In a world seemingly obsessed with calendars, dates, and the ever-ticking clock, it’s time to embark on a journey of self-discovery that challenges our conventional notions of age and the pace at which we age. Have you ever paused to consider that maybe the number of trips you’ve taken around the sun doesn’t truly define your age or the vitality you feel inside? Let’s explore this intriguing idea that age is not merely a number but a unique combination of genetics, health, attitude, and perspective.
The Sun’s Orbit vs. Your Inner Clock
Traditionally, we’ve marked the passing of years based on our planet’s journey around the sun. However, this celestial voyage may not tell the whole story of how we age. In reality, it’s our individual genetic makeup, lifestyle choices, and overall well-being that contribute significantly to our experience of aging.
Genetics: The DNA Blueprint
Our genetic code plays a profound role in how our bodies and minds age. Some individuals carry genetic traits that promote longevity and health, allowing them to feel and function more youthfully as they accumulate birthdays. Genetics may indeed hold the key to the ageless spirit within you.
Lifestyle Matters: Diet and Exercise
The choices we make regarding our diet and physical activity can either accelerate or decelerate the aging process. A balanced diet, regular exercise, and an active lifestyle have been shown to promote physical and mental well-being, potentially slowing the hands of time.
Attitude Is Everything
Your outlook on life can be a powerful age-defying elixir. A positive attitude, a zest for learning, and an open-minded approach to new experiences can help maintain a youthful mindset and encourage a more vibrant existence.
Different Strokes for Different Folks
Each of us is a unique blend of genetics, experiences, and perspectives. What makes you, well, you, might also contribute to the pace at which you age. Embrace your individuality, as it might be the secret sauce that keeps you feeling youthful.
Connections Across Generations
Your ability to connect with people of various ages and backgrounds is a testament to your adaptability and openness. Interacting with younger generations can foster a sense of vitality and enthusiasm that transcends traditional notions of age.
Cherishing Youthful Energy
The joy of spending time with younger individuals, whether it’s enjoying their enthusiasm, curiosity, or unique perspectives, can be invigorating. It’s a reminder that youthfulness is not confined to a specific age group; it’s a state of mind.
Embracing the Ageless Spirit
So, why should you let a number dictate how young or old you feel? Embrace the idea that age is not defined by years alone. It’s a harmonious blend of genetics, lifestyle choices, attitude, and a spirit that defies the limitations of time. Your age is as unique as you are, a testament to a life well-lived and a future filled with the promise of continued vitality. So, let the calendar pages turn; you’ll be too busy enjoying life’s adventures to care.
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In the realm of music, there are few stories as beautifully haunting and tragically compelling as that of the legendary Roy Orbison. Known for his distinctive voice, timeless ballads, and signature black shades, Orbison’s life was filled with remarkable highs and shattering lows. Let’s explore the remarkable journey of a man whose music left an indelible mark on the world, but whose personal life was marred by profound sorrow.
A Star Is Born
Roy Kelton Orbison was born on April 23, 1936, in Vernon, Texas. From an early age, he exhibited a deep passion for music, and by the time he was a teenager, he was already a proficient guitarist and singer. His first recordings, like “Ooby Dooby,” hinted at the vocal prowess that would later make him an icon. Orbison’s breakout came in the late 1950s and early 1960s with a string of hits including “Only the Lonely,” “Crying,” and “Running Scared.” His voice, often described as operatic in its range and emotion, earned him a reputation as one of the most gifted vocalists in the history of rock and roll.
The Dark Shades and the Golden Hits
Roy Orbison was not just known for his remarkable voice but also for his mysterious and unforgettable persona. The dark shades he famously wore were not for show but, rather, a necessity. Orbison had poor vision, and these shades became his trademark, adding an air of mystique to his image. Throughout the early ’60s, Orbison continued to produce a string of golden hits. His emotional ballads, filled with heartfelt lyrics and orchestral arrangements, touched the hearts of fans around the world. Songs like “Oh, Pretty Woman” and “In Dreams” secured his place in music history, and his ballads became anthems of unrequited love and heartache.
Tragedy Strikes
However, as Orbison soared to fame professionally, his personal life was marred by profound tragedy. In 1966, his beloved wife, Claudette, was killed in a motorcycle accident. Tragedy struck again in 1968 when a fire at his home claimed two of his sons, Wesley and Roy Jr. Heartbroken and devastated, Orbison withdrew from the music scene.
A Renaissance and Legacy
The ’80s brought about a resurgence for Roy Orbison. His participation in the supergroup Traveling Wilburys alongside George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, and Jeff Lynne marked a remarkable chapter in his career. The group’s hits, like “Handle with Care,” catapulted Orbison back into the limelight. Tragically, Roy Orbison’s life was cut short when he passed away from a heart attack on December 6, 1988, at the age of 52. His death left a void in the music world, but his songs continue to resonate with generations of listeners. Orbison’s influence endures through artists who admire his vocal prowess and emotive lyrics. His posthumous releases and enduring hits like “You Got It” and “I Drove All Night” have allowed his legacy to transcend time.
A Beautiful but Incredibly Tragic Life
The life of Roy Orbison is a tale of remarkable talent, astounding success, and gut-wrenching sorrow. His music, with its haunting melodies and heartbreaking lyrics, encapsulates the depths of human emotion. Roy Orbison’s life was a beautiful and incredibly tragic symphony. His songs touched the soul of the listener, reflecting the profound joys and sorrows of existence. As we continue to enjoy his music, we remember the man behind the dark shades and mourn the tragic losses that shaped his life.
