A 2014 Farewell~

Well, if you purport to be a blog about the final year in a life, you reeeaaally shouldn't skip 4 months.  Sorry.  No excuse.  Just general sorriness.  To make up, I've decided to extend my existence a while, at least till fall '15.  I been feelin' better.  Sadly, I missed several dramatic blogs that would have intensely covered my bad late-August fall.  I'll wait for a no-ideas day soon & act like it's just happened, I figure.

Today's last-second 2014 entry is  for my Aunt (big sis) Donna, who we lost a few weeks ago.  Y'all, depression is a serious problem for many & if you know someone in trouble, try to get help.

Health.com

Anxiety Disorders Association of America

WebMD

This was the letter I wrote for her memorial service.  

Letter, Unwritten

for drc

My first memories of you aren’t even of a person, but a force of sound & energy moving swiftly thru the old farmhouse.  You’d fly in, there’d be a flurry, & you’d be gone again.  I didn’t know just what had happened but I kinda liked it.  Somewhere along the way, I realized you were, against all intuition, FAMILY.  I identified the stereo as a focal point of yours & so started hanging out there, going thru your 45s, learning the music you liked, hoping to chat a bit on your next pit stop.  And it worked!  Soon, we were sharing eye rolls as Grampaw railed against whatever song was on.  ‘I’ve Been Hurt’ by Bill Deal & The Rhondels was our favorite; it could produce such contortions, gyrations & mocking from the man, we had to laugh, even tho he was MAD.  Really, I think HE liked it too.  Later, you gave me that stack of music & I kept & cared for that treasure like it was the Holy Grail.  ‘Double Shot of my Baby’s Love’, ‘Daydream Believer’, ‘Incense & Peppermints’.  Our songs.

It was a great day when you came to live with Mom & me in Birmingham; having my ‘big sister’ around every day.  Playing games, building models, lying on the floor watching Kung Fu, helping out with homework.  The homework was YOURS, with me helping you learn Bell’s punchcard computer system.  Waking me up by singing, fighting with our parakeet Tweety, whispering ‘cock-a-doodle-DOO-ooh’ in my ear, or by sitting on me still wet from the shower.  We’d go shopping, out to eat or visit the farm in your beloved purple Gremlin.  Sometimes you’d take me to inappropriate movies & we’d drive around afterwards while you answered questions.  One night I really HAD to get home but you stopped a couple places first.  I finally just peed all over the seat—I guess I was too dumb to get OUT of the car—and instead of getting mad, you just smiled and said, “Well you TRIED to tell me, didn’tcha?”  When I got a microscope, you stabbed your thumb to make a blood slide.  When I got a kite, you ran the pasture like a crazy person trying to make it fly.  When I got in trouble for long hair at school, I had to beg to keep you from giving them what-for. 

For some inexplicable reason, you’d often take me on your dates.  Lord knows what those poor guys thought, but they went along with it, of course.  Yeah, you were a looker.  My popularity & cool-factor got much-needed boosts whenever you dropped me or picked me up at school.  I’d play with cousins…our bike were motorcycles, the porch was the gas station we owned.  We’d tear around like fools, screech up to work, then talk about our girlfriends.  Mine was always named Donna.  One day, the unthinkable—you were getting married!  Mom had to work but I had to BE there so someone came & got me.  I don’t know what I expected, but I think you were supposed to see ME & call the whole thing off!  Well, you got married & started a new life, and I was sound enough to understand & move on as well.  But you left a big mark on me & I found one a whole lot LIKE ya.

You were so important in my life—you taught me how to drive, for Pete’s sake! You took me for my license...SEVERAL times!  You loved my every attempt at art. When you found pieces I'd stuck away, you took them & put them on your walls!  You’re a vital part of who I became.  Part child, part hippy, part iconoclastic warrior, part lovable goofball.  I hope you knew that.  How important you are.  If not, I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you.  Pick me up in the Gremlin, I’ll bring the tunes.

A Life Well-Lived, Part 2

So, Robin Williams, huh?  Did NOT see that coming.  And yet, it wasn't the MOST surprising news imaginable.

In Part 1, I told the story of Bobby Driscoll (another famous Peter Pan...hmm)--the young Disney star that hit the heights but fell back to earth, faster & faster, until he crashed and disappeared.  Literally.  He'd been dead for 2 years before being identified.  Drug & alcohol abuse had claimed him at 30.  Depression, surely, played a part.  If your life story's climax is at age 14, how long can your epilogue run?  How many of us have the ability to start over, to begin a whole new story at our very lowest point?

