"When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything." (Sonnet 98)

Last night, about 10:30 Rhoda's Canasta game broke up here and after the ladies left, Rho's new cell phone rang in the den and it happened to be Jon, her son, calling from Norfolk. And then the shocker came: Rho asked him how he's doing and what's new? The answer was that he was doing just fine and that he just got married! Jon had been married before, a number of years ago, and since then he met Joanne, a very lovely girl that we met at a wedding or something back in New York a year or two ago. Since we had no previous notion of Jon's intentions, his news was kind of startling to both of us, but we are quite happy for them and we hope that this time Jon's marriage will last. In one family historical instant, I became a father-in-law. I can handle it, but I'm not going to buy them a bed.

I don't know why, but strangely the news of Jon's wedding/marriage somehow reminded me of a passage in Yeat's poem, "The Stolen Child."

Perhaps because it describes an evening of jollity, dancing, and of course, drinking. Not only that, but the passage has my name in it...but it's not Jon's name; his name is Tessler. With apologies to Mr. Yeats.

"Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim grey sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances,

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And is anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!

To waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping

than you can understand."

Yes, I know. "The Rosses" does not really refer to my Rosses, but to the headlands, a geographical and social region in the west of County Donegal, part of the Province of Ulster in Ireland; a really awesome place. Perhaps the "human child" refers to Jon...or to any "child" who marries these days. Well, now there is only one more day in April, and then I will have four months of blogs that document my life in the year 2008. I am going to publish the blogs of these past four months for those who either have no computer, or for those who need to catch up on some they haven't read.

When you're Wright, you're Right! Sue me.

This afternoon I went to the City of Hope meeting in the ballroom of our clubhouse. There were at least 200 women there along with Mike H. and me. On my table were bagels, cream cheese and coffee which served as my breakfast because I didn't get out of the bed until about 11:30. After all the business of the meeting was over, about two dozen elementary school kids came to entertain on their xylophones--of all sizes and shapes. What skill they showed was amazing and delightful. They demonstrated what a good teacher can do if given the instruments. Sadly, all the instruments had to be donated by the parents. While there, Mike asked if I heard the Rev. Jeremiah Wright's speech to the NAACP last night. Unfortunately, I did not, but I read a transcript of it on CNN's web site. It is a remarkable document and I can just imagine how it was delivered. After all, I heard Dr. King's address when I joined the March on Washington in August, 1963.

Right now, I am an ardent supporter of Barack Obama. All the media attacks on his association with this pastor that people are obsessed with is either racism or ignorance. According to Michael Dyson's view in Time Magazine this week he says,

"Like millions of other blacks, Wright was willing to serve the country while suffering rejection. He surrendered his student deferment in 1961, voluntarily joined the Marines and, after a two-year stint, volunteered to become a Navy corpsman. He excelled and became Valedictorian, later a cardio-pulmonary technician and eventually a member of the President's medical team. Wright cared for Lyndon B. Johnson after his 1966 surgery, earning three White House letters of commendation."

Dick Cheney received five deferments while an undergraduate. Both Bill Clinton and George W. Bush used their student deferments to remain in college until 1968. Does this sound as though Wright is unpatriotic?

I like Rev. Wright's peroration of his speech last night; he says,

"Many of us are committed to changing how we see ourselves. Many of us are committed to changing the way we treat each other. Many of us are committed to changing the way we mistreat each other. And many of us finally are committed to changing this world that we live in so our children and our grandchildren will have a world in which to live in to grow in, to learn in, to love in and to pass on to their children. We are committed to changing this world that's God's world, in the first place. Not ours. And I believe we can do it. It's going to take hard work, but we can do it."

A man who speaks like that ought not to be excoriated by whoever his critics might be. Wright is not deficient, he's just different. Give him a break, and leave Obama out of it. He's got a right to pick any church he wants. And the black church is not deficient; it's just different. And that's what America is all about. Of all the divergent ethnic groups and religious groups in our country. none of them, according to Wright, is "deficient"; they're just different.

"Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit and lost without deserving." (Othello)

Whatever happened to the little mom and pop grocery or bodega store around the corner? Also, where did the candy store with the pinball machine disappear? And what about the drug store where you knew you'd find a friendly pharmacist? Of course, if there were to be a woman behind the counter, you'd have to figure out a way to buy a condom for your wallet (well...just in case) without having to check it out with her. Today we went to Costco where you have to buy a membership card before they allow you to buy anything else in this store. You could place three football fields in this store and if you didn't stick with the person you came in with, you might never find her again. Same thing holds true for the Super Duper Wal-Marts and Target stores, and Oh, yes--Home Depots where you should be given a map when you walk in. The first thing I look for when approach these monsters is a gratis scooter, because I'd never be able to navigate those aisles without pain. With a scooter, you've got the solution!

Now, I know you've all been waiting for the final installment of Bobby's story of his life in the county jail and the reason for his one year sentence. Well, here it is:

MY LIFE IN THE COUNTY JAIL by Bobby Lou Ross

I was arrested for drug possession and sales on February 5th, 1987 in Hermosa Beach California. I was set-up by an informant (a confidential reliable informant, CRI) that needed to turn in somebody (roll-over) to gain a favor for being arrested himself. I have kept every notice, paper, letter, mug shot, letters received while in jail, even some letters I sent while in jail, jailhouse artwork, and court documents concerning my incarceration. I have decided to enclose my "personal statement" (the first draft) which I wrote in May 1987, for my attorney, to be given and read to the judge in my case. She did some editing and corrections for me and I signed the final statement. I am sure I will not e-mail all the papers in their entirety, but I may put these together in a "book" to be published at a later date. Does anybody know a good editor?

It would be well to remember that my son has since become a solid citizen. He and Sabrina have raised his daughter without Katrina's birth mother who bore a son to another father...you figure it out. Katrina is now 21 and in the US Navy. Bobby also is a top sales rep with Harley-Davidson in Virginia and I'm quite proud of him. He is a bright, caring, and delightful person who, in his youth, made a bad decision.
His incarceration has since been struck from the record.

OY Vey! (Macbeth, I believe)

While driving in the car to Duffy's last night, I mentioned to Rhoda that it might be nice if we drove to Montana sometime in August or September to visit Robin and see her house and ranch spread. However, then the price of gas came up and with the cost of Motels, food, and excursions along the way, the cost would be extraordinary...and then, of course, there's the return trip. Doing the math, if it cost me $11 just to go from Delray to West Palm Beach...so, to drive to Montana?? We will also have just come back from our cruising in Scandinavia where the American dollar is not worth too much anymore. How did we ever get into a mess like this? What has happened to this country? Who's in charge here? And why and how did he let America come to this crisis in her history? The America I knew was a country always on the move; if not trekking around this continent, then vacationing in Europe. The airlines are also in trouble, and in order for them to function with the cost of fuel, ticket prices have to be raised. And every time Rho and I go grocery shopping and check the prices, we get culture shock. And the war in Iraq and Afghanistan? 4000+ American dead? Trillion dollar debt? Is there any escape or are we going to be like Sisyphus pushing the ball up the mountain? Let's kick the incompetent culprits out of office, and get some fresh brains up there.



I don't like to sound as though I'm whining, but give me a break. Into this impossible boiling cauldron, toss in our problems with immigration and health care and what have you got? Hopefully a new administration. Oh, well, just deal with it. Make wise choices. Now, let's get in another chapter of Bobby's life in the county jail.

