A Danger to Society
Published by Michael Allen
Copyright © 2011 by Michael Allen.
Smashwords Edition
Front cover photo courtesy of Linda G. Wilson.
Back cover photo property of Michael Allen.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers and/or authors.
Table of Contents
ACT III – “THE WIND IN A MAN’S SAIL”
ACT V – “THE CHILDISH DESIRE FOR GOOD”
WRITINGS SPURNED FROM THE MADNESS
The world is watching to see if we will be motivated to impact our culture, to deal with the moral crises in our society, and reclaim our families and children.
Elizabeth Ridenour
President NCBCPS
Prologue
Mr. Id has a way with words that only a few of you may find interesting. If you would like to get on with the story, skip ahead to the first scene of the first act. Otherwise, enjoy the endless ramblings. For some reason, Mr. Id finds them important…
Artists commonly disregard their duty to educate their audiences on their art. Some art is meant to be interpreted any way the spectator sees it, while other art is meant to have a more standard interpretation. In either case, the spectator must know how to receive any particular brand of art. Not what to think, but how. It’s also important for the audience to know what the artist thought and felt of the art itself. We have the ability to reach beyond clouds and stars while holding onto roots and dirt. The travels we take are through worlds and thoughts foreign to ordinary people. And the visions we offer are only comparable to visiting Rome and bringing back the shirt.
“I fear that the birth of tragedy may no more be explained with reference to respect for the moral intelligence of the masses than with reference to the concept of the spectator without a play, and I consider this problem too profound even to be touched on by such shallow interpretations.” Friedrich Nietzsche The Birth of Tragedy. The birth of tragedy is not merely a reference to a play or a fiction novel. While it did have spectators, it wasn’t a grand production by a team of actors and actresses. It lived and breathed just as we all do. It crashed into our existence like the death inevitable, like life profoundly misunderstood.
A Danger to Society. A play. A lecture. A concert. Stand-up comedy. A sermon. Take life, roll it up in the palm of your hands and throw it in the fire. Watch it burn. And when it gets so hot you can’t take it anymore, tell the world about the birth of tragedy. Stilo Rappresentativo. An eye-opening half-comical truth presented in a very visual and somewhat musical recitative. The presentation of life in life’s formats, patterns. Choppy transitions. Lessons out of order. Some things left without explanations, no answers.
The journey through the pits and the dregs of life. Through the greatness that is within us all. The meeting of extreme and radical with down-home, neighborly family. A tragedy of small town, of big town, of every town. A tragedy of one man, of every man, of everyone. When Nietzsche’s words speak of the Stilo Rappresentativo, it is ironic that he would refer to tragedy with the words “Dream and Intoxication.” It is rather ironic since this tragedy begins with both. First the dream, then the intoxication. Apollo and Dionysus, the sole path of true redemption through illusion and the innermost core of things. When life has stopped telling its story and art is pouring from the heart without so much as an inclination to stop, then life is the illusion and art becomes the reality. This is the dream and the intoxication.
It is in dreams that, “…the wondrous forms of the deities appeared to the souls of men.” The sculptor and the poet try to capture these dreams, these perfect forms that life could be. Our world is full of illusion. The fact that this world is caught by a truth hidden beneath, hiding within it speaks to its own illusion. To that end dreams are the fantasies we seek, the world we believe exists and the abilities we believe we can have.
Principium Individuationis. The calm in a deadly sea. Beethoven’s “Hymn of Joy” turned into a painting. Love lashing out to cupid. Dreams when you’re wide awake. These, the essence of intoxication. Intoxication is trying to conceive the connection of two extremes. The sun and the moon in the very same sky. The mind not knowing what to do with itself. The reality we face when our dreams twist us and tie us in knots.
But art is the enchantress. “[Art] alone can turn these thoughts of repulsion at the horror and absurdity of existence into ideas compatible with life…” Nietzsche The Birth of Tragedy. So, if I can bend your ear while we have this time together, I want to talk about truths that cut so sharp and touch so deep your ears might bleed and your heart will want to skip a beat. But, I am not afraid. And I will bear it first. Then I will turn the mirror around. You can run with your mind every bit as much as with your feet. In fact, your feet can’t carry you away as far nor as quickly as your mind can.
What I bring, a fresh perspective. A new way of looking at old things. I challenge the contemporary paradigms. I flip hypocrisy on its head. I like to put things in their proper places. And I have fun doing it. You’ll leave here wondering if all that you’ve come to know couldn’t use another look, a different consideration.
“…Language…can never uncover the innermost core of music…and no amount of lyrical eloquence can bring its deepest meaning a step closer.” Nietzsche The Birth of Tragedy. Music, the “Deeper Downs” of our thoughts and feelings. Our obscure understandings we can’t put into words. The deepest revelations can hardly be expressed in words, but concepts too distant for words to illustrate. Yet, our words can portray the closest truths our limits will allow. Absolute truths seem to run contrary to what we believe. And being brutally honest is just about as taboo as reading a book from another man’s religion. Regardless, being brutally honest is as refreshing as a walk at dawn along the shoreline. It’s like rain that comes on a hot day. A cool breeze through white curtains. Ironically, brutal honesty is only difficult for the spectator. The message gets tainted by some of the details. People don’t hear everything. They hear bad things and then hear little else. They get stuck on something. Triggers obstruct their awakening.
