Waiting …. Hoping ………. Praying……… Scared

 

 

Being high school sweethearts carries a price not everyone was willing to pay. The pain and agony of being in love with someone at that age takes its toll and makes you do things that otherwise would never enter you mind and give you the courage to step out and commit yourself to love, loyalty and having faith in each other that you are doing the right things in life. Not paying attention to the bigger things in life, you focus your love and energy on the one that makes you feel important.

Love is complicated and very much confusing at the tender age of eighteen and being in a relationship that others referred to as “puppy love” but you know to be a genuine and sincere emotion of love. A love associated with the intimacy of passion, togetherness, trust and hope that you have given your heart to the right person for the rest of your life.

While others are trying to convince you that it’s a passing phase, your heart beats stronger and makes you feel invincible as your pulse races faster rushing the blood to your head and making you dizzy thinking about the overwhelming emotions you have surrendered yourself to day in and day out.

Our hearts beat as one as the rhythm of the rain pounds on the roof during an autumn season downpour in Ohio. Staring out the window and trying to touch the raindrops on the other side of the window pane, we dream about being together hoping that this fire inside will last forever. Laying back against the headboard of the bed we stared at each other and gazed deeply into each other’s eyes as we felt the pulse racing away and our breathing finding shallow levels that simulate suffocation but in a good way rather than the bad.

The day was young, the time was right and we prayed for wisdom as our hands clasped together to make a solemn vow to be together. The thunder in the background drowned out some of our fears but the rain made us think too much and gave away what we were thinking. Young and in love, foolish and anxious to be together, we swore to each other that we were meant for each other.

The plans were set, the wedding day was near and the trip was planned. Too young to marry in Ohio we found a little town in the South where you could get married at 18 without parental consent and we planned to take the trip together in secret and find the justice of the peace so we can finish what we started.

The mood in the house was somber – the majority there felt it was the wrong thing to do and eloping and getting married should not be even considered without telling the parents and friends of both families involved,. The risks were too high and we knew that if we told anyone, they would try to intervene and stop this wedding so we kept it to ourselves and decided to drive down to a little town called Sparta where the atmosphere was laid back and easy on the heart and mind.

Living in Sparta is taking a step back in time. There are people there that are friendly, relaxing and blessed with the awesome views of the Blue Ridge mountain range and living the kind of life one could never experience in Ohio or any other big city as this was Allegheny living at its best.

Estimated to be town of 700 people or less, it was the most peaceful setting one could pray for as it was situation far enough from the bustle of big city living and small enough to know each other by first name basis.

I don’t remember how we learned about this little hide away in the mountains. It really doesn’t matter as long as nobody knows we are headed that way tomorrow. What we did know was this sleepy little town was situated inside the Blue Ridge Mountains of northwest North Carolina and that it had managed to preserve old time religion, practices and charm that made southern culture so pleasant and easy to like.

The care was gassed up and ready to go. The trip was about a good 3 to 4 hour drive depending how fast we drove. The highways were mixed between country roads and highways that would eventually lead us to this sleepy hollow. Not a word was said but it was suspected that someone had a good notion what we were up to as they shared their rumor with others who shared it with family and friends even though they had no idea what the truth really was.

The arrival at the justice of the peace was most uneventful except for the hugs they gave us as they welcomed us into their chambers. After a short talk we were guided towards the podium / alter where the JP stood with Bible in hand and recited the vows and the laws that bound us together as husband and wife. It was not without tears of joy and it was a most blessed event for we felt a heavy burden lifted off our shoulders.

The birds outside the window were chirping and the sun was shining even on this cloudy day. The mood was solemn but happiness was visible in the twinkle of our eyes and the smiles on our faces. Dressed cordially in blue jeans and casual wear, we were married and ready to go back to Ohio to face the reality that awaited us as a newlywed couple.