MY LIFE in the COUNTY JAIL PT.IV by Bobby Ross

I think there is only ONE Sheriff, the elected official, and all the officers are called Deputies...anyway...One of the Deputies called me over during breakfast and asked if I wanted to go into town with him on an errand. I was wondering what the catch was, I was a trustee by this time, and we had a real good rapport and I said sure, I would love to get out of camp for any reason! He took me to see my sister Bonny in her shop while on his errand and parked his black and white squad car right outside her front door of the DOGS ETC. grooming store! I don't remember if I got out of the car, or had handcuffs on and he let me go into the store or what; maybe Bonny remembers, but it was refreshing to get out of there, seeing the same things over and over again! Then he took me to Carl's Jr. and 7-11 and I had some real food!
It was suddenly clear to me what I missed and what other freedom I lost while in Camp. The ability to come and go as I pleased. To go to 7-11 if I wanted to get a soda, any soda. Or to go to Carl's Jr. to get a sandwich. Any sandwich I wanted, and there were SO MANY choices.

Freedom of choice, yeah that's it...

So, it was Rosh Hashanah, a Jewish holiday and I wanted to go to temple. In Camp Snoopy there was one little chapel and no one I knew/knew I was Jewish. I sneaked a look at a list of inmates a friendly deputy left for me and saw no Rosen or Goldberg or Bloom. I saw the chaplain the next Sunday and asked if I could talk to him privately. Yes, I some fear about others finding out I was Jewish, meeting up with the "Arian brotherhood" and the "neo/nuvo nazis" and any other anti-Semitic group that had a beef with the chosen ones was not something I was about to handle alone. I met the chaplain in the chapel later that day and asked him if there was a Jewish temple I could go to so I could pray. He said "You could pray here, in this chapel and God will hear you and your prayers. Jesus loves everyone and does not care if you are Jewish or any other religion." So I thought, what kind of trouble could I get into if I got into a theological debate with this guy.
I mentioned that Jesus was born Jewish and when he died, all of a sudden, he was there for the Catholics or Protestants or Methodists and part of some sort of "trinity" with a holy ghost! When he died, we all set our calendars to zero and started counting the years as though Jesus' death began time! The Hebrew calendar was in the 3000 plus years or so and we weren't about to erase 3000 years because a Jewish carpenter died. "I want a Rabbi and I want one now..." The Chaplain had absolutely nothing to say about my theologic assault/tirade and suggested I make a formal request for a Jewish Chaplain to come to camp to visit with me. Not wanting to single myself out, possibly being the only Jew in jail, I decided against such a request. I remember saying as I left the chapel, "freedom of religion, yeah right"...

"I have been studying how I may compare the prison where I live unto the world." (Richard II)

This morning my primary doctor at the VA Medical Center called and gave me the results of my blood work that I had yesterday. He reeled off a bunch of numbers and the only one that made any sense to me was my cholesterol at 167. My mistake was that I ought to have asked him to read off the numbers to Rhoda--she would understand them. Anyway, next time I go up there I'll get a copy of the lab work. He did say everything looked very good; therefore I really don't need the numbers, except perhaps to compare the results with the last lab work I had. With the price of gas nowadays and most stations charging $3.79 for regular, and tolls on the turnpike, it costs me $11 every time I go up there. I shouldn't complain though, because everything I get there is gratis. I get all my dental work at the VA; I've gotten my hearing aids there...$6000 worth according to the Audio specialist. And if I have to see any other specialist, which I do, it's no problem. I love it up there...I've never had to wait more than 15 minutes past my appointment time to see a doctor. Try that with private MDs.



I know everyone has been waiting for the next installment of Bobby's journal of his stay in jail--so here it is:

