Trust and Respect

Trust and Respect

 

 

It appears some of you haven't noticed, and others because of ideology, that we can't face the reality that our freedoms and way of life are being diminished every day. In cities like Portland and San Francisco, residents live amongst thousands of homeless and mentally ill with feces and drug paraphernalia on the sidewalks. In New York, addicts shoot up in broad daylight while others defecate in store fronts.      

 

NO RESPECT for our borders and sovereignty. NO TRUST in the government by those emboldened and accountable to keep our borders sealed. Our children are more likely to be shot than obtain a good education.

 

NO RESPECT! NO TRUST!

 

I clearly remember the learning process as a child in the 1950s involved consistent guidance on the importance of morality, respecting others, and being respected. This information came from our parents, family members, spiritual leaders, and even adults in the neighborhood. Respect was an important commodity. The reverential treatment of the many immigrants who came here with nothing, yet still created wonderful lives while remaining humble and gracious was born out of a deep respect for all they had achieved. They remained good, moral people who were trusted and respected.

 

When I was 14 years old, I had the honor of working for one of those respected and trusted people in the community. Izzy wasn't a big man in stature standing barely 5' 2" tall, nor was he wealthy or handsome; however, the latter observations were rarely noticed once you met him. He always shook your hand and looked into your eyes with a thoughtful kindness that was compelling. His broken English was endearing and always calm. 

 

While working with him, I delivered groceries, stocked merchandise, and did whatever else was needed in his small grocery store on 166th Street just off of Sheridan Avenue in the Bronx. Early in my employment, I asked Izzy what the tattooed numbers on his arm meant. His reply was overwhelming to me and I couldn't understand why he wasn't full of rage and bitterness for the horrific treatment he and his family had endured. 

 

In the aftermath of the Holocaust, he chose to create a new life out of nothing remaining a humble, kind, proud man who instilled in me the importance of respecting others and to never cheat yourself or your employer out of a full day’s work. Trust is established over time through consistent behavior, honesty, and estimable acts. It is something one should not demand of others for it is earned. Trust must prevail for relationships to survive. It is a blessing providing both comfort to the soul and well-being to the heart.

 

I wouldn't be surprised if some of our youth today have rarely known the gratification associated with trusting and respecting others. Sadly, for some, that includes their parents. Nor have these youth experienced the emotions associated with feeling trusted and respected themselves. Trust, honor, and respect were virtues first learned in the home from our parents. 

 

Virtues like pride in a hard day’s work, gratitude, courtesy, and kindness, 

are unfortunately disappearing in this new culture.

 

There is a major shift in the mindset of Americans who once aspired to live by the words of John F. Kennedy in his inaugural speech, "Ask not what your country can do for you - Ask what you can do for your country."  This sensibility is a relic of a time when most Americans were proud of their country and grateful for the opportunities it offered them. Many Americans still live by that creed, but unfortunately, far too many feel the country owes them anything and everything. The love of hard work and the pride that comes with supporting your family is gone for far too many.

 

PRIDE? There's the P in FREE!  

 

The concept of respect has been diluted, and possibly abducted, by its evil twin--disrespect. In today's world, many feel powerless, diminished, and disregarded by the government, their employers, and by society as a whole. Some violence is perpetuated under the guise of retribution for being disrespected by an individual or group. More often than not, references to discord will be associated with individuals feeling they have been disrespected.

 

It seems the psyche of some of the populace doesn't understand nor embrace the concept of respect, but instead views it as something you take, control, and acquire through fear! 

In this America, the war cry is for stealing, burning, violence, and even homicide all labeled as consequence of disrespect.In their world, you earn respect by fear. 

 

We are also dealing with the “Cancel Culture” where truth, character, and self-respect are often insignificant. These once admired qualities are now handicaps that will put you and your family in jeopardy. The driving force keeping us in line is based on fear—shut up and support the lies, illegal acts, and whatever else you're told to do, or you will be cancelled and ruined. Morals, honor, trust, and respect are flaws in the new ideology of power and wealth at any cost. Even the destruction of American citizens and America are on the table. There is nothing more pathetic than extremely old white men trying to be cool and woke at the cost of their dignity and honor. Clad in thousand-dollar suits and diapers from Walgreens, these men would walk on fire to stay in power a while longer. Their archaic minds are far removed from a time when respect and trust meant everything.