“I’m the one who ended world hunger.”
“He drinks too much.”
“I’m the one who brought world peace.”
“He doesn’t have a regular job.”
“Jesus Christ himself came to earth and gave me a commendation medal.”
“He’s that guy those people were talking about, remember?”
Don’t let the triggers get you stuck on the important message within. If it’s shocking to you, imagine how I felt!
Act I – “Empty Water”
Scene I
Dawg sits at the bar and looks around at a friend of his who is looking at the jukebox.
“Hey, Bill! Why don’t you play fifty-six ninety-one, Just My Imagination.” It’s songs like that, what I call “Deeper Downs” that talk to me. The words are closer to anything I can say myself. Do you know songs like that? Songs that talk to you. Songs that help you believe someone else understands. Yeah, they feel good don’t they?
I sit here after hours just about every night. I’m always one of the last ones to leave. Sometimes I don’t leave at all. I’ll still be here when the drinkers start coming in after work the next day. But, not this time. I have a tough day ahead of me tomorrow. And I know when I’m going to have a tough day. It courses through my blood like a virus. It’s become such a part of me, I’ve started to like the “not easy” way of my life. Having to walk up hill in the rain has become more inviting to me than riding with the top down on a beautiful day. In fact, I think that’s why I joined the Marine Corps years ago. Nothing against any other service. But, when you’re seventeen and you’re looking for the hardest thing to get into, the Marine Corps is what comes to mind.
Now, I’m out and it should be out of my system. I just can’t help myself. I’m still doing things the hard way. It’s that much a part of me. It’s all that’s left of me. My life. My habits. My ways. My job. I choose the hard way because I’m made of different stuff. I’m made of the type of metal that’s hard to find anymore. A type of metal just about every man was made of at one time. But, I still believe in it. At times, I think it all drives me to drink. And I would believe that if I didn’t like drinking so much.
Some people would look at me crazy and just tell me to take it easy. I do it to myself. I chose my profession, that’s true. But, I don’t like easy. I like responsibility. I like doing the job right. I like having to literally be dead-on every day. If I allow myself to slip in what I do, let’s just put it this way, there’s no way to undo it. What do I do? You really want to know? I tell you what, why don’t I take you with me tomorrow. You can see first hand what I do. I don’t do this for everybody, but you’re different. You’re here to find out what it’s all about. So, I’ll take you with me tomorrow.
Scene II
Dawg is standing in the middle of a classroom. He’s at the chalkboard talking to a room full of teenage students.
“So, you may not think it a big deal now. But, learning to write while you’re still in high school, while you’re in my English class, will help you later when other things become more important to you. The pen wages wars. It feeds the hungry. It writes laws, finances fundraisers. Writings express thoughts, influence people and make things happen. If you find something in this world that you don’t like, you can help to change it by writing articles, books, songs and any other form you choose to express yourself. Writing even helps you gather your thoughts. You learn more about who you are and what you think. It helps you discover things like what you want in life and, more importantly, it helps you fight for the things you are entitled to have.
“The fact is that not many people believe they have an obligation to their own rights. Everyone knows we have rights. But, many people think life simply owes it to them. John D. Rockefeller once said, ‘Every right implies a responsibility, every opportunity an obligation, every possession a duty.’ We don’t just get things. For every freedom we enjoy we have to be sure it remains intact, we have to be aware of any challenge against it and we have to live up to our end of the deal. Some of the things you have been promised, you will literally have to fight tooth and nail against people who are trying to take those things from you. Because for every promise you have been given, there is someone out there who believes you shouldn’t have it. What does writing have to do with all of that? Obviously, knowing how to write won’t solve all of your problems. But if you can get people to read what you write, you can make them see. We learn things through what we read. When we read a book detailing a legend or an article shattering an issue, we learn what it’s all about.”
The school bell rings in the background and Dawg looks up at the clock.
“ OK, you guys can go. Just remember when people say you can’t, education says you can. Take it serious.”
That always happens. I don’t get enough time with my kids. Just when I’m on a role and my words are starting to make sense, the bell rings and class is over. Yes, I’m an English teacher. I like teaching and having an impact on my students. I like seeing the light-bulb light up and the look of understanding settle on a student’s face. But, it’s much more than that. I feel like I’m shaping the future. Teachers are literally helping mold the culture one person, one class at a time. Think about that! There’s not a person alive who hasn’t been influenced in some way by a teacher.
So what does “A Danger to Society” have to do with this? That’s the thing. It begins right here in a classroom. A teacher and what he believes is his impact on culture. His belief of culture. His shattered American dream. The depths he’s forced to go. And the real danger he becomes. The twisted path of fate takes a man from a respected father, husband and teacher to an indigent thug with a bitter taste of life in his mouth. What he does to quench his thirst is a message to those who threaten to destroy the little bit of decency some people still have. That decency is being destroyed by a culture with some very serious problems. That’s where it all begins.
The television that is on behind Dawg tells the story. Images of mental institutions and health clinic patients flash across the screen. The patients appear nervous, scared, confused and in every other condition our world tends to put them. The images change from mental patients to wealthy kids looking like thugs to images of unnecessary crimes and historical moments of inhumanity.