The drive back home was a long one. We didn’t feel rushed like before and the trip became a leisurely drive along the Blue Ridge parkway that was as beautiful as God created it to be. Stopping for gas and snacking with the little amount of money we had, we made it back to Ohio and told my parents first what we had done.

There were no kisses and hugs or shouts of congratulations. There was fear in their eyes as they told us what had happened while we were gone and why we should be careful about being here. It seemed they had a visitor a day or so ago that was looking for the bride and groom with a shotgun in his arms and an angry tone that scared off the good, the bad and the ugly.

Quietly the story was told – a man came to see me and he had a shotgun in his hand. It appeared he was drunk but not so drunk he could stand and make a threat that if he found me he would kill me dead. The shotgun was a reminder of his threat and the fact that he carried it with such passion was a sure sign he meant what he said and he would do what he meant to do.

My parents described the man to a tee as being short, well rounded and unshaven. His hair was thin and his belly was wearing tonnage that revealed the fact he was a man with a healthy appetite. He was alone when he stepped out of the car driven by a young man they didn’t know but it was almost sure he was related. The man was angry and to the point that when he saw me he would shoot me on sight and that he was determined to keep him away from his daughter.

Somehow, someone had leaked the fact we wanted to elope and get married and he meant to stop it. A day too late and unaware of our plans to wed the day before his arrival, this was only going to make him even angrier when he finds out we are wed. The shotgun was a traditional hillbilly sign of seriousness and commitment to save his family name and honor.

He was bound by hellish ways to keep us apart. Now we had to find a way to break the news were already married and how this would change everything from here on in as we had vowed to never part again.

Weeks went by and not a word was spoken about the man with the shotgun. Feared ruled the moment and silence was golden so that the fear would subside. Although eventually the words had to be spoken, there was no way it could be done without first figuring out how we could meet this man and his shotgun without  it being pointed at me so that I could feel safe to them him the truth.

The parents on both sides were silenced as vows were made not to mingle or interfere with what had happened. The truth would never be told unless someone broke the cycle of fear and told the realities that we were married and committed to remain together even if it meant hearts were to be broken.

They say that time heals all wounds and mends people’s hearts that are betrayed and shattered. Time moved slowly and time did nothing to heal the hatred that was at the surface of the skin but rarely spoken. Realizing that things were still not right, we had decided to go over to the house where the man with the shotgun lived and face the realities and consequences of those whose hearts we had broken.

The mood was somber and the air was filled with suspicion and doubts of our motive to come over and face the man with the shotgun and his wife whose loving arms were extended the moment we arrived and not a harsh word was spoken.

Silently we sat there as the man entered the room and sat down in his favorite chair looking at me with vengeance in his eyes but a mellowed tone that was reasonable and clear how he felt and how he was hurt with pride that his life and daughter were stolen from him without a word or sigh we had decided to run off and get married.

Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to night time as we sat there learning how to cope with the new realities that we were husband and wife and that the parents had finally spoken giving us their lasting blessings and accepted the fact that we were one and legally spoken of as man and wife and now son and daughter.

 

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Why is the Media Dissing Corrections?

Why is the Media Dissing Corrections?

The public and media appear to be standing in solidarity against the public servants carrying the badge and wearing the uniforms of correctional / detention officers. Never defending this profession has become a regular bad habit of this mainstream resource and expectations and respect are at the lowest levels than ever before. Each and every day, the media pushes their agenda without any resistance for its biggest targets in the political light and public service settings – the prison industrial complex that has been burdened by the need to contain and house more criminals than ever, at every level there is within the United States.

Law enforcement has been criticized and demonized by the press as rogue individuals screw things up for those that do the job with honor and unquestionable courage. While there is little discussion about how to improve the prison systems, there is plenty of talk what is wrong with the structure put in place by statutory and moral requirements as well as specialized incarceration needs such as solitary confinement and gang controls.

These talking points are often issues about corruptive behaviors and practices and little is said about the good things these men and women inside these jails and penitentiaries do that is deliberately left out in the darkness of the truth.  There are numerous acts of valor and life-saving events that are never recognized in the public’s eye and the truth is seldom told and dissed into the darkness forever.