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On October 20, 1977, tragedy struck the world of rock music when the plane carrying the band Lynyrd Skynyrd crashed in a remote Mississippi forest. The incident claimed the lives of several band members, leaving a void in the music industry and a legacy forever etched in history. But what if the plane’s trajectory had taken a different path? What if the plane had been rented by a different band instead of Lynyrd Skynyrd? Let’s delve into the fateful flight that altered the course of rock music.
The Lynyrd Skynyrd Plane Crash: Lynyrd Skynyrd, the iconic Southern rock band known for hits like “Sweet Home Alabama” and “Free Bird,” had embarked on a tour that would become their last. The band had rented a Convair CV-300 to transport them between shows, unaware of the tragic fate that awaited them. As the plane experienced mechanical issues and ran out of fuel, it plummeted into the forest, taking the lives of lead vocalist Ronnie Van Zant, guitarist Steve Gaines, backup singer Cassie Gaines, and others.
Aerosmith’s Brush with Fate: In a twist of fate, the Convair CV-300 had initially been offered to Aerosmith, the legendary rock band hailed for classics like “Dream On” and “Walk This Way.” Aerosmith’s management had considered renting the plane for their ongoing tour but ultimately decided against it due to logistical concerns and previous equipment failures. Little did they know that this seemingly mundane decision would spare them from the tragic events that unfolded later.
The Alternate Timeline: In an alternate universe where Aerosmith had rented the ill-fated plane, the consequences for rock music history could have been profound. The loss of Aerosmith members in a similar accident could have silenced one of the most iconic rock bands of all time, leaving behind a legacy unfulfilled and untold potential. The distinctive sound that Aerosmith brought to the music world—marked by Steven Tyler’s distinctive vocals and Joe Perry’s mesmerizing guitar riffs—would have been silenced forever.
Aerosmith’s Continued Impact: Had Aerosmith’s career been abruptly cut short by the plane crash, rock music would have undoubtedly lost one of its most influential forces. The subsequent albums, hits, and memorable performances that Aerosmith produced would have never come to fruition. The band’s enduring influence on subsequent generations of rock musicians, as well as their massive fan base, would have been tragically curtailed.
A Shattered Music Landscape: The absence of Aerosmith’s music and influence could have reverberated through the decades, altering the trajectory of rock music as a whole. The evolution of sound, style, and innovation that Aerosmith championed might have taken a different path, leading to an alternative music scene and cultural landscape.
In the end, the tale of the Convair CV-300 and the decisions made by Lynyrd Skynyrd and Aerosmith cast a spotlight on the delicate interplay of choices, fate, and destiny. The legacy of these two iconic rock bands and the indelible mark they left on music history serve as a reminder of the fragility of life and the profound impact that decisions—both small and monumental—can have on the world.
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On a personal note, at least Aerosmith would have already recorded and released “Toys in the Attic” and “Rocks.” So… the label would have probably released “Live Bootleg” and maybe fragments from the recordings from what would become the album, “Draw the Line.” Joe would have never quit the band, and there would be no 80s Aerosmith or any awful 90s Aerosmith music, so I would have been fine with it.
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I was working in the hardware store the other day when a fragile gentleman entered the place. He was older than me and probably well into his 70s. He was by himself and wore a long blue overcoat. I noticed that he was moving slowly and suffering from kyphosis.
I was already on the floor assisting another customer so he was helped by one of my coworkers.
One of the things I notice about working at the hardware store is the number of older people that come in with things they’re repairing or replacing in their homes.
At 60 years old, I think about my own retirement in a few years when I see these folks. I always think about how I probably won’t worry about these sorts of things when I’m older. (I don’t worry about them now!) I ask myself why would these older people waste their time worrying about all of these small items and fixes in their homes? Shouldn’t they just be enjoying life and their retirement? Shouldn’t they be embracing their twilight years instead of worrying about lightbulbs, caulk, paint, stain, and other small projects?
I don’t get it. I picture myself in old age, building little plastic car models and giving them as gifts to friends. Playing my guitar and writing songs, and maybe jamming with a few other old geezers. Maybe renting a car and going on cool road trips around the country. Writing new stories for my blog and documenting my travels in it. Composing new stories for books I want to publish. Bigger picture, quality of life subjects. Not worrying about a bunch of little fixes around my house.
I mentioned this to my older sister and she gave me a good explanation. She said that by the older people taking care of all of these little projects and fixes around their homes, they’re keeping themselves busy. Rather than sitting in a chair with nothing to do in their retirement, they were keeping their minds and hands busy with these projects. It was giving them something to do each day. It gave them a reason to get up, get dressed, and go out of the house. It gave them purpose and filled their time. They enjoyed getting out of the house and talking to people and working on their stuff.
It made sense to me and was a solid explanation, but I thought there might be more to it than that. I also thought that maybe these people have gathered wealth, raised their families, completed their time in the workforce, and had nothing else better to do with their lives in retirement. Maybe they weren’t as gifted as I was. A person who could make art, write stories, play a musical instrument, and have a never-ending need to constantly create.
That bit seemed a little selfish and ignorant on my part. I don’t want to be self-absorbed or judge other people. For the most part, the world is filled with simply average people. There are only an extraordinary few. I am barely one of that elite club. I’m a hack at best, born with some natural abilities that are gifts to be shared with others if they’ll appreciate them. They’re only valuable if you don’t squander them.
