 Written from the perspective of seniors enjoying the fourth quarter of Life, even as they wonder about Sudden Death Overtime. Often funny, occasionally melancholy, but always heartfelt, these universal reflections on Life are the perfect excuse for family communication across generations. And a reason for creating your own family history. Past, present, and future. But don't feel left out if you're a much younger reader. Learn how your parents and grandparents grew up. Maybe even your great-grandparents, if you're lucky enough to have them around. All you have to do is ask them to tell you their stories. Listen. Think. Understand who you are, how you got here, where you're going, what it means, & why it matters.  When it comes to the human mind, the shortest distance between two points is certainly not a straight line! So prepare yourself. Conquering your fear may not be easy. I've been where you now are, and I learned a crucial lesson. I figured out that I knew the answer all along, but I just didn't want to accept its uncomfortable truth. And you'll understand once and for all that your fear is deeply hidden in the only place that matters. Conquering your own internal demon will be as easy as admitting how and why you let it invade your fragile psyche in the first place. From there, you're Home Free!   After surviving two years of teaching high school and middle school, I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I could teach college. So when I got that phone call inviting me to interview for the community college position that hadn’t been funded the previous year, I drove westward to another small, rural town. High on a hill in the middle of cornfields and cow pastures stood a brand new brick campus, beckoning me to move my family yet again.  As usual, I was offered the job a mere three weeks before classes were scheduled to begin. Don’t administrators understand that teachers have families, too? By this time, Cass was in her eighth month of pregnancy. Yet there we were, packing up a U-Haul truck for the 100-mile drive to our new apartment, then schlepping boxes and furniture until well past midnight. Eight months pregnant? I still had trouble keeping up with Cass before we both collapsed onto an air mattress on the living room floor that first night, Jenn sleeping between us. For her, this was another of life’s adventures. For Cass and me, it was another of life’s unwanted yet necessary chores. New faculty were required to participate in a four-day orientation the first week of September, held at a historic inn in Letchworth State Park, which would become a favorite place for Cass and me to visit over the years.  I was put up at the less-historic lodge a long walk from the inn with two roommates, one a Ceramics teacher from Philadelphia, the other a recently released prison inmate beginning his teaching career in the Social Services. (The planners were wise to separate us from the other newbies in the main building!) We made quite the trio, we three hippies, showing up late for every meeting and sleeping late every morning.  We devoured three gourmet meals-a-day in the lodge restaurant! And torturous educational seminars each morning, afternoon and evening. Ugh.  You might think I should have been thrilled to enjoy such largesse. But when your wife’s anticipated Labor Day is September 8th, you can imagine my feeling of abandoning her in favor of the responsibilities of a new job, made worse by our decision that she would deliver our new baby 100-miles to the east, near the town we had spent the previous year. After all, she had grown attached to her OBGYN and wasn’t about to let a stranger bring baby #2 into this cold, heartless world. Each night, I had nightmares of a phone call from Cass telling me her water had broken. How would I get her to the hospital? Indeed, I had discussed this in advance with the college dean, asking to be excused from the orientation. He refused to allow me to miss even one day of the four-day workshop, suggesting instead that in the event of early labor, I could leave . . . if required! ‘Here we go again,’ I thought. But Cass and I decided to avoid yet another unpleasant Lesson in Life before the first day of classes had even arrived. Trooper that she was, and still is, she assured me she could hold out. Actually, maybe ‘hold in’ would have been a better assurance! Labor pains started on Friday, the day after the orientation ended. How considerate of our new baby to accommodate my teaching schedule, as if sensing the tension we were enduring. We drove the 100-miles to the hospital, and I walked the halls with Cass as she prepared to deliver. In those days, a few forward-looking doctors believed that walking was far better preparation for delivering a baby than bedrest. At the last moment, as she waddled into the delivery room, she turned and looked back at me suddenly, as if we had overlooked something important. “Jeff! What if it’s not a boy?” she asked, eyes wide. All this time, we had assumed by the shape of her belly and from family prognosticators that we would have a boy to complement our Jenn. “Uhhh, I don’t know!” was my usual dumbfounded reply. “What about Jessica?” she managed to shout as her doctor scooped her up onto the delivery bed. “Sounds good to me!” was all I could manage before doc screamed at the head nurse. “Get him out of here! I have a baby to deliver!” Jessica quite literally fell into the warm hands of the world. Tuesday, I drove the 100-miles back to school for my first full day and evening of classes, returning to the hospital the next morning to gather my now family of four for the drive to our new home. Believe it or not, I got my first dose of administrative grief for missing that second school day, praying this was not an omen of things to come. (It was.) We four settled into our new life together, Jenn soon insisting on being the designated ice-cream-giver to her young sister. What a sight! They’ve been best friends ever since.   Sometimes you just know it’s time to quit! As much as I enjoyed playing in this band, the venues weren’t what we called upwardly mobile. We took tonight’s gig just for the money, which is never a smart idea. Especially when the money wasn’t that good. Even worse when we got stiffed! But there we were, a group of long haired rockers playing in a biker bar packed with a couple hundred very drunk and stoned patrons. The beer was bubbling. The weed was wafting. The waitresses were half-naked hustlers. A few strung out ladies of the night were slow dancing in their own little corner of the world. Pool tables and card tables were in high demand, bets placed in a frantic bidding war. Regardless, we continued playing, oblivious to our sorry surroundings. What choice did we have, other than to concentrate on the music we were playing? At that moment, it was the song ‘Beginnings’ by Chicago Transit Authority, of course! For us, this was just another paid rehearsal. We were actually in the middle of singing the lyrics, ‘Only The Beginning,’ when all at once, electricity filled the air like a bolt of lightning. Looking down from the stage, I saw a muscular bald headed bouncer locked in a threatening stare-down with a beefy tattooed biker in full leathers. The crowd was closing in around them, pool cues and beer bottles already raised high, everyone excited