Death, Grief, and Memorial: The Passing of Curtis Johnson in Three Parts

Death, Grief, and Memorial: The Passing of Curtis Johnson in Three Parts

Part 1: Death

I was ten years old working on math problems when something unexpected came up.  As a fifth grade student at Lassie C. Shaw Elementary I was used to routine.  It was always in this order: Language Arts, Lunch, Math, Science, and then go home.  The routine never changed.  

I was having a good day.  For some reason I had hit a groove.  I was knocking out math problems one after another like it was nothing.  But seemingly out of nowhere the entire 1986-1987 fifth grade classes were called to an assembly.  I saw the look of heartbreak on all the teacher's faces.  I immediately started looking for Curtis Johnson.

Curtis was a classmate of mine.  He had been battling childhood leukemia since he was two years old.  Curtis was not in attendance that day.  That's when I realized it before the teachers even said anything.  Curtis Johnson had passed away from cancer that morning.  

My teacher, Mr. Thomas Neal, had tears in his eyes as he made the announcement.  Some kids were in shock.  Others cried silently.  Others like Nichole Redman, who I had crush on ever since I met her, were balling their eyes out.  Her and a group of three girls around her completely broke down.  

Mr. Rotolo, a teacher who I have always had immense respect for, told all the students something profound.  He said, "Those you remember are never truly gone."  Mr. Rotolo taught like a college professor before I knew how college professor's taught.  He was a truly amazing teacher who honestly cared about students.  He came across like a father figure that day.  As you can tell I still appreciate him to this day. 

The fifth grade classes went back to their schoolwork that day, but not too much was expected.  Me?  I just stuck to my classwork.  It kept me from thinking too much about Curtis's passing.  Like all ten year old males I didn't want to cry in front of my classmates.  Although, I will say this.  Nothing was ever said about anyone who did cry at Curtis's passing.  

I always knew that there was a possibility of Curtis dying from cancer.  I had known he had battled it for a long time.  There were times he wouldn't come to school for a week or more.  On average, he would attend school two days a week.

He was the one student who was allowed to wear a hat.  As you can guess it was because he had no hair.  In fact, the entire time I knew him he never had hair.  Once, a substitute teacher asked why he was wearing a hat.  He explained his condition.  She understood, and was completely fine with him continuing to wear his hat.  

Part 2: Grief

I can't remember if it was the next day or a few days later, but Curtis's Mom Loretta came to visit our classroom.  Again, there were tears.  She was very calm and a pillar of strength for a bunch of ten/ eleven year old kids who needed someone to lean on.  

She explained that, "Curtis was no longer in pain.  He was in Heaven where the cancer couldn't ravage his body anymore."  Curtis had been in a pain a long time.  He was thin, and as you would expect, he had trouble eating.  He didn't have the energy to expend during Phys. Ed.  Seeing what cancer did to Curtis really taught me firsthand what a horrible thing cancer was/is.  

I was very thankful for Mrs. Johnson coming to our classroom that day.  I don't believe I said anything to her.  Honestly, I didn't know what to say.  She had a number of crying students holding onto her all at the same time.  I think it was the first time most of our class had to face death.  

I know as college students we are introduced to different philosophies of the world.  One of the major themes is death.  Death is such a complicated thing to think about for adults.  Can you imagine what it's like for ten and eleven year old children experiencing it for the first time?  It's like your head and heart were both simultaneously hit with a sledgehammer.  It's completely overwhelming.  So I thank Mrs. Johnson for helping my fifth grade class try to make sense out of a senseless death.  

Part 3: Memorial

After Curtis's funeral our fifth grade teachers decided that we should have a memorial for Curtis's family.  A few of Curtis's friends would speak, as well as, some of the teachers and administration.  We would then plant a tree in Curtis's memory.  The other thing that was decided was that the entire fifth grade class (about 150 of us) would sing Ray Steven's song, "Everything is Beautiful" at the memorial.  

My Mother happened to have Ray Steven's Greatest Hits on cassette tape.  So I bought it to school so our music teacher Mrs. Saws could teach it to all the kids.  Now, if you notice when you listen to "Everything is Beautiful" it starts off with the song, "Jesus Loves the Little Children."  However, we weren't going to sing that part.  When I asked Mrs. Saws about it she said it was a "copywrite issue."

