Wednesday, December 14, 2016

End Of The Line

95


After the disappointment of my first four speculative scripts sent into 'The Other Show' not gaining their acceptance, I decided my problem was 'pushing the envelope' too far with each one I had written. When the show had first started it had some issues and needed to have its envelope pushed in my humble opinion. But by the third season they had finally come into their own and I decided to craft a script that would be completely common place and unthreatening. After typing it up I passed it around to some friends as my test readers and I got back less enthusiastic responses than I normally did: Just as I had hoped. I mailed it off to the agent feeling this was the one that was going to sell!
Jude's and my relationship seemed to be coming to an end. While he had been a great help to me during my time having issues with medical doctors not performing their jobs, he since had little he wanted to do other than find me that 'perfect doctor' to handle my long term needs. Yet when I said I was interested in a doctor who could address my mixed-sex issues, he didn't like that idea at all and I ended up starting to see a different psychologist on the side for those questions. It turned out he knew my new psychologist, 'Samuel', and had good things to say about him and even had a nice supportive chat with him about me. In the meantime Jude and my appointments had gone from being twice monthly to once every few months and I was thinking we would end as I focused on working with Samuel. But at what I assumed would be that final appointment where we would discuss parting, he had some news for me that he was thrilled about. He had found that perfect doctor to serve as my long term primary care physician, 'Dr. Klasper'. The wrinkle was Dr. Klasper was in Florida, but he would be willing to work on my needs over the phone, Jude was certain! I expressed misgivings about this but Jude assured me that he knew this would be just the doctor for me. He gave me the phone number and told me I could call him that evening and check for myself.
When I got home, I decided to give it a try as Jude had been a big help and supporter of mine over these past two & a half years I had seen him. But when I called, I was very surprised. I asked Klasper what specialty he was in, he admitted that technically he didn't have a medical degree, but was just called 'Dr. Klasper' as an honorary title by his patients. In reality he was a personal trainer who worked at a health club in Florida but also did phone consultations. How much was a phone consultation? I asked. He said it was two hundred dollars an hour, no insurance accepted, and his price was firm. As my entire non-rent money supply was about seventy-five dollars a month at that time, it was impossible for me to afford his fee. Thankfully, this gave me a conclusive reason not to take him as my 'doctor' and when I next saw Jude I told him of the phone call and what I'd learned.
Having expected that Jude and I would part amicably at the previous appointment, now Jude became enraged by what I told him of my call and said it wasn't possible and I was lying. I told him he could call and check for himself if he didn't believe me. But he assured me he didn't have to call as he had already seen the 'video tape'. Video tape? Yes, he had been passed a video tape noting Dr. Klasper's skills and extensive knowledge of health problems.
In the early Nineteen Nineties many 'businesses' and 'professionals', whose claims couldn't be legally validated well enough to be touted in broadcast advertisements, had taken up making 'informational videos' of themselves and their claims and then distributed these tapes through a network of supporters. It turned out Jude had been passed one of these video tapes by ''someone he trusted.'' And as he'd seen that tape for himself, Jude didn't feel the need to question anything he had gleaned from it.
When I again assured Jude of what Klasper had told me directly on the phone, Jude told me I didn't know what I was talking about and I should give 'Dr. Klasper' a try. I assured him with the two hundred dollar price tag for each consultation, I couldn't afford him even if I wanted to. Jude felt that surely 'Dr. Klasper' would bring down his price if I told him of my circumstances. I noted that I had and Klasper was very firm on his price. Jude told me it couldn't possibly be true.
Our time was up and neither he nor I saw any reason for a subsequent visit. As our last appointment, it had been very acrimonious and the first time that we had exchanged any cross words to each other. I thought it was a shame, but he felt he didn't need to check the facts himself, I just needed to get different answers.
With this disappointment already in my mind, I soon after received a letter from my agent lambasting me for how disappointing my most recent script had been. She stated I needed to learn ''the basic tenets of good writing'' before I sent her any more scripts. She then concluded her letter by noting that, if I really wanted to, I could of course always submit the script myself. When I called to assure her that I had specifically designed the script to make it as comfortable for the show readers as I could and was sure it would sell, she told me that clearly that wasn't the case as why would they want to buy something so poor? When I asked her what she had meant by ''the basic tenets of good writing'' she scoffed as she thought this meant I didn't know of the 'Man versus Man', 'Man versus Society', 'Man versus Nature' and 'Man versus Himself'' underpinnings of narrative story structure. When I noted that my story fit 'Man versus Society' she assured me it didn't as my story focused on an 'Android' and not a 'Man'. When I told her that the 'Android' in question was one of the major characters of the show and they routinely featured stories centered around him, she assured me I didn't know what I was talking about and it didn't matter as she wasn't going to represent me as my agent with that script. She then echoed in a sarcastic tone what she had written at the end of her letter, that I could always send it in on my own if I wanted to, but she assured me they wouldn't look at it. The call was done. It didn't occur to me until afterwards that given her strict interpretation of what qualified as 'Man versus...' for a valid story, then all stories about women and children would be deemed invalid by her logic as well.
Not only had my relationship with Jude ended, it seemed like my relationship with my agent was over as well.
The next time I saw Samuel and discussed these two occurrences he told me that Jude had gone even further than just having a bad last appointment with me, he had now joined the old chorus of medical doctors disparaging me on the grapevine and claiming I never had any 'real' medical problems... Samuel quipped that it might be nearing the time when Jude would have to renew his medical license and wanted to ensure a conflict-free process with his peers.