by what they all knew was about to explode in a frenzy. We’d been through this routine before. This time, though, we knew exactly what to do. We’d even rehearsed our escape! As if on an orchestra conductor’s wave of his baton, we managed to drag our equipment out the back door just as all hell broke loose. Not a second to spare, either! Into our van in a flash. As we pulled away, warring combatants were already flying out the front door. Beer bottles and pool cues were breaking across heads. Then, gun shots echoed from inside. Sheer bedlam! We were only a mile down the road before we heard the sirens and saw the flashing reds coming from the direction we were heading. Thankfully, we were driving away, while the flashing reds were speeding towards. It took a few minutes before we felt the relief of escape and managed to share some nervous laughter. We stopped for a much needed pot of coffee and a box of jelly doughnuts. Sitting there, shaking our heads in amazement, I suddenly realized that I was the only one thinking that this might be my last gig with the band. Given the gun shots we experienced earlier that evening, I couldn’t help but wonder if lives would soon be lost to violence. EPISODE TWO Joshua, their tour bus driver, was driving up a long curvy mountain road. Suddenly, he screeched to a halt, the rest of the band still sleeping despite their rather violent gig last night. He slammed on the brakes, pulled the emergency brake handle up, opened the door, and jumped out to see what had prompted his obvious fear. And there, off to the side of the road, was a body. The rest of them were quickly awakened by Joshua’s screams. Looking out the open bus door, they couldn’t help but see what Joshua saw. Terrified, they all followed suit and jumped out of the bus. And there was Joshua hovering over the body lying on the side of the road. Thank goodness, none of them recognized the man. But Joshua couldn’t help but see the bloodied bullet wound in the man’s forehead. A quick check for his pulse revealed the obvious. Dead. Joshua took off his jacket and covered the man’s head. He then jumped back onto the tour bus and called for help on the telephone sitting beside his steering wheel. As they waited for help, they were in shock. Joshua told them to stay seated in the tour bus while he waited outside for the cops to show up. They passed the time by talking about everything that had been happening. “What the hell is going on?” Barney asked. “The last thing I remember is playing my guitar . . . and now this!” “I was wailing like crazy on my drums,” said Henry, as Betsy, their very talented and incredibly gorgeous singer, was at a total loss for words. Joshua could only wonder, “Have any of you ever experienced anything like this before?” They shook their heads vigorously. “No choice but to wait for the cops, I suppose. Right?” About an hour later, the cops showed up, sirens blaring, rooftop red lights flashing. They had questions galore. The first thing they did was order Renaldo to open the storage area under the tour bus. “What are you hiding in here?” the cops demanded. “Our music instruments,” they answered. “Aha!” the cops bellowed. Convinced they’d found a bus full of drug addicts, the cops ordered all of them to get back on their tour bus and wait until they first drove to the jail house. One cop pulled out his gun and stayed with them, of course. Joshua and the rest of them waited for several hours, wondering why it could be taking so long. Finally, they saw not just a few cops approaching, but an entire battalion . . . not to mention a police Paddy Wagon! They quickly stormed onto the bus, roughly tied their hands behind their backs, and literally dragged them off the bus . . . and threw them into the Paddy Wagon. In the meantime, one of the cops had grabbed the ignition key to their bus. He drove it behind the Paddy Wagon. They were all in shock. With raised eyebrows, Joshua looked at the rest of them while chained inside the Paddy Wagon. “This must be all about the body we found on the roadside!" Soon enough, they arrived at police headquarters. Each of them was assigned a small 6’ x 6’ jail cell, complete with a metal toilet in one corner; a metal sink in another corner; and a very uncomfortable single bed in between. Barney was assigned cell #1; Lester, cell #2; Henry, cell #3; Jacob, cell #4; Betsy, cell #5; and yes, Joshua, cell #6. Each cell had a small door at its bottom where food could be left for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Just like a hotel, right? If only! Finally, there was one small shower to be shared individually, one at a time, by the ‘hotel guests.’ Before long, they each had a ‘visitor’ who explained the jail rules and regulations that they must follow. Should they not follow these rules, they would be subject to harsh penalties, which certainly included baton beatings. Barney was the first to meet Dr. Albert Marshall, the police investigator in charge of running a smooth jail operation. Strange, but they all heard every word spoken in each cell. In other words, extremely thin walls and, of course, no windows. Dr. Marshall’s interview with Barney took exactly 15-minutes. And so it went with Lester, Henry, Jacob and Betsy. Exactly 15-minutes each, word-for-word. Joshua was last in line. Unlike the rest of them, he actually had the balls to ask Dr. Marshall a question! “Why are we being held here, Dr. Marshall?” “Simple answer? Each of you is being charged with murder in the first degree,” Marshall scolded. What murder are you talking about, if I may ask?” “The murder of the man whose body you claim you just happened to find on the roadside!” Marshall screamed. “Are you shitting me?!” Joshua hollered back. “That’s exactly what happened!” “That man was one of our best police officers!” Joshua was flabbergasted, to say the least, not to mention his colleagues in the adjoining cells! It would seem that a world of hurt awaited them in the coming days! He decided that Barney, Lester, Henry, Jacob and Betsy must figure a way out of this mess, so they began communicating through the ultra-thin walls. “Hey, guys? We’re definitely up shit’s creek!” Joshua bellowed. “Here we are, locked up in these cells awaiting death at the hands of so-called police officers who share a criminal agenda we know nothing about!” “Time for the shit to hit the fan!” yelled Barney. Betsy was so pissed she couldn’t help but pound her fists on the door. “We’ve gotta get out of this place . . . if it’s the last thing we ever do!” Jacob, normally Mr. Cool, was hot under the collar. The six of them agreed that nothing could be more important than figuring out why Marshall had a hard-on for them. In other words . . . just who was the real criminal here? End of discussion. EPISODE THREE So! If Barney had been following everything that’s been happening, he must be wondering how it had come to be. Here he was, locked up in a jail cell with his colleagues with no hope of escape, death in the wings. All of them were convinced that their jailers were truly murderous criminals! Looking back in time, Barney couldn’t help but dream about his earlier life. Believe it or not, as a youngster he studied classical guitar in the University Music Conservatory. He’d devoted a minimum of ten hours to practice . . . seven days a week! Life was good. And