Now that I'm older I know that's not true.  It's because it's not exactly a non denominational song in case you couldn't tell by the title.  Mrs. Saws was a hardcore Christian.  As in, she would spend half of music period ranting and raving about the bible.  

So I'm not really sure why she didn't tell me the truth.  I thought she would have been more than happy to give me her thoughts on the subject.  Looking back on it, I'm sure she had been given a good talking to from the administration about the song.  

So when the day of Curtis's memorial came, his entire extended family showed up.  From young cousins all the way up to elderly relatives in wheelchairs, everyone showed up.  I'll admit, it kind of caught me off guard.  I expected a few relatives.  I didn't expect about thirty or more.  Mrs. Johnson spoke at the memorial.  It's been so long that I can't remember what she said, but I remember her words being both kind and inspirational.  

Then one thing happened that the teachers didn't expect.  As the memorial went on and on a lot of kids began to cry.  I'm not shaming them for crying.  What was supposed to happen was at the end of the memorial all the fifth graders were supposed to sing, "Everything is Beautiful."  But now, over half of them were crying and couldn't sing at all.  

Also, when our collective classes practiced singing it was indoors.  The memorial was held outside because we were planting a tree in Curtis's memory.  So now you have half the class not singing because they are crying.  Those who are singing sound dreadful because they are trying to hold back tears.  And since we are outside the volume is not near as loud as it was inside.  

Honestly, it was terrible.  I tried to sing extra loud to make up for others not being able to sing, but I can't make up for 75 people not being able to sing.  It was the saddest, most heartbroken version of "Everything is Beautiful" that I will ever hear in my life.  I'm just sad that Curtis's family had to hear that.  I'm sure they understood.  However, what they heard at the memorial was nothing like what we did at practice.  We actually sounded pretty good practicing. 

I haven't been by Lassie C. Shaw Elementary School in a few years.  I wonder if Curtis's tree is still standing there?  It's been over thirty years now.  It was only about four feet tall when it was planted.  If it's still standing there it's probably over thirty feet tall by now.  

Honestly, I wonder if there's anyone there who knows the history of the tree?  I can't remember if a plaque was ever placed by the tree?  Again, it's been over thirty years.  In my heart I hope someone knows.  As Mr. Rotolo said, "A person is never truly gone as long as you remember them."

It Seems Dead Teenager Songs Were All The Rage In The 1960's

The other day as I was riding in the car I heard a song I had never heard before.  What was interesting is that, it was a song from the 1960's.  We were listening to Sirius 60's on Channel 6, and a song by the Shangri-Las came on.  They were best known for their song, "Leader of the Pack."  However, this song I had never heard before was called, "Give Us Your Blessing."

As I had never heard it I was somewhat paying attention to it.  It seemed it was a typical 1960's love song about wanting to get married to your best gal/guy and kissy, kissy stuff.  You know, the usual.

So this is how the song went.

Run, run, run
Mary, run, run, run
Jimmy, run, run, run
Mary, run, run, run

 

Mary and Jimmy were both very young
But as much in love
As two people could be
And all they wanted
Was to share that love eternally

They went to their folks they told them
That someday soon they'd be wed
Their folks just laughed
And called them kids
So Mary said

 

Give us your blessing
Please don't make us run away
Give us your blessing
Say you'll be there on our wedding day

 

They wouldn't have laughed at Mary
If they could have seen through the door
But Jimmy was waiting in the car
While Mary begged once more

Give us your blessing
Please don't make us run away
Give us your blessing
Say you'll be there on our wedding day

 

So, so far it seems pretty normal right?  Just a below average 1960's song that I described above.  That is until the next lyrics.

 

Well as they drove off they were crying
And nobody knows for sure
That, that's why they didn't see the sign
That road detour

The next day they found them
Mary and Jimmy were dead
And as their folks
Knelt beside them in the rain

 They couldn't help but hear
The last words that Mary and Jimmy had said

 

Give us your blessing
Please don't make us run away
Give us your blessing
Say you'll be there on our wedding day

 

Run, run, run
Mary, run, run, run
Jimmy, run, run, run
Mary, run, run, run

Wait, what?  Dead?  I mean, we went from wanting to get married, and now everyone is dead?  You know what this means.

 

 

So it seems I had to do a little research on this song.  It turns out that the Shangri-Las were not the first to perform this song.  That goes to Ray Peterson.  Also, he did not write it.  It seems it was written by Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich who I found out liked to write a lot of dead teenager songs.  The song hit #70 for Ray Peterson and #29 for the Shangri-Las. 