My sister was right about her assessment of these older folks. That had to be it, and there wasn’t anything else. Just people with too much time on their hands each day who wanted to stay busy. Their friends and family were slowly dying off. Their kids were long raised and off living their own lives. Their time in the workforce has been over for decades. They were living comfortably financially and had no more battles to win.
When I used to go to a place called Rachael’s for breakfast there was an old guy who came in each day. He traveled around with the use of a walker and came in each day and sat in the same seat doing his thing.
I asked the owner at the time what his deal was, and he said that the guy lived in a building upon JFK blvd and came in every day. I thought it seemed like a hassle to have to struggle along with a walker each day to come down to Rachael’s.
He said that the guy came in daily, ordered the same thing, and then sat in his favorite spot and went through his mail and bills. It gave him a reason to get out of the house, be a little social, and just be anywhere but alone in his apartment. It gave his retired life some purpose. It simply kept him going despite his declining health and mobility.
This sounded like what my sister had stated to me when I told her about the senior citizens at the hardware store. So she must be right about that. I mean, I don’t think I’d do that in my old age, but it’s rapidly approaching every year that passes in my life.
Death is inevitable for all of us. Rich or poor, the reaper will come for every one of us. Everybody has to die, but it all depends on how you lived your life while you were here. But what does it all mean? Why do we live and do all of these things, and gather all of this stuff that needs maintenance only to know that we’ll have to leave at some point, and can’t take any of it with us? What’s the point of it all?
Anyway, I finished with my customer in the store and went to help out at the counter. I saw the old man with the bent back chatting with my coworker about a product he was about to purchase.
It was a little four-pack of tiny plastic coasters that are affixed to the bottom of chair legs so they don’t scratch your nice hardwood floors. He had one in his knarled hand that had come out of the leg of one of his chairs. It was a well-worn plastic cap with a rubber washer on a nail. After years of movement, the nail had become loose and slipped out of the chair leg.
The little four-pack had the very same product that he needed, but the man said the nails looked a little too thin. My coworker suggested that maybe he use a bigger screw or place a piece of a toothpick in the existing hole to tighten it up a bit to accommodate the new nail.
I was watching all of this and stated that maybe a dab of wood glue in the hole along with the toothpick shim could secure it. If the replacement ever wore down it would be pretty easy to remove and replace.
But I still thought to myself, why does this guy care what happens to his floor at this stage of his life? Who cares if the floor gets scratched. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? Why is he worried about this small thing at all?
But these thoughts brought me back to what my sister had said, but my thoughts went a bit further. Here’s this old guy trying to fix a chair in his house. He’ll be dead in probably the next 5 to 10 years and that chair will still be standing. He’ll be dead and gone. Disintegrating into nothing in the ground or already turned to ashes by a loved one. He’ll be gone, and this chair he’s trying to fix will still be standing here on earth. What’s the point, man?
Shouldn’t you be doing anything else? Don’t worry about the chair. You should be enjoying the day and feeling the sunshine on your face before it sets for the last time in your life. Enjoy what little time you have left.
But then it hit me.
This old man has spent his life working and fixing things. Being a presence in his spouse and children’s lives. He wants to fix this chair because he knows this chair is going to be around long after he’s gone.
Maybe that’s our purpose in life.
If something’s broken, needs to be fixed, or simply needs help, it’s our mission in life to do something to make it better. To make it whole again, or at the very least to make it feel better.
Maybe we’re here and have our lives not to accumulate wealth, stature, and stuff, but to care and maintain the things and people around us for when we’re no longer here. Doing things that make the world a little better while we’re here so that our existence left some sort of positive mark on the next generation.
It’s not about the chair. It could be another person. It could be a child. Taking the time to try to fix things and make them better is why we’re here. To make life better for the people around us for when we’re long gone.
Like the broken chair, if he works to try to help it stand strong, he knows it’ll serve others better in the future. He’ll be gone, but he’s making sure the things around him are better. The chair will still be standing strong when he can no longer stand.
No matter how old you are, while you’re here you should try to make things around you better because you’re able. Those things and people will still be in the world after you’re gone, and maybe they’ll be better. Which will make the world just a little bit better thanks to you.
You can do this in your daily life. Do right by other people and raise your children correctly. Download all of your good data into their heads. Work out your weaknesses and failures. Become a better person, and work on yourself every day. Help other people who need it.
Because one day you’ll be gone, and the world will go on spinning without you. Do the right things now so the generations of tomorrow can continue to thrive and go forward. Maybe that’s our purpose for being here. We’re all going to die. But we can have a positive effect on those around us to make the world and its people a better place for tomorrow, even though we all have to someday leave the party forever.
Do what you can to make the chairs around you stand strong and steady on their own when you’re long gone. Because that chair could be a friend or a family member. But if you help make them strong and stable, they can offer repose to someone else who may need to someday take a seat.
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My buddy Frank and I were having the time of our lives living out in LA. We both worked but obviously at such a young age, (me 19, and Frank, 21) we didn’t make much money. But when we had a little extra cash we’d head out to a bar or nightclub to mix and mingle with the locals.
One of our favorite spots was right in our own neighborhood. Madam Wong’s West. Esther Wong was a famous venue owner and music promoter in LA. She had a spot in Chinatown and another one in Santa Monica.
We had some great success on our first excursion out to that club when we met and bedded the Yamamato sisters. We were still sort of dating them both but still enjoyed the LA nightlife and all the deviltry it had to offer.
One night we were sitting in a booth sipping our beers and checking out some of the local bands that were playing there. The main band that was playing upstairs wasn’t all that notable. They were a hard rock act called Dubrow which I thought was a horrible name for a band.
