Lines of Communication

It all started when I graduated from a two year electronics school. I had learned about basic electronics, TV and radio repair, and had built a few projects from parts. After working for a little while in that field, my father suggested I apply for the telephone company. The company he referred to was C&P Telephone Company of West Virginia at the time. It was part of the nationwide Bell System. A short time later I was called to come in for a physical, an initial interview, and later, some requited testing. I aced all those and was told something like this.
"We want to hire you. You've done well on all our tests and requirements. We don't have any outside positions available at the time. Would you be interested in working in the Directory Assistance office until something comes open? You would have your foot in the door, and be among the first considered when an outside job becomes available."
Of course I did not feel I could turn that down! As my parents had told me, once you get on at the phone company, you're pretty much set for life! The pay was good, the job security was stable, and working there had a certain amount of status attached to it. At least that's what I was told.
Upon the orientation and training portion of my new job, I found that I was one of only four male operators on the floor. Two were in directory assistance, and the other two were in the toll operator section. When I finished training and was put on the phones, I got a lot of looks and comments, not only from some of the female operators, but from customers. I distinctly remember one caller.
"Directory Assistance!" I said, "What city please?"
"I was wanting an operator for a number."
"Yes. This is directory assistance. What city do you want the number in?"
"You're a guy."
"Yes sir."
"Guys aren't operators. Give me a girl operator. What are you? Gay?"
That was just one of many such comments, but I didn't let it phase me. I knew where I was headed and this was just a temporary stepping stone.
By the time I left the office two years later (less temporary than I had thought), there were a dozen or more male operators in the office, and everyone seemed to be pretty used to the idea by then. In a way, I had helped pioneer a new era in the communications industry.
My first outside job was as an installer/repairman in Boone County, WV. It was a long drive from my home in the Saint Albans, WV area, but the pay increase, as well as getting to work outside and in a field I enjoyed made it worth it for a while. After six months, however, I put in for a transfer back closer to home. There was a short waiting period, during which I went back into the operator office, and when the job did come open, I was placed in the line crew in Cross Lanes, WV. The work I did there included exactly what you see in the Norman Rockwell painting pictured at the top of this blog post. The equipment in front of the lineman is called a lasher. It wraps, or lashes, steel wire around the telephone cable and steel strand by which the cable is supported. The lashing wire is what holds it all together. When the lasher reaches the pole, a lineman climbs up and catches off the wire with a temporary clamp, lifts the lasher to the other side of the pole, and terminates the wire on both sides on a permanent clamp, and sends the lasher on its way, pulled along from the ground by other linemen. terminates it on a
In the line crew, we set poles, anchors, and down guys, attached the steel strand, pulled cable by the poles, and lashed it up. That was the most physically demanding job I had with the telephone company, but very rewarding. I was in pretty good shape, felt good, and slept like a baby.
From there, I was trained and moved into maintenance splicing, actually connecting the wires inside the cables and enclosing the splice when there was a damaged cable being replaced. Otherwise I found troubles in the lines and repaired them, restoring service to customers. I eventually learned and worked with digital services, among other things.
When something called "divestiture" came along in 1982-3, the Bells System, run by AT&T, was divided into separate companies. AT&T kept long distance operations, and the local service companies were broken up into individual RBOCs (Regional Bell Operating Companies). C&P Telephone of WV was now part of one of those RBOCs which was renamed Bell Atlantic in 1984. It included the companies in Maryland, Virginia, Washington DC, and West Virginia.
In 2000, Bell Atlantic merged with GTE and was renamed Verizon. Just for the record, no one I worked with at the time liked the new name. What did it mean? Where did they get that idea?
All told I spent thirty years in the telecommunications industry and decided it was time to take my retirement and do something else for a change. I think I got out just in time, because soon after, the company was sold to Frontier Communications - at least the landlines part, which I was part of. Pay scales, as well as benefits, job security, and employee morale kind of went downhill after that.
I think the part of my career as a telephone man that I remember most fondly was that of lineman. Those sixteen years were hard work, and sometimes dangerous, but we had good crews and enjoyed what we did, pulling lines across hills and valleys, underground and along highways.