 

I guess every musical decade has their "thing."  In the 80's it was awesome (and some not so awesome) guitar solos.  In the 90's it was everyone trying to sound like Nirvana.  Now-a-days everything is autotuned beyond belief.  But in the 1960's it was songs about dead teenagers. 

 

So remember when they talk about the good ole' days, remember this kids.  They tend to forget the worst parts.  Yes, 1960's music was great, but not all of it was "that" great.  Remember, they tend to only play the best hits of the 60's on the radio.  You don't get the so-so ones being played that often.

 

And now, if you really want to hear the song...  (But don't say I didn't warn you.)

 

 

That Will Be The Death Of Me, Part 3

Part 1.  http://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2014/04/that-will-be-death-of-me.html

Part 2.  http://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2015/01/that-will-be-death-of-me-part-2.html

Well it's over.  It seems that I have outlived the palm tree that I was sure that was going to be the end of me.  Of course, I was blamed for killing it, so I have no idea if I was overturning my own prophecy or just not knowing how to trim a tree.

Here is what is left of the palm.

 

Just a mound of nothingness. 

Here's a wide view.

So now comes the question, "What do I do?"  I mean, I have now outlived the tree that was destined to kill me.  I worry that another tree will take it's place, and rise up to avenge it's fore-bearer. 

This is not the time for me to rest on my laurels, but to safeguard against any and all plants that might try to rise up, and strike me down.

That, or I can quit being so damn dramatic. 

That Will Be The Death Of Me, Part 2

To understand this post a little better, read part 1.

http://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2014/04/that-will-be-death-of-me.html

A funny thing happened to the tree I hate.  A few months ago it stopped growing limbs.  And then, the limbs that it had started dying.  For some strange reason, it seems the tree that I thought would be the death of me, has itself, died. 

I didn't expect this.  I had expected this thing to outlive my Father, and then I would have to deal with it.  Now, we have a dead canary island date palm tree that we will both have to try to remove. 

Now this presents a number of problems.  First, this thing may not look too big, but it is heavy.  Next, palm trees are very fibrous, and dull chainsaw blades almost immediately.  What really makes this thing a pain is that, it has giant ball roots, and a ton of work will have to be put in to unearth them.  I'm also afraid that all the plants that surround the palm tree will be damaged as we try to move the canary island date palm. 

There is always the option of letting the palm tree sit there and rot a bit.  That way, it will make it easier to cut and move.  However, that will make the whole driveway look terrible.  No one wants to have a dead tree right in their front circle. 

So I will have to confer with my still very much alive Father on what he wants to do with it.  The one thing I am sure of is that, I don't want another one of those canary island date palm trees placed back in there. 

Lost Rosewood and The Yellow Jacket Massacre

This story starts long ago, er, at least a few years ago.  It started when I was able to procure some really nice rosewood for a couple of projects.  In fact, here's some pictures of the rosewood that I was able to get.

And here is a picture of me, taking pictures of the rosewood.

Yes, that really is me.  The computer properties tell me that picture was taken in November, 2011.  So, my main point is that, it is the right time to use the rosewood for a project.  It usually takes a year for a piece of wood to air dry, but a Florida summer is like two years.  So I figure these pieces of wood have 7 years worth of drying out. 

It's time I used those pieces of wood for a project, and I have the perfect project.  In fact, I wrote about it the post before this one.

http://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2014/08/project-7-project-to-end-all-projects.html

So I go to where I stash my personal wood.  The rosewood is not there.

I go to another pile.  It's not there.

I check behind the door.  It's not there.

I check underneath the bench (after I move all the heavy equipment, and throw out some rotten wood.)  It's still not there.

I check in Dad's piles of wood.  It's not there.

Sidenote:  At this point I am starting to get irritated. 

The only logical place left is the outside building.  We mostly store lawn-mowing equipment, and chemicals.  But we also have a pile of wood in there.  It's mostly maple and cherry brought back from West Virginia.  So I open the doors, and things start flying by me.  Yellow Jackets.

No, not the Georgia Tech kind, the kind that are none too nice.  As I tried to move my pieces of wood around, they came pouring out.  One stung my Dad on the ear, and another got me on the leg.  That meant war.  So we went against the Geneva Convention, and declared chemical warfare.