I later learned that they were called something else but gave up the name after their spectacular guitarist quit the band to go work for a more well-known musician.
Years later I discovered that the guy who was the singer in the band we saw that night at Madam Wong’s was named Kevin Dubrow, hence the name of the band. Seems a bit egotistical based on how he appeared marginally talented as a singer and frontman. I also found out that the former name of that band when their extraordinary guitarist was in it was Quiet Riot.
The news about how this guitarist was now playing in Ozzy Osborne’s band was a much talked about subject. Randy Rhoads was always called “former guitarist for Quiet Riot.” So the singer, Kevin Dubrow decided to capitalize on this information and changed the name of his band back to Quiet Riot. It was fun finding all of this information out later and knowing I saw them when they were just a bar band that nobody cared about back in 1982.
They did okay after changing their name back to Quiet Riot.
Sadly, Kevin passed away at age 52 from an overdose of alcohol and painkillers. I’m glad I didn’t follow the same rock and roll path and end up with a similar fate.
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In the spring of 2021, I decided to write stories from my past. Covid had put so many restrictions on us that many of us couldn’t go out and socialize as much as we’d like to. Since I couldn’t go out and hang out with people I turned inward for content for this blog.
One of the things I did was to write stories about my childhood growing up in northeast Philly and my summers in Wildwood, New Jersey. One of the stories I wrote was about a bar band from back in 1980 in Wildwood that I liked. They were called the Dead End Kids and had a profound effect on me back then.
I had been doing some research on the subject and had come across a tribute page to one of its former members. He had gotten cancer and passed away a few years ago. When I finished the article and posted it on my blog, I decided to place a link in the group on Facebook that was a memorial to him.
This garnered a huge positive response from its members and fans of the band. It also brought this blog a truckload of traffic. So when I started to write the old stories about Philly and Wildwood I found groups on Facebook that enjoyed those subjects. In those groups were many people from my old neighborhood and classmates of mine from the past.
Again, the response was overwhelmingly positive. I liked being a voice for my peers from our collective childhoods. I think that was the first time I felt like Phicklephilly had any real value. I know I provided a lot of dating and relationship advice and stories about my own dating life, but it always seemed cheap to me. But when I wrote these stories from my heart and memories of this innocent time in all of our lives it changed something in me. I knew that I’d eventually be able to write the stories I wanted to tell from my life where the goal wasn’t to get traffic, subscribers, or ad revenue.
One of the most wonderful aspects of writing these stories was from people from my past reached out to me in the form of comments, likes, stories of their own, and phone calls. It was nice to connect with people I hadn’t spoken to or seen in over 40 years!
I realized that this blog had a greater value than I ever expected it to have when I started writing it back in 2016. Here was a forum where I could touch the hearts and minds of people from all over the country and the world. It was exciting. My heart beats in the past as a boy, beating now in the present at 60 years old, but beating just a bit faster as I shared in the joy of others through my words.
I got calls, comments, and emails from people I knew and some I never knew. It didn’t matter. We all shared the same memories and experiences.
But one of the people who reached out on Facebook was a guy I knew as a child. Now a man with a wife and kids. I wasn’t friends with him on Facebook and hadn’t seen him in over 40 years. I was never friends with him in real life either. Because back in the mid-seventies he was an arch-enemy. A bully that picked on me as a kid.
I had been picked on for years in the neighborhood and school. Happily, this all ended when I entered high school, but before that, it was a living hell. Fel’s Junior High and my neighborhood were nothing but battlegrounds to me. I wasn’t safe anywhere. Well, maybe in my room or back in the woods at the edge of my block.
The teacher’s scorn. The bullies and animals at school. My father. I was terrified of them all. All of them contributed to my anxiety and depression. (I didn’t even know what those things were back then. I was just scared and sad inside all of the time) Instead of lashing out at society I turned inward, and made art and created things. The pain was so powerful that most people that don’t have it won’t understand what it feels like. It can be a lifelong thing. But I always turned my pain and suffering into some sort of art and found solace in comic books, music, art, and sadly later…alcohol.
Alcohol is a lovely temporary bandage for suffering. It can never truly heal you, if anything, it does the opposite long term. What once makes you feel better and makes your problems vanish for a few hours, later comes back to undo all of that pleasure and turns it into pain.
I’m not writing this piece to talk about my history of self-medication. If anything my will and sense of identity never allowed it to truly own my soul. I just did it because I liked the way it made me feel and was a welcome repose from the constant pain of my life. (Mostly self-imposed by my own poor decisions) I rarely ever drink now and have lost almost all of my desire to drink even socially anymore. I’ve fixed all of the flaws in my character and feel clearer and stronger than I ever have in my life.
But getting back to people from my past, this one guy reached out to me one day on Facebook with a simple question: “Hey Charlie. Do you remember me?”
Based on my experience with this man as a child in my past, I think that most people would block a person like that. The memories are too sour to ever even speak to a person like that ever again. There’s a reason people are gone from your life. That goes for any time in your life, past or present. But social media can bring forth people from your past that you may not be prepared to ever deal with again.
Back in my day, when people were gone, they were gone for good. There was no way to ever get in touch with them again. That was fine, but with the advent of Facebook that all changed. Now you could reconnect with people from your past… good and bad.
I don’t think we’re meant to be able to do that but I could be wrong. I’m sure many people have been happily reunited with families, friends, and loved ones thanks to social media and the internet.
I waited a couple of days and thought about how I would respond to this man. I even spoke to my daughter about it. She is in her 20s and said she would immediately block a person like that and make sure they stayed banished from life forever. I agreed with her, but she didn’t know the full story of this person.
