Jeff was busy playing with the Evening Sun’s new camera, recording the Veteran’s Day ceremony held in West Park in Norwich this Wednesday.

While he tinkered with the device at the front of the loosely gathered crowd I began to wander my way through looking for a familiar face. Instead one found me.

An older man wearing a worn navy brimmed hat extended his hand to me and introduced himself as someone I had briefly met on a previous occasion. He knew my father from the Oxford Veteran’s Home and joked on a recent column I had written poking fun at the real life horror fashion shows that appear in local court.

His wife apparently worked for a court system and she had also thrilled him with her own tales of pink flip flops and the stained stretch pants that appeared far too often before the judge’s bench.

I made an effort not to forget the man’s name and have decide against listing it here. It was a causal conversation we had and I appreciated his courtesy enough to extend the same. He was a retired 20 year veteran of the Navy.

We talked about the veteran’s home, his time in the military and the court before being interrupted in mid sentence by the VFW’s call to begin ceremonies. The man looked at me and nodded, neither of us wanted to continue with our conversation during the opening prayer and the singing of our national anthem. We understood this with out explanation. (Unlike some others in the crowd.)

Following the anthem the VFW’s presenter began talking about the challenge’s facing veterans and the local reductions in the services available to them. My acquaintance leaned near me and began explaining his own challenges in navigating the lack of resources in the system. An elderly woman, apparently familiar with the gentleman near us also added a few comments of her own contempt on the subject.

A few seconds later the gentlemen removed a pair of small metal plates from his pocket, at first I thought they were military dogtags but they seemed different. They were but I was right, they were just older dogtags from World War II.

He held the tags out to me and I inspected them closely. Cast into the metal on the front was the year 1942, a name, a religious preference and on the back imprinted into the metal was a thumb print. At first I thought how’d they do that? Then I thought morbidly of why.

In this moment while holding an artifact worn by solider in a time of high stakes world conflict I recalled a similar sensation from the day before. I had been on the phone with a father who had lost his son in Iraq, interviewing him for a Veterans Day tribute in the paper.

The gentleman went on to tell me he served in the Navy during the Vietnam War and that he had made two requests to serve in the country during that time, once to be assigned to a ship and another to a Navy office in Saigon. He was denied both times. He recalled being denied the office position and said he was grateful it worked out that way. A few months after having his request denied the office was bombed by a Viet Cong insurgent, killing a number of the personal working there.

Having the general ability to relate to those I often speak with I found myself at an unusual loss on how to comprehend the past week’s experiences. I still ponder the last few days in my mind and feel I haven’t quite grasped their true meaning yet.

I’m a long enthusiasts of history, politics and news but to stare at the topics of a remote world so personally before me created a connection to them I rarely feel. To read over the events in Afghanistan or Iraq I can’t help by consider that gentleman, his father’s dogtags or another father who spoke so proudly of his dead son.

There is a facade that we all must admit we have.

Think of yourself as a corporation rather than an individual. When controlling the public image, you summon the company’s politically correct and socially engaging representative for duty. It’s kind of like that – rare is the personality that simply pours forth unabated. More often we meet the tempered “representatives” of people. Especially in first impressions.

I amuse myself with the strange, yet common social interaction of two people meeting, guards up, representative out, so much effort and so little personal exchange extracted.

It’s not just so much wanting to be liked by my peers that drives my particular brand of self-censorship as it is my concern I’ll offend people with my over direct and sarcastic personality. I like a truthful joke at my or someone else’s expense. It took me a while to realize that’s a personal preference. Like all good performers say before going on stage, know your audience.

The social graces are a courtesy that are all too often manipulated into deception of a popular image hiding inner motivations. Politicians, lawyers and real life corporate public relations representatives (journalists? I hope not) come to mind. Walks of life I stroll with routinely.

That may seem like a negative connotation, but when you work in a world of presentation is everything and image can trump truth, you need to be aware of all things expressive.

When your livelihood depends on assuming a position you hardly ever get to pick or even agree with, you have to develop a front to absorb the blows and a character to strike back. But the best defense is one of avoidance, not endurance. And the best attacks are subtle, not aggressive.