soon to become financially rewarding, he hoped. Celebrating his 18th birthday, Barney was approached by the owner of a well known upscale restaurant located mere blocks from the university. “Young man, a close friend of mine has heard you practicing your classical guitar. Indeed, you may have heard him practicing his upright bass in the practice room next to yours! Frankly, he is jealous of your talent! To the point, he has encouraged me to hire you to perform every Friday and Saturday evening in my downtown restaurant. Is this something you might consider?” “Umm . . . Really?” “Absolutely! I can offer you $200 in cash to perform every weekend between six o’clock PM and ten o’clock PM. What do you say?” Barney’s eyebrows flew up in disbelief! “Sir, I am thrilled to accept your most generous offer,” he responded. “When do I start?” “Today being Thursday, how about starting tomorrow?” “Wow . . . tomorrow works for me! Please note that I will show up at your restaurant at 5:30 sharp to set up on your corner stage, tune up my guitar, connect a microphone and my guitar to a small amplifier, and invite your guests to request favorite songs they might wish to enjoy. Does that work for you, sir?” “I’m thrilled,” he laughed aloud. “I have no doubt that my dinner guests will not only enjoy your music, but more important, your guitar performances will soon be the talk of the town!” At that, a bond had been formed. One that would certainly last for many years. EPISODE FOUR Surely you’ve noticed that Betsy was the only woman in serious trouble here! Yes, she was what most people simply called the ‘female vocalist.’ Like the rest of her bandmates, she was locked up in a minuscule jail cell, #5, as it happened, fully convinced that her jailers were truly murderous criminals who looked at her with ugly leering eyes. Guess who had to shower alone in fear for her life. How did all this begin in the first place, anyway? As a young lady just beginning her career in music, she hooked up with an extremely talented group of young men who provided the instrumental backup to her vocals. Thankfully, they protected her in so many ways. Good guys, for sure! The more they performed together, the better they got. And the better they got, the more venues demanded their talents. Eventually, they found themselves performing six nights a week, Sundays off, of course. They toured the US, France, Germany, Great Britain, and, believe it or not, New Zealand. And that wast just the beginning of another life! They Called Him Mellow Yellow. Quite Rightly. Not in his mind! At the moment, he was far from mellow. As you might already know, Lester was locked in jail cell #2, held captive by Albert Marshall and his goons. The worst criminals you’d ever encounter, claiming to be god’s gift to justice. In truth, they were the devil’s gift to injustice! But a most interesting and powerful memory suddenly buzzed his mind. “Young man, a close friend of mine has heard you practicing your classical guitar. Indeed, you may have heard him practicing his upright bass in the practice room next to yours! Frankly, he is jealous of your talent! To the point, he has encouraged me to hire you to perform every Friday and Saturday evening in my downtown restaurant. Is this something you might consider?” That upright bassist was Lester! Still locked in jail cell #2, as he had already mentioned. Of course, Barney, the classical guitarist who shared the stage with him for such a long time . . . was now locked in jail cell #1. Now that all these memories invaded his thoughts, Barney had no doubt that Henry, their powerful drummer, was locked in jail cell #3; Jacob, their organist, was locked in jail cell #4; and Betsy, their wonderfully talented (and beautiful) singer, was locked in jail cell #5; And Joshua was locked in jail cell #6. In his heart, Joshua had no doubt that all of his colleagues were thinking this through, just as he was, along with you! And all of them were singing the exact same musical lyric. “We’ve got to get out of this place . . . if it’s the last thing we ever do!” They patted each others’ backs. Murder and Mayhem awaited. They discussed their approach to make sure they all agreed on how to proceed. “In the dark of night, we’ll follow their earlier escape route and count how many of them remain,” Jacob explained. “In the quiet of night, we’ll each kill an evil goon.” “Betsy, we agree that you, as the only woman, should remain behind,” Lester cautioned. “Absolutely not!” admonished Betsy. “Woman or not, I’m part of this team!” she boasted. They all looked each other in the eyes, finally nodding agreement. Renaldo continued the instructions. “Each of us will carry a large tree branch, lift it high in the air, and bring it down on a sleeping goon. As for me, I will carry the large hunting knife and stab an evil goon in the chest. We’ll punch, kick, smother, whatever is required. We will not stop until we have killed them all. Any questions?” No questions required. They were all on the same page! EPISODE FIVE Henry had the feeling that his colleagues and he were finally starting to figure out exactly what was going on here. And it wasn't good. On the contrary, the shit had hit the fan, as they saying goes. Henry was still locked in jail cell #3. There was no question that they were all at the mercy of Albert Marshall and his criminal goons. While they thought they might be figuring everything out, they were still up shit’s creek! As for Henry, his drums sat idle, no where to practice or perform for who knows how long. He could only travel backwards in his dreams . . . not to mention his emotionally disturbing nightmares. But there was a time not that long ago that Hector's percussive skills were in high demand by bands in many parts of the world. As much as he might have welcomed employment in the classical theatre environment, honesty demanded that he confide his truth. “I’m all about Jazz, Fusion, even Rock - n - Roll . . . but don’t tell anybody that!” He prayed that his future was soon to arrive at his door step. Frankly, he couldn’t go on like this for another day! Aw, man! The Hammond B3 Organ made Jacob’s heart go tick - tock - tick - tock! Hey, with a name like Jacob, he better have somethin’ going for himself, right? But here he was, still imprisoned in jail cell #4 by some very wicked criminals posing as police as they planned to murder anyone that got in their way, whatever their way may be. Albert Marshall was their head honcho, an ungodly, wicked creature without a conscience! He was on Jacob’s shit list, that’s for sure. “His time is comin’. And it sure ain’t gonna be pretty!” And yet, something WAS going for him other than music. Despite the many secrets that keep him locked up, he had no doubt that his musical colleagues had something going for all of them! Yes, Barney prayed for a time when he’d be able to play his guitar again; Yes, Lester prayed for a time when he’d be able to play his upright bass again; Yes, Henry pray for a time when he’d be able to play his drums again; Yes, Betsy prayed for a time when she’d be able to sing again. Yes, Joshua prayed that “Our Time Will Come!” Just when they thought things couldn’t get any worse, they were suddenly knee deep in kaka! At least food, thought not very nutritious, had been delivered daily through the small opening in the