Old Fear, New Fear, Black Fear, Brown Fear, White Fear, Yellow Fear, Masculine Fear, Feminine Fear by Peter Reum

If the title of this blog entry sounds like a Dr. Seuss kids'  book, I assure you that it is meant to cause such a reaction. It is election season again. The high priests of the conservative and liberal bandwagons are telling voters what a disaster electing Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton would be, and what they and other candidate/s would take away from you or the religion or foreign country that wants to conquer you. Why anyone would want to lead the United States as President is not understandable to me. It takes a certain amount of self-worshipping and self-loathing to slog through the two years before a Presidential General Election in the USA. Often the people who would not touch running for President are the very people who are sanest and would do the best job (Dwight Eisenhower for example...yes, he was a Republican). Political Science is no longer discussed between friends, as civil discourse is no longer practiced.

After a dirty General Election, the wounds and bites Conservatives and Liberals have inflicted upon each other fester and make for a toxic  swill that prevents bipartisanship. People who are elected nationally are  running for re-election right after they take the oath of office for which they were elected. Newly elected Representatives and Senators are immediately courted by people and especially corporations who prostitute themselves in the hope that their point of view becomes national policy. Citizens United polluted the policy making process to an almost unfixable level of dysfunction.

As it stands now, we have two people nominated by the major Parties whose abilities to build consensus are questionable. Mr. Trump has no public service to speak of, and Ms. Clinton has put herself in a position where her posture vis-à-vis policy making looks like a child playing that old game Twister, where players become so contorted that eventually they inevitably collapse. There seems to be no energy anywhere to remediate this huge pastiche of the enactment of legislation and policy-making relationship with other countries. When cockroaches are more popular than the United States Congress, there's a problem. A group of baboons is called a congress...kinda makes me think....just sayin'......

When someone emerges as a new leader, such as President Obama, his or her initiatives are sabotaged by snipers from both sides of the political spectrum. Never mind that the political process of the United States was designed to build consensus and also weed out toxic decisions made by the Congress or Executive branches of the federal government. Quite candidly, I am now persuaded that the process of electing public servants (note the oxymoron here) is sufficiently polluted and compromised that the only remedies to solve the issues outlined are to abolish political parties, set limits on how long a public servant may be in office, and to finance elections through a transparent public process. That process would set limits for the funds the candidates desiring to run would receive through grants of a certain capped amount of money, depending upon the level of office to which such candidates would hope to be elected. The money would be awarded by a non-partisan board who serve under the condition that they will not run for office for a period of years after their period of service ends.

The State of Montana has limited the length of legislative sessions to approximately four months every other year, in the odd numbered year following State of Montana elections. Montana suffered extreme grift after the Copper Barons locked up the Montana Government with bribes and under-the-table disbursements of dirty money in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. The citizens of Montana overhauled the election and policy-making process so that the governmental arms of Montana would function with a minimum of dirty lobbying, with disciplinary processes to prosecute or remove politicians and policy-makers who  violate the rules enacted by citizens or the citizen legislature.

This has not lessened the ambition of rich fat cats to run for office in Montana. This year we have several millionaires running for legislative and executive positions in Montana government. The citizens of Montana have generally rejected the attempted bullying and subversive elements in various towns, counties, and regions of Montana. The most notorious of these types of organizations, such as the American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC) are funded directly from private money sources to provide model legislation that directly supports private interests with no beneficial outcomes for the public-at-large. 

Some of the proposals that have been proposed to combat the oligarchy that is the U.S. Congress and subterfuge by billionaires and corporations opposing legislation that is in the best interest of our families and future generations (e,g, Climate change denial) are included in a wonderful fact sheet put together by the Campaign for America's Future. This is a public interest group seeking to reduce the pap and propaganda such billionaires and corporations develop to pollute the political process, our nation's environment, and healthcare, amongst the vast amount of legislation, policy-making, and regulation that is not in the public's interest. If all you do is write a letter, sign a petition, or call a lawmaker or a policymaker, or visit their office, you will have learned more about the process of how legislation and policy-making regulations operate and directly touch you and your family, and the generations of your family to come.

Here is the link to the two page fact sheet to which I am referring, please copy it and place it in your chosen browser:

https://ourfuture.org/fact_sheet/koch-brothers-exposed-why-we-must-act-and-how


My best wishes to those of you who are still willing to try to fix what is broken in our political process, and my thanks to those of you who are already fixing what is broken.

Squandering Spirit by Peter Reum

There is no peace I can see
If not accompanied by humility
The fear of losing arguments
Must be replaced post haste
No one wants to be viewed as waste

It is hard to accept failures in life
Inner turmoil foreshadowing strife
Fear, what was then inner soil
Shame, making my blood boil
Anger filled a dreadful hole
Inside myself, a shrinking soul

Living free awaiting  climbs
Humbled by redemption sublime
Self-trust restored by reliance mine
Becomes faith attached to the divine
Sacred wishes begin to unfold
Making friends again and a wife to hold

Frightened by death, being frantic to cope
Hanging by a string,  I wonder, should I elope?
Trusting Higher Power greater than myself
Restores inner Spirit left on a shelf

Is it wrong to allow my life to extend
Once waiting to die, my prayers now depend
Upon finding the Spirit in each person I meet
Lowering walls my faith is now complete

Beach Boys Catalog Projects by Peter Reum

Roughly 4 years ago, I published an article in this blog advocating for an active catalog program that would do The Beach Boys music justice, but that would not include tapes  that would prove embarrassing for Brian and the group. In that time, we have seen an excellent boxed set, plus numerous downloads available through ITunes and Amazon. Nearly all of the studio projects I mentioned in the article have been released, as copyrights expire each year. The clan at Omnivore Records has licensed the Hite and Dorinda Morgan sessions for release in the next few months. After all of the false starts, the sessions will be released in their entirety, according to Brad Rosenberger of Omnivore. This fills a hole in the timeline for Beach Boy music that was historically empty.