Keeping a guard up increases the distance of inner thoughts and emotions from being displayed, which often leaves an individual feeling disconnected. Sociopathic tendencies are adopted by choice and motivated by a means of control aimed at greater professional success. It sounds so reasonably insane to me.

Some people take it one step further and project an image in their mind based on what they wish to portray or what reaction they wish to generate from others before proceeding to assume that identity on a case by case basis. They perpetrate multiple deceptions of self out of a desire to obtain or fear of judgment. I wonder if after playing so many parts if a person ever really knows who they really are or what they even really believe. So much effort spent on not being anything – again the social irony amuses me.

The more I think about people’s positions and their desired image, I start to realize there is more than one person to a life.

There is who we think we are, who others think we are and who we really are falling somewhere in between. How far apart those three things fall can says a lot about a person.

What do they say about you?

(Insert rambling thought disclaimer here)

After work yesterday, I got in my car and drove to the most remote seasonal road in the Town of Preston I could find. There, I traveled down the very narrow and rough road with the canopy of red, yellow and orange leaves creating an apparent tunnel through the woods. Aggravated by the cold and restless weather we’ve had lately, the autumn leaves easily detached from their limbs in the surprisingly warm breeze. They flutter to the forest floor and in every direction, dancing leaves descending between the wet trunks.

I stopped and pulled over at a small trail leading into a farmer’s pasture and walked a good half a mile along the deserted path. Even the old road was littered with piles of the discarded foliage of fading color and it all but removed any sign that civilization existed nearby.

The clamoring of rustled tree tops, freely drifting leaves and the crisp sound of my shuffling footsteps seem to be different notes on the same instrument.

When I closed my eyes in relaxation, the anthem of autumn reminded me of lying on some cool beach with the sound of the shore ebbing endlessly on. The rhythmic tides of crashing waves and the constant rustling of millions of leaves seem so intimately related that I was convinced it all must be some how connected. Standing there, I too felt apart.

This is where I’d usually say I was lost in the experience, but truthfully I felt lost until I found that place. It’s amazing how a little peace can bring you back to center.

The toils of a long week or the drag of a bad day fall away with the forest’s delicately collapsing petals.

The crispness of the wet air compelled me to inhale deeply and the fresh smell of changing plant life again reminded me of another kind of nature’s serenity, spring. Every breath felt clear and quenched my tensions.

I stood out on that road staring off into the trees for maybe 30 minutes, I barely moved, never made a sound and let my thoughts move in whatever motion the world around me inspired.

An easy word to spell once you’ve seen it. Hy-po-der-mic. It sounds just like it writes. A rare blessing in the English language. Yet for some reason it has always been one of those obscure words I hardly ever use in passing conversation that I’m cursed to spell improperly more often than is probably acceptable. I’m embarrassed to admit the Tyler alternatives of hypodermic have included Hypadermic, Hypodurmic and Hipoedurmick. OK, I made that last one up but on a late 14 hour work night at 11 p.m. I don’t think I’d rule any anything completely out.

Luckily I’ve had a great deal of practice in writing the word. I’ve used it less than a dozen or so times in the last few years, but in these past two weeks alone I’ve scribbled it on a note pad or typed into the computer at least twice that number of times.

Typically it falls into an all to common sentence form. “…was charged with 7th degree criminal possession of a controlled substance and criminal possession of a hypodermic instrument.”

I’ve written those words 7 times since Sept. 9 and I can not even remember a specific instance of writing it before that. I’m sure I have once or twice in the last three years, probably each instance months apart, but I don’t recall.

I’ve heard people say heroin has been available for quite sometime in the area and some of the most sought after prescription drugs are essentially prescribe heroin because they’re derived from the same active ingredients, opiates, just refined and processed.

Maybe that’s the truth, there hasn’t been such a fierce focus on heroin as there has been on cocaine in drug enforcement. As one drug counselor remarked, “There was a big focus on getting cocaine off the streets and heroin snuck in the back doors.”

Still the number of people now going to jail for heroin use is up. The cost of using the drug locally is heading down. The demand for it is becoming more common and availability, easier. So say the local law enforcement authorities on such things.

Don’t get me wrong I’m not a complete nazis that believes all drug users every where are evil. In fact I tend to be more liberal in my social sympathies than I probably should be, experimentation is normal thing- to a point. But injecting my body with a chemical I bought from a sketchy strung-out dealer living in a small trashed apartment sets off an alarm.