John Blofeld, the author of The Tantric Mysticism of Tibet, tells us a little bit about what our problem is, “…The need for a radical readjustment of our aims is desperate… the unprecedented rise in the incidence of nervous maladies… motiveless crimes perpetrated by well-fed, well-educated children… hideous examples of mass cruelty… and… the terrifying speed with which we are rushing towards the abyss of world destruction.”
“Nervous maladies” fill our health clinics and mental institutions. Sometimes legitimate, but often the result of some political agenda or extreme manifestation of some psychologist. The list includes attention deficits, hyperactivity and addictions as well as a whole slew of other things. There is no doubt there are true illnesses. But as the list gets longer, it seems that everyone has some symptom. Sometimes we should just consider certain things the facts of dealing with life, move on, get over them. But, some people seem to need problems. Institutions need people to have problems every bit as much as some people think they need to have problems.
“Motiveless crimes” and “mass cruelty” are deeply bewildering acts of inhumanity. I am baffled by some of the things I read in the newspaper or watch on the television. Of course, sometimes people need money so they steal or they get so mad at each other that they fight. These things aren’t necessarily right, but at least there is some sort of a reason. It’s when a crime has no purpose at all that it becomes puzzling. Guys raping women. Hate crimes targeting certain people. A person robbing a store when they have the money to buy the stuff. These things are ridiculous. And the greater extent of these are the incidences of mass cruelty. Starving an entire people. Using them for experiments. Making selfish decisions and imposing them on innocent citizens. This ugliness stems from the desire for power and a lack of education.
The images keep rolling on the television behind Dawg. News clippings of teenage suicides and other pictures of high school outcasts conscientious of their appearances and peculiarities.
Some people are denied an education while others have to suffer through a poor one. The bad thing is a poor education isn’t much better than no education at all. The Sufi, Saadi of Shiraz, says, “For one unshaped one in the community, the hearts of the wise will suffer pain – as if a pool had been filled with rose-water, and a dog fell in, polluting it.” This is part of the problem our culture faces. Schools get so wrapped up in trying to teach about morals and values, they often miss the assignment of teaching about life. Teaching about failure as well as success. Teaching about not fitting in rather than to always conform. Teaching to think different and not always to think the same. These are issues of how to think, not what to think. Schools could address more worthy survival skills; things like independence and relationships, safety and security. The schools would do great teaching students the ability to face expectations, but more than that, the comfort and pride of having expectations. Not only facing responsibility, but the greater meaningfulness of having responsibility.
Dawg sits on a stool while the images behind him on the television turn to happy students laughing and enjoying life.
Education could be so magnificent and flawless. Working from a par excellence we never once imagined. We have the greatest thinkers influencing the field, changing the way we think about education and the way we see ourselves. The stages of development from infancy through adulthood have been mapped out according to cognition, relationships, behaviors and so forth. If followed precisely, we could easily maximize the potential in every school every step of the way. For instance, there is a simple issue of placing sixth grade at the bottom of middle school or keeping it at the top of elementary school. If you look at development from a relationship point of view, sixth graders would do so much better at the top of elementary. But in order to prepare them so much better for life, sixth grade is best as the lower level of middle school. That’s just one of the issues. Everything we know could be used to completely structure our schools.
But, there are so many gaps. People move around. Kids are in and out of schools. They grapple with issues of drugs, sex and acceptance. They deal with death and watch their parents get divorced. So many things get missed in the meantime, it’s hard for kids to grasp what’s really important like finding a meaningful purpose and living out their dream. They miss their God-given part in the American dream.
Behind Dawg, the images on the television start to highlight our greatest assets. We built New York City, Las Vegas and Los Angeles among our other great cities. We have some of the most beautiful expanses of countryside in the world. We are responsible for Harley Davidson, Baseball, Bluegrass, Hip Hop, the Internet and the Americanization of many things foreign.
“I do not think it a stretch to call the American dream one of the most powerful ideas in the history of human achievement.” Dan Rather The American Dream. The most astonishing thing about it is its diverse meaning while upholding a unified aim. Each of us have our own idea of what we want to do with our lives, what we plan to accomplish and what toys we plan to acquire along the way. Mine was the “old fashioned” wife, kids and house with the white picket fence dream. And I got it. I had it all. I had the beautiful wife, the adorable kids and the comfortable house. Only the comfortable house didn’t have a white picket fence. It was a sawed-off rancher with a huge two-car garage.
Yeah, you heard right. I said, “Had.”
Scene III
Dawg is sitting comfortably in his bar stool once again.
“Hey Mike, what’s up?”
“Hey, Hey Mike!”
The owner behind the bar greets him, “It’s you again. Go home. Oh, that’s right. This is your home.”
Dawg’s name is really Mike. Michael Allen by the way. Imagine that! As if you didn’t already know.
So, where was I? That’s right. I said, “Had.” “Had” as in gone. We were married in May of one year. Had our daughter in February the following year. Moved into the house we bought by September that same year. And by November we were having a conversation so confusing, so back and forth it would make anyone’s head spin. It all fell apart for me the day my ears heard her say, “I’m not in love with you anymore.”
A few weeks later, I thought we were back on track when she whispered in my ear, “I just want to love you.”
