Judgement Day...

I started writing this blog when I knew I was on my way to do "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" on Broadway. (Cheap plug: It is STILL available at Amazon.com - and iTunes- and even HULU... I will be hocking the DVD on the streets of Van Nuys soon.)  My blog was an attempt to take my friends and relatives on the same unique Broadway journey I was on at the time. It was all new to me and every day brought a new experience to write about.  In New York I felt like Ernest Hemingway journalizing about a foreign land.  I still find New York City the ultimate place for a writer to do research. 

Being semi retired in Encino, California rather than doing 8 shows a week on Broadway in New York makes unique experiences harder to stumble onto.  It's harder to find things to write about than it is to crank the blog posts out. I sometimes feel like the social events reporter for the Muleshoe Texas Weekly Journal.  So if  any reader is confused about the editorial direction this blog you are not alone. It is not my intention to become preachy nor political in these blogs.  I write what's on my mind and for the last year or so my thoughts have turned inward. Thus the blogs have less to do with the short picture than the long view.  But I digress..  

This blog is just to set the record straight about an essay on Pat Robertson I wrote a couple of days ago.  Although I do not agree with his politics nor his lifestyle I did come down hard on a man I have never met.  I called him judgemental and still hold to that opinion, but realize that by tagging him with that label I am being judgemental myself. I am now in a quandary; how to do call some one judgemental and not prove that you are as well?  

It's like that paradox "Can God create a rock too heavy for him to pick up?" For me that one is easier to deal with. The trick is in the question. If you assume an anthropomorphic God who magically makes things like rocks appear; and this superman God is all powerful you can not resolve the "heavy rock" paradox. 

Back to Pat Robertson for a moment. His philosophy is that of a humanlike God who creates rocks that impede your progress or stepping stones to guide your way depending on his mood. He judges and condemns creations, has favorite people that he loves more and tolerates demons that he hates. This is where Rev. Rob and I split paths. Anytime you attempt to explain God in terms of what a human would do or what a human would think, that explanation is profoundly wrong.  

Sometimes when I hear evangelicals explaining the wrath of God or how God has blessed the Friday night Football team with a win, I think they are talking about Zeus from ancient mythology not an Omnipotent, Omniscient Deity.  The synonym for "Supreme Being" is not "Super Man" although to hear some Christian Scholars talk you might not get that distinction.   

Any human concept of God is false. Any time we rationalize an event in terms of what God was thinking is blasphemy.  Human intelligence is not sufficient to comprehend God nor his power. God doesn't get mad, nor jealous, nor weary, nor vengeful nor is God defined by any human emotion or terminology.  God is not a He nor a She nor any other quality that a human understands. 

So back to the rock. God CAN'T create a rock that God can't pick up because God only creates ideas of himself. In metaphoric terms God can not be separated from the rock because the concept of a rock can not exist outside of the consciousness of God.  Therefore the human idea of being separated from something like a rock and the need to pick it up is a human delimna not a spiritual one. 

So rather than judge a guy on what he believes and become part of judgement itself, why not discuss the ways our thinking differs.  Explaining the process of our thinking will explain the results of our perceptions. In computer programing terms... "Shit in shit out".  

So Pat Robertson, sorry if I judged you. We just think differently that is all. I will keep attempting to explain my philosophy.  And I as hear the explanation of yours, I can't help but think you are simply restating the concept of Roman Paganism to a television generation. 

As you were,

Jay

Pat Robertson on Texas Weather

In the past, self proclaimed prophet of "Thou shalt nots" Pat Robertson has waisted no time in proclaiming God's punishment on sinners. He is very quick in equating a natural disaster with the wrath of God. Usually he takes the opportunity to say that God has sent a hurricane or a drought or a flood to an area of the country as a sign of his wrath toward their actions.  Hurricane Sandy hitting the north east coast was, in his Holy opinion, a sign that God did not like the idea that gays could marry. Katrina was sent to New Orleans because God hates sinners. He heard there were some hanging around Bourbon Street.  Drought on the west coast has been tagged as punishment for all our "Godless leanings" here in Los Angeles.

Flooded Six Flag Roller coster DFW.

Texas has just experienced some of the worst weather and floods in its history. Yet not one word from the good pundit Robertson. It seems that when weather comes to a place that holds with his limited thinking it is "just nature".  When natural disaster hits a place Pat doesn't agree with it is God sending a message. And of course the idea of climate change is never mentioned in his ministry. 

Come on Pat, where is your condemnation? Why are you not claiming that God is punishing Texas? Pick a reason Pat, Texas has been outspoken about so many social and political issues there are several to be condemned for.  If you think Texas is on the right side of immigration, abortion, and gay marriage then why is God sending Biblical floods?  Isn't a flood God's preferred way to thin the herd and start all over? Why wasn't Ted Cruz given the command to build a big boat?

The problem is, Pat, you think God was made in your image. When you are displeased or disgusted, God must be as well.  Your judgement is based on the idea that it is in agreement with your personal preferences and then you apply that same bias judgment to Deity.  You may have fooled your money contributing masses that you are a man of God, but if God is as judgmental, reactionary, condemning and unloving as you are, then that God is not for me. So far your dooms day predictions and righteous exclusionary warnings have not come to pass.

To all my friends and family in Texas.  I am sorry the weather has caused so many to suffer. Although your politics  have left me baffled and often disgusted for the last few years, I don't think God is punishing you.  This could very well have been the answer to lots of prayers asking God to end your drought.  I don't believe in the conditional love the Pat Robertson-God seems to practice.  I don't think he is pissed and just waiting for someone to break a commandment so he can strike them down.  As far as you Texans and your crazy ideas, at best I think this Jade Helm 15 rumor, which caused some to panic, is actually giving God a good laugh.

