Beach Boys Friends Who Make Music-Jez Graham by Peter Reum

Jez Graham is a man who loves both The Beach Boys' and Brian Wilson's music and jazz, like myself. The music Jez makes is spiritually sonorous, bringing a deeply emotionally comforting sound that only someone who loves Brian's music can create. His hands resonate with the shifts in feeling that Brian's compositions present. Brian Wilson has often stated that he pours love into his songs, and this elusive quality, which so many musicians have failed to capture, is present in the manner that Jez plays Brian's songs.

This is one album that grows with repeated listening. The initial impression one could take away is that Jez created a lounge music version of Brian's compositions. With repeated listens, the subtle jazz shadings emerge, especially in unexpected places, such as the "if Mars had life on it" section of Solar System. In Jez's interpretation, the couplet is rendered gentle and loving, as two  happily married people might lightly tease each other. The whole tune is shone in its best light, and the beauty of the melody is exposed powerfully.

Jez's version of Dennis Wilson's Be Still from the Friends album is notable, in that, as an opener to the album, it asks the listener to suspend judgement and to listen to the tunes we have all heard so often with a fresh ear. The advice is sagacious, as there is so much one can miss here without listening actively. There are so many shades of color on this album, that it is best heard several times before judging. If you rush through this album, it will be like driving 3000 miles to visit Yellowstone National Park, but only giving yourself a single day to take it all in.

Jez's interpretation of I Just Wasn't Made For These Times is deeply and gently comforting, yielding a feeling of uncertainty in youthful contemplation being acceptable to experience. The tune on Pet Sounds is quite sad, with the feeling there being one of resignation to being alone and misunderstood. Jez brings a flavor to his interpretation of being okay with that feeling. On the other side of the Dark Night of the Soul must be a place where like St. Teresa of Avila and  St. John of the Cross landed, a feeling of being unified, yet alone but okay.

Albert Hay Malotte's The Lord's Prayer is a surprising choice for this album, yet, fits beautifully. Before it is in the listener's conscious mind it is gone. The the hymn is rendered profound by its simplicity. Malotte may have heard The Beach Boys' breathtaking version in 1963, as he was living in Los Angeles at the time.
Jez makes it fresh once again.

Feel Flows comes into focus next. Jez plays an empathetic version, offering the music as a blues flavored meditation, far from the more complex production from the Surfs Up album. In Jez's version, the tune is more contemplative, more targeted toward the jazz feelings the Surfs Up version only hinted at. The potential for jazz workups of Carl's music is high, as he had a feel for jazz in the music he composed, especially in the Seventies.

The medley of Ding Dang-This Whole World-It's Over Now is not only surprising but a tour de force. Ding Dang is transformed into a 12 Bar Blues Workout. You won't hear Ding Dang the same way after hearing this. The tune morphs into This Whole World, yet retains the blues feeling that counter-intuitively changes that song into a bluesy segue from Ding Dang. Who would have thought these two tunes belong together? Gradually This Whole World gives away to a deep and mournful It's Over Now. The chords here literally weep as they emerge from the piano. The blue notes in It's Over Now recall George Gershwin, and, no wonder....Brian is one of Gershwin's most intuitive interpreters.

Goin' South by Carl Wilson is brought forward as the next medley introduction, and is sympathetically offered, with none of the Carl Wilson feeling of resignation from the original. Here, the tune is a quiet statement of intention, a commitment of mnigration to warmer chords and feelings. The segue into Cailfornia Feelin' fulfills the intention of Goin' South, with a warm set of chords, a killer melody, and a feeling of rejuvenation from the It's Over Now medley. Van Dyke Parks and his amazing sense of place and chords in Orange Crate Art concludes this medley with almost a nostalgic feeling, remembering life before complications of adulthood set in.

Wonderful, a Brian and Van Dyke composition, is reflective and yet hopeful in its tone. Innocence begun and lost is contemplated from a piano seat. Once again, there is a smattering of blue notes added  to this song. I hear a single mother sharing her experiences with her teenage daughter in these notes. It is as if she begins with sad memories of her daughter's birth, then as she reflects on her daughter's life up to this moment, her tone grows proud and hopeful, yet also cautionary, as if to say "it turned out okay for us, but don't tempt fate again."