POTATO WARS

No, this is not about the Irish immigrants, nor a space story about "Darth Tuber" (Darth Tater?). It is a tale of culinary adventure. Exciting! Right?!
It all started when the church I attend was planning an after-service dinner. Someone came up with the ingenious idea of preparing large pans with labels in them. One was labeled "green beans", another "gravy", etc. That way each person who wishes to help by bringing in a dish can do so without duplicates or something missing. Great plan!
Well, I like to cook, and I have no problem pitching in to help, so I checked out the selections...rather, selection. When I got to the table where the pans were, there was one left. "Mashed Potatoes". I'm no genius, but I knew exactly why that pan was left after everyone had gone. I stood there gazing at the huge...VERY huge...pan, and my mind went back to my youth, when I would scrub, peel, cut up and rinse spuds for my mom when she was preparing a family meal. That was usually about six or eight potatoes for the four of us. This was going to take at least ten pounds.
As it turns out, it took fifteen pounds of whipped russets to fill that 13" X 16" oval pan! Two sticks of butter and a quart of milk added to the weight, also. I picked up the pan. I'm not afraid of tackling a tough job, even one no one else wants to do. Besides, it would be sad if everyone got to the dinner and found no one had made the mashed potatoes.
So I started with a 10lb. bag of potatoes, got them all prepared and boiled, and then went to get my mixer out of the pantry. Ah! There is was! Beaters...beaters...beaters?! Where were my beaters? I went through ever drawer and over every shelf in the house. No beaters! Had I accidentally thrown them away? Well, it's 4:00 am. I don't have time to waste. I made a quick run to Walmart, picked up a cheap ($7.00) mixer and another bag of potatoes. By then it was pretty obvious the first bag wasn't enough. Back home, whipped the potatoes I had cooked and began preparing the next batch. I figured five more pounds would cover it, and it did, even though not completely to the top of the pan.
While peeling and cutting the second batch I nicked my thumb. Aaaggghh! No blood! I cannot, will not, have any such contamination in my food! So I tossed that potato I was working on, thoroughly washed my thumb and the entire area, put pressure on to stop the little bit of bleeding, and found a band-aid. Glove...I would use a glove. No chances!
So now I'm back at work. The potatoes cooked, I added the butter, milk, and some salt, and whipped them up. Then I added to the pan and stirred everything up.
There are a few minor lumps left, but that just proves to everyone that I didn't just open ten boxes of instant potatoes. Then there's the clean-up! I don't care how neat a cook you are in the kitchen, mashed potatoes are a messy business - especially THAT many mashed potatoes.
When it comes to my turn in line, I am not certain, but I'm pretty sure I'll pass the potatoes by. I'm a taster while I cook...so I think I've had my share. Besides...I think I saw an eye that I missed in the pan staring at me.
Next dinner, I will try to get to the pan labeled "rolls." How hard can that be?

Big Pharma, Big Health Food Industries: They're both out to get us!

Wow. What do you say about an industry that produces very expensive products that they claim will cure, treat, or prevent all sorts of diseases and conditions, prolong life, and end depression, etc.? This is an industry that makes these products for pennies and sells them for up to a hundred times the cost! Companies in this Many of the claims they make about the products are bogus, and some of the products can have unwanted side-effects, or even cause more health issues!

I'm talking about big pharma...right!?

NO!

I'm talking about the unregulated dietary supplement industry!

First they tell us that everything we are eating and all the medicines we take are killing us. Then they tell us that their products are much better, more natural (cyanide is natural) and have all sorts of health benefits, citing studies and doctors' approval, testimonies, etc.

For one thing, the things we are eating and taking now that they say are "killing us" might...if we took mega-doses of highly concentrated versions over years. Secondly, the products they push "might" be beneficial, again, if we took mega-doses of highly concentrated versions over many years. The trouble is, most of the supplements are very diluted or cut with fillers.

So who's taking the most advantage of the public health?

Is it big pharma, over regulated and expensive, largely because of those regulations? Or is it big supplements, hardly overseen at all, pumping out what is basically placebos for outrageous prices?