As consumers of Beach Boys music, those of us who go beyond a casual interest have had a satisfying if not sequential opportunity to fill in the missing titles in the list of tracks that we know are around due to Capitol having paid for the sessions. The first seven years of the Beach Boys' recording history are generally either available now or will available be as each year's work needs to be released to save exclusive rights to those recordings. What was available from those 1962 to 1969 sessions was already in circulation due to the various Sea of Tunes sets from the late Nineties and early 2000s. In many ways, the Sea of Tunes sets showed the sheer volume of takes for major Beach Boys studio work for each song. Listening can be maddening. Personally, an example that drove me nuts was the 50+ takes of Christmas Day on the first Christmas Album. Alan probably was weary after trying to please Brian so many times.

For myself, the jewel from this program was the vocal sessions for The Beach Boys Party Album without the party noises. This reissue truly altered many people's opinion regarding the Party album. For myself, I found the package a delight. It helped me see how much planning went into making Party an informal sounding recording. That the sessions were so productive may rest in the less directive tone Brian took as producer with the other group members, relaxing them and thereby helping them REALLY relax and enjoy the informality the Party project demanded.

The restructuring of the Pet Sounds Box was probably inevitable. We know that the notation on that project unfortunately caused a negative reaction on the 1993 Box, thus delaying its release for several months. This is unfortunate because those notes were outstanding. The current box is a beautifully designed book form set, that somewhat brings a few new ideas content wise to the project this year.  The live tracks are an excellent addition to the set, and help the discerning listener understand how the Beach Boys' approach to live presentation of the Pet Sounds songs evolved through the years. I'll cover this in more detail in another article.

Conceivably, there could be an issue of sessions from Good Vibrations as it hits 50 years this Autumn. The vocal session tapes have never been found. It is scary to say, but they could either be in a very quiet collector's home, or worse yet, deteriorating in a land fill. The set from Sea of Tunes is instructional, but the sheer repetitiveness of that sort of unauthorized set makes listening a difficult task due to redundancy. The Smile material was issued in many formats in 2011, and this makes reissuing such a huge set of tapes daunting. There are a number of shows from 1967 that could be put together to supplement the Lei'd In Hawaii shows and also more from the Autumn of 1967.

Obviously, there are ways of helping people dive into the Wild Honey, Friends, and 20/20  periods. These recordings could be presented as tracks and vocals just like Pet Sounds. Both shows from the Live in London tapes would be a great addition to the late Sixties Beach Boys live scene.

Moving into later work, Sunflower as mixed by Carl and Stephen Desper would be a great addition to the reissue program, perhaps with some illustration as to how the track lineups changed through 1970.  The first Add Some Music lineup could be contrasted with the final track lineup. There are demos from Brian for the Sunflower and Surfs Up sessions that need to be released. This could be accomplished by reworking the existing releases into a format with  bonus tracks. Session tapes from the 1972 sessions for Carl and the Passions and Holland would be intriguing. There was a single album version of the Beach Boys Live in Concert album that had a number of songs that were removed from the double album we know and love from 1973. Similar albums could be put together from the 1971 New York television show. There are numerous live shows from this period that could be issued as downloads.

A few other things that are welcome begin with the addition of We Got Love to the Holland Acoustic Sounds cd. This is an excellent move. Blondie and Ricci's Flame album is owned by Brother Records, and needs to be rereleased. Carl produced the album with Flame, and it is a nice recording. There is a second Flame album in the can that should be released. The release of Dennis's albums as a double set years ago cries for addition of the earlier Seventies Dennis material. Thankfully, one of the requests from my article three years ago has come to pass. Carl's two solo albums are now available on cd for the first time in many years, and though uneven, are well worth a careful listen. 

With respect to The Beach Boys' concert presentations, I will step out on a ledge and say that the group would make money on concerts they played throughout their 50 year history if they are made available as downloads. The bootleggers are currently making money selling cd-rs of this stuff, and I would like to see the artists make money on their  live show tapes instead.

There is probably more I could say, but that will happen another day. It's summer, I'm sleepy, so I'll head for the park and take a nap.

Copyright 2016 by Peter Reum-All rights reserved

The Beach Boys: The Family Business and Brian's Mental Health by Peter Reum

People who are long term Beach zbs and Brian Wilson fans tend to focus on the artistic side of things Beach Boy, and forget that American Entertainment was a BUSINESS employing an entire family. These 3 brothers, their cousin, and Al were all sustained by a recording contract and personal appearances. Their father and mother published their songs. Brian was fairly avant garde in his commercial instincts, and also SOLD records. What I love about Jules Siegel's piece from 1968 is he recognizes this immediately. He talks about GENIUSES, people who are hip, avant garde, and who sell records.

