Tag Archives: Indianapolis

The Hana Chronicles: Month 6, Day 26

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Posted by on in Assistance, children, collaborating, Community, Education, Historical, Inner Struggles, Personal goals, Personal Values, Social, Striving, Travel

July 17,2026- Hana and I were asleep in the recliner, so deeply that I didn’t notice Aram going in and out to get the mail. My granddaughter has the same calming effect on me that I have on her.

We had a busy “half day”, in that her parents came home from work early, to take her to a medical appointment. We thus managed our walk, “wrestling” (her crawling on me and my lifting her up in the air, in vestibular motion) and lunch time into a shorter frame. There was also story time, centered on “Sleeping Beauty”. Maleficent is portrayed in this brief version only as the “Old Fairy”. She ends up getting turned into a frog. Hana thought that was funny.

She is always overjoyed when one of us comes back to the house, after having been away for a brief errand. Having the family all together is a big deal to my granddaughter. She is delighted to just sit in the high chair at each meal, even at breakfast, which for her is a liquid feeding, still. She has complete meals at lunch and dinner.

HANA’S NOTE- I went to have my blood checked-AGAIN. This time, the nurse only stuck me once with the needle. So, that was not as bad.

YEAR IN REMEMBRANCE- 1969 This was a year of firsts: My first time on an airplane; my first trip outside New England; my first extended time away from family; my first time really hallenging myself.

I left Star Market in January and went to work at General Electric’s Riverworks Plant, in Lynn, MA. My fahter, and several relatives and neighbours worked there, as well. Dad got me in. I worked in the rotometer calibration section. The senior technician told me my work was substandard, but he never bothered complaining to the higher=ups. Nor did he offer specific criticism that might have helped me improve.

It was a placeholder job, anyway, as I had asked the Army Reserve Unit to let me enlist in the Regular Army. My plan was to enlist for 3 years, then apply for an early release, so as to return to college. My enlistment date was set for June 16, and the recruiter determined I’d be best suited for the Army Postal Corps. I left G.E. on May 1, and focused somewhat on physical training.

Basic Training was at Fort Jackson, SC. I started off as a mewling klutz, but slowly and surely got with the program. I scraped by in marksmanship, missed Combat Fire-but never was made to re-take it, though I asked to do so, and excelled in the Physical Training Test. I did fairly well in the G-3 (General Knowledge) Exam, which was oral. On weekends, we had free time, and I went with a couple of guys who were from Columbia, to their favourite hangouts. I was the sole White guy with four African-Americans, but none of the Whites we encountered gave us any trouble over it.

Woodstock happened while I was doing things like learning how to properly handle grenades and re-sight my M-16. We were brought into a room and allowed to watch the launch of the first Apollo rocket to the Moon. Training was canceled that day. I made enough of an improvement that the cadre sent me on a 3-day pass to Myrtle Beach, on Labor Day weekeend.. I saw that there was little difference between it and the beach towns of New England, though the water was warmer. I stayed in a two-bed shack for $1 a night, and had the place to myself.

Fort Ben Harrison and the postal training were footnotes. I didn’t really bond with anyone in the unit, but went into Indianapolis by myself a few times on weekends. I never did get to the racetrack, though. Many of the guys went to VietNam, after AIT. I was sent to Fort Myer, Va. I was assigned to straighten out a mail operation, as my predecessor had ended up in Fort Leavenworth, for various postal crimes. That made a distinct impression on me. I got the job done quickly, to the satisfaction of the Inspector General. That November, a high school friend was killed in Viet Nam, and I began to re-assess what my responsibilities were. I fasted that Thanksgiving, and decided to give Fort Myer a year, after which I would re-assess my situation. Seeing Washington, D.C. on weekends was great fun, though, and I began to bond with civilians in the Georgetown neighbourhood, whose views on life were similar to my own.

Thus did the ’60s come to an end.

Eastbound and Back, Day 3: “When the Stars Begin to Fall”

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Posted by on in Assistance, collaborating, Community, impediments, Inner Struggles, Matters of Faith, Personal Values, service, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

May 1, 2024, Goshen, IN- With those words, from the immortal gospel song, George, the Director of the Welcome Center at the Baha’i House of Worship, Wilmette, Illinois sent our spirits soaring. What a glorious morning it had already been, on as afternoon progressed, I was delighted to join the the celebration of the Twelfth Day of Ridvan, commemorating the day, in 1863m when Baha’u’llah and His entourage left the Garden of Ridvan, outside Baghdad, and began the long journey to what is now Istanbul.

