A Plea for Captain John Brown by Henry David Thoreau

This is not an easy read. The knowledge of the writers of that day Emerson, Thoreau, the townships and the new frontier in contrast to the long holding mentality of the exploitation of a race leading to the base and moral nature of who we are. Thoreau brings this challenge in many forms by attending to a 'Plea' for John Brown Abolitionist in a essay that in it's day was a great challenge the morality of a learned nation and then even to be spoken by those who would not/ could not read which is a massive part of the entire population extending into the boarder lands and to the very halls of Boston, Washington D.C., N. Y, and all points. He was a HERO as spoken over and over in the reading, and outlaw, a man of great nobility and one who was willing to take his quart of blood to the market and get not a penny for it. It is a read in likes of History.

Letter to Oregon Ducks Football Team.

Oct 19th, 11:50pm
Hello,
We passed one day. I recall you saying that to the brothers.
This is for all you,
You men mean more than just football. You are hero's to little kids who live here. You are bigger than life. In that sense you have to be the hero. You have to keep the dreams in their eyes gentlemen. I can say that with knowing what I am saying to be a hero to kids. It is no easy job, ever but the rewards are bigger than life just like you have to be.

"The Dreams in their Eyes."


I am one of those, those over gifted athletes who never had to try, not hard. Yeah, I practiced, was on a team, teams Varsity, H.S., but I never really had a reason, ever. I even have sweat shirt from the team at college; I was always fast and I just joined to get a easy A, just to get my degree. I was going somewhere else in life finally; I had direction. College will do that point you in a direction give you something you think you can do and live on possibly enjoy. If you get a chance to be a part of a team, any team group something done with hard work and group effort even when it's ugly, and you pass through it or even over come it and be the winner you were part of a team. Never lose that, and you earned it, the earning more is what we want to hear next. The beating this world hands down a winner in everyone's eyes, and that is a fine and noble goal, but if we really tried hard what would we become?
The next thing that happens changes it all, one trauma, one fall, one tear, break missed ball or note in a song. You can't go back and change the music, you can't ever go back, and catch the ball, make the push when you should of. It happened to me, and I had to get up and dust off, I had to get up, and keep going, I had to train like no man should train unless he is going to do something really hard. I had to train like every thing that I wanted and hoped for was at risk. I had to train like I had the very devil him self chasing me and I was trying to keep up with big G. I got up. I trained everyday, I worked everyday, everything I did with purpose and need of greatness that pushes boundaries, and I broke a few. I was becoming that winner. I was setting records and doing what I know other said could not be done.
Tragedy is part of life and it again touched me, and all I knew. I was down again. I got back up and I ran. I trained. I would run to the plaque at Autzen Stadium and read the engraving. I would get down on one knee and cross my self into prayer then getting up renewed. I would read just a few lines, about the mothers who so believed in the dreams in their children's eyes, who supported them and loved them raising them to reach their dreams. You see that's it right there in essence of why I get back up and shine, and it's the essence of every Duck who reads this, it is the essence of every student who said I am going the extra mile, the extra set, the extra, long distance until then their night was not through, until then they couldn't rest, why they had dreams in their eyes.

I called the front at Autzen office one day. People were defacing the plaque, they were stepping on something that had become sacred, and I called because it kept happening. I called because it meant something big to me does it to you?
"What are the Dreams in you Eyes?"
Your bro Amen,
THOR 

Sons of the Valley Letter to Oregon Football player.

Sons of the Valley

I get a lot of rides from taxi of late to medical. I met this oldtimer and he told me a pretty cool story. I should start with a Sons of the Valley is something the elders speak of. It is one of the Valley who is here to do big things becasue of who he is. I was called a Son of the Valley long time ago after being here a few years, and I didn't get it. I get it now.
Elder Taxi driver leaned back and began,

"The very first wagon train with Eugene Skinner ...got here and went to winter in the west hills with the Indians. The whole valley would flood from the beaver dambs, and this one man decides that he wants to travel from the Coast Range to the Cascade range, and takes his canoe and paddles all the way across the valley. On his way back he saw a piece of land sticking out of the water about Junction City and said, "I am going to build my farm there." "
"Wow! Sir that's is a great story.
"His great great grandson is going to be the new quater back for the U of O."
I smiled back for it was amazing story of history into today.
"That would sure make a lot of Ducks!" I replied...
#THOR 

John Arthur Ernst

October 23 at 2:58pm


Who wants to fact check this? ·

Autzen Stadium "Dreams in their Eyes."

"The Dreams in their Eyes."


I am one of those, those over gifted athletes who never had to try, not hard. Yeah, I practiced, was on a team, teams Varsity, H.S., but I never really had a reason, ever.  I even have sweat shirt from the team at college; I was always fast and I just joined to get a easy A, just to get my degree. I was going somewhere else in life finally; I had direction. College will do that point you in a direction give you something you think you can do and live on possibly enjoy. If you get a chance to be a part of a team, any team group something done with hard work and group effort even when it's ugly, and you pass through it or even over come it and be the winner you were part of a team. Never lose that, and you earned it, the earning more is what we want to hear next. The beating this world hands down a winner in everyone's eyes, and that is a fine and noble goal, but if we really tried hard what would we become?
 The next thing that happens changes it all, one trauma, one fall, one tear, break missed ball or note in a song. You can't go back and change the music, you can't ever go back, and catch the ball, make the push when you should of. It happened to me, and I had to get up and dust off, I had to get up, and keep going, I had to train like no man should train unless he is going to do something really hard. I had to train like every thing that I wanted and hoped for was at risk. I had to train like I had the very devil him self chasing me and I was trying to keep up with big G. I got up. I trained everyday, I worked everyday, everything I did with purpose and need of greatness that pushes boundaries, and I broke a few. I was becoming that winner. I was setting records and doing what I know other said could not be done.
 Tragedy is part of life and it again touched me, and all I knew. I was down again. I got back up and I ran. I trained. I would run to the plaque at Autzen Stadium and read the engraving. I would get down on one knee and cross my self into prayer then getting up renewed.  I would read just a few lines, about the mothers who so believed in the dreams in their children's eyes, who supported them and loved them raising them to reach their dreams. You see that's it right there in essence of why I get back up and shine, and it's the essence of every Duck who reads this, it is the essence of every student who said I am going the extra mile, the extra set, the extra, long distance until then their night was not through, until then they couldn't rest, why they had dreams in their eyes.
  
I called the front at Autzen office one day. People were defacing  the plaque, they were stepping on something that had become sacred, and I called because it kept happening. I called because it meant something big to me does it to you?
"What are the Dreams in you Eyes?"
THOR 

'A Few Bad Apples'

    "Signs of Horror"


