that's important to you is a party line vote.

I already told you, though, that those things are secondary.

Republicans, you have an opportunity here.  You are being presented with a choice between two men who will do the same job. You don't have to make difficult issue decisions, so you are now afforded the opportunity to make a simple personal one. You get to choose the better man.

Whatever you may think about your current representation, you have to know in your heart and your mind that Kathy Hochul has conducted herself with class and dignity during her first term in Congress and you also know that she'll continue to do so if she is re-elected in November. Obviously, you folks will be trying to unseat her but only one of the two men you are choosing between tomorrow has a track record that proves he will match Congresswoman Hochul's comportment.

David Bellavia is a person who understands honor and integrity. He knows what those things mean and more importantly, he knows that conducting himself in a manner that both extends and accepts respect is the most basic function of a person who is selected to represent so many of his fellow citizens.

Chris Collins is none of that. There is no noble class in America, but Collins lives his public life like an entitled Prince sneering at the peasantry. His behavior has been well documented. He has demeaned female members of his staff in public. He has conducted private business in his government offices. He even parks in handicapped parking spaces to save his dainty feet from having to make a few extra steps. He puts on a costume, specially purchased, in order to relate to the plebeian farmers in our rural towns and he barely deigns to acknowledge that primary voters have a choice other than he.

There is no noble class in America. Money buys a lot of elections, but it doesn't have to buy this one. You don't have to worship the businessman if the businessman represents the worst of human nature. A prince may be a member of the nobility, but that doesn't make him noble.

Go. Vote tomorrow. Vote for a man who served his country honorably. Vote for a man who shares your ideals and will not stray. Vote for a man who will serve with dignity. Vote for David Bellavia.

If you do that, we can spend the next five months discussing the issues that are important to us. We can fight about whether Bellavia or Hochul is better for our district and we'll know that whoever wins, we'll have an honest and dignified representative in Congress. Government will roll along forever; nothing is going to change that. Let's take this opportunity to enter a general election season where we know that we'll be able to be proud of our congressperson, whether we agree with them or not.

One Week to Primay Day, Does Anyone Care?

No debates.

Almost nothing on the advertising front.

Somewhere there is a man in a chicken suit. Cluck, cluck.

Chris Collins' strategy may be working. Bellavia and his people have been tossing legitimate bombs at the former Erie County Executive for weeks now, but no one seems to care. Christ, I love this stuff and I can barely force myself to muck through a blog post about it.

Sigh.

What happens next Tuesday? A few thousand septuagenarian Republicans will shuffle off to the polls. Maybe some will wheel themselves to an afternoon game of bridge afterward. Big doings on Primary Tuesday.

Among the conversations that won't be had between now and the 26th:

"What's for lunch, Myrtle?"

"How the fuck should I know, Herbert? I'm too busy comparing all the information I have about these two candidates so I can decide who to vote for."

No debates.

These poor, iron-haired party faithful have no idea who they're voting for.

Chris Collins' strategy is working.

Fatherhood

I wrote this for my father last year. I'm posting it again because nothing has changed:

Father’s Day is this Sunday and I thought I might take some time to to talk about my dad and share some of the things he taught me.
 
Patience:
I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve heard my father raise his voice in anger. He’s not stoic and he’s not a wimp, he just knows it’s better to control yourself than lose your temper. This is a lesson that has served me well throughout my 30 years and has probably kept me from getting my nose broken on more than one occasion.

 Respect:
Respect comes in many forms and my dad is a master of all of them. He treats everyone equally and does his best to keep his personal judgments to himself. My dad was never the kind of guy who would sit you down for a father/son chat about this sort of thing, but I watched him set thousands of examples while I was growing up.
 
Stand up for yourself when you’re right, apologize when you’re wrong:
After patience and respect have reached their limits and the other guy is still an asshole, you do what you need to do. After patience and respect have reached their limits and you realize that you’re the asshole, apologize. The only exception to those rules is family. Patience and respect never reach their limit when it comes to family.

 Sometimes buying a boat is a bad idea:
We had a boat for a while, then we didn’t. I think this is self-explanatory.