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Wednesday, December 7, 2016

To And Fro

94


I could no longer live in my apartment given the broken door and large roadside hole so I needed to find a new place for a while as I sorted through the new issues in my life. As Daina had a spare bedroom, and we were already taking my computer and stereo to her condo for safe keeping, I asked if I could stay there for the next few days until I knew what my long term living circumstances would be. She agreed and with our third trip to my apartment the morning after the incident I collected my toiletries and a bag of clothes and any other little valuable kitsch I might have lying around. It felt wrong leaving the rest of my stuff in this now permanently open place, but moving everything to Daina's was too much to handle with no empty room to put it into. I just had to let my nerves settle and hope the rest of my belongings wouldn't interest strangers while I was gone. It probably helped that my apartment was directly under the manager's, but I fretted just the same each day I was at Daina's and not checking on my place.
With my computer taking up the majority of her small dining room table it occurred to her that, with all of my desktop publishing software in her place, I could help her make Christmas time letters to her various family members and relatives. While I could, I warned her that using only my printer they wouldn't be as crisp and clear as the Quarterly and The Doctor Who Report issues were. That was fine with her as they'd still be a step up and save her from writing all of the permutations by hand. She composed the base letter and we went to the local copy shop to find an appealing style of paper to print them on. By the end of the day we were done and I helped her with the envelopes, sticking on return address labels and stamps as she wrote the mailing addresses on them and sealed each card with the letter included. I was thankful for the task as it kept my mind off of my unguarded stuff, but as she decided to drop them off at the mail box that night, I asked if we could swing by my place just to ease my nerves. Everything left behind was still in place.
The following day she was off to work and with little idea what to do with myself, I decided to assemble my stereo components and realized her television was modern enough to have stereo jacks on the back, allowing me to hook it up to my stereo system as well. For the first time I was able to watch television with great stereo sound and excitedly showed Daina when she got home. It turned out it was one thing to assemble my own stereo but she was nervous about the thought of it intermingled with her television. I assured her it was completely safe and there was nothing to worry about. She took me out to eat that night and I fought off the urge to ask her to swing by my place, less it became an annoying daily habit. I was able to do this for two whole days before asking to check on it again midweek to find everything still in place and untouched, though a bit cold with a few snow flakes blown in through the hole in the wall.
As Daina had a cat, I needed to have the door to her guest room closed at all times to keep the cat out. While I wasn't allergic to cats, I was allergic to the household dust that would get into their fur. As her cat was a single person only feline, I didn't have to worry about it coming to me for attention. My days finally fell into the routine of working on the next TDWR issue while listening to cable news. In between I'd stay in touch on the car accident investigation and the ramifications.
The driver had run home the night of the accident and when the police figured who the car belonged to they went to his house to find him. His wife claimed he wasn't there and since they didn't have a warrant, they couldn't force their way in. The driver turned out to be a chronic drunk with a history of such driving violations. But he had a good lawyer and as the police couldn't check on him that night, there was no proof that he had been drunk at the time of the accident. Nor, too, could they prove he was even the driver that night as the apartment manager's husband only saw his backside as he ran away from the scene. His story was that he had left the cowboy themed bar to discover his truck had been stolen and then for some reason walked the two blocks to the local 7-Eleven to call his wife for a ride home. Why didn't he call from the bar, it was still open at the time? He couldn't explain, nor had the 7-Eleven clerk remembered seeing him. In the world of land-lined telephones, no record per call was kept by the local telephone company so his story couldn't be disproven. It was also odd that he had his wife give him a ride home, yet she told them after this supposed ride home that he wasn't there... He couldn't explain that, either.
When I called his car insurance company to cover my damages and other costs, they told me they wouldn't be paying as the owner had told them 'the car had been stolen' and they weren't responsible for the damages caused by 'whoever stole it'. Yet while the driver had verbally told police that his car had been stolen, he refused to file a stolen vehicle report and swear to it. A smart thing for him to do as the police told me they were planning to immediately charge him with filing a false report if he did. But his car insurance company didn't let it get in the way, just that he had mentioned the possibility to a cop in passing was good enough for them not to pay for the damages. Thus it seemed my costs weren't covered by his insurance, nor did I have any renters' insurance at the time to cover it either and I was apparently out of luck.
Then to my surprise the apartment complex's own insurance offered to cover the damage, less the value of the couch given its age and having come from a thrift store. Of my just under two thousand dollars worth of damage, I received a check for sixteen hundred dollars and knew under Food Stamp rules I couldn't save it in my bank account past the end of the month without reporting it. So what to do with the money? I concluded much of what had been destroyed I could live without, such as the keyboard I had purchased to play with and rarely used since. Buying a replacement couch was out of the question as Daina's condo didn't have any room and I didn't want to ship a new couch to my broken apartment. I decided to replace my computer with a second generation PC clone. Their prices had plummeted in anticipation of the fourth generation PC coming out in the next year, so it was a good time to upgrade at least one step up the ladder, even if I'd still be two steps behind. I placed an order for it at Jeff's friend's business which had since moved from his basement into a real store front at a shopping center and he would have the parts in and fully assembled by the end of the year.
As for a place to live, after two weeks staying in Daina's spare bedroom it was time to pay my rent, but as I couldn't live at the apartment anymore, I brought this issue up to the manager. She realized the duplicate apartment above her own was empty and said I could move in there at the same rate and not even have to worry about changing my mailbox as my current apartment wasn't going to be repaired and re-let until next summer. So for Daina's Christmas break we spent much of the time making trips from my old apartment up two flights of stairs to the new apartment carrying a handful with each trip. Daina particularly damned me for having concrete block & board shelves for most of my storage, but I pointed out to her it was cheap and easier to carry up one piece at a time rather than trying to wrestle with a whole shelving unit all at once. She grumbled it might be the case, but still damned me for it under her breath with each concrete block she had to carry up.
By the last week of December Nineteen Ninety-One, I was moved into my new apartment, a duplicate to my old apartment, the only way to realize the difference was the two flights of exterior stairs to reach my door, and that my unused patio was now a balcony. I pledged to myself to actually use the balcony once Spring came. To replace my couch, a friend in the writer's group had an old wooden framed couch I could have as its pieces had come apart over the years, but as he knew I was handy with wood he thought I could get it back together and into a usable shape. My first night in the new apartment I spent pounding the pieces together with a mallet and using glue for the seams and fresh cross dowels for stability. I was startled by a late night phone call and it turned out to be the manger wondering what all the noise was as they were trying to sleep. I apologized as I hadn't realized the time.
I settled into my new apartment assuming I'd be there for at least the next year or two.
Little did I know that was not to be.




