What's the point of writing a column?

So I’ve been thinking about writing an occasional column for the Winters Express. Debra the editor thought the “Steady as we go” columns I wrote as the Chamber of Commerce Executive Director were OK, and since they’re always looking for some filler for section two, and as how you can only take so much of Donald, Jesse, Robert, & the chicken stuff, and as I’ve always wanted to see how long of a sentence I could string together, I figure what the hell. So here goes.

The title of my column is “What’s the point?” and it will give me the opportunity to express my pessimistic, jaded, cynical and sometimes humorous views and observations of life, culture, society, and these times we live in. Hopefully we can also explore some of the big philosophical questions about the point of life, religion, politics, and why the world can’t have civil discourse on any of these topics. I also want to bare a little of my soul to all of you who think I’m just this business guy who used to run the coffee house and the visitors center. To quote the Talking Heads “And You May Find Yourself In A Beautiful House, With A Beautiful Wife And You May Ask Yourself-Well...How Did I Get Here?” And I do ask myself, how did I get here? In this beautiful town with these beautiful people? So let’s start with a short highlighted history of my life. As Jon Lovitz used to say on Saturday Night Live “Get to know me!”

I was born a poor black child, oops sorry that was Steve Martin in the Jerk (are we seeing a pattern here already)? Actually I was born in Poughkeepsi, NY on June 8^th 1957. I was induced labor because my parents were scheduled to move on the due date and figured my mother could use the rest before moving. I’ve always wondered if that contributed to my never feeling quite ready. My parents were both born in Argentina and moved to the states (with my older brother) so my father could finish his medical schooling. My father was a psychiatrist who was much better with his patients than his family. My parents were Jewish but didn’t believe in god so we were raised without any religious teachings. We moved a lot in my youth, before I settled at age 11 in Flint Michigan we lived in NY, Vermont, Kansas (sister born), Delaware (triplets born – one dies), Argentina, back to Kansas and then Michigan. During my 9^th birthday party in Kansas we were interrupted by a tornado that cut a mile wide path thru Topeka, I thought that was the coolest present ever. When I was 14 my mother kicked my dad out of the house and told him he had to take the older kids with him. My 16 year old brother and I moved into a townhouse with my dad, we got a black lab that we named Psycho and he sure lived up to his name. After 6 months we all moved back home and the dog went to live on a farm (so we were told). Starting in 8^th grade I went to a brand new small progressive private school where we got evaluations instead of letter grades and we called the teachers by their first names. That year there were 80 students in the whole school. The school was started by a group of concerned parents who said they didn’t like the public school system but the truth was more about race. This was Flint 1 year after the Detroit race riots and the public schools were already about 60% minority students. Ironically my first and best friend at that school was black (but affluent).  By the time I was 16 I had become what is now commonly known as a “stoner”. That year my sister Moira was murdered on the day before her 15^th birthday. That event shredded what little relationship my parents had left, they divorced and my mother picked up what was left of our family and moved to California to be near her brother. After 4 months of living and going to high school in Richmond I convinced my parents to let me move back with my dad and finish my senior year in Flint (not the first of many bad ideas). After that long strange trip of high school I was sick of going to school so I wasn’t very motivated for college, I dropped out after a couple of months. My father said if I was going to live under his roof I had to go to school, I responded by moving into a $35 per week furnished apartment. Ah free at last. I had a job, a car, my own pad, and the love of a girl we called “Mary Jane”.

If you enjoyed reading this, look for the next installment, Young Adulthood or what I like to call the Triple D. Disco days, door to door meat man, and the San Francisco D.A. comes a calling. If you’re wondering about what happened to my sister, I’ll write about that some other time. If you’re asking yourself what’s the point? There may not be one but stay tuned anyway, same Bat Time, same Bat Channel.


To view the column in it's original form go to page 14 of the following link.Winters Express 1/27/11