 

Our institutions of higher learning are more in keeping with the philosophy of China and Russia in that the students are bombarded with just one political point of view leaving no room for conversation or debate. 

 

This is not education, it's indoctrination!

 

Not even the brightest minds in the world are welcome at most universities to enlighten our youngest minds if their message alters from the party line. When will the disrespectful and dishonest woke agendas be exposed? 

 

We live in a time where there is very little accountability or consequences for bad and/or illegal acts by society, police, clergy, teachers, and our trusted leaders in government. 

 

·      How can we expect our youth, some with little education and limited parental guidance, to aspire to become business owners and entrepreneurs when they can steal anything they want with no repercussions?  

·      Are we creating a culture of youth whose norm is crime, guns, burning, looting, and drugs?

·      Why would a young entrepreneur risk opening a retail business when looters and shoplifters can steal up to $900 of their merchandise every day, all day long, without it being a crime? 

 

Not to mention, there is the possibility that looters might decide to burn down the building! Who in their right mind would put every penny they have and go into debt for a business that is not protected by either their law enforcement or elected officials? Is a crime still a crime if there are no prosecutions?

 

I’m 81 years old and grateful I won’t be around for the shit storm that will inevitably happen if these old hacks keep getting elected. 

 

On a personal level, I am concerned for the well-being of my new electric scooter considering the pathetic thieves behind me who have stolen scooters from the handicapped and elderly people. NO RESPECT!

A View from the Peanut Gallery

 A View from the Peanut Gallery 

 

Induction Criteria?

Does the subjective induction criteria of The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (aka, The Rock Hall) echo the beginnings of Rock when artists were cheated, ripped off, and marginalized?

Initially, I don't believe this was the intent. The Rock Hall was at first a DREAM—a vision of men and women whose primary purpose was to honor not just musicians, but all of those who gave so much to build and expand the music industry. It was initially meant to honor those reaching milestones of both artistic and commercial success that advanced the medium as well as those who raised the bar artistically, economically, and/or socially for those to come. Unfortunately, that is not their mission today. 

 

I'm finding it difficult to arrive at a positive reason for which The Rock Hall chose to establish a more subjective and arbitrary standard for nominations and induction instead of using the already existing and recognized criteria being utilized by other Hall of Fames. Instead, The Rock Hall saw fit to reinvent the wheel and established precarious guidelines void of tedious and mundane facts, milestones, and statistics. 

 

I imagine vetted data and factual evidence of achievements would hinder one's ability to honor those who would not endure actual standards and impartial scrutiny, hindering The Rock Hall from continuing their nepotism. The inconsistent actions of these voyeurs of Rock & Roll are suspect, and unfortunately reminiscent, of the carpetbaggers who arrived on the Rock scene in its infancy. Reflecting on those opportunists who viewed not only this new genre, but also the young musicians who created it as naive and vulnerable, maneuvered many into unethical contracts leaving behind broken dreams and empty pockets. Those were the days when Rock & Roll was similar to war in that it was built on the backs of the disposable. It appears far too many worthy artists who built Rock & Roll are still viewed as disposable. 

 

That being said, the subjective nature of this induction process opens the door for prejudice, favoritism, and compromise which affords all concerned the flexibility to ignore their own guidelines and predilections. The reality is these individuals are still prevalent in, and around, music. Sadly, it appears some have found a home at The Rock Hall. They exhibit a Pavlovian dislike, and visceral reaction, to hugely successful artists that in their view are insignificant, commercial, or ineligible for reasons only they are privy to. 

 

Instead, they fondle and induct acts who have never penned or recorded a charted record throughout their career. One of these artists was inducted on their first year of eligibility despite the fact it took 38 years for their first album released in 1976 to be certified Gold.

 

The Beatles had to wait two years after their eligibility before they were inducted!

 

The latter is a testament to how bogus the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s induction process is!

Collaboration Creates Magic

 

It has been noted there are individuals at The Rock Hall who frown upon artists who didn't pen their own material; thereby, ignoring the historical evidence that early Rock records were actually covers of old blues songs and standards from previous generations adapted to fit this new genre! 

 

This collaboration between writers and artists enabled Rock & Roll to evolve and mature. In New York City alone, writers like Goffin & King, Bacharach & David, Mann & Weil, and Lieber & Stoller developed relationships with artists such as The Drifters, The Righteous Brothers, The Ronettes, Elvis Presley, and more. These collaborations led to “Up on the Roof,” “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’,” “Be My Baby,” “Hound Dog,” and many other hit songs! What is the rationale, the process, in deciding to honor one while ignoring the other?

