Why I Can't Be a Republican Anymore...

Keep in mind that I came of age in the late 70s and early 80s.  The democrats had been having their way for a long, long, long time.  When that happens, a party's good ideas were implemented a long time ago.  What's left on their "to do" list is usually some pretty extreme stuff.

Too much of almost anything is bad.  For instance, affirmative action?  When it is used to make sure that everybody has opportunity, regardless of race, it is an unadulterated good in the world.  When it is used to deny admission to Asian people, because otherwise there'd be too many of them, it is bad.  (This was done at many prestigious California schools and is still being done today.)

No party has a monopoly on good ideas.  Show me a person who is 100% democrat or 100% republican, and I'll show you a person who really hasn't devoted any thought to the issues.  I'll show you a person who has simply chosen a tribe, dogmatically, and is voting on emotion, not logic.

When the Republicans came into the fore in the 80s, they were a party of ideas.  They were refreshing after too many years where unions (a good thing) were protecting incompetent workers (a bad thing.)  They were refreshing after too many years where a proliferation of government programs (generally a good thing) were making it impossible to balance the budget without massive taxation (a bad thing.)

So, they talked a good game and they gradually gained power.  It's hard to imagine, but prior to the mid 90s, most people thought of Republican control of the House of Representatives as an absolute impossibility.  The Republicans, themselves, had resigned themselves to the role of the loyal opposition, but really didn't ever make designs on being able to control government.

In the 90s, though, all that changed.  Bill Clinton survived by virtue of a bad economy in '92 and a great economy in '96.  Other than that, the Republicans ruled the roost.

In 2000, they took over the House, Senate and Oval Office.  They were fully in charge.

What did they do?  The first thing I noticed was they overhauled the bankruptcy laws in what was a very, very obvious favor to banks at the expense of people who were struggling so badly, the best they could do was simply give up.  To this day, student-loan debt is non-dischargeable, and anybody with an above-average income probably can't file Chapter 7. 

In addition, the Republicans lowered taxes, but ballooned the deficit.  I generally support lower taxes, but not at the expense of saddling my son and future generations with an onerous tax burden.

The breaking point for me came in 2008, when the Republican President and his Treasury Secretary decided to bail out Wall Street.

Free market capitalism is something I firmly believed in, despite the pain it sometimes causes people.  The republican house and senate supported the bailouts (to a slightly smaller degree than the democrats did, but they still supported it.)

Which pretty much filled out my report card on my party. 

1.  Fiscal conservatism meant nothing.
2.  Lower taxes meant everything.
3.  Big, wealthy constituencies like the banks were to be favored over working people, even those working people who were on such hard times that they were bankrupt.
4.  The free markets were insignificant.

I can't say that I'm happy with the Democrats, either.  When given their chance, they screw over the little guy in favor of monied interests just as much as the Republicans do.  When our current president took power, he continued the free-ride that Wall Street got under Bush so he could focus on health care.  Then, when he implemented health-care, he cut backroom sweetheart deals with the very monied interest that have been bankrupting us.

It's just that I can't support the Republicans anymore.  They can not possibly claim, with a straight face, that they are a party of fiscal conservatism.  Even the current presidential nominee thinks the Wall Street bailouts were a great idea.  So, Republicans can't possibly claim that they support free enterprise.  What they support, more accurately, is crony capitalism.

Their reform of the tax code, roughly a decade ago, has produced a ridiculous monster that asks too little of the wealthy and essentially made your 1040 a wealth-redistribution tool through refundable tax credits.

At times, it was hard to know what, exactly, the Democrats stood for.

However, today, I honestly don't know what Republicans stand for.  The only things they appear to stand for are social conservatism and lower taxes.

Taxes that are too low on the wealthy is one of the problems creating our current deficit, though.  Irresponsibility is not fiscal conservatism, no matter how you love low taxes.  Given their love of profligage spending in the Bush years, I can't take them seriously on the isssue of fiscal discipline.

So, we have a party that's socially conservative, and fiscally irresponsible.  I, personally, am socially progressive and fiscally conservative. 

The Republicans have managed to be the 180 degree polar opposite of what I am and what I want.  In addition, there's a cavalier air of cruelty towards those who are struggling in the current economy. 

Will this make me a Democrat?  I doubt it.  I find Democrats to generally be better-intentioned than Republicans, especially on issues that impact the little guy.  The thing is, the Democrats haven't been able to get their act together ever since I graduated High School.  The current health-care reform, which does nothing to even slow down the rate at which medical costs will bankrupt us, is typical of what you get from Democrats:  bills that do a little bit of good, that help a small minority of people tremendously, but which ignore reality and ultimately will cause a train wreck.

So, I don't know which direction, politically, I'll be going.  It's as though I have to chose between a party that's evil and a party that's wholly incompetent.  For the first time in my life, I've become cynical.  I am starting to believe in my bones that no matter who we elect, they'll do all they can to screw us over for the benefit of the wealthy.

Business Follies...

Okay, as some of you may know, the business has been having a tough go of it for some time, now.  That doesn't keep people from trying to strongarm and threaten us.  Earlier this year, we had a customer who called us about a complaint for a job we did in 2009. 

Now, I offerred her a complete refund (two and a half years after the job was done), but she refused and said she was going to hire an attorney, complain to her insurance company, etc.

If she did speak to an attorney, the attorney probably told her... oh... that a full refund is pretty much as good as you can ever do in any matter like this.  So, after a couple more months, she called to say she now wanted the refund that she had previously rejected.

If the business were still kicking butt, I'd probably have just paid it, but frankly, this customer was such a pain in the rear, and was so unbelievably rude and unreasonable, I just wasn't in the mood.  Told her that while reviewing her contract in anticipation of dealing with her attorney, that I discovered she was outside her warranty period and that we weren't going to do anything about a claim about a defect of workmanship that is brought to us over 2 years after the work was done.