 Fishing is always a good idea:
There were some fairly bad days in our house when I was a kid and my dad had a real knack for knowing when I needed to get away. Every once in a while he’d hand me a spade and say, “Go out back and dig up some worms.” I’d do it and we’d go down to a pond about a mile from the house. The entrance to the pond was down a stone and dirt road. To get there, you had to know to follow the train tracks and which patch of overgrown weeds to push through to get to the fishing spot, but we knew just where to go.
 
No matter how bad a day it had been, I always felt the weight lift when we got to those broken down tracks and by the time I hooked a worm and cast my first line I felt good again. So we’d fish, and talk about what it would be like to catch a frog and cook it, or what species of huge fish might be dwelling in the deeper parts of the pond (oh, if only we had a boat to get there) or whatever things fathers and sons talk about while they sit and fish. It wasn’t really about the fishing though. It was about a little boy whose dad was there, just there, on the worst days.
 
I could go on, I’m not sure there’s really an end to the things my dad taught me and I learn more from him and about him every day.
 
I’m a father too and all of those things that I learned growing up are the things I’ll do in my own attempt to raise my daughter.
 
I’ll always be patient, and when I’ve reached my limit, I’ll take a deep breath and find more.
 
I’ll treat the people around me with respect and I’ll teach my daughter to be a strong and confident woman.
 
I’ll make sure she knows how to stand up for herself and how to admit when she’s wrong, and she’ll grow up knowing that love of family trumps both of those things.
 
I will never buy a boat.
 
I will take my daughter fishing, or shopping, or wherever she wants to go. I will always be there when she needs me and I’ll learn to back away when she doesn’t, but I’ll never be far away.
 
Most of all, I will love my daughter as best as I can. I’m not perfect, (my dad taught me that too) but I will strive every day to be a good man and live up to the standard my father set for me.
 
Thank you, dad, for everything. I hope this beats Hallmark. See you Sunday.

Thoughts: Missing My Uncle On Father's Day

Sometimes I write these things at work, the real ones at least. I do it because when I'm in public with people who expect a certain decorum from me I know I'm not allowed to lose control. Not tonight though. Tonight I want to feel it, all of it, and if I end up screaming, crying, breaking all my things I don't care. That's how I want it. That's what will be right.

Fathers Day 2008: We're at my family's place on Lake Ontario and my Uncle says to me over breakfast, “You know, next year at this time, you'll be a Father too,” Capital 'F.' Father. I'd never felt pride like that, happiness. My wife wasn't with me; she was sick...or something; anyway, I'd made her excuses for her. She's my ex-wife now and she missed a million of these moments. So many little asides that I can't ever really share with anyone because no one was there, so many...fuck it. Why bother now?

We took a picture that Father's Day. At least I think it was that one. Four generations of us, my grandfather, my cousin and his two boys, my father and I. We were happy. It wasn't all of us. My other cousin was in Syracuse and, of course, it was just us boys. My grandmother wasn't in it, or my aunt or my stepmother. Four generations of men and boys who loved each other in the way that only a family could.

Fast-forward almost four years and I'm standing in the lobby of a funeral home telling my ten-year-old second cousin that it's all right to cry. His father has an arm around him. His father and I, we're waiting for instructions on how we're supposed to carry our grandmother's coffin outside and what we're supposed to do when we get to the cemetery. Meanwhile his father, my Uncle, that same man who smiled at me about the future is on his way home to die a little more. We get in the car and while we're waiting for the priest I tell my cousin and his brother about the time Gram heard that I was hurting for money and sent Gramps in to work with a check for a thousand dollars. Here we go, time to scream, time to lose it, time to break things...

Let's go back to that perfect Father's Day. That's what I want to remember.

It's before breakfast happened and we're playing catch, my cousin, my Uncle and me. I decide to see if I can still throw a curveball but it hits the dirt. 'Nice throw, sissy,' he laughs. I'm not embarrassed, but I explain myself anyway. That's how it was with him. I was always explaining myself. I wanted his approval. I wanted to walk into the room and have him think: This is a man I respect. He always called me nephew. It's like he knew what I needed from him and he was always reminding me that it didn't matter. We were family; it didn't matter.