That feeling faded when she told me a couple months later, “I never loved you.”
My heart did flips the night she looked me in the eyes as she held my hands to profess, “I love you and I’m in love with you.”
But, the last words I chose to believe on the matter were the ones she finally confessed, “I only used you to get back to Smallton.”
As the silhouette of a lady walks away toward the sunset, two kids walk away with her.
I watched her walk away. Bags in her hands and my children at her side, she faded like a setting sun I couldn’t stop. Going, going, going, gone. It didn’t take her long to find a new life on her own, but I was left to figure things out on my end. I had to pick up pieces and get a new bearing. Even though we should be able to speak for ourselves, sometimes another writer’s words express our feelings best. The tender words come to me from Robert Hellenga’s The Fall of a Sparrow. The sister Sara was speaking my language. “It wasn’t just the end of our life together as a family; it was the end of my expectations about what our life was going to be in the future. It was like reading a short story and thinking it was a novel. You think you’ve got a couple of hundred pages to go, but all of a sudden you’re at the end. The story you were reading is over. That’s it. The rest of the book is other stories. What was I supposed to do for thanksgiving, for Christmas? I couldn’t very well spend it with Richard, who had a wife and family of his own…” Whoa. I went a little too far, right into that Richard thing. But Sara’s words had been mine up to that point. It was true that I had placed my entire world into this dream that had come true, if only for a little while. Now without the dream, I had no idea what the future held. That story was over. The end.
As Mike stands there with his hands on his hips, his friend tries to console him. Mike isn’t trying to hear it. He just shakes his head, “No.” He doesn’t agree.
One of the most absurd notions about broken marriages is that it’s so common, it’s OK. I kept being told to catch up with the times, it’s the way things are. This was supposed to help me feel better. These sorts of notions are, without a doubt, what only certain people want us to believe because they are the guilty parties who don’t want to feel guilty anymore. It’s the perfect transfer of emotions. If a person feels guilty, they try to make you feel awful for making them feel guilty. And the funniest thing about it all is they are the ones spreading all the misery. These people who act selfish and don’t consider the consequences of their actions, they are the ones spreading the misery they can’t escape themselves.
Daytime talk shows tell the story. Women yelling at each other. Men attacking each other. Bodyguards breaking up fights.
I don’t buy it though. It’s not the way things are. It’s not how the “times” have changed. There are still some people out there who believe in that “marriage thing” after all. Look at the dynamics of it. Look at the daytime television talk shows where people are willing to air their dirty laundry to a national audience. I don’t see what’s happening on those shows the same way most people see it. Most people think it’s hard to see any moralistic value on any of those shows. But, viewers constantly hear the confusion when a married man or woman confronts the “other person.” The confusion becomes more apparent when questions and statements start flying like, “Why are you trying to destroy our marriage?” “Didn’t you know he was a married man?” “We have kids together, doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Some people see these incidences as common occurrences and that the importance of marriage and family have faded. I don’t. When the crowd is chastising the guilty parties, it sends a message to me that more people believe what I believe. Marriage and family are still important.
Looking a little deeper, people who leave one marriage and break-up a family normally migrate to yet another situation that resembles a marriage and a family. Quite ironic is the common occurrence of this phenomenon. And that’s exactly what my “X” did. Everyone she chose to live with had something in common with me. What I noticed most were the things she said she disliked about me. When I wanted to watch the show Friends, she put it down. But, one of her boyfriends turned her onto it. At one time, she even had her hair done like Phoebe. When I wanted to eat at Denny’s, she complained about the food. But, she eats there all the time now. She didn’t like being told what to do. But, she wants her boyfriends to set rules and draw perimeters. It was this way with most things. I’m not sure if she was that way then just to find excuses not to be with me or if she’s that way now just to try to rub things in a little bit.
Mike is sitting on the floor in front of his couch. A novel is lying on the floor not far from him.
My X reminds me of a line from White Oleander by Janet Fitch. “Isn’t it funny. I’m enjoying my hatred so much more than I ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you.” Ingrid is my X. “Spread a malicious rumor. Let a beloved…dog out of the yard. Suggest suicide to a severely depressed person. Tell a child it isn’t very attractive or bright... Throw handfuls of useless foreign coins into a beggar’s cup, and make sure they thank you profusely.” She has done all of these, if not physically, then figuratively. Spreading rumors about me to destroy me in the eyes of my friends. Things that couldn’t possibly be true on my worst day. She allowed her own dog to run free. This dog she absolutely loved. The dog we had to make a special trip to get. She let her run away because it was too hard to care for her. My X is exactly the type to suggest suicide, tell a child it isn’t very bright and give people nothing, but want them to thank her for it.
Scene IV
As Mike sits alone in the middle of his house, it is falling apart around him.
I can’t say I didn’t go through a full range of emotions. Deep depressions over loss. Dreadful thoughts of facing a lonely future. Happiness that the headache was gone and it didn’t require pain relievers. But for the most part, I drank to soften the pain and I sat in silence to keep the world out of my ears. While my house fell apart around me and my car was in serious need of attention, while I hardly went to work and my bills rarely got paid, I found comfort sitting in the quiet of my run-down world and shutting out the pain of it all.