 

Perhaps that's what's so upsetting about Robin...he HAD started over, numerous times.  We SAW that he was immensely creative, superhumanly energetic & had an unflappable strength that denied failure's victory time & again.  When MORK & MINDY ended, when POPEYE bombed, when several movies were just BAD, did we ever expect to NOT see Robin Williams shine in something ELSE before long?  And, before long, he did.  You have to admire that; in an industry where one crap film can ruin multiple careers (yes, I'm looking at you, BATMAN & ROBIN), Mork from Ork made more than his allotment, but would pull out of those nosedives every time with a GOOD MORNING VIETNAM, MRS. DOUBTFIRE, GOOD WILL HUNTING, INSOMNIA or even a killer segment with Letterman.  We liked him doing that.  We liked HIM.  He won awards, he fought tirelessly for hunger relief & medical advances, he expanded his talents & took risks to grow, professionally & personally.  We heard about his troubles--substance abuses, failed relationships--but he seemed to have a rein on things or the strength to at least stay in the saddle.  He saw so many peers fall in so many ways:  Spalding Gray, John Belushi, Christopher Reeve, Gilda Radner, Richard Pryor, Rebecca Schaeffer, Kurt Cobain, et al)...Surely HE knew the fragility of life & could wrestle those demons down.  Every time.  Over & over.

 

There's an old Native proverb,"Don't judge a man till you walk a moon in his moccasins" & I largely believe it.  When someone tells me about a sore thumb or hitch in their back, I can't think about the choking fit from that morning, the loss of balance I've got or having hands that are nearly useless at all!  People's travails are their own and cannot be dismissed because someone else has it worse.  Someone's ALWAYS got it worse in this world, and while good to remember, that won't get everyone through any situation every time.  What seems easily survived by you really is someone else's absolute threshold.  Every one of us fights very personal battles; to look beyond our own & to help someone else...well, that's about as good as we get.

 

Robin Williams deserves our respect & compassion for fighting his dark places and for shining as much light & laughter as he did.  He seemed to want a better world and did more than the average human, I'd say, to help make it so.  If a good life is about making our fellows smile, think a little better about humanity & feel more hopeful about our futures, surely Robin had a well-lived life.  Let's not remember ANYone by their weakest moment, by their poorest choice in hard times, but by the aspirations they had & the bravest steps they took to achieve them.  Forgiveness of others' shortcomings is one of the bravest things we can do.  Farewell, Patch, Euphegenia, T.S. & Batty!  Rest in peace, King of the Moon, Parry, Teddy, Prof. Keating & Armand!  Our next laugh's dedicated to you!

 

Thinkin' About Frank

He promised he'd be here.  Today is July 30, my bud Frank Turner's 53rd birthday.  I met him through his art first, up on the wall of Birmingham's first comic book shop back in 1981.  Owner Steve saw me studying this wanna-be upstart's drawings & said, "Yeah, there's another kid in town wanting to do comics!  You need to meet 'im; he's pretty good!"  Well, he was & I didn't like it.  Or him.  But we met & became friends anyway, then good friends, & then brothers-in-arts.  We inspired, competed with, encouraged, critiqued, argued with, forgave & loved each other.  Frank was an insatiable learner, deeply contemplative & one of the most honest people I've ever known.  We played racquetball lots, & though I could beat many, I couldn't him.  Once, when he came back to win from 20-0, I griped, "It wouldn'ta KILLDJA to let me HAVE a point, y'know!"  This seemed to strike him & he thought, finally shaking his head, "No...no, that wouldn't be right."

We planned to work together when we could, me inking his pencils, so of course all our joint efforts were him inking me.  He was more disciplined but I was more focused.  He had more savvy but I had tact.  Frank was driven but I was patient...Together, we made a great artist.

I had my eyes opened to racism & prejudice by seeing how the world treated & considered Mr. Turner.  He had the deck stacked & restacked against him & even after witnessing it for 20+ years, it still shocked me.  And his stillness & pride in living with it made me honored to call him friend.

