Stories

Over the past several days I read a novel titled Staggerford.  It was the first novel published by Minnesota author Jon Hassler.  The novel takes place over the course of one week in a small fictional community located in central Minnesota--Staggerford. The novel's main protagonist, Miles Pruitt, is an English teacher, primarily teaching senior level English.  Miles has been teaching at the school, from which he graduated, for about 12 years.   First copyrighted in 1974, but first published in 1977, the novel represents a look into the life of a school teacher in a rural community.  While no year is known, I would place the time frame of the novel in the early 1970's.  That may seem, to many, like a long time ago, but I saw it as somewhat of a mirror into the life of my oldest brother who started his teaching career in the early 1970's.  As I was reading the book I heard about the death of my oldest brother and would attend his wake and funeral.  During this time, I could not help but think of the stories in the book, and those that are held in the minds and hearts of each one of us. There are those expressed and those held to the heart.

Cover of Steve's Memorial Card

In the book, Miles Pruitt has had his 114 senior class students turn in a paper dealing with the topic "What I Wish."  During the course of the week covered by the book, the stories of a few of the 114 students are presented.  The book made me think of the life and experiences of an educator.  Each child they deal with has a different home life, and a different set of experiences, good and bad, that go to school with the child.   Just as in the book, a teacher or coach may be the one constant that some of those students have.  At the conclusion of one heartfelt two paragraph "What I Wish" story, Hassler writes:  "No wonder the briefcase was so heavy, thought Miles.  He should have known better than to collect all 114 papers at one time.  The wrongs and losses and near misses of 114 people, when packed together in one briefcase, took on the heaviness and solidity of rock."  So while the student papers of Miles Pruitt "teased him off the road of hope into the gulch of despair" I could not help but think of Steve's wake and funeral.  For you see, wakes and funerals are meant to do the opposite.  The wake and funeral are meant to tease those who loved him out of the gulch of despair, and onto the road of hope.  I hope that  Steve's wife Cathy, and daughters Kristin and Elissa have found the wake and funeral to be of some help in their healing journey. 

Steve's family

A funeral mass provides solace through the Christian grace of a promise of life everlasting; it connects our baptism and death; it is the story of the promise of the resurrection of Christ. It is the personal relationship of the deceased with God.   But, the wake is a different matter.  A wake involves personal relationships with the living recounted through stories.  I was privileged to hear  the stories of a few of the many who came to the wake on a cold Friday night in Fort Atkinson.  What I heard where heartfelt words expressed with true emotion.  There was a woman who described herself, as "just a mom", but wanted to express condolences on behalf of a now grown child who is out of state.  Her son had been coached by Steve, and she said, he learned more than about football.  There was Colton, who described Steve as kinda of tough, but fair and even.  After Colton concluded his statement I thought of the possible apocryphal comment made by Henry Jordan about Vince Lombardi--"he treats us all the same--like dogs." Perhaps this is the same Colton, who was a soccer player, and when about to write on a white-board in Steve's natural resources class, Steve suggested that since he was a soccer player he use a pink marker.  Today's world of political correctness would not find this funny. It did get a big laugh out of the class.

Casket at funeral home

The stories stretched to his earliest days of football.  There were those from teammates in the middle 1960's when he played for Sun Prairie High School.  There were the then boys, now men, about my age, who played for him in the 1970's.  I spent some time in particular talking with two brothers, farm boys, one played for him in 1971, and his brother a few years later.  Heck, there may even have been some who I had to play against when I played with Sun Prairie.  They recounted that even though they played other sports, he was their best coach.  There were the Millennial's who played for him in his last years as head coach at Fort, and those who he coached at Milton.  Their story was the same as those last of the baby boomers.  There were those from two generations of the same family he coached.  There was the man who played for him, and coached under him.  Steve became head coach at Fort after students petitioned the administration to bring him on as head coach.  He had left as an assistant a few years earlier.  Yet, he did not just look to the common or known athlete.  He coaxed persons who had never before played the sports to join. One of these was the funeral director. The success Fort had in football, even after he stopped coaching Fort in 2001, was directly due to his having built not only the high school program, but also the feeder 7th and 8th grade programs.  A bid to play at state ended at the one yard line after the QB (a son of his offensive coordinator) changed Steve's call from a hand off going over the tackle, to a QB sneak in an attempt to get glory for himself.  Steve's call would have worked, Steve said, as he knew the opponents tendencies from film and game experience.  At the time Steve had a fullback who averaged eight yards a carry.