When I did get out of the house, everything seemed to center around my broken marriage and the “loser” brand I felt stamped to my forehead. People liked to talk about it and ask me questions. I was trying to forget and was being reminded by everyone who wanted to tell me what she was doing, who she was with or something she did. The people who really cared would ask how I was handling things. But, even that conversation was a sharp and hurtful reminder. Sometimes I would lie just to keep the conversation on the lighter side. But deep down inside, Silenus, a character in Greek Mythology, held more truth than I could summon for myself, “The best of all things is something entirely outside your grasp; Not to be born, not to be, to be nothing. But the second best thing for you is to die soon.” Nietzsche The Birth of Tragedy.
Above Mike’s head at the bar is an interesting commercial, “Alcohol! It makes you feel good when your life turns to shit.”
It was a rather metaphorical story line. Each time I returned home, there was some new damage in need of repair. The ceiling in the kitchen was falling down piece by piece and the stucco in the living room was cracking. The house was practically empty because my X had taken a good part of it, anything that mattered anyway. But, I was comfortable there. I had been completely invested in our lives together and I held the remnants of that life we shared. Sitting there alone was painful and miserable, but it became comfortable. Just like Astrid to say, “What was the point in such loneliness among people. At least if you were by yourself, you had a good reason to be lonely.” Janet Fitch White Oleander.
It is pathetic how we can wrap ourselves up entirely in the life of someone else. When you place your heart in someone’s hands, make sure they will treat it responsibly. Make sure they care as much about you. People can smother you. Swallow you whole. Take your ability to be who you are. And in that, I found comfort at the bottom of a bottle. I found peace. Mornings the light burned and sizzled in the brain. Nights that didn’t end. Nights and mornings, mornings and nights blending together in an endless cycle where either sleep would come uninvited or energy from a new bottle. That’s when the “Deeper Downs” begin, the essence of the soul’s language. The lyrical eloquence that emerges from the depths of our soul. Lingering in our thoughts, the expressions of our hearts find passage. If we have patience and take the time, we eventually can’t help but put words to the “Deeper Downs.”
Scene V
“Just My Imagination”
When you wrap your arms around me
and kiss me on the cheek.
When you smile from across the room,
I fall in love when you speak.
When you take me by the hand
with “up-to-something” in your eyes.
It’s a world full of promise and no good-byes.
Laughing out loud,
we find our happiness together.
Sleeping like angels,
we find our peace forever.
No judging, no wandering,
no hurting, no lies.
Just a world full of promise
and no good-byes.
I thought it’d be forever.
I thought it was for real.
I thought it was a life we were making.
A love we were creating.
But, it was just my imagination.
Can you remember when we walked
barefoot along the beach?
When I put my dreams into you,
they were just within my reach.
When you said those words to me,
you shouldn’t have closed your eyes.
I made a life built on promise
and no good-byes.
I thought it’d be forever.
I thought it was for real.
I thought it was a life we were making.
A love we were creating.
But, it was just my imagination.
Every thing changes. Ripped in stages.
You can’t stop what you’re going to go through.
Life won’t apologize. It never stops to realize.
You can’t take anymore, but you do.
I thought it’d be forever. I thought it was for real.
I thought it was a life we were making.
A love we were creating.
But, it was just my imagination.
Act II – “Dry Mist”
Scene I
Stormy weather, swaying bridges and falling architecture.
A police officer administering a field sobriety test on the side of the road.
The sound of heavy metal doors slamming shut and locking.
Locked up. I’m not in the mood for this. Pulled over for drinking and driving. My van had stalled at a red light. An officer in the other lane struck up a conversation wondering if I needed help. I told him that I had a friend behind me, my van had restarted, everything was fine and I was going home. Then he ordered me off the road and directed me to a parking lot to my right. My friend followed us into the parking lot. My van had been having trouble all day. We had been working on it and I had asked him to follow me home in case anything else happened. He watched the entire process and couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. The officer had used my stalling at the red light to pull me over because he had reason to believe I was intoxicated. I had been drinking. But, I had shown no signs of driving intoxicated. I had not been speeding or swerving. In fact, the only thing the officer could use was the fact that I had stalled at a red light. He later made his argument to the states attorney that I was impeding traffic. At a red light, traffic doesn’t move. When he ordered me into the parking lot, I still had to wait for the light to change and the cars to move in front of me to have the space to make the turn into the lot. As soon as the officer started asking questions about alcohol, I knew where it was heading.
This is about the time you start to think, “What an idiot! Someone should have slapped him silly! It would have got his head out of his ass.” Obviously, I would agree. But, I don’t agree entirely. Drinking and driving laws must be our vaguest attempt ever to prevent the dreadful reality of life’s little twists. The law doesn’t account for arresting people for murder just because they have a gun. We can drink. We can drive. But, it’s not like murder or theft. Thou shalt not kill those who don’t deserve it. Thou shalt not take what does not belong to you. These are clear. They don’t get much clearer. But, thou shalt not drink too much and then attempt to drive a vehicle.
“How much is too much?”
“It depends on how much you weigh and how many drinks you have in a certain amount of time.”
“Can you make that any more specific?”
“Well see, you can drink until the amount of alcohol in your blood reaches a .10. No, a .08. No, a .04. No, let’s make it a .02.”
