Years ago, while riding around with my brother, and a friend, in my brother's open jeep, we decided to stop at a hamburger spot for a quick bite. They had both finished high school and I was on my last year. Young and dumb would be a good description of the three of us, since we were stopping in a part of town that wasn't nearly as nice as it once was.
We stopped, got the orders and returned to the jeep to enjoy. As we were eating, a crowd of about 15 young ethnic men came out of nowhere and surrounded the jeep. Apparently, a group of young punks in a mustang decided to ride through a neighborhood shouting racial slurs, which irritated the young men. They asked if we'd seen anyone, which returned the answer: "No". We really didn't think much of it, and returned to eating.
Within a few minutes, the leader/speaker of the crowd decided he wanted a bite of our friend's hamburger. His answer was "no", and all hell broke loose. Within seconds, we were pelted with rocks and pieces of asphalt. My brother, who never faltered, started the jeep, threw it in reverse and "hauled ass" in reverse for two blocks. Meanwhile, the crowd followed for the first block, while continuing to throw whatever they could find.
After turning down a side street, and placing a few blocks between us and the crowd, we stopped to access the damage. My brother had a few bruises; I had a cut on my face from a rock that shattered against the roll-over bar and our friend was bleeding like a stuck pig from his mouth. He'd taken a direct hit in the mouth. After a trip to the emergency room, he received a bunch of stitches and the promise of some dental work.
Long story short: the police couldn't find anyone, friends would have burned down half the town in retribution and I could only describe my feeling as sick to my stomach. Between the anger, fear, guilt for escaping with a light injury and the general feeling that the entire group of young men deserved something more painful than burning in Hell for a few weeks, I realized when it comes right down to it, nobody can protect you better than you.
On any other day, we'd have been hunting somewhere, and the young punks would have dealt their "justice" as a thinning herd. Unfortunately, we didn't have a gun - or maybe it was fortunate. I'm thinking the massacre of three shotguns on the group would have left few alive, if we could have reached our shotguns. In an open jeep, there's little to protect you from unruly crowds.
So, in the end, there was only three people to blame. We'd left ourselves exposed, failed to enter a sometimes rough section of town properly armed and learned the hard lesson that such things in life will bring. You live and you learn, but more than anything else: you never forget that violence is only one moment away. Knowing this is important. Protecting yourself is more important and a huge part of protection is being aware of your surroundings and avoiding being a target.
Since that time, I've avoided any type of crowd. Besides making me nervous, I know that any crowd is only as controlled as the dumbest, craziest lunatic involved.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
So, What's The Deal?
I went to examine a project site in my home town. The proposed site is in a residential area that was developed to attract potential home buyers with the money to build large homes. Somewhere during the development, a rather bright bureaucrat, or government official, decided to build low income apartments in the middle of the area. So, now the property values have plummeted, the area is developing the urban blight of closed businesses and anyone with the ability to leave is doing so like a scalded dog.
So, what's the deal? What kind of dumbass would allow such an obvious stealing of worth, tax value and the introduction of people that don't give a rodent's fanny about their neighborhood? How can you expect any positive outcome from displacing people that pay taxes and keep their homes well kept for those that wander the streets, deal drugs, steal at every chance and leave their 44 oz empties up and down the streets?
This is insanity.
So, what's the deal? What kind of dumbass would allow such an obvious stealing of worth, tax value and the introduction of people that don't give a rodent's fanny about their neighborhood? How can you expect any positive outcome from displacing people that pay taxes and keep their homes well kept for those that wander the streets, deal drugs, steal at every chance and leave their 44 oz empties up and down the streets?
This is insanity.
I Need to Write Something
I really do, but the words seem to be elusive. Maybe later today or tomorrow. Until then, we now return you to your regular scheduled program.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Natural Disasters
In 2005, Hurricane Rita struck in the area I live. Soon to follow in 2007 was Hurricane Ike. Rita passed about 30 miles to the East; Ike passed about 40 miles to the West. Both storms turned my life upside down - and that's the only way to describe the events.
I ran from Rita. It took 12 hours to get 100 miles from my home. After that, it took another 8 hours to find a hotel, which was full of people just like me: wondering if there would be anything when I returned. The stress, and worry, can't be described. The lack of information, and partial reports of the devastation only made it worse.
I returned from Rita to find minor damage to my house, but spent two weeks without electricity. I was lucky. I had a small generator to power a few appliances, including a small air conditioner to cool one room from the 100 degree heat, which was accentuated by humidity nearly as high.
My work involved cleaning up the mess, so I was "privileged" to see things that can only amaze. Geraldo, looking for sensational photo-ops, soon left when he couldn't find the helpless throngs of people waiting for relief. He could only find people waiting for the government to get out of the way and allow them to start their lives once again. National guard troops were amazed to find roads cleared and opened by industrious people with chain saws and determination. Some, like those in Holly Beach Louisiana, returned to find only a beach with pilings standing like some macabre modern art.
I stayed for Ike. I "knew" the storm would pass far to the west, which didn't happen. Instead, the eye of Ike traveled up the Houston Ship Channel and laid waste to Galveston and the surrounding communities. One community with thousands of homes had less than a dozen that were not flooded by the surge. The Bolliver Peninsula was literally washed away. Those that stayed were either killed or rescued later with stories of horror. Only a few structures survived, but the damage to these was severe.
Since I was 20 feet above sea level, and 30 miles from the coast, the surge didn't reach my home, but it did inundate drainage canals to points above Interstate 10. All fresh water fish died in these channels. The land that flooded turned into a dank, rotten mass of dead vegetation. The smell of rot and decay was overwhelming to those cleaning the mess. Dead farm animals, fish, hogs, and in some places people, littered the devastated areas. The bloated corpses swelled and filled the air with the sickening smell of rotted flesh.