Girls On the Beach follows, a meditation on youthful carefree living, perhaps the last summer before leaving home. Variations on Brian's wistful melody reveal moods that are not present in The Beach Boys' version, only implied. It is apparent here that Jez has spent a long time listening to the nuances of Brian's melodies and producing. The melody segues into Brian and Andy Paley's Marketplace, and the improbable linking of these two tunes is a joy to hear. The relationship explored here has changed from youthful wistfulness to practical partnership, a marriage. And Your Dream Comes True is next, a brief  but crucial reflection on the movement from summer teenage dreams to a mature and reciprocal partnership between two adults.

Transcendental Meditation, an obvious Brian Wilson experiment with jazz (the reader is referred to the Transcendental Meditation track on Disc 6 of Made In California) from the Friends album, which is Brian's most jazz flavored album, is sympathetically transformed by Jez into the jazz workout it was always intended to be. You owe it to yourself to revisit this tune on this cd to appreciate it for the swinging jazz workout that it is.

What this album offers is a subtle reworking of many of the Beach Boys and Brian Wilson's music into a new creation, a creation that swings,  and that tips its hat to Brian's jazz roots in The Jazz Age and The Four Freshmen. When people say there is nothing new under The Beach Boys and Brian Wilson Sun, they are wrong, and the evidence is right here on this marvelous cd, which I highly recommend to anyone who loves jazz piano or the musical melodies of Brian Wilson, and his two exceptionally talented brothers who left this third rock from the sun much too early.

Copyright 2014 by Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved

A Turd In the Punchbowl: The Human Eye With Cataracts by Peter Reum

For the last six years, my vision has gotten progressively more and more impaired due to the rapid advance of cataracts in both of my eyes. Unlike many visual impairments, cataracts insidiously sneak up on you and gradually blur your vision and eventually make your world an artificially dark world, even on a sunny day.  For several years, I did not realize that my  vision was headed southbound, and that my confidence in my own perceptions was being impacted by my vision's deterioration.

Something began to look wrong when I could not read a computer screen at a normal distance, even with glasses.  I found myself creeping closer and closer to the words on the screen, and thought it was due to my corrective lens prescription. I have always trusted my glasses, as they are a part of me, a tool I have used with 20/500 vision since I found I could not see the blackboard in first grade over 50 years ago. In the Disability Rights Movement, we have worked hard to help the general public to see that a wheelchair does not confine a person with quadriplegia, it gives that person freedom to move anywhere they desire, as long as the world is accessible.The Deaf Culture has fought hard to preserve American Sign Language, even though the cochlear implant has made aural correction possible for many people who are deaf.

So, what happens when a person with a disability has the chance to be "cured?" Would a person with paraplegia accept technology or medical intervention that would eliminate fully that mobility impairment? Would a "little person" be willing to accept medical intervention if they could effectively be of  "average height?" That was the question that was posed to me in my 2012 Annual Eye Exam when my opthamologist told me that I would gradually go blind, if I did not accept corneal implant surgery, I was caught flatfooted, as I did not know much about cataracts, at least until he told me that I had a moderate to severe case, and that I could see if I went through with the surgery.

In a sense, the human eye is a ball of liquid, nearly round, with light entering the eye through the pupil, then being focused by the cornea or lens, thereby projecting the image to the retina at the back of the eye, which then travels to the brain's visual cortex. The lens of the eye, due to several factors, including aging, will become gradually clouded, and changes from being clear at birth to opaque in later life, thereby creating a feeling of uneasiness and uncertainty of visual perceptions over time.

With the gradual darkening of the eye's lens comes blurred vision, and an inability to read subtle elements of facial expression and nonverbal communication through body language. Other domains of life are also impacted... I have not driven at night for several years, and my vision has deteriorated to the degree that I cannot read street signs during the brightest part of day.