bottom of their jail cell doors. Suddenly, food delivery had virtually stopped! Something heinous was going on. They were talking starvation, with no means of helping themselves. But that’s not all. They heard no human activity amongst Albert Marshall and his criminal goons. It was unbelievably quiet. Had Marshall decided to merely leave them here to die? More to the point, had they kicked the bucket themselves, perhaps due to health reasons out of their control? Indeed, their daily conversations that they’d always been able to hear through the ultra thin jail cell walls had stopped. Think! Think! Think! What were they to do? What would you have done if you were faced with the end of life, as they were? Morse code? Screaming? Crying? Banging on the walls? Giving up? As the tour bus driver, Joshua was undoubtedly the strongest among them. If they were to be saved, it would be up to him to be the hero of the day. So he screamed, shouted, and hollered as loud as he possibly could. “Be ready! Josuha here, coming to save you!” Joshua lay on his back on the floor, slamming his feet into the bottom of the wall of his jail cell for food that never arrived. “Ready? One, Two, Three! Here I come to save the day!” Despite the thin walls, Joshua gave it his all for at least 10-minutes until, voila, he could see into Henry’s cell! Henry yelled when he saw Joshua! “Thank god! Believe it or not, we’re all alone here. Marshall and his criminal goons are gone, once and for all, forever! Alas, not a moment too soon!” “Let the kicking continue,” Joshua encouraged. One by one, they managed to kick through the walls of Barney’s jail cell; then Lester’s jail cell; and Jacob’s jail cell. “Don’t give up, now!” Then, they all kicked through the walls of Betsy’s jail cell, knowing she lacked the masculine strength to follow their lead. They scrounged for any food that might remain. They were absolutely shocked to find unopened cartons of food and drink! Cheerios; Cornflakes; Oatmeal; Potatoes; Bananas; Apples; Fresh Water; on and on. They made sure Marshall and his goons were indeed gone. Then they ascended from the bowels of the earth and breathed in the fresh air they had been without for far too long. The sun was shining brightly. They all sat together in a circle, planning their future. Yes! A future! But alas, as they planned their future, they dug into the cartons of food and drink they had just found. They chowed down in ecstasy. “Eat, drink, and be merry!” they encouraged each other. Mother earth awaited their search. Initially, there was no evidence of any people being there. So they started walking through the woods surrounding them. Trees! Beautiful, tall trees, perhaps thousands of years ancient! Deer eyed them silently. Yes, fresh meat was finally available, despite their dislike of hunting. As they continued, it seemed there had been some human hunting going on! They came upon the body of Marshall, a bullet hole through his forehead, not unlike the body they had come upon so long ago before any of this nonsense began in earnest. Remember? “Joshua, our tour bus driver, is driving up a long curvy mountain road. Suddenly, he screeches to a halt, the rest of us still sleeping despite our rather violent gig last night. He slams on the brakes, pulls the emergency brake handle up, opens the door, and jumps out to see what has prompted his obvious fear. And there, off to the side of the road, is a body. The rest of us are quickly awakened by Joshua’s screams. Looking out the open bus door, we can’t help but see what Joshua sees. Terrified, we all follow suit and jump out of the bus. And there is Joshua hovering over the body lying on the side of the road.” Not far away from Marshall’s body lay yet another body, this one with a hunting knife still stuck in the man’s neck. Dead, of course. They removed the knife and cleaned the blood off with heavy rags, understanding that this large knife would serve many purposes. Protection. Threat. Murder. Farther along, they saw tracks indicating at least several men had been running from the woods into a large grassy meadow. Beyond that, a curvy paved road led high up a hill. No doubt the remaining criminals had certainly chosen that route, hoping to avoid anyone who might be searching for them. In the meantime, the six of them all decided to return to the woods, hoping to create a camp site for cooking whatever food they could catch, as well as a make-shift tent where they could sleep without fear of attack from who knows where. But wait! A make-shift tent? The more they talked about it, the more they were intrigued with the idea of building a tree house high above. Anyone searching for them would have no thought of looking above. Thankfully, they couldn’t help but believe that they were finally out of immediate danger from others. At least for now. They’d just had a long pow-pow about the tree house idea. Given everything they had been through to get this far, they agreed that they must cover all bases. And that’s not all. It would be dangerous to assume that the evil criminals that remained could be running away now, but they were bound to return to kill them. Who knows why? Furthermore, the six of them . . . Barney, Lester, Henry, Jacob, Betsy and Joshua . . . must plan carefully to accommodate all their wishes and demands. Personal Privacy was key. As much as they loved and respected each other, all of them were now entitled to be alone whenever desired. With that in mind, each of them agreed that they would construct six mini-rooms, each with a comfortable bed, minimal furniture, and the like. After all, they had an ax for cutting wood, and a hammer and nails as required. And they didn’t forget the large hunting knife! Food Gathering wouldn’t be easy. Being so high up in the air, there was no doubt they had to construct a simple pulley system to raise cartons of food and drink from the ground up to their tree house. Water Gathering and Disposal were important and easy. Without a toilet, sink, and shower, a healthy environment required that they construct a wooden cistern for catching and storing rain water, not to mention a simple a bucket lowering system for waste. Cooking was Key! In addition to the obvious collecting of fruits, vegetables, and small edible creatures on the ground below, they decided to construct a small metal grate for carefully burning wood chips for cooking as required. Common Sense was the Rule. They must rely on the trees and their thick green leaves to completely hide their tree house . . . and themselves . . . from any and all eyes below, be they human or otherwise. Personal Security was a necessity. Luckily, they had binoculars to scour the woods at all times. They took nothing for granted. Hope for the best, but always assume the worst. They would be very naive and foolish to assume that anyone searching for them would have no thought of looking above. They dare not believe that they were finally out of immediate danger from others. Were they paranoid? Undoubtedly! Paranoia saved lives! EPISODE SIX The time had come. They were all on the same page. It was the middle of the night. Pitch black. Luckily, there was a full moon brightening the sky, along with stars galore. So all of them could see each other easily. They arrived and stood above the three remaining evil killers. Betsy lifted her large