The stories were not limited to old or young men, the story I most recall was from a young lady who indicated that "Mr. Hovel was her track coach."  She went on to say she never saw herself as an athlete, much less doing track, but Steve encouraged her to join the team.  She found in herself, she said, something she never knew and became better for it.  I found it a poignant moment for a person to share with a stranger something so personal. It was indicative of the meaning Steve had for her, and, by extension, to so many others.  What I noticed, through these stories was Steve as an educator and a coach touched the lives of many.  Many of those persons took time to stand in a long line on a cold Friday night to attend his wake.  There is something of hearing these personal connections that provide at least some solace in what is a difficult journey. If you think of history, it is really the compilation of stories.  Facts and figures could be recalled, but they have little meaning without personal connection. 

Seven Surviving Hovel siblings

Many persons attended Steve's wake finding a need to come not to simply express condolences, but to share their stories, in a way to help them deal with his death.  Yet, in so doing their stories allow us, Steve's family, to move from that gulch of despair to the road of hope.   As a teacher and an educator Steve strove to draw out the best in his students.  Those who came to his wake and funeral showed that he had done well the work entrusted to him. There are but few higher compliments to a person than to say: a job well done.  So, Steve, as you see these words from a new perch, let me simply say:  Well done, Steve, well done.

Now we are Seven

Quite unexpectedly, the Hovel siblings are now down to seven.  The recent passing of our oldest brother, Steve has taken the number, originally ten, to now seven.  Unfortunately, it has only been but three and one-half years since the death of our brother John from cancer less than two months before his 62nd birthday.  The first sibling to pass away was our brother Leo, he died after being hit by a car in 1959.  He was but four years old.  History, it is said, is intractable. That is quite true.  The news I received early Saturday morning about Steve having passed away shows not only the movement of time, but more importantly the fragility of life.  Steve turned 70 years of age just over a month ago, and now one less life is to be lived on earth, one less man to fish the clean water lakes of  northern Wisconsin, and one less man to impart wisdom to his family.   If there was a book of traits, and stereotypes common to family birth order, I have no doubt that the traits and stereotypes for the oldest sibling in a family would contain Steve's photograph as its definition.

Steve at Grandparent's farm just north of Sun Prairie, 1949
He began wearing shorts at an early age.
He used wood from the barn in the background to panel part of his basement

As an educator and coach, he not only found the best in himself, but in his students and players. He made the common be uncommon. A testament to a life well lived is how a large number of his past players would help him on his property. He played high school football, was all conference of his college football team at Stevens Point, and was king of the Point Winter Carnival being crowned as such fifty years ago on February 16, 1968.  Showing the ironies of life, fifty years later on Feb. 16 will be his wake.  For many years he played semi-pro football, with games on Saturday night even while coaching and teaching in Fort Atkinson, WI.

Steve visiting his Grandfather Rudy Hovel in Hollywood, FL

I well recall going to a number of his Madison Mustang games on fall nights with my Dad.  They were the kind of nights in the early 1970's true to a disappearing Wisconsin culture.  The field occupied by men who really played for the love of the game and camaraderie (as it certainly was not for the pay), and where the beer and pints liquor freely flowed among family and friends in the Warner Park stands.  A time when a 13 year old would ride home with an inebriated family friend, and end up driving the family friend home on the back roads of the Town of Burke.   Another time I recall my Dad asking a man a couple rows ahead if he could stop with his odd antics, particularly the way the man was affecting a women to his side.  The man, filled with alcohol, started to lunge toward my Dad, but as Dad got up to stop him, the man had better thoughts and pulled away. While Dad was not very large, he did have, as Steve said, strong large hands and forearms built by years of hard farm work. Dad did not need to weight lift, his lifting came through hard work.

Steve and our Mom upon his graduation from Sacred Hearts,
completion of sophomore year

Of course, there was the day after Steve's wedding, a fight between Steve and the next oldest sibling in the back yard.  Dad ran to get his movie camera to record this for posterity, while my Mom was screaming for them to stop.  Welcome to the family, Cathy!  Let me just add, no one wanted to get in the way of those two men having it out, but for the guy with the camera.

Hovel boys (Steve, Joe and Mike) planting the garden

Steve would know about strength, as he was a weightlifter, and I suspect was well ahead of his time as a coach in coaxing boys into the weight room.  My brother Greg, recently told the story he heard from a former Sun Prairie coach of how Steve, a Sun Prairie High graduate, went to the half-time locker room of Sun Prairie when he was a coach with Fort,  to give a pep talk to the Sun Prairie players.  Steve noted, apparently to one boy in particular, that they were losing because they had not spent enough time in the weight room.  One can wonder the expression on the faces of the Sun Prairie players about an opposing team coach coming into their locker room at half to give them a talking to.  Steve had a love of football, and as an all conference guard commanded respect.  As Steve advanced with the game, he still commented on the basic skill set he learned as a player from our Dad who had played guard at Campion High school and college at Marquette.  Being on the team to play in the first Cotton Bowl, Dad had developed skills from the early years of the game, which Steve said he continued to teach in all his years as a football coach.  He retired from being a football coach in 2001. He loved to teach the game, and took special pride when two of his nephews made first team defensive line all conference in their respective conferences in the same year.  Steve taught the nephews at a summer football camp in which he even had T-shirts made to commemorate the event.

