Law Letters

Remembering Jim Irelan

Work ethic within an individual can come from many sources. For me, having grown up on a farm in Iowa, I gained most of my early work ethic from my father who gave me chores and demonstrated to me the rewards of “earning.” I would feed and water cattle after school and I was given a percentage after they were taken to market in the fall.  Dad had to wait for his income, so if I ever wanted to be a farmer, I had to learn the system of delayed gratification. 

Soon after we’d sell the cattle at the fall auction, I’d put my cut of the money in the bank then head down to the creek bottom to pick up walnuts. Selling those was easy, because I already had a buyer—my uncle Dave, who gave me five dollars a bushel. I think I only filled a couple five-gallon buckets, but to my uncle that was close enough.

Also throughout the winter I’d trap muskrats in our pond and sell the hides, something I’m not sure could be done today. On Saturdays we usually went to the livestock auction in town, and in those days there was almost always snow on the ground from December through March. If there had been a fresh snow, I’d grab my dad’s scoop shovel out of the back of the truck and walk down nearby Drake Avenue, and some of the side streets, and knock on doors to see if they would like their walk shoveled. I shoveled quite a few walks for five bucks each.

In the summer, while the cattle were now grazing and could feed themselves, my dad would load our John Deere riding lawnmower in the back of his truck and take it to town for me so I could mow people’s lawns. I mowed a dentist office, that same dentist’s home lawn, and several other lawns that I’d gained by referral. This kept me pretty busy during the summer, and there wasn’t much idle time before I started feeding cattle again.

When I turned sixteen, still a sophomore in high school, I decided I wanted to get a “real job.”  I had no idea where to start or who to talk to, but one day after school I happened to be on the city square in my hometown of Centerville, Iowa, and the storefront of Jim Irelan Men’s Wear caught my eye. I knew that Jim employed high school boys, and they were some of the most popular guys in school—and since I wasn’t one of those “popular” kids, I was quite intimidated to even try.

Something within me gave me the courage to go in and ask. I think it was because Jim was also a cattleman, and he knew my dad. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have a “connection” … that that might be the edge I’d need. That courage, however, gave way to nervous jitters as I entered the store. 

It was April, 1982, and I stood there inside the door watching this tall, slender, well-dressed man walk towards me. I’d seen him several times before, either at the livestock auction—one of the only men you’d ever see wearing a suit and tie with chore boots—or in his store when my dad was there to buy a suit of clothes. But those times he had been friendly and smiling, and this time he looked more serious, because regardless of how old I was, I was asking to be a part of his business, which was serious.

He told me that he didn’t have any openings at the moment, but that he’d keep me in mind. He did ask, however, if I was involved in any school activities.  I knew that honesty was always the best policy, even though I’d heard that employers liked involvement in activities, because it demonstrated an active, social personality. But I told him that I wasn’t, other than the school newspaper and yearbook, which wouldn’t interfere. He said that he couldn’t hire anyone who was involved in school activities, because when he needed them to work, they needed to be here. Score for me. But, he didn’t have any openings.

A week or so went by, and I believe it was a Wednesday afternoon, because that was the day my dad went to his Rotary Club meetings. Dad came home that afternoon and told me that he spoke with Jim Irelan at Rotary, and that Jim wanted me to come into the store and talk to him.  I quickly realized that I hadn’t told my dad or mom that I had went in and asked Jim for a job, but apparently they didn’t care. I was sixteen, had my own transportation, so why not?

After school the next day I went back in to Jim’s store and met with him, and he told me that the boy he tried to get to work for him was involved in too many school activities, so if I wanted the job, it was mine.  He told me it paid $3.10 an hour, and that he’d want me to work Friday after school until close, and all day Saturday.  Then he turned to Robert Houf, his store supervisor, and asked him if he’d want me any other days. Robert said Monday after school would be good, too. 

He told me that I needed to wear a tie, but that I didn’t have to wear a suit coat. A sweater was okay, too, so long as I wore a tie under it. “I want you to advertise our clothes to the kids at school,” he said. “So I’ll let you have anything here at cost.”

I can’t begin to tell you how excited I was. It was Thursday, and Friday couldn’t come quick enough. I stood there like a dork looking around at the clothes, eager to learn this new trade.  I soon realized, though, that I didn’t have much at all in regards to dress clothes, and that the only tie I had was a clip-on. They told me not to worry about it. Little did I know about the depth of education that I was about to receive… not just on men’s apparel, but many other things as well.

I had been at the job about a week and it was late on a Friday night. The store closed at 9 p.m., and for anyone who grew up in my hometown, the city square was the place to be on Friday night. I stood there watching the cars drive by, proudly adjusting my tie, while many of my friends were out there cruising in their cars, blasting their music loud, and I wanted to impress them.

At that moment Jim walked up behind me, and when I turned around to look up at him—and I and everyone else did look up at him—he looked down at me very sternly, and said, “You need to stay busy. Look over the merchandise. Learn the stock.”  Like the dumb-ass teenager that I was, I said, “Yeah, I pretty much know everything.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Show me the Sup-Hose.”

Of course I was caught. He knew I wouldn’t know what he was talking about. He followed by saying, “Walk around the store. Open cabinets, open boxes. Learn the stock.”

The way I saw it, Jim Irelan taught me the art of salesmanship, and Robert Houf, his store supervisor, taught me the art of customer service (as well as how to tie a tie—no more clip-ons).  It was a pleasure watching Jim sell a suit, especially to a man when his wife was present. He could pour on the style, and entertain them with a funny comment or two.  My favorite, which he used quite a bit, was when a man tried on a suit or slacks and they were a little too snug, and he’d say, “You need a little more room around the grocery department.”

But Jim wasn’t always the best example when it came to customer complaints. He’d argue with them tooth and nail, and he despised returns.  But, he’d say, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  That’s where Robert came in best. He was very keen about making sure the customer got what they wanted, and never tried to sell them something they didn’t.  If a customer walked out of the store without buying something, Jim would darn near chase them down the street. It was almost comical.

Robert opened the store at 9 a.m. every day, and closed it at 5 p.m. or later, depending on whether or not there were still customers in the store, and of course 9 p.m. on Fridays.  They never closed a minute before, regardless of how slow it was. There was a lot of commitment and pride to the business.  Jim, however, usually rolled in around 9:30 a.m., and he’d leave around 3 or 4 in the afternoon.  There were times he’d stay until close, if we were busy.  But it wasn’t because he wasn’t working. He ran a registered Angus cattle farm, too.

Jim was a busy man. At that time I didn’t know much about his earlier life, but I know that he was from that “Greatest Generation” that grew up during the Great Depression.  I recently learned that when Jim was a young man, that he’d milk cows in the morning and in the evening. At that time there was a men’s clothing store in Centerville called Elgins, where he worked, but on his way to work he’d deliver milk to customers on a route that he’d established.  He’d then work in the store all day, and go back to milking that evening.