Into this situation came the possibility of replacing my eyes' lenses with corneal implants. I had been approached with the idea during my 2012 eye exam, and had chickened out that year. In 2013, my opthamologist again advanced the idea, and I accepted his recommendation to have corneal implant surgery. We scheduled the surgery after a review of my health, and I looked forward to the surgery

On last Wednesday, I enter the Billings Clinic Outpatient Surgery Building, and with some mild temerity awaited my first eye to be changed forever. As an aside, I will say that I have been very nearsighted since birth, and have never had the experience of seeing the way ordinary sighted people see....until now. The operation was preceded by some very thorough preparation by the delightful Billings Clinic Staff, and each of them did their utmost to make me comfortable and feeling safe. Having spent the last year reading about corneal implants, I felt that the surgery was a wonderful experience, if a bit anticlimactic.

The operating opthamologist and the anesthesiologist came by and told me what to expect, and then did exactly what they said that they would do. I was under sedation but awake, and remember the surgery as an experience of lights hovering over me like a fleet of UFO lights. The time in the recovery room went by quickly, and they covered my eye with a taped patch, with my orders being not to touch it. I had no feeling in the eye, at least nothing felt painful. The next day, I went to the Billings Clinic Opthamological Department, and met with the operating doctor, who removed the patch.

What I saw in that eye was completely unprecedented and utterly fantastic. My vision measured 20/20 in the eye, and all that I have experienced since has been mind blowing but wonderful. Imagine walking without  a limp if your were born with a bad leg, or whatever metaphor works for you,  The interesting dichotomy that is my vision, is that I still have a cataract in my other eye for a few more days, and it is a contrast bordering on mind fornication....one eye functioning perfectly, the other dark, hazy, blurred, and shadowy.

Next Wednesday, for the first time in my life, I will see as others see, and it cannot come too soon. My sincere thanks to Billings Clinic, the Outpatient Surgery Staff, and Doctors Bell and Schmidt for their amazing work. Your work literally helps the almost blind see.

Remembering Gary Schmidt by Peter Reum

When I began thinking about entering Graduate School, it was after spending six fairly rowdy years in the Music Business. It was the Late 70s, and I had ingested my share of chemicals that made small into large and green into red. I had become a prodigious bong salesman, and pictures of me from that time of my life resemble the notorious werewolf on the Warren Zevon Werewolves of London Picture Disc. My Beach Boys Collection had gone from a hobby to hoarding, and I was questioning whether I wanted to be promoting the latest Leif Garrett album when I turned 30. Like many folks, I had morphed from a high school overachiever into a person who disliked the "straight world."

My acceptance to Graduate School was a watershed moment. It signified an E Ticket into the World of Straight, and my life pace went went from Amish hot rod to Chevelle SS 454 in a New York minute. I interviewed for the Graduate School, and they asked me whether I was interested in teaching Special Needs Children or working with Adults with Disabilities. Since my then wife was a teacher, I chose adults, so as not to step on her feet professionally. The program at the university I entered is still in existence, and like many higher education programs, it was overseen by some very educated men and women with strong ideas on what Human Rehabilitation Services was and was not.  I interviewed for a paid traineeship, and was accepted. This meant my tuition was paid and there was a small monthly stipend to defray expenses.

I walked into McKee Hall that fine September 1980 day in my Lowell George Memorial Bib Overalls and foot long beard, and met some of my fellow students, most of whom asked if I was Mennonite. Among them was a guy who was tall, handsome, and had a long white cane. We had all of our classes together that first quarter, and it was inevitable that I would become acquainted with this man who used a cardholder and stylus and took Braille notes faster than sighted people took notes, and faster in Braille than anyone I had ever met. In fact, if I missed notes, I ASKED this guy what he had heard. We eventually introduced ourselves, and he said his name was Gary Schmidt, and that he had lived in California most of his life, having attended primary, secondary, and Baccalaureate studies there.

My life experience with people with low vision and complete blindness had been very limited. Very patiently, Gary would field questions from anyone who asked him about his blindness, me included. His answers cut through the fears all of us newly minted Rehabilitation Graduate Students had, going out of his way to make US comfortable with HIS blindness. It was a pattern that happened again and again through the two years we studied together, and he became well known and highly respected by both students and faculty in the Graduate School alike. Many faculty unfamiliar with reasonable accommodations for visually impaired and blind students were amazed and educated by Gary Schmidt. His calm and easy way of asking for help and adjustments in information presentation made him very instrumental in pioneering a path for peers with visual impairments and blindness who came after him.