(This really is true.  In 8 years of business, we've never really had a situation like this.  Certainly never over work we did 2 years prior.  So, I had to be reminded of the warranty terms in our standard T&Cs.)

You hate to be this way.  On the one hand, a businessperson needs to do all they can to keep customers happy.  However, if this woman was already trashing us to her insurance company, she already removed any incentive we could ever have to give her what she wanted despite the fact that we were completely in the right.

The other reality is that a businessperson can't let every idiot with a bogus gripe take a pile of money out of the business.  I heard a saying a long time ago, that I truly do believe:  if you can't look a grown adult in the eye and tell them "no, you're wrong", then you can't possibly run a small business.

So, today, I get forwarded this e-mail by an employee:


We have a new employee working at our agency and her name is (customer).
(Customer) lives in (city) and when I was reviewing her home insurance policy
with her we got in a discussion regarding sewer back up. She explained
her experience with (my company) when she had a loss 2 years ago ( I
believe??). Her company,xxxx, paid out the max on the policy of
$10,000 and there was a problem with the contractors that fixed her tile
floor. The contractor had to come back a few times to fix the problem and
it would continue to occur.

According to (customer), she spoke with someone at your company and they told
her they would send her the $600 and she could hire someone else to finish
the work. When they looked up her records the person stated the job was
done so long ago that they were not responsible any longer. None of this
sounds right to me and I thought I would start with you to see if you
could research and see if there is more to the story that what I am being
told.

(some other guy) of (some other company) was in our office that same day and
stated to me that he believes in doing the work until it is finished
right. I would assume your company would do the same? Please do what you
can to let us know if you can still be of help to (customer). Thanks for
your time.

(insurance agent)

The best compliment our agency can receive is a referral.

Ask me for a LIFE INSURANCE quote today!

To which I responded:

Greetings, (agent).

I hope this e-mail finds you well.

(employee) forwarded me your e-mail. Here are the details as best I remember them. I'm at home at the moment, so I'm working from memory, here. 


The work we did for (customer) was late 2009. She had a water damage in her basement.


We dried the basement, but unfortunately, when we went to replace the press-and-stick tiles, they would not adhere due to abnormal moisture in her floor.


We left dehumidifiers and fans in her basement for about a week longer, without charge, but still could not get the floor dry enough that it could take the tile.


This was during the Winter, and we decided that our best course of action was to wait until warmer months when the basement floor might be drier. (The ground would thaw and any potential frozen water in her foundation drain that might be keeping water under her basement floor could then flow.) 


We tried again, approximately six months later. After again drying her basement for several days (free of charge), we applied industrial adhesive and the tiles finally stuck.


(customer) called us more than two years after her tiles were put in place. There are reasons for time limits on warranties. In this case, we simply have no way of knowing what happened during the two years in-between, including the possibility that her basement may have flooded again. We simply don't know.


We had one of our employees examine the basement, and it still continued to exhibit a higher than normal degree of wetness (two and a half years after the water damage she called us for). We informed Ms. (customer) that her basement was abnormally wet, despite the presence of what appears to be a bee-dry or other similar system.


The wet condition is still present to this day. At that time (approximately March of this year), I offerred (customer) a refund of the amount we had charged. She rejected that offer and said that if we did not return and fix her basement, that she was going to contact an attorney and complain to her insurance company about us. 


In preparation for litigation, we reviewed the terms of her contract with us, and yes, she was outside her warranty period. Not just by a matter of a few months, but she waited almost 2 years after she claims she saw a problem to inform us of it. The terms of her contract require her to inform us within 60 days of completion of work. 


Given that she was so utterly unreasonable with us when we attempted to resolve this matter in her favor earlier, we simply were in no mood to be overly generous with her once she exhausted her other options and then came back to try and accept the offer she had previously rejected.


I would like to thank you for contacting us, though, as it has reminded me of a task that I've been ignoring. I still have my personal homeowner's policy with your agency, despite the fact that I can't remember the last time you referred a claim to us. I'm sure you have your reasons, and I'm sure they're valid. However, I am sure, as a businessperson, you can understand that our first loyalties must be to support those businesses that support us. 


Please cancel my homeowner's policy effective June 30, 2012.

(Signed Me)

Car Repair Follies

I used to work on my cars quite a bit.  Not as a hobby, but as a necessity.  Simple calculus, here.  If you have little money and a broken car, your options are to fix it yourself or buy nice shoes because you'll be walking everywhere.

This has, historically, led to episodes like me breaking down and crying while laying flat on my back in the parking lot of some business where my car broke down because I just stripped out a bolt on my fuel pump. 

Pretty much ever since I graduated from college the first time, I haven't had to do this much.  Trust me, I don't miss it.  I did enjoy working on my motorcycle.  They're simpler machines and almost all the mechanical components are exposed and easy to get to.  However, I've never wanted to, for instance, get a '67 Camaro and restore it in my garage.  Not my idea of fun.

Well, one of the brakes on my SUV started making that telltale squealing sound that indicates that it is worn out and needs to be replaced.  I ignored it for as long as I could.  When my SUV started sounding exactly like a cement mixer everywhere I went, I tried to ignore it even further.

Yesterday, though, on a trip to the bank, the brake started catching with a klunking noise.  When I stopped to see if I could see a problem, it was actually smoking.

Yeah, couldn't ignore this one any longer.  So, I took it to the local strip-mall tire store where I usually get my tires. 

They confirmed, yes, it was brakes.  Yes, I needed them.  Got an estimate and it was about $360.  Figure with tax, I was looking at 4 bills.  I told them I only wanted the one side done, but they insisted that they couldn't do that.  They had to do both front brakes.

So, I told them I couldn't afford it.  They hemmed and hawed and said they could do just the one side for $260.  They said they needed to replace both sides of pads, but would leave one of the rotors the same.  I was almost going to do it, but asked them to put it back together and I'd try to take care of it myself.