I’m curious about the needle usage aspect. Do people share or does proper heroin etiquette dictate I B-Y-O-N. (bring my own needle)? I thought I read some where that things like H.I.V. and Hepatitis are transfer frequently in such ways. Can you imagine a heroin user using an alcohol swab before injecting unknown mixture X in their body? Probably not.

Still the concern is rising with the pattern of increase heroin use. I mean if you’re are willing to endure all the alchemy steps necessary to prepare and use the drug what exactly are your substance abuse limits?

The worst part of the abuse, like all addicts, is not usually in the damage to physical health alone but to the psychological. Dependency means isolation from those more healthy and balanced and increased exposure to those more absorbed in drug culture and excess.

All drug abusers risk addition and harm but using heroin seems like the fast lane of consequence.

The smell of smoke. I almost always smell it first. The squelched aroma of burnt garbage. The bobbing county road was draped in a slight film of gray haze, like fog but the air was dry.

A half mile from the scene and closing the smoke’s hues darken slightly. Before my eyes cross the top of the hill I can sense the faint reflection of red and blue strobe lights bouncing off the thick air.

There must be at least a couple hundred flashing bulbs on the fire trucks, ambulances and private vehicles lining the roadway. The kind that are so bright that to look at them directly leaves a residual pulsing image stamped in your brain for several seconds after.

In the throes of a fire the scene seems like ordered chaos. Crews dart back and forth from emergency vehicles carrying all manner of equipment. A few tired looking men in full turn out gear sit on the bumper of a fire engine as their oxygen tanks register depletion and set off with the sound of an old ringing alarm clock.

The sound rattles periodically, muffled slightly by the constant sound of crashing water, roaring flame and revving fire trucks. It lets the firefighters know when their oxygen tanks are low and indicates to me that the first people on the scene must have arrived about 15 minutes ago.

Navigating through puddles of water, hoses and heaving firemen I snap pictures as soon as arrive because flames make for dramatic photography and only dwindle as crews work.

The smell is like smudged charcoal beneath your nose and it will linger in my clothes and car for the rest of the day even through I never cross paths with any plumes of smoke.

Soot and wet ash cling and steal the color of everything they touch- including the stained uniforms and faces of responders who can’t avoid getting emersed in the stuff.

A man, typically wearing a pair of pajamas (sweat pant’s in this case) who’s running around the scene is a good indication of the home owner. A second personality often seen is the one sitting on the back of an ambulance in disbelief… again in whatever clothes they threw on at the last minute.

As the urgency of the situation wanes and the crews gained control over the scene you see a few of the firefighters standing and watching those taking their turn at toiling in the heat. This is the time to grab remarks for the story. As I wait for this moment to come I walk around taking pictures and trying not to get in the way. I walk down the road and inspect all the logos of the attending fire departments to ensure those who came get the earned credit.

The who, what and when already known I look for other basics:

What was the condition of the scene when you first arrived?
Was anyone hurt? How and to what extent?
What’s the damage? Does the family have a place to stay?
What was the point of origin and cause? (Often only half answered until hours later in the day.)

After spending over 45 minutes there I usually leave the scene while the crews continue to mop up the last of the dying flames and start the clean up.

“I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.”
-J. Robert Oppenheimer, Director of The Manhattan Project.

It is estimated that world wide there are about 30,000 nuclear weapons. At any given time, on any given day, it is estimated that more than 1,500 of those weapons are prepared for immediate launch.

The United States lays claim to only one third of the world’s entire arsenal boasting almost 10,000 warheads, carrying a total destructive force of 1,800 megatons- enough to destroy every square inch of life on the planet 18 times over.

Russia and its block states have roughly 16,000 nuclear weapons boasting about 2,900 megatons, enough to 29 planet Earths. (but there’s only one)

All but two percent of all nuclear weapons currently in existence were either made in America or in the Soviet Union.

Side note: The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, North Korea’s formal name, (I’m trying not to laugh) is estimated to have about ten nuclear weapons.