Jim once told me about a dish washing job that he had after working at the Elgins store all day, which was just around the corner from the store, in a basement restaurant, the same location where my mother once operated a beauty salon.  He’d get off work, go down and wash dishes for a few hours, then go home and milk cows.  He didn’t make any money washing dishes, he’d said, but the owner gave him all the beer he wanted to drink. I suppose in those days, for a young man, that was probably a pretty good way to afford a beer. I often wondered, however, how sober he was when he milked the cows. I was too afraid to ask him.

One great memory of working in the store during that era was the overhead music.  Though I don’t remember the call letters, there was a radio station in Des Moines that played classical and Big Band music. That was Jim’s music, especially the Big Band. He despised any other genre, and I’ll never forget the day when that radio station changed its format, and the best we could get was a local country music station. “That crap’s not Country,” he’d say. And whenever he’d get near the overhead speaker, he’d shake his head.  I’m not sure he ever got used to it.

Another trademark of Jim that was so impressive to me was his investing.  When Jim first arrived at the store, he usually sat down in a chair near the back and read the Des Moines Register and the Wall Street Journal.  Though I don’t know what all he invested in, he did share that he owned some stocks, had put some money in some diversified funds, and that he had bought municipal bonds that helped build some of the area schools.  At that time I didn’t have a clue what any of it was, but after I graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in business, and a minor in accounting, I often thought about Jim and the entrepreneurial example he was for our community.

Though sharply dressed every day in a suit and tie, I doubt many would argue that Jim’s favorite business, or hobby, was his registered Angus cattle. Though he was proud of a lot of things, he bragged about them the most. And on the slow weeks in the summer, Jim would give me work on the farm scooping manure out of his barn with a tractor and loader, then dumping it in a spreader and pulling that around the pastures. It was quite a contrast, but it was a terrific example of how a man should be prepared to do anything, and that nothing was beneath him.

I worked for Jim off and on over the course of three to four years, the latter which was full time.  A few years later I ended up working as a buyer for a clothing store chain, Mona’s Big and Tall, in Des Moines, Iowa—a job I couldn’t have got without my experience at Jim Irelan Men’s Wear.

After working for a few weeks for Mona’s, Frank Mona was quite impressed with my knowledge. Not that there weren’t other men who had worked for men’s clothing stores, and he’d employed many, but the point was, I was only twenty-two years old. Frank sent me all over the upper Midwest opening new stores, filling them with the right kind of merchandise, and even interviewing and hiring employees.  One time I even helped terminate a difficult employee, a man more than twice my age.

I met frequently with clothing salesmen, and even went on an annual buying trip to San Diego, where we attended a Big and Tall Men’s convention at the famous Del Coronado resort hotel. None of this, and I mean none of it, would have been possible without the knowledge and training I received from Jim Irelan and Robert Houf. During the Christmas season at Mona’s, especially on Black Friday, all of the office personnel, including Frank himself, had to go to one of the three store locations in Des Moines and help out on the sales floor.

The manager at the store where I worked could not believe how well I could fit men in suits. He had men working there who were decades older than me who still had issues. I had tailor’s chalk in my coat pockets ready to go every day, and that store manager begged me to come to the store and work for him. He assured me I’d make more money on commission, but I’d already been down that road, and I had my eyes set on moving up the corporate ladder.

I worked that job a little over a year and had been taking night classes at a community college, working towards my business degree. I knew that I had to go to college full time if I was ever going to get my degree, which so many companies required for advancement.  I moved to Kansas City, Missouri to attend the University of Missouri-Kansas City’s Bloch School of Business (named after Henry W. Bloch, the co-founder of H&R Bloch tax services).

I was excited to attend college full time, but I needed a part-time job to pay my general expenses.  Because of my experience in men’s clothing, I landed a job selling men’s suits on commission at J.C. Penney in North Kansas City.  The manager there was quite impressed how I hit the floor running, and how I spent my time “learning the stock.”  I think he was more impressed, however, that I already had tailor’s chalk in my suit coat pockets.

After I graduated college, my first job was with Investors Fiduciary Trust, doing investment accounting for Piper Jaffray Mutual Funds out of Minneapolis. It was my first real step into the world of big business, working downtown Kansas City on the twentieth floor of a skyscraper, wearing a suit and tie, and working toward that first promotion. The major part of my job was to perform a series of accounting steps that led to the actual net asset value of a mutual fund. 

Once I came up with this figure, and it was approved by my supervisor, I typed it into an electronic system which uploaded it into an SEC database. It became that day’s recorded “NAV” for that fund, which would appear in the financial sections of every newspaper, including the Wall Street Journal. So many times I could picture Jim Irelan, sitting in that chair in the back of the store, reading his WSJ, and wondered if he ever invested in Piper Jaffray funds.

About a year after I started that job, I acted upon the encouragement of one of my college professors to pursue a career in writing. I had been attending a professional writing group every week, which consisted of Kansas City Star writers, magazine freelancers, poets, and novelists, all who encouraged me as well.  One of those members was the late Dan Quisenberry, who after retiring as a relief pitcher from Major League Baseball, became a poet. He and I had coffee every Thursday, where we shared our writing, and he assured me I had what it took to be a professional novelist.

Though it took some time to get where I am today, it’s interesting to look at my novel, THE TRUE FATHER, and see how much of that comes from my work experiences, including my time at Jim Irelan Men’s Wear. The accountant who becomes disenchanted with his job, the descriptions of men’s clothing, and the experience on a cattle ranch watching calves being born—if you’ve read that novel, it all becomes clear after reading this blog post.

Most of all, however, I don’t think I could be where I am today without the level of work ethic, professionalism, salesmanship, and personal style, which I first obtained at Jim Irelan Men’s Wear. Though I got Work Ethic 101 from my father, for sure, I got a much stronger dose of it from Jim and Robert. There is not a day that goes by that a part of who I am doesn’t go back to those days in that small town men’s store.

A few weeks ago I was sad to learn that Jim had passed away. I was not surprised, however, that he lived to be 96 years-young, and that only a few months before his health started failing him, he still dressed up and went up to the store, still tended a garden, and still played around with his registered Angus cattle. I had just had a book release in October and had been doing some touring, so I was lucky to be able to get away.  I had a book event the day before his funeral in Emporia, Kansas, but I had this strong yearning to go and pay my respects.

I was happy to be able to reunite with Robert, who now owns the store, and also Jim’s grandsons. The two oldest, Jimmie and Jeff, are about my age, and when they were teenagers, and they came home for the holidays to see their grandpa, they’d work in the store with us. It was good to see them again, all grown, Jimmie now and investment banker for Wells Fargo and living in New York City, and Jeff and attorney for John Deere and living in the Quad Cities.