Went next door to the auto parts store, asked them how they rated the difficulty of the task, and the counter person said it was pretty much the easiest mechanical thing you can do on your car.  Okay.  What will I need?  They assembled a bunch of parts and off I went.  Total parts cost was maybe $75.

Got home, took the wheel off and one of the lug nuts' cover started slipping.  In case this hasn't happened to you, it goes like this.  A lot of OEM lug nuts aren't solid lug nuts.  They're a lug nut with a shiny metal cover on the outside to make them look sorta upscale.  Why they do this, I have no idea, since the hub cap cover covers the nuts.  When the guys at the tire store hit my lug nuts with an impact wrench, they wrenched the cover loose on one of them.

I tried everything:  other sockets that were slightly larger, etc.  All that happened was that I succeeded in getting a socket stuck on the lug nut.  Ended up just taking a chisel and chipping off the part exposed from the socket, and that freed the socket and the cover from the lug nut.  The lug nut was then easily removed with a metric socket.  I had to take a hammer and screwdriver and knock out the shiny cover from the socket.  Okay, the wheel is finally off. 

Keep in mind that changing brakes, for an experienced mechanic, is probably a job that should take 20 minutes per side.  I was already about an hour into this and all I had was my truck jacked up and one tire off.

I got the calipers off.  Removed the old rotor and brake pads.  Couldn't get the calipers to compress.  I didn't have a brake caliper tool.  I needed a ride to the auto parts store, but couldn't get anybody on the phone.  So I rode my bike.  Not a bad ride, but even a little 8 mile jaunt is a test when you're as old and fat as I am.

Got the brake tool kit from the store.  They actually have loaner tools there if you leave a deposit.  Compressed the calipers, and tried like the dickens to get the new brake pads in there while still using the old no-rattle springs.  Tried forever and it just wasn't going to happen. So, I just put the new pads in there without them.  The truck is going back in a few months.  It'll be fine.

Finally got the new rotor installed, new brake pads, reinstalled the caliper without incident.  Put the wheel back on, tightened the lug nuts, and voila.  My SUV no longer sounds like a cement mixer.  Oh, and yeah, it actually brakes like it is supposed to.  I guess I gotta throw that in there.

It was nice when I had money and could just pay people to do that sort of stuff for me.  However, all in all, I probably saved $300.  Even though it took 4 hours to do a job that should have taken half an hour, that's still a pretty decent hourly rate.  If I actually had my garage set up for this sort of thing, it'd be a lot easier, too.  I was doing it on the ground in my driveway.

Today, I'm stiff and sore from working with my back in odd positions.  Still, there is something extremely satisfying about working on your own stuff.  Like I said, motorcycles are really fun to work on. 

These days cars are so much better than they used to be that they don't need to be fixed all that often.  Some of the routine maintenance things like oil changes are so cheap that it doesn't pay to do them yourself.  However, brakes are something that need to be done every so many miles, and you can really save a bundle doing them yourself. 

My next car will probably be a Prius, though, and I doubt those have simple braking systems since they capture energy while braking.  Who knows.

In the mean time, I no longer have to worry about embarassing my son while my SUV makes cement mixer sounds everywhere it goes.

So much going on, so little to say...

I haven't written much lately.  It's not that things are quiet.  Things are about as eventful as they've ever been in my life.  It's just that I'm not sure what to say, or how much to say about my life.

Things are changing, though.  This time next year, I don't think much will be the same at all.  I may be starting a new job here in a few weeks.  If not, I'll be going back to Law School full-time in the Fall.

I think I have a roadmap for how I'd be able to get through 2L year of law school, but after that, things get hazy.  The job I may be starting is with the federal government.  Government job-security.  Government benefits.  Government pension.

In fact, this job was high on my list of potential jobs to apply to at graduation from law school, anyway.  It's just that due to a bizarre convergence of events, I may be able to start it this Summer instead of at graduation.

It would be three hours away, which will put a crimp on things with my son for sure.  I'll still maintain a household in Sylvania, even if it's just an apartment.  It'll be a crazy drive, and I am not entirely sure how all the details will work out.  I'd be home every single weekend.  That's not in question.  The only real issue is whether I could be home during the week at all, or how many days.  I really won't know that until I get settled in to the new job and am doing my thing there.

This means, of course, that my biz is winding down.  Not sure the exact shape and form of how I'll transition away from it, but one way or another, my days in it are numbered.  It was a good run.  It was a biggo chunk of my life.  However, I'm ready for something new.  I just don't envision myself being in this business when I'm 55.  So, it's not a question of if I want to move on.  It's just a question of when and how.

If something didn't work out and I didn't take the job, I'm actually really happy at the prospect of going back to school full-time in the Fall.  It's just that I don't know what I'd do to afford to go during my 3L year.  I'd also be graduating dead-broke.  In this market, I'd almost certainly have to hang out a shingle.  It's hard to start a business, even a pure service business, when you have zero capital. 

Right now, pretty much everything in my life is up in the air.  I think that's why I haven't posted much.  There should be a lot of things being resolved, one way or another, in the next few months. When that happens, I'll have real news.  Until then, I'm just trying to keep my head above water.

Where Did the Time Go?

A great friend of mine from college, Scott, just sent me some old letters he's kept.  I mailed some of these twenty years ago.  Funny how times change.

Back then, I had just left Texas to live in Ohio with my grandmother after grandpa had passed.  My life, honestly, still hadn't really begun.  The 90s were a blur to me.  I was in school for most of them and advancing rapidly in my career throughout.

Then, the 21st century rolled around and I was married and raising a great little boy.  Now, in the blink of an eye, I look back and try to put myself where I was twenty years ago.

At this point, I should have some profound life-lessons to share with others.  Some valuable insights that would save future generations from a few pitfalls along the way.

The reality is, the longer I live, the more I'm sure I don't know anything.  If you had asked me twenty years ago, I would have had advice for every person on the planet.  Now, I'm not sure I have advice for anybody on anything. 