The sad thing is that too many people take supplements thinking they are doing a better job than the much needed real pharmaceuticals they may need.

Yes, there is a middle ground, and people should watch what they eat, as well as carefully research the prescribed medicines they take. It's not all black and white. I'm just saying we need to keep our eye on BOTH these industries, because they BOTH have a main goal...separating us from our money!

POSITIVE THINKING - NEGATIVE CONSEQUENCES

My first encounter with the concept of positive thinking was in the story "The Little Engine that Could". The earliest versions of the story were in articles written in the early 1900's. Then of course I learned the story of David and Goliath in church. That was my first introduction to the power of God, as well as positive thinking, or faith.
Much later, when I was in my early twenties, I was given some audio tapes of Napoleon Hill's "Think and Grow Rich", read by Earl Nightingale. That book applied the power of positive thinking to success in business and the accumulation of wealth, as well as other things one may aspire to. Not long after that, I read "The Power of Positive Thinking" by Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, and a somewhat related writing called "The Third Mind" (not to be confused with William S. Burroughs' work). The Third Mind concept is a phenomenon that occurs when two people collaborate on a project or discuss a topic. Each shares his or her thoughts, and each adds those thoughts to his/her own, and new ideas form that appear to come from a third, invisible person in the room. Thoughts that neither would have had alone are stimulated by the sharing of information.
Needless to say at this point, I have been generously drenched in the idea of positive thought and the powers of the mind. In Napoleon Hill's writing, he says, "Whatever the mind of man can conceive and believe, it can achieve.
Many people have used the seemingly limitless (if you believe the writings) power of positive thought to obtain wealth, power, material things, or develop desired relationships or situations such as jobs or the establishment of a business. Being a Christian, I believe that God gave us the amazing power of our mind. I beleive that God answers prayer, but I also beleive that some things we attribute to God are not His doing, but the abilities He gave us to accomplish things for ourselves.
That brings us to the point of this blog post. Not everything that we desire, and apply "positive thinking" to obtain has a positive result. You are familiar with the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for."
Gerald Brom said, "Everything comes with a price. Everything. Some things just cost more than others."
I have said similar things many times myself. Everything we desire requires some price be paid, whether it is at the cost of our time and energy, or a trade-off of something else in our lives. I have known several people, for instance, who had such a desire to accomplish something that the cost included the loss of relationships, or having to part with something else that was dear to them. In order to get one desired job, you often have to give up another, hopefully for better pay, working conditions, or some other benefits. Sometimes the cost is not just to ourselves, but to others as well, and sometimes the cost can be great and painful. In short, positive thinking can have negative consequences, if it's not applied carefully to well considered desires. One man I know almost destroyed his marriage and family by devoting all his time and energy to building a business and obtaining financial success. All the time he thought he was doing it for his family...until it was almost too late. I know another man who actually did lose his family seeking something else which turned out to be folly.
Positive thinking is a very powerful too, but like any tool which is abused or used in the wrong way, it can be dangerous and even deadly.
Be careful - truly - what you wish for and consider the price you're willing to pay for it. Also consider the possible unintended consequences.

How Do I Say Goodbye?

I asked some friends to help me create a character for a story. I took their suggestions and wrote. Here are their contributions, followed by the story that came from them.

1. Answered: male
2. Partly answered: nickname "Mac" still need first name.
3. Answered: Last name McAvoy
4. Answered: 50 years old
5. Answered: Hair turning silver with blue eyes.
6. Answered: Inner city Detroit
7. Answered: Recently widowed with a grandson to look after
8. Answered: Sheriff/Law Enforcement Officer
9. Answered: Good trait- somewhat like Sheriff Andy Taylor (Griffith)
10. Answered: Not-so-good trait - may cross the line if needed (Longmire)
11. Answered: Problem - Lost wife after 27 years of marriage.
12. Answered: How is the character dealing with the problem - Sheriff Mac has not dealt with the death of his wife. However, his 3 year old grandson is forcing the issue. He begins to have flashbacks of his wife and his daughter who also died Together in the car crash. The father of the 3 year old has not been seen since learning of the pregnancy 4 years ago.
When all the questions are answered, my assignment is to write a short story based on the character we have created together.