I don’t have all of the details but have gotten the story from a very reliable source.
This guy as a kid picked on me and found joy in torturing me daily. He hung out with some bigger kids on the corner and just enjoyed hunting me for sport.
I’ve lived a long time and experienced so much in my life. Happily, I’ve learned from all of my experiences. Especially the bad ones. You learn to not touch something hot when it burns your hand. I’ve known many people like that in my life. In some of the relationships, I’ve even chosen to be close to them for the wrong reasons.
My family moved away from that neighborhood back in 1979 and by then we had all grown up a bit and no one bothered me anymore. Many of the kids went to different schools for high school and many simply grew out of that bad behavior.
But not all of them. This one guy fell in with the wrong people as he got a little older. There was some sort of altercation between this man and another group of outlaws. Whatever he did or they assumed he had done against them deserved swift and brutal retribution. Now the hunter had become the hunted. They exacted their revenge upon him with a baseball bat. They beat him brutally and had I witnessed this as a teenager I would have applauded their brutality against my aggressor. It would have felt like sweet justice for the endless days of torture I had sustained at the hands of this guy.
But the beating he sustained caused some sort of catastrophic brain injury. The guy was never quite right again. As far as I know, no one was ever brought to justice for this assault. So the ultimate victim was this guy. My bully. His lifestyle had brought on his demise.
Now, at 60 years old, I had a different view of the world and its members. I thought about how I suffered at the hands and wrath of my father and suspected this boy’s life was probably far worse than mine. My dad was a nice guy. A peaceful man who never addressed his issues, but not an inherently violent man.
But what if this kid’s dad was a monster? What if he beat this kid all the time or got drunk and did worse things in his household. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors in any home in this world. In some form, there is heartbreak in every house on the block.
I had survived the pain of my childhood and come through it a better and more evolved man. This guy on the other hand had been altered forever because of a single incident.
But was it a single incident? What happens to a child that makes him a bully? Bullying isn’t something you’re born with. Bullies are created by adults. Mostly toxic men who are emotionally and morally bankrupt as people. They’re mentally broken and download all of the bad data into the heads of their sons and make more of themselves. It’s a vicious cycle of violence and suffering.
I thought about all of this information some more and concluded.
I would respond to this man with kindness. I had forgiven people in my adult life that were far worse than anything he ever did to me as a youth. I wrote:
“I do remember you. You used to hang out with the guys up at the corner who played ball and hockey in the street. Hope you’re doing well.”
This man may remember me, but in his current mental condition, he may not remember any of the details of his past with me due to his injury. But maybe he does remember the past and what he did to me. Maybe he reached out to test the waters and see if everything was okay with me and if I remembered. I remember it all in great detail, but he doesn’t need to know that. I’m sure he’s suffered enough in this life for his choices. I’ve had a wonderful, colorful life full of joy. He may struggle with some basic functions for all I know.
I forgive him. Forgiveness is hard and that’s why most people struggle with it. But look at it this way if you can…
During the second world war, Japan flew its planes to Hawaii and bombed Pearl Harbor. Just before 8 a.m. on a Sunday, hundreds of Japanese fighter planes descended on the base, where they managed to destroy or damage nearly 20 American naval vessels, including eight battleships, and over 300 airplanes. More than 2,400 Americans died in the attack, including civilians, and another 1,000 people were wounded. The day after the assault, President Franklin D. Roosevelt asked Congress to declare war on Japan.
We later dropped not one but two atomic bombs on two of their cities to make them surrender. On August 6, 1945, an American B-29 bomber dropped the world’s first deployed atomic bomb over the Japanese city of Hiroshima. The explosion immediately killed an estimated 80,000 people; tens of thousands more would later die of radiation exposure. Three days later, a second B-29 dropped another A-bomb on Nagasaki, killing an estimated 40,000 people. Japan’s Emperor Hirohito announced his country’s unconditional surrender in World War II in a radio address on August 15, citing the devastating power of “a new and most cruel bomb.”
That’s an absolute nightmare when you think about it. But here’s the thing… during the war, our automobile plants stopped making cars and made planes like the Mustang to fight in the war. A car company in Japan did the same and developed the Zero to do battle against its enemies.
You’d think after killing 120,000 of their people in response to killing 2,400 of ours would be unforgivable.
But after only 40 years, Chrysler and Mitsubishi manufactured automobiles together in the same factories on American soil.
So if nations can forgive on such an incredible level, I think I can forgive some kid for knocking my books out of my hands and pushing me over some hedges for a couple of years. I’m sure what made him who he is was far worse than anything that ever happened to me as a kid.
Forgive. Don’t drink the poison hoping your enemies die. You’ll only be hurting yourself. I’m not saying to make friends with your enemies. But for goodness’ sake… let it go! Life’s too short.
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Jack walked into the nightclub on Sunset Strip. He didn’t dread these meetings, he just never knew what to expect.
He spoke with security and told them he was there to see Marty. He gave the password, and they let him come into the private room in the back. Marty was there sitting at the bar sipping a glass of whiskey.
“Jack! Great to see you, buddy. It’s been too long. Have a seat. What are you drinking?”
“Nothing for me, thanks. What’s on your mind?”
“We’ve got a little situation. Everything’s fine right now, but we’ve heard some things from some of our contacts in Hawaii.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“One of our people overheard a guy saying some things to his friends at a bar. We’ve had our eye on this guy for a while, and we think you should look into it.”