I remember the first time he laughed, really laughed, when I told a joke. He said, 'Usually, you don't have much of a sense of humor, but that was funny.' I thought he was dead wrong, but I was proud anyway.

It's four years later and I'm walking up the endless incline to the elevators at the local hospital. Grandma's been dead for two weeks but it's his turn now. He's in a special room, the one you go to when it's the last time you go anywhere. I don't know that yet....I think they're just trying to make him comfortable enough to get well, to go home for a few more months. I'm looking forward to Christmas even though I know in my heart it will be his last. I'm skipping work for this even though I know he wouldn't approve. My father is sleeping on the couch, he wouldn't approve either, at least if he was his normal self, but right now I’m not sure he even knows what day it is. “Hello, Nephew.”

We talk for a while and he tries to give me advice. He’s always trying to say something prophetic these days. He knows he’s dying and he want the things he says to be remembered. He does this so much that it’s almost funny to me so I start calling these little outbursts Skippy’s Last Words. I mean it with love.

It’s about a week later, same hospital room. There is an old man in this hospital bed. This time he calls me Christopher and I make fun of his hospital socks. I hold his hand for a while and promise to smuggle in some booze and loose women.

Back to the best times.

After breakfast we all want to take a walk down to the beach, so we do. You can't just walk right to the beach, there's a cliff in the way...well, not really a cliff, it's only about twelve feet down, but you wouldn't make the jump. At the top there's a small, grassy park with a couple of benches and a stairway that will take you down to the water.

My Uncle, my grandfather and I opt for a bench while my father, my cousin and his two boys take the stairs that lead down to the water. My Uncle and I have a conversation. We talk about the heat. We talk about football and why the Bills are going to be terrible...again. I smoke cigarettes and he tells me I have to quit before Morgan is born. I know, I know. Why isn't your wife here, really? Well, she wasn't feeling well. A knowing grunt. She's never feeling well when there are family things to do. Excuses. It's all right, things will work out or they won't. He spreads his arms out toward the sun and the lake and the children playing “Look at all of this.” He smiles and rests his hands on his belly. “Look at all of this...”

He watches his grand-kids with their father. The eldest is being scolded and the youngest is collecting rocks. "You know, this time next year, you're going to be a Father."

"Yeah, I know. What's it like, raising children?"

He chuckles...I always thought he laughed like Santa Claus. He really felt it. "You'll see." He pats me on the knee twice like Uncles do and he stands up. He walks down the stairs to be scolded and collect rocks with his grandsons.

There are enough pallbearers. Some third or fourth cousin of ours is going to be here soon, they don't need me. I volunteer, you know, just in case. We're in the church....again...I didn't even have time to have my suit dry-cleaned, but I'm wearing a pink tie. Pink tie, black suit. He would have given me a look over that, maybe a comment, but definitely a look. "Nice tie." He would have been joking. My father said later, "Nice tie, by the way." He was serious, but my Uncle wouldn't have been. That's why I wore it. Maybe you wouldn't understand, maybe you would.

That third or fourth cousin didn't show up so I headed to the back of the church. I wanted to carry him. He carried me. He was my Godfather; he called me Nephew. Capital 'N.'

"Will I see you this Sunday, Nephew?"

"Yes, Uncle." I say it sarcastically, but I mean it differently. I don't have much of a sense of humor.

The last conversation we had before we both knew he had cancer was after a nasty fight we had at work. He told me he was sorry and he cried a little. I told him I was sorry and I cried a little too. We were family first and that's how it should be. He went on vacation then and he came back a month later, dying.

I carried his coffin and it was heavy. I wanted to carry the thing. I wanted to feel like I was close to dropping it and I wanted to lift it anyway. I'd have done it alone if I had to...I wish I could have done it alone just to prove that I could.

A year later I was a Father. My daughter was this little spike-haired, red-headed thing and my Uncle laughed when she soiled her diaper on Father's Day. "You'd better change that, do you even know how?"

"Yes, I do it all the time, Uncle." He nods his approval and I love him.