My Life in the County Jail: Pt. III

I would get out of work after dinnertime, and go to my bunk for some "alone time" and look at my pictures stuck under the metal mesh in the bunk above me. Pictures of my baby Katrina, Robyn, her mother, my '49 Harley, home, family, and pictures cut out of magazines like scenics and sunsets. Yeah, I had a couple bike magazines stashed away under my mattress,(a 1 inch thick foam pad with a bedsheet wrapped around it,) and one girly magazine until the guards found them and confiscated them during a "roll-up". This was an action they took when someone was breaking the rules. The sheriffs would come in en mass and turn all the lights on, usually after lights out (10:00 pm) and have all of us unroll and undo our beds and pillows and sheets and clothing and anything we had in our bunks until all you could see was the wire springs from the bunk beds and all our belongings in a pile the length of the barracks. We would have to line up outdoors and stay there till they found what they were looking for. Could be a bottle of apples fermenting (applewine) , or a "shiv" (homemade knife_) , drugs, or some kind of contraband. It would take them up to 2 hours to find what they wanted, and then let us back in to sort out and separate our things in 5 minutes and lights out! If I woke up real early (6:30) I could take a shower alone in the gang showers we had. Nothing to hide, just that privacy thing I mentioned. Off to work I'd go at 7:30 to print the menu the Sheriffs meals for the day and hand out the knives and spoons and forks for the cooks to prepare the breakfast meals. We prepared meals for 20 Sheriffs and 600 inmates in Camp Snoopy. Three times a day! The deputies would get a choice of scrambled or poached eggs, bacon and sausage, toast or bagel or English muffin, juice (5 kinds) coffee or tea or milk or ALL OF IT! The inmates got scrambled eggs and sausage with toast. Orange juice or milk. It was good except for the eggs, sausage, and brown looking orange juice. Remember, I ate what the deputies ate. They liked the work I did, and rewarded me for it. I think that’s where the expression ..."will work for food” came from.

More in the next blog, whenever that will be.

"He was not of an age, but for all time." (Ben Jonson)

Today is William Shakespeare's 444th birthday, also my cousin Eddie in Las Vegas is celebrating his 85th or 86th, I'm not sure which. But I'm mostly celebrating Shakespeare's. After all, I taught almost every one of his plays and sonnets in my career; and I taught several classes here in Condoland. I think my senior students (age wise, not H.S.wise) were the most learned and most fun to teach, and they were eager to participate in our discussions. WS lived until he was 52. Would he only have lived longer, we really would have had some masterpieces. The Bard died on April 23rd, 1616, but the nature of his fatal illness is not known. In 1623 his monument was erected in Holy Trinity Church. A few months later John Hemminge and Henry Condell--two of his friends and principal colleagues in the theater-- published his collected plays. But for them much of his work would have been lost. I don't teach anymore because I'm kind of "burned out." My teaching methods somehow wear me out because when I'm doing something that I enjoy and know something about, I get hyper and passionate and intense. It gets passed on to the students. But when my classes are over, I'm ready for a Xanax. It was great while it lasted. An education is not complete without having read some of Shakespeare's plays. That goes for everybody everywhere in any country and in any language.

As promised, I am including another installment of my son Bobby's stay in the County jail in 1987. He was just a foolish young man back then, but now he's older and much wiser. He and his wife, Sabrina, have raised Katrina without her birth mother and now he is a top sales agent for Harley Davidson in Virginia. His story needs to be heard:

MY LIFE IN THE COUNTY JAIL: Part II

There were two types of people in there. The ones who had short time and the ones who had long time. I had long time and the thing of it was, whenever I made a good friend, it was time for them to leave.

Being given a sentence of one year, I should have been in medium or maximum security facility. In those places, you had a cell. You might have shared it with another in bunk beds, and had your own toilet and sink. I had a really good lawyer and was able to do my time in minimum. I got out early (ten months I think) because of "good time/work time". I wasn't caught fighting or stealing or making apple wine, and showed up to work every day without any sick days. Yeah, I got into a couple fights and took food from the kitchen, but stayed out of the spotlight mostly.I remember I was working out with the free weights (the only thing a white guy could really do) and an "SA" (South American) came up to me and said "get lost". I told him I would in about 1 hour and he shoved me up against the fence. I bounced back off the fence (on purpose) with extra energy and flattened him! His buddies came over and started to box with me and I landed a shot you could hear clear across the field. I think it was more my knuckles cracking, than the slap my closed fist made against his cheek. All the "wedos" (white guys) backed me up and the ruckus was over. I went back to pumping iron and they left me alone for a while.All the "sports" were outdoors and in the winter very little went on out there. The Black guys played basketball, the Mexicans (SA's) played baseball and the White guys (wedo's or peckerwoods) worked out with weights. There was no mixing unless you were really good! I played a little "b-ball" and baseball until I was asked to leave.