“Is there a file yet?”
Marty reached into a leather bag on the floor next to him and produced a folder. He handed it to Jack. He took the folder and flipped through it.
“Is this everything?”
“Well… it’s never everything, Jack. That’s why I called you. Read the file and get to know this individual. We’ve gathered as much intel on this guy’s background as possible. We just feel that things could escalate and that can’t happen.”
“What’s the fee?”
“The usual. But if things get sticky you’ll be compensated accordingly for any extra effort.”
“What’s the time frame on this?”
“Well, we know where he is right now and where he may be going, but not much else.”
“So you just want me to follow him?”
“Yea. Keep an eye on him.”
“We’ll give you his location and the details are in the file. If you want to talk with him at some point, that’s your call. But I really think this needs to be addressed sooner than later. There are a few of these types out there but usually, it never comes to anything. But this one’s got me nervous.”
“Do I need to know who the client is?”
“No. That’s why I brought you in, Jack. You’re good at helping people and doing the right thing when necessary.”
Jack looked at the file. “No previous criminal record. Interesting.”
“Yea. Could be nothing but the client doesn’t want to leave anything to chance.”
“How long’s the job?”
“Hard to say. Could be a month, maybe longer. We really don’t know.”
“Alright. Anything else?”
“Uh, yea. I want you to partner with Adhira.
“Come on. You know I only work alone, Marty.”
“Look… for this job I want you to have her with you. This way you won’t stand out too much.”
“Oh, okay… me and some hot Indian chick. Yea, I won’t stand out at all.”
“You two have worked well together in the past and I think while you’re traveling it’ll just look less conspicuous if it looks like you’re a couple. As I said, this all could turn out to be nothing, but it’s for the best if Adhira is with you.”
“Fine. So what’s next?”
“Here are your tickets to Honolulu. Adhira’s already there. She’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“Okay. You got it.”
Honolulu, HI – September 1980
As night fell on the island, Jack and Adhira had dinner at Roy’s Hawaii Kai.
“Food’s great here, Jack. Remember when we worked that surveillance gig back in’78?”
“Yea. That was a crazy time, Adhira. It’s been two years. You still look the same.”
“You look a little tired, Jack. Have you read the file?”
“Probably jet lag that’s all. Yea, I read it on the plane on the way out. The guy seems a bit nuts but I don’t see the urgency here.”
“Well, if Marty hired you it must mean something. Hey…how bad is your life? You’re in Hawaii for goodness’ sake.”
“Yea, but why are you here, Adhira?”
“Oh, thanks a lot, Jack. Way to make a girl feel welcome.”
“You know what I mean. I always work alone. I just like it that way. Free to move around how and when I want.”
“Marty just thought that for this sort of job, you could use a little company on the road. You know my skills. One of them is to keep whoever I’m with calm and centered. And you know how you you can be.”
“How can I be, Adhira?”
“A little intense. You tend to get a little obsessed with the work sometimes. I’m here to provide you with a bit of balance.”
“Did Marty tell you that about me?”
“There are files on all of us, Jack. Now eat your butterfish.”
Jack grinned and took a mouthful. He looked into Adhira’s dark eyes. She smiled and sipped her wine. He always wondered how such a beautiful woman could end up working at the agency. Her lovely face was framed by raven tresses that tumbled about her shoulders like a moonless river.
“So what’s your take on this guy, Jack?”
“Well, as I said, he seems a little nuts. Textbook upbringing. His father was a sergeant in the air force, and his mom was a nurse. Dad was a little abusive to his mom and he never felt like his old man loved him. That sounds like my family. What son hasn’t thought that about their father?”
“Yea, and he wasn’t athletic in school and sort of a poor student. Kind of a loser.” Adhira frowned.
“Yea, kind of like me. But then there’s all the religious stuff he’s gotten into. I think that’s where the real trouble usually starts. People get these righteous ideas, and some can get a little fanatical about that. My ex-wife was religious and she had a lot of good intentions… if you get what I mean.”
“Yea. The road to hell is paved with them. I get it. He did have some early success working at that kid’s camp in Georgia. Maybe he should have just kept doing that.”
“But I think as he’s gotten older he’s started to unravel a bit. I don’t know what happens to some people. Most of us get disillusioned and sad about stuff, but we move on. Then there are other people who just can’t seem to pull themselves out of it. It’s a shame really.”
Did you see in the file how he started to get into these altercations with the camp counselors and can’t seem to fit in anywhere?”
“Right. Which for some odd reason brings him out here. Kinda weird. It’s expensive to live on this island. It’s a resort. Then he attempts suicide by asphyxiation in his car, but screws that up too when the hose he stuck on the exhaust pipe melts, and he survives. Some people move to California thinking they’ll start a new life. But like the Joad family in The Grapes of Wrath, it’s just the last exit for the lost. But why Hawaii to kill yourself?”
“Maybe to die in paradise? Didn’t they give him a job at the mental hospital they stuck him in after his attempted suicide?”
“Yea, but then he got into an altercation with the head nurse and quit. I think the last job he held was as a security guard. Funny how he’s good with the kids at the camp, then works at a hospital, and then in security. It’s like he’s always working in jobs that serve and protect human life. But then he starts drinking, and that’s never a good thing if you’re suffering from mental illness.”
“I think it’s only made his obsessions worse.”
“Yea, booze makes you feel better in the beginning… but after a while, it sledgehammers everything else in your life.”
“Speaking from personal experience, Jack?”
“What do you think?”