I am praying and hoping that our drought here in California will end soon.  When it does, it will probably cause some damage along with the water it brings very much like Texas. I am pretty sure that good old Pat will find some sinners among those affected if that happens in California.  As Shakespeare said, "There is nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so".  If you agree with the way Pat thinks, then that is your reward.  As for me I am trying to "think" in a completely different way than what Rev. Robertson is teaching.  That way I can feel love and compassion for those suffering from the weather and Floods in Texas without having to judge the reason it happened.

As always these are my views and they do not necessarily agree with the management or staff of Blogger or "The World is a Stage"

As you were,

Jay

Muzak

Lilly Tomlin said one time, "I am afraid that the guy who thought up Muzak is sitting around trying to think up something else."
Where ever there is a place for music I prefer live music to canned. My one requirement about any music in public is this:
Unless it is a concert that is intended to be listened to as a singular performance, background music should be played very quietly.
Besides wanting to be a ventriloquist I also had a desire to play piano.  I ultimately devoted more time to ventriloquism than to music but at one time I wanted to be good enough on the piano to play background music at Furr's Cafeteria in Lubbock, Texas.
Furr's Cafeteria was the only place I had ever been as a kid living in Abernathy, Texas that had live music to dine by.  Our family did not eat out much and when we did it was Cafeteria or burger joints.
The Burger places had a juke box that was too loud and the "wrong" kind of music according to my Dad.  But Furr's had a guy playing piano unobtrusively in the corner of the dining room.  There was a large snifter full of cash on the top of the piano and he played from a thick book of music that seemed to have millions of songs.  For some reason this image was appealing to me. I didn't want it as a career but I did want to have the ability to do that whenever I wanted.  I probably had that goal in mind until I was 8 years old.
I found out the thick book he played from was called a Fake Book.  It was a book of lead sheets and chords for popular songs and the name came from the idea that you could "fake" your own arrangements to the songs.  I had to get me one of those fake books.
At the time they were considered illegal because the "publisher" paid no royalties on the songs.  You could not find one in a regular music store. Through some of my Dad's musician friends I finally got my wish and for Christmas one year received the Fake book.
This was the early 60's and the music in my Fake Book was mainly songs from the 30's and 40's.  There were only a few songs that I recognized and even those were not the kind of songs that would impress my peer group.  I leaned the basics of this technique but grew bored with the old music.  My interest in the piano wained a little.  It came down to a repertory of only a few songs I played over and over to the annoyance of anyone living with me.
Eventually my folks sent the family piano to me here in California so my kids could learn.  My oldest son plays piano well but prefers guitar, base and harmonica.  For years my piano became just a shelf for family pictures and very old music books.
More that a year and a half ago I decided to pick up where I left off on the piano.  Maturity, time and availability of more current "legal" fake books has expedited my playing and increased my repertory. I usually play for an hour or so before dinner. Sandi is encouraging and even suggests I play piano when I find myself in a depression.  It always seems to help.
Recently I was at the house of a really good friend.  They have a nice baby grand piano and I love to play it when I am there.  The lady of the house even put a tip jar on top of the piano for me.  The arrangement is:  every time I play it... I have to put in a dollar.
Recently the Man of the house said, "You know I think you are  getting good enough to play at the Airport Holiday Inn Happy hour." Wow... already a step up from Furr's Cafeteria in Lubbock, Texas.

An owner wants to put music into his club.  His friend plays piano and asks if he will fill in until a regular piano player is found.  The friend says to the owner, "Well I only know two songs."  The owner says, "Well maybe you can play those songs several times... what are the two songs you can play?"
The friend says, "I can play 'Jesus Loves Me' and 'Lush Life'."

That is my favorite musician joke... Not everyone gets it... but it always makes me laugh.
As you were,
Jay
    

The Gimme Award goes to....

The Balforth Fennington Dalia Award

Hollywood, Calif (UPI)
by Walter Helmhurst  
Today the film version of "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" was awarded the Balforth Fennington Dalia Award  better known as the "Gimme". The Balforth Fennington Dalia Foundation is dedicated to honoring all art which never really finds its audience nor becomes a commercial hit.
This award is given on an irregular basis for shows, plays and or movies for no reason other than to remind people that the movie, show or play still exists and is still available for sale or viewing.
The BFD Award is usually awarded to good shows that have trouble selling tickets. According to Velma Coopertonson, chairperson of the Balforth Fennington Dalia Foundation awards committee, "Never have we seen a show so qualified for this trophy as the Two and Only.." 
The Executive Producer of "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" had this to say upon receiving the BFD.
"I am surprised by this award.  I was hoping for a royalty check. I do however need a paper weight for some unpaid production bills on my desk. This "Gimme" will work fine. " 
Actor and star of the film  Bob Campbell had this to say upon learning of the award, "What do you think we can get for it on E-Bay?"  Other actors from the production did not return our phone calls.
The committee for the BFD foundation will immediately start looking for next years honoree. According to Ms Coopertonson "Because shows like this are so hard for the audience to find, you can imagine how difficult is it for us." 

Different?

Three Kids...One of Each.
A Brother, A Sister and
A Middle Child

Last week my Mom moved to an assisted living facility.  I am the only child in the family who doesn't live in the area so I flew home to help. My sister and my niece were the operational commanders with my brother, my sister-in law, my nephew and me playing the part of the troupes. We all had assignments to do. The plan was to magically transfer Mom from her old place to her new place with a brief stay in the country at my niece's house while that move happened.
My niece and nephew took on the task of duplicating the new environment as close as possible to Mom's old place.  Both of them work as production coordinators for films so they treated the assignment like they were recreating a movie set.  In 14 hours they took a blank apartment and completely recreated Mom's world in detail.  It was amazing.