A viral atomic bomb is not fun living through for the collateral damage to the community is a stain hard to wash away, and a 10 second sound bite on the News doesn't cut it, never does.
I writing this to Bethel-Danebo first my neighbors, Eugene next, and most of all to the person who I have not met, yet is in full right to feel the way they do about the signs in my front yard spewing racial injustice. I agree with you, and I shall explain how.
I lived in Springfield at a new place where I was not accepted right off, and then things began to get bad, the racism started by just one or two people with direct actions, twisted behavior, and criminality after trying unsuccessfully on repeated attempts to get Courts help which made it worse. I moved to Bethel. I knew the neighborhood and chose here to make a home. I am poor, handicapped, I live on SSD, food stamps, and my father gave me a gift of a life time, a home and not just a small home but the future Thunder Café in essence, more than I have ever dreamed. There is a story of great tragedy to my family that provided financially for this. I do not deserve such love, I am the Prodigal Son come home, and thus as he came; I come humbly and ask for forgiveness from my community.
A few bad apples. I moved here and the hate followed was brought to my new home, you can walk Roosevelt, and some of the Tags are still there, the corner mail box sporting the 'N' word name address is painted over, what you couldn't see is what was happening every night timed when all the workers in the yards, offices, and rail yards left and it got worse during the weekends.  Real violence, jumping attempts, drive-byes, home invasion attempts, break ins meant to scare me, long nights of people coming to my home, verbal threats, pounding on my door, wall windows by many people. They knew the truckers and the lumberyard guys were watching my home, and the neighbors I talked to, but at night it went wild. In four months every weekend, everyday it grew. I knew several of the people in listed in this racial hate that they fostered as their beliefs,  by name, interactions, and by face 'A Few Bad Apples'  others were along for get the "N" game hand waiting for the free bag. I was in the Wal-Mart and this girl says in front of my church member "How much will,Rodrigo give me of I hit with him with the cart?" I was no longer able to leave my home because this person kept feeding the neighborhood every weekend it was the worst on the first. It got to the point were I only went to Church, I work there and have for four years then they came to my church, you see I run the Facebook page for church among other things, and they knew when I left my home on Sunday, and when I went to church. I called Police twice in last month form them being at my church. It was a growing cancer under the unseen eyes of Bethel. I said from "Selma to Springfield would be a title Dad.!" after watching the movie and constantly deep into MLK works I jested at I moved to Bethel. Their was no jest, I told Dad to sell the house, I was getting very ill, I wasn't able to go anywhere with out threat of violence. What do you do if this was happening to you and now was coming right to your church, what a question.. I called police while videoing sermon sneaking into the back. What do you do with a Cancer you cut it out, enter the two 'Signs of  Horror', last day of RNC, a computer looking for just such inflammatory post with Trump on it. They came back days after this story aired on new stations a few times, pounding?.
It has been two weekends and almost two weeks since anyone came to my home, church. I can after 13 months since this started in Springfield, and it finally begins to end. How?
Acts of Compassion
I got wrong directions walking way to long in the sun, but I had two goals to make. I had won tickets to the Frank Zappa Concert from the Weekly, I really never win prizes for me, and I had to meet my Sister I am a OMMP patient to get my much needed medicine a had to situation. I got the tickets, but by then I was suffering heat exhaustion bad, falling from a bulging disc in my neck and having seizure like activity far from home. I had cash but no taxi would stop.  Two people picked me up and took me home, and they told me with very strong words of love to "Never do that again! You call us." ( I am about to John & Lori) I gave them the tickets. Stringer Lumber yard, Gene, Mike these are Saints, and have done more then be a good neighbor to me they have been my friends, the Portland & Western Railroad, and Truckers. ("Trump supporters! THANK GOD!")  It doesn't matter America; I feel being a good American has nothing to do with your politicians social actions, if that were true we would all be in trouble of scrutiny of every word, action. It has to do with the day to day and being part of the solution to a better person, to build a better community and nation.  Sometimes people change by leaps and bounds, "I am sorry about the N stuff I was drunk!" was yelled at my house many months ago in the beginning when everyone got worse one man said that. Sacred me right out of bed and I said out loud, "Thank you! God bless you!" Others they show up and I walk outside and my lawn is cut this weekend, another accepted a gift from my hand, and a personal apology.
I came here to serve with this gift I have, this home, to feed and give warm, music, and laughter. I have stories great and stories horrible for sure the best stories which are true is how people change for the better often me being the subject describing what it took to come from addiction and homelessness to a degree at Lane then teaching myself to walk and run a marathon after a trauma, and 5K videos about "COOKING!" says Chef. I have not brought those things so I have some catching up to do if you will allow me.
I am at your mercy. Please accept my apology.
Chef John Ernst aka THOR


Dedicated the honorable man who asked me "Are you Okay?"
Thank God for 'GOP' Loyalty, Honor.
















  

On Death and Dying, The Eye of THOR

The world left.

It did not make a sound shutting the door.

It did not go into the coming night.

There was no feeling of an empty room to tell of it's passing.

The world left without a thought.

It left into nothing leaving nothing not even the cold grave.

In fact you don't even get this.

The world left.

#THOR

It takes 3 years of knowing somebody..
Crazy Steve, R.I.P.
#THOR #TheEyeofTHOR
"Some people can be trusted with a dollar, others a secret, others your things, others to tell the truth, others your very life. You get that from one word after a long time of being a man like that." I was listening to him, and turned to look at him. Carter looked at me. "THOR, you can be trusted with all those thi...ngs. You have Integrity" R.I.P. Lt Carter.. • A man, his Name was Carter, My Nick name and part of my name is THOR is my writing, street, homeless Uncle THOR, to the kids years ago on the street, and now uncle THOR to their kids. BUT the #TheEyeofTHOR is a picture done by Carter Hartman R.I.P. He was a Savant in the streets of Eugene, a Drunk I did not know whether to give him a sandwich or 1$ for beer. We were in Lane Community College 2009' together and We Knew each other from a Program. I wait a year did 4+ at Lane to talk too much to people un real situation wait for book, in housing and just off the hook, underworld, and I am trying to go to college this all around me deep. Here comes Carter Pushing a Shopping Cart, Hilyard Aly 1770 gone now, last of cottages, and I say "Carter you still in school, cool doing well then?" yes he replies I got a 4.3,,, 4.3 is A+ across the board, he said as we smoked, "Here let me show you." rolled over his cart and cans. He drew my Eye and called it the Eye of THOR. He was beaten to death that summer next in Amazon or Skinner Park, by traveling homeless. The Art instructor and I talked we were both close as a man can get to Carter, He is a Painter, and said, "Carter was the best natural artist drawler he had seen in his life and all teaching." I tell their story. I am a professional writer, a singer, and a Chef. I am THOR See More

I Was a Trooper.

"I Was a Trooper."

Drill Instructor Franks
I first saw DI Franks get on the bus. He was a large man standing military tall, his drill instructor hat high on his head, in full dress uniform, gig line perfect, short dark hair, a head that looked solid sharp, blue eyes, a jaw made of iron down into a man that was more than 250 pounds of barrel standing a step over six feet the hat making him taller. He looked at us all and a short ruffling ensued, an inaudible laugh  due to comments as we drove in leading to a laugh, "Look at those hats." "Where do those guys think they are, in a movie?" He was a 'Jar Head' and looked some what like a human 'Bull Dog'; I thought. I looked at the strips, a Sargent what comes next proved my human Bull Dog metaphor, was one of those beautiful soliloquies' you hear about but never think it will be you at the receiving end of. He stood looking us over until a sort of hush came.