Strangely, I really haven't made much progress in the last twenty years.  I'm pretty much right back where I was two decades ago.  The biggest difference is this insanely fabulous little boy who brings me joy every single day.  Other than that?

Well... let's see:

1991:  I was broke
2012:  I am broke

1991:  I was trying to figure out how I was going to get my degree
2012:  I am trying to figure out how I will get my degree

1991:  I was trying to start a career
2012:  I am trying to start a career

1991:  I had just lost one of the grandparents who raised me
2012:  I just lost the other

Now, I know that most people my age wish they were in their twenties again... I guess I can be thankful for the fact that I basically still am.

When I look back at myself at in my twenties, all I can think is how much opportunity was ahead.  The only limitations on me were the ones I put on myself.  I'll be testing the idea that this is still true for me, now.

As for what it was like?  For those in their twenties wondering what they'll be thinking in their 40s?  I guess I'd just say this:  life just sorta happens.  You move towards goals when you can.  You survive when you have to.  The opportunities never end.  You won't have reached your goals in your 40s.  At least, you won't if you're lucky.  People hate the struggle, but people need the struggle.  It's part of what defines us as human beings.  As cliched as it sounds, it really isn't any particular destination.  It's the journey.

My Queen in Calico

When I was very little, my grandmother used to sing to me.  I thought she had a beautiful voice.  One of the songs she used to sing was "School Days".  I really didn't understand the lyrics.  The song was old, even when she first heard it.  It was written in 1907 and she wasn't born for another 11 years. 

Now that she's gone, I am trying to call up all my memories of her.  The songs are some of the very first. 

At one point in time, I was nearly finished with my degree at a small school in Texas.  However, in April, I got news that my grandfather had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.  I asked my professors if they could give me my exams early, and they kindly obliged.

I drove to Ohio and my grandfather passed away shortly afterwards.  I had about one semester to go at the Texas school.

For reasons I still don't understand to this day, I decided to transfer schools to Kent State, where I would have to finish more than 40 credit hours to complete my degree.  So, instead of having one semester, I had a year and a half to go.

I lived with my grandmother until I finished school.  As the years would pass, I'd revisit that decision frequently.  It seemed so silly:  to delay graduation by a year to stay in Ohio.  At the time, I told myself that I wanted to stay with my grandmother because I wanted to help her transition to living alone, after grandpa's passing.

Now, I think I really just wanted to be with my grandma.  Probably nothing more or less to the story than that.  I lived with her for two years.  Now that she's gone, I wouldn't trade those two years for anything.

She still got around pretty well back then.  She was only in her mid 70s.  We would go to breakfast on Sunday mornings.  She would keep me involved in all the family's doings.  I became closer to my Aunt Marianne's family.  It was a very, very nice time.

I moved quite a bit during my career, eventually settling in Toledo, where I live now.  However, each step along the way, I visited her regularly: at least monthly, and sometimes even more frequently.  My son got used to the trip since we made it frequently.  I think the reason my grandmother and son were so close is that they saw so much of each other.  She probably saw more of him than of any other of her great-grandkids. 

I have a lot of photos of grandma with Logan from the time he was a baby until relatively recently.  They were like two kindred spirits.  Logan appears to have inherited her gene for kindness. 

Grandma never really asked anything of anybody.  She just liked having people around.  She transitioned well to an empty home, especially considering she had lived the first seven decades of her life in crowded Catholic family homes. 

When I played Little League Baseball, I was the team's worst player.  My coach must have told my Grandma that I needed some batting practice at home.  It was Grandma who threw me batting practice in the back yard.  She was actually an accomplished softball player in her day, playing on organized teams.  She later said that she remembers playing baseball with the neighborhood kids all hours of the day until the sun went down.  When the family went through her old photos, they found one of her old team photos where she is sitting down, fielder's glove perched on one knee.

Whenever there were parent-teacher conferences at school, she would go.  On more than one occassion, the next school day, teachers took a moment to tell me I was very lucky.  They could see it even in the brief interaction they had with her.

It wasn't until grandma's passing that I realized how much my visits to Tallmadge meant to me.  It was such a regular feature of my life.  I always thought of it in terms of what it meant to Grandma, but really, I think it meant just as much to me.


My High School English teacher, Martha Alfonso, once said that "home is where they will always take you in."  For me, Grandma's house was that.  Whether I was 3 or 25, I always had a home with Grandma.  Even when times had changed and I started a family of my own, I knew that I could always swing by on short notice.  There was always a bed for me, there.  There was always a welcoming smile.


Now, I have a sense of loss in so many ways.  For almost the entirety of my life, Grandma's house was either where I lived, or the place I would always come back to.  When I was in the Army or away to school in Texas, whenever I could return to Tallmadge, I did.


Places, in and of themselves, mean little to me.  If I had to pick a favorite place in the world on its location, alone, I couldn't name one.  It's the people associated with them that gives them context.  I can easily name dozens and dozens of people I wish I were spending time with right now. 


Now that grandma is gone, going back to Tallmadge could never mean the same.  A regular ritual of my life is gone.  An era has passed.






School days, school days
Dear old golden rule days
Readin' and 'ritin' and 'rithmetic
Taught to the tune of the hickory stick
You were my queen in calico
I was your bashful barefoot beau
And you wrote on my slate
"I love you, so"
When we were a couple of kids

-School Days (When We Were a Couple of Kids)

Strong

Dear Grandma,

  Your funeral was very well attended.  Pauline was there there.  Aunt Rose was there as well, but that goes without saying.  Beyond those two, you managed to outlive most of your other contemporaries.  Your children were all there.  Grandchildren, too.  Andrew even flew in from Germany with Caitlin.  All of Aunt Rose's kids were there as well.

  I bore your casket into the church, along with your sons and sons-in-law.  I thought I was doing well until the thought hit me that this was the last time you would enter the church that you had spent two thirds of your life coming to. 