Above is a picture of old photographs of me, my brother and my sister, taken on the same day by the same photographer, mid-century. They are equal in size, background, matting, tone and frame. The pictures are a matched set.  They were displayed in this arrangement above my parents bed as long as any of us can remember.  My parents bedroom would not be complete without this birth order grouping of us kids in exactly this configuration.

My nephew used exact measurements from ceiling to floor, spacing above the head board of the bed and between each picture based upon the way it has always been.  Using a laser level and skilled precision he placed the individual wall hangers in the exact places they needed to be.  Then he carefully removed the pictures from the moving box and hung them up.

As you can see I am the middle child in our family.  There are many studies done on the significance of the birth order of siblings and how it shapes their personalities.  The archetype of the middle child would certainly be applicable to the way my life has turned out.  It would be pure ego to repeat those qualities of creativity, imagination, wisdom and joy that seem to define a middle child, so I won't. What I will say is, I have been dubbed "the golden boy" by my siblings and in spite of my career with puppets, I have definitely always been the "odd" one of the trio.  Ask around, my family is not shy about giving explicit factual examples of my oddites. I'm okay with being different. I wear my oddity like a new pair of clown shoes.

When my nephew stepped back to look at the picture arrangement hanging on the new wall, something was amiss. My picture frame (did I mention I am the one in the middle?) hung significantly higher than the other two picture frames. My nephew removed the pictures and checked the wall hangers with a level.  The three hangers were level as were the tops of the frames for of the other two pictures.  All his measurements were correct but it was still not right. It was my picture that disrupted the whole balance of the family arrangement,  my picture was elevated.

I have always looked for signs; communications from a higher vibration taking shape in physical form. I feel like these talisman-tic showings are trail markers to guide me in the right way.  They come most often as confirmation of decision when you are wondering if you made the correct turn. Their appearance is rarely note worthy, it could be things as simple as a feather on the grass, a Blue Jay flying past or a coin laying heads up on the ground.  Taking my Mother to an assisted living facility was the right move and in Mom's most lucid moments she would agree, but we were all looking for some sort of confirmation that we were indeed doing the right thing. The family was on uncharted ground.

As the set decoration team worked long into the evening recreating their Grandmother's home the reason for this activity was never far from every one's thoughts.  Placing a parent in the care of others is the painful passage of realizing you are no longer a child.  There are times the sadness of the situation causes what my niece calls "church laughter". The kind of giggles you get during a situation where laughing out loud would be offensive or at least not proper.  On the verge of tears, laughter becomes a desiderate antidote to the sadness of the moment.

My nephew discovered the hanging problem on the back of the picture frames.  Although the three pictures were framed exactly the same,  and appeared to be the same in every way, the eyelet screws attaching the wire of my picture frame was not screwed in at the same place as my brother's nor my sister's frames.  My screws were fastened to a different measurement.
With this discovery my nephew turns to his wife, my niece, and says, "Here is the trouble.  Jay is just wired differently from the others."
To which she replied, "I guess we better take him down a couple of notches."

They laughed about the discovery, as did I in the re-telling to the rest of the family. It was nice to laugh again for a moment. 
I suppose there will never be another metaphor more descriptive than this one explaining my place in the family gene pool.   It reminds me to say thanks to my brother and sister for understanding I am wired differently, and to thank my Mom for understanding I just don't hang like everyone else. It has always been so because my screws are in a different place.

As you were,
Jay

Approaching the Blank Page

Down to a minute

I took a lot of pictures and a lot of movies on board the Stennis.  This is an edited minute in the 18 hour days of Flight operations training.  After the last take off notice the crowd of sailors in different colored shirts run across the deck to get ready for the next take off.  It is a ballet of efficiency.

As you were,
Jay

CNV 74 --The Show

Jay "Heater" Johnson
Honorary Stennis Aviator

Hangar before the stage was set

Doing a show on an active aircraft carrier
during flight training exercises is like trying to do a half time show at the Super Bowl with the stadium moving through water at 12-15 knots per hour and planes taking off and landing on the roof.  The producers had to bring in the sound equipment and the flight operations had to be suspended for the day.  To clear space for the stage and an audience on the hangar deck, the crew had move 20 or 30 planes around and stow some of them on the flight deck above.  It took them all night and most of the next morning to create our make shift theatre. Below is a short YouTube I took when they were moving airplanes out of the audience space and "clearing the stage".

Setting up the stage on Hangar deck..

The official title of the guy who set up the show and made sure all the equipment was there and accounted for was "Fun Boss". Fun Boss is mainly shore side, but flies on with the entertainers to facilitate the production with the Navy. The Fun Boss had the power to get all the help we wanted to do whatever needed to be done for the show. He said this was his 154 arrested landing on an Aircraft carrier. However, he said they are never "old hat" and he never takes them for granted. Fun Boss has a great job. The party maker. When the crew sees the Fun Boss on board they know there is a party or show in their future.

At first the plan was to keep the bay door open for the show. Although it made a beautiful back drop, it was not good for the sound and lights. Fun Boss said he would get the doors closed and so he did.

Rehearsal after they closed the hangar door

After getting such a warm welcome from the crew, we were ready to do the show for them to give back something. Every performer in the show was a consummate road-seasoned professional,  so the sound check/rehearsal was smooth and fun.  Sound checks, when done right, let the entertainers entertain themselves.  A super private exclusive performance for us who will be working the show and not able to see it from the audience.
The musical director said the Admiral wanted a specific song in the show and had placed it last.  My friend Dick Hardwick, MC and fellow comic, thought that it was not strong enough to close the show so we persuaded him to put it in the middle and end with the Ray Charles version of America sung by Billy Valentine. (There is a YouTube video of the last few minutes of that song attached below.) When the crew came up to the stage to shake hands it brought me to tears backstage. It was a powerful moment.

There I am back stage. During the show. 

My point of view on the show.