     "Stop talking..." Two words started it, a hush, movement still happened, us in our seats, but he had our attention, "You belong to me." it started as usual, then went left quick, "I own you walking mistakes, rejects of the community, tried and convicted felons, inmates..." He looked around some of us thought things might be different that hope was dashed, 'Inmate' is a very generic word like saying, horse manure, dung, feces by the generic word, in reference. Later I would know that once I stepped off that bus, I was no longer an Inmate, I was a 'Trooper'.
     "... as soon as you get off this bus, you have been sent here to this program because someone saw something in you, you can leave anytime you can't cut it, most don't, you are a disappointment to your Mom and Dad, so I am your Mom and Dad; I am the walking two footed storm of your existence." We had no idea what that meant and it seemed he was insulting us beyond, and some fellow went there under his breath, a little neck talking, murmur.
     "Stop talking!" It was loud. I mean the kind of sound that was like the bark of a very big dog, very close; for, I had the misfortune of being close to the front of the bus. A 250 pound dog is a very BIG dog! "You!" an arm went out from the torso finger on the end landing like a judgment, "You." "What is your name?" at this point he was barking every word. A terrible time period must ensued of mental turmoil while the poor fellow caught unaware that he was within the big dogs yard and verbally ran for the fence his voice leaving him. A squeak came out,
     "Simons" D.I. looked down at him noting the name mentally and then went on. I think this scared Simons more.
     "You will be told when to eat, when to stand, when to walk, when to run, when to sleep when to work, no books, no magazine's, no papers, no television, you get one phone call on Sunday after two weeks if you work into the phone schedule, we will tell you the news, we will tell you when you have to know the news, but for now you are not here to know anything unless we tell it to you." He didn't take a breath, he never missed a word, and his voice never lowered for the next four months. "You will never eat a spread again, you will study, you will work, you will drill, you will PT, you will hurt, you will stand, work, PT, in the rain, mud, sleet, and like it, you will be dedicated, motivated, be willing for change that we must see, and you will if some of you are able to retain some form of moral integrity, honesty, and fortitude you surely have not shown in your life, and if we say you made a real change with this program you will go home, other wise you will be shipped back to your home institutions to do the rest of your time, you will lose your good time, you will go to the hole, you will be ineligible for all programs in the future, you have your shot if you step of this bus." Scare tactics defiantly set before us a reality of this is not what you expected, not what you heard even from someone was here, this was not in the cards, so it seemed we got on a ride and their was no way of getting off, and we had to see it to the end, hell or real hell lay in wait the kind even tough guys say "F$!% that!" if we have any smarts to back up the talk. Freedom is the paramount objective of any man, and being locked up let's you know really what that means. "73 men, you are the 15th Platoon."  He looked at us all for long second registering faces and he seemed to take accounting of a list in his head while looking us over in contrast for a second his demeanor changed; I would know later why, words of reverence, "Welcome to the Hill." and he got of the bus.
     We filed after him, off the bus two by two, and where directed in ragged lines to a short staging area where our cuffs were take off and the count was done. We were all swinging our necks looking at everything then like a bunch of lemurs just let loss in the fence while being yelled at by DI's Tooth/Cason and DI Wolf adding in all the other DI's who were yelling, and the staff with the LT looking on, everyone came for the festivities of a new platoon on the Hill. We kept getting out of sorts as we waited the count, the DI's, the confusion was splendid. All of it was done with efficient yelling by DI Tooth/Carson and DI Wolf at the helm, then the bark, "A quitter!" We all looked towards the disturbance getting quiet, "We have our first quitter, he would rather go eat spreads, go to a yard fenced by double razor wire, eat all he wants, watch television in the day room, call his girl pretend she's not seeing Jodi, "Jodi?" I thought. Well we are happy to give him a ride back and we extend the same ride to everyone with a nice set of bracelets to go with it as leg irons and chains for transport were brought out. The fellow was mad and showing it in his sudden realization of wearing the chains. "Hell with this place!" He yelled in rebellion, and "F^#! you!" to emphasis the fact he thought he was getting a raw deal. He stood at the front of the bus by the door hoping to get back on, and on seeing the leg chains he felt that that in no way was part of the bargain. He was not in charge at all and soon found his continued refusal of simple facts and his anger were just getting him deeper in the staffs actions. He was lead off, not put back on the bus, but lead to the hole in a white building we could see the glass bricks for light. "We now have two waiting transport. Here is a nice fact this used to be a military base and they have a real nice cement box with only those bricks you see for light, no heat, no air. "Yes" he swept his arm towards the building where the man was being lead still complaining over his shoulder doing the duck walk "We always have room." We were marched lead as a unruly rabble into the next staging area inside.
      "Form on the lines." DI Tooth/Carson took the lead verbally. She yelled to, in a constant line of repeated commands. "I want four equal lines." You have no idea the inability of 72 men to form four equal lines while being yelled at and a whole new set of social rules of which the "Sir Mam" sandwich of speaking was outlined, "Everything you say will start with a Sir or Mam and end with a Sir or Mam. That's the Sir Mam sandwich." She went on voice not lowered; I don't think voices on the hill lower until 6 pm, but that is just for ushering in the dark because loud was a constant from the DI's a never ending streams of verbal soliloquies                     then came DI Franks again          The 13th Platoon came

"Friends with a Serial Killer"

I take time, to be a better man in this waste land...

the streets... thru The Eye of  THOR

2005 Whiteaker 7th street
I first met him at a friends house. "Sean" He walked up long black Kangaroo leather, he would say later trench coat and hat. His color was off right away and a energy around him of black rot deep inside and twisted all in a walk with a long gnarled walking stick that so resembled him crooked bend and a twisted deep in the darkish gray.  His face was young but whiskers lay unkempt a bit growing here and there to lend in some age. I never seen anyone do that much black tar Heroin cooking it in the room on tin foil, this horrid retching burnt chicken smell.
        My addict came out looking meth if possible still had me and so the lure for a moment burned into me like DEATH, pure suffering of magnitude, I did one breath and the death crept upon me palatable form of inner rot. I hated it, not like and addict says they hate doing drugs but like a person of the normal walking around weed smoker who says, "That weed tastes funny." as the "WHAT??" "PCP !?" which is like having a cement brick around your head while swimming in madness. NOT to be DONE! Scary stuff! No way! Take the gallon of vomit outside.
The underworld, being so close to addicts being an addict, having seen the suffering pure, and the rabbit chasers for life, those the street swallows we see of others, we don't.

      Time would go one and I would meet him again. I was a more less unusual construct of the streets, jail, addiction, and being who I was. I was known to be a man of deep faith and had a code I follow. I don't like stealing property from people yet, I was the beef jerky bandit the same spring 73 bags a mans got to eat, but at the same time no one ever went hungry in the "Hood" most of all the kids and the elders. I met the 73rd much later in college and he was hungry. I said "What?" and did as I always did gave to others when they needed it. I gave back and respected, I was uncle THOR to a bunch of kids and kept them safe. I kept many safe some still remember. They still are here to tell of the brush they had or a nodding, "Yes." The things we know hidden in the dark corners of the mind hidden in horror to real in what is 'The Game.' That is how is started. A sister sick on Heroin,'BTH' and me not able to see a person suffer in either way for many I had watched and they hit the time, "I am kicking." through clenched teeth I would learn 10 years later what it was as I detoxed of Klonipin wrongly given me, weeks upon weeks of suffering like a violent flu that never lets you sleep. It can kill and "No ONE!" can beat it without help. That being said, suffering and me are not friends and such those who suffer were my steads. It was then after being around him for a while I heard him say this. "I have never had a real friend in my life." He meant it as a human reaches out in a moment of social response to the action of life even when that persons reality is not, what we see, humans not as we would see, everything for him was funneled through his window. The longer I knew him when moments of solitude were managed over the summer this entry into his vision of humanity as he saw it, a thing, a bunch of animals things, thing's walking doing but nothing was real in his domain, vile movies touched it, video games built around death, violence, evil fantasies, and even cartons were closer. I looked at him and it was upon me. God told me simply, "Be this mans friend." I turned and still not knowing him to well yet seeing I told him, "You have a friend." A sister in the back seat Feather Town knew I would say that. That night we went to his old home and she got well the place was empty for a table he said was from the revolutionary war period worth 70,000 dollars. In that night I would observe things that later would be useful information detailing his personality. "Cartoons, is all I watch, nothing else." "Here I brought tacos." I knew that these tacos were very unusual gift from the Mexicans he did business with, for they were made in a way that told me that a Mexican who knew no English would make creating something for the men to eat while watching their shift. I found myself again in short order close to very powerful dangerous people. It would be my relationship with God that would be the only thing saving my life later that summer, this the gift a giving someone something the never had, and the balls to see it this 'Friendship' to the end. It is a thing to 'Have no Illusions' about humans, like in that movie when the, Psychiatrist who lived with the Guerillas thought to have gone mad, Anthony Hopkins grabs Cuba Gooding Junior's and throws him against the wall, and says, "I took away your illusions." as he held him by the neck. We can do thing with our hands and minds to help the world, but the reality is, the world can grab you by the neck anytime it wants and it can squeeze until you can't breath.