The nine countries that currently have nuclear weapons are Britain, China, France, India, Pakistan, Russia, United States, North Korea, and Israel. (Only Israel has not acknowledged having them publicly, although their diplomats have accidentally confirmed it and so has the U.S. military)

South Africa and several Soviet block states, Belarus, Kazakhstan and Ukraine had weapons but have since dismantled their programs with international observers verifying their efforts.

It seems to me, that in my generation at least, the fear associated with the prospect of nuclear annihilation has been largely forgotten.

It’s true we have Iran and North Korea to deal with in our time but their delivery systems and weapons don’t hold a candle to the threat faced by the generations who grew up in the vast shadow of the U.S.S.R.- punctuated by the Cuban Missile Crisis.

I wonder if our complacency is a good thing or bad.

“Nuclear weapons give no quarter. Their effects transcend time and place, poisoning the Earth and deforming its inhabitants for generation upon generation. They leave us wholly without defense, expunge all hope for meaningful survival. They hold in their sway not just the fate of nations, but the very meaning of civilization.”

-General Lee Butler, former commander for all US Air Force and Navy strategic nuclear forces.

Recently I went along with detectives from the Chenango County Sheriff’s Office and participated in busting up a marijuana growing operation in a remote McDonough swamp.

The article attached a lot of feed back, nearly half of it from proponents of legalization who basically claimed that social taboo is the only real reason it’s outlawed.

A number of these responses revolved around the medical purposes of the substance and attacked alcohol use, which is generally accepted to have far more volatile affects on people than a number of illegal drugs, first among them marijuana. Another flawed angle of approach in the argument is that pot is a natural plant of mother earth and therefore less harmful than the non-oraganic drugs.

The most frustrating part of theses complaints is that I agree with their surface values but the line of reasoning is flawed.

Not as bad as alcohol?
Marijuana certainly gets more grief than it probably deserves when pragmatically compared to the social and criminal effects of other drugs, including alcohol- which I’m sorry to say is a drug.

Accept it or not if you drink alcohol you are in fact a legalized drug user. If it wasn’t why would people drink it to intentionally affect their mind’s chemistry provoking feelings of euphoria (aka buzzed) and withdrawal (aka, hangover.) And of course people get addicted to it’s effects and can be permanently damage by long term use. It’s a drug, and most of us are guilty of at least being occasional drug users.

However attacking alcohol doesn’t validate the view of legalizing pot, rather it credits the view of making alcohol illegal.

There is a good point in the “well if alcohol is worse for you and legal why can’t other drugs like marijuana that aren’t as bad for you be legal” argument. It is hard to refute rationally because the world we live in doesn’t make sense.

Some how alcohol made the cut and that’s just the world we live in. It kills countless of people directly and countless more indirectly, inspires all manner of domestic and social violence, it’s survived prohibition and apparently has a thriving base of consumers and powerful business interests aiding it.

The alcohol versus pot social taboo argument gets more sympathy from me than any of the others but it’s sort like complaining that life isn’t fair. Just because alcohol is worse doesn’t make marijuana good.

I need my medicine?
The concepts of medical marijuana are for the most part an utter joke. I know I’ll get a dozen mean spirited comments and testimonials for saying it but save your breath- most of you are uninformed or have ulterior motives.

Unless you’re the one in a million exception to the rule I’m positive modern medicine can deliver you a healthier, more effective alternative to your problem than THC (active ingredient in pot) can offer.

Realistically the argument for marijuana to be legalized for its medical treatment and pain killing ability is more often than not just a vehicle for putting forth an eventual debate for legalizing recreational use. So why not just admit it?

Most people probably figure medical legalization is a step in the right direction, but if there’s no real evidence to suggest it’s any more necessary than legalizing cocaine use for headache relief, then why argue it?

Having a patient testify to the wonderful healing effects of marijuana does not impress me, what matters are the scientific findings produced by medical professionals and pharmacists. The false front only alienates those in the middle of the issue who become disgusted by the such a deception.

It’s natural?
The people who claim that the organic value of pot has value in a critical debate are just nuts. Here are some other organic materials: lava, tobacco, the bubonic plague and poison ivy. All natural world creations so therefore they must not be that bad right? Like I said you people tend to be crazy I have no rational way to talk you out of your insanity. Again I see the same line of reasoning as the alcohol debate in that it cites the “there are worst things out there for you so how bad can it be” belief. There is always something worse, it is not premise for putting forth an active debate to positively convince me to support marijuana legalization.