Mostly I watched the show from behind the stage... Back stage literally and figuratively. From that vantage point, I saw a different show. I saw the faces of the sailors watching what was happening on stage.  At first they were reserved in ship shape military stoicism.  Each moment made that facade melt away a little more. Dick was the glue that kept it all together and monitored the humor quotient. By the time Darwin the Jazz Monkey hit the stage the crew was ready for some monkey business.  I didn't know how it would go with the ultimate sound-man's challenge and ventriloquist nightmare in this open hangar, but it could not have been more joyous.  It was not perfect theatrical conditions, but that audience. I wanted to bottle that reaction from those sailors and fliers and take it home. My time on stage flew by.

Darwin and Me on Stage

We all came on stage at the end to sing America. Dick grabbed the Captain and I grabbed the Admiral. We got them on stage and celebrated with the entire crew. They waved lighted flashlights in the audience.  It was amazing.
We spent the better part of the next hour just meeting or shaking hands with any and all crew members who stayed around to watch the stage strike.  With plenty of sailors ready to help,  the stage, lights, and sound gear quickly vanished into anvil cases then a cargo net ready to be loaded on the equipment plane.  As if it was all a dream the Hangar bay went back to its intended purpose and soon there were planes occupying the space which had doubled briefly as our theatre. Except for the smiles on the faces of young sailors it was like it never happened at all.

Practical Monkey Joke....

We hung out in Wardroom number 3, recounting the experience to each other and our officer guides. We answered their questions and got to know them as we decompressed from the show.
The next day was again an early call and it was back to being herded around to even more things that make the ship operate.  We got a fire drill demonstration, the Focsle where the massive anchor is stowed, the machine shop for repairing the F-18 engines and anything else that the officers could think of to keep us occupied.  And soon it was late afternoon and time to leave the ship.

This meant another briefing on the procedure of the catapult take off. Some of the suggestions were: 1) Make certain your four point harness is tight. When you go from 0 to 200 in two seconds any slack in the harness will impact your shoulders like a straight arm jab from a heavy weight fighter. 2) Make certain your hands are tucked under your arms.  During the catapult there is no way to keep your hands from flying out and hitting the seat in front of you. 3) Make sure your feet are secured and tucked behind the seat. If your legs fly forward they will hit the seat in front and your shins will never be the same again.  4) Have nothing in your hands or loose around your seat.  Any loose object will become a speeding bullet traveling at 200 miles an hour.  5) Lastly make sure your goggles are strapped on tight. There were tales of goggles separating from your face during the catapult only to come snapping back sharply when you reach air speed.
Once we were strapped in and ready to assume the take off position the anxiety begins.  There is no count down.  When the plane is secure on the catapult and all the vitals have been checked, and the pilot is ready and the safety crew has given permission you literally blast off. The only thing is... you never really know when. Like someone slowly pressing on a balloon, the anticipation of the pop is sometimes more stressful than the pop itself.  That was not the case in this operation, the shot off the bow of the ship lived up to the hype.
We hear the engines strain at full speed. We get in the positions we were instructed to assume. The engines rev up a little more. Seconds seem like an eternity until there is a metallic snap. Before you can comprehend what that sound was you feel a rush upward as you are falling face forward toward the unseen deck suspended only by shoulder straps. For a moment you doubt that the straps are strong enough to hold your massive weight.  It is like being a harnessed puppet pulled from a string in the middle of your back, straight up at 200 miles an hour.
The plane levels off and we are flying.  A dampened cheer of glee comes from the passengers. I give a thumbs up to my seat mate Dick and we grin at each other like four year olds.  The best roller coaster/carnival ride the US Navy can afford.

From that moment on it was like any other plane ride back to San Diego.
But... here is my take away from the show. The moment I get back home to check my email there is already a note from Barbara Guyll thanking me for entertaining the sailors.
My question was "how did you know?"
Well,

The audience from my camera. You can see Phil taking the movie.

It seems her son is currently on the Stennis and emailed her about the show. He told her I was taking pictures with my camera from on stage at the end. (You can even see me snapping the picture in the YouTube above) She thought I might have taken a picture of her son.  I sent her this picture of the audience at the end of the show.  When she told me the area he was standing I zoomed in as much as it would stretch.
Her son is the man on the left (picture left stage right) in the white observers uniform.

Extreme close up 

Small world made smaller by instant communication.
Thank you to the men and women of the USS John C. Stennis  CNV 74 for an unbelievable experience.
As you were,
Jay

CNV 74-- The Ship

Two rules: 

A) I am purposely not using names in this essay with the exception of Admiral Bowman who arranged this gift to all of us on board the USS John C.Stennis. There were many, many people who made this happen. Most of them were not on the ship but made it possible for us to be there and entertain the sailors. They may or may not want to be mentioned in my blog. One of the performers on this trip is a good friend and fellow Dog who definitely doesn't want to be mentioned in this blog. I didn't get any body's permission, so, to the Gentlemen of the BNSEF (Bohemian Navy Special Entertainment Forces)  You know who you are. Thank you for your service. it was an honor to perform with you all.  I will always remember my Navy buddies.

2) I am breaking this essay into chapters. 

This is chapter one. 

The circumstances....

I was asked by retired Admiral Mike Bowman to be part of a show for the Crew of the USS Stennis CVN 74. At the time they were doing flight operations training in the North Pacific.  The ship and the crew will be deployed somewhere closer to the action in the fall.

There were 12 performers and a support crew of 6 and two producers for a total of 20.  We flew an hour or more out of San Diego in a Military C-2 aircraft to eventually make an "arrested landing" on the flight deck of the Nuclear Aircraft carrier John C. Stennis. 

Suiting up to go observe Flight Deck operations. 