      Time went on and I finished my 1st class at Lane before full time enrollment in Culinary Program in the Fall and took the summer to run amok in a -place called "Using Solutions" a Recovery House on Washington street were part time users lived next to those in recovery? or man this lady "Throw Mama from the Train" stand in was the meanest fem 'Dry Drunk' which means something horrible I ever met in my life and she was a die hard closet racist to boot. What a house it is it's own story, but back to the house or apartment in question and the man who lived there. It was behind the adult shop on 6th in the ally where the stairs make a two sided lift on the ally the bottom apartment closest to the ally was his. He moved in and with in weeks was one of the top Heroin, Meth, and various other narcotics dealers. He didn't care how much traffic he took the whole hood by storm flooding the area with most of all black tar Mexican Heroin and controlling the flow and the rhythm of the heavies, this means he kept some very high, those close to him, Snaps, Strip, Jason, this one girl with the Greenest, Eye's and tanned light native skin, more close, John of the twins, then satellite dealers wanting in deep with easy numbers, and others here and there, he would build upon the rhythm and trap people deep in addiction waiting, stabbing, nodding, constantly after a month of his moving in. The business it was game until...

I want to take pause laying in a few words about what you are about to read for I have mentioned Serial killing and Mass Shootings in my writings having been way closer to the people involved than most, Kip Kinkle, the Serial killer working the river killing the girls, and the others who seem to flock the area of evil deeds, those who run amok in criminal intent loving cruelty and violence with twist, these are the people that follow the underground system of knowledge the sadistic back room under the rug knowledge of malic for some this is the moment they fear and crave never really able to be the psychopathic madness they emulate, but a branch of their own madness. These places are realer and closer than you would ever imagine; for, most psychopathic killers are nice working men on the outside, the white professional most least seen blending into America. That is what you may have heard as something called secondary evil, man made evil, then you have heard of primary evil that which is not of here, pure evil incarnate, pure destruction and hate, ethereally living on suffering and causing things to happen by the feeding of this appetite. You will see, if you do not know but have seen the things in night that go, 'Bump'; for,
"I am THOR, I 'Bump' back."

My addict had me, and Sean used it to have me come close. He wanted me in his inner circle closer and I would watch the addicts come go, those there living those as a couples, runners the 'Fiends', those constantly bringing in money or cash, the sales, then the times as he began shutting down, things got more trippy and strange things began then the first time I saw the pendant with the strange old etchings in it was in Sean's hand and he had just given it to, Strip, and he was still in pain recovering, I could see he couldn't walk well later, "Give it to Thor." they said.
I looked and they said in conversation, "Look out it!"
"I can get anyone?" they questioned him.
"Yeah give to Thor and see what it hurts on him." conversation turning to the many times they had seen or felt firsthand the pendants touch.
I looked and said, "Wait" and then "Now" and he tossed it.
I looked at them, and they waited for the pain that must come for it had happened to them to everyone.
     It landed in my hand and I already knew to some level what I was holding for I had to set myself before I even touched it. They looked again, "Nothing?"
"Nothing hurt?" Snaps asked with a look of total disbelief on her face.
I looked at him and said, "You want me to fix it?"
A look of fear came across his face, a blink, "No." his response clipped and in short he snatched it back quickly in hopes I did not close my hand and just carry out my threat. I would have for I did not like it but I was his friend.
    It all started coming together the next few weeks and my ability to read a situation began to work in earnest the first main clue was a big one even though I was still in the dark. I was sitting talking with him and he asked, "Thor, what kind of shovel should I buy for doing some work in tight quarters?" I would actually take him to the store
I looked at him guessing the worst that one of his people had overdosed and he needed to bury the body. I was right, but the whole story was unfolding. I began to watch the people around him what they were doing, how much Heroin was being used not as profit, how much for something else.

Heroin used for another purpose. Sean would load monster hits for people and then watch them do it all. It was a display. It was done in groups for show, the scare and it was done in private. It was also done the very young couple that lay in the fenced in area on the back porch. He fed them as much heroin as they wanted, more. The two of them not much more than twenty would be there stabbing their selves for hours until they could get a hit. I watched sort of waiting to buy some weed. I was high. In that house everyone was high, Meth, Heroin, Cocaine, Crack, and Weed. I sat and watched them froth at the mouth speaking in mumbles, nodding then, licking spilt blood mixed with heroin from their leg and needles. You can't imagine, but it in itself is a horror, watching this type of suffering.
It is this, this horror, this suffering, this souls in the breach due to un-human reality. If you use heroin you can keep increasing until you are what they call in the rhythm. It is a place so removed from reality that it harbors the vestiges of darkness for they hear the call of suffering. I am saying plain and simple a dark form, a spirit, a demon waited, to be called. I was in the room watching and listening the way I do. I was on the other side of the Huge Flag carrying the Swastika with blood squirts from needles on it, and their were 4 people in the other room. Stripes, Snaps, A green eyed girl very pretty with black hair, "S" and Jason. Sean had given "S" a huge hit one so big she stuck the needle in her back and slowly "Muscled it" they say. While this was going one Sean, and the other 3, one being her "Hoodie" boyfriend who was stimulating her sexually. I will pause to say this is a world of addiction drug use deep for he had everyone deep into the rhythm, so when she did her hit the orgasm can with it. It was during this process that the room changed, it got in form hazy, dark in shadows deeper, the light was just plain dimming from the window, and then it stopped. Sean did something behind the flag and then said, "It's THOR!" His voice now angry an emotion he never showed emotions, he was a sociopath, they don't show emotion. "It won't come while THOR is here."
"Get him to leave>" Jason said, But Sean's grunt said that wasn't happening. Time went forward faster for he kept kicking more and more heroin on the street and the Mexicans were giving it cheap. He was nearing 1/2 lb a week or more, and much was used.

"Rats" the words dripped from his mouth like acid. His friends on the porch had turned to animals and his every word towards them was vile. The couple, his roommates and partners the couple were still there, but didn't even hear his words anymore. They waited for the heroin and did more and more. I saw them one last time. They were holding each other, they both had abbesses and the male had a huge one in his main chest cavity over his kidney. I gave him a short examination and said, "Go to the hospital or you will die."  He did not. I like to think they died as I last saw them, in each others arms and in love. I am sure he gave them one more big hit to kill the pain.
"Rats" "Vile dirty scheming loathsome, Rats!"
I caught Snaps and Strip away from the apartment a few days later. I had been waiting to catch them.
"He is going to kill you!" I went right at them in full mode of, 'I am really pissed off and you will listen.' they listened, "What happened to the couple?" "You are next!" with my finger pointing in their face. They listened, and got away, it was not easy. They were both so deep that stopping could almost kill them. Sean called me in an exasperation telling of a robbery and I went and hunted down Jason and 'S' in a hotel room got their runner on the steps and made him take me up. I had given her a silver dollar to protect her, but has is it's own story. I looked at them when I found them and they were scared most of the items they had were not what I was told they were and I began to weigh the whole situation. I looked at them a hard, "Don't go back." I said after a few minuets. "Ever."
The police busted Sean in his car and then in the apartment, trafficking, and soon he was on the street. I would see him twice more. This time he was doing a hit and 'BTH' was there and she turned to me and said, "He asked you log ago as his friend never let him use needles." I looked at her and said, "He is a big boy considering what he just was doing in the game. He can do as he wants. They both looked at me, for as a friend on any level that is not what I would say. The friendship verbally at that time was ended. BTH left the room.
I looked over and he finally cursed in frustration, in that lose that and addict and a very lost person finds that hole and he looked up.
I looked right at him. "Sean I was your friend. If you every do this to this town again. I will kill you."
He looked right at me and he knew.
I went on and got my life together after that more than I had in a way I never had. "Amen"

I think about the ones. I think about those two young souls who parents will never know where they are. I think about the others.
The four, I see Stripes from time to time. He spends time with his kids when he can. Jason went to prison, that saved him. Snaps is kicking it still. I don't know is she made it after that too long she went back after a few years yet I saw her with a strong man. I hope she is still alive. "S" she made it, she was a survivor, running fast and far, and she had help.