When my wife and I bought our first house, he built us a cabinet with drawers and shelves. My wife wanted to paint it, but I told her no. "it's just right the way it is."

When my daughter was born he made her a toy duck on a string, the same one he made for his grandsons. The wings flap as the wheels turn and it holds a place of honor in my home.

For my daughter's first birthday he and my aunt bought her a toy car that she could ride. She still plays with the thing even though she's too big for it. I'll never throw it away.

In her second year, it was a talking book. We read it all the time.

Last year it was a folding, cardboard house that is still assembled in my living room and the last card that will ever be signed with his name.

No more games of catch, no more conversations on the bench. No more fights at work, no more snoring in hotel rooms on business trips. No more belly laughs, no more 'Nephews."

Loss isn't a thing that happens in an instant. It is a series of small moments where you expect someone to be there when you turn around to say something, but they're not and you cry every time.

Happy Father’s Day , Uncle. I love you.

Politics Aside, The Anniversary of the 19th Amendment

"The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.
Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."

On June 5th, 1919 the course to women's suffrage was set when Congress submitted the 19th Amendment to the United States Constitution to the states for ratification. America took one more step on the path to true equality when the Amendment was officially ratified just over a year later. The 19th that gave women the right to vote was about 143 years late, but the wheels of the civil rights movement turn slow.

The GLOW region of Western New York is bursting with strong female leadership that would never have been possible if the Suffragettes hadn't stepped up to fight for gender equality over a century ago. Public service is a calling and we are lucky in this region that so many women have had the opportunity to answer that call.

Here is a list of women in the GLOW region that represent you at the county level and higher. No political labels, no commentary, just pride:

United States Senator Kirsten Gillibrand

Congresswoman Louise Slaughter

Congresswoman Kathy Hochul

NYS 8th District Supreme Court Justices Hon. Tracey Bannister, Hon. Deborah Chimes, Hon. Janice Rosa, Hon. Diane Devlin, Hon. Donna Siwek, Hon. Sharon Townsend, Hon. Penny Wolfgang, Hon. Deborah Haendiges and Hon. Catherine Nugent Panepento

Political Party Chairwomen Lorie Longhany, Judith Hunter, Jeanne Crane, Debra Buck Leaton

Genesee County Legislators Marianne Clattenburg, Esther Leadley, Annie Lawrence, Mary Pat Hancock and Rochelle Stein

Orleans County Legislator Lynne Johnson

Wyoming County Board of Supervisors members Ellen Grant, Jean Totsline, and Rebecca Ryan

Livingston County Board of Supervisors members Brenda Donohue and Debora Babbitt Henry

I apologize if I forgot anyone.

I'm unable to take the time to list all of the hundreds of other women in public service in the GLOW region. That inability is a testament to the wealth of female leadership we enjoy here.

Homeless Veteran Interviews Revisited: Fred Part 2

Homeless Vets: An Interview with Fred (cont.)

This is the continuation of the interview, published yesterday, with Fred, a resident of the Loyola House in Pembroke.

During the interview with Fred, time and again I found myself thinking, ‘This is the end, this is where he finds Loyola, it has to be now.’ I was constantly wrong.

I suppose the thing about these interviews that has been most surprising to me is that I can still be surprised. Before I sit down with these guys, I already know a little bit about them even if they just filled me in ten minutes before we turn on the tape recorder. I always think I have a basic understanding of the trip from point A to point B when he starts talking, but I’ve been wrong every time. Maybe that’s a symptom of knowing how the story ends before you know how it begins. Whatever it is, I have to keep reminding myself that what I think I know always reflects the truth as I want it to be, never as it really is.

With that in mind, we continue:

So then you…what next?

Let’s see..where did I work? Well, I got custody of my son. My wife my son and myself lived in Niagara Falls. He was in kindergarten/first grade. His mother came back from Florida and it just seemed that he wasn’t happy…when he was born…let me back up…
Before my son was born, his mother didn’t want him. She’s American Indian, Tuscarora. She told me she could never have him because a person of color like myself….her friends and relatives would shun her for having a black child. I begged her to have the child and she said she would. I told her I would take him, I would raise him myself and she agreed to that. I don’t know if that had anything to do with the relationship they had in the very early years of his life but after he was born, he wouldn’t accept a bottle from her. He didn’t want to be fed, he didn’t want to be hugged and she felt really bad about it.
I was going to school, I was going to work and when I came home, that was when he’d get up and unwind, he’d finally relax. I had to be mom and dad at that time.