“Is there a machine anywhere that will tell us our amount of alcohol?”
“Yeah, it’s at the police station.”
Marched in for a bail review. The court commissioner had already set my bail at fifty thousand dollars. Why it was set so high is still a small mystery to me. This was my fourth DWI. But, bails aren’t always set for DWIs. I have seen people with a fourth DWI charge on probation released on their own recognizance. Why mine was set so high is an intriguing question. One I’d like to have answered.
So, I spent the night in jail. I was marched before the judge the next day to try to talk my bail down to something somewhat reasonable. The game began. The assistant states attorney swayed the impression of the judge by labeling me. “He’s a danger to society your honor.” I guess when you play the game, you have to play it to the hilt whether you really believe it yourself or not. Labeling me a danger to society had a strong impression on the judge. The extreme language, emotion evoking words and preformatted expressions came in handy to sway persuasion. Ironically, a high ranking deputy states attorney who had fought so hard against drinking and driving law loopholes and escapes would be cited with drinking and driving charges within a few short months after me. She would stoop to use the same loopholes and escapes she had fought so hard against. Not taking the breathalyzer, she was able to swing a probation before judgment. Having developed strong arguments against the absence of a breathalyzer and never wanting to offer a probation before judgment, she would be considered one more among our state’s biggest hypocrites.
Unfortunately, that’s neither here nor there with my case. Once the assistant states attorney had done her damage, I tried to explain my side, “I’m not a danger to society. I hadn’t swerved, sped or caused any danger to anyone. I stalled at a red light. That’s all.”
“Objection, your honor. We’re not trying the case right now. We’re just setting bail.” Another equally good skill is being able to distract attention when your opponent seems to be getting some. You have to use that power over them. Bully your way around the courtroom. Because if you can keep the judge remembering that your opponent is an inmate, he will see him as lesser than you. He has handcuffs. Correctional Officers are escorting him. But, that’s not enough. You are the states attorney. You are good. Your opponent is bad. Keep the judge remembering that.
I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “But I…”
“No.”
“Just let me…”
“No.”
“What I’m trying…”
“No.”
I couldn’t even raise my hand as if to say something.
“No.”
I couldn’t even look at him like I was going to try to say something.
“No.”
Note to self: learn how to play this game.
Then I remembered. I was up against an entire Army. A person doesn’t just fight one person in this neck of the woods. Every time I’ve had to battle, it’s always been more than one of them against only one of me. An argument in a bar always ended up with two or three of the guy’s friends getting involved. And it was no different in the courtroom either. I was up against the bailiff who knew the ex-father-in-law. I’m sure he put in a good word for me. I was up against every Tom, Dick and Harriet who worked in the courthouse and talked to the judge in little side conversations. If they knew anyone I’ve ever argued with, looked at crooked or didn’t buy a beer, I was at their mercy. The judge’s impression of me mounted before he even got a chance to meet me in person. And look at me. I do look the part of the bad-ass, bar brawling, beer guzzling, leave you bleeding on the side of the road son-of-a-bar stool slut. But I say, “Hey, she’s no slut!”
Being up against it, I had little money to afford a good lawyer. The bail was set hard at fifty thousand dollars. I’d need five thousand and a bail bondsman to be released. I almost worked out a deal for eleven hundred dollars down and four hundred dollars a month for ten months. That was about the time the district court judge forwarded me a letter advising me to report to the Drinking and Driving Monitoring Program upon my release if I happened to make bail. Good thing I decided not to post bail. A warrant was waiting for me. The next morning, a deputy sheriff visited me in jail with a bench warrant for a violation of probation. The bail review for the violation resulted in a raised bail of another twenty-five thousand dollars. Man, who did they think I was, a serial killer? Had I bailed, I would have still been sitting in jail with this new twenty-five thousand dollar bail. It’s funny, isn’t it? I could just imagine the district court judge chuckling in his chambers. I could almost hear his conversation. “Check this out. That Allen fellow bailed out and now he’s right back in jail.” Oh, such a hardy laugh I’m sure he enjoyed.
On that account, the county decided to put me up for a minute. They cooked my meals and gave me a place to stay. Amusingly, as I look back on the time I spent in jail, I can see that many of the problems the world needs to address are embodied in that five month experience. But, inmates don’t deserve the respect to consider our perspective on social issues, cultural values, legal flaws or anything of importance even if it’s the absolute truth or a more perfect attitude. We’ve obviously disregarded our public responsibilities and chose anti-social behavior. Disregard the fact that it took two lawyers and a judge to decide if we even did anything wrong. Still, the truth of the matter is that life among us reflects life on the streets. People stabbed each other in the back. Hypocrisy ran rampant. Blame was shifted to undeserving parties. Perfectly viable solutions were thrown by the way side. Bureaucracy worked when it wanted and didn’t when it didn’t want. Pathetically, people looked at it all as if life was supposed to be that way.