Along with their younger brother, Brian, and their father, Jim Sr., they gave a wonderful tribute to their grandfather. Though I didn’t know him like they did, they sure expanded on the man that had made such an impression on me in my early years. One thing they all mentioned, which was no surprise, was his work ethic. It was definitely one of his greatest strengths, and a major part of his character. And if not for him, I often wonder what kind of man I’d be today.

R.I.P. Jim Irelan.

Steven Law is the author of THE BITTER ROAD (Goldminds, 2013) and EL PASO WAY (Berkley, 2013). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

My Thoughts On the Missouri Rodeo Clown

If you haven’t already heard, a Missouri rodeo clown is in deep doo-doo over his poor choice of words in the rodeo arena last Saturday. But that’s really what it was, a poor choice of words, because everything else had been done before.  That’s right, this wasn’t the first time a mask of an American president was put on a dummy in a rodeo arena.  Initially this wasn’t about race, or politics, even though it could be made to be so by the media.  Which they did, of course.

That’s right, it wasn’t about race until a few locals and the media attention dug into the sensitivities that already exist over President Obama being black. It’s not about him being a Democrat, or a liberal, or that Missouri is predominantly a Red State. To prove my point, put a mask of President Bill Clinton on a rodeo dummy and do the same act, and you’ll see most people, including the media, shrug it off.  Oh yes, it’s been done before, so the point is easily proven.

So why was it a poor choice of words?  Because this “sensitivity” is well-known in America today.  It is also well-known that among Red State Conservatives, President Obama is disliked more than any other President than I’ve ever heard about.  I know this because I am a native Missourian, I live in Missouri now, and have for most of my adult life. I hear it first-hand, from people I know and don’t know, who are very vocal about their dire dislike and distrust of President Obama. Sadly, I’ve heard them reference his race in their disdain for his policies and politics. This was low hanging fruit for the liberal media (who know of these references) to take this situation and further spread their influence over political correctness.

Was the rodeo routine done in bad taste? Probably so, but ask yourself the same question when it’s done with any other President.  That’s the point I want to make. This is where “race” is made an issue, and it now becomes “politics” and they don’t care who they hurt. Because when it’s all said and done, who is going to win in this deal?  Was President Obama hurt in this situation?  Well, I guess you’d have to ask him.  I’d like to hear his response. I’d like to hear him say, “I’m no more offended by this than Bill Clinton was or would be, or Ronald Regan, or Jimmy Carter, or George H. or George W. Bush would have been when the joke was on them.”  But will he say that?  I doubt he will, because he is first and foremost a politician. It's probably just another one of those moments for "calm reflection".

My thought is that it was in bad taste when it was done with any or every American President, now or in the past.  My thought is that it is also offensive that anyone involved in that rodeo, besides the rodeo clown or whoever was in charge of scripting that entertainment segment, face any sort of serious sanction, such as the loss of their jobs because of their association with the rodeo company, simply because of the elevated sensitivity of the race of our current American President.  And I am not just talking about rodeo jobs, I am talking about the rodeo announcer, who is also a school superintendent, and may have lost that job because of his close association with the event.

Oh yes... the Secret Service also got involved, too.

But, this happening will be used to make an example out of these folks, and I would say that because of the “sensitivities” involved here, that it will never happen again, with any President, Senator, or high ranking official, in any American rodeo arena in any state.

Now we can score one for Political Correctness, and the continued ability for the media to use race as an issue.  Score another one for lessons in sensitivity, not just to those rodeo folks, but to an overly sensitive segment of our American culture.  Now slap the hands of those who need to find better ways to entertain their audiences, and for not recognizing the trouble that could get them into.  Right or wrong, they could have avoided that.  I don’t think anyone involved in crafting that act intended to martyr themselves or the welfare of their family, they were just trying to be funny. Well, that certainly came back to slap them in the Presidential mask, because now I don’t hear of anyone laughing.

At the Speed Of “Like”

Deep into this “communication revolution,” we are not always prepared to react to just how quickly information is shared. There was a time when our opinions on matters, whether they be political, religious, social, or about anything, really, were mostly between ourselves and our closest family or friends, but now all you have to do is click “like” and the whole world knows how you feel.

If there is anything slower than a snail’s pace, that’s the speed at which my dear-old-dad made his entrance into the world of Facebook. A few weeks ago he was taken aback when he was scanning the newsfeed, noticed a comment that tickled him a bit, pressed “like” and before he knew it, he was being chastised, tarred and feathered, and “unfriended” because he appeared to side with something that these people obviously opposed.

That’s what the world has come to, in this time of rapid communication. Ever since CNN started broadcasting 24-hour news, this country has entered into a social tail spin, reacting to whatever it is that they want to plant into your head. Sure, when something newsworthy happens, I want to be informed. But to me it’s disgusting when news reporters go “live to the scene,” and boast about it, selling us on the idea that what we all need is to hear the same thing over and over and over again.

Now on CNN you get Erin Burnett’s reporting on an incident, Anderson Cooper’s take, and then Pier’s Morgan’s. And in case you missed it, three hours of repeat. Three hours of wasted life that could be spent on many more productive things, when the basic information they are offering could be absorbed in less than ten minutes. The same goes for the other 24-hour news channels. I don’t care what anyone says, they are all the same, and are engaged in a form of modern brainwashing.

There is a common belief, and one that I share, that our country is now more divided than it has been since the Civil War. Gee, I wonder why? Social media sites, specifically Facebook, are just as responsible as the TV news media. The rapid spread of information, true or not, believable or not, has indoctrinated our society to a point where our associations have become more one-sided, and our reactions to various ideologies more hair-trigger. Now some care less about fact, and care more about what news feeds their personal dogma.

For example, I remember not long ago someone posted an altered image of President Obama’s ID card from Columbia University, carrying the name Barry Soetoro, and a band across the bottom that read “foreign student.” This was, of course, an image that was altered by a “birther” in their attempt to convince people that Obama was not born in this country and therefore not qualified to be President. And people believed it. But that’s NOT the point. The point IS, that someone posted that to Facebook, which hundreds of thousands of people shared, commented, and “liked,” and if you hadn’t seen it cross your newsfeed, then you probably hadn’t logged on to Facebook within the last five minutes.

I remember about twenty years ago when my grandmother decided to give email a chance. We were hoping that this would be a good way for her to see photos of her grand children and great grandchildren, or if anything just keep in touch on a more regular basis. But, once Grandma started getting spam email, she knew that her understanding of the world, and being a part of it, had passed away. She came from an age when a man’s word was all you needed, and for someone to send her an email, addressed to her personally, and telling her there was $20 million dollars waiting for her in a bank in Nigeria, was completely beyond her comprehension.

Of course it was something she had to follow up on, because since Ed McMahon never did show up at her door with that check from the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, maybe this was her destiny. I don’t think grandma ever understood what was really happening, that her identity and bank accounts were at risk of being compromised if she followed up on these things, but she took the path of least resistance and decided to abandon the use of email altogether. The same would have happened with a PhotoShop altered image—an ability to alter an image with such ease was beyond her understanding, therefore how can it not be true? Though she has since passed on, there are millions of her generation still alive and on the Internet.