If I walk down that alley, 6th street, behind the adult shop, by Taco Bell. I will pass the tan lattice where the porch is. I will stop and pray for the two, and say "I am sorry."

Amen
THOR

Eleanora Audiobook

     If one to write verse in a way set upon this time then the very words of ethereal understanding of the place of writing and being #TheEyeofTHOR not to shrink from this knowledge, but rather to render into the stiches one taps into words then thoughts in and reality that unshadows the gray dim thoughts we have traveling, seeking and ever ever going.   It is that simple.

"I Did something Stupid with my Bike!"

I wrote this story for "Dead in 5 Heartbeats" Movie Family

I have told stories of follow the leader. "I think we have to take 2 different elevators this time." "Wow there is a lot of space in this Mall." "It is way easier to go down stairs than up."
"WAYNE STOP YELLING AT ME!" "I CAN'T HEAR YOU YOUR FACE KEEPS MELTING!"
"Those grass hoppers are little kamikazes."
and "The 'Goat' is going to get you!" (Right after it hits the ground from the swing we put on its horns and fly it into the air)>"" ha ha
BUT,
I say this next adventure. We all did the I want to try, "OUCH!" or "That was Wicked, Sic, Mad." "Jesus Sh$t! I can't believe I did that sort of a like a hill climb."
Street bikes. I had up graded to a big bike after a couple years and wreaks, "Knock knock" a 1980 850L Suzuki shaft drive, man this thing had torque, tank smackers in long black lines, and Wayne Got his 'Old Water Buffalo 750" out and had tried everything, (?) to get it going. He decides one last idea, for pushing those 3 cylinders cold was no joke on foot even as strong and fast as I was 12 sec 100 meter raw. 1% thing, super strong, but not I was not a full horse power maybe a 1/3. I soon have a "Rope" on the back of my 850L and he says "Pull me around the block…"
Suz's weight of 650+ was in the front so right off I have to sit back in the seat to get the bikes back tire from giving, a little too far and a wheelie, this sounds semi-simple. NOT!
I have to keep my bike front end down enough to steer back end down enough to pull the 750 and it does not want to be pulled it slides, it kicks and bucks. I am riding a bike doing the same thing, but even worse. I had to control pull where I was going and the pull of the bike behind me; we did not figure in the fact that the rope used on my back end railing would slide back and forth from corner to corner. I was on a bucking beast of steel pulling an old bigger beast in torque, power band, size, a 2 stroke engine is no joke, and pulling one is like pulling a very large reluctant 3/4 horse out of the barn and around the barn yard with a gelding in lead both in direct opposition and doing everything they can to get rid of the rider. I would get going then have to swing wildly as the cars on the sides of the narrow streets of Silver Spring Suburbs were suddenly in front of me. How that kept happening; I really had no time to think about it just react. We stopped for a second, as a sputter came from the old beast then it quieted again. I looked back wiping the sweat from my face, took a look at the world,, and looked back. I had to go the rest of the way around the block, not another good idea cause those cars were jumping in front of me like I was playing Frogger. I took off and right away this little silver car is right there, and the boot comes up, bounce. My arms were shaking from the reins and the beast behind me now was kicking even harder and spitting black smoke in its reluctance. I pushed on, one more left, no cars on right of street which was very helpful when the animals went to dirt in the turn. I kicked a jumping tree and laid down a massive heave giving the steel animal a serious kick to the barn yard. It followed louder than ever and more reluctance to go home than leave. All this while Wayne has been yelling behind me. "Go!' "Go you." and snapping a voice whip. The rope, the 2 animals and I didn't listen until someone yelled "Woo".
We made it back and he says. "Hell that didn't work," and laughed as he looked at the look on my face of "WT f were you thinking?" "What was I thinking?" mixed with "Sometimes that genius mind, and mine should talk.." "..Did it?" he finishes.
I quickly took the rope off, and watered, and quick brush down of the sweaty hot animal, my Steel animal Suz was not happy, but they have great trans. We would ride next week. I told him, "The floats are full of gas and rust sediment killing your carbs." He agreed he just wanted to see if we could clean them without him taking it apart. I looked again. The man worked at N.A.S.A. for 20 years, one my best friends. We were perfect together, Professor and Student both not right, bikers mentality, hidden in Suburbia.
Hey Guys D5HT fam, this is Raw.
Dedicated to every biker Nut who said. "Let's do this…"

Dead In 5 Heartbeats Movie Fan Video

So much Respect, Honor show by all M.C.s for this movie "Dead in 5 Heartbeats' and the Living Legend Sonny Barger! Great Job by Santo Films, Jeff Santo, crew and Family All.
Forever 81' L L & R
Ride strong!  #THOR

The Eye of Thor Ch 1 "Building Blocks"

My father came from a German farming family from a little town in Germany and a huge clan, Ernst's, Marx's, Humperdinkle's who traveled up the Mississippi into Minnesota in the mid 1800’s, and settled. I can count lineage back to my Great Grandma who I met on several occasions for she was alive for 14 of my years. Her name is Katherine Ernst she passed way in 1983 at the age of 103 years old. Go check out her bio. While your there Uncle Walt just turned 104. Her son Irving was “Grandpa” to me, to me and 45 cousins for Dad had 7 siblings all of whom were married with children living in Minnesota with all 11,200 lakes. Where the state bird is a kids cover your ears, “A F0oKIN MOSKITO”. Irving Grandpa lived with Grandma in a little old timey retirement where there were no children and the elders still spoke German to one another. The rest of my cousins were dispersed around the state from top to mid and just a little to the side under the guardianship of a very devout catholic family. No divorces, mostly. My grandpa played the organ in the church for 45 yrs he would often play at gatherings at his house. I still remember his sing song voice as he rocked back and forth swaying with the organ. I mean if you’ve never seen anyone work a full sized organ you should, the hand the feet all moving in a dance of music and voice. In their house is one of all the grandchildren’s fondest memories, an old style Coo-Coo clock which we all had spent at least the time it took to see the Coo Coo once per year. A strange vigil that I witnessed one year that would go on all day; for, that year the Ernst annual reunion was at the little house where our Grandparents resided. I recall joining one or two groups of children who had not seen the Coo Coo and we would wait together until the small blue, white, and black bird would emerge from its little wooden door. I’ll get back to Minnesota later for that will occupy a large part of my life and gives reason to my many facets, yet I bring it up now to give a view of my Dad Jerome Ernst and his humble beginnings that revolved around the Ernst family and how he be came a the adventurer and stood to be on great ground though out his life. His accomplishments range from working his way through college achieving Bachelors in Journalism and two Masters in Philosophy and Theology and after a stint in Seminary school he became a deacon in the Catholic Church. I used to barrow his collar and put on a blue blazer and slacks and pull the “Father John” act, a very serious character who was know even to have attempted to bless Mr. Ribzeke his seventh grade teacher in St Michael’s Catholic elementary school but that’ a story for much later. One of his Articles “The confrontation at Selma Alabama” published in 'The Mission Magazine' earned him a Journalism award recalled a major turning point in the civil rights movement.  There where two separate confrontations held in Selma the first one was at the bridge heralding all the violent actions and horrifying displays of suffering and terror portrayed in documentaries of that time period, the second the second was different. Up until this time the marches, sit ins, and freedom rides were organized and implemented by the SNCC and others found ways to be part of the 'Civil Rights' period ending with Kings death. The march in Selma was the first time that white Christian’s many of notoriety joined with the Black marchers. My father is a white man back then he was very white (as in not hip it’s just not in him.), but also my father has a very clear understanding of right and wrong and the duty that we all share is to treat all people with honor compassion and respect, so when the other white Christians traveled all from over the country to witness and participate in the marches there bye being willing to accept whatever violence or harm that could come. Dad and friends chartered a plane and flew down. You see when they started that march they didn’t know that there would not be violence. I had Dad send me the article and as a bonus 13 different responses to his letter in the Magazine. I expect you will be shocked as I found myself, so take a look. #Selma #TheEyeofTHOR '13 letters'. That is the kind of man my Dad is, all through his life he has been the champion of noble and charitable causes one of which is me. Dad is still friends with the Arch Bishop of Boston he told me he flew up to see him a couple of months ago. He came to dinner once and for a catholic school kid who knew quite well the higher-arch of the Catholic Church an arch Bishop is about as powerful as they come. The list would start with nuns just a regular sister, add teacher another level, then Sister Mary Raymond our principle who we all had to standup and greet her formally as a class in one voice no goofing’ off, “Good afternoon Sister Mary Raymond” and then wait for her to speak. The next level up was a priest cause he had his hands on some real powerful God stuff in the form of Sacraments, next up the Priest of the parish until cardinals and bishops and I get lost at that point. I figure along came mom and that was the story, or at least when I come into the story. I saw pictures of my father years ago before the time of my youth where he wore a full beard for a few years in Detroit and Washington, back when he was a clean shaved man in his twenties wearing his wedding tux standing next to my mother before her hair was red she was a deep brunette with long flowing hair. They stood on a great red stair case in Grandma Murry’s house. The other remarkable thing about Dad was that he had a motorcycle, a little 150cc Rice burner with a red tank. He used to give me rides on the tank. I still recall an autumn day when were took a ride on Rock Creek Parkway, and how exhilarating it was.        