When was he born?

1985, this was prior to the Marine Corps. I didn’t go into the Marine Corps until I was 23. I wanted to make sure I was finished having fun. I wanted to be sure I was ready to hunker down and do the right thing; it was a career move. Like I said I spent my whole life thinking, ‘I’m going in the military, the Marine Corps.’ I went to the recruiter and told him if you can get me out of here now, yesterday, I’m yours.

So, at this point you’ve got custody of your son and you’re in Niagara Falls. This is in the mid 90′s?

Yeah, ’91-’92. Amiko came, my wife Amiko. My son didn’t seem so happy and he was a really happy child.

Fred’s narrative drops back to 1985-1986 here, he’s not done talking about his son’s early years.

There was something about when my son’s mother discovered he was reacting to her in such a way that he didn’t want a lot of things from her…affection, whatever, she felt really bad. Her words to me were pretty much, ‘It shouldn’t be that way, I carried him for nine months. Why doesn’t he like me, why doesn’t he want a bottle, a diaper change?’
Well, she left me and she took him with her. I hadn’t seen him since he was about five years old.

Back to 1991

By that time, he was with her for about three years and that was pretty much all he knew was her and that bond was evident. He especially didn’t want this other woman [Amiko] in his life. So, being the father that I am, I felt that his…his happy healthy was important, he’s a really spirited kid. She came back from Florida and I opted to allow her to retain custody again. I saw him periodically.

Did she go back to Florida?

No, she stayed in Niagara Falls, but she disappeared and she didn’t let me know where she was at.

After that me and Amiko split up and she went back to Japan. Upon finding out that I couldn’t move there…that really damaged my spirit, [knowing] I couldn’t be with her again. I really loved her. She was a great inspiration and a wonderful woman. After she left I kinda…went into a slump. I tried to move on. I dibbled and dabbled in a few different things, drugs, alcohol. That’s just a downhill spiral. I think I kind of blamed a lot of things that happened to me on her not being there, on my dad not being there.
Me and my dad were best friends. He died just before she arrived so she never got a chance to meet him. Her arriving, it was an avenue for me to open back up again because I was already closing up in the absence of my father.

When she left I had no one, it felt like I had no one. Such is life.

When she left, like I said I went on a downward spiral. My headaches got worse, I wasn’t working. I was just surviving. I wasn’t even living, I was just surviving. I had child support payments. I wasn’t able to pay and survive at the same time. (sighs)
I’d get a job and shortly after starting work, because my headaches were so intense at the time, I’d lose the job. I’d be down for a while but when I felt myself coming back to normal and the headaches would subside, I’d seek out another job. I had never had a problem finding a job, never in my life. I could finda job at the drop of a dime. So I’d get another job, then the headaches and I’d lose it…find another job…the headaches…then I’d lose it. It just kept going on and on and on and on. I left town.

At one point I thought if I left town I would pick myself up. I’d get away from the drugs, get away from the alcohol, things like that. I moved to South Carolina…Charleston. I found out the expenses down there were substantially more than they were up here and I was going down there with a meager retirement pension. I tried to get a room for a month and I’d figure out how I was gonna eat later. As long as I had a roof I figured I’d do well. If I had a roof, I had a place to work from.

I got robbed as soon as I got down there.

I ended up in a mission, actually a men’s shelter. A couple days later I ended up in a place called the Good Samaritan Mission. I ended up working for the director. I did cooking, interior/exterior remodeling, laid floors, remodeled his porches, trailers…he had several homes that he housed people in. I was pretty much his maintenance guy.

It was a christian based mission and I was hungry for something. Spirituality was my answer. I became one of his parishioners. We attended many functions, television, radio…We did Thanksgivings and things like that in huge parking lots for the community with big trailers. It was decent, I met some really wonderful people.