SIDE NOTE: For those who might not know how an aircraft carrier works here is a quick tutorial.  The upper deck of an Aircraft carrier is an airport. But even though it is a huge ship with a crew of 4000, the deck is three times too small for planes to land or take off. In order to slow the plane from airspeed, there are four cables that run the width of the deck. They provide the proper resistance for the weight and speed of the plane to bring it to a stop. To snag these cables a special hook on the tail of the plane (called a tail hook- naturally) is maneuvered by the pilot so that it catches the wire as he lands and the plane stops in 2 seconds.

That is called an arrested landing... basically a controlled crash where you go from 200 miles an hour to 0 in a matter of 2 seconds. Other than experiencing a crash there is no way to explain the feeling.  On the C-2 passengers face backwards. You get pushed back in your seat in a feeling that must be similar to a baseball when it is suddenly stopped by a catchers mitt.  G-force is just a number until you experience it. 

  

NOTE IN A NOTE: there are four wires so you have four chances to stop. The plane lands at full speed in the event that it misses all four wires. That is called a "bolt" and the plane immediately climbs to make altitude, circle around and try again.
  

Shooters 

CONTINUING SIDE NOTE: When a plane takes off from this mini floating airport they have the opposite problem. There is not enough deck to attain the ground speed for lift. To facilitate this problem the ship has a steam driven piston that runs the length of the flight deck. They hook the front gear of the plane to a knob attached to the piston which sits inches above the deck in a long slot.  The pilot throttles  the engines to near full speed and at just the right moment a "shooter" hits the red button to release the steam built up in the catapult and in 2 seconds the plane goes from 0 to 200 miles an hour and is airborne. When the catapult is deployed is sounds like something has hit the ship.  There is a loud bang and the ship shutters with the force of a 3.5 earthquake. But more about a catapulted take off later.
Back to the Adventure.

We land. And the plane taxi's to a spot where they can open the cargo door in the tail of the C-2 and we file off. We are led around the conning tower and down two decks.  One if the gang ways is metal grating open to the sea below. It is the first time we realize how fast the ship is moving, or that it is moving at all. We have landed on a quickly moving target. They take our goggles, life vest, ear protection and "cranial's". We are no longer dressed like crash dummies, and the color is coming back to our cheeks. There is lemonade and sandwiches in the Captain's in port office.

We met up with officers who will be our constant escort for the next three days.  Except for show day they kept us on a tight schedule getting a briefing from almost every department head on the ship. 

At one point they took us down to the Ammo magazine. It is where they keep the missiles, bombs and guns, when asked if there were nuclear weapons on board the K-5 said, "I can neither confirm nor deny." There were only certain areas of the ship they asked us not to photograph. This is the only photograph of the missile area that didn't violate that request 

In fact the only part of the ship we were not allowed to see was the nuclear reactor area. The sailors who work in that area have a special tag they wear.  When the color of the tag changes to orange, they are done.  They have absorbed all the radiation their bodies can take.  They are referred to around the ship as the "glow worms".

We watched the flight operations from the bridge, from the flight deck, from vultures row and from the Task Force Commanders observation deck (that is where the Admiral observes operations).  Since it was a training exercise we watched dozens of take offs and landings on the carrier, including night operations. To see an F-18 Hornet hit the after burners leaving the flight deck at night is an amazing fire show almost over shadowing the powerful compression you feel in your chest when you are on flight deck and the Hornets take off.  The captain said, "Until you have actually smelled it and felt it, you don't really get a sense of the magnitude of this operation." A ship is not a quite place, there is a constant rumbling dotted with metallic bangs and jet engines firing. There is a clean smell to the ship mixed with a patina of jet fuel and oil. It is distinctive.

Captain with the Glow Worms

We were DV's while on board. (Distinguished Visitor...the Navy loves acronyms).  Our cabins were spartan military grade but with only two people to a room it was equivalent to officers accommodations.  Technically we enjoyed a commissioned rank while on board.  Our first day we were so tired we were glad to get some rest in our metal bunk beds.  However, our staterooms were directly below the steam catapult.  We experienced the jolt and explosive sound of a 3.5 earth quake every four minutes until 3:00am.  We asked some sailors if the noise and the shaking bothered them.  They said you get used to it and after working 18 hour shifts on the flight deck you can sleep through anything. 
The average age on the ship is 18 to 20 years old. Our group of entertainers raised the average age on board considerably.  All of the sailors are in great physical shape.  There are no elevators from deck to deck and no stairs.  They have ladders.  Steep ladders that require precise navigation to avoid hitting your head or falling on your face. I didn't think to activate my iPhone pedometer to see how far we climbed. There was no cellular service at sea and the wifi was strictly confined to certain areas of the ship. 
We were generally taken to the officers Wardrooms for meals. Good food served 23 hours a day.  One hour each day is a ship wide cleaning duty.  Every member of the crew mans some sort of cleaning device from an electric buffer to a towel and cleans a section of the ship. There is a definite difference in what the officers experience and what the average E-1 experiences.  Down below there are decks with bunks three men high. Only if you are in the top bunk and the infrastructure of the duct work doesn't take the space away do you have more than 14 inches between your bed and the one above. 

Every sailor and pilot we met was friendly and smart and looked like they could be cast immediately in a new version of Top Gun.  A group of three fliers who showed us inside the AWAC were named, Party Boy, Ebola and Motor.  Party Boy was stunningly handsome, but I didn't get a photo of him since we were in one of those "no picture" areas.
In the next chapter I will go more into detail about the show, but my take away from this on board experience is this:  The quality of character, training, intelligence and responsibility of these service men and women is stunning.  You feel in very capable hands. It is how the government should function.  4000 people with differing ideas, backgrounds and abilities come together and perform like the dancers in a ballet troupe to accomplish what would seem the impossible. It is how America should work, all for one and one for all setting aside personalities to make things happen.  It makes congress look like a bunch of ego-centric old fools.
More later,
Jay

Hello? Hello?