Steve, with Cathy, receiving Top-Notch Teacher award
from News 3 broadcasters

After retiring from teaching he got back into the game as an assistant coach for Milton.  A number of family members showed up for a level 2 playoff game when he was the D-line coach for Milton.  Milton would lose to Waunakee (who doesn't), but Steve appreciated those family members who attended.  Yet, his love of football took a toll on his ability to move.  In his later years at Fort, he told me he often had to bike to the practice field as years of being a lineman was hard on his leg joints.  His coaching talent was not limited to football.  He also coached girls track and field.  He was the biggest fan for a daughter who to this day is an avid runner.

Photo at conclusion of Milton-Waunakee level 2 Playoff game

As good as he was as a coach, he was also a teacher.  He was selected by one senior class to give their commencement address.  In late January 2003 he was awarded the Top-Notch teacher award presented by News 3, Madison.  Since he was a biology major and natural resources teacher, and I am a planner who has promoted resource-based planning, our conversations would often turn to the natural environment.  His home site has a nice creek running through visible from his porch, and he was happy to harvest its water cress.  He raised a variety of small animals over time.  Even though one goose went after his nephew, Christopher, he did not blame the goose.  He had a great depth of knowledge from years as an educator, and a life long love of learning. He must have watched University Place on PBS, because he commented with my knowledge of Czech households, I should do a presentation on University Place.

National Guard photo

Steve had a love of the outdoors, and for years made musky lures, giving them the nicknames he had for his two daughters--Fuzz and Wubby.  He was an expert fisherman, who particularly liked the challenge of musky fishing. He was like some of my other siblings who could never really sit still and always had to be on the move if not physically, than in his mind.  I suspect fishing was his way of relaxing and to wind down. I myself never could take to fishing, so I never fished with him.  He also loved wood boats and the related craftsmanship. He took an old boat trailer that was hidden in for decades in the pine trees at the property in which we grew up and rebuilt the trailer.  A nice wood boat now sits atop a trailer.  He said he would sell the boat, but not the trailer.  Perhaps the hard work fixing the trailer brought back memories.  His first car was a 1946 Ford, which he had also begun restoring.

Rebuilt boat trailer

As a football coach, one would not think of him having a tender side.  His tender side, however, was most visible with their little dog Fizzle. A name that well fits that little dog, it was almost like his alter ego.  He had been the past owner of some large Labradors, therefore, so it was quite different to see him with a little dog on which he doted.  A nephew commented on a place for Fizzle on the passenger front seat of his car and asked where Cathy sat, to which Steve simply pointed to the back seat.  Having recently watched the movie "A Dog's Purpose", I can't but help think of Steve and Fizzle.

Stevens Point Winter Carnival article

It was also football that brought about his trait of wearing shorts--even in cold weather.  When I once asked him why he most always wore shorts, he said he wanted to dress like the boys (football payers) dress.  It was probably more related to a mental toughness he had developed in himself and to develop in them.  The last time I saw him, he was wearing shorts on a cool mid-November morning.  As we mourn the passing of a husband, father, and brother, a future is faced with unknowns not before contemplated.  Life can be hard, but Steve, from his years of teaching and coaching, would be the first to say there is a need to move on.  I will miss the stories he had told.  Many of the nephews and nieces were regaled by his stories at John's wake.  His story telling was always good for a laugh or maybe even a cry.  The family of ten siblings is now down to seven. As we mourn his passing, we hold to the memories from the past, and think of what will no longer be, but we also look to the future with a different perspective than perhaps we had last week Friday.

First Five of the  Eight Hovel Boys
L to R:  Mike, Leo, Joe, John, Steve
of the five, only Joe and Mike still live

My sympathy to Steve's family, spouse Cathy, daughters Kristin and Elissa, grandson Keagan, and son-in-laws Jason and Matt.

The Nurse

Last week Wednesday I was on my daily walk, when about half-way through I started getting a great deal of drainage in my throat.  Some drainage, or a good bit, is not unusual for me with the sinus issues I possess, but this was, even for me, excessive.  I completed my walk and headed to a meeting early that afternoon where the drainage and coughing continued.  I then made my way to yet another meeting, and the same occurred.  I got home, and flushed my nose, but the drainage continued.  NyQuill that evening helped subside the coughing.  For the past month I had been flushing my nose daily, but felt good that morning so I skipped the flushing.  