Things to consider
Here are some good reasons why caution should be exercise in the debate.

The versatile nature of the plant makes it very easy for just about anyone to cultivate it leading to very challenging methods of control even in a legal system.

Legalizing a new recreational drug will have profound and unknown economic and social effects on our society.

Legalizing a formerly illegal drug is a dangerous precedent to set and may become a doorway for others to push agendas to legalize even more dangerous drugs.

We have alcohol, do we really need to bring another mind affecting substance into public acceptance? After all marijuana is a drug. A user will not be as healthy as a non-user and will need additional medical care over a life time.

Marijuana is a mind effecting drug and any substance that allows people to escape reality has the potential to become an addiction. If legalized more people will become addicted, it is inevitable.

Pot like any drug distracts people from real life, which is fine unless used too often. People who are high tend to be content just being high and do little to expand their mind. One day people who smoke too much might wake up and find they aren’t good at anything because they never bothered to get out and do something.

Conclusion
Having said all that I personally don’t see why the drug needs to remain illegal.

From what I’ve seen personally, professionally and academically the drug does not seem to strip a person’s sensibilities as quickly or as potently as other mind effecting drugs, legal or otherwise.

I don’t know of many marijuana generated aggressions such as fights, rapes or other out of control emotional incidents. It seems to be a victimless crime in many cases and rarely a catalyst to causing a danger to the community. However the drug is often used in combination with other drugs, like alcohol, so getting straight answers on the effects of a single drug in society can be difficult.

The concerns surrounding marijuana often seem to focus on those who over abuse the substance, symbolizing the stereotypical burned out, good for nothing, tie-dye wearing stoner. To me that’s like taking a DWI convicted, wife beating, alcoholic and saying everyone who drinks will become one.

The argument surrounding the substance focuses more on the individuals ability use the drug responsibly. This is the debate with any drug.

Given the lax laws regulating minor use and the increasing public acceptance of the drug I don’t see why we just don’t start regulating it. There is definitely a line to be drawn between marijuana use and the use of more dangerous and addicting drugs such as cocaine, meth and ecstasy.

I’m just not sure where that line should be drawn.

Even though I believe in respecting the rights of people to make their own choices with the drug, promoting marijuana or any drug use is certainly not good for our community, no matter how you argue it. That’s a fact.

In debating this issue of personal choice versus public well being we need to ensure the argument does not appear to encourage younger generations into accepting common marijuana use any more than we’d want them embrace abusing alcohol.

I do believe however it is a discussion deserving the merit of further debate.

My friend asked me yesterday about why I would hang a pair of gaudy black dice from my rear view-mirror. I’ve heard it all before, they’re totally lame, technically illegal and a minor safety hazard. Bla, bla, bla.

I told her they’re my good luck charm. She laughed and mocked my superstitious reply. But it’s not superstition that keeps the dice hanging but rather their power of reminder.

You see I’ve covered a number of accidents in my time at the Evening Sun, dozens, a handful of them fatal, and although sometimes the person at fault suffered the shorter end of the stick the dice remind me of the other person. The one who didn’t do anything wrong except get out of bed that morning.

I’ve been keenly reminded of the fact in recent weeks as a number of fatal accidents have occurred and a close co-worker was struck down by such random circumstance. These recent incidents didn’t involve any choice by those killed or hurt in them. No prior decisions or precautions made before those moments mattered, fate just reached out and snatched at an innocent. It is an undeniable and unfortunate part of life sometimes.

The statistics kept by the federal Department of Transportation show that the most dangerous activity the average American partakes in on a daily basis is climbing into a motor vehicle. 115 people are killed each day, that’s one person every 13 minutes. Of those only two thirds involve the driver being killed the rest are pedestrians, passengers and other non-driver victims.

I had a friend once who frequently rode a motorcycle and his favorite saying was “You can’t live life in constant fear of random circumstance.” He’s right you can’t, but you can be constantly aware of the aspect. Maybe it’ll help maybe it won’t.