I am truly bothered by the fact that, nowadays, very few in this country can share their beliefs about anything without being classified, cornered, and condemned. I am bothered greatly by the arrogance of someone believing they are “right” just because they believe it to be so. What I am not bothered by is a different “right,” and that is their right to believe what they want, and express their feelings freely. Doesn’t mean, however, without social or political repercussion, so exercising the right, thereof, should be done thoughtfully and with much care.

The news media, regardless of their political or social platform, is indeed responsible for the mass confusion that is taking place in our hearts and minds. Not long ago, when the Sandy Hook school shooting took place, Pier’s Morgan took a stand against high capacity magazines and brought guests on his show to demonstrate this stand. Problem is, he brought on, as guests of the “opposition,” propagandists from the outer fringes that represented NOBODY but themselves.

I only wish that more folks would question the motives of people and their programs or postings, rather than jumping on board and absorbing the information as “fact.” Piers Morgan is no more of an expert on anything gun-related than my seven-year-old son, but they both certainly have motives to get you to believe what they want you to believe. Piers, he wants his ratings to soar so he can remain on the air and make the big bucks. My son, he just wants to con you into buying that new Lego set.

Not long ago I noticed a post on Facebook that was highly controversial, and someone I knew very well clicked “like” and I was perplexed that they would do so, when in fact the posting was the opposite of what I knew they believed. When I asked them about it, they said, “I ‘liked’ it because I ‘like’ to see them publically make fools of themselves.” I see a lot of that these days—people making fools of themselves. I see it online, on TV, in public, and, unfortunately, at family gatherings.

What we need is to slow down and chew our food for proper digestion. We also need to avoid conflict instead of instigating it. Because in all reality we are on a collision course, and at a speed that no doubt can only result in disaster unless we pull the plug completely. To some that means staying out of the fray, either by not pressing “like” or not logging on at all. And that’s too bad. Because it’s really just a matter of good judgment, which the opposite is easily noticed simply by logging on, or tuning in.

Steven Law is the author of THE BITTER ROAD (Goldminds, 2013) and EL PASO WAY (Berkley, 2013). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

Let’s Start By Securing Our Schools

I will begin by telling you a story about my sweet aunt, who once taught home economics at a small town Missouri high school.  I loved her dearly, and before Lupus disease consumed and eventually took her life, she was a vibrant, caring woman who was never short of smiles and words of wisdom.  But after all of those wonderful qualities, I could never have seen her carrying a gun on her person.  The dear woman could barely carry a drink in a glass without spilling it, and she would have been the first to tell you that she probably couldn’t shoot an elephant with a shotgun at point blank range. No… I am not encouraging the shooting of elephants, it’s just an example of her lack of coordination to handle a firearm in a peaceful situation, let a lone a hostile one.

Regardless of her talents, she wouldn’t have wanted to carry one anyway. It was not her job to police the schools, but to teach.  I can think of a lot of teachers just like her that would feel the same way.  I spent a few years in education, some in the inner city schools in Kansas City, and only those who have taught and been a teacher can understand how challenging their job truly is.  So, this talk about arming teachers, or that they somehow could carry a firearm into a school facility truly is a radical, unrealistic solution.

But at least security at our school is the right discussion.  We can talk about gun regulation and mental illness all we want, but that still doesn't stop mentally ill people from walking into schools with illegal guns. Not all mentally ill people get help, and not all of them will be kept from getting their hands on guns. So, let's do something we can control, which is secure our schools, and keep the gunners out. I doubt there would be as much disagreement that we need to protect our children, first and foremost.

I posted the prior paragraph on Facebook and received all sorts of responses, the greater being the suggestion that teachers carry guns.  I am assuming that none of those people have ever been teachers, but even if they have, I would wager all the money in my wallet (which is not much) that they are a minority.  The precarious situations that would create make it a truly unreasonable solution.  There are several issues that need to be discussed, but the first and most attainable in the short term is securing our schools.

I saw on the news this morning that President Obama calls for a discussion on gun violence.  That is great, that discussion does need to take place, but we all know that is more political than anything else.  The first calls need to be to school superintendents, chiefs of police, and country sheriffs, to talk about an immediate, mandatory protection of our schools and children.  If the past has taught us anything, schools are a key target for this type of behavior.  Obama said this has to stop… well, let’s minimize the possibility by increasing security first.

With my experience in inner city schools, I can tell you that an armed gunmen like the ones that caused these tragedies in the past few years would have unlikely ever entered those schools.  There is only one entrance to the school and all students have to pass through metal detectors.  The security professionals are trained to recognize threats, and we need to spare our teachers with that kind of burden.

Securing our schools does not mean turning them into armed fortresses, with razor wire and fatigued soldiers carrying AR-15s. Some security officers I have seen at schools wear polo shirts and khaki slacks.  There is indeed a need for the understanding of child psychology and not making them think that people are trying to get in the school and cause them harm.  It’s kind of like the President’s secret service, we know they are there and what they are for, but they don’t stand out like a sore thumb. 

Regardless of gun control debates, I don’t even want to engage in the dialogue about the issues with mentally ill people, people with learning disabilities, disorders, or whatever ails them to the point of where they plan horrific acts of violence.  There might be some truth to their inspiration being violent TV shows, movies, musical lyrics, or video games, but initiating censorship violates another one of our constitutional rights, and creates a debate even more controversial than gun control.  The key point is that it solves nothing NOW.

The fastest, most immediate solution to these threats is to increase security at our schools.  It’s a dialogue that does not require any action from our President, but the local authorities who are fully empowered to make the appropriate decisions.  There can be an interim solution to protect our children NOW, and then a carefully planned, long-term solution, by creating secured locations, installing monitoring and detecting systems, and specialized training to recognize these threats, just as our police are trained to recognize illegal activity on the streets of our city.

Before we go off on tangents and our own personal, anger driven and subjective fantasies, let’s think first and foremost about what is truly important here, and that’s the safety of our children.  I want them protected NOW, as well as in the future, and ongoing debates about gun violence, mental illness, Aspergers, mental retardation, or IQ levels does nothing to initiate an immediate, interim solution.  For anyone to suggest that I am discriminating against any of the former mentioned, is just ludicrous.  This is not a time for political correctness. I don't care if they're white, black, Hispanic, Asian, mentally ill, or have a PhD, I just don't want them hurting our children.  And for the life of me, I cannot understand how anyone can let their personal egos and political agendas overshadow the lives of innocent children.

I don’t always agree with President Obama, but I do agree that “we can’t tolerate this anymore.”  Let’s think about the kids without debate. We don’t have time for it.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

What Has Happened to the Season of Giving?