Manhattan, NY – December 1980
Jack and Adhira sat in their agency-issued vehicle in front of the hotel where their subject was staying.
“We’ve been on this job for a couple of months and although I’ve enjoyed our time together, Jack. I don’t know what to think now.”
“Yea… He goes to New York, and he wanders around the city and not much else. Then he leaves. We follow him to Atlanta, he meets with a friend and then he’s back in Hawaii. Now here we are back in New York again. It’s just weird. But I believe he’s still thinking about doing something.”
December 7, 1980
Jack and Adhira followed their subject as he walked around the city. Keeping a close tail but far enough away to seem inconspicuous. It was pretty easy in a city as populated as Manhattan. They were standing near the 72nd Street subway entrance when they saw their subject speak to someone for the first time since they’d been following him.
“Jack…look. He’s talking to that guy over there. I wonder what that’s all about? Planning something with him?”
“I don’t know, but doesn’t that guy look like the singer, James Taylor? It’s uncanny.”
“Yea, that’s funny. He really does look like him. Let’s just stay close.”
December 8
It was early morning. Jack and Adhira sat in a cafe across the street from the Sheraton Hotel. They watched as their subject walked out of the hotel lobby.
“He’s on the move. Let’s go.”
They followed him to a local bookstore. He was inside for a few minutes and then exited the store. They again followed him to 72nd Street just off Central Park. He just hung out in front of a large apartment building chatting with people and the doorman. Jack watched from across the street and Adhira went to get the car.
They later sat in the car parked nearly in front of the building. Watching their subject just hanging around the entrance.
“This is boring, Jack. He’s just standing around. He’s not doing anything. Maybe his connection is late or something. This doesn’t make sense. All we’ve seen is a guy chatting with people, and that one lady with the little kid he said hello to. But I don’t think he really knows any of these people.”
10:45pm
“Jack, we’ve been here all day watching this guy. What time is it?”
“Nearly 11 pm. Are there any of those fries left?”
“Here.”
“Thanks. You know what? Stay here. I’m gonna get out and stretch my legs. I’m going to go talk to this guy.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I’ll think of something. Move into the driver’s seat, in case we have to leave again, okay?”
“No problem. But after this, you’re buying me some real food and some strong drinks.”
“You got it.”
Jack exited the car and approached the apartment building’s archway entrance. The subject stood off to his left.
A black limousine pulled up in front of the building and caught Jack’s attention. A man and woman exited the limo and walked toward the entrance.
Jack was right behind the subject at this point. Adhira watched from inside their car. The man and woman walked past the subject and Jack thought he heard the subject say the man’s name. The subject then reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.
From years of training, Jack was ready. He was always ready. This was what he did for a living.
The hunter.
The problem solver.
Jack emptied the clip of his .38 automatic into the subject’s body. Headshot first followed by a hail of bullets into his body. The subject fell to the ground as the woman with the man screamed and ducked behind her husband. They both turned and looked into Jack’s face.
But only for a moment.
Blood began to pool around the subject’s head as he died on the pavement in front of the building. Guards grabbed the couple and pulled them inside the lobby.
Jack was already gone. He leaped into the car, and Adhira hit the gas. Within minutes they were far from the scene.
“Oh my God! How did you know, Jack?”
“It’s what I do. Just keep driving.”
Los Angeles, CA – December 9
Jack sat alone at the bar in the club on Sunset Strip. He was approached by one of the servers.
“Marty will see you now, sir.”
Jack walked into the back room and sat down in front of Marty’s desk.
“You did good, Jack. Real good.” He placed a briefcase on the desk in front of him.
Jack looked at him and took a sip from his drink. “No.”
“No? but, there’s extra in there.”
“You keep it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yea. This one’s on me.”
I wrote this story back in 2020 in memory of one of my fallen heroes who was taken from us too soon on December 8, 1980.
If only things could have been different…
Rest in peace, John.
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly.
Jack and Adhira sat in their agency-issued vehicle in front of the hotel where their subject was staying.
“We’ve been on this job for a couple of months and although I’ve enjoyed our time together, Jack. I don’t know what to think now.”
“Yea… He goes to New York, and he wanders around the city and not much else. Then he leaves. We follow him to Atlanta, he meets with a friend and then he’s back in Hawaii. Now here we are back in New York again. It’s just weird. But I believe he’s still thinking about doing something.”
December 7
Jack and Adhira followed their subject as he walked around the city. Keeping a close tail but far enough away to seem inconspicuous. It was pretty easy in a city as populated as Manhattan. They were standing near the 72nd Street subway entrance when they saw their subject speak to someone for the first time since they’d been following him.
“Look, Jack. He’s talking to that guy over there. I wonder what that’s all about? Planning something with him?”
“I don’t know, but doesn’t that guy look like the singer, James Taylor? It’s uncanny.”
“Yea, that’s funny. He really does look like him. Let’s just stay close.”
December 8
It was early morning. Jack and Adhira sat in a cafe across the street from the Sheraton Hotel. They watched as their subject walked out of the hotel lobby.
“He’s on the move. Let’s go.”
They followed him to a local bookstore. He was inside for a few minutes and then exited the store. They again followed him to 72nd street just off Central Park. He just hung out in front of a large apartment building chatting with people and the doorman. Jack watched from across the street and Adhira went to get the car.
Later, they sat in the car parked nearly in front of the building. They watched their subject just hanging around the entrance.
“This is boring, Jack. He’s just standing around. He’s not doing anything. Maybe his connection is late or something. This doesn’t make sense. All we’ve seen is a guy chatting with people and that one lady with the little kid he said hello to. But I don’t think he really knows any of these people.
