Vichy Water – Author's Blog Just another WordPress weblog

 

Troy Davis. Earlier tonight, I was playing indoor doubles tennis; I hit a blistering passing forehand winner down the middle of the court (if only John McEnroe could’ve seen it). For two seconds, before the next serve, I gloated; it really felt good after the shot; my doubles partner pointed at me; no more high fives (has that gone the way of the vestigial tail?) Thinking back to my formative years, growing up in Newark, no one played tennis; it was football, baseball, basketball and soccer (to accommodate a large European post-war immigration). Curiously, I followed some tennis back in the mid-fifties.

 

Althea Gibson was a hero of mine; overcoming great odds to become the first African-American to be a competitor on the world scene and the first to win a Grand Slam Title in 1956; the year before,  my beloved Brooklyn Dodgers won their first World Series with Jackie Robinson;  She was sometimes called the ‘Jackie Robinson’ of tennis. I wrote about her hero status in my first novel. Decades go by: I’m married, move to suburbia, have a son and twenty-two years ago, a friend down the block asked me to play tennis to kill time. I’ve been playing obsessively ever since. Seventeen years ago, I even flew to Boca Raton,Florida and enrolled in the Evert/Segusso/Bassett tennis clinic in the middle of the summer; much too hot for normal people to be on a tennis court so there were only two people in the clinic. I had the head instructor all to myself for two days. Part of the clinic was filming my footwork, net play and strokes. On the second day’s end, we viewed the video; the instructor seriously suggested I give-up the game even as I explained the physiology of my tennis; brain patterns doing the wrong thing for years and I can’t change patterns in two days.

After winning the first set tonight, I heard a train whistle in the distance; one of the saddest droning sounds you could ever hear. A circus came to town; when dissembled, the clowns, elephants, lions and this mustached man, who swallowed a sword, hopped on a train and disappeared for another lonely year. A woman with long hair tucked neatly under a hat, ran alongside a Pennsylvania Railroad troop train, trying to catch a last glimpse of her husband bound for glory and the war in Europe from which he’d never return; fading blowing whistle finally made her stop running. My mother is near the sound. Humphrey Bogart (Rick Blaine) stood on train steps, hoping Ilsa might still come before he wound up in Casablanca; his raincoat was suddenly dry after pouring rain as the whistle closed the scene and faded to next when earlier he said, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

 

YouTube link to a train whistle if you dare:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvanhCQ9jho&feature=related

 

I missed a few easy balls at the net and I realized why; pre-occupation as the train whistle made me distantly sad and reminded again of last night’s execution of Troy Davis in  Georgia. It’s not within the providential confines of this blog to even begin to tackle the myriad of capital punishment issues and history but it’s my blog; my thoughts become molecular energy and escape into the universe, looking like fireflies on a hot August night.

 

Back in the fifties, before learning about environment and the sanctified integrity of life, including insects, we used to collect fireflies in jars, almost like an Olympics event(who can catch the most in five minutes), but we’d release the glowing anomalies back to free nature. If there’s the slightest doubt about innocence, then you don’t take a life. Last week I signed a petition to that effect.

 In 1960, I was fifteen, emotional, idealistic, growing like a strange weed from the vacant lot at the end of the block, and fortunately only suffered from acne for six months while held up in an attic with bed, radio and view of Newark Airport. Then our black and white television told us about a convicted rapist in California sentenced to death twice. While on death row for 12 years (gas chamber) Caryl Chessman wrote several books (‘Cell 2455 Death Row’ in 1954) and pleaded for his rehabilitated life. Of course I didn’t understand all the legal jazz, but I remember crying the night they killed him and I’m blogging about it 51 years later, so it impacts me, even now. A few years ago at the University of Michigan, I went to a lecture on equal justice and learned that it’s better to be rich and guilty then poor and innocent in America.

 

In May 2001, a professional basketball player was convicted of attempted rape (same crime as Chessman) and punishment was a suspended sentence with 15 days house arrest (The NBA suspended him five games) and then he proceeded to sign a $30 million contract. I wonder why there’s amnesia about Chessman. What happened to his unpublished writings?  It’s funny/curious how people forget things; back then, there was no Miranda or Fourth Amendment rights against search and seizures. How many white doves will attempt to fly the Atlantic before Troy Davis is forgotten? Why do I get the feeling Chessman was coerced into a confession and when later, he recanted, but it was too late as California hung a capital punishment (gas death) on him based on a now discarded kidnapping statute. And California didn’t want to listen to anything; they just wanted expediency; get him out of the way. Chessman reminded me of Lenny Bruce; both defended themselves and pissed off judge, jury and warden. Chessman did argue he was innocent of the crimes charged and perhaps more proof of that was contained in his last writings which California made disappear. He pissed everybody off;  reminds me of the ‘Birdman of Alcatraz’ and once again California’s  escutcheon and Georgia’s can’t be far behind. And the Columbia River rolls on and there’s been no capital punishment in California since Chessman. I just opened my office window; humidity, rain and déjà-vu are in the heavy wind swaying the vertical blinds justice.

 

Changing directions: Last Saturday I went to my first Civil War encampment, strangely, ten minutes away from my place of residence and on the grounds of the Monmouth County Historical Society and Museum. For mood effect, it was a perfect cloudy Saturday. Out front, I met a  Rhode Island  company of  Union soldiers guarding a cannon. Out back, with tents, a fire simmering a pot of stew, a few young soldiers with muskets, a man caning a chair; I gravitated to a bearded guitar playing soldier singing a folk song, ‘Nancy Whiskey,’ which I recognized and knew it was written close to 1850; everything around me was timely and accurate.