I seldom defend those individuals that bring to light the horrific and brutal misconducts of the abusers and power mongers that do exist amongst the good guys. Even when they are wrongfully identified to belong or attracted to the wrong crowd, there is always a reasonable explanation why this happened but seldom does the press take the time taken to make it clear as the media seems to be only attracted to sensualized Hollywood type of thinking that often makes correctional officers the bad guys of the criminal justice system without exception as well as never providing them a second glance or reprieve to expose the realities.

Hardly ever do they [press] focus on the administrative strategies that allows such mishaps to occur or exist as it has already been often to be determined to be a fault of an officer that went astray on the path of righteousness and honor. Rarely do they take the time to examine the deliberate indifferences created from above as they labor these officers with more tasks each day while at the same time take away their resources and ability to get the job done the way it was designed to be done by sound correctional practices and procedures.

Little is done to make the light shine brighter on the positive things done as the ultimate priority is to demonize the workforce and demean their character so that they will get no help in their role as peacekeepers and containment specialists of the cruel and criminal intentions of mindsets wearing the chains of captivity ordered by society and cultures to keep them safe and apart from the rest of civilization.

Little is done to improve hiring and selection processes. Hardly any efforts are made to find the smart, the intelligent and the well-trained individuals that could and do great work behind the high fences and concrete walls. If they were to be put under public pressure, all the state needs to do is simply force the administrators to hire better qualified persons and compensate them accordingly rather than disposing their value and not give them otherwise qualified considerations for doing a good job.

In addition they need to meet their staffing patterns to fit the job at hand and match the post charts to what the mission is and the type of population or custody they are handling. Sound direction and management principles should guide the daily routine and short cuts and tacit approvals should be minimized and done away with as soon a time permits using only sound correction practices to get the job done.

Hence there are none or many applicants today that flock to the doors of employment and seek an chance to become one of these blackballed members of the criminal justice system that often pretends they don’t exist. The price they pay with humiliation and indignities resembles those of a dishonored veteran that fought for his country but is quickly forgotten.

Of course this kind of ideology overlooks the fact that prisons are growing in size and bed space numbers and that some kind of corrective action in assembling a good workforce is rapidly becoming a necessity to deal with the overfilling and mass incarceration numbers.

There are no caps on bed space in many communities as they enjoy the partnership of private entities that have promised to help them carry the burdens of incarceration when their real motivation is the profits made from the inmates housed at their facilities. Thus there will soon be an increased demand for more correctional officers and more money to run the prisons but without the proper planning a disaster is about to happen.

The increased workload will change many workplace rules and result in various adaptation of lesser restrictions which will allow the private hybrid governance agreements to expand and become  a franchise that may be able to withstand the pressures of self-existence on their own but not without the aid of taxpayers willing to boot the money to keep the gates wide open and offer more bed space at cut rate options that will reveal a stockholder’s dream come true as they fill their pockets with profits made from the trade.

 

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The room upstairs at the end of the stairway

 

Every young couple has a bumpy ride the first year after their honeymoon and ours wasn’t any different. Poor planning, losing a job after arguing with the boss and having no money saved up to be self-reliantly self-sufficient, we were forced to make one of the worst decisions of our first year’s marriage – living with the in-laws. It was a nightmare from the moment it was suggested and a journey that brought us closer together to fight the common nemesis within but not without our share of fights and squabbles about so many things it was hard to remember.

The house was a sturdy brick colored house that had a small front and back yard. The garage was full with antiques and the cars were left outside to suffer during the winter months in Ohio. Four bedrooms upstairs and a spacious kitchen and dining room, there was plenty of space for people to be relaxed and enjoy each other’s company. There were shade trees and brick walls that separated the neighbor’s house but the space in between must have been three feet or less.