Flu bug

Thursday morning I woke with the drainage and cough and of course went to work, thinking that I came down with a cold.  Now, my wife had been suffering with what was aches and pains the prior weekend, and even stayed home from work Monday.  I asked if she thought she had the flu and should call the doctor. She declined, saying they would not tell her to do anything different.  Well, she probably the flu, but she assured me she was keeping things clean, following up her trips to the bathroom or other areas of the house with a disinfectant spray and use of hand sanitizer.  Thursday, while at work, I felt so bad that I did not even do my daily walk.    Of course, as I left for work that Thursday my wife said to make sure to take a decongestant.  I noted I had a few at work, and would do so when I arrived. Later in the day I receive a text from her asking if I had taken my decongestant.  I said, I just had.  If you know my wife, you can imagine the follow-up texts.  She did admit, that I had her head shacking and I suspect suppressing a laugh with one response I gave--in one text she said something about me not following her directions to which  I followed up with "I know."  She quickly texted back and said that is the response she gets from our youngest son.  

CDC map on the Spread of Flu in first week of Jan.

At the conclusion of the day I headed home.  As I was leaving a co-worker, knowing my wife is a nurse, said, "I hope Toni takes good care of you."  I noted, oh she might, but I will have to wait for her diatribe about me not her following directions to be over first.  Yes the diatribe did occur.  If I thought her texts were forthcoming, the verbal barrage was even worse. For some reason, I don't think she would be quite as harsh on her own child.  Although, he may have a different opinion.  On Friday, I felt sufficiently ill to stay home from work.  My wife was called early in the morning by her boss to see if she could come in early to replace a person who was ill, but she declined saying something to the effect that: "my husband is ill" and without saying, but the clear connotation being "and you know what that means."  It seems that her boss immediately understood and concurred with her comment, the full connotation and all.  Is this an unwritten code among nurses?  Or, perhaps a look into a nurturing attitude that goes beyond the verbal barrage of not following her orders?   I had told my wife that I can take care of myself and she should go in early.  My wife had to point out that of the three main nurses who work for the district (one as a sub) all have husband's named Tom.  Her intent being that we are all alike.  One of those Tom's is a pediatrician.  I like to think I am in good company.  After she left, I went to bed and was about asleep, until I was disturbed by one and then two more times the phone ringing.    After having some lunch I went back to bed to get some rest, but had a restless time as the chills set in.  I was too weak to even want to turn around in the bed to try and blow my nose.  I was taking medication, but it was not doing much good.  That is when my wife arrived home, and came to the rescue supplanting my use of one fever reducer by introducing half-way through a different fever reducer.  Even with the first reducer being taken at 1 pm., I had a fever of 102 at 3:30 pm.  She then ordered me to call the doctor and late in the afternoon they provided a prescription for Tamiflu.  Up until that Friday afternoon, I thought it was a bad cold. I have an aversion to medications, and would never have thought of adding a second type of fever reducer half-way through.  I have come to realize, that sometimes medication does help.

Guesswork?

My own duty nurse in my wife has helped me in other ways.  She heated water and dropped in some essential oils to assist with breathing and my poor sinus situation.  She also made an essential oil mix for me to apply to my sinus areas, and while it may not work, I figure it cannot hurt.  My spouse is a no nonsense sort of person.  However, what occurred to both of us, if at age 60 and in decent health otherwise, we  are affected this much by the flu, what is it like for those that are older or in poor health?  It must be trying.  We both had our flu shot, but the flu going around is apparently different that what was derived for the shot.  The flu's all originate in China or Southeast Asia, and detective and guess work attempts to figure out which one will become prevalent and the flu shot is devised for that strain.  I cannot recall ever having had the flu before, but perhaps I did as a child.  I am just glad my wife was around to help me through Friday afternoon and evening.

Minnesota Nice?

A number of years ago there was a television show called "How I met your Mother."  While the show took place in New York City, one of the main characters, named Marshall Eriksen, hailed from Minnesota.  Given Marshall's surname, one would expect him to be from Minnesota, probably a play on Leif.  During one episode Marshall once made a comment to the effect that "Manners is all that sets Minnesota apart from Wisconsin.  At the time I was not aware of the concept called Minnesota Nice.

Is Minnesota nice, an actual ethos of the population?  At the time of Mr. Erickson's comment I asked two co-workers, who while they are from Wisconsin, each did graduate work at the University of Minnesota.  Each had much more experience with the state of Minnesota than do I.  The general opinion, as I recall it, was that they can be nice to your face, but would quickly turn on some one too; in other words, back stab.  Minnesota nice, being but a constructed concept, came to mind due to a few things I encountered on the internet or heard on the radio over the past week or more.  These events do not put a good face on Minnesota nice.