 

The aforementioned composers were also involved in the British invasion contributing "Don't Bring Me Down" and "We've Gotta Get out of This Place" for Eric Burdon and The Animals (a 1994 inductee,) "I'm Into Something Good" for Herman's Hermits, as well as songs for Marianne Faithfull, Manfred Mann, and Dusty Springfield (a 1999 inductee.) This ongoing partnership between artists and writers has continued, and will continue, to influence and guide new artists to understand and respect that the partnership between a great song and a great artist is magical.

 

Many great Rock & Roll artists who did not write their music rightfully avoided this scrutiny and have been inducted into the Rock Hall. This list includes, but is not limited to, Jackie Wilson, Janis Joplin, The Temptations, The Supremes, The Drifters, The Four Tops, and “The King” himself—Elvis Presley! I estimate that 90% of all Motown artists utilized a team of great writers made available to them by the label. Philadelphia International Records, whose artists included The O’Jays, Patti LaBelle, The Stylistics, and Teddy Pendergrass, also had most of their songs penned for their artists.

 

Another unfortunate fact is that many artists who were instrumental in creating and furthering the different genres that made up Rock & Roll in its infancy are being passed over simply because of their limited ability to sell tickets to the Induction Ceremony. Some years ago, a doo-wop group was bumped even though they had more votes than the act which replaced them. In 2007, Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five, who are ARGUABLY NOT Rock & Roll and barely fulfilled the 25-year eligibility criteria, were inducted! The Rock Hall lied, manipulated, and stole an award from a group who earned it and gave it to another with the only criteria being their ability to sell tickets to the award ceremony! This is just one more reason that The Rock Hall is an embarrassment and bogus.

 

To note, doo-wop was overlooked until 2000 when 50 black doo-wop groups were recognized. Unfortunately, doo-wop groups such as The Skyliners, The Duprees, or Dion and the Belmonts were not recognized.

 

The Rock Hall doesn't feel Gold and Platinum Awards, industry milestones, and record-breaking crowds alone are appropriate guidelines for acceptance to The Rock Hall, but instead prefer conjecture, opinion, personal taste, and the artists' influence on Rock & Roll which is totally subjective. 

 

A Synchronicity of Influences

Each new sound, new song, or new artist is composed of a cornucopia of musical influences presented in a fresh new way! We are all linked by our love and respect for music as well as the individuals that bring it to life. 

 

We have inevitably been influenced by and/or emulated an artist we have never actually seen; however, we are inspired by musicians mimicking and emulating these artists, over and over again as one artist inspires another gradually morphing from one genre to another and so on, etc., ad infinitum.

 

So, who influenced whom? And, if you actually could figure that out, should that one factor be a criterion to keep one from being inducted into The Rock Hall?

Diamond in the Rough

 

 

A Diamond In The Rough

In 1902, construction on The Home For Friendless Children was completed in the Highbridge neighborhood of the Bronx. The American Female Guardian Society erected this huge and beautiful Beaux-Arts styled building to house and care for abandoned and abused children. This facility was one of the, if not the, most advanced residences built specifically for children in need in America. Woodycrest accommodated 120 children with five dormitories, a hospital, a kindergarten, a chapel, a dining room, a gymnasium, an indoor swimming pool, and a quarantine ward for new arrivals. 

 

Architect William B. Tuthill skillfully designed the structure to appear to be a mansion and not an institution. Mr. Tuthill was a renowned and often sought-after architect. He designed the world-famous Carnegie Hall so his work commanded high fees. In spite of the cost, the American Female Guardian Society insisted children in need grow up in a beautiful and safe environment. Sadly, many orphanages were in decline and unsafe as the bigger and older kids preyed on younger and smaller children. The mortality rates in these institutions were not much better than on the streets. Woodycrest was a safe environment to learn and build a new life for ones’ self. It was a true diamond in the rough!

 

I've written about the following drama before in my book "Three Dog Nightmare" and again in a story on my blog entitled "Twins Forever" ; however, as I find myself closer to the end than the beginning of my blessed and magical life, more has been revealed. I'm now able to contribute some context to this tired old tale with some new relevant information on the most devastating time in my life. 