10:45pm
“Jack, we’ve been here all day watching this guy. What time is it?”
“Nearly 11 pm. Are there any of those fries left?”
“Here.”
“Thanks. You know what? Stay here. I’m gonna get out and stretch my legs. I’m going to go talk to this guy.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I’ll think of something. Move into the driver’s seat, in case we have to leave again, okay.”
“No problem. But after this, you’re buying me some real food and some strong drinks.”
“You got it.”
Jack exited the car and approached the apartment building’s archway entrance. The subject stood off to his left.
A black limousine pulled up in front of the building and caught Jack’s attention. Two people exited the limo and walked toward the entrance.
Jack was right behind the subject at this point. Adhira watched from inside their car. The man and woman walked past the subject and Jack thought he heard the subject say the man’s name. The subject then reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.
From years of training, Jack was ready. He was always ready. This was what he did for a living.
The hunter.
The equalizer.
The problem solver.
Jack emptied the clip of his .38 automatic into the subject’s body. Headshot first followed by a hail of bullets into his body. The subject fell to the ground as the woman with the man screamed and ducked behind her husband. The man and woman turned and looked into Jack’s face.
But only for a moment.
Blood began to pool around the subject’s head as he died on the pavement in front of the building. Guards grabbed the couple and pulled them inside the lobby.
Jack was already on the move and leaped into the car as Adhira hit the gas. Within minutes they were far from the scene.
“Oh my God! How did you know, Jack?”
“It’s what I do. Just keep driving.”
Los Angeles, CA – December 9
Jack sat alone at the bar in the club on Sunset Strip. He was approached by one of the servers.
“Marty will see you now, sir.”
Jack walked into the back room and sat down in front of Marty’s desk.
“You did good, Jack. Real good.” He placed a briefcase on the desk in front of him.
Jack looked at him and took a sip from his drink. “No.”
“No? but, there’s extra in there.”
“You keep it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yea. This one’s on me.”
I wrote this story back in 2020 in memory of one of my fallen heroes who was taken from us too soon on December 8, 1980.
If only things could have been different…
Rest in peace, John.
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly.
Sarah Louise DeVos was born February 12, 1976, in Cape May Court House, New Jersey, to William and Sandra DeVos. She leaves behind her parents, sister (Sharon), brother (Mark), two nephews (Isaiah and Rashon), two great-nieces (Ariana and Makenna), as well as aunts, uncles, cousins, and the many friend’s children who also considered her their Auntie Sarah. She also leaves behind an eclectic group of friends and acquaintances from around the globe who loved and adored her for the beautiful, creative, compassionate, stylish, and loving person she was.
Sarah was raised in both Cape May and Carlisle, PA. After graduating from Carlisle High School in 1994, she moved to Philadelphia. She self-funded her education at Moore College of Art and Design, obtained a degree in graphic design, and made lifelong friends. During college, Sarah worked as a valet for the Rittenhouse Hotel, which was an ideal position for someone who loved stylish cars. She also worked at Shampoo during college, one of the most well-known nightclubs in Philly during the 90s, which allowed her to enjoy many things she loved – fashion, music, and people.
Sarah took her degree and talents to every agency she worked for, most recently Free People in Philadelphia. She also took on many freelance gigs throughout her career, during which she created some award-winning chalkboard illustrations for friends’ weddings, and special events, and logos for businesses. She also displayed her artwork in Old City on First Fridays.
In addition to being a talented artist, Sarah loved music and fashion. She could easily dance all night in three-inch heels and often sent her friends CD mixes of some of her favorite songs. When other people saw clutter at a discount clothing store, Sarah saw an opportunity. She could create the most unique and stylish outfits from any discount clothing store.
Sarah also loved meeting people, hearing their stories, and talking with them about their adventures. She used those skills throughout her life, including visits to Paris, Italy, Prague, London, Mexico, and throughout the US with friends.
Sarah loved taking walks and looking at architecture. If you ever spent time with her in her beloved Philly, she would share all this passion with you. She was observant and would point out all the details in the ornately decorated buildings as you walked past. And she usually had a story about all of them because she had no qualms about walking up to someone outside of these buildings and asking to tour them. Most of the time, people obliged her whims, happy to share their places with her appreciative eyes.
She never owned a car during her time in Philadelphia but mastered the public transit system like she’d been riding it her whole life. Also, you would see her gracefully navigating through the heavy Philadelphia traffic on rollerblades or a bike like it was an Olympic sport.
From her childhood friends to those she made at Moore College of Art and Design, to the strangers she turned into friendships, and all of the furry creatures she loved, everyone she met would be forever changed by her presence. She will be missed dearly by all that knew her.
Service will be held at Daybreak Church, 321 Gettysburg Pike, Mechanicsburg, PA, on Thursday, December 1, 2022, at 11:00am. Visitation will be held for an hour prior to, at 10:00am. There will be space available at the church if people would like to stay afterward and share further remembrances.
To honor Sarah’s spirit, the family asks that you reach out to the person you love who needs to know they are loved. All donations in her name came to be made to https://nami.org/Home, https://www.furryfriendsnetwork.org/donate/, or any other organization that contributes to the arts, mental health, or animal rescues.
Arrangements are being handled by Hollinger Funeral Home & Crematory, Inc., Mt. Holly Springs. Visit www.HollingerFuneralHome.com to offer condolences to the family.
Please visit our flower store to plant memorial trees or send flowers to the family in memory of Sarah DeVos.
Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly.
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