Scene II
“Man is a villain. And whoever calls him a villain because of it is one himself!” Fyodor Dostoyevsky Crime and Punishment. “The government itself, which is only the mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally liable to be abused and perverted before the people can act through it.” Henry David Thoreau Civil Disobedience. Put their words together and you get, “Smallton is acting like the bitch of the criminal world.” “Smallton” is a collective term directed toward the leadership of any small town in America. “Smallton” is not reflective of the blue-collars, minimum wage earners, elderly, children or any such innocent victims of the small town bitch-tech. The term “Bitch” can be used as a verb, a noun or an adjective to depict the weaknesses of certain individuals in the human race. “Bitches” are sniveling whiners, fully selfish and not prepared for adversity. The term doesn’t really have sex attached to it at all. If you look at every way in which it is used, you will easily determine that it only applies to certain characteristics and not particularly men or women. “Bitches” are commonly the type of people who start fights but can’t finish them, take immediate short-sighted action out of fear and gather like vultures rather than have the spirit to get the fresh kill for themselves. Certainly symbolic of the leadership of Smallton. Regrettably, many people are forced to be subject to this small town madness that really only benefits a handful of the insiders. Any disruption to the peace and security they build for themselves creates the biggest outpour of moaning and sobbing in the name of selfishness. God forbid anyone else get a piece of security. The thinking man’s game begins now.
The Weak Human Element
A ripped poster on an aged wall depicts Mike as seen in a leather jacket and the embraced response to the news journalist, “It’s a controversial issue anyway. Not just because I’m willing to voice my side of it.”
I’ve heard men cry at night. I’ve watched men cry in the middle of the day. These are two different things. One man cries because he’s scared, alone and he’s still somewhat a child. The other man cries because the pain he feels is so overwhelming and he’s not afraid to show his emotions. One man is a bitch. The other man is so strong, he really doesn’t care what other people think. One man needs. The other man is just relaxing his tension in the impossible situation he is up against and gaining his strength again because he doesn’t have false needs for things unreliable anyway.
I walked on the block with another inmate. Carrying all the belongings the jail would allow us to have, we were escorted onto the block while sixty-some faces stared at us. Cat calls from the second tier. Whistles from the back of the room. “Fresh meat, fresh meat…” The man in front of me was visibly shaken. He started to cower and his hands were trembling. It was a little uneasy, but I just took in a deep breath and the Correctional Officer told me what cell would be mine during my stay. Looking around I found the number on the door and went to my cell to find a place for my stuff. If any man would let that kind of introduction stir him physically, he has a weakness. It will be detected and used to someone’s advantage. Even if you’re scared, don’t show it. But even more than that, there is nothing to be afraid of if you think about it. There’s nothing scary in a few cat calls from guys who obviously were afraid when they walked on the block or they wouldn’t have the capacity to assume you have any fear.
Sniveling Whiners
Another poster on another old aged wall reads, “If it’s not fun, don’t do it!” The picture depicts a small mutt appearing to be man-handling a much larger German Shepherd.
I found a good natured man who would be willing to give me a few cups of coffee until I got my own. Anyone who knows me knows I need my coffee. I made a cup and sat down with him to relax. We were talking about our crimes when an argument caught our attention. One guy had signed up for the television at eight o’clock. The other guy who had a program on was watching a show that wouldn’t be over until eight-thirty. This wasn’t going to be solved easily. My opinion was that the man who had his show on first was entitled to finish watching. But, the other guy had a different opinion.
“I signed up for an eight o’clock show. That’s the rule. I get the television.”
“Come on man! You can’t be serious. My show isn’t over for another half an hour.”
“Well mine’s starting right now. I’ve got the TV.”
“Change that channel, I’ll break your neck!”
“Hey, C.O…”
Oh, no! I couldn’t believe he had just done that. I was laughing to myself. I didn’t even know all the rules yet, but I knew that one. That’s just not right. By the time it was over, they were both locked down in their cells and neither got to watch what they wanted. It’s always best to try to solve a problem in the coolest manner possible. Even if you are entitled to something, you need to evaluate what injustice you might be putting on someone else. But more than that, handle your problems yourself. Don’t “snitch” on other inmates. A simple bitch looks cool next to a snitch.
Fully Selfish
In Mike’s leather jacket with hands on hips, this poster reads, “We don’t want your business, not really!”
Matt was running a store where most deals were two for one or five for three. If you wanted a candy bar, you had to pay him back on commissary day with two. Everything he had was haggled pretty much the same way. It was a rip off, but how else is a guy going to run a store. Of course, I didn’t pay any two for one or five for three deals with him. I may have for some other dealers. But, not Matt. He was weak. I knew I could tell him I would give him back what I borrowed and let that be it. The other dealers just wouldn’t give me the stuff unless I agreed beforehand to pay them double.
Not many people could get away with telling Matt anything. He was a talker. He was a persuader. But, he was a weasel. Other people gave in to his constant barrage of whiney details on how a businessman has to stay in business. But, I gave a soup for a soup. And the next time I wanted something, he still gave it to me. He knew I would pay him back at least. He could count on that.
It soon became apparent that Matt was starting to eat his profits. He would eat a soup between meals. He was making oatmeal every night and putting brownies or chocolate chip cookies in the bowl. Every time you looked his way, he had a bag of chips open. And then I guess his money from the outside stopped coming. He ran out. The problem is you can’t build up an appetite in jail. They only feed you so much. If you don’t have the extra food between meals, you get hungry. Commissary only comes once a week and if you don’t have the money, they don’t give you credit. So, Matt started to ask people for commissary. They were swinging the same deals with him that he had been swinging with them. Only this time, he was having trouble understanding. He was asking for a break. He was pleading for people to understand that if he paid two for one all the time, he would never get ahead. He was calling people selfish and one-sided because of all the times he hooked them up when he was ahead. Yes, that’s right. He had given people no better than two for one deals and he was asking for less. He was calling them selfish for not lowering their deals for him.
