1/31/23

 Tuesday, January 31, 2023

In bed by 9:30, awake at 1:30, unable to sleep, up at 1:49 and onto the recliner, no toddy.  1 below zero under clear skies, high of 11 today, wind NNW at 9 creating a wind chill of -16.  Wind speeds of 7 to 13 mph are expected, gusts up to 25 mph, and wind chills of -22 to -3, yecch. Sunrise at 7:08, sunset at 5:02, 9+54.

THE UNBELIEVABLE TALE OF JESUS’S WIFE is a very long article in the current The Atlantic by Ariel Sabar.  Its subtitle describes it: "A hotly contested, supposedly ancient manuscript suggests Christ was married. But believing its origin story—a real-life Da Vinci Code, involving a Harvard professor, a onetime Florida pornographer, and an escape from East Germany—requires a big leap of faith."  I read it this morning, or more accurately, in the middle of the night.  Really fascinating, not only because of its central focus on the cryptic Coptic papyrus making reference to Jesus' wife, but because the central characters reside or resided in North Port, Florida, where my grandparents, my father, my aunt, and a cousin lived over the last half-century, and Venice, Florida, a short distance away, where we so often went to watch the dolphins and pelicans from the jetty.  An amazing tale of chicanery and of a Harvard theology professor taken in by it.  I was also especially interested in it because I have long harbored a hunch that Jesus was indeed married, not during his public ministry, but before that, in his 20s.  Bachelorhood was not an acceptable life choice in Judaism two millennia ago (and still isn't.)  The notion that an observant Jewish man would remain unmarried until age 30 seems highly unlikely to me, almost inconceivable.  It may well be that Jesus was unmarried during his public ministry, with no mention of a wife or children in the available historical record, but that is not to say that he wasn't a widower or even a divorced man.   Early deaths would not have been uncommon in that era, especially among women of childbearing age.  So who is to say Jesus was married young, as was the custom, and lost his wife in childbirth, perhaps before his 40 days in the desert and encounter with the bizarre John the Baptist?  What we do know is that early on in Christian history an antipathy towards sex took hold along with a male priesthood and hierarchy and a subordination of woman, except of course the BVM with emphasis on the V - virgin.  Jesus' mom was not only virgin, but "ever virgin,' despite the gospel references to Jesus' siblings.  It seems ridiculous to me.

Feeding frenzy on the niger feeder, 12 or 13 goldfinches perched all over it.  Not much action on the sunflower feeders for some reason. . . . By 5 p.m., the niger feeder was 1/3rd empty.

The Sami and indigenous boarding schools.  This morning's NYT has an article about a novel being released today, Stolen by Ann-Helén Laestadius.  It's set in Sweden, in a Sami community, north of the Arctic Circle.  The author is Sami herself and the novel depicts oppression and expropriation endured by the Sami in Sweden and other Nordic countries and Russia where they are indigenous.  One of the wrongs committed by the Swedes was forcing Sami children to attend boarding school where they were forced to speak Swedish rather than Sami and where adherence to the Sami culture was discouraged in favor of the Swedish culture, reminiscent of American and Canadian boarding schools for indigenous children.  In all cases, many of these schools were run by Christian organizations, e.g., Jesuits here and [Lutheran] Church of Sweden there.  One curious difference between the Nordic situation and the North Ameican situation is that the Sami look like Swedes, Norwegians, Finns, or Russians, i.e., I don't see a visible racial distinction.  In any event, the Nordic/Sami history is yet another example of a stronger majority culture attempting to absorb and obliterate a weaker minority culture, intolerance for differences, viewing a significant minority as threatening the strength of the majority group.  I'm sure Niebuhr has much to say about all this in Moral Man and Immoral Society.  I'll have to look.  Two shorties, not what I was looking for, but - (1) "What is lacking . . . is an understanding of the brutal character of the behavior of all human collectives, and the power of self-interest and collective egoism in all intergroup relations." and (2)  "The relations between groups must therefore always be predominately political rather than ethical, that is, they will be determined by the proportion of power that each group possesses at least as much as by any rational or moral appraisal of the comparative needs and claims of each group."

Disturbing experience at VA.  In the waiting area at the podiatry clinic this morning, there was a heavy-set man in a wheelchair across the room from me.  He needed to urinate and asked the staff where the bathroom was and if someone could take him there.  The receptionist said they had no one there to help him, so he pushed himself in his wheelchair with one foot down the hall to the men's room.  Before he could find it, he peed in his pants.  He was very upset, angry,  and shouting loudly for help.  I didn't know what to do, how to help.  He appeared to need help getting out of the chair and removing his trousers and I was not able to do either with my own leg strength, balance and stability challenges.  I told the receptionist that the man needed help in the restroom and she was disturbed by his plight but said they didn't have anyone there equipped to help.  Eventually, various professional staff people went to the restroom and must have provided some help because the loud shouting stopped as I was called into my appointment.  I felt for this old veteran.  He was young once, and healthy, and strong, capable of standing up and walking, dropping and raising his trousers and peeing on his own.  Now he can do none of this without help and I was sure I couldn't help because of my own physical incapacities.  Plus, I was fearful that I was looking into the future and seeing myself.