But that was just the veneer of the complex and fascinating man that was Gary Schmidt. He had grown up as the oldest of 5 kids, 4 of whom were stepbrothers and sisters, none of them having a disability except Gary. His parents split over his disability, which is more common than any of us want to admit.  His mother moved to Southern California, and Gary's dad raised him initially alone, and then with his step siblings. As we got to know each other, always over beers on the weekend, slowly the complexities that both of us lived with began to emerge. As Gary described it, his dad blamed him for the divorce between his father and mother. Gary was brought up in an almost quasi military disciplinary environment.  The physical abuse that Gary sustained was both harsh and frequent. He developed an almost detached reaction to it, he said, because he could never predict when it would happen, and, being blind, couldn't see it coming.

Because Gary grew up in the Fifties, there were no agencies to report the abuse to, nor did he dare report it, he said, because he did not want his stepbrothers and stepsisters to be beaten. Gary developed a self-discipline that was amazing to witness. Gary not only excelled scholastically, he graduated with honors from high school, a scholar with highest honors in his class of sighted students. He entered undergraduate study at The University of California-Riverside. His matriculation challenged the then Coordinator of Disabled Student Services, Ed Roberts, himself a person with quadriplegia, and the first student with a severe disability to graduate from The University of California-Berkeley. Ed Roberts went on to become the Martin Luther King of people with disabilities, the founder of the Independent Living Movement and the World Institute on Disability, and the Father of The Americans With Disabilities Act. His influence on Gary Schmidt was profound. The two men believed nothing they could imagine was impossible, and Gary Schmidt transformed services for people with visual impairments and blindness at UC Riverside, and eventually the University of California System.

Having served as a professional notetaker for students who were blind at UC-Riverside for two years taking Braille notes at astounding speeds, Gary decided to pursue his Master's Degree to enable himself to further transform services to individuals with visual impairments and blindness, this time in Colorado. I related to him the sexual abuse I had experienced as a boy, and together we made a pact to work for the expansion of rights for people with disabilities. We were not the only people thinking along that line, the entire disability community across the United States was full of people who wanted the same rights that other populations had fought hard for prior to the forming of the Disability Rights Movement.

Colorado itself was a hotbed of Disability Rights agitation, and Gary Schmidt certainly was not the flaming radical that other people with disabilities in Denver were, with the more militant bunch of folks at ADAPT making headlines with their uniquely effective form of civil disobedience, gathering headlines almost weekly in the Denver Post and the Rocky Mountain News. Gary would say that he wanted to effect change one person at a time, and his approach brought many people to his side, including myself. At the University, there was one Statistics and Research Professor who used the blackboard to teach in a highly visual manner that made the abstract information he was imparting almost impossible for Gary to understand. I appointed myself as Gary's Stat tutor, and we would spend hours demystifying the formulas and precepts that encompass the world of Statistics. Gary did his work in a manner that was stunningly innovative in Stat, and took a "B" and the Professor's respect away from the experience.

Gary's ability to prepare astounding in-depth research papers at a time when every source was gleaned manually in a University library designed for the sighted, instead of being turned up by the Internet, was amazing.  Gary and I took a one week intense grant writing class in our program that put us together with a few other students as a team to write a grant. We developed an idea that was well researched and was eventually funded when Gary reworked it as a professional rehabilitation specialist and administrator. What was utterly stunning in this process was his command of the text of a complex and multi-segmented proposal encompassing nearly 25 pages of text. His perfectionism and pushing for precision and structure in this proposal hinted at the later success he would have as Director of Rehabilitation Services for People with Visual Impairment and Blindness in Colorado.