tree branch above her head, ready to bring it down on the head of a sleeping goon. As she did, she had second thoughts, of course. And she wondered to herself. By doing what they were all doing simultaneously, were they not becoming murderers themselves? Were they no better than Marshall’s evil goons? “Please don’t hurt me,” a woman’s voice pleaded, looking into Bryanna’s eyes. Joshua prepared to stab an evil goon in the chest as promised. “Please don’t hurt us,” another woman’s voice begged, looking into Joshua’s eyes. Lester was ready to kill, as agreed. “Please don’t kill us,” yet another woman’s voice broke the silence, looking into Leonardo’s eyes. Henry was ready to become an evil murderer. “I’m not ready to die. Please don’t do this,” another woman begged, looking into Henry’s eyes. Betsy lowered her heavy tree branch and asked these pathetic women a simple question. “How did you come to be here?” With tears in her eyes, the first woman answered Betsy. “We were all kidnapped by a group of evil and murderous men. They threatened to return here from the fires they set to burn down the forest and kill us all. This is not how we expected to meet our deaths. We beg you to help us escape!” Betsy, Barney, Lester, Henry, Jacob, and Joshua lowered their weapons to the ground, look at each other, and nodded their heads in the affirmative. Betsy spoke softly. “We will protect you. You see, these same evil goons have been trying to murder us for a very long time. But they’ve been unable to find us. Please, come live with us. You will be safe. We’ll construct private living quarters for each of you. We live high in the forest in the massive trees, unable to be seen from below.” Betsy offered her hands to the women, helping them stand up from the cold forest ground. Tears streaming down their cheeks, they hugged us as they offer their names. “I am Naomi.” “My name is Ruth.” “Me? I’m Delilah.” “Esther is my name.” “Finally!” Betsy laughed loudly. “I’ve been the only woman in this group for far too long! Welcome, welcome good ladies.” Naomi spoke. “God knows you, as He knows us. He shall protect us all. Today is a new beginning to all our lives. The brightly lit full moon and stars in the skies are proof of what is to come. Love rules.” Marshall may be dead, but his evil goons were on the way back from the fires they had set, eager to burn down the forest as they had earlier threatened. But more important, they were excited, indeed thrilled, to deal with the four women they had abandoned in the woods in a coffin-like environment. So, the evil goons walked for hours on end, back from where they had come. As darkness approached, they arrived at their destination, shocked that the women they sought had disappeared. They fanned out in each direction, wondering how the four women could have escaped. Suddenly, they all too clearly understood what must have happened. “Hey! No doubt the bitches were rescued by the creeps we chased so long ago! As before, put on your green glowing Night Vision Binoculars. Find them, and we find the bitches!” Hearing the shouts from below only a short distance from their virtually invisible tree house, Betsy quietly whispered to warn her colleagues so as not to be heard by those searching below in the darkness. “Hurry . . . Lights out . . . As we have learned the hard way so many times before, Marshall’s evil goons are always with us, murder and mayhem their only goal.” “Does this madness ever end?” Naomi asked quietly. Ruth answered softly, “Only if we take matters into our own hands, I’m afraid.” Joshua interrupted the women with a terse whisper. “Once and for all, ladies, the time has come to rid ourselves of Marshall’s all too evil criminal goons. Forever! As Betsy has so clearly warned, murder and mayhem is their only goal. May they be in perpetual fear of us, our commitment, our strength, our goodness, and our protective abilities! May the lord watch over us and protect us as we create a new world for the good of mankind. This is not only our duty, but our destiny!” The time had come. They were all on the same page. It was the middle of the night. Pitch black. Luckily, there was a full moon brightening the sky, along with stars galore. So all of them could see each other easily. They arrived and stood above the three remaining evil killers. Betsy lifted her large tree branch above her head, ready to bring it down on the head of a sleeping goon. As she did, she had second thoughts, of course. And she wondered to herself. By doing what they were all doing simultaneously, were they not becoming murderers themselves? Were they no better than Marshall’s evil goons? “Please don’t hurt me,” a woman’s voice pleaded, looking into Betsy’s eyes. Joshua prepared to stab an evil goon in the chest as promised. “Please don’t hurt us,” another woman’s voice begged, looking into Joshua’s eyes. Lester was ready to kill, as agreed. “Please don’t kill us,” yet another woman’s voice broke the silence, looking into Lester’s eyes. Henry was ready to become an evil murderer. “I’m not ready to die. Please don’t do this,” another woman begged, looking into Henry’s eyes. Betsy lowered her heavy tree branch and asked these pathetic women a simple question. “How did you come to be here?” With tears in her eyes, the first woman answered Betsy. “We were all kidnapped by a group of evil and murderous men. They threatened to return here from the fires they set to burn down the forest and kill us all. This is not how we expected to meet our deaths. We beg you to help us escape!” Betsy, Barney, Lester, Henry, Jacob, and Joshua lowered their weapons to the ground, look at each other, and nodded their heads in the affirmative. Betsy spoke softly. “We will protect you. You see, these same evil goons have been trying to murder us for a very long time. But they’ve been unable to find us. Please, come live with us. You will be safe. We’ll construct private living quarters for each of you. We live high in the forest in the massive trees, unable to be seen from below.” Betsy offered her hands to the women, helping them stand up from the cold forest ground. Tears streaming down their cheeks, they hugged us as they offer their names. “I am Naomi.” “My name is Ruth.” “Me? I’m Delilah.” “Esther is my name.” “Finally!” Betsy laughed loudly. “I’ve been the only woman in this group for far too long! Welcome, welcome good ladies.” Naomi spoke. “God knows you, as He knows us. He shall protect us all. Today is a new beginning to all our lives. “The brightly lit full moon and stars in the skies are proof of what is to come. Love rules." They all started walking through the woods surrounding them. Trees! Beautiful, tall trees, perhaps thousands of years ancient! Despite the darkness, the moonlight and starlight lead the way. The young ladies they had adopted were in awe of the journey. Several hours later, they finally arrived at their home. “Here we are, friends. Home Sweet Home! Take a look around you. Do you see our dwelling?” They looked around, and around, and around again. Betsy chuckled. “Look up, into the trees. Can you see our lovely home above?” Our guests were certainly confused! So Joshua explained the very nature of our home. “Common Sense is always the Rule. We rely on the trees and their thick green leaves to completely hide our tree house . . . and us . . . from