1/30/23

 Monday, January 30, 2023

In bed around 9:  30, up at 4:25, thinking of Kitty, Tom, & my O&O  Made some honey vanilla chamomile tea. Temp is 7 degrees with wind  NW at 13 mph and wind chill at -9.  A very cold day ahead with a high of 11, winds 9 to 16 mph and gusts to 23, and wind chills ranging from -19 to -9, never above 0.  Sunrise at 7:09, sunset at 5:01, 9+51.

More and More, I Talk to the Dead; The Ordinariness of Grief Governs My Days is Margaret Renkl's regular guest essay in this morning's NYT.  She describes the sudden, unexpected death of her mother and the protracted illness and death of her father, as well the deaths of other family members during her life.  She reminded me of course of the thoughts with which I woke up this morning, of my beloved sister Kitty and my old pal, Tom.  Kitty's death on March 3 followed a long, long decline with lung disease and close to a year of in-home hospice care.  Her death occurred in a moment; her dying took years.  Tom's death on January 18th was sudden and unexpected.  Micaela, Saul, and the other passengers in the snorkeling boat they were on didn't even know that he had died until someone noticed he had been facedown in the water, motionless, for some time.  I pause even as I write these words, thinking of it.  Both Tom and Kitty were big presences in my life, Kitty for 78 years, Tom for 55.  Each of them has died within the past year.  Like Margaret Renkl with her parents, I find myself talking to Kitty now and then, as I so often did to my mother years ago during a hard time.  Indeed, I talked to Kitty more than once preparing Tom's eulogy, asking for her help getting through it.  My relationship with Tom was less intimate than the relationships with my mother and sister, but it was close and long.  I wonder if I'll find myself chatting with him one of these days.

So beautiful, so strong, so true, so good

Sweet Sour Cabbage Borscht.  I made a potful yesterday.  I'm getting  too casual in my soup-making lately, thinking that the recipes are mighty forgiving, that they allow a lot of personal variations.  More of this, less of that, omit this, add that, etc.  This time I didn't rely on my usual practice of setting the timer on my iPhone for the various steps in the process.  With my memory, this is reckless, and sure enough during the final simmering, I forgot about the soup and overcooked it.  Nothing tragic, the soup tastes good, but the cabbage in it is not as al dente as I prefer.  Like the ancient moose turd pie joke I learned from my old fishing partner Doug Wenger years ago - "good though!"

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!", Puck to Oberon, Midsummer's Night Dream.  There is an op-ed in this morning's JSOnline supporting the current Republican proposal scrapping Wisconsin's progressive or graduated income tax and adopting a 'flat tax.'  At its core, it is simply a proposal to cut taxes on the wealthy and shift more of the state's revenue needs onto the not-wealthy, i.e., a classic Republican policy preference.  "There's nothing surer, the rich get richer and the poor get poorer," from Ain't We God Fun.  The essay is accurate enough in one sense in that it points out the nasty competition between states to attract rich residents and employers with tax and other policies, e.g., homestead exemptions, that favor the very wealthy.  Florida has no state income tax and relies on its sales tax for its revenue.  If I recall correctly, Florida and Texas have no upper limit on their homestead exemptions, allowing the very rich to protect multi-million dollar palaces from the claims of judgment and other creditors, even in bankruptcy.  The author of the op-ed, a 'policy director' for a right-wing think tank, accurately asks why a multimillionaire or billionaire would choose to be a resident taxpayer here rather than a Floridian or Texan.  It's hard to argue with that, at least if one's focus is entirely on maximizing personal wealth rather than contributing to the society and economy in which one makes all that wealth.  Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote "I like to pay taxes.  With them, I buy civilization."  Personal wealth maximization is not a universal value or goal by any means, though some economists, theorists, and Republicans disagree.  Gloria Vanderbilt is reputed to have said "You can't be too rich or too thin."  She was wrong of course on both counts.  I also noted in the op-ed some slick arguments like "Earn $280,000 in Wisconsin and your marginal rate is 5.3%. Have a good year and earn $281,000, and your marginal rate jumps to 7.65%. It is an explicit penalty on success, a Progressive-era attempt to even out incomes. As the economic literature has long pointed out, it depresses upward mobility and wage growth."  He slights the fact that the tax rate increase is a marginal increase, i.e., it is an additional 2.35% not on the $280,000, but only on the additional $1,000 of income, i.e., an additional $23.50.  That is 0.00008363 of the $281,000 income.  Hardly a sufficient reason to pull up stakes and move to the land of Greg Abbott or George DeSantis.  Of course, it's not only income taxes and progressive tax rates that may discourage the wealthy from staying in Wisconsin, there's also the matter of death taxes.  Since 2008, Wisconsin has had no estate or inheritance tax, a departure from a history of more than 100 years.  So that inducement for the wealthy to flee to more welcoming climes no longer exists.  Now if only the Republicans can get rid of that nasty relic of the Progressive Era the graduated income tax, all Wisconsin will have to compete with is the warmer winters in Dixieland (let's disregard hurricanes, tornadoes, lightning strikes and suchlike.)