I gave the man what he asked. If he needed a soup and I had it, I threw it his way. He didn’t even have to beg and plead with me. But, I was watching how he was handling it with other people and it struck me funny. This man did not have the capacity to understand how selfish he had been. And now that the game was turned around, he could only see the selfishness of the people he had dealt. When the businessman can see his own deals as unreasonable, he should realize the advantage he had been taking. What was happening was the businessman knew he was taking advantage of desperate needs. He just didn’t like the idea of people taking advantage of his.
Not Prepared for Adversity
Dark space and white letters are all that appear on this poster, “Peace within, never without!”
He was a cool kid, but Black liked to run his mouth. He had no skill on the basketball court. He couldn’t dribble or shoot. But, he could dunk the ball. Because of that, he talked like he was the most vicious opponent on the block. He would lose focus in Spades and step on my toes constantly. But when the rare chance came for him to enjoy a run and he’d shove a win down our opponents’ throats, they’d never hear the end of it. All of a sudden he was the King Spade player of the world. And that’s the way he carried himself. All the time, he was running his mouth way overboard saying things he really shouldn’t have.
So, I can only imagine what he said to Mark. But, what I heard from the closet all the way across the block was a skin-to-skin smack that couldn’t possibly be confused with anything else. I could hear a bucket overturn and some mops fall to the floor. Mark came out first and made his way across the block before the officer could even tell what happened. Then Black came out with a knot on his forehead that looked like a third eye. Jay and Bee rolled with laughter when I asked Black if he was alright. I just thought it was the decent thing to do. But the truth of the matter is if you’re going to run your mouth, you’ve got to back it up with something.
Who Start Fights But Can’t Finish Them
A poster of a gang of kids sitting on top of a blown up car is shown with the words, “A person doesn’t just fight one person in this neck of the woods.”
Some guys have gangs and some act like they have gangs. A group of three or four can easily be referred to as, “My boys…” I went into jail alone and as far as I knew, I was going to leave alone. That’s the way I saw it. But, some guys were all about needing the security of a few extra hands when they dealt with trouble. They wouldn’t be caught dead without their “crew” if they had a confrontation with someone. I didn’t make any trouble. That was sure to solve that problem. So if I had to deal with trouble, I thought it better to deal with it alone anyway. It put me completely in the right. I felt respected more for dealing with things on my own. So many people think respect is all about power, numbers, force…etc. The world acts that way. The world likes to teach people what to think, rarely does it teach them how.
Who Take Immediate Short-Sighted Action Out Of Fear
A poster showing Mike with the motto, “Come on vacation. Leave on probation. Come back on violation. This system is geared to get ya!”
Plea bargains are the name of the game. The first thing defense lawyers try to determine is what the states attorney is prepared to offer. A three and a half year sentence can be cut down to a year or a year and a day. Some defense lawyers rely on the plea bargains so much they fall short of focussing on the issues of the case. In fact, if an inmate agrees to the plea bargain, the lawyer’s job is finished. So, some lawyers make it seem as if the plea bargain is the only chance. Many inmates take the plea because they see no hope. It’s kind of hard to fight an uphill battle when your own lawyer considers you guilty. This is someone’s idea of justice. It’s a view of it…through a cracked window. “All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both…Your world, this! So that’s a world!” Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy.
The question to answer here is who am I considering a bitch in this scenario. Is it the states attorney who offers a plea bargain because there is a chance he might not win? Is it your lawyer who makes it seem as if the deal is your only hope because he’s afraid he might not win? Or the inmate because he gave in to the deal? The court system in Smallton is railroading people and destroying their lives while making the financial and legal system worse rather than solving it at all. Yet no one can tell the court system any of that because they think they’re getting paid and they have a new jail to justify. In order to save itself from financial ruin, the city agreed to have several prisons and a new jail built. The prison system provides jobs and tax money for the city of Smallton and the County.
Short-sighted solutions like making crime your community’s business and keeping the jails filled at all costs, that’s the bitch. Defense attorneys who are afraid to make life uncomfortable for themselves by actually doing their job, that’s the bitch. Not the victims who are paying the highest price for it. Taking a plea may seem like a weak thing to do. But with the smoke and mirror dog and pony show an inmate is forced to endure, no one can really blame him. Law enforcement really has bigger fish to fry. They just can’t get them. So, they fry the small fish to have something to brag about. No, no one can blame an inmate for taking the plea. The true weakness can be found when a person takes advantage of the power he holds over the people who trust him and he enjoys that power at their expense.
To everyone else, that’s considered power. To me, it is insecurity born out of the need to hold onto the only thing that grants that person comfort in this world. So to save it and keep it from fading away, they exploit that advantage to its full capacity. That makes them the bitch!
Who Gather Like Vultures
A simple but elegant poster reads, “None learned the art of archery from me who did not make me, in the end, the target.” Credited Saadi of Shiraz.