any and all eyes below, be they human or otherwise.” Betsy concluded the conversation. “Personal Security is always a necessity. Luckily, we have binoculars to scour the woods at all times. We must take nothing for granted. Hope for the best, but always assume the worst. We would be very naive and foolish to assume that anyone searching for us would have no thought of looking above.” With that, they took their guests and climbed up into their lovely and protective tree house. Their guests were in awe. Not surprising, for sure. They had long ago constructed their six mini-rooms, each with a comfortable bed, minimal furniture, and the like. After all, they had an ax for cutting wood, and a hammer and nails as required. Food Gathering was never easy. Being so high up in the air, they had constructed a simple pulley system to raise cartons of food and drink from the ground up to their tree house. They took them on a tour of their personal mini-rooms, explained how they would begin construction on their new homes immediately. Naturally, their names would be chiseled above their mini-rooms, as our names were likewise chiseled above our mini-rooms. FINAL EPISODE Marshall may be dead, but his evil goons were on the way back from the fires they had set, eager to burn down the forest as they had earlier threatened.
But more important, they were excited, indeed thrilled, to deal with the four women they had abandoned in the woods in a coffin-like environment. So, the evil goons walked for hours on end, back from where they had come. As darkness approached, they arrived at their destination, shocked that the women they sought had disappeared. They fanned out in each direction, wondering how the four women could have escaped. Suddenly, they all too clearly understood what must have happened. “Hey! No doubt the bitches were rescued by the creeps we chased so long ago! As before, put on your green glowing Night Vision Binoculars. Find them, and we find the bitches!” Hearing the shouts from below only a short distance from their virtually invisible tree house, Betsy quietly whispered to warn her colleagues so as not to be heard by those searching below in the darkness. “Hurry . . . lights out . . . as we have learned the hard way so many times before, Marshall’s evil goons are always with us, murder and mayhem their only goal.” “Does this madness ever end?” Naomi asked quietly. Ruth answered softly, “Only if we take matters into our own hands, I’m afraid.” Joshua interrupted the women with a terse whisper. “Once and for all, ladies, the time has come to rid ourselves of Marshall’s all too evil criminal goons. Forever!" "As Betsy has so clearly warned, murder and mayhem is their only goal. May they be in perpetual fear of us, our commitment, our strength, our goodness, and our protective abilities!" "May the lord watch over us and protect us as we create a new world for the good of mankind. This is not only our duty, but our destiny!” Joshua had made up his mind. He knew that Marshall’s criminal goons were up to no good below in the forest. “Barney, Lester, Henry, Jacob, and yes, even you, Betsy, the time has come to rid the world of this evil once and for all!" "As always, we rely on the trees and their thick green leaves to completely hide our tree house . . . and us . . . from any and all eyes below, be they human or otherwise." "We have the weapons we need!" "An ax." "A hammer." "Heavy duty nails." "A large and sharp hunting knife." "Our fists." "Even our feet." "Finally, we will steal their guns to use against them." "Fear not, my friends! Follow me into the battle of our lives!” No argument here! In the darkness of night, they lowered themselves from their tree house into the forest below. Immediately, all hell broke loose, for the goons were surely not expecting their surprise attack against them! Joshua tackled the first wicked, evil goon, and stabbed him in the heart with his sharp hunting knife. Blood flowed in all directions. One evil goon . . . dead. At the same time, with all her physical strength, Betsy slammed another goon on the head with a heavy tree branch, thereby breaking his neck. Evil goon number two . . . dead. Simultaneously, Barney hammered nails into the forehead of evil goon number three, drawing endless blood. He was already dead as the blood stopped flowing. Lester took a wicked swing with the ax, beheading evil goon number four . . . dead. Henry punched, kicked, and pounced solidly and endlessly, no different than playing his drums. Evil goon number five . . . dead. In the meantime, Jacob rushed to gather all their guns, which they would now store safely in their tree house above, assisted by Naomi, Ruth, Delilah, and Esther. The Murder and Mayhem finally concluded, they all hugged each other, tears flowing, reminding each other that love conquers all. Years ago, when Barney, Betsy, Jacob, and Lester were mere teen agers, they performed regularly at famous night clubs and massive concert halls around the world. So, what did all that have to do with the present? Let’s just say that ‘Stranger Things’ had invaded their souls! And you, friends, are about to encounter these ‘Stranger Things’ first hand! Fear not, for you are destined to visit another world, first with Barney, then with Henry, Betsy, Jacob, and Lester. I suspect that most of you remember ‘The Twilight Zone' so many decades ago on Television. A word of warning: You are soon to journey to another dimension!  The infamous 1960’s. What amazing times those were! In November, 1968, Richard Nixon was elected President of the United States of America. Spiro Agnew was his Veep, but not for long, thankfully. I was an undergraduate music major at the University of Buffalo, already a hotbed of political protest after the riots at the Democratic National Convention prior to election day. Looking back, musicians weren’t known then for their political activism. No, we were more likely to spend our days in the practice rooms at Baird Hall, or in the student break room in the basement. Funny how Tricky Dick’s election changed all that pretty quickly. You see, the University of Buffalo Marching Band had already been awarded the “honor” of performing at Dick’s inaugural parade on Monday, January 20th, 1969. At the band’s first rehearsal after the November election, a small but vocal group of music majors stood up and strongly voiced their unwillingness to march in the parade. America was a divided nation in so many ways, the Viet Nam war the nucleus of discontent. As you might expect, the Band Director attempted to nip that rebellion in the bud, claiming it would be un-American not to accept the honor of performing in D.C. To the contrary, the protesters persisted, performing would demonstrate the ultimate hypocrisy. Eventually, the decision was made by the university administration, over-ruling all objections, that all marching band members would indeed march, like it or not, or face expulsion from school. (Yeah, times haven’t really changed all that much, have they?) Suddenly, the overwhelming control of the political elite became all too clear. So, on Sunday morning, January 19th, 1969, the 250-member University of Buffalo Marching Band had no choice but to board their chartered buses for their “forced march” in Washington. It was definitely a quiet bus ride. Checking into our hotel Sunday evening, as quiet and subdued as we were, the streets of D.C. were already loud and boisterous. It was clear that ours wasn’t the only band forced to perform with the threat of expulsion. We awoke early Monday morning for the ride to the parade site, marching bands from all over the country taking their places in a never-ending line, awaiting the starting whistle for the parade. It was a cold, blustery, overcast day, matching our mood. We all looked at each other, shaking our heads, wondering what we were doing in our nation’s capital paying homage to an already hated president. We had no plan of protest for obvious reasons. Then again, musicians sometimes can be a feisty group, especially the long-haired, bearded ones. And those were the ladies in the band! The men were far grubbier and ugly, for sure, including me. Finally, after hours of waiting for the “honor” of marching, the starting whistle blew, and we were off to the races in strict formation. Surprise! The streets were ripe with protest all around us. It was infectious.  