 

 

 

 

Suddenly I was back in 1862; the power of several extended blinks. ‘Somewhere in Time’ I felt Civil War emotion, looking around at the encampment, imagining what and where I would’ve been any particular day in September, 1862. I asked this New York regiment’s soldiers about their group and how many were lost as the war dragged on. Losses were heavy (some through desertions). I went back to the singer and drifted to Gettysburg and back to Freehold when I noticed a late model wire fence in the background and found three newly minted pennies in my jeans pocket and I was harshly thrust back to September, 2011. Time for the museum and Civil War exhibits: I found the glue which held and took me back to 1862 again. Fixation with a letter by William Burroughs Ross, a young solider whose life was cut short at 21 years; he wrote this letter to his Mother:

 

“Dear Mother:

I have been in some high society lately down here. Colonel Hall, Lt. Woodward, Alliston and myself went to Frederick and called on a Miss Cooper, whose father is a General in the Union Army. I took my guitar along. There were several ladies present and we had a glorious time singing, playing and dancing.”

 

It’s like the letter could’ve been written by my son at summer camp, coincidentally located a few miles from Frederick (Maryland). Of course my son is living in Brooklyn now. Meanwhile 6 million kids’ ages 25 to 34 are back living with their parents again; numbers are up 25% since the economic downturn. But New Jersey still has the second highest per capita income. Back to the museum: perhaps the most revealing and should I say humorous letter, taking a shot at politics with Democrats and Republicans even back in 1862. How things never change. In describing Republican President Abraham Lincoln, after a presidential visit to the troops, this Union soldier wrote, “his unmitigated ugliness is a democratic misrepresentation.”

Upstairs in the museum I was shown a porcelain collection, some from China, because it was perceived back in the 1860’s that China did it better and cheaper. Again, some things don’t change. I wonder about humans not changing in a few hundred years. I wonder if we’ll ever change when it comes to environmental issues. I remember the biblical Tower of Babel and compare it today’s Tower of Babble(I call it the UN).

If you’ve been reading my blogs, you know I’m a champion of living to 150 years and also avoiding diabetes. All four of my grandparents had diabetes and I’ve been living with a genetic gun to my forehead and pancreas for a long time. I read a lot and come up with notions how not to get the dreaded disease; so far so good after six decades; exercise and more exercise; a fountain of youth. People with diabetes may be twice as likely to develop memory problems and dementia as they age, including Alzheimer’s disease a recent study shows. This risk also appears to be heightened among people with pre-diabetes — people who are on the verge of developing diabetes. Exactly how diabetes and dementia are linked is not fully understood. But the new findings add to growing evidence that what is good for our hearts may also be good for our brains. Finally, researchers have shown they can reverse the aging process for human adult stem cells, which are responsible for helping old or damaged tissues regenerate. The findings could lead to medical treatments that may repair a host of ailments that occur because of tissue damage as people age. So this is good news for living to 150 years.

 

In my March 11th, April 1st and April 23rd blog, I kind of ‘attacked’ the NCAA and the Big East conference commissioner for allowing, what I perceived, the Rutgers-St. Johns Big East basketball tournament game to be fixed near the end of the game, so that St. Johns could play Syracuse the next day; the match-up was better financially?  Events of the last few days brings enormous pressure on the Big East commissioner as Syracuse and Pittsburgh are abandoning the conference, heading to the ACC. My view of the world: a little poetic justice falling in the lap of Mr. Commisioner who, it seemed to me, participated or looked the other way in this tragic stealing a victory away from Rutgers and that Syracuse may’ve now helped pull back the Nerf bow and arrow aimed at this very inept conference commissioner. I want to say there is justice. But there really isn’t. A conference lay in disarray. Oh, I didn’t know this but the Big East rejected admitting Penn State years ago because they were bad in basketball.

 

Perhaps an innocent man, Troy Davis was executed in the name of expediency. California helped us forget Caryl Chessman. A few hours ago was the last episode of ‘All My Children.’ My first wife made me watch it back in 1970; perhaps that’s why she was a first wife. Strange (foreign) writing has appeared on the bodies of Southwest airlines jets and is especially noticeable when things are heated up; of course I wonder how the writer breached airport security to do that. Movie maker Kevin Smith was kicked off a Southwest Airlines plane in 2010 for being too fat. Kevin may be making a reality TV show based on his comic store in Red Bank, N.J., ‘Jay and Silent Bob’s  Secret Stash.’

 Mindfully, I’ve been firing away here, trying to lose myself, still feeling sad, empty and confused about the State of Georgia taking a human life when so many were not sure. I suppose, instead of eating a pound of enriched chocolate chip cookies made with dark chocolate, I’d prefer to let streams of consciousness here soulfully sooth. Speaking of Georgia, I just became Facebook friends with a television reporter from Georgia, the Asian country, who’s covering current events for Georgia television in New York City(UN meetings). She asked if I would ever like to talk to her about ‘Americana’ stuff. Suddenly it’s autumn today and I’m thinking about American capital punishment again. Tomorrow is definitely another day; the Big East plays football and I’m ready to talk on camera.

 

 

 

 

Contact Information:

website: http://vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter:  Earthood

book trailer. hey its 65 seconds long

IMPORTANT LINKS:

Immortality Institute (which represents advocacy and research for unlimited lifespan)

http://www.imminst.org/

August 2011. Guest on Alicia Cramer Show (podcast) “Thin Healthy Happy” :
http://wausauhypnotherapy.podbean.com/2011/08/02/calvin-barry-schwartz-interview-on-living-life/

ARE you in search of another blog that is also outspoken, unique  BUT
unbridled which means uninhibited ????  Meet   LINDA CHORNEY:
http://lindachorney.wordpress.com/