Gary had a wonderful woman who loved him and inspired him to strive for his full potential. He had met her in California before he came to our University for Graduate Studies. Janis patiently waited for Gary to get done with his program, which lasted two full years, the same as mine. My wife of that time and I invited Gary to live with us in Greeley, as we both had internships in Denver, and could commute together to and from our internship sites, a distance of 120 miles roundtrip. Needless to say, there were boundless chances to talk. Mostly, we spoke about Gary's prospects for a job with Colorado Rehabilitation Services for People With Visual Impairment and Blindness, his upcoming marriage to Janis, and perhaps kids. in both of our futures. His abuse as a kid led to him having a tendency to sleepwalk, with occasionally humorous results. One night, he got completely (and immaculately) dressed for work, walked out the door into the garage, opened the car door, and waited for me impatiently, all while he was fast asleep.

Gary was hired by Services for Visual Impairment, and would ride the Denver Bus System to every nook and cranny of the Metro Area. As time went on, he moved up in the system, eventually  becoming the Director of Services for People with Visual Impairment and Blindness for the State of Colorado. Gary would fearlessly get on a Greyhound Bus to Durango or Grand Junction, not knowing the layout of the destination city. When he would arrive, he would find a pay phone and use his flawless memory to call the local Rehab Office to get a ride there. He and Janis got married, and Janis had a distinguished career of her own as Teacher of Blind Students in the Schools in Jefferson County. They wanted kids, but couldn't have them. Gary made concerted efforts to forgive his father for the violence he experienced as a child, and worked hard to get to know his mother better, not holding her fleeing from his side as a baby due to his blindness against her.

The intensity of our friendship was diluted somewhat by my taking a job in Greeley, Colorado, first at The University, then at the Community Services Board for Persons With Developmental Disabilities. When our first daughter was born, we had a beautiful present from Gary and Janis. When our second child, a child with a severe disability was born, I could not think of a more fitting couple to be her godparents than Janis and Gary. They kindly came to Greeley and took part in our daughter's christening. Time marched on, and the next time I spoke with Gary and Janis, he mentioned that he had been diagnosed with a rare form of testicular cancer. I heard him express the determination I had heard so many times before, and believed him when he said he would beat the cancer.

About 9 months later, having spoken by phone many times, I was told by a mutual friend that Gary was being given a terminal diagnosis, and that it would be wonderful if I came down to take Gary to dinner and to have a "session over beers" like the old days. When I saw him at his office, I was grateful he couldn't see my reaction to his appearance, which was stunning. His cancer had spread to his lymph system, and he had a huge tumor sticking out of his neck, and his usual pale complexion was ghostly white. We spoke with each other over beers for as long as his stamina held out. I dropped him off at home, and gave Janis a hug.

I asked the Colorado Rehabilitation Association to give Gary an award that fall, which they kindly did, with Janis accepting the award in Gary's stead. By that time, he was bedridden, and could not speak. Janis read the award to him. He died that winter, and his funeral Mass was attended by close to a thousand people. I was honored to be a pallbearer. In death, he was honored by the professional association of Rehabilitation Teachers and Mobility Specialists with an award in his name given to the person most exemplifying the excellence Gary pioneered as a Rehabilitation Teacher, Counselor, and State Director.

When I recently "googled" his name, the only evidence I could find of Gary's life was the Award bearing his name. I became determined to ensure that the name of Gary Schmidt, my friend, my colleague, my daughter's godparent, and my hero, would not be forgotten. Every person should have a friend like Gary. His life was a story of love winning over evil, peace winning over violence, kindness triumphing over anger, and faith overwhelming and destroying doubt. His funeral service speaker said that Gary would not know blindness in his afterlife. I think Gary would have been okay either way, as his blindness was such a small part of his inspirational life.

Text Copyright 2014 by Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved

Let The Gang Know What Your Beach Boys Thoughts Are: Your Beach Boys Preferences: The Ultimate Beach Boys Survey!!!

