College Town Kid Remembered

    Jerry* and I became friends probably by default. One, we lived within three to four blocks of each other throughout our childhoods. Two, another neighborhood friend that I had, Jonathan, moved away to Bethesda, Maryland, and I had some time to spend elsewhere after the Murrays left Bloomington.
    I am not sure how long Jerry and I hung out on a daily basis, maybe during a portion of summer before 4th, or maybe 5th grade. That was mostly before Pete moved in not too far away from my house and the boyhood relationships on the southside of IU campus continued to evolve . There were still lingerings of friendship after 5th grade, but things tailed off by middle school.
   As I have expressed before in other venues, Jerry was not the easiest guy to get along with. Sometimes his mood swings were inexplicable, and many of us, from popular Jake to Patrick and Pete and a couple others tried to hang out with him but we all ended up quitting in our attempts.
   It seemed to be him. We would make us mad.
   I did enjoy some times and hours over at his house.
   Some distinct memories:
    
   Playing Dungeons and Dragons with groups of other friends.

   Being silly in the Rumpus Room, calling the local pop radio station WBWB on the wall phone for requests.
   
   Playing outside and flinging things like faux spears, sometimes with less than stellar results.

   Listening to the Who and strange songs of that ilk, even the Beatles.

   Looking at some comic books, some combinations. There were some toys, maybe some Star Wars figures or vehicles.

    There was a fun bouncy riding ball, a Sit'n Spin.

    We got some pyro burning of some plastics out of our system, mostly in his rarely used basement.

   Ahh, memories of youth.

    Thanks for those nostalgic memories, Jerry. And maybe your ghost will not let me rest. But perhaps your soul in present rest does give comfort. How to measure such intangible gifts?

    Be at peace. You and me. And the rest of humanity, like your father, and your mother, and your sister, and all those taken too soon. Your dad passed too soon, and you certainly did.

    If I were Chaim Potok I would draft up a great character to sing a kaddish for them all.

    And keep on singing across the decades, the centuries.

   Did you ever make it to Jerusalem? Did it matter to you? Did you make it where you wanted to go? There are still places to go, young Jerry, still people to meet, still conversations to share ...

    Friends like you come and go.  But never forgotten. Sorry for not being better myself.

    I am trying to get there.   I have faith that we will.
   






















*Not real name, in order to keep some privacy and discretion.

University Towns: College Town Guy's Life Remembered, Forgotten

     Jerry was born in a house where there was plenty to eat and buy. He didn't suffer from want. Not physical or material want. But there had to be an emotional element missing. Something was wrong.

     He was born in 1971. His sister in 1969. I don't know about cousins. Maybe he had some distant or closer relatives like that, maybe none. Don't know. There is a lot I don't know about Jerry's life. Maybe some mysteries were on purpose, or simply are not supposed to be known about. Maybe I forgot the details ...

    We outsiders were not as privy to it. And maybe we did not care enough. Shame on us. I guess.

     But who does deserve the blame for the apathy of his father? Hitler? Germans? The Holocaust? Alcohol? Abusive parents? Depression? A Gentile nation, or state, or a lapsed Jewish consciousness, or a bad marriage?

    Maybe all Jerry's problems did not have to do with the issues of his dad. His dad drank too much, that we came to know later. Did he also neglect his only son? Maybe. We young ones in the neighborhood were probably not very equipped to know or handle such matters.
 
   We lived in a nice town, a college town. Things were around, like a cool downtown and parents and adults with decent lives and big ideas. There was abundance in many ways. But not for him, as much. Jerry may have been lacking in the things that you needed most: to survive.

    Maybe I really don't know, maybe it's all conjecture based on decades old hearsay.

   Jerry didn't have enough. Or did he? He seemed to have enough drugs. Later, after we drifted further. Maybe he didn't have friends. But he seemed to.
 
  And  maybe there was not enough of something essential  for Jerry, even though he always seemed to have friends. Were they friends? Are anybody really friends? Maybe for many, but maybe not for him. I don't know.
    Jerry was Jewish. Did that cause him particular grief? I remember him complaining about learning too many Christmas songs during our elementary school years. But I also recall reminding him that our Jewish music teacher also taught us some Jewish songs.

   Maybe nothing made a difference.

   I have read Jerry's eulogy many times, I am not sure how many. It speaks well of him, as a memorial should.

    How did he die? More mysteries, maybe unrelated to his life at the time of his demise.

   Many mysteries. Many unknowns.

I have written about Jerry before in a few different forums, trying to search my own feelings and possibly figure out answers that may have none.

Maybe it is all more about me, which is something I have suspected. Try to figure out humans, life, place, self.

Jerry lived to be a young thirty-something, dying in 2002 or so.

And we remember him. But we forget so much, and maybe never knew so much more.

Till then.

IU Loses to UNC

UNC shot the lights out and the Hoosiers bow out in the Sweet 16.

Decent season, need to get better.

Yogi had a great career but the teams underachieved.

Not All Black Lives Matter, Enough

 Not All Black Lives Matter: Enough!

I don't believe that. ALL lives matter, of course. Black, white, brown, or any other shade or hue that people may come in. We all matter. Every life is valuable. No one deserves to die without a fair trial and unimpeachable evidence to convict them.

However, I really have come to the conclusion that not all black lives matter enough, ironically, to those who purport to state what the refrain has become in the mid twenty-teens: "Black Lives Matter", often followed by "Hands Up! Don't Shoot!" Also, there is the hard to forget, "I can't breathe!"

Understandable sentiments of frustration and pleas for redress of justice. I get that.

Those phrases have power and import, and would that that they were taken more seriously! You see, I think the people protesting the police who have unjustly or mistakenly killed people like Freddie Gray or Michael Brown or Eric Garner or the dozens or the hundreds of black men killed by law enforcement over the years have to own up to something.

ALL BLACK LIVES MATTER. And I believe there is hypocrisy when I see and know that people take to the streets and protest the police who have slain the above victims when there are thousands of other victims that are not given the same attention or care.

And most of them? Black. And too many of them? Innocent little children. And the culprits of these rampant killings? Does it matter? Yes, it matters, not perpetrators' race so much as the fact that they are the killers of these innocent minors in the black communities and homes tend to be gang members with weapons that they should not be possessing in the first place.

Can I get a "Black Lives Matter!" protest when a small child, having nothing to do with drugs or gang turf wars gets blasted in innocent blood and is bereaved locally and is buried decades before the natural arch of their life?

Do these kids matter? I almost would like to lead a street protest in behalf of these thousands of little ones. Their lives do matter.

How many black (and other children) died last weekend from unrelated crimes? Do we not know because we don't care, or did nothing of such tragic consequences take place anywhere in the United States?

How many black minors died in 2015 from these circumstances? Do we know any of their names? Do we don shirts and get riled up and march in the streets in their names?

I do think there are some minor protests that may get local attention for and behalf the slain of the  innocents.

But nothing like the size and sentiment of Ferguson, MO, or Baltimore, MD. Not enough shame or protest for them, the slightest and most innocent among us.

Shame on us, America.

Black lives do matter. All lives do. So do our law enforcement lives, who are buried at a regular pace serving in the line of duty.  We should care more about the terrible loss of all lives from wanton street violence, or rural violence, all violence.

Do we really believe what we put on our shirts? Don't get me started on Che Guevara...

BYU to Win NIT and IU to Win NCAA

Awesome seasons for the Cougars and the Hoosiers.