I was a bit under-dressed for this occasion, yet the message on my tee was proper: “Created noble”. We all are, don’t you know. I was honoured to be able to convey gratitude to George, after the ceremony, as refreshments were served in Foundation Hall, under the glorious auditorium, where prayers are said aloud on special occasions, such as this, but are mostly offered in silence, by members of all Faiths- and positive thoughts by those of no Faith. I was delighted as well to meet, in person, the distinguished long-time Choral Director of the House, Van Gilmer, whose music has enkindled so many of our spirits, over the past five decades.

This is a phone camera-only journey, my digital camera being given a rest, in advance of a heavy schedule, the rest of this year. So, here are a few scenes of the “Mother Temple of the West”, as ‘Abdu’l-Baha described it, accompanied by scenes of Wilmette’s majestic Gillson Park, which neighbours the House grounds, and of beloved Lake Michigan.

Baha’i House of Worship, Wilmette, IL

Lilacs in bloom, west garden of the Baha’i House of Worship, Wilmette, IL

Wallace Bowl, the amphitheater of Gillson Parl, Wilmette

Lake Michigan, from Gillson Park.

The Baha’i House of Worship, from Wilmette Harbor

So proceeded a glorious day. I felt a bit of disconnect, between my physical state and consciousness- though thankfully not quite on the order described by the author. Salman Rushdie, following his having been attacked by a young man during a ceremony he was attending, a few years back. I felt, all day, as if I was moving in a different realm, while being fully aware of, and connected with, those around me.

Nonetheless, I was able to render some service, during the visit, to guests who were at the Temple for the first time, and to convey thanks and appreciation to George and Van, for the excellent program. After leaving the sacred site, I found traffic along I-94 southbound, relatively light. It took about 45 minutes to get from the Dempster turnoff to the Ohio Street exit. After the I-55 interchange, things lightened up even more and there was virtually no one using the Skyway.

It was a tired, but happy, Schroeder family who greeted me for a short dinner respite and some catching up, from my last visit. Things were bustling and chaotic, for Val and Sparky, so I did not stay long, once dinner was done. I was also dragging a bit, by then, so the choice was made to settle into the Super 8, in this fine community, about an hour southeast of Mishawaka. Other friends here are also indisposed, so it will be on to Ohio and Pennsylvania, tomorrow afternoon. I am sorry to have to pass up Indianapolis this time, as well, yet it is critical to be where Mom is, by Saturday.

Let’s close, for now, with this rendition of “When The Stars Begin to Fall”, by the ’60s inspirational group, The Seekers.

Indy

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Posted by on in Community, impediments, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual

April 16, 2021-

I have had the good fortune to have called many places home.

When good fortune meets the people of those communities, I feel the greatest joy.

When, on the other hand, tragedy strikes, it hurts my heart equally as much. Indianapolis was my home for a scant five weeks, in 1969.

I learned the skills needed to run a successful postal operation, and in particular, the skills needed to handle accountable mail. Only for the hiring freeze of early 1972, did I turn aside from being in the Registered, Insured and Certified cage, and follow through with a career in education. End of digression.

It was a maturational five weeks, at Fort Benjamin Harrison, in the leafy near suburb of Lawrence, and I began the slow, halting process of taking on a man’s responsibilities. Indianapolis has had a piece of my heart since then.

Many return visits have come to pass, since then; all of them have been times of welcome. So, it was with intense sorrow that I read, this morning, of the slaughter of eight people at a Federal Express site, not far from the old “Fort Ben”.

The debate about gun ownership will go on, and on. I know one thing, though. I was taught firearms safety, respect for a weapon and what it can do, at an early age. The men who taught me that respect would be aghast, livid, at the laxity with which the mentally ill are allowed to possess and use firearms, at will.

They were the true patriots of their time, and they cared enough to demand discipline-especially when it came to matters of life and death.

Heal, Indianapolis, as Boston, North Charleston, Atlanta, Blacksburg, Orlando, Sutherland, Fort Hood, Tucson, Las Vegas, San Bernardino, Aurora, Boulder, Jonesboro, Roseburg, Parkland, Newtown, Columbine and countless other communities have been healing, for so long, in the name of living in a free society that struggles to understand what freedom really means.