The closer we got to the reviewing stand, the more riotous the crowds. And there, protected by bullet-proof glass stood Tricky Dick and Pat, rocking back and forth, lightly clapping their hands, eyes never leaving the ground at their feet. I was convinced they were in fact two Disney Animatronic creations no different from those in Disney World! I had no doubt they were plastic in both appearance and motion. And then, it happened. The absurdity of our dilemma seemed to take control of our actions. The trumpet line raised their middle fingers in defiance, soon followed by the trombones, saxophones, clarinets, flutes, tubas, and percussion. I had never seen 250 musicians so united before! Shall we say our director wasn’t as happy?
On the way back to our buses, thrilled by our spontaneous act of protest, the reality settled in that our pictures were no doubt already in the hands of the FBI, wondering what consequences we might face upon our return to Buffalo. There were none. I guess they had more important things to worry about. And, believe it or not, our director never mentioned it. In fact, there seemed to be a quick smile visible on his face as we pulled into the Baird Hall parking lot very late on the night of Monday, January 20th, 1969. I’ll never tell, though. Then again . . .  Autumn, 1968. I was riding my bike down Main Street near the University of Buffalo campus. An under-graduate Music major, I spent most of my off-campus time with Cass and her family in their Jewett Avenue home. Actually, I had dinner with them every night! Approaching the Parkside Candy store, I saw mobs of people filling Main street. On the near side were thousands of students, bricks in hand. On the far side were hundreds of Buffalo Policemen outfitted with helmets, heavy plastic shields, batons and weapons. You could have heard a pin drop in the dead silence. Suddenly, as if on cue, the students launched a barrage of stones and bricks at the police, the whooshing sound overhead like a jet taking flight. All hell broke loose. The riot squad rushed forward at full speed, knocking students to the ground with their batons, then dragging them into waiting paddy wagons to be taken downtown to jail.  I jumped off my bike and stumbled into a telephone booth, of all places. I called Cass and told her what was happening. “Get out of there, NOW!” she yelled before the phone booth was knocked over with me still in it, landing with its door on the bottom. A moment later, the glass on the top of the booth shattered. I crawled out with a few cuts on my hands, hopped back on my bike and rode as fast as possible up Amherst Street to Jewett Avenue. That evening, a neighbor across the street was waving at us. “Hi, guys. Join me for a beer?” he called out. “Sure!” we answered as we approached his porch steps. “I’m Ronnie,” he smiled, a bottle of Genesee Beer in each hand. “Hi Ronnie. We’re Jeff and Cassie.” “I’ve seen you guys enjoying your evening walks together, so I thought we should get to know each other. You a student, Jeff?” “Music major at UB. What about you, Ronnie?” “I’m a Buffalo cop,” he chuckled with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m friendly! Quite a riot up near campus today, huh?” “I’ll say . . . things got a bit hairy.” “Good thing you were able to crawl out of the phone booth . . .” I said nothing. “Guess who shattered the glass so you could get out . . .” Silence. “Me . . . courtesy of my baton. Cops are mostly good people, Jeff. No different than you and Cassie. But when things get out of hand, we have a job to do. That’s just the way it is. I’m glad you didn’t get hurt. I may even agree with some of the protests going on. But we sure don’t need the violence.” With that, we three shared a beer together. We sat and talked for about an hour, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. When Cass and I stood to leave, Ronnie sidled up to me and put his beefy arm on my shoulder. “Let’s see . . . Baird Hall . . . that’s the music building, right?” “Yeah,” I answered. “Well . . . you might want to stay away from there for a few days, Jeff . . .” “Why?” “Word’s out that some of my colleagues plan on tear-gassing Baird Hall for the next few days. Something about clearing out some rabble rousers. Anyway, just be careful, maybe stay home instead.”  I was taken aback. “You know, Ronnie, I don’t know any rabble rousing musicians.”
He thought for a moment with raised eyebrows. “Maybe some cops are rabble rousers?” I dared to asked. He paused, then winked once and whispered, “Hmm . . . could very well be . . .” I should have followed Ronnie’s advice. But I didn’t. Sure enough, the next morning the tear gas canisters were shot through Baird Hall’s windows on all sides. Most of us were in the student break room, choking on the gas until we could find our way up to street level, where the cops welcomed us with more gas. The mayhem continued for several days, then stopped as suddenly as it had started. That evening, Cass and I went for our usual walk. Ronnie was sitting on his porch, enjoying his bottle of Genesee Beer. We waved. “I should have listened to you, Ronnie!” I yelled across the street. “I told you, didn’t I?” I can’t say Ronnie became close friends with Cass and me. But there’s no question that ‘The Cop and The Musician Connected.’  I recently had the pleasure of interviewing and writing about a talented musician and writer, Jeff Resnick, for an article about the re-release of an album he had created decades ago. When I had the chance to sit down and talk with Jeff, I was amazed by his passion for music, storytelling and people, and by his ability to just make things happen. I asked him to answer some questions about his process in the hopes of inspiring all of us to pursue our passions. Catherine: Tell me about your latest project. Jeff: ’What is my place in this world now that I’m retired?’ I have been trying to define and understand how I fit into this new-and-improved me. Suddenly, after 47-years, no work. No schedule. No demands. But more time for reflection, meditation, and introspection. And more time to explore the Internet. Quite by accident, I discovered the word “Senioritis” on Google, naively assuming Senioritis must be about senior citizens. But it certainly wasn’t about senior citizens at all! Rather, Senioritis is ‘a mental affliction common to high school seniors who have lost all motivation to work hard in their senior year.’ High school seniors are about to begin their adult journey. We Boomers are entering uncharted territory, as well, still relevant with so much knowledge and life experience to contribute that we’re just unwilling to fade away! And then I realized the answer to my opening question. It’s all about our mirrored stages of life. And from my current perspective 53-years later, the aging process actually increases motivation in senior citizens. It’s important for us to leave a footprint to validate our presence on our beautiful earth.  Catherine: What kind of response are you seeing? Jeff: And so it began! Colleagues and acquaintances from the USA, England, Ireland, and Italy, who had written stories for publication in my latest book, “Our Earliest Passions Shape Our Future,” were eager for me to re-publish their stories on the Internet to get my newest project off the ground: “Storytelling.” After all, what better way to share our passions with other senior citizens than to motivate them to share their own stories? My earliest passion was music. But as I grew older, I began to understand that composing and performing music are no different than writing and telling stories. Regardless of the medium, the creative process begins with an introduction, which leads to the body, and ends with the conclusion. Indeed, storytelling and performing are the essence of communicating with people everywhere.  Catherine: Why do you write? Why are stories important to you? Jeff: The positive feedback I receive from people around the world motivates me. Nothing is more exhilarating than watching your project achieve a new level of human communication. Most meaningful to me as a 72-year-old are the personal relationships I’ve established with people who value my ideas. Not surprisingly, the storytellers who chose to participate in the Storytellers online platform did so for the emotional gratification it provides them.   In 2002, The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation hired Jeff Resnick to perform for the entertainment of worldwide visitors to Williamsburg in the elegant 450-seat concert hall housed in the new Kimball Theatre on Merchants Square. Jeff created a one-man stage show entitled “A Tribute to American Music,” certainly appropriate for the venue!  “Jeff Resnick and the The 21st Century Orchestra” performed 3-shows-per-week, featuring Jeff on stage playing a Yamaha EWI (Electronic Wind Instrument), accompanied by his original electronic musical arrangements, focusing on American music of historical significance: Jazz!  Great American songwriters like Duke Ellington, George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Vernon Duke, and Harry Warren to mention but a few. Jeff knew it would be essential to craft a show that would hold the audience’s attention, not only with the music, but also by vocalizing little storytelling vignettes of the history of the times and the musicians, demonstrating how the music was indeed a reflection of our ever-changing society. After his performances all those years ago, “Standards: Volumes 1 - 10” were sold only in CD format at the box office for $15 EACH, equals $150 for all 10!  Several years later, Jeff took “A Tribute to American Music” on the road throughout the Mid-Atlantic states, performing at concert halls, coffee bistros, restaurants, night clubs, schools, senior citizen communities, farmers’ markets, music festivals, First Night . . . on and on! Enjoy “Standards: Volumes 1 - 10”. ALL FREE!  As we get older we seem to spend more time looking back. Why is that? Is it because we have more time to ponder life? Or, because we wish to turn back the clock to a younger and better time? I’m not really sure. But frankly, I can’t take all this reminiscing anymore! I need some sleep!  This article is written from the perspective of today’s senior citizens living in the fourth quarter of life. But don’t feel left out if you’re a much younger reader. Just think, you can learn how your parents grew up. And your grandparents, in case they haven't already told you. Maybe even your great-grandparents, if you’re lucky enough to have them around. All you have to do is ask them to tell you their stories. Having said that, I’m reminded that times were very different when I grew up in the 1950’s. I constantly asked my parents and grandparents about their earlier lives. For reasons I came to understand much later in life, they never answered my questions. Maybe they just forgot the answers? If only that were true. For I understand now that my father’s memories were imprisoned in the darkness of World War II, my mother’s in the harshness of growing up in New York City as a Turkish immigrant. No matter how many times I asked, the answer was always the same. “Maybe some day we’ll talk about it.” Some day came too late, of course. But everything is different today, thanks to the Internet. So ask away! Trust me, once your elders start talking, they’ll never stop reminding you who you are, based on who they were. Cass and I have been telling our grandkids stories like these since they were very young. They didn’t even have to ask! And they keep demanding more. Join us, then, one and all, as we retreat into the innermost depths of our minds before the memories are taken from us. Luckily, our innermost depths are still pretty deep! The more we write about them, the more we remember. As the recollections invade your dreams and interrupt your daily thoughts, write them down before they disappear. You never know, maybe you’ll feel the urge to write your own story about your experiences. Overnight fame and riches await you! Well, not really. But you’ll have some fun, and that’s certainly more important than money…isn’t it? Sadly, there is a far deeper foundation for this article. What has happened to our human sensibilities in this 21st Century? Hatred of others dictates the global psyche which in turn erupts into violent and paranoid behavior. Our political “leaders” insist that immigrants are no longer welcome. We’ve all seen the unending news coverage of border control agents separating immigrant children from their freedom-seeking parents as they desperately seek asylum in our land of the free and the brave.  The Lady of Liberty seems blinded by all she sees and hears, her torch a mocking symbol of what was but no longer is. Is this merely a phase in our history? Or, is it a warning of what awaits us tomorrow?  As senior citizens, we are all too familiar with the murderous hatred that rears its ugly head from generation to generation, and continent to continent. Will it ever stop? I saw a very interesting young man yesterday on TV. His comment hit me hard. “We are born with joy. Hatred is taught. And passed along.”  Is this our unalterable destiny? Our well deserved punishment? Or, is it our inspirational awakening? Time will tell. But Father Time has a bad habit of deceiving us. Thus, the title of this article: “Who we are, How we got here, Where we’re going, What it means, & Why it matters.” Think about it. More important, act upon it. Before it’s too late. |
AuthorHello there! Jeff here, happy to share true stories with you! 
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