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Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Saved

93


It was Friday the thirteenth Well, no, it was actually Wednesday the eleventh -- that Daina called me on the phone and told me she was going to Denver overnight that Friday to see one of her favorite writers. So he won't think I'm trying to boost views of my blog by dropping his name, I'll call him 'Barry David'. He was a syndicated columnist who wrote humorous articles of reflection and slice of life discoveries. These articles had lead to a series of books and he had become a periodic guest on the cable news network I often watched. Being allergic to newsprint -- No, really, I am! -- I had never read any of his articles but did like his interviews. Still, I didn't like them enough to want to tag along on a ride to Denver and see him, so I turned down Daina's offer.
As the coming retirement of Johnny Carson from The Tonight Show had come to light, I had taken up watching his final broadcasts, sitting in the center of my couch before heading off for bed. I had first become aware of him and his show in Nineteen Seventy-Five after my mother had taken me to the New England apartment while still working on the night crew in my home town. I would spend the evenings with father at the family home and watch the first half hour with him until mother was off work, there was the half hour drive to the apartment town, then I'd watch the last half hour of his show at the apartment as mother got ready for bed. Back then The Tonight Show was an hour & a half and remained that way until the Nineteen Eighties. While never a regular viewer I had caught his show often since and he had become a long time figure in my life. Given his coming retirement, I decided to savor these last few months and made sure to get myself on the couch and watch his show each and every night I could.
On Thursday the twelfth, I realized I missed visiting with my former software start-up company friend, Pat, living in Denver. During the past year & a half I had been going up to Denver for overnight visits so I could get my quarterly supply of fat enzymes. To ease my schedule of taking public transportation for these trips, he had been kind enough to host me overnight so I could make these trips more comfortably and visit with him and his family. But as I no longer needed the fat enzymes to stave off my weight loss issues now that the antibiotics had addressed that, this also meant I hadn't seen him in a while to compare thoughts on recent science fiction books and musical groups we liked. Calling his work number I asked if I could come up for another overnighter that Friday to visit and he seemed happy to have me again. I then touched base with Daina once she had finished her school day and asked, instead of joining her to see 'Barry David', could I catch a ride and have her drop me off at Pat's house and then give me a ride home the following Saturday? She agreed and I set my video recorder to tape The Tonight Show in my absence.
Friday the thirteenth came and after working at the school all day, then going home to prepare an overnight bag for herself as she'd be staying with her mother at her family home for the night, Daina picked me up and gave me my ride. I visited with Pat and his family, debating about philosophy as well as discussing other life issues and his wife prepared the family room couch for me to sleep on as I had often done during these visits. Pat and I retired to the family room to talk some more before he went off to bed on the upper floor and I watched a bit more of rare television channels not carried by my own towns' cable system.
I was still awake but getting ready to go to sleep when Pat's house got a phone call some time after midnight. I was surprised Pat would be getting a call so late in the day. Then he came down and told me the call was actually for me. I picked up the family room's extension and it was Jeff. I had mentioned to him in passing that I would be visiting Pat this weekend and he had remembered it. He told me he had gotten an emotionally distraught phone call from my mother as apparently I was dead, but they couldn't find my body. Jeff really couldn't tell me much more about the story himself as he had a very hard time getting that much of the facts out of my mother when she called him. He recommended I call her and let her know I was still alive.
Calling my mother she was furious with me, ''HOW DARE YOU PUT MY NAME DOWN AS THE EMERGENCY POINT OF CONTACT!'' she yelled at me over the phone. ''HOW COULD YOU PUT ME THROUGH THAT?'' she demanded and paused long enough for me to ask what she was talking about. She wasn't very coherent but I finally pulled out of her that she had been called by the apartment manager and told that they thought I was dead as a result of a car accident and asked her permission if they could break into my apartment as I hadn't been answering the door. I asked if she had the phone number of the manager and as luck would have it the manager had given it to her and I decided I should call her next to find out the full details of what had happened. ''NEVER HAVE ME AS YOUR EMERGENCY POINT OF CONTACT AGAIN!'' were mother's last words to me on the call.
Calling the manager she was relieved to hear my voice and know I was safe and alive. At the time Johnny Carson was on television it turned out a drunk driver had left the nearby cowboy themed club that night and rather than curving to the right when driving home on the road, he curved left, jumped the curbing of the road and planted the front of his pickup truck through the living room wall of my garden level apartment. As the manger's apartment was directly over my own, she and her husband got up to discover what the crash was. The driver had managed to pull himself out of the passenger window of his truck and had begun running the rest of the way home. The manager's husband started to give chase but, given that he didn't have shoes on, soon thought better of it and turned to come back to the apartment building where he realized the front of the truck had broken through the wall where my couch was placed and wondered if I was all right. When I didn't answer the door after his repeated knocking he feared the worst and had his wife dig through my apartment application paperwork to find a phone number to call.
The manager said I should come back as quickly as I could as the police were there going over the accident scene. I agreed and thanked her for the information and then figured I should call Daina and ask her to take me back now, rather than wait until the next day. This being before the days of ubiquitous mobile phones, I cracked open the Denver phone book and looked through it trying to find the likely phone number of Daina's family home. Finding a number, I gave it a call only to get no answer. Did I have the wrong number? I didn't see how but finally picked another phone number with the same last name in the book. It turned out I had reached Daina's eldest brother and I quickly introduced myself and told him the gist of the situation and asked to confirm the first phone number I tried. It was the right number and I thanked him and went back to calling Daina's family home again, still without an answer. Had something happened to Daina as well that night and her mother was out of the house as a result? My mind raced with what this all meant and what I should do. As it was clear I wasn't going to be able to get home anytime soon, and since my longtime friend Jeff kept to late night hours anyhow, I called him back and told him the story, asking if he could go to my apartment and see what was going on for me. He agreed and in the meantime I went up to Pat's bedroom to let him know as well.
Perhaps I should have asked Pat for a ride back home at the time, but as Daina had brought me to Denver, I saw her as my ride back and kept trying the number to her family home off and on for the next few hours, still with no answer. Jeff called back by three in the morning to let me know they had pulled the truck out of the wall and the police were done with their work there. They were just going to leave the hole in my apartment bare with my living room on display to the elements and any passersby but Jeff convinced them to get a sheet of plywood and nail it over the center of the hole to at least partially protect my stuff until I got there. He was heading home himself as there didn't seem to be anything else he could do. I thanked him and noted my problems trying to reach Daina so it seemed I wasn't going to get back anytime soon.
I called her family home periodically throughout the rest of the night with no answer and finally decided I should try to get some sleep myself. I didn't get more than a nap, though, and finally Daina's mother answered the phone soon after seven in the morning. She was angry that I was calling so early but at my request went to wake Daina. I told Daina the news and she agreed to come right over and pick me up. She and her mother had been home all night, but the only phone in the house was on the first floor next to her mother's bedroom, so Daina hadn't heard it ringing herself. I concluded that her mother must be a very sound sleeper.
When we got back to my apartment we first saw the single sheet of plywood hanging over the hole in the exterior wall and found the apartment door, which had been broken down, had been pulled back into the doorway, though it could no longer be latched and locked. The rest of the apartment was fine, but the living room section was littered with bits of concrete, wood and plaster. The spine of the couch had been cracked by the weight of the truck and various parts of my stereo system had been dinged by the flying debris. My computer system, right next to the hole, had been completely spared as the force of the crash had been aimed away from it. In total I had shy of two thousand dollars worth of damage as I later tallied for the insurance claim. As my apartment couldn't be secured anymore, I realized I had to find a place for my electronics and asked if we could take them to Daina's condo for the time being. She agreed and with the first load to her place we picked up her camera to take pictures of the damage as we returned for the second load.
Never before had I gotten an out of the blue opportunity to go to Denver for an overnight stay, and never has it happened since. Had I been home that night there was no doubt that I would have been on that couch watching Johnny Carson as the bumper of the truck would have broken through the wall and plowed into the back of my head. The driver side front tire would have continued to roll in and crushed my spine into my lap. I could never believe it was all just a profound coincidence and have ended up with the only conclusion possible to explain how my life was spared...
'Barry David', at least for that night in my life, was the hand of God.
While I toyed with the idea of writing him soon after to let him know, the events of life soon pushed that thought aside and I didn't get to it until many years later when I mailed him a thank you letter and told him of that night. Though I hadn't included contact information as part of my letter he must have gotten the address from the front of the envelope and sent me back a signed postcard saying ''Wow.''