            My mother Margaret Agnes Murry, her maiden name in contrast came from an Up-state New York society family, the Murrys and O’Shey clan. Reunion’s in my mother’s family were a completely different matter and often held in Leroy New York a little town with a big herald for Jell-O was born here. We would have so many different kinds of Jell-O, with marshmallow, grape, or chopped carrots or shredded cabbage aligning the table at our Reunion BBQs. What was different about those reunions were their size comparably to an Ernst family reunions, the my cousins were often once removed or second or the niece of some great uncles’ sister or some other form of linked up family tree. My Grand mother Lucile Murry was the one who soldiered up the family and made sure all were accounted for and present at all family functions. Grandpa was a dentist and had made well in life he died when I was five I don’t remember much at all about him what I do remember is just a vision of him in the back patio of the house. Him standing there smoking a cigarette. I’m going to start with stories about Grandma Murry, O Shea and me for after all these years the relationship I had with her was very special, and until now I have never wrote any stories about her.

 I guess it’s because I blame myself still after all these years for not being at her bedside, for not doing what needed to be done, for not being there when my mother’s and uncle Ed’s animosity that had they carried for many years went unchecked until it erupted into a battle that would for a long time haunt the family. So Uncle Michael, Robert, Edward, please help my mom to come to peace because that was the last wish your mother really wanted and to tell me one last thing. Lucile didn’t write that to me in her letter for you all know she wrote me a letter for my own eyes only. Written in shaking hand writing and stained with both our tears.  I say that because that is what she left behind in me. The importance and the necessity of keeping family extended or close always on civil terms that is a condition of family she was always unwavering in the lesson she gave me and I still hold them with the highest regard. I dated this Lady and she had two kids the younger of the two Jacob and I became real close. I used to ask to Jacob, “What does O’hana mean?” He would pipe right up and say, “O’hana means family nobody left behind” It was good for Lillo and Stitch I guess if you have a broken or troubled family even if they come from different places or mothers the most important thing to do is keep them as close and cherished, never abandoning the base need for compassion and not forgetting what our elders have taught us by deed and word.

Grandma would call me “Master of the house” in reference to the station upon which she wished me to follow, and I find for another as well, one that held a secret she did not divulge until upon her death bed in a letter written to me. I must be careful to lay the puzzle of my life out a piece at time, but so to say my Grandma held a big one. I have been on an airplane flying to see family as far back as I can remember. My first solo flight was about the age of 7 or 8 and it was to Grandma Murry’s house in Rochester New York. Back then when a kid got on an airplane you could go up to the cockpit and see the captain and look at some of the gadgets. The Captain would point at a dial and that saying, “Well son you can see here we’re flying at 16000 ft at 360 miles per hour” and then he would give me a pair of wings made out of pewter, one year’s flight I got a little cast iron hand painted Pan Am Bowing 737 with little wheels of steel that worked. Grandma would be waiting on the tarmac at the base of the old style rolling stair way or just in side. I would be wearing some outfit my mother had put me in and a “carry on” for my dad was “always” beating the air line by some measure. He carried my sister Alicia on the plane wrapped in a blanket and made her fain sleep until she was 4 ½ so he didn’t have to pay extra air fare. All in all that means I got the biggest possible carry on in one hand and some other bag that was the real carry on for me in the other. Did I mention that I was allergic to tennis shoe rubber until I was in the second grade, so I had to wear hard sole shoes made of leather everywhere? I hope you’re getting a visual of this little kid under a big air plane dragging and fighting with a suitcase as big as him another over his shoulder while the roar of great behemoths of the sky shook the very air about him. Okay that’s a little exaggerated but you get the idea. The moment Grandma she saw me out of her mouth would come a “Pollock” which my father felt were in bad humor, yet I always got a good chuckle out of.