CLICK HERE TO SEE THE AUTHOR READ THIS BLOG ON VIDEO

I have many fond memories of Christmas.  Growing up on an Iowa farm, the spirit was brought on by that first snow, which could happen any time in the month of November.  After Thanksgiving mom would get out the Christmas decorations, and we would go to the grocery store where they sold real trees—probably a Douglas fir or Scotch pine—and their scent still lingers in my mind to this day.  The big, colorful light bulbs we used on the trees then had a much different appeal than the needle thin tips of flicker we use today.

I suppose it’s the same for most children, regardless of the times we live in.  The excitement of Christmas still brews in their minds, up and to the joy of “receiving.”  That’s what I remember most about the teachings of my family, and I suppose the church, that it was the season of “giving,” which was the true spirit of Christmas.  It’s normal for children to focus on the opposite, but if giving is taught, and practiced, it comes as second nature when they mature.

I’ve worked hard at instilling that into my own son.  He is only seven, but since he was able to talk I have taken him shopping for his mother and half brothers.  He has grown to truly love “giving” and looks on with anticipation as the receivers unwrap the gifts he bought them.  So, I guess I am doing my part to spread the true meaning of Christmas on to him, but I am sorry to say that so many today simply don’t get it.

I recall the days before I became a father, and that period of my adult life where the commercialized, secular portion of Christmas truly disgusted me.  I would watch other people’s children unwrap present after present—tear the paper off then shove it quickly aside and move on to the next one, never taking time to truly acknowledge or appreciate what they just “received.”  After about ten or more presents, they look around and raise their hands and say, “Is that all I got?”  But that’s not the half of it.  The new stuff often gets pushed aside, and they are on to the video game they were playing before Santa arrived.

When my son came into this world, I had a talk with my mom and my sister.  I held up my index finger. “One present,” I said. “READ MY LIPS: ONE PRESENT.”

Luckily they respected my wishes.  I am happy to say that after Santa comes, my son dumps out his stocking, which has a lot of little goodies that I know he will enjoy, then unwraps that one very nice present that usually costs under $100.  And when we go to my family Christmas, he opens the two gifts he received from my sister and my parents.  He takes time to acknowledge those gifts and is eager to play with them.

I know that not everyone will agree with me, but this is my way of raising my son not to be over indulged and miss the true meaning of Christmas.  Children are easily programmed, but very difficult to de-program.  I believe in tough love, and I believe it through showing it, and using it.  So far it has worked on him.  But I can’t say as much for other children, or those big kids on Black Friday.  Talk about not getting the true meaning?

I know some people who LOVE getting out on Black Friday.  Personally, I’d rather have a double root canal, a rectal scope with no anesthesia, and my fingernails ripped off with fencing pliers.  Are you kidding me?  And I thought grown men on a summer softball field were bad.  One of the news stations played a Black Friday segment of people getting trampled at WalMart for a $10 Croc Pot.  If one of those people are seeing this vlog post, then I am not apologizing when I say, you are a moron.

My mom, madam eBay queen, mentioned that the Black Friday electronics rush is for eBay sellers, so it’s part of their business.  I suppose that’s fine, if that’s what they want to do to make an extra buck or two.  When it comes to business I guess I’m just a different kind of competitor, and would rather use my brains than brawn, and can’t see myself wrestling some old lady for a $99 tablet.

To top it off, amidst all of my bah-humbug feelings, I have to tolerate my favorite radio station’s switch to exclusive Christmas tunes from mid November to Christmas Day. Makes my skin crawl, and I have to block it out.  I do like Neil Diamond’s version of Little Drummer Boy, or Nat King Cole’s version of The Christmas Song, or my favorite, Do You Hear What I Hear? But anymore, I don’t hear the real spirit of Christmas as it was meant to be.

The other day I set up a book table at a holiday open house at one of our local schools.  Across from me were two ladies selling decorative Santas.  They had thirty feet of table space, with three different stair levels for the white bearded icons, dressed in everything from the traditional red and white to fishing and hunting garb.  The ladies themselves were all festive with Christmas sweaters, too, and it was the hottest spot in the building.

So I sat their, popping Tums in my mouth and battling my gag reflex, as women flipped out their hard earned cash to adopt one of these Made in China ornaments.  I guess it’s one of those women things that men don’t understand.  But I’m glad they had a good day.

All in all, I try to stay positive during this season, if not for my own attitude, for the benefit of my son. I want him to have pleasant Christmas memories as I had.  He won’t know what a real Christmas tree smells like, or the site of a glowing light bulb the size of your thumb, but he will have his own fond associations.  When he’s not looking, however, I’ll remain the holiday’s greatest cynic. So, to spread more of my anti-cheer, and in memory of the great Andy Williams, who left us this year, here is his most famous Christmas song, with a twist.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

Divided We Fall

I normally don’t like writing about politics, and I have good reasons.  For the most part, as divided as our country is right now, debating anything is a waste of good energy.  It’s about as divisive as discussing religion, if not worse, and I for one respect everyone’s right to believe what they want in any arena. What I don’t like are the rolling eyes, the snippy, hateful comments… the “I’m so smart and you’re so dumb” arrogance.  And as bad, the angry, misguided, propaganda based ignorance.  Anymore I feel like a parent who needs to gather all of their children in the same room and knock their heads together.  Yes, literally.

So bear with me now as I tread dangerous ground, and before you respond, I would prefer you take at least one breath, maybe take a walk down the road or around the block, or possibly even sleep on it a night or two.  And after those calming steps, wouldn’t hurt to check your blood pressure first, your oxygen levels, and make sure your underwear isn’t too tight.

Okay, here goes…

Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, I’ve been somewhat taken aback by the White House petitions to secede.  I haven’t taken the time to make a list, but I am hearing reports that there is one for each state.  In some cases there is more than one for each state, because, I presume, someone was too lazy to read down the list of petitions to see if their state already had one.  Or, maybe the petition itself didn’t state what they wanted.  All I do know is that it’s a disturbing proposition no matter how you look at it.

At first I wonder if it’s not the same temperament as a man or woman going up to their spouse and saying, “I want a divorce.”  Maybe they’re serious, maybe they’re not.  Maybe they’re just trying to get the other’s attention.  Then I see a few of the news interviews and realize, yes, these people are serious.  What I also notice is that they are ignoring one very important fact, and that’s the election itself.  I’m not talking about who voted for who, I’m talking about who didn’t vote.

According to the Associated Press election figures, there were over 9 million (9,177,555 to be exact) less people that turned out to vote in this year’s election than 2008.  1.4 million less Republicans, and 7.7 million less Democrats.  Since it’s fairly safe to say that the petitions are likely from angry Republicans, or Libertarians, then the petition went to the wrong place. They need to be petitioning their fellow party members for not getting out and voting.