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Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Thanksgiving

92


As a surprise gift my not as older brother, who was currently stationed in Washington, D.C., sent my mother and me airplane tickets to join him and his family for Thanksgiving. Now with his second wife and two daughters of his own, he wanted to have a full family Thanksgiving to fill their new townhouse. He also roped in my eldest brother and his wife to join us! While I had seen my not as older brother off & on over the years when he'd visit my mother during some of his leave time, I hadn't seen my eldest brother since leaving New England over eight years earlier. Adding to my anticipation my high school friend, Luke, had also moved to Washington, D.C., with his longtime girl friend as he had taken up a job with the Library Of Congress.
I knew my other high school friend, Van, had visited him from time to time there and pulled out his old home phone number and gave his family a call. I reached his mother and reintroduced myself to her after all the years and then asked if I could have Van's current phone number. She was willing and I was off to call Van. To my surprise I immediately reached him and chatted with him briefly. This was our first chat since his confessional phone call to me so many years earlier. I told him the news of going to Washington and asked him if he had Luke's current phone number and if perhaps he might have the chance to come down to D.C. himself for a small reunion. While he felt the whole idea was fun, he declined and said he couldn't. And for that matter he didn't seem interested in talking about his life either, but he was willing to give me Luke's phone number and wished me the best of luck. I gave him my apartment phone number should he ever want to call me sometime and catch up and he said he might.
Calling Luke, he seemed happy by the news I'd be in town and confirmed that we could meet and catch up on life, perhaps even having dinner. I was thrilled and then realized I'd probably need to pull out a bit of money from my checking account's line of credit to afford side items during the trip. Not ideal, but given this once in a lifetime circumstance I wasn't going to hesitate. As Irony would have it, after a year since the antibiotics, I was back to my ideal weight and my very balded head had sprouted a carpet of fresh hair so when I saw Luke I wouldn't look that much different from the last time he saw me eight years earlier.
Daina agreed to look in on my place while I was gone and get my mail and she gave me a ride to my mother's where we picked her up on the day of the flight. Daina dropped us off at the little local airport and stayed with us until we boarded. The flight would connect with Denver's Stapleton airport where we would then get on a direct flight to D.C.. Even though we had an hour & a half layover in Denver, as a side thought once we got off the small hop plane I suggested we confirm the departure time of our next flight. It turned out it had been canceled due to mechanical problems, but they would be able to get us squeezed into an earlier flight that was leaving in ten minutes. With a brief stop at a payphone to let my not as older brother know we'd be early, we rushed to the gate number and boarded the plane as the last passengers, ending up with separated seat assignments.
When we arrived at D.C., he met us and we went to the baggage area to retrieve our luggage only to find it hadn't made the flight given the sudden change of plans, it was still in Denver awaiting assignment to a future flight. The airline took my brother's address & phone number and told us they'd deliver our bags once they arrived at the airport. We were out of the building and onto the famous 'beltway' highway for the next hour or so until we reached my not as older brother's new place. Along the way he pointed out various beltway adjacent sites to us and even pulled off for a bit to drive us around the Pentagon where he now served. As my eldest brother & wife had arrived the day earlier, we were already prepped for a full family dinner. I found out our tentative plan of events for the week and then called Luke to let him know and better firm up our own visit plans.
The first day our family spent unwinding from our flight and seeing the local sights, visiting the local mall and returning to the townhouse for Chinese take-out and to await the over a day delayed delivery of our luggage. The next day was dedicated to visiting the National Mall, seeing the various monuments and spending the afternoon at the Smithsonian's Air & Space Museum. Of all the wings of the Smithsonian, I think they chose the Air & Space Museum for me and I'm very thankful for it. The next day was dedicated to the Thanksgiving meal itself, with a nighttime drive back and around the capital to see it bathed in golden lights. Friday was a routine day of visiting and each family member doing various errand runs before we again gathered for a meal at an Italian restaurant, and then me itching furiously from the apparent red food coloring #3 in the sauce as we went out to see a movie. The following day was a quick drive up to and around Baltimore before we dropped off my eldest brother & his wife for their flight from the Baltimore/Washington airport. Sunday we gathered our belongings and were off to Dulles airport for our own flight home.
We didn't have any family conflict until Thanksgiving day itself.
Asking my eldest brother about all that had changed in New England since I had left I found out he now had a computer of his own, which was novel to me as I had originally been the only family member with a computer, and then I expressed surprise as well that our rural neck of the woods now had cable television! ''WE AREN'T A BUNCH OF BACKWARDS HICKS!'' my eldest brother snapped at me in reaction to my surprise. I was stunned by this as, for me, New England hadn't changed in my mind since I'd left it eight years earlier. I was delighted by all this news, so I was shocked that he took offense at my questions and tried to apologize.
Later in the afternoon, mother felt the need to bring up her ceaseless retelling of the time she dislocated her knee and how she was alone with me and I just stood there throwing rocks at her as she lay helpless on the ground writhing in pain. A story which she had first started telling in front of me soon after we moved to the New England apartment in Nineteen Seventy-Five, she seemed compelled to tell it to any new friend I might bring home. As I was too young at the time to know for myself what had happened, I had come up with the defense of pointing to the small brown birthmark on her forehead and saying, ''That's where she got that bruise from,'' as my only way of shielding myself from the story.
Given that she had a new audience to tell this story to, my not as older brother's wife and two kids, she couldn't help herself and told it again. As she did, I poised to give my follow-up comment but when she finished I didn't have a chance as my not as other brother burst out, ''That's not what happened!'' She had made the mistake of telling the story in front of other family members who knew better. He compared memories with my eldest brother about the day: My not as older brother had been the one alone with my mother as the rest of the family was away with our father in the Volkswagen bus. This news made more sense to me as I knew my sister had been the one taking care of me until she went to College. My not as older brother had called the ambulance at my mother's request and the rest of the family had arrived home just as the ambulance was loading mother to take her to the hospital.
Mother was mute and paled as she realized the mistake she had made by telling the story in front of my brothers. Not only had it embarrassed her, perhaps bringing her own memory into question, but I now knew for certain that she had been telling this story to all of those friends of mine over the years just to poison me in their eyes, and not because it was true. I had the proof that it had been a false story and she wouldn't be able to tell it again in front of me now knowing I had the truth. Mother just remained silent for the next hour or so until we loaded up for the nighttime drive around Washington D.C..
I visited with Luke midday early in the week, perhaps before the family made to trip to the local shopping mall. He must have gotten some time off from work to meet me as his girl friend was at work herself at the time. We discussed life in general, and compelled by years of habit during our high school time, I brought with me a box of computer disks to show him my programs of the past few years in Colorado. It turned out his plans to become an engineer hadn't panned out. In fact all of my high school friends who had gotten into the 'advanced placement program' I was barred from had all intended to become engineers and all of them had washed out. With some family working in the D.C. area, Luke had fallen into a small job helping out with document preservation at the Library Of Congress and was thinking of taking it up as his profession.
We met again for dinner the Saturday before I left and he and his girlfriend took me out to eat. I noted my attempts to write for television. They also knew someone who had been trying to sell scripts to 'The Other Show' and it hadn't worked out either. I told them of my years of health problems and surprise cure just a year earlier, I didn't explain why it had taken so long for it to have been addressed. I told them I was now getting back on my feet and hoped to return to College to complete my degree. When I asked about Van, they really didn't know what he was up to anymore. They thought that he might have been looking into becoming a veterinarian after his own college plans hadn't worked out, but they weren't sure as Van had seemed to withdraw more and more over the years. At the end of the meal they offered to pay and, given my tight finances, I didn't protest too strongly and thanked them.
We parted promising to keep in touch. He soon moved to Texas for a scholarship in document preservation and a few years later I lost touch with him. When I got home, I would call Van for that chance to better 'catch up', but after leaving a message on his answering machine, he never called back. Given Luke's note about Van withdrawing from his old friendships, I didn't call again and pry, remembering my own times wanting to withdraw from friendships rather than pass on bad news about my life.
On the flight home, this time I was seated right next to mother and she reverted to her old compulsion to derisively dismiss and belittle my two brothers' wives and my new nieces as she did with everyone she met in her life. Having become sick of her doing this over the many years since she took me from the family home to the New England apartment, I asked her if that was all she had for her memories of the trip: Nothing but negative bile and no happy times? This befuddled her and while I had thought I might have to ask if there was a free seat elsewhere in the plane I could take to avoid her for the next few hours, to my thankful surprise mother kept her silence for the rest of the flight.
When we arrived back in Colorado, then caught our connecting flight, Daina picked us up at the airport and took mother home and then me. She offered to take me out to dinner so I could bring her up to speed on the trip. I agreed.
In less than two weeks, I would be reported dead.