 

Alone

Normally, my day began awakening to an empty apartment. We lived in 4F at 1051 Sherman Avenue in the Bronx. My mother had already left for work and my twin sister, Nancy, was off to school. People were banging on the radiator with hammers and other objects in hopes of waking the super (superintendent of the building.) Others were yelling, “Put some coal on the fire you lazy bum!”

 

Cereal was usually available for breakfast; however, having on a few occasions eaten cockroaches living in the Raisin Bran, I left for school without eating anything. My mother always left me lunch money.

 

By the age of six, I stopped attending school to avoid the gut-wrenching anxiety, fear, and shame I endured attending class. It had become unbearable to continue being the stupid kid, the joke, the victim. At the time, I didn't understand why I was confused simply trying to tie my shoes and why I couldn't read like my sister, Nancy, and other classmates. I couldn't spell but a few words and barely understood math. Everything seemed upside down, inside out, and backwards.

 

A teacher is someone you respect and desire their approval. One day, in hopes of achieving that goal, I excitedly approached Mrs. Kraft’s desk at PS 90 Elementary School to inform her that I had won a medal at the school track meet. I was not prepared for what followed for it was the first time I was knowingly discarded and unwanted by someone. An adult, a teacher nonetheless, had given up on a six-year-old child seeing no worth in me. She looked down on me smiling with an indifference, with a meanness I couldn't understand, and said, "Well, at least you can do something Charles."

 

The day I decided I could no longer handle the stress of the third grade came after I misspelled a word in a class spelling bee causing my group to be eliminated. Thankfully, it was time for recess and fun in the schoolyard. One of the boys in my class had a handicap. He had one arm bent and shorter than the other. Two boys began making fun of him and I automatically reacted and stopped them. After they left, I asked him if he was alright. Instead of replying to me, he turned to his friend and stated, "This is the kid I told you can't even spell yes." Shame and hurt rushed through me followed by anger and the desire to hurt that boy. Instead, I left the school and didn't return for the better part of two years.

 

Being alone suited me. I thrived on the solitude and anonymity on the streets. The sounds of the city were like music to me and I was comforted by its rhythm. I wandered in and out of different neighborhoods inhabited by people of all colors, nationalities, and speaking many different languages. I sometimes walked for hours stopping to watch older boys and grownups playing handball, cards, craps, or bocce ball. What really lit me up was watching the fierce competition on the basketball court and baseball fields, not to mention the magical sound of Doo Wop echoing through the allies, hallways, subway stations, and street corners of this fantastic borough of New York. I truly can't remember ever being stopped by the police or even any adults asking what I was doing alone on the street and not in school. 

 

Street Craps

One day I stopped by a crowd of people watching several men playing what I found out later was street craps. Colorful language and loud aggressive voices seemed to endlessly bounce off the walls of the buildings. The shooter—the player rolling the dice—was aggressively shaking the dice in his hand and talking a lot, but I really didn't understand him.

 

When he finally bent over and rolled the dice, another die fell out of his pocket onto the ground. This initiated a frightening silence that lasted just seconds before an explosion of ugliness and violence began. This was the first time I witnessed a knife being pulled on someone. I ran away and didn't look back.

 

One morning during school hours, I noticed a friend’s mother across the street at a 

market. I was paranoid she had spotted me and would inform my mother. Now, the stress of being found out was becoming as stressful as attending school. Each day, the pressure mounted wondering if the school had contacted my mother again or if I'd been exposed by a neighbor. That's when I decided not to leave our apartment at all and remained there until school was let out at 3 PM.

 

The school periodically informed my mother of my truancy and she had to meet with the principal on a few occasions; however, she was more upset about missing work than my truancy and learning difficulties. It was confusing to me not being hit and yelled at, but my mother did possess the ability to wait before dispensing her justice—her form of psychological torture. The root causes of my truancy, my fear, and anxiety due to my learning disability were never addressed. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had already begun looking into a resolution to my truancy and a punishment—her retribution for disrupting her life. 

 

I was unaware of my ability to separate, compartmentalize, and move forward from one situation to another without carrying baggage from the previous circumstances, but it served me well. I was grateful to receive happiness wherever and whenever I found it. I believed, and always had faith, that a higher power watched after me—God!

 

I learned how to comfort myself with sports, neighborhood friends, and girls! 

 

My first validation came from a girl and I continued 

to enjoy the friendship of those who thought I was special. 

Girls are the best!