Friends of mine who follow this blog who are Beach Boys Fans will want to complete the survey I put together at Tellwut. We have finished making edits, and the stats are beginning to accumulate.It may be found here: http://www.tellwut.com/surveys/entertainment/music/55494-your-beach-boys-and-brian-wilson-preferences-the-ultimate-beach-boys-survey.html


The results from 2067 respondents for the survey may be viewed here: http://www.tellwut.com/surveys/entertainment/music/55494-your-beach-boys-and-brian-wilson-preferences-the-ultimate-beach-boys-survey.html

I'm History--Van Dyke Parks New Single by Peter Reum

This month, Van Dyke Parks continues the productive pattern of releasing his new music as singles this month with a gorgeous new pair of tracks that offer a chance to see what is on his mind musically and lyrically. The "A" side, I'm History, presents a series of noble musings about the period from John F. Kennedy presidency to the present day. The grief many of us felt when that promising era was cut short is revisited, with a lovely syncopated track highlighted by beautiful accordian, flute, strings, and backing vocals recalling Discover America. I'm History is a track that has been in the works for a number of years, and a live version is available on youtube here...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvifW0pxvo0

The hallowed halls of government (or Venice CA 1903)

Van Dyke Parks Loves L.A....

The lyrics to I'm History are suitably  Parksian in their content. There are double entendres, puns, and a rough narrative forward of the 50 years since the assassination of Kennedy. I'm History tees off on several targets, especially Wall Street, Biblical Fundamentalists, and Tea Partiers. Parks makes the point that all things pass, and as a nation we will be judged by how we treated those of us who are homeless, elderly, children, and have disabilities. It is apparent that he is frustrated in his inability to communicate with Biblical Literalists, and he laments fundamentalists basing their Christian beliefs on The Old Testament.

The Maestro Himself With Inara George

The Maestro Circa 1968

The second tune, Charm School, is a lovely instrumental recalling Clang of the Yankee Reaper. Timbales, steel pans, guitar, and violins are mixed in a tropical gumbo that only Parks can concoct. The tune recalls some of the music Van Dyke has composed for cinema, and one can easily visualize credits to a tropically based comedic farce rolling over the music here. At times the guitar almost recalls the Rockford Files Theme. If you love Parks, his last album (Songs Cycled), or are curious about his work, this is as good a beginning as you will find. If you don't know where to buy the single, bug Van Dyke at bananastan.com. go to ITunes, or listen on Spotify.

Text Copyright by Peter Reum 2013-All Rights Reserved

The Death of American Naivety (and Heroes) by Peter Reum

There are a handful of news reports in my life that have frozen me where I stood and provoked complete disbelief. Fifty years ago, I was a sixth grade student and another student ran up to me and told me that President Kennedy had been assassinated. It burned my ears like no event ever had. In listening to PBS today, I was once again reunited with people my age and older who were much younger then, when we still believed that government's motive was the betterment of the American people. In Cold War Los Alamos, New Mexico, we were used to bomb drills, secrecy, and the idea of keeping the world safe from the Communists. President Kennedy's rhetoric matched the Soviet Union's as the two rivals careened through the Sixties, oblivious to almost anything else except each other. John Kennedy had visited Los Alamos the previous December, and half the town covered the high school football field to hear his remarks.  He had come to hear about a classified nuclear rocket engine that would enable interplanetary travel in the future.

President Kennedy, December 7, 1962 with Dr, Norris Bradbury (left), and Dr. Glenn Seaborg (right)

After the assassination's verification, for roughly 72 hours, the tempo of the town stopped dead, as it did in most communities around the country.  The drama played out in an almost Shakespearean manner, with the accused assassin being apprehended after shooting a police officer, further compounding the tragedy. We witnessed the deplaning of the Air Force One passengers and crew, the unloading of Kennedy's casket, and the minute by minute commentary by talking heads on television. The tragedy was extended when a Dallas nightclub owner shot the accused assassin in front of millions of viewers that November weekend. We had been fast forwarded into the era of mass media reality television without realizing it happened. 

You may view an 11 minute Los Alamos National Laboratory Video of President Kennedy's visit to Los Alamos National Laboratory and excerpts from his speech at Los Alamos High School Football Field here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xkx-KLZN-N4

In Los Alamos, even though later accountings of Kennedy's Los Alamos visit revealed that he was deeply skeptical of nuclear weapons and their utility in international relations between superpowers, and felt that  the "Los Alamos longhairs" were out of touch with reality as Kennedy viewed it (see below), we deeply mourned a man who had recognized our patriotism, sacrifice, and contributions to American Life. Through the years that followed, details of Kennedy's sex life emerged, and his star stopped shining the way it had for a few years after his murder. Kennedy's trip to Los Alamos placed him in a unique esteem that still is held today by many of us who had never been that close to a sitting U.S. President before the amazing day he came to visit us.