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Wednesday, November 9, 2016

New Choices

91


Working with Jude had been very helpful for the first six months as he confirmed the machinations going on about me in the medical community, and provided me pointers in how to approach wary medical doctors I would later see and help them be more comfortable working on my health issues. But once my health was addressed and restored, we were at a bit of a loss as to what we should do with our appointments. He decided to comb through the remaining medical community and find the perfect primary care doctor to help me with my future needs, unfortunately all he could find where doctors willing to meet me, as the one they had heard about on the medical grape vine, but not willing to assure ongoing medical care.
I felt my visits with the new doctor at the community health clinic were productive enough and I'd abandoned the fat enzymes and associated visits to Premier Medical Center after they admitted their role in getting my previous doctor run out of the state. If I didn't see them any more, then they couldn't ask me who my new doctor was and begin to threaten him. Also as I was easily gaining weight again, I didn't need the minor additional benefit the fat enzymes had given me.
A year after I had first started seeing Jude, I broached the subject of looking into my intersexed situation and discovering what options I had. He noted that we had already looked into it to his level of expertise and didn't know what else there was to do about it. I noted that perhaps I should look into being legally female rather than as I currently was, legally male. He felt that was a terrible idea as women had a lower place in society and I would face discrimination if I pursued that. I pointed out the years of discrimination I had already faced for being legally male while not very biologically male. I also noted I was willing to look into being more physically male as well. It was just a case that I wanted to look into my 'situation' further and find out my options.
I had spent my first decade since puberty hiding and ignoring my 'situation', functionally in denial about it even though I was consciously aware of it and wondered about it as the decade passed. Then I spent the past few years focusing on my health problems and putting those issues aside. At the time, there was no need to worry about my 'situation' then as I concluded I'd likely die before I'd have to face it. But now as it was clear I was going to live a full life, unless I was unexpected killed in a car accident, I felt I should look into my mixed-sex situation and address it now, before I entered a life long profession.
But Jude was generally freaked out by the concept and said he wouldn't help me with it, that I should just continue my life as I had been during my first decade since it had cropped up: Keeping my breasts bound, perhaps putting on a fake, more masculine sounding voice, continue to shave only once every few days to let the little bit of stubble make me appear more manly. But I found, after the experiences I had gone through, the last thing I had wanted to do was just return to living a life of denial when it came to the issue.
But he was clear, he would not help me consider and look into my options in that respect, but I could continue with him on my health issues and counseling on doctor interaction issues.
Thinking it over on my own for the next few months, I concluded to find myself a second counselor who would be willing to help me with this desire to explore my options. I was once again to the phone book & physician referral helplines and was back to leaving messages on answering machines, just giving my first name and the area of counseling I was interested in. There were no professionals in town trained to address it so I wasn't surprised that I got back even fewer return calls than when trying to find a counselor for my medical doctor issues. This time I didn't even get return calls from people polite enough to let me know they weren't interested. Then one psychologist called me back and was willing to mutually look into my options as he came up to speed on them himself.
We agreed on a date & time for an initial visit and when I got to the address I discovered it was the same small Victorian house where I had seen the psychiatric nurse four years earlier! I suddenly felt my stomach twisting and debated not staying for the appointment as I wasn't comfortable with the thought of being involved with anyone even indirectly associated with the physician who had originally defrauded me, even if they had later told me they regretted that association. Yet, she was merely someone who worked in the office next to the one I was going to go to so was it really an issue? I concluded to go into the building and walk to the waiting area next to her office door. It turned out there was a new name on the plaque outside and I wondered if she, too, had been run out of town for her barely supportive role in my health issues. Either way, with her gone, my fears of this new counselor and her gossiping about me after each appointment vanished and I settled into a chair as I awaited to be called into the new counselor's office.
I'll call him 'Samuel'.