Brian had an idea. He wanted to take the Beach Boys into fm album recording. He saw it coming, correctly intuited that albums would be the new sales vehicle for music in the late 60s, and did Pet Sounds. He came up with an idea to do an album on humor and music to God. He called it Dumb Angel. He conceived it in movements. He engaged Van Dyke Parks to help write lyrics. Van Dyke introduced the idea of a theme of moving across America from Plymouth Rock to Hawaii. The theme of Americana was born.

Brian was deeply concerned with his family and how they interacted. He saw the insanity first hand and recognized it as such. He also was impressed by how some families could function "normally" and be loving, and how some were like his...he saw how from generation to generation how things such as mental illness and chemical dependency get passed down. He wanted to change his family's manner of interacting...in his generation. He wanted his kids to grow up feeling loved unconditionally. This is one factor in how how  Smile's Cycle of Life came into creation.

The Elements was more troublesome, and how to express that feeling of spiritual searching and spiritual thirst quenching was more difficult. There is a reason it was not done. In early December buildings burned down in Hollywood, and in Brian's amphetamine influenced mind, that meant he felt he was involved with primal spiritual forces he had no business pursuing. Scratch the Elements.

Van Dyke Parks helped Brian in writing lyrics and also recording Smile songs, but did not remember any session for The Elements except Mrs. O'Leary's Cow. That would make sense if Brian scratched the Elements. That Van Dyke would not necessarily know possible sequences is plausible. Brian as a producer often kept these options close to himself for fear of his ideas being copied. I don't think he mistrusted Van, but I don't think he trusted some others that Van knew.

The American Entertainment business meetings were not recorded. The votes are in the memories of those who were there. Several people have described the meetings of American Entertainment (AEI) to me as "brutal."  Before he passed away a few years ago, I had the chance to interview Michael Vosse, who described the group's business meetings as "argumentative."  Some other sources describe the meetings after Pet Sounds did not supposedly "sell" as "especially brutal." There was a struggle for the direction of the family business. Brian lost.

Brian then, as a family business member, tried to go on as best he could, feeling uncertain of his Smile decisions, partially unsupported, obsessively confused, exhausted, and isolated. Whether those feelings were what actually happened, they were his perceptions and his reality, and he acted on them. The Beach Boys did not realize the seriousness of his auditory cross-talk, his growing untreated mental illness, or his sensitivity to their "minor course corrections" that  were instituted. In his mental state at the end of the Smile Sessions, Brian possibly saw other AEI Board Members as having staged a coup d'etat. Yet, conversely, in some major way, he was relieved to collaborate on producing records with Carl, and his instincts regarding Carl were right on the mark.

The group's trouble playing some of the more elaborate productions Brian did caused them to express the need to ask Brian to produce in a manner that allowed the live Beach Boys' touring group to sound more like the record they were playing live. To be fair to the touring group, there were several press articles that derisively criticized the touring Beach Boys as "Brian's puppets."

As time went on, Brian's condition both improved and worsened. As do many chemically dependent families, some of the Beach Boys thought by going along (smoking pot or hash with him) they could modify his behavior. Thousands of families do this every day. The result was more addled confusion, and a stoner's masterpiece Zen flavored album, Smiley Smile.

Brian, slowly was getting more and more chemically dependent and mentally off kilter, and, to some degree, he gave up trying to work producing The Beach Boys, because in his mind, the touring Beach Boys got more and more demanding, and controlling, which is usually characteristic of  family members with chemically dependent relatives. In the substance abuse field, we call this  behavior "co-dependence." When the AEI group members tried to control his output, while he tried to produce Redwood, Brian was angry.  He was cut off financially, from using AEI money to produce acts outside the Beach Boys, and Brian in turn stopped producing Wild Honey, including several works in progress, like Can't Wait Too Long and Cool Cool Water. Carl stepped in and helped finish the album.

Probably to reduce family tension, Brian came back to try one more album with the group, Friends, (which is why it is titled that title), and actually did a few tracks, with Carl again finishing what Brian had leftvastated. undone. By this time Brian had less of an attention span. His ability to focus was impaired, and his ability to concentrate was reduced. After Friends was released, Brian's obsession with the song known as Old Man River frustrated  the rest of the Beach Boys. Brian was devestated. He broke down emotionally, and was hospitalized due to the mental illness he was experiencing. The psychotropics began. He was misdiagnosed as being paranoic and schizophrenic when he was in fact schizo-affective and severely depressed and anxious. The Beach Boys had a tour with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi that was expensive to stage, and the Maharishi left the tour early on, and the Beach Boys were on the hook for tour expenses that dwindled because, right or wrong, the group was no longer considered "hip" by the rock music press and the fans who once had followed their every move.

From there, things went down the toilet, because Brian did not always stay on the meds he was prescribed, correctly perceiving they were not helping, and in fact were causing serious side effects due to misdiagnosis. Instead, he began to experiment with going out and scoring cocaine, which would let him feel normal for 30 minutes until that feeling went away. Brian got the reputation of not being able to finish anything  musically. This is because when the cocaine wore off the horrible, crippling feelings of depression and the voices from his schizo-affective disorder returned. In my opinion, that's where Til I Die came from.

As is customary with symptoms of chemical dependence, Brian's use began to change from using small doses of stimulants to mood alter to larger  and larger amounts of stimulants as his body habituated to them. His time in the "bedroom" was largely to isolate from his family, who were getting more and more worried about his health. He would conversely leave the Bellagio home to score stimulants and depressants, trying to self-medicate.