A part of us as a nation also died that day. Kennedy was a man of privilege, well educated, impeccably dressed, Ivy League educated, and quite young compared to his predecessors. Many authors have made the point that he was the first of the generation that served in World War II to be elected President. His successor, Lyndon Johnson, also was in Los Alamos that day in December, 1962, and was relegated to a minor supporting role. Despite that fact, Johnson subsequently held Los Alamos in high esteem, and gave us the chance to own our homes and modify them, after having paid rent to the US Government since 1943. But President Johnson  was a different man, older, with a Texas twang that most New Mexicans found objectionable. Texan jokes were de rigeur in New Mexico. It was as if we had our national leadership had morphed from an urbane, witty "modern" guy to a countrified rancher who flashed people with his gall bladder operation scar.

For the Kennedys, the mantle of leadership shifted to Robert F. Kennedy. For Los Alamos, the Cold War was a bonanza for every sort of defense technology the "longhairs" could envision. Los Alamos became the preeminent place for most of the future defense needs of our country. The assassinations continued, and the Vietnam War became a form of national quicksand which destroyed our national unity. There was no chance of restoring the faith in government that the Kennedy Era had ushered in. As his star became tarnished, it was almost as if we accepted the premise that heroism was temporary,and subject to a form of investigative journalism designed to find every hero's unsavory past. Worse yet, we relegated the assumption of honesty in our public servants to the ash heap. The Watergate Era let every American see what had always been there, but had been off limits by common agreement between the Presidents and the Press.....their private life.

When Kennedy's sexual addiction became well known, it was free range muckraking. Nothing began to surprise us as our heroes  became tarnished, slowly but surely, one at a time. We built people up, then tore them down. The list of true heroes has become quite a short list.....especially post Kennedy assassination. Two that come to mind are John Glenn and Neil Armstrong. Both of these men are direct products of Kennedy's Cold War goal of beating the Soviet Union to the Moon. Martin Luther King's legacy is another story closely intertwined with the Kennedys. Yet the press has exposed his sexual episodes with women outside of his marriage as well. The bar has been lowered to the point to where very few people want to seek public service as a career, except narcissists and sociopaths.

But....I remember December 7, 1962 as my one close encounter with a U.S. President, and although he was taken away prematurely, his presence that cold day in Los Alamos is something I will always treasure and remember.It was the biggest day of my nearly 10 year old life, and still thrills me to this day, 51 years later.

Note below: For some perspective on Kennedy's private reaction to his Los Alamos Laboratory visit, see the Kenneth O'Donnell and David Powers book on O'Donnell's years with John F. Kennedy-"Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye" Memories of John F. Kennedy (1972 Little Brown and Co.)

Text copyright 2013 by Peter Reum-All Rights Reserved

The Kids-My First by Peter Reum

On this occasion, my oldest daughter's 29th birthday, I remember her birth by my first wife vividly. Her coming into this world was difficult. Her mother and I had taken Bradley classes, and we decided to try to do things without medication. We had delayed our children by 10 years, which was a wise decision, as neither of us were ready for kids until then. It seemed that I sowed many wild oats in my 20s, and by 31, I had earned two graduate degrees, and money was flowing more substantially than ever before. We had bought a home, and I really thought it would be our home lifelong.

That first home had 3 bedrooms, plus a room for my ever burgeoning record collection. Insanity by vinyl multiplied. We searched for names, and Kalinda, a word from the ancient language Sanskrit meaning sunlight, was our choice. She was born in the Greeley, Colorado Hospital, and her Apgar Score at 1 minute was only 2.  Having been trained in Early Childhood Development, sirens went off in my head. Her mother was still dealing with the afterbirth when Apgars at 5 minutes were 5. By 10 minutes, she had "pinked up" to 8, and at 15 minutes, she was a solid 9. Her screams rang out as she discovered her world, and she calmed down when placed with her mother. Those first few weeks were heaven, as we learned her rhythms and she learned ours. My father asked me how I liked being a father myself.