The people who voted spoke and Obama was re-elected.  Now, if you want to cite some World View conspiracy, left wing voter fraud, or whatever idea you want to share with the radical shockwaves and propaganda email chains, then I suggest you go out there and gather the intelligence data for such accusations and PROVE IT.  Because, my fellow Americans, the petitions you are making should be to the ones who DIDN’T VOTE, and not to the White House.  As far as I can tell, they won fair and square.

I know what you’re thinking.  Yeah, you’re thinking that since Steven Anderson, AKA Steven Law, is siding with the election results, that he drank the Liberal Kool-Aid.  He’s a writer, a man of the arts, and we all know what those people think! Yeah, they are Communist, feminist, Marxist, tree hugging, baby killers who want nothing more than to take our guns away!

Well, my fellow Americans, let me enlighten you.  I have rarely, ever in my life told anyone who I voted for, because it truly is my personal business, but I will make an exception this time because I do believe it’s important to back up what I’m saying.  In 2008 I voted for John McCain.  In this recent election I voted for Mitt Romney.  That’s the extent of my exposure, because the reason I picked those candidates was because of my own careful analysis of what I thought this country needed.  They certainly were not decisions based on the embarrassing influx of right or left wing propaganda that jams my email inbox, or from Rush Limbaugh, Rachel Maddow, Sean Hannity, Chris Matthews, Mark Levin, Bill Maher, or, God help us, the pulpit.  No, I base my decisions on nothing I hear from a biased media commentary.  I read, I research, and I study the qualifications of the candidates as to their ability to deliver the goods.  And you know what, that doesn’t make me right, it just allows me to exercise my right.

So when I see the election results, and the amount of angry people out there who want to blame everyone but the people who didn’t exercise their constitutional right to vote, I want to round them up and give them a history lesson.  I am quite confident that someone in their family, during the course of American history, either died or risked their life for the right for them to walk into that poll on Election Day and cast their vote.  The blood in our domestic and foreign soil, not just from the Red States, but from sea to shining sea, was the price paid for that right.  So if they don’t exercise it, then what right do they have to complain? 

There are a lot of things that we can work towards, but the idea of secession is just unbelievably juvenile.  Pick up your toys and go home….not playing anymore.  Is that how it is?  So you don’t like the President’s policies.  You know what… I don’t like most of them either.  But I voted for a different President, and I lost.  Now we have the President we have, and we have to hope and pray for the best.  We have to work hard, listen, learn, communicate, and for God’s sake be civil!

I truly don’t believe that any one of the people who drafted or signed those petitions have the slightest inkling of what it would cause if it were to come true.  First of all, the Supreme Court determined that secession is illegal, and the only way it can truly happen is if the state, or states, secede by force.  What are the chances of that happening?  Anyway, I could go on and on about the more practical reasons why secession would never work, but all one has to do is go down the list of things that we all have that would vanish if we were no longer united, and they’d soon get the picture.  Or at least I hope they would.

What bothers me most, however, is that I live in this Red State of Missouri so I can be close to my family.  Just across town, I can go visit my very liberal family members, and their three adorable children.  We have a wonderful time if we can avoid talking about politics.  But the point is, they have lived here nearly twenty years and have tolerated many issues that go against their personal values, and though we may not agree on everything, the last thing I would ever want is to have to visit them in a foreign country.  We live in a country where we have the right to believe what we want to believe and express that freely as well.  They have been surrounded by people of very different values for a very long time and I don’t hear them talking about secession.

If there is anyone in this great country of ours that wants to shut out their family, friends, or neighbors, simply because they believe something different, then I am truly ashamed of you, and you should be ashamed of yourselves.  And if you think that just because you’re a Red State, that this utopian idea that all of the liberals would be gone, and that you still wouldn’t have major disagreements, then oh boy, you are naïve.  For example, I wonder how many Conservative Christians would side with the man who wrote the secession petition for Alabama?  He is a Libertarian, and the primary reason he wrote the petition was because he used to own and operate a topless car wash, and the local government shut him down citing indecency laws.  How about that, desiring secessionists?  Are you still game?

No, what I think the secession mongers need is a massage and a warm bath, a shot of brandy (or warm milk if they don’t drink alcohol—or hot apple cider if they’re lactose intolerant), and maybe a fishing or hunting trip, or some serious time away from the shock media and their email propaganda.  When you return, with a fresh, righteous mind, think about where on God’s green earth that you’d rather live than in these United States of America.  Because one thing is for certain, there were just over 120 million votes cast in the last election, and considering that there are over 200 million eligible voters, and an estimated 170 million citizens registered to vote, I’d rather spend my time petitioning those some 50-80 million people to get off their posteriors and vote.

I remember very clearly how upset Red State people were with two-term President Bill Clinton. It was mostly because of his similar liberal ideals, scandals, his foray with the White House intern, and the bald face lies to the American people.  But, he did balance the budget.  Regardless, I don’t remember anyone talking about secession then.  Do you think it might be because he is white?

If this is not what the secessionists want to hear, and they want to cite some other insidious reason—like the President is a Muslim, or not a U.S. citizen, or that he is part of a supreme, conspiring One World Order to bring us into a European Socialist type government, then I have to digress and wonder if they might not be doing the right thing.  It might be best that they risk all that we’ve fought and died for and go build a big wall, somewhere in the heart of Texas, and hide themselves from the rest of the world, because quite frankly, my friends, having access to truly good, competent information rather than extreme, spinning propaganda obviously does them no good.

Lastly, if you respond to this blog post citing things similar to items in the latter paragraph, then you have to back them up with facts. And no, an email or quote from Donald Trump doesn’t count. And neither does a note from your parents.  Otherwise, I truly pray that we all step back, listen, learn, and take a good look at what’s at stake here. A rash, extreme, grasshopper style jump into secession is not the answer.  What is the best answer?  To be calm, caring, and considerate… and to remain united.  I’m willing, are you?

God bless all of you. And God bless these UNITED States of America.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

The Lost Art Of The Round Robin Letter

The following is an introduction I wrote for Ellen Gray Massey's lastest book, OUR ROBIN IS READ: VOICES FROM THE WAYSIDE:

The twenty-first century brought on a revolution in how we communicate. The social media and mobile phones, wirelessly connected to the Internet, have enabled instant global communication. This luxury is easily taken for granted, so much that the modern generations barely remember what it was like not to have a cell phone, and to leave home without it draws an immediate sense of insecurity. One can only imagine how someone from the Greatest Generation feels as a witness to this sudden phenomenon, when for the better part of their lives written communication took the form of letters via U. S. Mail. Yes, they had the telephone, but we may forget that long distance used to have charges by the minute so that was deemed too impractical, too expensive. Letters written to family or close friends often took on a system unknown to generations today, and that was the round-robin letter.