First, last weekend before the Vikings played the Philadelphia Eagles in the NFC conference championship game, a reporter was talking to Mike Zimmer head coach of the Vikings.  Coach Zimmer made a reference about how consistently "the team across the state border" has played over the past several years.  The reporter asked if he was referring to the Green Bay Packers, to which Zimmer replied, "You can say it."  You can see the video here.  It used to be that the Green Bay Packers major rival was the Chicago Bears.  But, times have changed and I think it is now the Minnesota Vikings.  Mike Zimmer must think so too.  A brother-in-law of mine who lives in northwest Wisconsin, was hoping the Vikings would win the NFC championship game, so that they could play in the Super Bowl, which this year is at US Bank stadium in Minneapolis, the home stadium of the Vikings.  It is not that they would want the Vikings to win the Super Bowl, they wanted the schadenfreude of them losing the pinnacle of football at their home stadium.

But, the Viking play against Philadelphia was such that after the first half little doubt existed as to which team was going to win.  Apparently the nice Minnesota fans had to put up with some beer dumped on them and chairs crashed against them by some of the Philly fan base.  Philadelphia, to offset the hard feelings that may have been caused by a few fans, donated $7,000 to Mike Zimmer's charitable foundation to fight cancer, a disease from which his wife passed away.  Yet, despite the charitable gesture by Philadelphia, anger has set in nice Minnesota.

Going to work this past Thursday I heard the second example that Minnesota is not necessarily nice.  A number of Viking fans are applying to be Uber and Lyft drivers, and if they happen to get some Philly fans who hail a ride, apparently they plan to drop them off at the wrong place.  Now, that is not a way to treat a visitor, and is quite the opposite of Minnesota nice.  But, it gets worse, they also plan to dump beer on them at the establishments in which the Philly fans will want to frequent.  This is not being a good sport.

The play of the Vikings may have been pre-ordained, even as many thought they were a team of destiny this year, led by a third string quarterback who was on a hot streak.  Minnesota had the top ranked defense in the league, and Philadelphia the second ranked. However, showing fault of such statistics, 25%, or four of the 16 Viking regular season games came against a Green Bay offense led by Brett Hundley, and the offense of the Chicago Bears.  Add in the 0-16 Cleveland Browns, and they have five games played against teams with inferior offenses.  A nice way to pad your statistics.  After defeating the New Orleans Saints, whose defense appeared as if it was replaced by that of the Green Bay Packers, in the divisional round game on a walk-off TD, they went Lincoln Financial Field thinking they could pull an upset on a Eagle team led by second string QB Nick Foles. Foles looked like an all-pro against the top ranked NFL defense. Minnesota kept two strings alive.  Of the five times in the past ten years that a divisional round game was won on a walk-off TD, the team scoring that touchdown failed to win the Championship game.  Second, no dome team has won going to an outdoor stadium in the past several years. Odd statistics, that one would not think would play a roll, but yet both were kept yet alive.

As for Minnesota nice, any differences from Wisconsin do not come in the form of manners.  I would like to think that Wisconsin residents would show a higher level of sportsmanship than the news reports I heard of what Viking fans have planned for those from Philadelphia.  As for Philadelphia, for me it took away the hard choice a Packer fan would have for what team they would wish to win the Super Bowl.  It is not hard to root against the New England Patriots. But, the Patriots enter the Super Bowl, once again, as the favorite.

A Matter of Public Safety

Given that it is nearing late January, I was going to write a post on the decline of the Green Bay Packers. However, occurrences over Friday evening and Saturday morning this past week reinforced recent events that I now have come to see a certain issue not simply as a few bad actors, but as much more--it is now a matter of public safety. For years news reports often refer to a traffic incident with words such as: "SUV hits pedestrian." It is like the SUV is some robot not controlled by a human. Even though SUV's and Cross-overs are all the rage, the press makes it seem as if they alone run a muck. However, for every vehicle there is a driver, and I am now certain that, at least from anecdotal evidence, there is something about Honda drivers.

My first driving experience with a Honda was an Accord that my wife owned at the time of our dating and early part of marriage. That was over 25 years ago, and my wife is one of the better drivers I know. Heck, she is almost as good a driver as I am (a statement sure to get her dander up).  Seldom does the husband app have to go off while she was driving. In the few instances it could have, the husband knew better than to comment on his wife's driving. For a few years, I have noticed a significant amount of bad driving was related to those driving Toyota vehicles. But the past few weeks has shown that Honda drivers are the worst. Let me provide some examples.

Yesterday while heading west on our local collector street to US Highway 51, a car was driving very (and I mean very) slow along the right side in the parking lane, of the road. It was not like it was being done for only a hundred feet to get around a person making a left turn. No, it went on several blocks. What was the elderly lady driving? A Honda cross-over. Just as the road turned to a left-straight and right turn lane I moved to the left-straight lane. In an excruciatingly slow manner the Honda driver made her way up to the right turn lane. But, to make matters even worse, as I was in the left turn lane another vehicle was ahead of me, and even my wife commented on how slow the turn was made by that vehicle. I bet you can guess the type of vehicle.   Another Honda. This time a van. Do Honda's have such poor turning and driving capability that they have to take a corner so slow?  Perhaps the women was carrying the atomic clock housed at the Naval Observatory. Two incidents in within seconds of each other failed to allay concerns and stereotypes that Honda drivers are a nuisance and threat to public safety. It reinforced that growing opinion.  Going too slow, and travelling in a parking lane is not just good driving.