How Do I Say Goodbye?

By Phil Ruby

Sean “Mac” McAvoy stood looking at his grandson, Jacob, whom he always called Jake. His brow narrowed, his eyes got misty and his jaw clinched as he tried to answer the questions the three-year-old boy had just asked. It had been six months since the death of his Mac’s wife, Marianne, and his daughter, Laura, in the car crash. Jake was Laura’s only child. Mac had not really dealt with the loss. He threw himself into his work and drank himself to sleep most nights after Jake went to bed. Despite the advice of all his men and others in the Sheriff’s office, as well as the department’s counselor, Mac had not allowed himself to go through the grieving process. He was stuck in the anger stage, internalizing it until he had nearly destroyed his health. He moved quickly past the denial stage, having been in law enforcement for thirty years. He had seen plenty of death and knew there was no use in denying that it had ripped apart his own family.

The fifty-year-old Mac’s once reddish-blonde hair had almost all turned to silver. His blue eyes glistened with the forming tears as he took his grandson firmly, but gently by the shoulders.

The boy spoke again, with a quiver in his voice, “Grandpa, are mommy and grandma ever coming home?”

Maybe the young Jake had a lot of his grandfather in him, getting stuck in the denial stage of grief, even though the deaths were explained to him by the counselor months before.

The questions welled up in Mac’s chest and formed a hard lump right in the middle of his gut. The questions were forcing Mac to move on through the stages of grief. He asked himself, “What if I had seen the signs earlier?” and “Why didn’t I react sooner?” He began to ask God to bring them back, knowing that could not happen.

“Jake,” Mac finally spoke, trying to control his voice, “Do you believe in God – in heaven?”

“Mommy told me about them,” Jake said, his eyes lighting up for a moment, “Heaven is a place where nobody gets sick or hurt, and God takes care of them forever!” Then Jake slumped, his eyes fell to the floor. “That’s where mommy and grandma are, isn’t it? They are not coming back. Are they?”

Those seven words in his grandfather’s question were all Jake needed to understand, finally. Only his grandpa could settle the issue, no matter what anyone else had told him. Jake had somehow, through the magic of youth, leaped all the way to acceptance.

Mac, however would still need some processing.

Seven months earlier

Mac McAvoy sat as his desk in the Wayne County Sheriff’s Department in Detroit, Michigan. He was in charge of the Special Response Team (SRT), responsible for the handling of critical incidents and high-risk operations in a manner that reduces the chance of violence, injury, or death. The day was routine so far, with little for the specialized tactical officers except to keep up their continued training on tactical weapons and scenarios, play cards and chew the fat. Routine, that is, until the call came from the Sheriff that there was a hostage situation on the west side of town in a hospital emergency room.

The team rolled quickly, grabbing gear, suiting up with body armor and helmets, and piling into the truck they called the “bread truck” unofficially. When they arrived at the facility, it was surrounded by city police, other Sheriff units, an FBI unit, and a town councilman asking too many questions.

“Get him out of the way!” Mac yelled, pointing at the politician, “Where are the feds?”

Mac knew that if the FBI was involved they would assume control of the situation and be giving out orders. The federal agent met Mac halfway flashing his badge and beginning to tell Mac what to do. Mac, a usually soft-spoken, calm individual who didn’t like to yell at anyone could take on his aggressive side when needed.

“Before you start,” Mac interrupted, “We are the Wayne County SRT. We’re handling this. We’ve been called in the sheriff, and if you have any questions or comments, he’ll be here shortly, I’m sure.”

Mac’s forcefulness took the agent by surprise, as he stepped back for a moment to gather his thoughts. This was obviously a young agent on his first, or one of his first, assignments. Mac moved on toward the city cars, asking the police chief about the details of the situation.

We have two men with semi-automatic handguns, two each, I believe,” said the chief, Robert Donovan, “and loaded down with clips. They entered the ER shortly after noon demanding to remove a gunshot victim from the premises. They thought they were going to get in and out with him before any law enforcement showed up, it seems. They faced resistance from one very tough lady, the head nurse.”