There's more of this to come, of course, and I know that out there people are wondering and guessing the reason for Bobby's stay in jail. That will come--eventually.

"Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all." (2 Henry VI)

Last night, the second night of Passover, we had an adventure which we could have done without. While I was computing something, I heard Rhoda shouting from the kitchen and when I rushed (as slowly as I could) to see what it was all about, water was all over the floor and pouring out from the disposal unit under the sink. It looked like a tsunami. So,I put on my bathing suit, scuba gear, fins, glasses, and swam heroically to the water faucet and turned it off. Somehow, the water found its way onto the living room carpet where Rhoda had set the table for our dinner. Our neighbors, the Strumlaufs, were invited to join us, but now it was out of the question. We soaked up what water we could with a lot of towels, and we set up a fan in the living room to dry the carpet. Then we carried all the food into the Strumlauf's apartment; turkey breast, drumsticks, asparagus, gefilte fish, soda, and all the other traditional Passover stuff that RH+ cooked. Fortunately, this morning, a maintenance man came and installed a new garbage disposal unit. The timing of this flood was somehow coincidental with the story of Moses who parted the sea so the Israelites could escape with their Manischevitz Matzoh and wine, and Jochebed's brisket. But tonight we're back to eating pasta

I continually think about what I can write about in my blogs that might be of interest to all the relatives and friends (whoever they might be) and a few months ago, my son Bobby, wrote an account of his one year sentence to a County jail in California in 1987. I found it fascinating because, for one thing, I was never in a county jail; and secondly, it carried on the family tradition of always having some member in jail--like my two grandfathers who landed in Sing Sing for arson. So, here is part of Bobby's story when he was 32.


MY LIFE IN THE COUNTY JAIL....BY BOBBY LOU ROSS

I was housed in a minimum security county jail work farm ("Sheriff Peter J. Pitchesss
Honor Farm") and performed clerical duties for the Los Angeles Sheriff's Department, being a most trusted "trustee". I was also in charge of handing out, and taking constant inventory of the knives and cutlery for the kitchen staff. It was an experience I won't forget. I can't watch "jailhouse" movies; they make me queasy. I was able to do "easy time" (it wasn't hard time) for 3 personality traits: Intelligence, physical strength and humor.

The night I arrived in "Camp Snoopy" (minimum security), the 200 or so "new fish" were asked several questions to decide their stations, or jobs.When we were asked "who can type?" I raised my hand and no-one else did! I got the job as clerk in the kitchen office and helped the Sheriff Deputies type out their reports and other letters. I ate with the Sheriffs ( a dozen or more) in the office (once in the officers mess) and did not have to eat with the other inmates 5 days per week. I ate steak when it was on the menu, and fish, and chicken, ice cream, and anything I wanted, pretty much. Never a late snack, no such thing. I would bring some back to the barracks on occasion and trade it for $ or cigarettes or favors like getting my kitchen whites pressed in the Sheriff's laundry facility before visiting day. Mom or sister Bonny would come on those days and it was so nice to see family, you would not believe. Being incarcerated sounds as bad as it is. You have no FREEDOM. I think privacy is a freedom and I had none. Not ever. Constantly surrounded by no less then than a dozen other guys (no chicks at all!) all day, every day...privacy is a freedom I missed dearly.


The barracks we were housed in had no less than 100 guys in it. Twenty-five (or more when they needed to add some) bunk beds lined the walls of the metal corrugated bunkhouse and a shower room and bathroom were halfway down. No fan or a/c in the summer and it would get to be 110 degrees in there or more. Remember this was in the mountains north of where Bonny and Mom lived. In the winter it would get to be near freezing and the barracks had one gas heater on each end of the barrack. All we had to wear was pajama like clothes and in the winter, the lucky ones would have Levi type jackets.



I will continue this story in installments, and to create suspense, withhold the cause of Bobby's incarceration until a later date. Meanwhile let's keep your tsk tsk's to a minimum.