So I waited a day, opened up the doors, and went to town with a spray can of wasp killer.  I ended up putting a bunch of them out of their misery.  I tore down the nest they had made.... IN MY WOOD!  Let's just say, it was a bloody massacre.  I'd show you pictures but....

So I spent time cleaning up the mess, and sweeping out the dead bodies.  Then I came what I meant to do, look for my wood.  And you know what?

I didn't find it.

I Dream At 110%

I just took a four hour nap, and I feel terrible.  Some would say it's due to bad food or sleep apnea.  However, I think it's another reason I have such a terrible time sleeping.  It's due to my dreams, or rather the intensity of my dreams.  And due to them, I end up fighting in my sleep.  However, let me talk specifically about one of the ones I had during my four hour nap.

And there I was, in a Saloon.

I was all decked out in my best Western wear.  I was feeling pretty good.  You know why?  Steak.  I was eating a great big steak.  It was awesome.  People where hanging around, talking and playing cards.  It was then that I noticed a giant boar outside the double saloon doors.

So what is one to do?  Well, I just grab my pistol off the table, aim in-between the people and the doors, and shoot.  Shoot I did, and down the boar went.

I took my time moseying outside, because why not?  Moseying is what Western guys do.  I get outside only to see I did not shoot a boar, but a panda bear.

Yep, it was one dead panda bear I had killed.  But the owner of the restaurant wasn't mad at me.  In fact, he was extremely happy.  He was so happy that he had gone and skinned the panda bear for me.  The skin was ready to be taken to a taxidermist, and the panda meat was on the grill with sauce on it. 

And that's when things really started to get weird.  But I won't get into that.  This is one glimpse into my dreaming brain.  It's not that much different than my waking brain, except I hold back 90% of my thoughts from my waking brain.

I'm Not Sure How I Feel About The Angel's Trumpet In My Yard

Before I get started, let me be clear.  I am not picking on God's Angels or their trumpets.  I'm not even picking on the California Angels or whatever they're called these days.

No, this is about a plant.  Not only is it kind of a dick plant, it's poisonous as hell.  I'm talking about the Angel's Trumpet in our yard.

It all started about three years ago.  This plant was about head high.  When I would mow the lawn, the leaves would smack me in the head.  But I was told to be patient.  You see, the freeze of the winter would kill it off.  Well, simply put, it didn't happen.  It grew, and then it grew some more.

And then I was told the same thing the next year.  The freeze would have to kill it.  But, thanks to climate change or the plant just being hardheaded, it didn't freeze or die.  It kept growing.  In fact, let me show you a better picture of what it looks like now.

You may not be able to tell from the picture, but that fence behind the Angel's Trumpet is about four foot high.  Where the Trumpet is almost touching the tree is at least ten foot high.  This really is the little plant that could.

So once it got so tall that it seemed that nothing was going to kill it, I was able to cut the growth underneath it.  Namely so I could run the lawnmower underneath it without getting my head smacked. 

Then a few things happened to me.  Spring rolled around, and these massive blooms started popping up.

I don't think I had ever seen a flower that was almost a foot long.  I mean, they really hang out there.  That's when Dad told me that's the Angel's Trumpet that all the cool, er, dead kids like to take to make hallucinogens.  The plant is insanely poisonous, and that's why the kids trip balls when they take it.  It also has a side effect of death.  Seriously, it wasn't too long before Dad told me what that plant was, a kid on the news died from taking one. 

So I have to respect a plant that just won't die.  But I hate having a giant plant that some people misuse to trip balls and die.  I just don't know how I feel about it. 

That Will Be The Death Of Me

It started almost twenty years ago.  I was an arrogant, angry kid just out of high school.  I was going to the local community college two or three times a week for some sort of an education.  To make pocket money for all the important stuff, I took the only job that would hire someone like me.  Landscaping.  It just so happened that the next street over from where I lived was a giant landscaping company.  So I got hired, was able to work part time hours, and made pretty decent pocket change compared to others my age.  Not great, but still a little more than other menial jobs.

It was there that I encountered what would be my plant nemesis.  The Canary Island Date Palm.  The first time I had to deal with one of the cut branches, it cut me up one side of my arm to the other.  Note that I was wearing work gloves at the time.  It didn't cut my hands, but it did a number on my arms.  You see, the Canary Island Date Palm has these huge thorns where the branches meet the base of the tree.  The problem was a lot of the properties had these all over the place, and each one needed cut four times a year or so. 