Four events seem to have hastened this rapid exacerbation of Brian's mental health and chemical dependence. First, Brian preferred to spend time with people who had the stimulants his chemical dependence demanded, leading to larger and more dangerous chemical ingestion, supplied by people who were also chemically dependent. Second, Brian appeared to have had very mixed feelings about his affiliation with AEI and The Beach Boys, hence in 1971 and 1972, he named his "group" as American Spring in a few interviews. He did not seem to want the pressure and burden of composing and occasionally producing The Beach Boys. Third, my friend Jasper Dailey, was at the ceremony where Brian was to sign with other group members the new extended recording contract between Brother Records and Reprise Records and witnessed Brian crying about having to be the subject of a clause in the Reprise contract requiring that he write and/or produce a certain percentage of each album in the Reprise contract.

Perhaps most telling, and the fourth and most conflicted reason was that Murry Wilson died suddenly of heart failure at his home in Whittier. Brian, like many first sons, had wanted to have the approval and respect that defines father/son relationships that are healthy and emotionally supportive. The suddenness of Murry's death caught Brian by surprise, and sent him into such deeper despair and grief that he would not emerge from until he was legally detached from Eugene Landy, and found a woman who fulfilled all of the needs Brian did not have after his first hospitalization in 1968.

This is not a criticism of any of the family members who loved Brian throughout his descent into serious mental illness and chemical dependence.  Brian is a master at deflecting interactions with persons he perceives as demanding something from him he does not want to do. Second, the field of dually-diagnosed chemical dependence and serious mental illness was in it's infancy when Brian needed help. It would be the mid Eighties before any cogent form of dual diagnosis treatment would become accepted.

Brian's separation from Landy was essential to his survival. A number of Brian's friends and admirers facilitated his transition from Landy to an unconditionally supportive environment in which his music has been once again a gift from himself to the world-at-large. With a correct psychiatric dignosis and the right medications for that diagnosis, he has responded to the love in ways no one would have ever imagined. Since 1993, he has shared his music with the world, which is a development no one could have ever anticipated.

Copyright 2017 by Peter Reum -- All Rights  Reserved 

Peter Lacey's New Way Lane by Peter Reum

My friend and colleague in both the musical and literary worlds, Peter Lacey, has recorded a new album, entitled New Way
Lane. I have taken time to get to know this album, hoping to have the time to absorb it.

In a recent interview, Peter said that once long ago, an English band, The Beatles, had captivated the UK with their music, and that he remembered walking around his neighborhood and hearing Beatle music in nearly every home coming out as he walked by.

This lp has  a distinct charm because it is so very English. Peter has, at the same time explored some new themes, with lyrics celebrating a number of English persons, some that are quite moving.

The first side offers several highly melodic tunes beginning with "The Star of My Own Show." This track strikes me as a celebration of the ability to make life fun, even when alone. We are the creators of our own view of our world. Musically, the tune shadows Paul McCartney's late Sixties work in the Beatles.

The title track, New Way Lane, is a stately track which recalls God Only Knows musically, as  well as Penny Lane. Peter's vocal here is quite satisfying, recalling Paul's laid back tunes.

Laundro Matt, a soulful track, bounces along with a Booker T and the M.G.s feel. The tune offers a nice contrast from the first two tunes. Lyrically, the tune has a remedy to everyday vexation, and that is to get stoned at Matt's house. Phi Slamma Jama...relieve the stress with a head clearing from Matt...a laundromat for your everyday stress.

Jasmine (Blooms Tonight) is a departure for Peter from his previous tunes. Over a ska/reggae beat, the story unfolds slowly. Jasmine has discovered freedom in her soul as she dances. The tune's narrator calls the play by play as a young woman embraces her sexual side.

Peter's Bella Donna explores obsession. The music perks along like a coffee pot, the piano being used as a rhythm keeper. The nature of Bella Donna is subtlely disclosed early on, as the tune's storyteller looks at himself in the mirror and sees himself wasting away, the result of too many goodies at Matt's place.

A hypothetical return of God is God Send's theme. The return of God to Earth is highlighted by an unexpected prosperity equals reality theme which rankles the old church. This tune could have been written by Randy Newman.

The Afternoon Nap is a tune that brings  a sense of contentment that might be a reminder of some of Brian Wilson's work on the Friends and 20/20 albums. The tune is gently jaunty at first, leading into a lovely tag that Brian would be proud of that you absolutely HAVE to hear.

Home Free is a song that seems to express both grief and relief. Perhaps the person sung about in this ballad passed away, or is gone and never heard from again. This is a highlight of New Way Lane.

Desperate Dan is a tune that can be heard in many ways. It is one of the lesser songs here, but offers some tasty guitar ala Joe Walsh.

Old Fashioned Cafe, like many of the songs on New Way Lane, offers a picture of life in a small town or neighborhood that is frequented by a group of characters who hang together, clinging to the one social center that this village or neighborhood has had for years. It is a place these folks protect because life without the cafe would be unbearable. The simple track, highlighted by a ukelele, provides the frame for this postcard of a way of life that is nearly gone.

Here, Out West, we have a saying that essentially means that its time to leave. We say "I think its time to head out." The album's final track is called Better Make Tracks. Of course, the other interpretation of this saying, using musical nomenclature would be....its time to begin the next album. The melody here is extremely catchy. It would be hard NOT to hear it bouncing around your brain for days after listening to it!