A quiet neighborhood in general the only excitement was the fire station down the street and the howling sirens that came from those red colored fire engine trucks honking their air horns and blaring their warnings they are coming out of their driveway and into the mainstream neighborhood streets.

The first fact we noticed was the rigidity of the house rules and lights out at 10 pm. No exceptions. No television upstairs and only an alarm clock radio to keep up entertained we made it through the night without much romance and rarely a quiet’s night as we heard the fighting below us about money and food that was either not prepared right or too greasy. The ambience was a most troubling setting but we had each other and that was all that really matters at the time. Life was bliss as we made each moment count with quality time and passionate interludes time permitting.

Thankfully, the days went quick as our time away at work and served to us a legitimate escape or getaway  from the reality show that occurred on a daily basis but the evenings and nighttime’s were deliberately slow and painstakingly awkward and most uncomfortable to say the least. What happened under that roof could put today’s reality shows to shame as the script was anything but ordinary.

Needless to say, we made it work and stayed out of each other’s way as we found things to occupy our time with or took a drive to the nearest burger drive in to sit and relax under the steel roofs of the colorful stalls where we ordered our food and flashed our lights when we were done eating.

The mother-in-law was a kind and compassionate woman that would give you the shirt off her back and feed you the last piece of corn on the cob or a deliciously flavored piece of meat in the always stacked and stocked white Kenmore two door refrigerator. She always smiled and never had a bad word to say about anyone, even family.  Gertrude had endured a rough life but was hardened for it yet never showed but a kind heart to anyone that needed a friend.

The father-in-law, Ed was his name, was a three hundred pound plus drunkard with a terrible attitude and a short fused temper. His vice was alcohol and his pet peeves were dirty dishes and dirty floors. They had to be spotless as he would run his hand over the floor and walk into the kitchen to see if the dishes were done. His roundness would often prevent him from going upstairs thus he would choose the sofa over the upstairs bed nine times out of ten during the week.

The grandmother was a quiet woman – so quiet you hardly ever knew she was around. She slept a lot and it didn’t matter whether the house was noisy or quiet as she was near deaf and never complained about anything or anyone around her. A woman that dressed like the frontier women of the west without a bonnet, she would take out her false teeth and show them off every time someone strange came to the house and was introduced to her in the beginning.

This family was weird but always together. Close knit was an understatement and amicable was a stretch of the imagination. There was seldom a night they didn’t play cards on the dining table or just sat there chatting about current events and things to do for the weekend. Euchre was their favorite game. They didn’t get along but had coping skills that minimized arguments and conflicts the best they could.

The television was sparingly used and hardly even turned on except for what they called “quality” shows such as Ed Sullivan, the Honeymooners and several others that glorified the room in black and white. The radio was the large wooden kind that had only AM stations and rarely on except for a show or two that was favored in the household.

We lived upstairs in the room at the end of the stairs. It was a good sized room as they were generous with us living there on a temporary basis and often gave us the kind of loving feelings that made us sense we were welcome with the unusual exception of Ed wanting to come upstairs to sleep and drunk at the same time. 

It was during such tantrums and outburst he was a most belligerent and obnoxious while under the influence of his liquor or beer. The choice was based on how far it was from payday and the day after payday was always hell to pay for he went on a binge that often lasted several days and began with his arrival by cab after visiting his neighborhood bar.

Ed was a kind man, he was a kind soul that would do anything you asked when he was sober. Gertrude took good care of him and ensured that he had clean clothes, clean dishes and clean floors. The rest was pretty easy and live went on with uneventful ease.

The room had two large windows that were sealed to keep the Ohio cold out and the room warm during these notorious Midwest winters. There were no ceiling fans and no other ventilation except to crack the door open at the end of the hallway leading up from the stairs. The furniture was Victorian and the bed was a good sized bed with plentiful pillows and covers.