Years ago I let everyone in the house know that one of these palms would be the death of me.  Still, my Father for whom cruelty has never been an issue decided to put one right smack in the middle of the driveway.  Don't believe me?  Look at this:

Yes, that is the front of our house.  And for those of you thinking, "Well, the thorns can't be that bad, can they?"  Take a look at this:

Those things can get up to eight inches long, and can cut right through a work glove. 

When my Father first bought the palm it was short and stocky.  However, it still weighed at least 400 pounds.  It has these two huge ball roots on it.  For years it didn't actually grow upwards.  It just put down roots for years.  The last few years however it has started to grow upward.  This presents another problem.  When I would mow around it, I would try to cut the grass near the base of the tree.  However, I could never get that close since the thorns would cut me to pieces.  The other problem with it getting taller is that, the thorns are now near my face, and have cut my face numerous times. 

My cruel Father says that it's not my problem.  He'll deal with it.  But it doesn't really work out that way does it?  I have to deal with it when I am landscaping.  I also told him that those things live a long time.  I'll have to deal with it when he dies.  I can't burn it down.  I can't cut it down with a standard chainsaw.  Palm trees are notorious for being impossible to cut down with a chainsaw.  Or at least, regular chainsaws.  No, I will have to pay a tree company to come and take it away.  Right now that would run $2000.  With inflation, I'd hate to think what it will be in a few years. 

I suspect that will be mowing one bright and sunny day.  I will be on my riding lawnmower, and one of those thorns will cut my throat wide open.  It will be exactly like how Catalyn Stark got her throat slit open during the Game of Thrones, "Red Wedding" episode.

I begged my cruel and unusual Father to let me put something else in the circle.  I was thinking Stonehenge, but a Mini-Stonehenge.  They sell them on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Build-Your-Stonehenge-Mega-Mini/dp/0762443359/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1397546738&sr=8-1&keywords=stonehenge+mini

Okay I'll need it a touch bigger than that, but you get the point.

Yes, I could do something like that.  Maybe I could use cinder blocks, and masonry found at the local Home Depot.  That would keep the cost down.

But it won't happen.  I know that I will be struck down by that Canary Island Date... nay, Killing Palm. 

Let the final words on my tombstone be this:

A Canary Island Date Palm walks on the water.
A Canary Island Date Palm walks by the sea.
A Canary Island Date Palm walks wherever it wants.
But no Canary Island Date Palm walks on me.

You know if that will fit and all.

Tough Choices, Evil Empires, and Black Gold

Job hunting is tough all over.  Except for one place.  North Dakota.  Why you ask?  Simply put, black gold, also known as the new oil boom.

The evil empire known as Haliburton has invented a new way to drill.  Instead of drilling from the top of a mountain, they can go in from the side.  They then frak the rock, and suck the oil out.  And there's a lot of oil.  How much?  In twenty years they believe North Dakota alone will out produce Saudi Arabia. 

And that's where I come in.  Or should I say workers from across the United States come in.  Let's be honest, North Dakota is kind of sparse, and doesn't have enough workers.

And they need workers.  Lots of workers.  Heck, even the fast food employees are getting $12-$15 an hour.  And they need truckers.  Lots of truckers to move that black gold from the oil fields to the refineries.  But it is a dangerous job.  I actually had to stop and think what driving a semi truck in North Dakota would be like.  Something like this I suppose.

Ok, hopefully it wouldn't be exactly like that.  It would be more like this.

Then there is the fact that I would be working for Haliburton or one of their underlings.  And we all know what Haliburton means.  It means Dick Cheney will try to shallow your soul.

And with oil comes oil spills.  And no one wants cute animals to die.

But let's get back to talking money.  Yes, it's easy to make $1500 a week, but what are the expenses?  First off, since there are very few people in North Dakota there is very little housing.  What housing there is takes half your paycheck.  And then there's the matter of food.  Food and all other goods have to be shipped in.  They can run quite a bit of money since North Dakota is so far out.  So even if I make a good amount of money, after expenses I don't know if I would have much left.  And I would still have bills to pay. 

I'm not going to make a quick decision on this as I don't want to work in North Dakota during the winter.  Once it hits Springtime I will think long and hard about it.  Different companies up there have options as far as housing and food go.  I would just have to find one that would be a good fit for me.  Oh, and one that would let me keep my soul instead of letting Cheney suck it out.