  Charlie conducted the service.  Uncle Rick delivered the eulogy.  There was a small gathering in the parish hall afterwards. 

  Everyone seems to be doing as well as can be expected.  Logan and I each have our weepy moments. 

  Logan did well in his baseball game last night.  When his 3rd hit didn't carry over the shortstop, he came back to the dugout in tears.  Said, "Now, I can't hit 1.000."  His first thoughts after the game were of you.  Afterwards, he told me that he thought if he could hit 1.000 for the game, it would take his mind off of "something".  He was trying to channel his grief.  Still, he had a good day:  went 2 for 3 with a walk.  

  You always asked how he was doing and what sport he was playing.  I figured you'd want to know.


  Telling him you had passed was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. 


  I suppose we all knew that eventually your days would come to an end.  After nearly 94 years, this should not have come as a surprise to anybody.  It still did, though.  I think we had all convinced ourselves that you were eternal. 

  I know this letter finds you well:  in heaven, enjoying eternal salvation, at peace in the Catholic faith that sustained you for so many years here on earth.  We think of you always, and cannot help but miss you.

Love Always,
Jimmy


Strength

One of my earliest memories of my grandmother's house was of the Madonna next to the living room.  It was a small statue of the Virgin Mary standing on a serpent:  a symbol of love and compassion in a world fraught with evil.

In middle age, I had come to believe that my grandmother was the strongest person I ever met.  People all too often confuse strength with selfishness and self-interest.  Grandma wasn't strong because she was able to show other people up in anything.  It is closer to the mark to say she was strong because she was able to manage the many challenges life had to throw at her with dignity and courage. 

The true reason I believed that she was the strongest person I ever met was that she not only lived her life with grace and joy, but with compassion.  She was kindness personified.  I know there are others in the world who are as kind as my grandmother was.  However, there isn't anybody kinder.

It is really not that difficult to live life as a hard and cynical person.  All that takes is an over-developed sense of self-preservation and an inflated sense of self-importance.  To live life with kindness and compassion takes true strength.  The strength to give with no thought of ever receiving.  The strength to see good even when evidence of bad is all around.  The strength to try to lighten the burdens that others may be carrying, even when your own burdens are overwhelming.

Those are ideals that many people strive for, but very few ever live up to.  Those ideals described my grandmother, though.  In the eyes of many, she was like the Madonna next to the living room, a perfect symbol of love and compassion.

The Kline Avenue Girls

In the early part of the 20th Century in Akron, Ohio, there was a street of tiny houses called Kline Avenue.  It was populated almost entirely with immigrants and their children.  Despite being in one of the more prosperous cities of industrial America, many of the houses still had outhouses.  The children on the street were sometimes hungry. 

Children of more affluent families, who lived in better houses on nicer streets, would sometimes tease and belittle the children of Kline Avenue.  It was easy to do.  They were poorly dressed.  Their parents spoke English with the heavy accents of recent immigrants.  For the most part, these immigrants held low paying, menial jobs. 

"Hunky" was a derogatory term for people of Hugarian descent.  My grandma was a Hunky.  She would tell me stories of her childhood that would serve as insight into why she spent the rest of her life showing whatever kindness and generosity she could to others. 

Even as a woman in her 90s, when I would hear stories from my grandmother, it was easy to see her as a bright-eyed young child of immigrants. 

Just as recently as this year, she shared a story of a school party at the catholic school she attended.  She was obviously very poor.  Her mother literally scrubbed floors to keep the family afloat and to pay her tuition.  However, there was nothing extra for niceties along the way.  In fact, it is clear that there wasn't always enough for basic necessities.

At this picnic, kids whose parents had bought tickets for a fundraiser of some sort got two hot dogs.  Kids whose parents hadn't, got one.  The greater part of a century had not erased the sting of that event from my grandmother's memory.  She wasn't bitter or angry about it.  She simply briefly remembered the incident to me and said, "they shouldn't have done that."

Another story was of her in her teens.  She cleaned people's houses while she was still in school.  She would earn ten cents a day for her labor.  Bus fare took up half of that.  With the other half, she could buy one piece of bread and a slice of balogna.  She was a child, literally working to feed herself and little else.

Grandma was never fond of gravy on food.  It was a hard thing to notice, but once she told me that the reason she couldn't eat gravy was that when she was a child, she came home and the only thing to eat was a bowl of gravy that had been sitting out.  Her mother worked all hours, usually with multiple employers, as a cleaning lady.  Grandma was left largely to fend for herself.  She ate the bowl of gravy and got sick afterwards.  From that day forward she seldom, if ever, ate gravy on anything.

It wasn't that my grandmother talked about these experiences often.  In fact, she almost never talked about them.  You had to be around her during an introspective, quiet mood when the story would come to mind.  More often, though, she'd talk about things like walking to school with her friend Katie and laughing so hard they'd pee themselves.  All of these stories were simply told in a matter-of-fact manner in the way that I might say, "when I was young, I played Little League baseball." 

Except in her case it was, "At Christmas, we would get an orange in our shoe.  If we were lucky, we might get a dime."

She also said that when the circus came to town, her father would take the children even if it meant not eating for a few days afterwards.  Now, I know that she was probably being literal when she told that story.

The depression hit just as my grandmother was becoming a young lady.  She would have been 11 years old when the stock market crashed.  When times are hard, they're hardest on the people with the least, and Kline Avenue was certainly not spared.  Akron, during the depression, had some of the worst unemployment in the nation.  We were also a nation with no social safety net and few protections for those with the fewest means.

These experiences of poverty in childhood, it would seem, would make a person bitter and angry.  The funny thing is, it didn't: not for her, and not for her contemporaries on Kline Avenue.  I'm not sure any of them ever thought their days on Kline Avenue were wonderful, even if viewed through the lens of nostalgia.  It was more like a common bonding experience they had shared.  Not an entirely bad experience, but not an entirely good one either.  Essentially it was neither good nor bad:  it was simply the days of their childhood.  As such, the days on Kline Avenue were almost always recalled fondly.