“My wife,” Mac said nodding his head, “Has she…has anyone been hurt?”

“There has been no gunfire so far,” Robert said, “but when we had one of the armed men on the phone earlier I heard some of the staff in the background screaming about the men damaging some of the medical equipment and putting patients’ lives in danger.”

“We have maps of the building and my men are moving in now,” Mac said, “We’ll get this thing over with and do it without anyone getting hurt.” Mac said it with the confidence he always displayed. Whether he truly believed it or not was anyone’s guess.

One month later

“It always makes me nervous when you leave for work,” Marianne said, her arms around Mac’s neck,” she gave him a kiss.

“Things have been quiet for a while now,” Mac said, “ever since…”

“Ever since you and your men came riding on your white horses and rescued me, and everyone else at the hospital?” Marianne said smiling, “You know I never would have imagined you’d be coming to see me at work!” She was trying to joke, but she was afraid.

The two men they took into custody without incident glared at Marianne on their way out. One of them, called “Chalk” by the other, had said to her, “We’ve got friends. They’ll be looking for you.” He was referring to the fact that Marianne had detained them long enough for the police to arrive.

“Look,” Mac said, “I know you’re worried, and I am too. That’s why my friends at DPD have extra patrols in the neighborhood. Some of the guys are even coming by in their off-duty hours to keep an eye on the house. Are you planning to go anywhere today?”

“Laura and I are going to shop for Jacob’s birthday party!” Marianne said excitedly, “He’s turning three this coming Saturday, you know!”

“Let me know where you are. I’ll try to get away and meet you two for lunch,” Mac said with a smile, “Jake’s at Amy’s, I assume?”

“Yes,” Marianne nodded, “He begged me to go. I think your sister would keep him if we let her. He plays so well with Bradley!”

Another kiss, and Mac was out the door. Marianne looked out, up and down the street, and waved at Fred, the off-duty cop that Mac had gotten to follow her if she went anywhere. The two who had held the ER staff and patients hostage a month before were behind bars, but they had ties to a local drug gang, and had threatened Mac’s wife. He wasn’t taking any chances.

On his way up the street, Mac noticed a car moving slowly. He took note, but it was a late-model car and the two men inside were dressed in casual business attire, and going by he saw a laptop and some papers in the back seat. “Probably insurance salesmen or realtors,” he thought to himself. He glanced into his rear-view to make sure Fred was still watching.

Noon

Mac’s phone rang. “That must be the gals telling me where to meet them for lunch,” Mac said to a couple of his team sitting nearby. “Hello!”

“Dad!” the voice on the other end was shaking and he heard sobs.

“Laura!” Mac said, “What’s wrong?!”

“We’ve been in a bad car crash! I’ve called 911!” Laura said, her voice getting weaker as she spoke, “Dad! Mom’s not breathing! I’m bleeding! Trapped in the car!”

Mac could not speak at first. He was gathering his thoughts. Ordinarily he would have quizzed about location and informed the main office about the call immediately. This was not ordinary. This was his daughter, and his wife.

“Dad,” Laura said, her voice trailing, “If I don’t make it,”

“Stop that!” Mac said firmly, “You hang on! They’re coming to help you!”

“Take care of Ja….” Silence

Mac called out over and over, but there was no response. He contacted the 911 center, found out the location of the crash and headed there as quickly as possible. The ambulances, fire department and city police were on the scene. The bodies of Mac’s wife and daughter were being put into separate ambulances, pronounced dead at the crash. Marianne’s car was over a small embankment, piled up against a large concrete pillar that supported the Interstate Highway just overhead. There was no sign of skid marks nor evidence of another vehicle involvement. It looked to the detectives like a single car accident. It was concluded that the driver, Mac’s wife, must have been distracted and ran off the road, killing both the occupants of the vehicle.