I let Lilly out at 6:30 onto the snow-covered turf and 9 below zero wind chill.  I think she set a personal speed record for getting her business done.

Thoughtful, insightful WaPo lead article on systemic racism.  The article points out that systemic racism isn't binary; it isn't just a White supremacy or White superiority thing.  It's a matter of how Black people can or should be treated.  It's a matter of Black Inferiority.  It's an important insight that helps us realize that it is still Racism at work when Black cops beat a young Black man to death on the streets of Memphis (or Los Angeles, New York, or Milwaukee) because Racism teaches us what is acceptable in terms of how Black people, especially Black men, especially young Black men, may be treated, whether by White people, or Hispanic people, or Asian people or by other Black people.  Racism teaches us that you can get away with treating a young Black guy less respectfully than you would treat others.  Correctly understood, Racism's focus is on the race of the victim, the abused, the denigrated, not on the race of the victimizer, the abuser, the denigrator.  Some quotes in the article: (1) “In America we’re taught that racism is black and white,” said Owens, who now works with the Maryland Coalition for Justice and Police Accountability. “And we are not taught about institutional or systemic racism, even though we see it everywhere. We are taught that if a Black person kills another Black person, it can’t be racist. It’s ‘Black-on-Black crime.’”  (2)  Bakari Sellers, a former South Carolina state legislator and CNN commentator said "For many folks, the race of a cop is cop."  (3)  Jason Sole, a community organizer in Minneapolis and former head of the local NAACP, said he’s never felt a sense of relief when encountering Black officers.  “I never had that feeling of ‘Oh great, it’s a Black cop, yay.’ No. I was born in ’78 and I never had that feeling, not once,” Sole said. “All your skinfolk ain’t kinfolk.”

The Mystery of the Tube Feeder.  I've been wondering for a few days why I am not seeing the normal visitors on the tube feeder in which I stock black-oil sunflower seeds.  On a normal day, we have an abundance of chickadees, sparrows, red finches, nuthatches, downy woodpeckers, red-bellied woodpeckers even an occasional Eastern bluebird.  The last few days - zilch, leading me to wonder whether there is something nasty about the seeds I put out or whether there is a raptor hanging around.  This morning the Arctic cold weather appears to have brought at least some chickadees back, dashing in, picking up a seed, and dashing away.  Still no action on the suet cake which remains a mystery, especially in the bitterly cold weather.  On the other hand, the goldfinches are covering the niger feeder and are filling up.  That's the good news.  The bad news is that it's only between 1/4 and 1/3 filled which means I have to bundle up and refill it.  The lucky ones cling to the bottom of the tube where the neger seeds are.  Others wait higher up, where there are no seeds.  Also, there is one lone slate-colored junco on the ground under the niger feeder.  I need to get on a stick, but brrr . . .  It astounds me that the birds and other critters survive weather like this.  (And finally, at 9:30, a red-bellied woodpecker has landed on the suet cake holder and pecked into it with vigor, followed by a female downy woodpecker, and a red-breated house finch is on the sunflower seed feeder)

TIA.  I had one on November 24, 2020, or at least I may have.  The neurology specialist at the VA thought it was probably a TIA but recognized, as did the ER doc and another examining neurologist, that it could have been an ocular migraine.  In any event, I have been on 325 mg aspirin therapy ever since.  This morning's WaPo has an article reporting that the American Heart Association is recommending that TIAs be treated as emergencies, not as "mere" mini-strokes.  It recommends a CT scan within 24 hours of the onset and appropriate treatment thereafter.  When I had mine, I thought it was related to an injection of avastin in my right eye to counter bleeding and macular degeneration.  I couldn't read the right half of words on my laptop or see the right side of images on a tv screen.  I called the retinologist's office and the triage nurse said it sounded like "more of a brain thing than an eye thing" and that I should call my regular doc.  I called the triage nurse at the VA and she said I should hie me to the ER at Zablocki, which I did.  This was all about 24 hours after experiencing the symptoms.  They did a CT scan at Zablocki and it seemed like it took forever to get the results, waiting for a read by a radiologist in California if I'm remembering correctly.  Dear Geri was with me for hours in the ER.  Reading this article about the AHA recommendations makes me realize anew how fortunate I was to have access to such good advice and care from the 2 triage nurses and the staff at Zablocki's ER and the 2 neurologists I saw on follow-up. (I'm now recalling wearing the Halter monitor for a day or two before seeing the superspecialist neuro guy.)