Okay, I'll give you the bottom line...New Way Lane is the best album Peter has released. Unless there's a Smile equivalent lurking in Peter's instrument closet, this is the most consistently satisfying album Peter has cut. It is catchy. It is lyrically clever, and it hangs together extremely well as an album. You will be glad you grabbed it while its hot! It can be found at pinkhedgehog.com


Copyright 2016 by
Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved

I Remember Fred Warren by Peter Reum

As some of the steady readers of this blog have known, there are a group of friends who have passed away that I have tried to honor through writing a tribute in this space. This is my way of trying to help keep the memory of these people alive and to prevent them from fading into obscurity and being forgotten.

When I was 13, my parents noticed that I was sliding toward being a "junior hood" in the Espanola Valley Schools where our family lived. I wasn't doing anything terribly illegal, but it was apparent to people who knew me that I had lost my drive and focus. My father and mother elected to transfer me to the Los Alamos School System, hoping I would regain my scholastic performance. I attended the summer school in Los Alamos after my seventh grade year finished in Espanola, and rode with my dad up the mountain to Los Alamos to a school called Pueblo Junior High School, where a funny and exotic grey haired teacher named Mr. Hochenwalter was earning a few extra bucks by teaching remedial math to people, including me. That summer passed quickly, and I enrolled in Pueblo Junior High School that fall term in 1967.

I showed up for the first day at Pueblo, and was shocked to see that the Caucasian "gringos" were the predominant group there. Gringos were vastly outnumbered at my old school, with Hispanics and Indigenous people making up roughly 90% of the student body. I had learned to speak Spanish thanks to the visionary attitude of my dad, and Spanish spoken by a Gringo was about as unlikely as could be possible in Espanola. The fact that I was able to speak Spanish probably prevented me from getting into several fights those seven years of school in the Valley, as Espanola was called. The revelation that shocked me was that in Los Alamos Schools, the proportion of Caucasians to Hispanic people and Indigenous tribal kids was completely reversed. 90% of the student body at Pueblo Junior High were Caucasian of one variety or another, and there was no need for my Spanish speaking ability there.

The first group of students I ran into included several guys who I was blessed to become friends with. Some were tall, like myself, some were short. One of the shorter guys was a guy whose adolescence had probably begun when he was 9. He was about two years older than the rest of us. His name was Fred Warren, and he had a full heavy beard whereas the rest of us sported peachfuzz. All of the Pueblo Junior High bad boys were afraid of him, because he reputedly had a brown belt in karate.

Fred fancied himself as Pueblo's official greeter of new meat. Being a slab of bologna, he found me and did his best orient me to the dos and don'ts-social routines at my new school. I committed my first faux pas by asking a guy named Scheinberg if he was Catholic. I heard about that until I graduated from Los Alamos High School. Fred explained to me that there was a large Jewish community in Los Alamos, and if I wanted to get off on a good foot with them. I probably shouldn't ask them if they were Catholic.

Fred then took it upon himself to cover the unspoken dress code at Pueblo Junior High. He explained to me that jeans were verboten. He helped me to buy a few pairs of pants that were sort of like today's khakis. Of course my mom wanted to know why I was wearing khakis that she hadn't bought. White athletic socks were out. colored socks were in. I had to walk about a mile from where my dad dropped me off so he could navigate rush hour traffic in this community of 12,000 people.

I had been given one of my dad's old briefcases to stash my textbooks into so I didn't have to carry those books for two miles a day. Fred looked at me about two weeks into my first semester at Pueblo with the briefcase. "Peter...lose the briefcase!"  said Fred. So, I marched that two mile walk carrying five or six huge textbooks at my side for my next two years at Pueblo. Fred had told me that carrying them the way girls do was completely unacceptable.

At Pueblo, the in crowd among Boys was those who went out for football. I had dominated other kids in Espanola playing football. The Hispanic kids were shorter and lighter than myself. At Pueblo, a huge proportion of guys were taller and heavier than average. Our coach in 8th grade football put me at center on the line. For two years I believed my coaches hated me. Centers get bashed every play of every game. Fred played free safety and showed me  a few judo moves to help me stay alive until high school. Punts were especially painful. I was double teamed to hopefully intimidate me to mess up the long snap to the punter. Most of the time it was academic anyway because the punter kicked the ball straight up and straight down half the time. Fred kept showing me those judo moves and I survived playing center, although it was hard to snap the ball from the  judo crane position.

Fred's family had known my parents from the early days of Los Alamos, around 1944. Fred's and father and mother had adopted Fred and his younger brother in the early to middle Fifties, as both of them were orphans born in what was then the British Colony of Malta. The two boys had been in an orphanage until Fred was three and his brother was one. Although they were brothers by adoption. they did not come from the same birth family in Malta. Sadly, Fred and his brother by adoption lost their mother to breast cancer one year after they came to live in Los Alamos.

The bereaved family carried on for a few years, but Fred's dad never recovered emotionally from his first wife's death. His father remarried less than a year later to his second wife, Fred's stepmother. Fred's new stepmother had a daughter, whose age was precisely between Fred and his younger brother. She was the closest person to Fred emotionally, and their bond was unbreakable. Sadly, his younger brother never got over his mom's death. He began practicing his Cubs Scouts campfire building skills in the family's living room.