“Two Pollock’s are working on the side of this house ya see” she would start off while we were making our way through the airport terminal on our way to baggage pick up. “and one of them keeps throwing nails over his shoulder. The other one stops and calls out. ‘Why do you keep throwing the nails over your shoulder?” the other replies “All the heads are on the wrong end” Grandma give me one of here quick winks that only I could see for grandma had the fastest wink ever.  “The first Pollock’s yells back “What’s wrong with you? We can use those on the other side of the house.” At this point we would start laughing. My Grandma’s laugh could bring the priest to a chuckle every time, so it left me rolling or grabbing my side as if I were in pain yet, in truth Grandma’s laughter filled me with a warmth that could wash away any trouble and conquer any fear I encountered when we were together. Grandma was short and round with a perpetually slightly pink nose that often marched the shade of her full cheeks especially if she was in the kitchen preparing one of her fabulous Family dinners with the fine china in the main dinning room or the foyer. She had a cute white top often in a perm. She loved running here fingers through my hair when I was young. It was the 70’s, I had a bush, but not like an Afro-bush more like a gentle large curl that could be lifted by leaps and bounds with a pick. My head when all picked out was soft as could be and when really long I would turn a corner and it would follow me later like a huge brown mane. Her eye’s were a gentle gray color and always had that a secret mischievous sparkle which children so readily under stand like how to “play”. Her hands were well manicured long finger adorned with her wedding bands with a slight plumpness that surrounded all of grandma’s features. On the backs of her hands were the liver spots that she so complained about. Her hands had a strength about them, a constant purpose whether in the show of an elegant societal woman with high and regarded standing, or in the course of delivering a point which she always started with the catch phrase. “Now Ned”, is how she usually started. Ed’s my uncle he lived at home most of his life. Grandpa was Edward the first so Ed was his name shortened for calling round the house and Ned was Grandma calling Uncle Ed. Got it, because I’m not writing that again. One day I’m going to stop looking at the keys. Don’t make fun until you hear the layout of the house to say it is big is an understatement it dwarfed the three story Victorian, I grew up in and that is big by all standards it was more a small mansion type a very New England style. She would get started again and then get my name right, “John listen” and so the lecture would start. Her finger would be pointing in gesture for she said it was rude to point. It’s not really fair to say Grandma lectured me.  She lectured my uncle Ed not me, with me everything was different. Mom had her hands just as full of all the love, and strength.  If you’re lucky enough to have had someone when you were young who could reach you and lift you up so you felt you could understand people or life or something big God maybe. Grandma was that person for me. Cause as a mulloto adopted boy growing up in between two cultures that rejected him in the 70’s with all the privileges that the child of two White professionals could give him needed all the help that he could get pretty much because no matter what the deck is already double stacked against him. I’ll go into that later but it helps build the character of this young boy. Few places in his regular life could he be the “Master of the House” in his regular life.  This might have explained the increased time away from home over the years where some summers I spent two months away on vacation from the perils and battles of my life. Grandma and I the Master of the House, we were undefeatable in any measure.  I would fly in a week or two ahead of my parents and it would just be me and grandma for a spell. Grandma Murry had a golden Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with a 350 rocket engine. All the mechanics who saw her car wanted to buy it from her and she would always remark on it when we were driving in from the airport. She would tell me Uncle Ned had caught a couple of squirrels with his new traps, and how Pauline was, and catch me up on all the family near and far. We would pull up on the right side of the house parking in back. I can still smell the musty old garage where I would play with my life size plastic bowling ally. We would enter the back into the kitchen area where the breakfast table would be at over looking the back right side of the back yard where lay a plush green lawn. In the early years Grandma had this great big Great Dane that live in dog house and was chained to the house for some untold indiscretion of the past. Surely a life sentence was handed to him after Grandpa Murry died for it was his dog and no one else felt the need to give the dog walks except for Uncle Ed’s occasional gesture which meant Grandma had caught him at one of the meals of the day. It was a BIG house. If you were to be driving west on Park Ave in Old town Rochester and made a left I forget on what street two houses in was the Murry house. It sat upon a great flag stone and slate patio that was wide as well as had length that truly gave one the feeling of passing under the four columns that rose in Romanesque from the slate in stone in brilliant white brightness for two stories giving the House a feeling of great import and so, inviting the guest forward with echoes of more splendors to be regaled inside. After ringing the chimes one enters into a small glass box hallway that was put in to have a proper area for travelers who come in from the cold and often record snow fall upstate New York weather. Once you have passed thru the final portal a door of etched glass you might make it two or three steps before you must stop and admire the whole seen as it invites the eye to cross the great red carpet and travel up the red stair case with a great wide railing with white ornate columns winding up and to the left out of sight on the second floor a good fifteen or twenty feet above. If you looked to your left lay the main living room with a great large fire place with a huge brass screen covering it and a matching set of sweep broom, poker, and shovel by its side like tiny sentinels of the fire. This was the center of the room above it a hand painted picture of my mother at the age of 12 or 13 done while she posed. I can see it in my head the painting itself was a least 4 ft with a Golden Frame further increasing the over all effect, she has just a gentle smile that would be considered very demure and proper, and was wearing a white blouse that was in sharp contrast to her dark chestnut brunette eyes and hair. Two your right laid my Grand Parents room still holding two full sized beds where they slept. In fact this room was the official Dinning room and the one in back for staff, but that was in days before I came when my mom was young. Aunt Regina Murry lived on the second floor in the apartment their in. The other was usually rented out. A stair way continued up to the third floor thru the main stair well opening to the longest hallway in the house. Up here is where I stayed. I at one end of the hall Uncle Ed at the other there was the trophy room with recreation stuff, an old train set, and stuffed critters my Uncle and Grandpa had killed in their days of hunting, including a big old Moose head of great stature and size. At the end of the long hall lay the true attic behind a great big door, a door made even larger when you open it by the insulation cover that was attached to the door.

 Grandma had bad knees so it was real hard for here to go up stairs. Today, I was helping her up the stairs one by one. I was 15 that summer and was pretty strong, my athleticism had been spurned by my growth spurt and traveling everyday to my best friends’ house, and Grandma wanted to get some paper work out of her safe. She leaned on me with her hand gripping my arm the other grasped the railing. In my ear her breath came labored and sweat broke out on her brow, each step became an individual effort. A battle I truly understand as I sit in my own home as I have for a month since my injury that has robbed my body of mobility. We took a rest on the second floor landing on the Davenport that lay next to the wall by Aunt Regina’s room which now was occupied by some foreign dweller.  Grandma turned to me and as she began to catch her breath, and said with a voice touched with a little remorse that now was bereft of the old indifference that she used to refer to her in law sister my Great Aunt Regina, Aunt Regina had died a year earlier and though they were never really close after Grandpa died. I will say this that Aunt Regina was at every family reunion and family dinner that afforded loved ones, so to say my Grandmother was true to her word about family, to the extent she had aunt Regina in the same house with her for 10 years. I come to the second floor and visit her; she would always have a small silver candy dish full of marshmallows waiting for me on her small antique coffee table. Aunt Regina was wild cat in her younger days. I had chance to ask her about these claims made by my Grandma and Mother. In way of proof Aunt Regina pulled out an old trunk which was full of old 20’s vaudeville clothing. “Boy, I won my fair share of Charleston dance contests in my day’ she remarked with a wispy quiet voice. Her funeral was a quiet affaire so I was told she had out lived most of here friends passing away in her mid 80’s.

 “I haven’t been up here since Regina died.” The second floor landing was almost a room in it’s self tucked away in the middle of the house; it portrayed the same red carpet that covered the stairs and downstairs entry way. I really didn’t know what to say. I replied the only way I knew how. “I miss eating marshmallows and visiting her” I said with a voice just as quiet as hers. Grandma gave my hand a little squeeze. We sat there in the quiet until she was ready for the next stair case. I believe we both knew what Aunt Regina’s death meant, but we dare not think it or stay in that place longer than we had to. The reality that life was finite was too much for us.

We finally reached the third floor, and made our way down the hall. I was handed a great big Skeleton key, and put it into the lock and turned. The lock inside the door clicked and the door caught the air in the house and moved just a little. A heavy musty smell punctuated by the smell of mothballs and old paper began to creep into the air. I gave a big push and the door slowly began to move inward. The attic was huge and the door once you were in the room seemed almost small in this cavern. The light was lost in the shadows of the far corners even after I turned on the hanging light bulb over our head. In the middle of the floor sat a great behemoth heralding a four foot cube of black steel studded with great knobs each the size of a small fist embedded in the face and side in regular intervals. I was given the job of turning the dial her bad eyes were useless practically in the dim room, so all her instructions were from memory. After I had successfully entered the combination; I pulled with a great heave and the door creaked with a scream like a raccoon fight. I jumped waiting for the death that must surely come when such a noise is herd. Grandma had made a little face but that was it. I looked at her with a new sense of respect. Grandma was cool like that. I pulled the door again, the same sound echoed, I almost jumped again were it not for Grandma on my back keeping me covered with her security of love and strength, if Smith and Wesson could get that stuff for home defense they could make a mint. The reason Grandma had me come up was that she was the only one in the family who knew the combination of the safe she told me uncle Ed had been trying to get his hands on the Dead to the house for years, and she always relented, and by all rights it was Grandmas house. Those weren’t the papers she was looking for but I do recall it was some form of legal business that required her direct attention. What I do recall were two of the items she showed me other item a solid antique gold pocket watch which she put in my hand just like she used to do with money right in front of my mom, but this time it wasn’t on the sly but it was done with the same thought a silent communication, of a conversation we had a year earlier.

 Grandma had pulled me aside and told me any money she gave to me was to be used as she told me to. I had asked, “Well what do you want me to do with it” I replied cause I wanted to spend it like any boy, yet having great reverence for what my grandma always taught me I was willing to endure any possible plan she may offer even if it meant saving it. Again I was a little boy of the natural order in so to speak if you give me three dollars allowance and tell me I should save 50 cents each week to buy something nice, but if I want I can spend the whole dollar. I would be off and running to the store cause already got planned what buy. You’ve seen it, a little kid practically jumping up and down, squirming all over the place standing in one spot, and the kid finally gets the awaited treat or gift and , ZOOM their off to the races, candy full speed ahead, are you hearing me. That was me. The reverence I held for such gifts from Grandma were above all this; for, I was the Master of the House, “in training” yet I took the appointment with the gravest of resolve taking pride from such a great title. Grandma had been sitting in the house at 7822 Carroll avenue house and had been writing letters home and sending post cards. She leaned close to make point of which she was to tell me, and I in turn leaned close to her.  Her eyes shined with mischief like they did when she was reading me a story of classic mystery and intrigue we were coming to climax in the plot. Her voice gathered a mock solemn tone, cause underneath she was bursting with joy at me, with me, and she said, “I want you to blow it, spend it have fun, and Just” and now her eyes shined with two sparkles, wet with the tears of life and laughter, “Just, I love you and have a good time.”