For decades afterwards, the women who had grown up on Kline Avenue called themselves, "the Kline Avenue Girls."  What had once probably been a term of derision had become a badge of honor.  In later years, other girls who had grown up nearby would call themselves Kline Avenue Girls.  They were politely accepted, but the real Kline Avenue Girls knew the truth.  Once in a while, they would say things like, "(so and so) says she's a Kline Avenue Girl, but she grew up 2 streets over."

Many of the things I say about my grandmother could easily be said about any of the Kline Avenue Girls.  My grandmother formed lifelong friendships and visited with them frequently throughout her nine decades.

Lover's Lane

My grandmother grew up to be a beautiful young lady, with multiple suitors.  One was a prizefighter.  When I enrolled in law school, she told me about a young man whom she had liked who was attending school to be an attorney.  He announced his intentions to her too late:  she was already engaged to my grandfather, John Strebler.  He was tall and good looking, with good prospects in life.  Because General Tire's baseball team in the Akron Industrial League needed a pitcher, he was able to get a job, even during the waning days of the Great Depression.

They bought a house on Lover's Lane where they started their family and raised five children:  John ("Skip"), James (my father), Nancy, Rick and Marianne.  Grandpa worked briefly for General Tire, then took a job at at Goodyear where he worked second shift.  He worked weekends at a local meat market.

Grandma stayed at home with the children.  At various times, different people lived with them in their tiny, crowded house.  Most notably, the newlywed couple of Rose and Jim Strebler stayed with them as they started their own family.  I knew them as Aunt Rose and Uncle James.

Rose was my grandmother's sister.  Jim was my grandfather's brother.  It is difficult to tell the story of my grandparents without also including the intertwining story of their respective brother and sister.  Although technically two separate families, we were more like one gigantic family.  When my father needed a ride to football practice and my grandfather was busy working second shift, Uncle James took him.  The workload of raising 11 children between the two families, was lightened by the combined efforts of four parents working together.

I will have to leave it to others more knowledgeable to fill in the details about the house on Lover's Lane.  I don't know much about it other than for the most part, it involved life before TV sets, where mothers stayed with kids and fathers took the families' only car to work every day.  They lived there until the mid 50s, largely enjoying the period of extended prosperity that followed World War II.

The Prizewinner of Tallmadge, Ohio

My Grandmother was a champ in the era of commercial contests.  She won everything from multi-thousand dollar prizes, to new cars, and appliances of every type.  For insight into what this era was like, there is a movie, "The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio."  That movie is based on a real-life character who was prolific in the same contests my grandmother entered.

The reason this era was short-lived is that talented people could get more than their share of prizes.  Obviously, a person who was good at writing essays that won prizes for one product could just as easily win prizes for others.

My grandmother was a talented writer who ghost-wrote for a journalist for the Akron Beacon Journal. In a different day and age, she probably would have been an accomplished journalist or marketing copywriter. 


Her love of literature was unparallelled.  Until her eyesight began to fail her in her very final years, I can scarcely remember a time when she wouldn't use every spare minute reading a book on the loveseat in the living room.  I don't ever remember naming a book that she hadn't read.


When she was a very little girl, one day she visited a friend.  The friend had a room with books in it.  Instead of playing with her friend, she sat quietly in the book room reading.  She read, and read and read.  At suppertime, her friend's mother quietly hinted, "don't you have to go home for supper?"


No, she really didn't.  A few more minutes passed.  "Are you sure your mother isn't worried about you?"  Her mother was working, scrubbing floors.  Grandma stayed until evening, using every precious moment to read. 

There is a tiny spark of writing ability that pops up now and then in members of our family.  I now know that it came from her.  Although a child of immigrants who spoke English with heavy accents, her mastery of literature and writing was exceptional.  She should have had a career in writing.  Instead, she won innumerable prizes.  The value of her prizes might have even exceeded my grandfather's income in some years. 

An example of her talent is her entry when the City of Akron had a contest to find a new safety slogan for traffic safety.  Grandma's entry?  "Better to take a little time, than to take a little life."

She could have been a legend on Madison Avenue.

The era ended when companies realized that contests that required talent only appeal to a small number of people.  Contests that require no talent whatsoever, like sweepstakes, garner a great deal more interest from those of us without much discernable creativity.

I brought the movie, "The Prizewinner of Defiance Ohio" to my grandma's house thinking she'd really enjoy it.  I was expecting comments like, "Yes!  That's the way it was back then."  She sat quietly through the entire movie.  She said almost nothing.  At the end, I asked if she had enjoyed it.

She replied, "I won a lot more stuff than that!"  Yes, Grandma, you really did.  In fact, Grandma had an uncanny knack for winning every door prize that she ever tried to win.  I'm not a person of much faith.  I don't believe in luck.  Except for my grandma.  I can't help but believe that somebody watched over my Grandma and took care of her during her entire life.  I'm not the only one in the family who thinks so.  The consensus at this point is that it was probably the Virgin Mary.


Tallmadge, Ohio

Beyond the city limits of Akron, the suburbs began sprouting up as America enjoyed a post-war economic boom.  Grandpa and Uncle James bought lots next to each other on a dirt road in the farmers fields that were being subdivided into residential lots.  It was the mid 1950s.  They built their homes next to each other.  My grandfather and Uncle James were not just brothers, but it became obvious to me after my grandfather died, that they had been lifelong best friends. 

The same can be said for my grandmother and her younger sister, Rose.  My childhood is full of memories of not just my Grandma, but of Aunt Rose as well.  They were lifelong companions to each other through thick and thin, good times and bad, celebrations and difficulties.  In the 90s, I remember asking my grandma if she ever would ever think about moving somewhere else and she said, "Well, I wouldn't want to move away from my sister, Rose."