 

Most evenings around 6 PM my mother made the walk from the subway station to our apartment bringing her past the schoolyard I played in. She would yell out, “Charlie, be home in half an hour,” or, “Charlie, come home now!” It wouldn't be long now before I found out my fate. I might be verbally attacked, hit and told to get the belt, or nothing would be said if she hadn't been contacted. My mother rarely, if ever, spoke to us on an emotional level. If I was upset, scared, or hurt, I cried alone in the kitchen until my sister came to comfort me.

 

Some evenings, Nancy and I went to bed before mom got home, but it wasn't a big deal for we never had a children's book read to us before bed nor were we kissed goodnight. Going to bed alone was our normal. I wasn't aware that most parents spent time with their children at bedtime until some years later when we had a TV and I witnessed this special time between parents and their children on the television. I won't say we weren't loved, but somewhere in between.

 

One evening, my mother informed Nancy and I we were going out. It was exciting to have an excursion at night. No explanation or destination was given, but nevertheless, it was thrilling that all of us were going out together. Unbeknownst to me, my sister had been briefed and prepared well in advance for what was to follow concerning our destination and our future for the coming years. Nancy was told not to let me know and I wouldn't be made aware of this secret for decades. 

 

We left the apartment and walked a few blocks to the Grand Concourse, a main thoroughfare in the Bronx. We began running and laughing as we tried to wave down a taxicab. Little did I know that we were heading to Woodycrest.

 

 

 

Years later, when I did learn the facts of that memorable night, I asked Nancy if she could forgive me for putting her through that dreadful experience. Her reply was unexpected and comforting. Nancy told me she really liked it there. It was nice not being alone anymore and having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with the girls in her dorm. She felt safe at Woodycrest and informed me that, at times, she was scared being alone in our apartment at night when mom hadn't come home and I was still in the schoolyard playing ball.

 

Perception Is Reality 

Woodycrest was no longer the gem it was almost 50 years ago, but it remained one of the best facilities of its kind. Being only eight-years-old and 3' 9", this huge building with its dramatic entryway was frightening and overwhelming. At this point, I didn't know why we were even there. 

 

This is where my penance came due, where the emotional and psychological corporal punishment would be disbursed. This punishment wouldn't be centered around traditional physical discipline, although that did happen for these wounds would be more permanent. Wounds and scars you couldn't see, but were always there, just below the surface inhibiting the ability to trust, to love, and to feel.

 

The modus operandi—the knockout punch—was, in fact, The Secret. Woodycrest would now be my home forever. It was the ruse that would break me, bringing me to my emotional knees, stripping away any remaining trust I had in people that I hung onto after my father left and didn't return. It changed who I could have been into who I would become. 

 

How is it possible for a parent to drop off their child at the 

front door of an orphanage without an explanation, 

a hug, kiss, or comforting word? How?

 

Having seen the confusion and terror on my face, how did my mother not waiver in her resolve? How could she not abandon her desire to punish me and decide to explain the circumstances truthfully? She didn't. I had to be taught a lesson. I had to pay for intruding in her life!

 

With her hand on my back, my mother urged me to go with the lady in charge, but I couldn't move. Mother firmly, but gently, moved me forward repeating for me to go with the lady. The women took my hand and softly explained everything would be fine as we walked towards a grand stairway. I turned back towards my mother, but she was already gone.

 

Spiritual Heads Up

During the process of writing this, I've been physically compromised due to my COPD. For the last month or so, I've been on heavy doses of steroids and antibiotics. More recently, I started nebulizer treatments several times a day. The latter isn't the core of what I want to share with you, but it is a catalyst. I'll explain what happened that guided me to the reality that it is time to stop allowing this part of my life, this resentment, to be responsible for more negative consequences to me and my life! 

 

While quietly sitting in my favorite chair, I experienced a visualization in my mind’s eye. The clarity of the message opened my mind and my heart.

 

You will never remove all the sickness 

from your body and mind until you forgive your mother. 

Forgiveness is the only avenue to your freedom.

 

Forgiveness is the answer to set me free, to unlock the cell I entered willingly by embracing my resentment and bitterness towards my mother. The key resides with my mother and to retrieve it I must forgive her. 

 

Acceptance can be daunting, even nonexistent, if you are lacking in faith and a healthy spiritual connection to a higher power. Accepting that my resentment, well-founded as it might be, has drastically skewed how I see others and how it has negatively affected my mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing are the first steps to surrender and forgiveness.