At this point, Fred gets very quiet and it’s nearly impossible to hear clearly what he said into the tape recorder. He told a story about his artwork, designing a business card for a Reverend Avery, attending different fundraisers and an eventual falling out with the director of the mission. He chose not to go into detail on that final subject because there were other people involved.

I opted to go back to Myrtle Beach, the same hotel. I had met the manager and a couple people that worked there when I was there before and told ‘em I’d be back. I used my retirement to get a room and found a job. I worked at an A&P (smiles), I hadn’t seen one since I was a child, but they have A&P’s down south still. So I worked at A&P and I worked for a temp agency. I worked for a builder. I worked at Spyglass Golf Course. I tried to become employed at the hotel but, for some reason, they wouldn’t allow me.
In January, the rates went up from $350 a month to seven hundred and some change…$720? The next month it went up to $1300.

What was the room like?

Microwave, bed, sofa. Some rooms had kitchenettes, but mine didn’t.

So pretty much a studio apartment?

Yeah, but without the kitchen. It was right in the heart of mid-Myrtle, not south or north. 26th and Ocean Boulevard. Let’s see, I worked for a builder then. After the rent went up so high, I couldn’t maintain and the headaches had started again. I couldn’t maintain employment and the room. The owners wouldn’t give breaks, they were real sticklers.
So, then it was the same thing headache, headache, headache…pick up a job, lose it because of the headaches. It’s been my nemesis, so to speak, for a very long time.

So you left South Carolina and came back to Niagara Falls?

Yeah

What year was that?

Oh, God. That’s the thing with these headaches, you know. After having a headache for so long, time doesn’t really mean a whole lot because all the time there’s a headache. I’ve done a lot of things and I’ve tried to put it in chronological order. I know i could if I tried, but because of the headaches…it throws me off.

I try to persevere and I may fall down a lot of times. It’s been adversity that put me in a lot of places, but a lot of places I’ve been, I’ve fallen in crap and come out smellin’ like roses.. it was because of adversity that this all has happened, even being at Loyola. Here i am again. (laughs) This is the rose-smell that you get when you fall in the crap. I’m really blessed. I’ve learned a lot…I’ve learned a whole lot.

That’s the end of this portion of the interview. The third and final installment will come tomorrow. The last piece will certainly be the longest. Fred’s story continues for another fifteen difficult years or so before things start to go right for him, but when it goes right, it goes right all the way.

Interviews With Homeless Veterans Revisited: Fred's Headaches

Once again re-publishing interviews with the homeless veterans at Loyola House. This interview with Fred was the second one I did and it comes in three parts, the third of which never made it out for public consumption. I'll be putting up part two of Fred's interview Monday and I'll post, for the first time, the final part of his story on Tuesday.

 

Homeless Veterans: An Interview with Fred: ‘I've had a headache everyday since 1990′

I have only done two of these so far, three if you count the one I wasn’t allowed to record. They have all started out with me saying this:

‘So, basically, I’m just going to ask you some questions about your life. You talk. I’m not going to interrupt you unless there’s something I’m dying to ask. We’ll only talk about things you’re comfortable talking about. If you tell me you don’t want to talk about something, I’m not going to press you.’
I don’t interrupt while I’m conducting the interviews, at least not until I feel it’s really my turn to talk or if I’m in dire need of clarification on a point, but I will interrupt occasionally during the writing of this one. Fred’s personality requires it.

Fred was actually the first resident of the Pembroke Loyola House that I met in person. My initial contact with anyone from Loyola was a business transaction with Jeffrey Smith, who runs the house. The next time Jeff came around, Fred was with him. Jeff introduced us and Fred, all smiles, shook my hand. Fred is the kind of guy you can’t help but like immediately. He has one of those infectious grins that make you feel like a real bastard for being grumpy about having a bad day.

After my initial interview with Will, a Loyola employee, I was invited to the house for dinner with the residents, Loyola staff and some volunteers. Fred made dinner (the best damn pizza I’ve ever had) and Jeff pulled me aside. He told me he wanted me to interview Fred next and I told him that was just fine with me. The reality was, I’d been worried Fred would be gone from the house before I had a chance to talk with him, or worse, he’d be there, but unwilling to share his story with me.