Every time I climb into my car I glance at the dice and I think about those odds and I remember the accidents I’ve witnessed. Cars crumpled like aluminum foil and bodies covered in white sheets on stretchers with blood still seeping to the surface. I’ve talked to bereaved family members and grim emergency workers-it’s left an impression.

My good luck charm represents random circumstance. We all roll the dice when we get in the driver’s seat no matter who you are. Sometimes just knowing the odds though might keep them from being so fixed.

So after spending about 20 hours this week collecting court documentation, off and on the record comments, contacting family members, friends, attorney’s and police I was shocked this morning to discover the Daily Star had the article in their newspaper first.

The alleged murderer of William Lee, Richard Babcock, was indicted Wednesday and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hear it was going to happen before it did, and that I wasn’t aware that it had. The problem is that the court sealed the indictment which means no one can discuss the case until the court unseals it.

I can’t explain the pain of writing a grand jury story the following day over grand larceny and possession charges knowing there was a sealed murder indictment I couldn’t mention.

This morning I was horrified, thinking that I some how screwed up and missed some public access web page tangled somewhere in the state police’s site. Quickly that feeling faded however and was replaced by a getting screwed feeling instead.

In preparing to have the defendant appear in court for the case the New York State Police prepared a document that including the original charges they had intended on arresting Babcock for and forwarded it the Chenango County Sheriff’s Office via their computer system.

Babcock was not arrested by the State Police as was reported. The reason the case was sealed was specifically because he had not been notified or arrested prior to his court appearance Friday morning when the judge delivered the document to his public defender.

So how did the competitor beat us to the punch? Incompetence. Not theirs obviously. Apparently a trooper in the local Oneonta barracks made an human error. He found the document sent to the sheriff’s office on the computer and thought it was a public police blotter to be released. He then handed it over to the Star.

I don’t blame them of course I would’ve run the story in a heartbeat. I can blame the New York State Police though for unofficially unsealing a grand jury indictment before the supreme court did.

It was a single error by a single individual and his commanding officer promptly called our office this morning to offer an explanation and an apology after we sent him an e-mail of complaint over the issue.

Still, it’s hard not to feel bitter, especially since we contacted the state police the same day the Star did but was told there was no information, a credit to the personnel at the Sidney barracks I suppose. But burning bridges in this trade only leaves you stranded and besides it’s professionally petty, so I’m over it.

A lengthy article appears in the Evening Sun today that bear most of the fruits from my week’s labors, hopefully it will still satisfy our readers palette with lots of juicy details even through for some it won’t be their first taste.

http://www.evesun.com/news/stories/2009-07-24/7514/Man-indicted-in-Lee-murder/

So unless you haven’t seen a TV, heard a radio, or had access to the Internet in the last 24 hours then you’ve probably encountered the media splurge of the latest sensational celebrity death. Pop star Michael Jackson and pin up Farrah Fawcett both died yesterday.

As we finished up our deadline work this morning I thought just about everyone had seen enough of the stories, having placed a number of AP articles in the paper and then navigating through most of the major news network sites this morning, who wouldn’t be?

I was surprised to see the entire office spring into an usually intense water cooler discussion, as co-workers and interns came out from their desks or peeked over their cubicles, to put in the two cents over what they remembered. I couldn’t resist putting in my own.

I was surprise to find such a strong following of Jackson lovers. He was a little before my time and I’m starting to wonder if maybe I haven’t given the man enough credit.

For the my part I met Jackson in the early 90’s and later. If you’re familiar with the singer’s history I don’t think you’ call it his best of times. Pedophile allegations, outdated music, and a freaky personal appearance, was all I absorbed unfortunately.

As for Farah I can’t say I remember much more than she was on the cover of one of my first playboy magazines, which I swiped it from an inattentive relative in junior high.

It was strange gauging the different memories and opinions of people born over the last five decades and how the media has impacted an iconic person’s legacy, depending on which generation they grew up in. Something’s are forgotten and others over exaggerated.

The thriller video however is timeless.

I think it’s a good thing to tell the brighter side of a person after they pass on and I’m sure in the pending, week long, media blitz to follow will beat every horse in the herd to death before it’s over.

Regardless of how anyone perceived them, you have to give credit to the sheer volume of gossip, sensationalism and controversy stimulated by their lives and deaths.

RIP