Frank left us suddenly & quietly--as was his wont--almost 6 years ago.  When he died, he was learning Chinese, reading a textbook on string theory, & planning to print and sell his own comics with an industrial machine-thing that half-filled his living room.  Most of his incredible ideas & amazing stories left with him.  We knew I had a terminal disease & he'd promised that--all those characters & sketches I'd seen for years--he'd finally get it all down for me to read.  Lots I knew, but he had a whole universe in his head & there was SO much more.  He also promised that when health issues returned Janet & me to Alabama, we'd get a place together so he could help take care of us.  We DID move home, though Frank had been gone 3 years, & I swear, part of the house-hunting process WAS my making sure there was enough room IF...by SOME chance, y'know...

Obviously, I could talk about my buddy all night & then some, but I should wrap while it's still his birthday.  Happy 53rd, ya big lug; hope you know how much you're missed!  If not, well, y'shoulda BEEN here!
 

 

There's the boys back 93-ish!  Shades INside, huh?  Shows we were cooool.

 

Here & Gone

A short one today; simply a plea to make good use of your time & health.  The godsons (8 & newly-13) left today after a week with us.  We're sad but too wore-out to be REAL sad yet.  I was disappointed to not be able to DO more with them, to go on most of the outings they had, but thankful for those (like Janet, GranAnn & Alexa) that were & helped the boys have fun.

If there are people you want or need to spend time with, if there are certain things you've not had time for...prioritize.  My healthy times were filled with so much activity that now seems very unimportant & unmemorable.  Go do the stuff worth remembering NOW, dang it, while you FEEL like it!  I promise you, on your deathbed you will not take comfort in that big book of Sudoku you almost finished or even that all your comic books are bagged & boarded.

Plan today to do the most important things.  The other stuff will always fit whatever time's left over.

 

"At the tone, leave your name & message; I'll get back to ya."

Always a bad day to lose a hero; a role model.  As a kid, I wanted to be the coolest guys I knew: Andy Griffith, MisteRogers and/or Bugs Bunny; good, wholesome role models...ennh, 2 outta 3.  Later, creative inspirations Jim Henson, Chuck Jones & Jim Starlin (from comics...if not a reader, think 'Stan Lee also able to draw') became my new idols & got me thinking about what I wanted to DO.  Then one Friday night in 1978, I met a new kind of hero.

Detective shows hadn't grabbed me yet, tho' they eventually would.  Mannix & Ellery Queen, Cannon & Barnaby Jones, Banacek & Columbo...all the same to me back then.  And bo-ring.  Somehow, I was stuck home on a non-school night & one of these generic shows came on; this was before the ubiquitous remote so I was probably too lazy to rise, walk over & change the channel by hand.  It had a weird intro with a phone message left on a machine...pretty funny & turned out every episode had a different one.  Little jokes at the main character's expense that clued you that this show might be different.  After a KICKin' theme, we were ushered into a dingy mobile home where our hero...lived?  Why, this guy wasn't a dashing hero at all; he had a cool car, sure, but made mistakes, avoided fights, was in debt & kept his gun in the cookie jar!  But y'know, danged if he didn't TRY.  Under a cynical, easily-annoyed, put-upon veneer, this fella had a big, loyal & righteous heart.  If you were one of his few friends, he had your back, believe it.  He was sincerely more interested in doing right than making money, in finding justice over revenge, & in tricking the bad guy more than punching him.  'Cos that always hurt his hand!  No Lance White here (ya gotta be a fan)...this guy, I could aspire to.

I came to know James Garner outside of THE ROCKFORD FILES eventually, through MAVERICK(s), SPACE COWBOYS, THE GREAT ESCAPE, MURPHY'S ROMANCE, NICHOLS, VICTOR/VICTORIA, GOD DEVIL & BOB, HOUR OF THE GUN and tons more.  Great actor & many accomplishments.  But Rockford...Rockford was the guy.  Cool but awkward, suave but nervous, secure but maybe not.

 

I suspect Rockford was closest to who Garner was; he made $25/hr in Hollywood as a male model in 1946 (!) but hated it so quit & returned to Oklahoma.  He'd messed his knees up & complained about stunts but kept doing them.  He was generous beyond legal need with staff & co-workers but when done wrong, he fought.  He believed human concern should always outweigh the corporate & stood firm.  He drew lines of conscience that cost him financially.  Using a fairly rough start in life, he grew humbly strong, served his country (WW2 & Korea), became a one-woman family man (in LA!) and fought for his dreams & ideals his whole life.