It turned out that Fred was more than willing to talk to me and, even better, he’d be around the house for quite a while, though, not as a resident. We’ll get to that eventually.

Fred’s interview started at the Loyola House in Pembroke, but every time we tried to get started, there was an interruption. The house is a busy place. There’s always someone who needs meds, or a new resident that needs guidance from one of the staff, Fred and I were advised that we couldn’t count on any kind of privacy for the duration of our interview so, after a couple cigarettes outside, I offered to drive him somewhere else so we could continue uninterrupted. Off we went.

I use a fairly antiquated method of recording interviews. It’s a grey mini-tape recorder manufactured circa 1998. I purchased it while attending Buffalo State College so I could sleep off my hangovers during PoliSci class and not miss anything. My time at Buff State was short (most likely due to attention deficit brought on by hangovers, but I’m finally finding a proper use for the tape recorder.) I bring this all up because Fred’s interview ate up both sides of one old-fashioned tape and a full side of a second, totaling about two hours of unedited interview. Because I have chosen to write as much of these stories as possible aside from the occasional ‘umm’ and ‘ahh,’ the result will be a two or three part publishing of Fred’s story. So we begin:

What branch of the military were you in?

I was in the United States Marine Corps. I went in in 1988, it had been my ambition all my life, since I was a kid. I was born on Paris Island; my dad was in the Marine Corps. So ever since I was a kid I’ve been wantin’ to be a G.I. Joe just like my dad. It was a stepping stone actually, because a lot of things happened to me after that. It was my ambition, it was a goal; I achieved it. I strived to do that. I exercised…it was my ambition to go force recon, special forces, something like that. I was in martial arts, I boxed, I wrestled, I ran cross country, swam three periods a day in junior high, track and field. Several different sports really, gymnastics, floor exercises…I exercised all my life in preparation to go force recon.

So, when I went into the military, they told me the best way [to] achieve it was to go in ‘open contract.’ When I took the ASVAB, I scored officer material. They told me because I scored so high, they were reluctant to send me in that direction, to be a grunt, do the grunt thing, but still it was my ambition so he told me the best way to do that was to go ‘open contract’ which is 9900. So I opted to go 9900 under his advice.

When I went to boot camp…after boot camp actually, I found out they were gonna make me an electronic technician (laughs) which isn’t what I wanted, but I did it. I went to school at 29 Palms, California. It was supposed to be RADAR, it was supposed to be airplane mechanic, in the electronics field, but I ended up doing telephones, switchboards, fax machines, computers, SATCOM, but it worked out right, it worked out OK. They cross trained me into computers. I went back to school in Virginia. When I left there I went back to Okinawa and Korea, just kept goin’, but it was an experience, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I wouldn’t be sitting in front of you if it wasn’t for that.

I have to pause for a moment here, because that last statement says a lot about how Fred views the world. We all know how this story ends, but Fred never bemoans his circumstances or makes an excuse. His optimism is humbling.
The next section of the article is mainly about Fred’s wife. He jumps forward a few years after he begins to talk about her. He jumps through time while talking fairly often. You’ll find out why shortly.

I stayed in Okinawa for a while and met a woman, she’s Okinawan. We got married when I came stateside. [We} stayed together for a few years, we were planing on moving back to Japan and I sent her back first because it's bad karma for me and her to live with her parents or her sister...I'm supposed to be the supporter of the family. So I sent her back with what I had, what we had to work with. As I was preparing to leave, I got in touch with the VA [and] let them know where I was going to be. In talking with the VA I found out I couldn’t go to a different country to live, they had no VA, there was no Veteran’s Administration in any other country except here. With that, I found out I would lose my monetary benefits, my health benefits, any educational benefits, everything would belong to them.

I called my wife, explained to her the situation and asked her to come back. She didn’t want to be here. I kinda didn’t want to be here either. I loved Japan; it’s beautiful. I read, write and speak the language, so…(sighs) She said she’d come back, but she never showed up.
We spoke for another two months…I lost touch with her…I haven’t heard from her since.

