From cford@primary.net Wed Jan 27 17:03:32 1999 Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1999 01:48:14 -0600 From: Charlie Ford <cford@primary.net> To: keen@finally.atlasta.net Subject: Joshua's Lament In the past two weeks we in these United States have endured huge amounts of news, innuendo, and propaganda. The battle in DC rages with a fervor never seen within our boundaries as a nation. One Senator implied that we are quickly approaching violent stages of thought and one where people of one belief system might take to the streets to win out over others that may think differently. People are speaking of "stoning" and physical violence to their perceived oppressors of right. When is balance going to be attained? I think this is the question all of us ask ourselves in these trying times. Meanwhile across the oceans our troops. Young men and women from hometowns around America are in harms way trying to sway the methods of a madman that lives in riches in Baghdad. 'Riches, while his people suffer in poverty and endure sanctions he brought upon them with his strong arm, power-mongering ways. The world is a smaller place these days, and the talking heads bring it right into our living rooms. We are forced in many ways to become involved in all the wrong things and that takes our focus from all the right things. Like neighbors, friends, and even acquaintances that might need some of our attention. I am one that enjoys thinking, listening to, and forming opinion about such matters of national or international proportion. I like to believe I think deeply and strategically about the aforementioned, but I cannot say for sure. I seldom run into folks that have the urge to discuss issues like that for pleasure, I believe that is where the conversational rubber hits the road. Conversation is where present opinion is challenged, and newly formed opinions emerge. We learn as we go. I guess many folks believe in the old rule that says 'Never discuss politics, sex, or religion in mixed company'. I don't necessarily disagree with that, but I believe the times allow for an expansion of the boundaries in which critical thought is embellished. Where do you discuss such things if not "in mixed company"? Then suddenly comes that a buddy, a colleague, has died by his own hand, and of his own choosing. It shocked me! It seemed surreal and nothing more than a bad joke when I first heard it. My rational mind then took over and made me know that surely no one would joke about something as serious as that. I went immediately to my phone and called to confirm the awful news. Two of Josh's friends went to his house to check on him last Monday Morning. They knew that he and his wife had suffered some changes of late, and that Josh was struggling to deal with those changes. Isn't it amazing how fragile even the toughest of us appear in the face of love's woes? As the situation unfolded it became evident that their friend, and many of ours, had died. It didn't matter how he had died; it only mattered that he had. At that point all the news of CNN, Fox, CBS, NBC, and ABC drifted somewhere so deep into the mind that it became a simple speck that couldn't even cast a shadow. The essence of life and living became the thought, and Josh's was the one focused upon. The questioning of the dead begins. How did this happen? How could he? How do I face this situation? How am I gonna make him live again? Do I know CPR? What's the number for 911? Why did he do this? Why would something affect someone so happy? Why^Å. Surely he's faking? Then the truth probably became more evident as the emergency vehicles arrived. Maybe you stand there in some sort of cold surreal world that seems so much like a bad dream you want to wake up. A light sheen of sweat breaks on your brow as you're trying to decipher the mystery of loss that is lying before you. The anger starts to emerge and so begins the rapid-fire shift that all of the emotions your body and mind can express. The neurons fire back and forth across the hemisphere's like warriors firing their weapons on a battlefield straight from hell. Your brain has become a pinball machine and nothing but time can calm the noise and shooting thoughts. You want to cry but for some reason you can't. The frenzy of activity inside and out is causing your thought to scramble from one side to the next and then suddenly you realize, He is dead, he is really dead! Then whole new sets of questions became evident. "Should I call his wife? Where is she?" Etc^Å I arrived in Ponca City on Thursday morning. I departed Saint Louis in the Mothership on Wednesday night 12:18 AM, drove three hours and slept cold in a rest area along 44 west. On Thursday morning I finished the drive arriving in town about 12:00 noon. My calculations were that I did 449 miles in 8 hours give a take a few minutes. The Mothership breezed along at 65 mph; I sat there and tried to recall conversations I was privileged to share with Josh. It's amazing how the simple details come back on certain things, and others are lost forever. He was a happy fellow! I don't believe there was one time I saw him when he wasn't happy and gleeful. He had teeth as white as a sheet, and eyes that would stun you when they met yours. He was a gentleman to no end and carried himself as such. A smile for the guys, and two for the ladies. His friends told me that Josh enjoyed socializing, and from time to time, most of the time enjoyed a beer or two or three. He was not terribly fond of liquor but did partake of a little every now and then. Josh was a trooper in the party world. Chad Cantwell told me that if all of them went to bed or passed out and Josh was left alone around the fire, he would just amble to wherever in the campground he saw lights or people standing around a fire. He would simply make new friends to talk with about whatever. Chad said that every time they went camping, by the end of the first day, complete strangers from around the campground would come walking up and call Josh by name and start talking to him like they had known him all their life. The funeral was a nice, as nice as they get anyway. The flowers abounded and the colors were happy. There was one that was made in the VW Logo, and others that were the more traditional look. The casket was oak and looked rich, as he deserved. Rick Taylor, Rob Dalghren, Bill Keating, David Pierce, Mike Gensler, Art Long, Pete Sutnick and myself were in attendance from the list. We like all the others sat silent as the Minister gave his account, and comfort to the family and the rest of us. He was a young man, maybe 25 or so, but there was a sincere air about him. The film was good. It portrayed Josh as he was I think. The mix of Elvis and Steppenwolf offered the bounds of perspective that reasonably matched Josh's personality. He purveyed both those styles. There were five VW's in the procession, one beetle and four busses. The rain was cold and the wind was blowing all of it sideways. It seemed very fitting to have so many of us there to mourn death. The day certainly suited the occasion, sad, dismal, and lonely. The wake was actually a lot of fun. I think Josh would have wanted it that way, and that was the general consensus throughout the mourning group. They all must have known him a lot better than I did; in fact I am sure they did. There was no doubt that we were there to celebrate life, rather than suffer totally the grief associated with the death of this friend, this colleague, this "forever-young" man. Josh has some great friends left in Ponca City. I pray that each one of them deal with this episode in their life in stride. Understanding something like this takes time and the full reasoning will never be known. The one thing we that knew Josh Rodgers have to commit to is to try and make sure it never happens again. If you have a friend or acquaintance going through a tough time, give them a little of your's. Something as simple as a smile can move people in mysterious ways. Be of service to one another, and do it with an active mind and heartfelt intention. The drive back to Saint-Louis was smooth and easy. I hummed along at about 65 mph and thought about what a nice time I had in Oklahoma. All the while I kept feeling like it might have been much better if Josh had been there. He and I had talked a few times about doing the sand rail thing at the Little Sahara, but I don't guess that will happen now. Chad, Steve, and I will go one of these days and do it in memory of Josh. In Memory Of: Joshua James Rodgers May 4, 1973-December 14, 1998 Thanks for tolerating the ramblings. Charlie Ford (314) 772-8197 --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Truth, honesty, and integrity are easy to say, but hard to actively practice. They are virtues more precious than gold, and worth a lifetime of effort to attain." C. A. Carter --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "79" Bus, "The Mothership" http://www.tiora.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html All writings are Copyrighted and belong to me.