I have known Ellen Gray Massey going on twenty years, but my knowledge of her personal life was very limited until recently. After publishing her memoir, Footprints in the Ozarks, I discovered so much more than the writer I had known. When she had sent me the manuscript my initial expectations was to learn more about the modern history of the Ozarks, because to those of us who know Ellen, that was her specialty. Little did I know, however, that I was to be led down a personal journey of happiness and hardship, one that brings tears of both sadness and joy. Naturally, when I learned more about Ellen, I was indeed interested in learning about her seven siblings. When she told me about their system of round-robin letters from the 1940’s through the 1970’s I was certainly intrigued.

I was already somewhat familiar with her brother, Ralph Gray, after having read and published some of his poetry a decade earlier. But little did I know the true depth and intelligence of Ralph Gray, and then to be introduced to the rest of the family was more than a treat. I became absorbed in the personalities as well as the bond each of these siblings had for each other. Though I had known Ellen grew up in Washington D. C., and spent her summers on a Missouri farm called “The Wayside,” here was an inside look at the knowledge and interests of eight young people in those diverse locations during the 1940’s, the direction each of their lives and careers took them, and how they stayed in touch through the round-robin system.

If this communication had taken place today, and if I were a part of their circle, I would imagine experiencing it on a forum like Facebook. I would see the musings of Ralph Gray, the National Geographic writer and editor, the contemplations of Miriam Gray, the University of Texas instructor, or the adventures of Vernon Gray, the research scientist for NASA. There would be their date-stamped daily posts of both work and family related situations, all next to a thumb-sized photograph, one right after the other. That’s how it’s done today, quickly and simply. But in the 1940’s, 50’s, 60’s, the package of eight letters that made its circle from sibling to sibling, sometimes took weeks, and sometimes as long as a year to make the round.

Today, when we get an e-mail message or notification of a posting, it’s part of the ho-hum drudgery of everyday living. But to receive a package of round-robin letters, and never knowing when to expect their arrival, would have been like a Christmas gift. This collection, however, is more than just an inside look at a family communication, it is also a representation of the times and a history. There is an inside look at politics and the science of space exploration, which we all know faced groundbreaking moments in those years. We also have an interesting glimpse into the career of a homemaker, a duty that was taken quite seriously then, much more so than it is in today’s service industry of working mothers and single parent families.

Personal accounts are rarely published for mass distribution, unless, of course, they are from the Kennedys or some wildly famous family with a household name. But as a writer as well as a publisher, I have learned that some of the greatest historical novelists and historians of our time found personal writings such as these to be the most helpful in their research and they sought them out more than any other books of an era. The great best-selling author Louis L’Amour collected books of this sort, especially diaries and journals, to help him in the formation of his characters for his novels. His belief, as is mine, is that our characters become more true to the times with this type of information at hand.

To have come across this collection of round-robin letters is, to me, like striking gold, and I am delighted to be able to share the wealth of this discovery with the reading public. Ellen Gray Massey is to be commended for her foresight as to the value of these letters, and for her work in transferring them to digital format so that they may be shared with the world. This round-robin is truly about to be read.

Our Robin Is Read: Voices From The Wayside is available in paperback and eBook formats.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

EMBRACE: A ROMANCE COLLECTION now available!

The EMBRACE romance collection is now available on Amazon Kindle for $4.99.  It includes a short story from New York Times bestseller Kat Martin, as well as a story from me titled "Arizona's Promise." Check it out Kindle readers!

http://tiny.cc/q6lclw

The Value of Silence and Compassion

Yes, it’s true, that the First Amendment does offer us freedom of speech. We can speak openly about pretty much whatever we want, with the exception of libel, without legal repercussion. Doesn’t matter if it’s about politics, religion, business, sex, etc., it’s all fair game. That doesn’t mean, however, that anyone will be immune to social repercussions.

This has been a big topic on the world stage lately after an amateur filmmaker, with Coptic Christian beliefs, released a film poking fun at the Islamic prophet, Mohamed. As we all know, and certainly the filmmaker knew, such rhetoric inside the Muslim community is punishable only by death. It doesn’t matter how extreme that may be, or how anyone else feels about it, it is a matter of how they feel, and they’re not American.  Step foot into their world, and I assure you the Bill of Rights won’t protect you.

Author Salman Rushdie has been facing the same kind of backlash for his book The Satanic Verses ever since its release in 1988. The result was an Islamic fatwā which ordered his death, and as of late, the bounty is now set at $3.3 million. The British, Indian author, now living on American soil in New York City, has been living under police protection ever since.

Though it was his right to write and publish the book, as it was the right of the filmmaker to make the controversial video, it was also their right to keep their mouths shut, and they are reaping the consequences for not doing so.  Rushdie is not taking the threat seriously, which surprises me, because all we have to do is look at what happened at the American Embassy in Egypt to know that the Islamic communities do take it seriously.

We don’t have to be on the world stage to realize consequences for what we say or create. From our first social experiences as children, to present day, we have all learned that at times it was probably better that we not ignite, or not respond. Yeah, maybe that girl is wearing an ugly dress, but is it important that all your friends know your feelings? Very few have the guts to tell anyone directly how they feel, they usually spread it via malicious gossip, which is a weak, cowardly approach.

We have all experienced incidents like this over our lifetime, regardless of what painful end we are on. It doesn’t matter whether you start it, or weather you’re on the receiving end, it is always painful to either party. I say this because when someone starts malicious talk, especially the kind that is somewhat slanted and magnified to make it worse than it really is, then I will revert to an old saying that I like to use: karma is a bitch.

As I got older, through college, and out into the business world, I experienced a lot of this type of behavior that was truly no better than when we were in junior high school. It doesn’t matter whether the person is at entry level, or a CEO of a Fortune 500 company, they all do it. I feel lucky to have had some good examples, even some good teaching from mentors, on how to handle these types of situations, and the best advice was not to participate in it, even if it’s about you.

After every experience I had like this the better I got at handling it. I’m not saying that it’s not hurtful, annoying, or that it doesn’t anger me, but experience has taught me that keeping silent is the best remedy of all. The most hurtful part is that we usually end up losing so-called friends. No, they weren’t our friends after all, but we may have thought there was something promising for the future.

I have read a lot of biographies of successful people, and quite often they will write about this very issue. Almost always they will be consistent with remaining calm, professional, and staying out of it. This is certainly true in personal situations. In business situations, sometimes there is a requirement to respond, and in doing so we are very careful to do so in a professional, non-threatening manner.

This reminds me of the numerous accounts in the arts where I have witnessed authors, musicians, actors, and the like, that were somewhat one-hit wonders because of the way they worked with people. Some like to call it “drama,” which in many cases the most successful people I know try to avoid. Making way into the world of the professional arts is not near as difficult as staying in it. Once they break that barrier there are even more obstacles to overcome, and if they are more emotional than professional then it’s unlikely their success will last.