Mac could not get the fact out of his head that the perpetrator at the hospital ER had threatened his wife. He spent the next couple of months trying to convince the prosecuting attorney to investigate the possibility that Marianne and Laura had been run off the road by one of “Chalk’s” associates in crime. No evidence was found, and Mac was ordered by a judge to cease and desist any attempts to investigate further, in an official capacity as an officer of the Sheriff’s Department of Wayne County. Mac tendered his resignation immediately upon hearing that judgment, and began an investigation with the help of a private detective. Spending his days talking to the PI and his nights in a drunken stupor, Mac was missing meals, missing sleep, and missing his life.

Six months later

Mac looked at his grandson, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “We’re going to be all right.”

Four nights earlier

Mac had gotten a tip from his private investigator that the one called “Chalk”, nicknamed because of the chalk lines of dead bodies he had been responsible for in the city, was released from jail along with his partner. Mac was also told of their hiding location. He crept out late at night alone, drove to a block away from where the assailants were supposedly hiding, and walked through backyards to the house. He held a tactical flashlight and wore his holstered 9mm pistol at his side. He also had on his bullet proof vest. He crept near the back door of the residence and began making noise, throwing rocks at the back door and yelling.

Noises came from inside the house. Mac stood in the alley, off the premises and waited. The back door flew open, obviously kicked or shoved from inside. Then a face slowly appeared, then another.

“Come on out!” Mac called, shining his light at the back door, nearly blinding the two..

“Who are you? What do you want?” one of them demanded.

“I am…or was, the director of the Wayne County Sheriff’s Strategic Response Team,” Mac shouted.  “I also am…or was, the husband of Marianne McAvoy and the father of Laura McAvoy. Do you know those names?”

“Sorry!” the voice shouted, “I can’t help you.”

“You ordered one of your boys to run them off the road out under the Interstate,” Mac shouted. “They both died in the crash. Now I’m here to take you in for conspiracy to commit murder.”

“By yourself?” the voice called out. “And you are no longer with the sheriff’s department? I’d say you’re out of luck, pal!”

Shots were fired from the door and window out into the alley. In the next seconds, lights blared from up and down the alley and bullets riddled the back of the house. The SRT had come to back him up under the instructions of the new head. As Mac stood there, never having fired a shot, he was approached by a few of his old crew.

“They fired the first shots, sir,” one of them said.

“You don’t have to call me sir, anymore,” Mac said. “I’m not your boss anymore.”

“You will always have my respect and admiration, sir,” the young man said, “and as far as I’m concerned, you will always be ‘sir’ to me.”

Four days later

Mac looked once more on his young grandson, who had already started to play with his toy cars. He went outside, sat down on the back stoop, and cried. He cried until he had no more tears. Then he looked up, and said, “God, how do I say goodbye?”

Why Is It So Hard to Defeat ISIS and Other Terrorist Groups?

I keep hearing some people saying things like, "We should ban all Muslims from entering the US!" or, "Why don't we just nuke the entire Middle East and turn it into a glass parking lot?!"None of that will solve the problem of violence and terrorism in the world. Why is it so difficult to stop ISIS and other groups who are terrorizing the world? This is probably a clue.

Ephesians 6:12(NIV) "For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

What we are facing, what we sometimes call "radical Islam" among other things, is pure evil. Evil comes from the powers of this dark world. Notice the scripture is referring to rulers, not ruler, authorities, not authority, and powers, not power. The one we call satan is just one. He has many other helpers in his army of fallen angels, and it it suggested that he even may have limited powers of creation when it comes to demons and other spiritual creatures.

These evil powers of the dark world are not interested in what happens to our bodies. Killing, torturing, raping, mutilating our flesh is only a means to an end. That goal is our souls. Satan and his forces want to cause us to lose faith, turn from God, and let our fear turn our hearts to evil, adopting his own evil ways. In other words, he wants to turn us to the "dark side." (Yes, George Lucas had it right.)

The reason ISIS and other terrorist groups are so difficult to defeat is that they are not an organized army with a chain of command like our enemies in other wars that we have fought. It is an ideology. It is a thought. It can infiltrate easily and quickly, any group, even our own army...or as some believe, even the White House.

The only way this evil will be defeated is by God, in His time, and in His way. Until then, yes, we must do what we can to defend ourselves, our families, and our nation, but most importantly, we must guard our souls. That is the true treasure that the enemy is after.