My mother would grill me later in the car. I was all like, “Grandma didn’t give me any money” in a matter fact tone. Grandma starting making ways up to give me five or ten bucks, here and there, she’d call me back in the house just when my mom was ready to leave or have me put her mug in the sink and palm me the cash. That Easter break was when she came to see us that year and I had raided every Easter basket I could and saved Grandma’s favorite type of jelly bean; I knew she loved black.  

In my hand lay the pocket watch. It was heavy with a long chain gold chain. “This was your grand fathers and I want you to have it some day.” She said while I gazed in wonder at the watch, all I could say was, “Really?”

Uncle Mike’s room was on third floor and this is where I stayed when I became a young man. Uncle Michael had this waxed handlebar mustache that was curled upward brought to two perfect tips. It went well with his laugh which was a rolling deep belly laugh that grew and grew until it burst forward from his mouth causing all in the vicinity to smile. Uncle Robert is my mother’s third brother’ he lives in Texas with his kids Kelly and Brian; for many years the boys were my only close cousins from the Murry family.   

 Up until then Grandpa’s bed was not in use. Grandma loved mysteries only the best because she could figure out any mystery no matter how complicated. I would park next to her with some small book of my own. I remember when I learned to read one day in the second grade it just clicked; for awhile I turned inward to the world that was in reading. Me and Grandma were inseparable.

Uncle Ed was the playboy of the family living life in a Cadillac and jet setting to his favorite getaway Hawaii on a regular basis real-estate pays. I snuck in his room when I was about 11 and found lots of pictures of these beautiful Hawaiian women adorning his walls. He gave me a collection of ties that could be seen from low flying air craft there were so bright full of loud colors one had translucent flowers of all colors that could be herd around corners; I wore it proudly at Saint John De’ Matha Catholic High School were we wore a uniform and Blazer with a school emblem on the corner. No-body I mean no-body wore loud ties in the mid 80s’. I’m not saying my Uncle Ed was a bad dresser on the contrary he was a wearer of Fine clothing tailored to fit or sorting such names as Lord of London or Pier Cardoon He taught me to wash my face when I was a boy, and how to cup my hands and rinse the water off my face. “And” he said, “you can get some water to rinse your mouth and get a drink” Wow I thought to my self. I’ll never have to use a glass again to get a drink of water, pure genius to a six year old boy who was constantly on the look out for ways to cut corners. O yeah and the squirrels lets not forget the battle with squirrels that never stopped. The trapping of the squirrels that lived all around the house so they wouldn’t get in the eves, and then releasing them in a state park near bye. He would have me check the traps with him in the morning, and we would find out if there was a smart one who just nibbled on the peanut butter or a big clumsy one who set the trap off. Some time they would set up quite a racket scratching and banging in the cage. Grandma would be in the kitchen grumbling just waiting for Uncle Ed or me to show up at the breakfast table via the back stair way. If it was me; I would be grudgingly ascend the three stair cases to the third floor and all the way down the hall to uncle Ed’s room my little legs pumping hard, and retrieve

Grandma and I spent our afternoons taking in walks or shows. Grandma would be telling me the ways of gentlemen like appropriate rules of conduct to be observed when being introduced to a “Lady”. This includes directions on how a young “Gentlemen” would shake the hand of said “Lady” rehearsing how many fingers to hold and how this was decided upon a “Lady’s” stature whether it be a “Miss” a single available woman, a “Mrs.” a married woman, or a “Mrs.” widowed woman each station afford a different hand shake with the smallest inclinations in the “Gentlemen’s stature. Grandma and I were inseparable.

One of our outings was at the showing of the 1940’s version of “Mutiny on the Bounty” with Hands Christian Anderson xxx. Grandma instructed me to put on my Sunday and some times Thursday clothes she went to church twice a week, and I had chance to go with her. Today was different we were dressing for the show. I put on brown slacks, a white shirt, short brown tie, and my Tom McCanes. I met Grandma in the foyer; she also had dressed for the occasion in long blue gown that reached just below her knees with white gloves and a bonnet fashionable at the time. When it came to fashion and the times she was always spot on. It was this day that I was quizzed on the ways of a gentleman on our way to the theater by Grandma; for, we were making our society début. We walked down Park Avenue her arm wrapped around mine with her white gloved hand nestled against my wrist. She was awfully proud and to be truthful so was I. We walked and talked about the people I would be meeting. I can’t remember any of their names, yet at the time each person’s name and station if markble were presented to me before hand so I would be able to, “Impress their socks off” as Grandma said. This showing of the “Mutiny on the Bounty” was done in the old high-brow style with the gathering of the patrons before the show, where pleasantries were exchanged, a veritable cornucopia of society people milled here and there saying their hellos’ and regaling each other with stories of their children or other relations. It was at this time I truly realized how well known and respected my Grandmother was. All types of people in their best clothing stopped and said hellos to the both of us. We were treated as “the bell of the ball” and given the head of the parade of people that funneled into the seating area to watch the show. The theatre had been built in the 30’s; it sported a balcony, and box seating lining the sides of the vast room. The molding was painted gold sharply contrasting the red of the curtains and seating. Grandma turned to me and said, “Isn’t this something? And us leading the way.” I could have sworn she walked a little taller, and she smiling indeed beamed in pride as we made our way down the aisle. We took a seat not to far back for her eyes were becoming a problem and settled in for the show. Grandma and I were inseparable.     

  Another time we went to the planetarium to watch a show. It was my first time at a planetarium; I’m sure my eye’s resembled two giant saucers, as the familiar voice took Grandma and me on a journey through the solar system. At the end of the show Grandma told me she had a surprise. We walked to the center of the large half dome towards the speaker. My Grandma stopped and said, “Lenard this is my grandson.”

Lenard Nemoy gazed down at me and replied, “The young master Ernst; I have herd good things about you.”

I was dumbfounded and the only word that came from my mouth was, “Spock… Spock” he found this humorous, and I got to hear him laugh which all things considered no one had ever herd him laugh in his true voice; Vulcan’s don’t laugh.

Grandma was pretty hard on my dad sometimes. Whenever she would come to town Dad would be running through the airport with my mother and I in tow. His goal was the Fannie May chocolate counter. He always did this, a sort of ritual. I wonder what went through his mind on the days before Grandma would arrive. I can imagine his internal struggle and an inner voice telling him not to cow tow to Grandma’s whims and stand his ground. Like I said before my Dad’s a big sap, so guaranteed he would be running through the airport again.

My mother called me at Red Lobster to tell me Grandma was sick and in the hospital. Mom asked if I wanted to go to Rochester to see her one last time. I declined. I have few regrets in life and this is one of them. I just went back to work. In truth this was the only way I knew how to deal with major problems in my life at the time; this will become evident as tell stories of my time at RICA Rockville. Chuck was the manger when the first phone call came in and he had the common decency to allow me to speak to my mother in the privacy of the office. When the second phone call came in, heralding the dreaded news that my Grandma Murray had died Bob Bloomer, “Racist asshole” (He once told me and Leonard Long that we had to keep our hair nets on real tight so people wouldn’t find pubic hair in our food, and then laughed.)  Came out of the office and said, “I had a phone call” paused and said to me, “Your Grandmother died.”

My Grandma had one last thing to tell me. It was in letter done in her own hand writing, barely legible. It said how much she loved me, gave a list of items that I was to have from the will, and a name, the name of my blood father a man who I would meet many years later.