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Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Hardened

90


I realized I was a changed person after all of what had happened to me. It wasn't simply a case of cognitive changes where I used to have near photographic memories of many of my childhood experiences, and remembering word for word many of the key conversations I had with friends and family members at the time. With my years of emaciation these had now faded to impressions and gist. But my personality had changed as well.
I used to be the tag along kid always willing to help and try something new. While I was still willing to tag along, help and try new things, I now did so with caution & measure. Whereas I used to always trust adults and 'my betters', I now realized I often had a greater grip on the facts and trusted my own judgment on things rather than blindly taking theirs. If something didn't agree with the way I saw things, I was willing to change my mind if they were willing to provide the evidence, but I no longer assumed they were right and I must be mistaken. Where I used to not care for metal rock, with shrieky lyrics of betrayal & rebellion, I now found I identified with it all too well.
I had hardened.
Not as an impervious rock, but more like tempered steel. If the need arose, I was willing to smash and cut my way through a situation if I had to, metaphorically speaking. I never again trusted a doctor to tell me a test result, I would always get my own copy of the result ahead of time to review and research for myself. Then when I'd see the doctor about it I would discuss the results from a position of knowledge, rather than as a trusting, mute, empty-eyed recipient. Many doctors don't like knowledgeable patients, I have no tolerance for those doctors either.
While in the past I would often take a seat and watch what was going on around me as an observer, now I watched more as a cat willing to have my curiosity filled with the observation, but also willing to leap, attack and kill if I felt the need to get involved. Again, metaphorically speaking. Some friends have been surprised by this as they take me as the same 'go along to get along' person. At least Ninety percent of the time I would just seem like 'me' yet, if needed, I let them know where I stood. They would be flustered for a moment and then have to accept it. I don't now if it was the right lesson to have taken from the first twenty-seven years of my life, but it was the lesson I took just the same, and I've never regretted it.
From this point forward in my life, I've striven to tag everything I've heard. No longer do I hear things and then pass them on without thought. Now, if I've not verified it for myself, I'll note that 'Bob told me...', 'Jill said this...', always trying to keep the source of the information associated with the information itself in case... Just in case it turns out to have problems. And yet, once I've checked into something myself, all tags are discarded and I present the information as fact, no equivocation, no supporting sources cited. If you don't believe me, then look it up for yourself. I already have, likely.
For years I could be embarrassed or flustered as anyone else. But after my many failed physical examinations with doctors, I find nothing embarrasses me any more. If I turn out not to be aware of something or have the facts wrong, I quickly admit it and have a little laugh at my own expense on the side. I like to think of all of this as gaining self confidence and applying it, some people see it as threatening and are wary of me. Sometimes it's just as well but very rarely it's not and I miss an opportunity I would have liked. But in the scheme of things, I find those lost moments an acceptable cost for what I've gained.
I've gained the person who I am today.




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Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Skiing Downhill