Several years back, when Jay Leno took over the tonight show, there were things going on behind his back that he knew could destroy his chances at keeping the job.  Rather than engage in the drama, Jay went straight to the source, the one who had the answers and could make the decisions, and worked things out. The result? Well, after all those years he is still on the air.

There have been three situations in the last year where people have tried to destroy my career. For whatever reasons they felt the need to do so, all three of them could have saved a lot of heartache for themselves as well as me if they would have just called me first and expressed their concerns.  Instead, they made their judgment, based on hearsay, and went about spreading the rumors and creating a negative image about me and what I do. Again, they never, ever talked to me first.

When these rumors got around to the people that DO know me, and knew better, they called me. “Have you heard what so-and-so is saying? What’s that all about?” They cared enough to inquire about it before they responded or said anything, which goes to show that the person that starts things usually doesn’t care, and usually has self-serving reasons for doing so. The same with those who participate and take stock in the rumors, and have never heard my side of the story.

I am not surprised to know that all three cases are part of the same circle, just different ring leaders. Two of the three situations are over with, and I am standing just as tall, if not taller, than before. The third was even more damaging, and is yet to come to a close, but I assure you I will not be taken down by this. Everything I started in my career is going stronger than ever, and I credit it to keeping my nose to the grindstone and avoiding the senseless, pointless drama that can do nothing more than hold me back.

I have to make mention of the use of social media in these types of situations. Because of smart phones, tablets, or anything mobile that is connected to the Internet, we are in a communication revolution. What this means is that we communicate faster than ever before, and almost anything can become “live” in a nanosecond.  Because of this, a lot of what we say or do online can’t be undone, and if we don’t take time to think about things before we post or hit send, it can be quite harmful to others and ourselves.

Facebook can be useful, but in many cases it’s just as useless and counterproductive. People use Facebook for these social games they play with other people, and like any other medium of communication it’s something not to take part in. The most successful people I know are not on Facebook, or if they are, they are not on there very much. I limit my time on all social media to just a few minutes each day, and most of that is on my business page. I used it more while I was on tour, but much less while I’m at home. My books are not going to write themselves.

First and foremost, I think that we have to understand why people say the things they do to help us realize why we don’t do the same thing. The martyrs of our history, which go back more than two millennia, who lost their lives standing up for free speech, did so for the benefit of the human race. Some will argue the value of the Coptic filmmaker’s work, or Salman Rushdie’s book, but few will disagree that they didn’t do it for attention to themselves, or their own personal gain, instead of the greater good. 

It’s the same for all expressions that are hurtful in nature and handled inappropriately, they did it for attention.  They could have thought about the greater whole instead of themselves, and found themselves in a much better eye of those who chose not to take part or respond. That, my current and former friends, would have been exercising their freedom of silence, and a true ability to care about other people. That’s the path I choose, and I hope you will too.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.

 

The Power Of An Empty Chair

Long before Clint Eastwood delivered his controversial improv at the Republican National Convention, or the buzz of “Eastwooding” began, there has been and empty chair in my house that is much more than just a “conversation” piece, and the former inhabitants more than just imaginative.

Most of my readers know that my pen name, Law, came from my maternal grandmother. When my grandmother was only five years-old, her own mother passed away, and since her father didn’t feel he could provide proper care for her and her two siblings, they were left to be raised by her grandparents. Her grandfather had a chair that she loved to sit in, and God only knows the things she learned or thought about while sitting in that chair, but more so, I am confident that my great-great-grandfather read some fantastic news stories while reading his newspaper in it.

It is possible that in that chair he learned of the panic in 1929 that began the Great Depression, something that would have affected them greatly since they owned and operated a general store. He likely listened to Roosevelt on the radio, maybe the comedy of Amos and Andy, or the Big Band music of Artie Shaw.

My grandma’s uncle Otis was the first to inherit the chair, and the picture I have here is of him sitting in it, in his favorite spot next to his radio. The little girl in the picture is one of my mother’s first cousins, which would date this photo in the early 1950s. Having learned about Otis and his interests, I’m quite certain that he listened to a lot of baseball games on that radio while sitting in the chair—perhaps he heard the play by play of the St. Louis Cardinals and Stan Musial as they won the 1942 World Series.

Otis died in 1963, and though I’m not sure how it worked out precisely, somehow my grandma Law inherited the chair. As a child I remember seeing the chair in the old farmhouse.  Not considered an antique, but a regular part of the living room furniture, it was used for family and company. Though I can’t remember specifically my grandmother reading to me in this chair, I’m quite sure it was in the same room when she did.

My grandma died in 1983, and several years after that my grandfather gave the chair to my mother.  To her it was an heirloom and an antique, and was very proud of it. The cushion had been recovered from its original leather to a gold tweed upholstery, and it was part of my mom’s decorative furniture for several years—never used, but sat empty and only to be admired by its appearance.

I loved the chair, for its style, appearance, and nostalgia, so I was very pleased when my mother gave it to me. I never intended to use it, only for it to sit empty and to decorate my home. But it was in bad need of a new finish, and I wanted to recover the cushion back to leather. My mom agreed to help me, and so before taking it to my home we stripped and refinished it ourselves, and my mom reupholstered the cushion. When done I couldn’t have been more pleased with the results.

But in my house it sat, an empty chair, except when one of my cats or my dog took the notion to lay in it for a nap. On occasion, when my parents would visit, my mom would sit in the chair, maybe to absorb some of that nostalgic energy, or more likely to admire our work of restoration. I certainly loved having the chair for all those reasons.

Not long ago I was reading about Louis L’Amour’s claim that he “could write anywhere with his typewriter balanced on his knees.” I thought I should try to do something similar, and when passing through my living room I saw the chair and it hit me: I should write a novel in that chair.

After all, I write under my grandmother’s name, and it belonged to her family.  What another great tribute, I thought, and it would also give that particular book a special, personal contribution.  So I committed to it, and when I started writing The Bitter Road, it was with my laptop balanced on my knees, in that once empty chair.  Though I am still working on the novel as I write this, I can assure you that every single word has, and will be written in that chair. 

And yes, even this blog post is being written in that chair. 

One might wonder if it’s comfortable, and I am amazed at just how comfortable it is. It’s really no different than my office chair, which is designed after the old style wooden office chairs on caster wheels. Though I’m not convinced it’s something I would want to write in full time, it’s definitely fun to do as a tribute.

Now as for having conversations with this empty chair, that has never happened. I do think, however, that sometimes the chair talks to me.  Not literally, of course, but spiritually.  Five generations of my family have owned this chair, and it’s my belief that it is on an incredible journey, and my contribution may only be a short chapter of where it has been and what is yet to come, but before my time is up, I may have to do some Eastwooding of my own. That’s right, I can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to the chair without having a nice talk. We might even talk about politics.

Steven Law is the author of Yuma Gold (Berkley, 2011) and The True Father (Goldminds, 2008). Visit his website at www.stevenlaw.com.