The phone rings.... I don't recognize the number, but then I have some friends who are off the grid, so to speak.  I assume it is not someone I want to talk with because there is a long pregnant pause after I say hello.  Finally I hear someone come one the line.

"Hello Mr. Johnson, this is (insert name here) I work for a (insert name here) contracting company and we do work...

I put the phone down on the desk and continue what I am doing. I can hear the electonic chatter of the sales-pitch faintly but not distinctly.  After a minute or two there is a pause in the caller's running commentary. In the silence I pick up the phone and say.

"That is very interesting."

The caller said, "Are you thinking of doing work inside or outside your home.?"

"I Absolutely believe in home work. " I say.

There is a slight pause then:

"Inside the house or outside?" There is a hopefull tone to his voice.

"That would be correct." I say 

There is another pause of equal length then:

"Let me just ask... what is the project you are thinking about doing?"

"Yes that is a very good question." I continue, " Just outside my house and running along the perimeter I would like to build a moat.  I know I can't keep aligators in the water, but I am thinking that I could fill it with some sort of acid. I am thinking that battery acid is not that hard to buy in quantity? Or is it. That is somthing that contractors know right? "

He starts to answer, but I continue on

"No matter.  The main thing is I want shards of glass fixed to the edge of the moat so no one can get near the liquid."

Again I step over his next question.

"You see I am trying to keep contractors away from my house. I don't like contractors even the ones I know and allow to work on my property.  I wish there was some way to keep them from calling me on the telephone and disturbing me.  But at least if I knew they could not get to me personally I would feel better... So what do you think the trench, the concrete with embedded broken glass and enough acid to fry the average fat ass contractor would cost?"

There is silence on the other end of the line.

"I guess you need to come out and measure, Right... are your estimates free?"

Click...

My wife says, "Why do you do that... why don't you just hang up? Why answer at all... anyone we know will leave a message."

She is right of course. But that is the risk you take when you make an unsolicited call to my house. Besides I figure if they are wasting my time... I can return the favor.  If only with I had the talents of my friend Joey Van who is a double talker... I could keep them on the line for hours.

As you were,

Jay

Suicide is...

Suicide is strictly a human behavior.  There is nothing else on Earth that willing kills itself for any reason except humans. All animals die by accident, old age, in an attempt to survive or at the actions of another; in the animal realm death is never a conscious choice.  A plant only dies when it lacks the proper conditions to stay alive. Neither animal nor plant will ever kill themselves because it is just too much trouble to go on.  Plants and animals do not purposefully die for for a philosophy or a cause. Given any chance to survive and grow life (with the exception of human) will find a way to express itself. 

Animals and plants have no consciousness of being alive therefore they have no concept of death. One might think by having no consciousness of death, self-sacrifice in the non-human world would be inconsequential and therefore common. But even without the awareness of itself, life chooses to live. But Man, the highest concept of consciousness, aware of its own existence, chooses to willingly end that consciousness for something unknown and un-learnable. I keep looking for a reason. 

I wonder about the suicide bombers who so willingly die for a cause. They die to kill others in an act of mass murder. I can see the problems this causes the Spiritual halls of Celestial justice.  Is the suicide bomber "laying down his life for his friends" and therefore "hath" no greater love, or is it violation of the sixth commandment forbidding murder?  Heavenly lawyers could debate and appeal that idea for eons. 

Zealots and revolutionaries aside most suicide is a human attempt to exit an unbearable physical situation. Pain, mental or physical, is usually at the root of suicide.  In some cases I suppose it can be done  for retribution or punishment to those left behind.  A "They'll be sorry when I'm no longer around" reasoning. 

Humans, in their cognitive reasoning, will sometimes bet their life on the unknown rather than suffer the known for one more minute. In our human wisdom, logic and awareness we figure that anything is better than what we are experiencing now, so we bet our very lives on it.  

Here are some sobering statistics:

• Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States.
• Every day, approximately 105 Americans die by suicide. (CDC)
• There is one death by suicide in the US every 13 minutes. (CDC)
• Suicide takes the lives of over 38,000 Americans every year. (CDC)
• There is one suicide for every estimated 25 suicide attempts. 

In the US every 13 minutes 26 people attempt suicide while only one is successful. If you don't want to do the math, that means that each year approximately 950,000 people attempt to kill themselves. People who never tell anyone they failed at an attempted suicide obviously can't be measured.  Perhaps that number is a million or so. 

Depression accounts for the majority of suicides.  The statistics of untreated depression is also staggering:

• Depression affects 20-25% of Americans ages 18+ in a given year. (CDC)

• Only half of all Americans experiencing an episode of major depression receive treatment. (NAMI)
• 80% -90% of people that seek treatment for depression are treated successfully using therapy and/or medication.

How do you process this information? I know I am a person who fights depression. I hope I am in the 80% to 90% for whom current treatment is successful. But even with help, the darkness is always just one light switch away. As my friend Cy indicated in her last letter to us, it is a matter of treading water constantly.  That effort became too much for her last Saturday.  

If you are unhappy most of the time. If you are joyful one minute but dreadful the next. If that swing is not under your control. If your inner dialogue won't let your consciousness be calm... seek professional for help.  There is nothing wrong with asking for and getting help. Most of the time it is a momentary condition that you will get over like the common cold.  In some cases it may be chronic and you will need medication.  A mental professional will be able to know the difference.  Don't try and diagnosis yourself the symptoms are not as clear as a cough, rash or elevated temperature.

There is such a stigma toward drugs that help us cope with depression.  Those of us who need them must really be crazy and totally messed up if we need medication just to seem normal.  Why is  insulin for diabetes not seen in the same way. Insulin is a drug that is designed to regulate the chemicals in the body so they function normally. Without the drug the diabetic could die. Drugs for depression are designed to regulate the chemicals in your brain to help it function normally.  Without psychiatric drugs the depressive could die as well, and usually by his own hand. 