While speaking about his wife, Fred stares at the table. He’s telling me an abbreviated story, but I start to think I understand why. I get the sense that while he’s relating the basic facts, he’s remembering the details. Maybe he’s thinking about their courtship, maybe he’s remembering a certain day they spent together happily. Whatever he’s thinking about, I can sense his loss. I picture him toward the end of his marriage on the phone with his wife in Okinawa and trying to hold it all together.. Whatever happened, this period of time still lies heavily on Fred’s mind. He returns to the story of his wife later on.

The next portion of Fred’s story jumps back in time to when he left the Marine Corps and explains a bit about his disability. This is also when I started doing a bit more to clarify the timeline with him.

I left the marine Corps with a disability: Tension Vascular Migraines. They’re incapacitating, debilitating as they say. They can’t figure out why or what’s causing them. I’ve been dealing with it every day since 1990. I’ve had a headache everyday since 1990. My work? Holding a job, keeping a job? (sighs) At times walking from Point A to Point B or going to the bathroom to get a drink of water from the sink…there are times when I can’t even do that.

Did you get out in 1990 or did you have migraines while you were still in?

I was still in.

How long were you in?

’88 til ’92

When your wife went back to Japan, were you still in?

We had gotten out. She didn’t want to get married while I was still in because she didn’t want to be here stateside and me get deployed so I waited until I was out of the Marine Corps. She followed me here stateside and we got married. She came here in ’92 right after my dad passed away. We got married in ’93, she stayed ’til ’94 and that’s when we planned on moving back.

So are you technically still married?

Well, my understanding is, the United States….when you get out of the military has some sort of stipulation about marrying a foreign national. After the marriage they’re supposed to remain here for a year, and if they don’t, the marriage is supposed to be nullified. I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to do to check into that, but that’s something I read.

Now, where were you guys living?

In Niagara Falls

You were born on Paris Island, how did you come to be in Niagara Falls?

After my mom and dad…my dad was disabled out of the military also…after he came out of the military we moved to Rochester and then to Niagara Falls. My mom’s side of the family is in Niagara Falls, my dad’s side is from Rochester.

After your wife moved back [to Okinawa] and you realized she wasn’t coming back, what then?

Let’s see, (sighs) I really didn’t know if she was coming back or not. She said that she would. I knew that..I knew that a big part…when I left Japan I left a big part of me. I tried to get extended at the last moment thinking that she and I could be together because we both wanted to be there. I really don’t blame her for not wanting to come back because everyone that was here that she had come into contact with wanted to Americanize her, you know, but she’s traditional. She’s really set in her ways about her traditions, the way they do things. Because everybody kept trying to push another way onto her, she felt uncomfortable. She had no one to communicate with. She spoke English, but it was…you know, she spoke broken English. A lot of our idiosyncrasies she knew but…she was really an amazing woman. Thing was, hey, for whatever reason or the reason being that she’s there and not here now…(silence)

What were you doing for work after you got out?

I wasn’t working at the time, I was still going through disability issues, the headaches were…extreme at that point. I was staying with my dad, my step-mom and my brother, I was drawing disability, It’s actually called Temporary Disability Retirement List (TDRL) out of the Marine Corps; little blue ID card and all that… They kept sending me orders to go to Bethesda, Maryland to the National Hospital but they wanted me to foot the bill, but I didn’t have that kind of money. So I was never able to make it and because they were orders, I was still under orders to go. Because I wasn’t able to go, they sent me paperwork that allowed me to opt for the VA’s plan. If I hadn’t made the next appointment they were going to cut me off altogether, I opted for that plan and I’ve been there ever since.

So they gave you military orders to report to Bethesda…

Correct.

For treatment…

Correct.

but they wouldn’t pay for it…

Right.

So then you….what next?


That’s where I’ll end the first part of Fred’s interview with more to come tomorrow, because I don’t know how to continue without going on for another two or three thousand words. Up until this point, life out of the military was tough for Fred, but not unbearable. The rest of his story takes him up and down the East Coast without his wife and children, in and out of prison and eventually to the Pembroke Loyola House.