So what was it like to sit through a hurricane? Nothing can prepare you for the experience and words can only touch the thousands of racing thoughts that occur when 80 mph winds howl outside your house. These long moments of rage are accentuated by moments of near calm, which are embellished with the roar of tornadoes approaching and passing. The only description is of a large row of engines on a freight train. The sound doesn't seem natural and fills your thoughts with doom. The horizontal rain is filled with leaves and debris as it passes out the window. The only light is from flashlights that only make the night seem darker. Passing from one room to another leads to the same futile reaction of reaching to turn on a light switch that doesn't work.
Eventually, the storm eases and passes. The heavy rains cease and it's safe enough to go outside to survey the damage, which makes you realize the power of the storm. Trees are snapped in two. The splintered remains make you wonder why you didn't hear them snap. It had to be loud. Was the wind that loud?
After both hurricanes, I found local retail outlets that opened as soon as possible, which was only hours for some. They had limited supplies, but they had generators and trucks of fresh food arrived within days. Cold milk, or fresh fruit were relished after meals of M.R.E.'s or canned goods. The thought of a hot meal became a goal point of hope. At that time, things might just be getting better, since the power was back on, which allowed allowed washing with hot, instead of cold water.
So, I've only touched on my experiences, but it's to let people have an idea of what the tornado victims are feeling at this point. I know their desperation, fear, wonder and loss. I know some will feel slighted, or ignored by a government that is more willing to insure that millions skate in life and are never held accountable. Many will be starting over. Everything they owned is gone and all their memories are only thoughts tucked away for a future time, when there is time for recalling the things that will never be the same again. They have my thoughts and prayers and should have yours, also.
I ran from Rita. It took 12 hours to get 100 miles from my home. After that, it took another 8 hours to find a hotel, which was full of people just like me: wondering if there would be anything when I returned. The stress, and worry, can't be described. The lack of information, and partial reports of the devastation only made it worse.
I returned from Rita to find minor damage to my house, but spent two weeks without electricity. I was lucky. I had a small generator to power a few appliances, including a small air conditioner to cool one room from the 100 degree heat, which was accentuated by humidity nearly as high.
My work involved cleaning up the mess, so I was "privileged" to see things that can only amaze. Geraldo, looking for sensational photo-ops, soon left when he couldn't find the helpless throngs of people waiting for relief. He could only find people waiting for the government to get out of the way and allow them to start their lives once again. National guard troops were amazed to find roads cleared and opened by industrious people with chain saws and determination. Some, like those in Holly Beach Louisiana, returned to find only a beach with pilings standing like some macabre modern art.
I stayed for Ike. I "knew" the storm would pass far to the west, which didn't happen. Instead, the eye of Ike traveled up the Houston Ship Channel and laid waste to Galveston and the surrounding communities. One community with thousands of homes had less than a dozen that were not flooded by the surge. The Bolliver Peninsula was literally washed away. Those that stayed were either killed or rescued later with stories of horror. Only a few structures survived, but the damage to these was severe.
Since I was 20 feet above sea level, and 30 miles from the coast, the surge didn't reach my home, but it did inundate drainage canals to points above Interstate 10. All fresh water fish died in these channels. The land that flooded turned into a dank, rotten mass of dead vegetation. The smell of rot and decay was overwhelming to those cleaning the mess. Dead farm animals, fish, hogs, and in some places people, littered the devastated areas. The bloated corpses swelled and filled the air with the sickening smell of rotted flesh.
So what was it like to sit through a hurricane? Nothing can prepare you for the experience and words can only touch the thousands of racing thoughts that occur when 80 mph winds howl outside your house. These long moments of rage are accentuated by moments of near calm, which are embellished with the roar of tornadoes approaching and passing. The only description is of a large row of engines on a freight train. The sound doesn't seem natural and fills your thoughts with doom. The horizontal rain is filled with leaves and debris as it passes out the window. The only light is from flashlights that only make the night seem darker. Passing from one room to another leads to the same futile reaction of reaching to turn on a light switch that doesn't work.
Eventually, the storm eases and passes. The heavy rains cease and it's safe enough to go outside to survey the damage, which makes you realize the power of the storm. Trees are snapped in two. The splintered remains make you wonder why you didn't hear them snap. It had to be loud. Was the wind that loud?
After both hurricanes, I found local retail outlets that opened as soon as possible, which was only hours for some. They had limited supplies, but they had generators and trucks of fresh food arrived within days. Cold milk, or fresh fruit were relished after meals of M.R.E.'s or canned goods. The thought of a hot meal became a goal point of hope. At that time, things might just be getting better, since the power was back on, which allowed allowed washing with hot, instead of cold water.
So, I've only touched on my experiences, but it's to let people have an idea of what the tornado victims are feeling at this point. I know their desperation, fear, wonder and loss. I know some will feel slighted, or ignored by a government that is more willing to insure that millions skate in life and are never held accountable. Many will be starting over. Everything they owned is gone and all their memories are only thoughts tucked away for a future time, when there is time for recalling the things that will never be the same again. They have my thoughts and prayers and should have yours, also.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Summer is Coming.
We've already had some days where it was around 80 degrees. In the near future, the temperature will rise into the mid 80's; then the low 90's and finally the mid to upper 90's. I don't look forward to this. I'm getting old and the heat kicks my butt. After a long day in the heat, there's not much left and even walking is a task.
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