But, it became personal Saturday morning. I was out for an 8:00 am walk on a beautiful Saturday morning, with temperatures in the mid to upper 20's, and the newly risen sun shining  where buildings and vegetation would not block its rays.  In other words, it was a great morning for a walk. I just had to watch for ice on the sidewalks not properly cleared from last Monday's snow. As I was southbound I crossed a intersecting street. I almost half way through the cross walk, when all of a sudden my eye catches a car coming from behind me making a left turn. I momentarily stop and the car makes it left turn right near me.  It perhaps missed me by about three feet.  I may have been hit had I not stalled for that split second. I suppose, given the danger I was in the car seemed to move faster than it pehaps was going.  As the car travels up the road I turned my head to get a look at the vehicle.  It was of course, a Honda. The small trendy cross over called a CRV. Different driver, and different color than the one the older lady was driving along the side of the street the prior day. As slow as those two Honda's on Friday evening were driven, one could surmise that this Honda driver was not concerned that his car would fall apart if it by chance had hit me.  The way those two women had driven their passenger less Honda's I had to think they were concerned for their safety.

These experiences, in a matter of less about sixteen hours, with sleep time in between,  made me wonder if Honda drivers are given a manual on bad driving techniques. Do Zimbrick Honda sales persons provide instruction in how to bring about disdain from other drivers? My wife used to drive a Honda, but that was a quarter century past, so it must have predated her time of owning a Honda. Or, perhaps Honda drivers are so callous, self absorbed and trendy that they view themselves as the only ones on the road? Experience has shown they are a tribal group.  Of course as gingerly as the older lady drove and the young women in the minivan making the left turn, perhaps the driver who almost hit me should have been more worried about what my small 60 year old body would have done to such a tender vehicle. Yet, it may be more. When first married, I took my wife's burgundy Honda Accord to get some service work at Zimbrick, since I only worked a few miles south on Fish Hatchery Road. After paying the bill and retrieving the keys I was told were the car was parked. I go outside to the prescribed lot and noticed about 20 burgundy Honda Accords. I could not figure out which one she owned until I started looking inside for something I recognized. So, perhaps the poor driving by Honda owners is their way to counter the heavy Japanese trend of cultural conformity. Do drivers of these Japanese vehicles unknowingly systematize American independence and liberty and take it over board, into bad driving? We know that by their purchase of a Japanese vehicle they care little to none about the American factory union worker. Is this their way of showing an independent attitude free from the entrenched conformity?

Some Americans like to be trendy. Heck, I am myself a trend setter--simply by virtue of waiting for the trend to come back around. Another American tendency is laziness. Also on my walk Saturday morning I came across a home with the garage door open and the dog running around the drive and related yard. A man looked as if had just picked up doggie do, and was in coat and hat, and flip flops. 27 degrees out and this guy is outside in flip flops. Either he is so trendy that he has to wear flip flops in the below zero weather, or is too lazy to put on his shoes. Guess what make vehicle was in his garage? A Honda, not a CRV, but the larger SUV, being the Pilot. If it was sheer laziness this example is outdone by what I saw a couple weeks ago. Again on my daily walk, but a very cold morning where exhaled breath froze on my mustache, and with no sidewalk I was on the left hand side of the street. Ahead of me I noticed a Honda CRV backing out of a garage. The driver backed down his driveway and I patiently awaited his move to back into the road and pull ahead to get on his way.  Did he do the expected? No! He maneuvered to his garbage container, opened his window and grabbed the container with his left hand and drove back up (probably a distance of 45' consisting of 15' terrace and 30' setback) to the garage and parked the container just to the left side of the garage door. I do have to say, it was accomplished with a certain deftness so I thought this could not have been the first time.  I have to think a typical person would walk down and get the container. But, this is not a typical person, this is a Honda driver. 

I will agree that Honda has a certain panache, probably driven by tribalism, with some elements of the driving public.  However, they now have, in my mind, replaced Toyota drivers as the din of the driving public.  Yes, it is a matter of public safety.  Be careful out there, particularly if you are near a person driving a Honda as you never know what awaits. 

Hermits and Hubris

We are all familiar with the cartoons of the hermit who sits atop the mountain top waiting for people to come up to greet and obtain advice.  Independent living, however, alone or in small groups goes far back in human civilization.  Think of the small Essene group of Jewish traditionalists who lived in the desert, and are thought to have written or accumulated the Dead Sea Scrolls.  There of course, are the Christian monks who lived in small communities.  Some would take solace as a lone monk in the wilderness for a time. Several years ago I read the book "Into the Wild" by Jon Krakauer which focused on the solitary exploits of Christopher McCandless in his quest to go "into the wild" of Alaska.  This post will be about the hubris of Christopher McCandless.