What Fred and I had in common was that we were both adopted. That bond was cemented in those Pueblo Junior High years. We shared our thoughts about being adopted unflinchingly.  What was good about our adoptions was being a part of a loving family instead of an orphanage. What was the most painful was trying to figure out why were not good enough to be kept by our birth families. The ambiguity of our birth family's history, our history, remained unresolved. I remember those long discussions clearly and fondly. We were a pair of guys who shared our common pain and gratefulness.

As high-school approached rapidly, I spent more and more time at the Warren home, often being picked up by my dad there. The draw of sports was losing its novelty. I remember hanging out with Fred, discussing how high school would be. We moved to The Hill, as Los Alamos was known, and there were no more rides from Espanola to Los Alamos. The last semester of my 9th grade year, I invited my two best friends, Charles from the Valley, and Fred from The Hill to a sleepover at our small farm in Espanola. We had a grand time. Little did I know that Charles would die later that year, and Fred would die in his twenties from alcohol dependence.

Beginning in 10th grade, I made up my mind that I wanted to find more constructive extracurricular activities than snapping footballs from the judo crane position. I talked with Fred, and we both decided to try to join Key Club, which was at that time an organization for boys. Today, I am thrilled to know that my old Key Club is composed of young men and women. Fred and I enjoyed working with the older guys in Key Club performing service projects around Los Alamos and the Espanola Valley. I got elected sophomore representative on the Key Club Board of Directors. I basked in the warmth of accomplishing  something unrelated to sports. Fred became my most trusted Key Club protégé. Being Sophomore Representative on the Board meant running the huge fund raiser for Key Club--selling fruitcakes.

I roped Fred into selling these beauties with me. Together we canvassed two large areas of our town, Western and Eastern communities. We ended up selling over $2500 worth of these gut bombs between us. My family's living room was inundated with fruitcakes for a few weeks all three years of high school.  Fred and I were the Fruitcake Brothers....sorta like the Blues Brothers, only without the blues music and on bicycles instead of  in cars. The Fruitcake company was delighted,  our customers were content to support Key Club,  and as nice as they were to order, no doubt they regifted those fruitcakes. Fred and I continued to hang out at each other's homes.  One winter night, after Fruitcake delivering, we were frozen to the bone.  We ended up at Fred's house, and his parents weren't home. Fred's parents had an amply stocked liquor cabinet, and Fred asked me if I wanted a drink.

My family were social drinkers, so it wasn't as if I was an alcohol virgin. I told myself "one won't hurt." We began with Captain Morgan spiced rum. After several of those , Fred suggested peppermint schnapps.  I loved the taste.  After a few hours my mind was still willing, but my stomach said f*ck you. I was the new decorator of the Warren's living room. Fred, much less plowed, graciously cleaned up the floor while I described how the room was spinning in great detail.

That was the first of many occasions when Fred provided booze. On a number occasions, intoxication followed fruitcake and other activities. My parents were saints, and let me learn about excessive alcohol  consumption the hard way. The novelty wore off, but not completely until I had a family of my own. I had no clue that Fred already had a high tolerance, even in high school. Fred scoped out the social stratification of Los Alamos High School faster than I did. There were the jocks, the straights, the motorheads, the brains, the horse jocks,  the Chem Lab Weirdos, and the druggies. There were also some folks that floated between groups. Fred and I called them the chameleons.

That sophomore year I became aware of the Other Gender. Fred never took that awareness as seriously as I did. We went over the potential for finding a girlfriend, and decided if she were to emerge,  we would welcome it. If not, there was always Key Club. My parents were happy that I wasn't a horn dog,  and quietly let me be socially inept with girls without comment. My older half-sister had a shotgun wedding after her freshman year of college, and they did not want that scenario repeated. As for Fred....he was cool with girls. He would chat them up, mostly letting them talk about themselves. This apparently worked quite well for him. We went to a few dances sophomore year on a stag basis. Fred had a unique way of dancing that worked for him. It was sort of a mix of the Watusi and freestyle diving. He'd Watusi around for awhile and then do a stationary somersault. His frug with a one and a half twist was his signature dance. As for me, if someone asked me, I'd sort of stand in one place with my right leg forward sort of moving like crushing a cigarette with my big toe, and my left leg stationary. Meanwhile, I'd flap my arms like a bird. I was on the beat every 8 measures. Quite a pair, Fred and I.

When winter turned to spring, Fred and I planned my political campaigns for Key Club Secretary and also for Southwest District Secretary. Fred was taking printing class and produced my campaign literature for District Secretary.  At the Key Club Convention in Albuquerque that year, I lost to a guy named Frank Ng (pronounced Ing). To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Well, Frank turned out to be an excellent District Secretary, and The District Governor appointed me District Editor. Fred had been my campaign manager in the District Secretary race. I didn't blame him for the loss. He, as usual, excelled at whatever task I roped him into. He helped me with the Key Club District newsletter, and was amazing.

As Club Secretary, I helped with board matters and was the Project Chair for our Key Club's main service project, helping an old priest begin what he called Santa Maria El Mirador. The location he chose was a 17th century hacienda called El Mirador. This guy, who was trying to get a home for people with developmental disabilities was eccentric, to put it politely. He was from Austria and was tall and wiry with green teeth and a wild shock of grey hair that wouldn't stay in place. He had a brilliant friend who I only knew as Gary, who had a Ph.D from an Ivy league school.