'Cause that's what your hero's S'POSED to do.  Seeya soon, Jimbo!

James Garner (born James Scott Bumgarner; April 7, 1928 – July 19, 2014)

 

But on the bright side, having ALS will get you out of a LOT.

The intent was to do a couple of these a week.  Still is.  But when you have a pretty nasty chronic health condition, it's quite simple to rationalize NOT doing something.  Not 'feeling like it' carries more weight than when y'all >ahem< normal folks say it; sorry.  I try not to play that card too often but I also find myself not attempting near as much either.  Besides generally feeling poorly, ALS has turned me old & frail decades prematurely & I've started viewing the world as a 93-year-old might. 

It's scary out there--all moving & hard, uneven & pointy.  A simple Target parking lot now looks like the Appalachian Trail to me, full of dangerous terrain & deadly wildlife.  My balance is just about shot so that every step has to actually be thought about.  A crack or uneven place in the pavement can be as disastrous as a rockslide or bear attack out in the wild.  Well, maybe not a BEAR attack...big raccoon, at least.  And fellow humans abound!  A bump will knock me right down (it's happened) & I'm painfully aware nowadays of just how harsh & unforgiving a bitch concrete is.

Even home, I find myself disliking our hardwood floor & craving carpeting.  What foolhardy daredevil chose a stone tile bathroom floor or granite kitchen countertops?  Some YOUNG whippersnapper, betcha, what drives too speedy & stays out too late is who.  Durn kids.  Now...where was I?  Yeah, the world's not worth it, I don't feel good & I'm staying in bed.

My wife, the charming Dr. Janet Austin, has had health issues her whole life, starting with rheumatoid arthritis in her teens.  She came off disability, worked her butt off, got her PhD.  She advanced in her health education career, taking us to Atlanta, then D.C.  She had complications...kept working.  Heart attack...went back to her job.  Until a hip replacement--& my health--sent us back to Birmingham & family, she would not be sidelined.  And after a good rest, Jan's ambitions are in bloom once more.  She's got big plans, a website (http://drjanetaustin3.moonfruit.com/), and is traveling the country again, doing things that matter.  Last week, she fell on a Denver Airport escalator &, when I heard, I could FEEL it.  That panic of tipping over, the pain of impact, the tearing of those horribly-designed steel teeth, that after-dread that this might be serious.  Luckily, it wasn't; the girl's got her angels, seems.  She's off again tomorrow, a week back in Washington, to work & visit friends & godsons.

So, y'know....guess I can write a blog.

 

A Life Well Lived

What constitutes a successful life, a time on this physical plane well-spent?  The accumulation of wealth?  Gaining fame or making something with your name on it?  Is it raising a family or just simply being a decent, honest & responsible person?

I'm currently (well, not THIS second) watching every Disney movie possible, uncut & in order, and am up to a string of films featuring young Bobby Driscoll.  Bobby got his first gig, THE FIGHTING SULLIVANS, at 6 & had several credits already when he became the first live actor signed by Walt Disney.  He starred in one of my favorite childhood movies, the great SONG OF THE SOUTH (1946), TREASURE ISLAND (1950), & was PETER PAN (1953).  Many others.  The kid won an Outstanding Juvenile Academy Award, got a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame, had a hit record, & toured the country (parades, radio & such) for years as America's #1 young star.  Then he turned 14.  Acne.  His voice changed.  His contracts were dropped.  He returned to public school & was made fun of.  Some TV (2 RAWHIDES!) & stage work followed over the next decade, but drug & alcohol abuse had already started in high school.  The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up did so...poorly. 

Arrests & jail, paroles & rehabs...Robert was broke & homeless by age 30 &, in 1967, disappeared into the harsh streets of New York.  When his father's health failed, Driscoll's mother hoped to reunite them all.  Some Disney Studios help got wheels turning but, sadly, they discovered that Bobby Driscoll had died & been buried anonymously in Brooklyn's Potter's Field, months earlier.  When SONG OF THE SOUTH was re-released in 1972, I went to see it at the beautiful Alabama Theatre & wished I could be that boy, with all his human and animal friends.

Bobby had accomplished SO much at such a young age & will live on for generations in his exceptional work.  But was his a 'good life'?  How many would trade theirs for his?  So, popularity & art & legacy...nice-to-haves, but don't necessarily determine a life well-lived.

To be continued...