I don't know what is on the other side. No one does. There will be plenty of people who claim to know based on a dogmatic belief. Their guess is no better than any other. 

I do know based upon the empirical evidence, all around us, that Life is hard wired to keep living independently AND human intelligence is not great enough to inform us when we need to move on. The world will always be a better place because you are here, do whatever you can to BE HERE NOW and find your peace of consciousness. 

As you were,

Jay 

Cy Brinson

Before she changed her name to Cy she was Cindy Brinson to me. We both came from Dallas and her Uncle was my older Brother's boss during his college days.  Cindy was a singer and a piano player and we both ended up in Houston working for the Astroworld live show department after college.  When I reported to rehearsal in the Summer of 1971 Cindy was my only friend.  She was now married to Trey Wilson whom I would come to admire as one of the most talented people I have ever known.

I remember distinctly one evening as we left rehearsals Cindy said to me, "This is going to be a great summer.  Sandi Asbury said working with you was going to be a blast."  

"Sandi.. the beautiful dancer said that?"  I replied in astonishment.  I had an immediate crush on Sandi but had no idea she even knew I was in the cast.  I suddenly thought I might have a chance with her. Turns out a year later Sandi and I were married. (by the same preacher who married Cindy and Trey)

Cindy played the piano during the five shows a day we did at the Crystal Palace.  She was the one who observed every show and every prank we played first hand.  Some of the time we were doing things on stage just to crack Cindy up.  She had the greatest smile.

Cindy even went with Sandi and a group of University of Houston performers on a USO tour for two months the Christmas before we were married. Sandi and I lived in Houston for a couple of years and saw Cindy and Trey on a regular basis.

Cindy stayed in Houston as Sandi and I left for Hollywood.  Most of the kids from the USO tour were making their way to the coast to pursue show business. Cindy stayed and became a highly acclaimed jazz musician jumping head first into her music.  She changed her name when she and Trey were divorced. 

We would hear rumors about Cy Brinson and her popularity in Houston, but eventually lost touch personally. Typical show business, you meet, you laugh, you love and you leave. Friends forever even if you never see them again. 

A year ago I got an email from Cy Brinson it was out of the blue after 40 years of radio silence.  It was a long letter catching up on what she had been doing for these last decades.  The story included a incident during a tour her group was playing in Russia.  It seems that two of the guys in her group were gay.  As she and the two guys were walking back to their Hotel after dinner one night, they were attacked by some homophobic Russian bullies.  They beat up the two gay men severely and when Cy went to help, the hoodlums threw her to the sidewalk where she hit her head on the curb.  As it turned out she was hurt more seriously than the guys but she didn't know it at the time.  

After experiencing head aches and sever anxiety she went to her Doctor back in Texas.  He concluded that the injury to her head had damaged her brain severely, and these headaches and depression were symptoms of that incident.  There was nothing to be done but prescribe medications to help with the side effects.

Her letter went on to say that she went to a family cabin in the woods to recuperate and basically became a hermit. There she developed even more symptoms.  She became agoraphobic and could not be in a crowd of more than three people. She lost all interest in the piano and singing but developed hypergraphia, a condition that caused her to write and drawn compulsively.  She was either writing or drawing the entire time she was awake each day. She finished several books and hundreds of paintings.  She had come through that phase and was now reaching out to reconnect with her old friends.  We continued to email back and forth.  She became a fan of my blog commenting occasionally and that is the way it was until about 5 months ago.

That's when I got a friend request from Cy Brinson on FaceBook. I quickly accepted and directed her to some of her other friends I knew were on Facebook.  Over these last few months she posted pictures of herself and her art work and old black and white photos from the USO tour.  It was great to be back in touch with Cy... Cindy.  I thought this was perhaps the best use for Facebook, a person who wants to reconnect with old friends but could not be with more than three of them at a time in real life.  All of us were so happy to be back in touch with Cy.  It seemed like an empty space in our hearts had been restored.  

Last week in an effort to think about my own spiritual leanings I wrote a blog on my idea of Life Eternal. Cy wrote a comment:  

Cy Brinson Your timing was perfect for me today. Thank you. Thank you. Did I say, "Thank you?"

April 10 at 7:46am · Unlike · 1

The thumbs up "like" was mine.  It was the last communication we had. A week later (last Saturday morning) she took her own life breathing helium until she went to sleep and never woke up. The official cause of death was self inflicted suffixation. It was planned in every small detail and she left a letter to all of us to "explain". In fact, the reaching out to all her old friends and joining Facebook was part of that plan.  We didn't know she was saying good bye. 

Her best friend said  "In Cy's world Saturday (the day she died) was a great day." 

It was the depression that finally got her.  That feeling of hopelessness that never goes away in spite of any happy circumstances.  She said she could not cope with it any more. In her letter she said, "It is difficult when people all around you say, you seem so happy.  You don't seem depressed."  She made the analogy that is was like treading water as hard as you can in the ocean just to keep from drowning and people on a passing cruise ship see you out there.  They smile and wave and assume you are having as good of a time as they are.  It is the classic dismissal most people give to depression.

It is very hard on those who "knew her when" to reconnect with her only to have that connection severed so quickly.  Music, Art, Literature, Laughter and happiness have all taken a huge hit with her exit.  The event that caused her so much anguish was the result of cruel intolerance and violence, two ideas that Cy most certainly did not indulge in. A beautiful friend, who was a loving and kind soul. It is tragic on so many levels.

We all miss you Cy/ Cindy,

Jay

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Duty Calls

I will not be posting for a few days. Here is the reason.... it's absolutely true and I want to make it sound as mysterious as possible.  

I have been called to serve my country.  I can't say any more about the mission now. However, I've been given permission to write about it with photographs,  but only after I am back.