El Mirador had been a Spanish Colonial hacienda, which had been named to the National Register for Historic Places. It was located in a small village called Alcalde. After falling into disrepair,  it was bought in the mid 1930s by an heiress from Chicago who rebuilt it as best she could. The hacienda once again flourished. When the heiress died, it was occupied by the State of New Mexico for a nursing home. After closing, El Mirador again fell into disrepair until Father Dom Cyrillos came. He saw several strapping young Key Club men, and put us to work clearing the five acre grounds, which were a huge mess. On Saturdays,  we Key Clubbers would drive to Alcalde along the Rio Grande. We cleared irrigation ditches, cleared stumps, cleared fields, and fabricated head gates.

Father Cyrillos made lunch for us every time we went down and worked. His cooking was simple but hearty. He said that he was a member of an ancient monk order called the Knights Templar. He would attempt to recruit Fred and I into this monastic group of men. When we asked him what monks in his order did, he confided in us, saying they were monks who fought for Christ. Being young and naive, we swallowed his story without any doubt. It wasn't until years later while researching a term paper that I found out that the Knights Templar Order had been abolished and members executed in the 14th Century by some pope I had never heard of.

Father Cyrillos was eccentric. He showed us a sword that he said he was given when he joined the order of monks. He had a coffin in his room with a small pillow, and when I got bug eyed and asked him why the coffin was in his room, he told me that Knights Templar members rules required it. Visions of vampires made me shiver, but the fact that he did not have teeth to speak of made me feel safe. Vampires can't bite you without teeth.

As time rolled on, we began using bigger tools to remove cottonwood stumps. Fred advocated for dynamite, but Father Cyrillos's friend vetoed that idea. We were very sad about that. I told Gary that I had been using M-80s to blow up those big rural mailboxes since I was 10 years old. Gary seemed to believe that Fred and I, being underage, were too young to blow up stumps. We helped assemble a green house, and Fred spearheaded that task. We renovated several rooms of the hacienda, and through hard work by the board of directors, of which I was a member, also finished the first eight bed wing for the future residents. All of us worked hard to bring that area up to code.  Some of the members of the plumbers local in Los Alamos did the plumbing at no charge. Fred was the guy who sold the project to them.

Fred and I decided, with Steve, another close friend, that we would volunteer for a production that the high school drama club was putting on. We were on the massive front curtain that needed to go up and down. Fred handled problems with lights and climbed high above the stage with absolutely no fear at all. As things turn out, I was invited to go to a girls invite guys type dance that was happening shortly after our play wrapped up. Fred, who never took these things seriously, took a mutual friend to the dance. I was asked to go by a girl who was lovely, but that I didn't know. To say I was panicking would be a gross understatement. I didn't know how to dance, so Fred and his kind and patient stepsister spent fifteen hours teaching me at their home how to dance.

This was my first real date, and I was beyond nervous. The girl was soft spoken but nice. I rang the doorbell in terror. Meeting her parents was a blur. She presented me with a flower for my lapel, and I tried to pin it on her. Her mother, kindly told me that it was for me to wear. The entire evening was a blur, and I could tell that my Cro-Magnon  Social skills and Frankensteinish dancing really made her sorry she asked me to the dance. I did my best right leg shaking toe planted dance style and was mortified.  Meanwhile, Fred and his date, a good friend of both of ours, danced stylishly, with great ease and panache. Fred took one look at me dancing, and with mock seriousness asked me if I remembered anything he and his sister had taught me. I replied that this evening was the longest night of my life.

Fred once again became my campaign manager in my effort to be elected Key Club President and Southwest District Key Club Governor. His work was flawless, and I successfully was elected for both  offices. Our work together continued in the summer before our senior year. We had a solid local Key Club Board, and an excellent District Board. Fred seemed to feel conflicted about his  last year of high school.  He handled many of the duties I had done during our junior year. When I was on the road as Governor, the guys who I trusted ran the various service projects on that year's plan.

Fred easily handled every task I asked him to run.With a few  other guys, he took over El Mirador, which was very close to opening. Fred and I got together  a few times weekly. Fred and I spoke about life after graduation. He had decided to enlist in the armed forces, and the Navy had caught Fred's attention. We wrapped up Key Club duties shortly before graduation.

After graduation, Fred and I played golf together with him going off to Naval basic training. We would see each other when he was home from the Navy.  Our goals and directions split, and Naval travel took Fred to places I dreamed of visiting. I got married, and studied knowing only what my parents told me about Fred after we went our  separate ways.  Eventually,  reports came to me that Fred was drinking to passing out almost nightly. I invited him to my wedding  in Colorado,  but did not hear from him.

My dad told me he came back to Los Alamos and bought a house when he left the Navy. When my dad died, my thread to Fred snapped. He became a legendary drinker, and he did not make himself available for us to reunify our friendship. When I went to the 25th Reunion of our high  school class, my friend Evelyn Vigil told me Fred had died, with his cause of death being liver failure and advanced brain related deterioration.  But I choose to remember him as the fellow misfit I loved like a brother, adopted boys trying to figure out the big wide world.


Copyright 2016 by Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved 

Step Parenting: Cumulative Little Victories by Peter Reum

My third stepdaughter Jenna, graduated from high school last night. For my wife, it was a day of joy and insight. She had raised three daughters and been a single mom going to college before I met her. In 2001, she came to Billings to attend college, and to raise the girls alone. Their dad was a man who married quite young, and had not gotten through the period nearly all males experience, which is the fear of becoming a responsible husband and father. I say this without criticism, because I had the same feelings in my late teens to my mid twenties too.