The 2018 Road, Day 9, Part 1: Purdue’s Two Hosts

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Posted by on in Education, Historical, Personal Values, Travel

June 4, 2018, Lafayette, IN-

Today began, and ended, down on the farm. Oak Ridge Farms, a dairy enterprise combined with a resort, has a “farm to mouth” restaurant, and a huge presence in the area between Lafayette and the Calumet region of northwest Indiana.  It was too early in the morning, for any of the facilities to be open, so I went about the grounds and share these scenes:

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The Farmhouse Restaurant being closed until 10 a.m., I headed to Rensselaer, down the road a piece, and had my own repast at Janet’s Kitchen.  Breakfasts in much of the Midwest are very basic, but flavourful and filling.  That was the case here.

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I went shortly afterward to downtown Lafayette looking, as always. for  solid buildings and interesting scenes. Various art forms share the space here.

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Tippecanoe County Courthouse is reminiscent of the equally solid courthouse we have in Prescott.  It has a couple of extra spires, though.

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I was taken with this avant-garde bench, on one of Lafayette’s side streets.

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After doing my laundry at West Lafayette’s large tanning salon/laundromat enterprise:  Levee Tan & Laundry, I took a short walk along the main drag of Purdue University, which is the pride of both cities, and of west-central Indiana as a whole. Purdue has plenty of both ivy-covered traditional structures and state-of-the-art, modernist buildings.

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With that, I headed south, to Indianapolis, and had an enjoyable, if brief, catch-up session with an old friend and her son, at a north side Einstein Brothers.  Curiously, though no surprise to me, I took the exact exit I needed to take, without knowing where we were to meet.  There is a lot of energy out there, guiding this often clueless wanderer.

The day ended, as it began, with me on the farm.  Part 2 of this post will look at one of western Indiana’s best-kept secrets:  Prophetestown

 

Rust Removal

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Posted by on in collaborating, Community, impediments, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving

November 9, 2016, Prescott-  This past summer, en route to visiting my family in Massachusetts, I stopped to visit a progressive friend, in Indianapolis, on July 5.  We caught up on events of the past few years, and agreed that life was taking a turn for the better, for a good many people who had previously been living on the edge of society, though there was lots of work still to be done.

Five hours later, I stopped for dinner, in Zanesville, OH, in the foothills east of Columbus.  As I took a drive through the town, my heart was breaking.  There is much about the “Rust Belt”, from Pittsburgh and Buffalo to St. Louis and Milwaukee, that deserves this nation’s gratitude and support.  This is an area which once kept our country moving, during the years of war, and in times of past economic despair, the Midwest was where our national economy got a reboot.

Zanesville presented a picture of a crumbling, somewhat boarded-up mini-version of Detroit, or of Buffalo at the turn of this century.  Its plight is, no doubt, replicated throughout the region.  The place needs believers.

In the past few weeks, the election cycle, just ended, featured one candidate insulting a wide variety of target groups.  Another candidate used the word “deplorable” to identify a large group of other people.  Both candidates claimed to care for those left behind by the nascent economic recovery.  Now, one of them has to make good on his rhetoric.

Human beings are not deplorable.  Behaviors and attitudes can be.  One such attitude is the view that people of colour are less than fully human.  Another holds that people who live in gender confusion, or are oriented differently, in terms of sexuality, need to be converted to a more conventional sexual identity.   A third, equally unfortunate, attitude holds that it is perfectly okay to leave uneducated, conservative people of European descent, in the rubbish heap of history.

My answer is :  None of the above is okay.  We saw what happened, twice, when the first two mindsets were challenged by a vocal electorate.  Last night, we saw what happened when the third mindset got its comeuppance.  There is, simply put, one overall solution:  Re-establishing community.    The White people of small towns and farms are not, inherently, the enemies of African-Americans, LGBT people, or Latinos.  The disconnect comes from not getting to know each other, and from relying on third parties to make each other’s acquaintance, and resume the practice of active listening.

I have friends across the political spectrum, and have made a point of traveling widely in the Midwest and South, for the very reason that every community is worthy of at least acquaintance.  Ignorance of others only leads to bloodshed.  History bears this out.

Make no mistake:  I will not abide an American Kristelnacht, or Jacobin tyranny, without speaking out and acting forcefully, if nonviolently.  The American Legion, to which I belong, vows to oppose tyranny of “both the classes and the masses.”  The first is outmoded and unnecessary.  The second needs to know that all its members are important.  “The People” refers to all human beings.

It’s time to scrape the rust off our souls, as well as off the factory towns of the North.