89


By the Summer of Nineteen Ninety-One, my brain was working at its peak. Like a long dried out sponge it completely soaked in every bit of every moment. I had never experienced life like this. I did all of the same things I always did, but I could now see how each nuance added up to the end of each day in complete detail. When Daina and I would make errand runs for her and she wasn't sure where she had seen something, I could recount to her in complete detail all of the stores we had been to each day, each item she had looked at and which location of the store it had been at. Hours after the drive from the stores to my apartment, I could recall which lights had been green and which ones we had to wait at. I could work on my computer while watching the the cable news and keep complete track of them both without pause. One time Daina called and I placed the television on mute and continued working on my computer project, watched the silent picture and discussed the next day's plans with Daina and never lost track of any of them. Daina openly wondered if I was transcribing our conversion as we talked given my typing and I assured her I wasn't but instead working on something else as we spoke. She expressed annoyance at that and asked that I not do it anymore. So I stopped my typing but continued to think of the code I needed to do next while following the television and talking about the next day's plans.
I was running Daina ragged with frequent hikes now that she was on summer break from teaching. Never wanting to take the same trail twice too closely together, we had started to scrounge for trail maps and seek more obscure parks just to continue with the variety my mind desired. On one of these hikes, Daina just couldn't continue to the peak and wanted to turn around but still zested by my regained health I wanted to continue and she reluctantly agreed to wait where we were and I could finish on my own. I thought it would take me fifteen more minutes, it ended up taking just under an hour and Daina was very angry with me for keeping her waiting that long. I apologized and then suggested a faster way down rather than using the trail.
In the southern rocky mountains there are spillways of little crumbled rock which form a relatively smooth slope. One time when we had to cross one, I realized my feet would sink in if we took slow steps, but they would slide along the top downhill when one moved quickly. I recommended that we 'ski down' the straight spillway rather than take the serpentine trail back to the bottom. Daina was game after I showed her how to start and watched as the tumbling little rocks rolled beneath my feet as I slid down the first tens of feet quickly in large steps, then tilted my heels back to let my feet sink into the slope and bring me to a stop. Daina gave it a try, but more often came to a stop than slid along. I presumed it was from my past experience skiing where she just needed some practice and continued my way down, quickly descending a few hundred feet in little over a minute. Yet Daina kept sinking in and thus had to pull her feet out of the slope of little broken rocks more often. When she finally caught up to me a few minutes later, she wanted to return to the path for the rest of the descent and I agreed. We sat briefly on a large rock to pull off our shoes and pour out the jagged little bits that had fallen inside before we continued.
One time we reached the bottom of a path and her car was in sight, she suddenly cried out. Turning to look, she had been paying attention to the sight of her car, not the branches of the tree she was passing, and one jabbed her in the eye. Her eye swelling up and painful, she swore for a bit and then debated what we were going to do and then asked if I could drive her to the emergency room. I noted that I didn't have a drivers' license as I gave it up due to my declining health, but as I was now feeling great again and fully able to pay attention while driving, I was game for it as long as it was all right with her. I remembered in New England that a kid without a license could practice driving when an adult was in the car, so I assumed the same would be true for Colorado.
It was great being behind the wheel again and the emergency room doctor found that Daina's eye was just bruised, not punctured, and would be fine with some time to heal. He put a gauze cover over it and I drove Daina back to her condo where we visited for a bit, and caught up on previously taped shows. When it was time for me to go home, though, she didn't feel up to driving and told me I could just take her car. I agreed, but with some trepidation as this time I knew there wouldn't be a legal fig leaf for my driving without a license. Especially as it meant I'd also have to drive back the next day to return Daina's car. Still, I made sure to drive home perfectly and then flawlessly back so as to not gain the interest of any police cars.
For my birthday this year I decided to get a fresh driver's license. The bureau had moved in the six years since I had gotten my last drivers' license, but while in a bigger space handling more people, they still had the same driving test evaluator as my last time. I hoped I could just renew my old expired license and thus avoid dealing with him again given how our last experience had gone, but after my photo was taken I was told I'd need to have my driving re-evaluated given the number of years since I was last licensed to drive. This meant joining the long line of people waiting for driving tests and given the estimated wait time, Daina left to run some errands while I waited there. A half hour later, only having moved about a third of the way down the line, my name was called to the front desk. Arriving there, they handed me my license. Did this mean I didn't have to take the driving test after all? I decided not to ask and left the building. I figured I could always say I didn't know better if they came after me, or called me at home about why I hadn't stayed for the driving test. But they never did.
I realized how much writing computer code was like skiing downhill. The computer was the skis, the user was the skier and the computer program you wrote was the ski slope. If you wrote the code correctly, the program reached the end and the user was happy. If the code wasn't well written, the user had some surprising bumps along the way and, at the worst, crashed and had to get up and start over again. As I coded, I thought of the ski trail, the side paths one could take as an alternative to the main slope, add program checks to make sure the process wasn't going too fast or losing control, and then the satisfying crescent moon stop to bring the experience to a close.
Knowing I was cognitively back and raring to code something, Jeff put me in touch with the head of the 'Front Range Firefighters Association'. While fire fighters & stations could dial into Jeff's online site and stay abreast of the Fire Fighting message forums, there were too many of them jostling for a chance to connect to one of Jeff's incoming land lines. The solution was to create a point-to-point message system which would allow the various fire fighters to download the forum mail straight to their own computers, read and reply at their leisure, and then have their computers upload their messages back to Jeff's site for inclusion and distribution. Checking into the process, I found there were quite a few shareware pieces already available to do this, but each piece had its own configuration file format and they had to be laced together to get it all done: One program to handle the dialing, one program to perform the eMail exchange, one program to allow the end user to read and respond to the messages, and then a chain program to run all of them in sequence and trap errors between them.
I told him I could do it and agreed to in return for a pizza once I was done. Rather than write everything from scratch, I just wrote an installation program and a configuration manager. The installation program ensured all of the shareware pieces were properly placed on the destination computer and then the configuration program asked for and managed all of the configuration info each program might need and wrote it out in their specific file formats once it was entered or updated. For this, I used the FlexBase system I had developed seven years earlier as a universal online site hosting system. It allowed the user to define the appearance they wanted through a simple type-it-the-way-you-want-it-to-look system and let the code handle all of the behind the scenes work to make it happen. By using this preexisting code library of mine, I was able to just give it the template for the user screens and the templates for the various output configuration files and the FlexBase system handled the rest. Ultimately the most work I had to do was code up the 'download now' or 'read messages' choice screen and repeatedly test the system to ensure it wouldn't crash on the various types of IBM PCs and clones it might be installed on. Given that Jeff's machines and my own made a varied lot, it gave me plenty of chances to make the package fail and learn how to improve it.
After only a couple of weeks, the combined installation package was done and I uploaded it to the head of the association to distribute to his members. While I stayed in touch with him for the subsequent few months in case there was a problem to address, there never was and the package became quite popular and I even made variations of it for other online sites in town. It was my first major coding project since my health had returned and I was thrilled with the result!
Though I forgot to take up that pizza... Probably too late to ask for it now?




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Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Wanting To Work