There, they raised their families.  I moved in with my grandparents in the late sixties.  My earliest memories of my grandparents' house were of waking up and hiding under the couch.  Aunt Rose came over, looked under the couch and smiled.  She said words of welcome. 

My Uncle Skip was just moving out.  Uncle Rick and Aunt Marianne still lived at home.  I shared a room with Rick.  Rick eventually moved out when he married a wonderful young lady who had been his girlfriend since the seventh grade.  Marianne married a handsome Airman and moved away.  We all attended Skip's wedding to a beautiful New Yorker who drank "kwa-fee" instead of coffee.  After that, for the bulk of my childhood, it was just me and my Grandparents in that home. 

I learned quite a bit about life by observing my grandma during those years.  For instance, although her childhood was one that most people would describe as challenging, she had nothing but fond things to say about her mother and father.  Grandma always had a soft spot for immigrants.  She felt that her mother did the best she could. 

Throughout Grandma's life, she would perform acts of charity.  When she did them, she usually went far beyond what most people would do.  She didn't donate money so that others could buy clothes.  She would personally find families in need, gather baskets of clothes and other things, and take them to the people, personally.


I can think of at least four families, offhand, who would get regular visits from my grandma.  To grandma, charity was a personal experience, from one person to another.  If my grandfather took too long to wear a sweater that he had gotten as a present, he was likely to see it being worn by a member of a struggling family the next time he helped my grandmother deliver boxes or bags to them.

I remember once my grandma had a garage sale and towards the end, a man and woman of Indian descent came and asked the prices on various items.  My grandma gave them those items, free, and many others at the garage sale.  As the people left with armfulls of things that grandma had just given them, gratis, I asked her why she did it.

"Because they're immigrants."  To her, immigrants always could use a little help.  Perhaps they had a little girl at home.  Grandma was going to do something for them once they came into her life.  Even though they were only part of her life for a few moments, she was going to help them.

Grandma also was a firm believer in civil rights.  As a victim of discrimination based on her ethnic group as a child, she had no tolerance for discrimination against anybody.  She was tolerant of every faith.  Tolerant of every person.  She had particular respect for the Jewish faith since so many of her early employers were Jewish.  As a lifelong Roman Catholic, she could easily recall an era when Catholics were also discriminated against.

In response to a world where intolerance was the rule, she welcomed all people with open arms.

I have often thought about how it must have been for my grandparents to have taken me in to their home at a time in their lives when they were probably looking forward to a life without children to take care of.  Kids are a hassle and a big bunch of work.  The only thing that makes it bearable, even enjoyable, is when you love them with all your heart.

Although I feel some twinge of conceit when I say this, I know I was loved.  To say anything less would be to shortchange all that my grandparents did for me.  If they ever thought of me as anything less than their own child, I never saw it.  This is not to say that it was always easy for me, and it was certainly more trouble than they should have had to deal with.  However, they always gave me all they could. 

Scarlett and Annie

Grandpa passed away in 1991, and it was an adjustment for Grandma.  Eventually, she ended up with two pets.  A little dog and a little cat.  She named the dog "Scarlett" after Scarlett O'Hara from "Gone With the Wind", which was a movie and book she dearly loved.

The cat was named "Annie" because it was a little orphan.  It had been attacked by some animal and was missing half the fur on its head.  It was attacked, we think, defending its kittens.  It was a frightening looking creature. 

Grandma, ever attuned to recognize a mother's love, adopted the cat because it was "too homely for anybody else to take."  Grandma thought the cat was a hero for taking care of its kittens out in the elements.  The cat flourished in grandma's house.  It grew a gorgeous coat of tortoiseshell colored fur.  Grandma loved that cat more than any other pet she had ever had. 

Eventually Grandma managed to outlive both the dog and the cat.  In her final years, it was simply too much work to take care of a pet.  So, for her last year, she was by herself.  No dog to walk into a snow-covered yard with.  No cat, to worry about having escaped. 

However, for those two decades, grandma seemed truly happy and at peace. Once a week, she went out to dinner with Uncle Gerald, Aunt Iris, and Aunt Caddie.  Uncle Bud and Aunt Dot would take her to dinner on a different day of the week.  Her friends, Milan, Katie and Pauline would come over.  I had never seen people so utterly full of the joy of life.

Her activities were too numerous to mention.  She was an amazing gardener.  She could make anything grow.  She belonged to the Democratic Club, the Library Society and countless other organizations like the Bible Study club. 

She was blessed with three children who never really moved far away.  She spent countless hours with each of them and their families.  When my father and uncle Skip would come home, she would have cause for a minor celebration.  Everybody would gather at her house.

Each of her children helped her immensely in their own way.  Not one of them ever asked for anything in return; each working diligently, constantly and in complete anonymity to provide her with whatever she needed.  When grandpa's pension ran out, one son stepped up and gave her that much money each month.  Another son paid to have her lawn cared for and her snow cleared.  Her daughters visited frequently, providing not just comforting company, but also checking to make sure that she was okay:  eating and taking her medicine.  Yet another son would come in to town for a week, twice a year, just to do handyman tasks around the house.  If her car was damaged in a fender-bender, it was fixed.  If she needed a new TV, she got one.

Her children were all attentive.  Her needs were always very modest, but I remember that during that time, it was almost a blessing to us to find out she needed something.  We wanted to do things for her.  We wanted to give her anything she wanted.  She just never really wanted much.

Even so, at a time in her life when others were seeking to do things for her, she would still do things for others.  A particularly humorous incident happened when she needed a ride.  She asked a daughter if she could take off work to give Grandma a ride to the doctor.  Grandma's confidence in her driving began to wane in her later years.

The ride was freely given.  However, it was later found out that earlier that same week, Grandma had given her friend a ride to her friend's doctor's appointment!  When asked why her friend didn't get a ride from her own daughter, Grandma replied, "Well... her daughter works."