She was always inquisitive, always spirited, fiercely independent, and wanted to do things herself. More than most of my other children and step-children, my first was observant, and learned by watching. Her mother's intellect was prodigious, and she inherited it. Friends of mine and her mother's dubbed her "Kalinda the Wonder Child." She was expressing her needs clearly by 7 months and walked early.   She loved being read to, and I read her stories nightly for her first 4 years. Preschool was a good experience for her, and she enjoyed the company of other children. By 4, she had developed a sensitive temperament, which she hid well.  From me, she developed a wonderful sense of rooting for the underdog, a quality she retains to this day.  She does not suffer fools who discriminate against others well, nor do I. She had the unique experience of growing up with a sister with cerebral palsy, and loves her sister dearly.

It must have been  hard being the sister who is "gifted" in a family with a newly diagnosed little sister who was a special needs child. Kalinda accepted this role, and, to my knowledge, never showed a bit of jealousy about the amount of time her parents spent with her younger sister in various therapies, special education programs, and other forms of intervention designed to help close the delays her sister had developmentally. As Kalinda entered school, she developed an interest in horses that she kept for most of her elementary school years. She became an accomplished rider, and despite a few falls and broken bones, kept on riding. She also developed a love of singing that she maintained all the way through her secondary school years. She has a beautiful soprano voice and a great ear.

When Kalinda was 10, her mother asked me to leave, and the pain she had in her eyes as I packed and moved out is seared in my soul forever. Her mother and I had grown apart, and we had a painful and protracted divorce that only hurt Kalinda more deeply. She expressed her anger to me, and presumably to her mother as well. I don't know, I was not there. I remarried on the rebound, and my second wife clashed personality wise with Kalinda.  They never really were able to tolerate each other, making Kalinda's relationship with me even more distant. I take full responsibility for this. It was a mistake I will always regret.

I moved to Montana, and Kalinda visited me the first two Christmases I was here. My second wife had died, and I was devastated. To this day, it is hard to determine whether the divorce or my second wife's illness and death was most shattering. I still could not see Kalinda's pain, and I wish I could have. Her mother remarried, and her second husband was a true gentleman. He did not try to win Kalinda over, but simply respected her feelings for what they were. This was a lesson I hadn't learned, and it hurt Kalinda.

Fast forward into the post high school years, and Kalinda went to college. She was absent from my life, and had good reason to be. I had been arrogant. Her mother helped her as best she could,
and to Kalinda's credit, she got through a rigorous undergraduate program in 3 years. She met her future husband, and they ended up getting married and went to graduate school in Montreal. Kalinda got her M.A. in History, and the couple had the first of two children they have today.  The children are beautiful, and have the delicate features their grandmother had.

They live an ocean and a half away, and when Kalinda visits, she comes to see her younger sister. Last time, she generously spent time with me for a few hours, and shared herself with me a little. Her talents are many, and her husband appears to be a generous and attentively loving man. For this I am very grateful. When her mother died, I couldn't help but wonder what things might have been like if I had gotten my act together and stayed, instead of selfishly being self-occupied.  I wish there was a way I could have made amends in a manner Kalinda and her mother could hear.

They say the "woulda, shoulda, couldas" will eat away your soul. I believe it. My beautiful first born is a woman, a mother, an artist, a wife, and a citizen of the world. She has embraced the cultures of other countries, using her camera and her inquiring mind to learn about things I only dreamed of learning. Her mother rests at peace in Colorado, and my Higher Power has seen fit to give me a second chance to be a dad with her sister, now 23, and 3 stepdaughters and 2 children with my wife. My "second family" is a blessing, a chance to make a difference in the most important job a man can have, being a father and stepfather.

Kalinda has a gift for photography that is truly remarkable. Her site, attakat.com, is a collection of photographs that I love immensely. Every few months, I go there to see what my oldest has found wonderful about the world in her travels. If I live long enough, my hope is that one day, I will be privileged to meet her family. In the meantime, once a year formally, and hundreds of times informally, I celebrate her life and her gifts, which are many. She is unique, my first, and nothing can take her place in my heart. You only have your firstborn once, and today, I celebrate her and her life....Kalinda.