Excavations of the Essene Settlement (author photo)

After graduating with high honors from Emory University, he set out cross country and eventually removes all papers that identify him by his given name.  Taking on a new moniker, Alexander Supertramp, he takes varied journeys across the western United States. He gives the remainder of his school fund to charity, burns the cash he has on hand in an attempt to live off the land.  Over time, of course he needed cash, and how he obtained jobs at a fast food restaurant, or on a combine crew without a social security number is beyond me, unless he used his real one. Eventually he made his way to Alaska and on April 28 was dropped off at the Stampede Trail by a person who had given him a ride.  Realizing that McCandless lacked wilderness experience, and the lack of appropriate gear, the driver attempted to dissuade him, as did others he told about his adventure, from going into the wilderness of Alaska.

McCandless in Alaska

As he made his way, he came across an old Fairbanks bus which was used as lodging.  While he wanted to make his way to the Bearing Sea, the undergrowth was too dense for him to navigate.  he decided to make a home at the bus.  The bus provided him with some accouterments he would otherwise have lacked.  Even though it had some broken windows, it had a wood stove for cooking and heating, and a mattress. If he had not come across the bus one wonders how he would have lived off the land lacking certain supplies we take as necessary, such as an ax.  Would his small tent provided sufficient shelter in the cold deep snow of the last Alaskan spring?  While the movie shows him having difficulty securing food, other sources say game was plentiful, but he lacked the ability to properly preserve the food.  In the wild, shelter, water and food are important.  It is reported that in July he wanted to leave, but the swollen river prohibited his crossing.  A bus does not get into the wilderness without some help, and I wonder why he did not try to find the route the bus took.  Also, a hand operated tram across the river was only .8 miles from where he first crossed the river. Lack of a map again showed the young man's hubris.  Even Lewis and Clark depended upon local Indians to make their way across the western United States.

Fairbanks bus 142,
the "Magic Bus"

Take Richard Proenneke, for example, who as a more experienced naturalist moved to the shores of Twin Lake in Alaska, and built a hand made cabin.  But, first he lived in a cabin nearby of some friends. Supplies would be flown in on a fairly regular basis.  For thirty years he lived in the cabin, only occasionally making trips to visit family in the continental United States.  A man who obviously wished to make some money off his adventure, he documented his lifestyle by film and journal.  PBS made this into a several part documentary called "Alone in the Wild."  Showing the draw of the wilderness, this documentary has been shown several times over the years on PBS, and is one of their highest drawing shows.

Richard Proenneke in his Alaskan Cabin

Today, McCandless, years after his death his story still has this odd type of draw on the American public.  PBS did a documentary indicting that, according to his sister and step sisters, over-bearing parents were the reason for his death.  Nothing like laying out the dirty laundry for all to see. Journey's into the wilderness and the "go west young man" mantra have always been draws for an American character more driven to individuality than for the common good.

Plaque on bus--does it memorialize Christopher McCandless or it
to assuage the grief of his family?  

Both McCandless and Proenneke were men in the wilderness of Alaska, one who was visited and hunted with others, the other in total solitude.  McCandless was unprepared for the adventure which would await him.  In this sense he had an arrogance about him, an uncaring attitude. While Krakauer, an outdoor writer, along with the movie, romanticize his lifestyle choice which now draws persons in almost cult like mission to what he dubbed the "magic bus."  McCandless has become cult figure.  Ivan Hodes a teacher in Anchorage, has written that Krakauer's personal investment in McCandless makes it difficult for him to accept the young man's fate. He goes on, “Krakauer needs to know what happened because he looked into the dead face of McCandless and saw his own,” One Park service naturalist was more blunt in terming the means of McCandless' entry into the wild of Alaska was plain suicide. Others see a beatification of McCandless as a "poor, romantic soul lost in the wilds of Alaska", where others refer to him as a poacher, and claim he had burglarized cabins in the past and some speculate he may have done so while in Alaska. Ivan Hodes as a good piece on McCandless which can be found here.

Tomb for the head of John the Baptist (author photo)

Nature can be unforgiving, and McCandless realized this too late.  If he had been better prepared, had a map, and more knowledge of local flora and fauna, and not just from a book, perhaps he would have lived the two more weeks until hunters came across the bus.  In one of the last movie scenes, while he still has strength before dying of starvation (some wonder if he ingested a root of a poisonous plant that eventually killed him others that he stored seeds improperly and they developed a toxic mold), he writes in his journal, "Happiness is only real when shared."  This quote shows the essence of what it is to be human.  Humans are a social animal,and it is in service to others that happiness can be found.  In entering the wilds of Alaska, did not McCandless show a certain selfishness in addition to his hubris?  Humans often think they know better than nature.  As the wildfires, and mudslides in California show, nature is intractable.  McCandless discovered the essence of life too late.  Perhaps he needed his alone time to figure that out.  Even the hermits and monks share what they have.  John the Baptist, likely thought to be a member of the Essene group, shared with others the need to prepare for the coming of Christ. The apparent last words of Christopher McCandless, who actually used his real name as the end drew near, were:  "I Have had a happy life, and thank the Lord.  Goodbye and may God bless all."