88


With my health suddenly restored in a matter of months after six years of decline, I could have just found the first grocery store job in town. But as the experience had massively derailed my life, I felt I deserved a more thoughtful return to the employment pool. Talking about this with my counselor, Jude, he too agreed that it made sense and recommended I go to the state's Vocational Rehabilitation office and let them manage my return to work. When I mentioned misgivings based on my experience with them three years earlier, he noted that they had probably forgotten about me since then and let's see what a fresh intake evaluation would find. As VocRehab was just three blocks from my apartment, anyhow, I thought I might as well go and see.
Arriving at their office, it seemed unchanged by the years gone by and I introduced myself to the receptionist. This one didn't burst out laughing at my stutter. Fearing I might be assigned to the same counselor who had vehemently rejected me the first time, I was luckily assigned to a different counselor. I actually walked passed the earlier counselor a few times in the office, but he didn't seem to recognize me. This new counselor, I'll call 'Cindy', was a middle aged woman who lead me to her office and sat me down for a chat. I noted my health history and recent improvement and desired to finish my college degree. She thought we should wait with that option and first look for jobs that I could do today. What was I interested in? I told her of my extensive history in computer programming and while I didn't have a degree at it, she thought she still might be able to find me a job in the field. But first I'd have to be evaluated by their on-site psychologist. Fearing that they had the same disturbed psychologist as before, I noted that I could possibly provide a report for them. She then pointed out that if I told her I was receiving psychological counseling it would probably mean I couldn't be accepted by them for help under their rules. Did I want to say I was seeing a psychological counselor? ''I guess not,'' I said, message received.
''Good,'' she said and left the room to set up the evaluation appointment with their own guy as I remained and looked around her office. I noticed a photo of what I guessed to be her daughter. A head-shot placed prominently in the room, it showed her mouth in the shape of a smile, but her eyes looked very hurt and haunted. It reminded me of the photo my mother had me pose for, despite my not wanting to, after my high school graduation. Cindy returned and the evaluation appointment was all set.
When I returned the following week, their on-site psychologist was indeed the same guy as my previous evaluation, but he didn't recognize me either. I guessed given the number of faces flowing through the office each year for the past three years, he had long since forgotten me. This time, rather than the giant bubble test to evaluate my psychological fitness, he had changed to what I guessed he thought was a better method of cracking people's psyches: A hand writing evaluation. I was to write a couple pages about myself for him to review. When I noted my problems writing by hand, he gave me an extra fifteen minutes to work on it in his office. He then went on break and I spent the next half hour writing something up. Given the need for speed, I resorted to my old two handed technique where my primary hand formed the printed letters while my other hand's fingers helped to steady the painful tremors.
When he returned and saw the results, he barked at me because I was supposed to have done the sample in cursive, not print! But as he hadn't told me that and he didn't have more time to have me do it all over again, he deiced to work with what I had written and had me next see his assistant for a fresh I.Q. test. A friendly girl, I think this was the highest I.Q. score I had ever received, though in reflection that might have been in part because I had just had my I.Q. evaluated by the neuro-psychologist a few months earlier and it seemed to be the exact same test. Once the I.Q. test was done, and a career aptitude test which showed I should either find a job in computers or writing, I was sent back to the psychologist's office where he glared at me and said he couldn't conclude anything about me from my hand writing sample and suspected I had intentionally disguised my writing in order to hide something. At my blank returned look, he decided not to worry about it and I was deemed fit for Vocational Rehabilitation Services to help me.
With my return visit to Cindy, she was happy with the evaluation results and said she had the perfect job for me! It was a start-up company Data Acquisition Systems and they needed computer knowledgeable people to help get the company going. Cindy told me that the way things worked was they would hire me, and after my first two weeks, VocRehab would reimburse them for my initial paycheck. When I arrived at their office, it was actually the management office of a neglected shopping center and of the three people there, two were in their early twenties and brothers who were 'forming' the business and the third man was another self taught computer professional about ten years older than me. We talked at length about what they wanted to do with the company but beyond picking out the name they really didn't want to define it. It would have something to do with computers because they saw that as the future of business, but what precisely they weren't quite sure. The other computer guy and I were to return the following week when they had things sorted out.
Returning the second week, the other computer guy had decided not to come back. The two brothers explained that ''He didn't get the vision of the company.'' So the three of us spent the day still trying to figure it out and finally concluded that what we needed was to come up with a good motto for the company and from that the two brothers would better know what the company would be doing. I offered ''DAS ist gut'', I think it was a common phase from the old Hogan's Heroes television show, regardless of where I got it from the two brother's got the reference and burst out laughing. By noontime they still hadn't settled on a motto and they broke for lunch. Given that I didn't have spare cash to buy myself lunch based on my income level, I roamed the sidewalked front of the long shopping strip and glanced in its mostly vacant store fronts. An hour later, we reconvened and the brothers had decided we needed to put the motto debate aside and work on the dress code, next. They felt we should all be in suits & ties from now on; given my history of feeling like a cross dresser when in formal clothing, I noted that computer people worked in the back room and so dress style wouldn't make an impact on potential customers... But the brothers agreed amongst themselves that a 'professional look' resulted in 'professional work'. That topic using up half of the afternoon, the older of the two brothers pulled me aside to let me know that I was to report to VocRehab that they had paid me for these two weeks so they could get the state check 'reimbursing them' for it. When I noted that they hadn't paid me yet, and we even hadn't met for two full work weeks either, he knew what I meant but how were they going to be able to pay me without first getting reimbursed for it? So I was told to let VocRehab know they had paid me for these first two weeks and then the brothers would pay me from the reimbursement check, afterwards.
I'd like to say it was this dishonesty which lead me to report them to VocRehab, but in reality it was the dress code and the insistence I lie to VocRehab was an extra reason to end 'the job'. I went home and wrote Cindy a detailed letter about my time with them and what they wanted me to do and dropped it off at the VocRehab office the following day as I walked to get my daily soda. She called me in and, though eying me suspiciously, thanked me for letting her know and told me I didn't need to continue with DAS. She had instead decided to find me a job in data entry and then I could work my way up from there. When I noted the problems I had using my fingers on small repetitive tasks, she was sure it wouldn't be a problem and gave me an appointment with a data entry firm to have me evaluated. When I arrived there the next week, they had me do a half hour 'sample run' which their computer would use to give them my data entry skill level. Once done, they found that I had a surprisingly low error rate, but I only entered in half the minimum data they would need in the testing time frame to consider me for a job. Sorry. I was sent back to the VocRehab office to show Cindy my results sheet.
Cindy didn't know what else she could do for me and I again offered the idea of me completing College then I'd have a degree that would get me into the many computer jobs available in town. She didn't think that was a good idea and placed me on hold and would keep me in mind when the next job prospects came up. I was sent home and didn't hear back from her for four months... At least they were issuing me free monthly bus passes in the meantime!
Then she called me sounding very excited. I was given a date & time and arrived at their equivalent of a cattle call where we were all clients that VocRehab was 'helping to find a job' and we were brought to a large conference room and told to take a seat. There we were introduced to a bespectacled man who told us he was forming a business with his partner who we may have heard of, Frederic Neal also known as 'Curly', recently retired from the Harlem Globetrotters. He was co-founding a business with this new man and they needed to hire people fast. And they wanted us! When asked, he explained that 'Curly' was a very busy man and couldn't be here himself to talk to us, but he truly was a partner in this new business and we'd meet him in a month after we signed on. One of us here for the presentation stood up and told us that she had heard of this guy and he was a fraud with whom Frederic Neal had publicly disavowed any business relationship. She picked up her things and left the room, the rest of us looked to the VocRehab counselors standing by the walls. They seemed momentarily rattled, but Cindy vouched for him and so the man was allowed to continue his sales pitch. Once he was done and asked for who wanted to sign on, the counselors were very insistent that we all do. So I gave my name as did most everyone else and he then decided to pick about fifteen from the pile of names. Cindy intervened and thought it'd be better if I joined later and so he said he'd get back to the rest of us and bring us into the business once it was established.
A month later I saw Cindy again and heard that the guy turned out not to have any connection with Frederic 'Curly' Neal and after having the fifteen clients sit in an apartment with next to nothing to do for two weeks, he had pressured them all into reporting that he had paid them for those two weeks so he could get the reimbursement for them and then, he told them, he would pay them after the fact. Most of them did as they were told and VocRehab cut him a check and when they returned for the third week, they found the apartment was now vacant and available to rent. The people who had fallen for his request to falsely state 'he had already paid them' were kicked out of the program for lying. Wasn't it good that I hadn't fallen for that? Cindy said after she told me this story. I agreed it was, but kept to myself my opinion that VocRehab seemed to be, at least, partially at fault as well.
The state seemed to agree after this and many other incidents and changed the rules so VocRehab would have to be shown a paycheck stub from the business itself, so the client was no longer on the hook and the 'business' would have to explicitly commit fraud rather than coerce the clients into doing it for them.
Raring to go back to work after my health was restored, by going through the state's Vocational Rehabilitation Services, I would spend the year job free without getting a step closer to my goals...




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