The closets were huge and stored everything we owned at the time as we were poor as dirt but happy to be together. I was fortunate to have the girl of my dreams in my arms each night and one thing I can remember clearly was the loving way she snuggled next to me as we fell asleep quietly and without any noises for the walls inside were paper thin and every breath we took could be heard if you were standing at the end of the hallway near the stairway where it ends.

One night, sound asleep, we heard the cab pull into the driveway as it honked its horn to warn Gertrude that Ed had arrived. He needed help walking and watching through the upstairs window, we saw him stagger into the kitchen through the back door as he bellowed out an order to fix him something to eat and that he was hungry and demanded food immediately delivered in his favorite chair at the table.

There were rustling sounds, some screams and some sounds like the furniture was being tossed around but I was grabbed by my wife to go back to sleep and leave them alone. It was none of our business how they acted whenever he went on this binge but the sounds were disturbing and the mood was ugly. I felt compelled to go down there to see if Gertrude was alright and safe from this raging and ferociously sounding bear downstairs.

Then, momentarily, the emptiness was silenced as I thought he had fallen asleep on the sofa where he normally parks his torso after a night as such as that night. However, for some reason his mood was ugly and his disposition was rare as the silence was broken and we became aware that he was heard laboring with heavy breaths climbing the stairs that led to our room upstairs at the end of the stairway.

The door was cracked open and the light of the hallway pierced slightly into the room with us knowing that within a minute or two he would be upstairs at the room at the end of the stairway where we were sleeping and now nervously awaiting his entrance into the room.  I chose to get dressed and envisioned an altercation as he might have found the courage to take up a fight of my accosting of his daughter and the marriage that was neither approved by him nor often censured as it was called a “puppy love” kind of relationship that defied all odds of becoming a successful relationship.

The noise level dropped as I could hear Gertrude beg him to come back down and sleep downstairs. His disturbed state of mind was focused on giving me a piece of his mind and there was no stopping him since he was on his last six steps to the end of the stairs. The door flung open and the odor of alcohol reeked the room instantly as he rudely turned on the light with Gertrude hanging onto him begging him to stop is aggressive behaviors. It was on –

The lighted room revealed I was already dressed with shoes on and ready for battle. My wife, faithfully standing behind me shouted at her dad to stay away and leave us alone. This was a night like no other night as it was down to fisticuffs that I didn’t want to happen. We were invited to stay but we knew that if this came to blows, our welcome was over and the streets were cold and damp on an Ohio winter day. Living out of a suitcase was most uncomfortable but being under the same roof as the in-laws was a challenge that can never be forgotten.

I didn’t want to do it – I didn’t want to fight him as I was half his age and sober as hell. He didn’t have any reflexes and his muscle coordination suffered badly as he staggered with every step and slurred his speech making his words undistinguishable and hard to understand. Gertrude had a firm grip on his pants and tried to keep him from moving forward. He dragged her along as his outweighed her three to one and never once blinked an eye at her attempts to settle him down.

Talking and talking some more to calm him down he swung at me not once or twice but a set of roundhouse punches that missed with every attempt to do me harm. Never fearing a real hit from him in this stupor I dodged and ducked the best I could to keep him from making contact with my head or skin as it was a nightmare to remember forever. The closer he got the more anxious I was to hit him back but it would be a self-made disaster if I were to hit him once and put him to the ground as he was hard to pick back up if he did indeed fall down.  In my mind I knew I could drop him like a stone.

He kept coming at me and I decided that if I could lead him out of the room near the end of the stairway the rest would make it easier for him to find his way back down to the sofa where he needed to be. Ducking and sliding my feet, I coaxed him out of the room and watched him swing at me one more time as he missed and let his momentum take him down the stairs that began at the front of the room where we stayed and never once lifted a hand to hurt him intentionally.

The bear rolled harmlessly down the stairway and it was there where he decided he would sleep until he could regain his balance and stand on his own. The night was uneventful for the rest of the hours but we knew that when daylight came into the room at the end of the stairway, we had to pack up and leave to find another place to live.

 

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