Tomorrow I catch a plane that will land on an Air Craft Carrier at Sea.  I'm not sure where it is, they didn't say and I didn't ask. I won't be alone. Most of the members of the squad are good friends but I don't know the guys they call Ghost. (If you know the theme song to "Mission Impossible" or know any of the James Bond music... now would be a good time to play that theme in your head while I tell you the rest)

None of the people I am traveling with know that I have been on a mission like this before and on this same Carrier.  We have a few days to come together as a unit, perform our duties and be successful.

We could face danger....(if you still have the music playing in your head picture Bryan Williams saying the rest)

I was told by some one representing the Admiral that this trip would be an Adventure for all of us.  I looked up the actual definition of ADVENTURE and it is: an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risk. Am I afraid? This is not a cruise ship. This is an armed nuclear powered Air Craft carrier. Of course - I know this is the real thing but, I actually feel very comfortable with the United States Navy in charge. 

My brother tells me the two of  us visited our Dad when he was a Commander on a WW2 Air Craft Carrier.  I was too young to remember. My Dad was defined in some ways by his career in the Navy, so I have always known there is US Navy in my blood.  This time I plan to make sure I absorb it in every detail. 

Mysterious enough... all true. More later.

As you were,

Jay

And now for something Different

This is the text picture I got from my Son on Sunday Evening.  His first refrigerator in his own apartment. He got a good deal and free delivery, on a Sunday in the span of an hour and a half of purchase. I knew this was one of those adult/parent moments that social media was made for:  Getting a refrigerator in your apartment means you have officially moved in.  I "stickered" him back a thumbs up icon. We shared a Father/Son moment digitally.

Before ---

Perhaps it's my dyslexia but I realized the problem immediately upon seeing the picture of the refrigerator in place. Soon he would realized it as well. I wondered if we were having the same thoughts. The realization that sometimes when you get a quick bargain it comes with surprises. All sales final means you have to live with your mistakes. The one thing you need in a small kitchen is correct use of space.

I didn't wait very long to Text him back.

"It opens the wrong way but that can be changed."

I didn't know for sure the hinge of a refrigerator door could be reversed. I never did it before nor even considered the possibility. It was my Fatherly way of saying "don't worry, it will work out." My intent was to try and "fix" it the next day although I was not sure what that meant.  In that moment I flashed on my own Dad coming to my house to "help me" fix something.  I had a mental file of tainted memories of these times and it was not a pleasant one.

Those encounters never seemed to occur drama free. The job eventually was done but not before emotions and often breakables were sacrificed.  Unfortunately my boys saw much of the same behavior from me as they were growing up.  I have a better since of mechanics than my Dad, and I am better with hand tools, than my Dad. But my short fuse approach to common repairs is definitely his method.

This method starts with the tools used. All repairs should be done with a screw driver, a hammer and a pair of pliers. All other tools are "a lazy mans way of doing things. When I grew up we didn't have the money to buy fancy tools" he would say.  At some point neither the hammer nor the screw driver would be right for the task. If pliers could not accomplish it,  my Dad moved to Defcon 2.  This meant cursing loudly, screaming at the problem loudly, throwing the hammer and yelling the "Stupid thing is impossible to fix."  Only then, after cleaning up whatever the hammer broke, would the solution come clear on how to handle the task.  I think I learned that pattern a little too well growing up.

With that in mind I go to the apartment to survey the project.  It seems like a socket wrench and Phillips screw driver would be all that is needed. Although a YouTube video tutorial on how to re-hang a Refrigerator door suggested I would need a special kind of screwdriver with a six pointed star driver.  I thought I had that as well. So back to my house to get the tools and return to attempt a project for/and/with my Son. 

The cheap socket driver I had for the appropriate bolt size was plastic and broke before the third bolt was loosened.  My Son saw what happened and took a step back.  I felt that old pattern coming up from the tips of my fingers. The words "Stupid thing" were forming in my mind, but I did something I had never done before.  I laughed.  (Probably because I had no hammer to throw).  The calm helped me figure out a rag tag way to secure the socket bit to another driver... (Also cheap and not well constructed)  It would work for a moment then it would slip and all the parts would fall on the floor. All effort stopped to re-arrange the parts and tool. The fourth or fifth time this happened I was ready to explode. My grown Son was watching and waiting for it.  In his eyes I saw myself watching my Father from the past in a similar situation. But for some reason it was still funny to me. Seeing it as humorous kept it from seeming impossible. Finally the make shift driver broke as well and the project was stalled.  The doors were off the refrigerator and parts were carefully placed in the order they came off. My Son had taken pictures of the steps, but until we got a tool that could finish the job we were stuck.

We made our way to the hardware store.  I remembered that my boys never did care to go with me to the hardware store in the past.  Here we were on a pleasant trip to find a solution to a common problem. Something was different and I knew it. It was because so far a Johnson meltdown had not occurred.  

I found the perfect tool for the job, a Black and Decker 1/4" socket wrench.  Not inexpensive but perfect for what was needed. We returned to the door less Refrigerator. 

After---

Before we left it seemed like a simple task to just reverse the hardware like a mirror image of the original and put the doors back.  But the break had confused us both, and combined with my dyslexia I spent some time doing the wrong thing. In one case I put a hinge right back on the place I had taken it from an hour before. But I was on a roll now, I was determined to break a pattern of behavior and not break something in my Son's new apartment.  The final three screws were eventually tightened and it was fixed. In that instant the small kitchen had twice the room with the Refrigerator door open. And one could actually open it  and look inside without hiding in the corner and sucking in your gut. 

Lesson learned here. I hope it is a change in the way I approach things in the future. My Son said, "I had no idea that could be done, I thought I was just going to have to live with it that way."  I agreed but I think he was talking about the Refrigerator doors.

As you were,

Jay