Vote for Joe

I met with an absolutely fascinating teacher in Rawlins, Wyoming today. Dave Chladeck teaches at a Cooperative High School here for students struggling with regular high school – because of pregnancy, drugs and alcohol, attention deficit disorder… Before, virtually 10 out of 10 of these types of students who would initially drop out — never graduate. Now it’s close to 4 out of 10 thanks to the program. Chladeck, who has taught at this school for five years, said he attributes a lot of the success rate to using a “Boys Town Discipline.” Patterend after the Boy’s Town model out of Nebraska, acting out students aren’t merely given short, sclolding reprimands (“Ralph Knock It Off!) ; but are rather engaged in (sometimes lengthy) dialogue about what might be causing the negative behavior, how it could be averted in the future, and so on. Chladeck said he doubted initially that this would work, but he said it has been marvelously. And what’s more, many of the students’ self esteem levels seem to be building in kind with the approach.

In Rawlins, Wyoming, I met with Terry Weickum, who is running for county commissioner. He had run for city council previously, and lost by 8 votes. He said he’s quite studied on the issues of the area and likes to shoot from the hip, so to speak. “Trying to be ‘politically correct’ kills me,” he said. He is running as a Republican, but if he’s elected he said that’s where partisan politics will stop. He said if he hears a good idea, whether it comes from a Republican, Democrat, or whoever, he’ll get behind it. “Congress should run that way as well,” he said with conviction.

After being interviewed by the editor of the Intermountain Catholic newspaper, we headed to Heber City, Utah where we attended a seminar by a professor from Bellerman University. Fr. George talked about the rather famous, late monk and author Thomas Merton and his efforts at promoting peace. Merton was adverse to weapons, and especially nuclear weapons. Fr. George said Merton noted that war propaganda most always has it that: The enemy’s bombs are always from “Hell,” while our bombs are always the instrument of “Divine Justice.” And as far back as the 1960s, Fr. George said Merton noted when a society was rife with all kinds of sin (drugs, violence, illicit sex, rampant materialism…), it goes into denial. And part of this denial is not being able to face the “evil” within, so the society picks a scapegoat without and calls it “evil” — so it has something to fight and get it’s collective mind off it’s own problems. Sound familiar?

We stopped back in Winnemucca, Nevada, where we met with the mayor. He said when he first became mayor 18 years ago, most streets were gravel, the downtown was a hodge-podge of residential trailers and mercantile buildings and the city government was, oh, lacking in a bit of efficiency. Now he said the streets are paved, there is a solid, consistent downtown mecantile section and a much more well-oiled government. He said a key has been having a dedicated Planning Commission, improved camaraderia between the mayor’s office and city council and good, old-fashion volunteerism throughout town. Later I was invited to Winnemucca’s Senior Center where I was introduced by the director, then I went table to table shaking hands and passing out literature. I said part of how we viewed “social security” was not just about a fund, but also about reestablishing the elderly as esteemed members of the community, as it was in the “old days,” and as it is still in other cultures. I said that in the old days, young children used to gather around pot belly stoves in General Stores watching the seniors playing checkers and telling stories. Not anymore. However I said, wouldn’t it be great if Senior Centers started reviving this a bit with, say, weekly story telling nights the town youth could attend. At one table today I met a retired social worker who has two daughters living in Fairbanks, Alaska. I gave him some extra campaign fliers to send to them. “You mean you’re not going to campaign in Alaska?” He asked. I said Liz and I would like to, but I pointed to our three young children and said of the Alaskan Highway: “Three hundred miles between ‘potty stops!'”

We took Liz’s parent to San Francisco International Airport, and after a tearful goodbye, we headed into the city where I interviewed a fascinating couple visiting from Denmark. They said the longest prison sentence in Denmark, no matter what you’ve done, is 17 years. And there is a quite comprehensive effort at rehabilitation (education, mental health counseling, and so on) while the person is incarcerated. I told the couple we, too, lean heavily toward this type of “restorative justice,” because people often don’t commit crimes in a vacuum. They either come out of disadvantaged situations, or are plagued with mental disorders, or addictive/compulsive conditions… and once these are addressed at their roots, the problems often clear up. What’s more, each life is imminently important to God, we believe, and each person should be treated with the utmost dignity — not merely left in “dead-end” warehousing in a prison. I mean, they’re all God’s kids. Right? …We then headed inot the heart of the city, taking in a bustling China Town, crossed through a “Little Italy” section and stopped for Mass at Notre Dame Church, only to find it was in French. Liz commented about how refreshingly rich in diversity San Francisco is. And after the diversity, perhaps the second most noticeable thing is: the homeless. While here, we spent a good deal of time talking to the homeless, listening to their stories. One man, John, appeared to be in his early 60s. He said he’d been homeless here the past 10 years, no family, he claimed, just an old suitcase he carried about. We had our ‘Jon’athan in a stroller and periodically I would ask Jonathon, 14 months, to “wave to Mr. John.” He didn’t. But each time I couldn’t help but think, really think, that this elderly, rather disheveled looking man, with yellowed uneven teeth, sunken eyes… was once a bright-eyed, young innocent baby — just like our Jonathan. As Jonathan and I walked the street before we met John, people stopped to wave to him, engage him in a smile… as people do. My guess is few try to engage this other John, in any way. Jonathan finally did, however. Engage “Mr. John,” that is. Jonathan, who can say “bye,” but no names, except “Mommy,” turned back as we started to walk off, waved, and said: “bye John.” God’s grace.