To the end, it was simply not possible for Grandma to deny a favor to somebody who asked for it.



It was as though Grandma would always be with us. 

She came to the hospital when Logan was born.  She always felt a closeness to him.  I think he inherited her genes for compassion and kindness.  The two of them got along splendidly.  Logan would sit next to her on the couch and they would watch TV together.  Of all his memories of her, that is his fondest.  Simply sitting quietly with her on the couch.

I like to think that because I was special among her grandkids, that Logan was special among her great-grandkids.  He was an affirmation that things were going well. She had raised her children.  She even raised one grandchild, and now that grandchild had a child.  "These children are our future", she would say when Logan would toddle around her house.

When Logan was with her and we would go out, he would hold her hand, wait with her as I got the car, help her up steps and curbs.  She would say, "Sometime, I want your Dad to drop you off with me and I'll take you to the movies." 

In 2010, Grandma eventually went with Logan to see, "How To Train Your Dragon".  She was still getting around well back then.  This was probably the last movie she saw in a theater. 

Around that same time, as Logan was going to sleep one night he started to cry.  When I asked what was wrong, he said, "Grandma is going to die." 

I said, "No, she's not going to die, buddy.  Why do you say that?"

He replied, "Well... she's 92 years old!" 

I reassured him that she would die someday, but wasn't in any danger of dying right away.  At that point in time, Grandma was still a force of nature.  She had hardly slowed down at all.  I knew she wouldn't live forever, but it sure seemed like she might. 

The logical part of me knew that her days were numbered.  But the larger part of me felt like she would be around for Logan's High School graduation, at the age of 99.  She just seemed like, at the rate she was going, that she would outlive us all.

In 2011, though, she had a health scare with fluid that was building up around her heart.  Although she recovered, it was clear that this weakened her.  I remember telling everybody that if they were planning on seeing her, they should do it, soon.  She slowed considerably. 

I feared that the Winter of 2011/2012 would be the end of Grandma.  The harsh Ohio Winters were a yearly feature of her life.  If the Virgin Mary were watching over her, she certainly did so that year since we didn't have a Winter at all.  Virtually no snow.  No cold temperatures.  Many warm, sunny days.  It was as though she was to receive one last gift her final year:  an unusual respite from the cold. 

She lasted until about two months before her 94th birthday. 

Strength

I could not bring myself to tell Logan about Grandma's passing for several days.  Eventually, I broke the news to him and we both cried briefly.  I asked if he wanted to attend her funeral, and he did.  So, we jumped in the car and headed to Tallmadge.

In the end, Grandma had seen all of her kids in the two weeks prior to her passing.  I had gone a few weeks longer than usual without visiting because of Law School, but once the semester ended, I visited her twice within her final three weeks.  My father visited a little over a week before she passed away.  My uncle Skip was with her, doing handyman tasks in her house, when she finally died.  In a way, that is fitting.  He was her first-born.  The first person she had brought into the world. 

There is a certain poetry and symmetry that he would be with her when she passed on.  Three of her children lived close by.  Of the children who had moved away, she had been visited by the last child she raised, her second-born, and her first-born, in that order. 

She passed away in her sleep.  No illness.  No hospital stay.  No pain.  No nursing home.  Living independantly in her own home until the end.  Just went to bed one night, anticipating planting some flowers she had bought.  The next day, she simply didn't wake up. 

She had raised her children, and saw two generations beyond them come into the world.  In the end, she had seen everybody who she had raised, and passed away with her oldest son in the house with her.

The fact that she saw us all prior to her dying was probably not nearly the favor to her as it was to all of us.  Although we didn't know it at the time, each of us had the chance to say goodbye to the woman who had meant so much to us for so long.

I came back to Tallmadge to visit with the family that had gathered for the funeral.  Rose's son, Tim, had a small gathering at his house.  I had borne up well under the news until I saw everybody gathered.  Tim's daughter, Angelica, met me in the driveway and guided me to the back where everyone was sitting. 

When I saw my family, I knew.  Grandma was gone.  She was really gone.  I immediately began to sob, not knowing whether to excuse myself or simply sit down in my sorrow.  I tried as best I could to compose myself.  My Uncle Skip told me the details of grandma's painless last day.

We had all lost Grandma.  She had meant something slightly different, yet wonderful, to each of us.  We all loved her deeply.

Aunt Rose, though, loved Grandma for longer than any other living person had.  Grandma helped change her diaper when she was a baby.  Grandma was Aunt Rose's matron of honor at her wedding.  They had lived next door to each other for almost sixty years and saw each other nearly every day.  They were sisters.  They were best friends.   

As I walked Aunt Rose back to her home, we talked about how nice it was that everyone had visited Grandma so recently.  We also remarked how painlessly my grandmother had died. 

Aunt Rose said that the Virgin Mary must have looked over my grandmother even as she passed. 

Dear Grandma, 

  I miss you so very much, already.  We all do.  I know that over time, the saddness I feel will be replaced mostly by joy at all that you gave me.  You are one of the best parts of my life.  I know that many, many others feel the same way.  It was difficult to even contemplate that one day you would be gone. 

  Now that we miss you so much, we have to find strength.  This is easier to do since you showed us what true strength is.  As I move forward, I can only hope to be half as strong as you were.  To live a life without resentment or ill-will.  To love unconditionally.  To find the good in every person.  To look for people to help when I can. 

  If only you knew how many people loved you so dearly.  Then, I think you did.  When people say you were the best person they ever knew, others immediately think, "yeah, she really was." 

  You'll always be with me.  I know you'll always be with Logan.  So, in a way, you aren't really gone.  I know that you are happy in heaven.  You should be proud of the person you were.  A courageous woman of faith.  A kind soul to all. 

  You meant the world to us.  Now, we will have to make our way on our own.  Thank you for showing me the true meaning of strength.  I will need it.

Love Always, Your Grandson,
Jimmy