My own tumult seemed to explode out of the confinement of marriage, which I had wanted so badly before getting married. My then wife had her B.A. in Education to finish, followed by an M.A. in Library Sciences in order to get a job teaching in the Greeley, Colorado School District. I spent two years completing my alternative service in lieu of serving in the U.S. Armed Forces due to conscientious objection. At the end of those two years, I was somewhat relieved to finish, but the experience had been  good one, as I felt I had contributed to the healing of many people while serving. When my then wife got the job in Greeley Schools, I was not yet mature enough to have children, nor was I in any rush to do so. When things began to level out in our lives, we allowed ourselves the luxury of  a three bedroom apartment.

I was somewhat jealous of my then wife's clarity in deciding her career path, and I was occasionally a jerk, making fun of educators and the institution of education. At 27, I realized that I could not be thirty years old promoting the sales of the new Leif Garrett album and respect myself. I timidly applied to the University of Northern Colorado Graduate School. My self worth was in the toilet, and I honestly was unsure about whether I would be accepted or not. The two years in the Rehabilitation Department at UNC restored my sense of purpose, and the friends I made while in that program are some of my closest friends today, 36 years later. My then wife supported my graduate education as I had supported hers. I will always be grateful to her for that.

My current wife, Christina, had a much rockier experience. By the age of 23 she had brought three lovely daughters into the world. Her then husband, who now is a fine man, had the same experience I did in his early twenties, but he had three kids, whereas I didn't have my two beautiful daughters until I finished Graduate School in my early thirties. Christina, my wife now, rode a wild ride through her first years raising her three daughters, Sabrina, Adriana, and Jenna. In 2001, after many years of trying to make the marriage work, the three girls' parents divorced.  For the next six years, my future wife raised the three girls, attended college full-time, and completed her class papers and presentations. To say that this was difficult would be patronizing. Christina is very well organized, and carried off her parenting and school/work study duties admirably. Unfortunately, due to several factors, the girls' father fell behind in child support, and that money could not be counted on as reliable. This experience is common here in this country due to the structure of how different states enforce child support arrears.

The three girls enjoyed their time in school and were active in the churches my current wife attended. Their resilience was strengthened by the three of them supporting each other. This is a wonderful coping strategy many siblings from single parent homes utilize. They lived in low income housing, which in Montana is not as dire as in more populated states. I met the three girls in 2005 (!) when Sabrina was 11, Ana was 9, and Jenna was 8. They were kind but wary of my entrance into their mother's life.  For the next twenty months, I got to know them as people and children, and was hooked on them and their senses of humor and the support they gave each other and Christina.

After my marriage to Christina in 2007, I spent my time sorting out my job, marriage, and my children. I consider all three girls to be my own, as much as the two older daughters I had with my first wife and the daughter and son Christina and I had together. The complexity of the unified households was a challenge, but no one was folded, spun, or mutilated by the experience. There were the usual bumps and grinds all blended families have, but in my heart, these three girls were as much mine as my other kids. We somehow managed financially to support all of the family, but money was tight. Each of the three girls distinguished herself in her own way. They are all very musically gifted. Sabrina has a wonderful ability to express herself in her writing, and is very outgoing. That she is the alpha of the three girls is clear. That said, she has gone her own way, learning about life through the triumphs and disappointments she has experienced. She was married last year, and the couple are the proud parents of our grandchild JJ. He is a delightfully happy baby who is very clear at expressing his needs to James, his father, and Sabrina.

Adriana, being a middle child, is the diplomat of the three girls. She is insightful, tactful, and supportive of her siblings and friends. She is a loyal person, with people skills that are strong and natural. Her voice is marvelous, and her singing was always an uplifting feeling in the house. She and Jenna moved to Florida to spend their last two years of school with their father. It was hard for Christina to not blame herself for the move. Their move was to try to get to know their father before they moved into being adults. I had the pleasure of attending Ana's graduation from high school in Florida last summer (2015). She has gone on to get a job, complete her first year in junior college, and buy her first car. She continues to be the mediator, negotiator, and unifying influence she excels in doing.

Jenna, my third stepdaughter, just graduated from high school this year. Although we could not all go, as we did the previous year, we were able to have Christina attend. Jenna is perhaps the most artistically talented of the three girls. She has exceptional visual arts talent, and also, like her other two sisters, has a singing voice that is beautiful. Jenna goes after what she wants enthusiastically, having a personal drive that is exceptional. As my wife has stated many times, Jenna always wanted to keep up with whatever her sisters were doing, and took pains to ensure that she was included. Jenna has an incredible eye for interior design and decorating, and hopes to enter that profession eventually. Her willingness to challenge phoniness in people and in organizations is a blessing and possibly a curse. She states her mind succinctly and clearly, and her assertiveness is a real asset for her.

Rights of passage in society are usually a welcome experience. They at once recognize the efforts of an individual and their family and bring change that alters the dynamics of everyone involved.  Birth, Baptism (for Christians), entering school, school graduation, entering adult life, getting jobs, and marriage are powerful agents of change,  both in childhood and early adulthood. While often discounted, they provide a special occasion for families to congratulate themselves and their children for the milestone at which they all have arrived. The one lesson I have taken away from these occasions is that they are special. So, to my three stepchildren, now adults, I say...you have been challenging and exceptionally rewarding in my life. I am a better man for being with all of you. I love you and wish you every happiness in adulthood.