 Unless otherwise noted, photos from Google images

Identifier

Each individual has certain identifiers specific to them. There are names, but they can be changed, most often reflected through marriage.  There is a telephone number which, with cell phones, can be with you for a long time.  In the United State we each receive a social security number, probably the one constant through life.  In the digital, or cyber, world we have our user name and passwords, some of which are required to be changed every three months.  But, there is also the email address.  Our family email address has changed at least four times since we connected to the internet sometime in the 1990's.  The email, I found out over the past week is important.

Cyber Cloud

One Christmas gift I received was a new I-pad.  My old I-pad was not just slow, but often pages would have to reload, and reload again, and reload again.  For at least three years the planned obsolescence of Apple prevented me from downloading the software update.  It was not only me, but both my sons had tried a to download it a few years ago without success.  Anyway, a new I-pad was one thing I could use as a Christmas gift.  I was left in a quandary as to have to reenter all of my contacts (which with the millennials, which is common for that age group, in the extended family move I found it easier to record address electronically), notes I had entered and applications, commonly referred to as apps, that I had downloaded.  Enter my oldest son who made the transfer for me.  I have a different email account than our common joint account that I had to setup for my Kindle, so I get the books I order and not my wife.  What my son was able to do, although a few glitches occurred, was download my old I-pad to a server in the netherworld of data, often referred to as "the cloud" in this case the I-cloud, and then download that information to my new I-pad.  One glitch involved some of my stuff going to my wife's I-phone.  The next day he found and fixed the problem.  What occurred to me is that emails are a necessary personal identifier.  Not only are they needed for the Kindle, and the I-cloud, but we use them for all sorts of things.  I receive certain notices to an entered email address.  And of course, in some respects, particularly at work, the email is the user name.  

One reason we went to a gmail account is the businesses being purchased.  We had a chorus account, from our first internet provider, which became TDS.  We had a Verizon account which became Frontier.  We decided a gmail account was not as likely to change its name as occurred when one company is bought or broken up.  I am not sure if I even know any longer how many people or entities have our email address, so if it ever changed, how I would let them know?  Technology is great until something changes or goes wrong.

With my new I-pad, I kept getting some bizarre notice from Amazon or other companies, or hacks, wanting me to enter information, but more importantly it prevented me from getting the screen I intended to read.  Hence, my wife said,I should use the Facebook App to help prevent that from occurring, since much of it occurred on Facebook.  Beside my son helping set up the I-pad, my wife assisted me with the Facebook app, and the related messenger app.  Why two apps I don't know, but it sure made things difficult.  Luckily she was present to help guide me through the technological difficulties.  Last week when I attempted to do my blog post, I was unable to obtain entry, even though I was logging in using the proper email address.  It kept resorting to my Kindle email address, which was open to assist with the cloud transfer.  My wife showed me how to get out of one. Without the handiwork of my son and wife, I would probably have been cussing at the computer longer than I needed.  Of course, her work uses gmail and she has become used to switching between gmail accounts.  I guess you don't always need a millennial to solve technological issues.  

This was shown by our attempting to watch a Netflix movie, but we kept getting kicked out.  We unplugged, re-entered passwords, and the like, but nothing worked.  I used my I-pad to look up potential problems, and was given about five solutions.  The first three we could not figure out the screen to be at, but we settled on the fourth and found the means to clean the cache and something else, at which point it worked.  It took a half hour, but we were rather proud of our baby boomer selves for solving the issue.  The problem popped up again, and at that point we simply decided to watch a DVD, a little old school, but when technology does not work you have to resort back to the old manner of doing things.  

Voice over Internet Protocol (VOIP) phone system

We have become slaves to technology.  There is little that can be done at work without computers. The phone system is now voice over internet system if the computers go down, you cannot even make a phone call.  This does not even get to the ever present security issues and identify theft.  I recall the first several years of power point that one was lucky if it worked 30% of the time.  There always seemed to be a problem with the computer, accepting the program, the projector, or perhaps even the software.  As we move to the digital world, at some point we may gravitate back to the old way of doing things to avoid the hassles of identity theft, computer viruses, unknown forces using your computer as part of some grand scheme for more computing power, and the other omnipresent problems with the digital age.  While the identifier is important in the cyber world, there is also job security for IT personnel.

Images from Google images