Out and About.  I was stricken with guilt about the 2/3rds empty niger seed feeder and the goldfinches waiting on the top of the tube for their turn to feed at the bottom of the tube.  I put on my heavy winter jacket and my Nanook of the North winter storm hat with fur earflaps and went out to Wild Birds Unlimited to pick up a gallon jug of niger.  I also wanted to buy a new supposedly squirrel-proof feeder to replace the one that we recently had to discard. Once I was out I noticed my gas tank was pretty low so I stopped at the Shell station and filled up to avoid gas line 'freeze up' during this week of cold weather.  When I got home, Geri asked me to pick up some potatoes for the potato salad she wanted to make.  First, I filled the niger feeder to assuage my guilt and then the new feeder with sunflower seeds, then back up to Senkik's for potatoes and other necessities, like vanilla bean ice cream, etc.  Few people in Sendik's and at the gas station, but the bird lovers' store was busy, probably because of concern over the cold weather and the welfare of our feathered friends.

Brunch today consisted of my first bowl of yesterday's sweet-sour cabbage borsch which was certainly edible but bland.  The solid ingredients are OK but the stock/broth needs some perking up.

1/29/23A

Sunday, January 29 postscript(s)

 I lost control of formatting when I did a cut & paste of Auden's poem so on to a new post.  

Auden's Musee is one of my favorite poems though I wonder why since it induces such recognition of guilt in me.  He tells us the subject of the poem not in the title, but in the second word of the text: "suffering," human suffering. He goes on to reflect that while one human being suffers, anguishes, excruciates and dies,  He notes that even 'dreadful martyrdom' occurs in some 'corner, some untidy spot' where dogs may be pissing and the killer's horse scratches his ass on a handy tree.  He reminds us that Breughel's Icarus depicts a "disaster," "a boy falling out of the sky," "his white legs disappearing into the green water" with a 'splash' and a 'forsaken cry,' while the "expensive delicate ship . . . had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on."  How easy it is to think of the forsaken cries of.  George Floyd and Tyre Nichols crying for their mothers while being murdered by their official police department executioners, to think of Eric Garner on Staten Island crying 'I can't breathe.'  How easy to think of all of them as martyrs to Black oppression in America, even with Tyre's murderers all black. Is is conceivable that Tyre would have been treated as he was had he been White?  Ditto George Floyd.  Eric Garner . Freddie Gray.  And as for 'the expensive delicate ship . . . sail[ing] calmly on, consider the video of the casual conversations of the vicious murderous police officers during the 22 minutes that elapsed before an ambulance arrived for Tyre, with the 5 cops offering no assistance whatsoever to their lethally injured victim.   Consider the nonchalance of Derek Chauvin as he pressed his knee on George Floyd's neck for  more than 9 minutes while Floyd's life drained away.  Or Daniel Pantaleo after applying his unlawful and lethal chokehold on Eric Garner.  How can I knot be guilty culpable indifference when I have done nothing to stop or reduce this police criminality other than to 'tsk tsk', or to write about it in my chronicles or journal to be read only by me, or to commiserate with my 'expensive delicate' highly educated very comfortable White liberal friends about what a racist society we live in, virtue signalling. Never picketed, never marched, never carried a sign, never wrote to politicians to demand action.  I'm reminded of the concluding lines of Kenneth Rexroths memorial poem to Dylan Thomas "Thou Shalt Not Kill: "And all the birds of the deep sea rise up / Over the luxury liners and scream  / 'You killed him, you killed him / In your Goddamed Brooks Brothers suit / You son of a bitch!"

Donald Hall, Essays After Eighty:  "My problem isn't Death but Old Age.  I fret about my lack of balance, my buckling knee, my difficulty standing up and sitting down.  Yesterday I fell asleep in an armchair.  I never fall asleep in a chair.  Indolence overcomes me every day.  I sit daydreaming about what I might do next:putting on a sweater or eating a pieceof pie or calling my daughter.  Sometime I break through my daydream to stand up  . . . Fiends die, friends become demented, friends quarrel, friends drift with old age into silence . . ."

Queries to my Seventieth Year, Walt Whitman, died at 72.   "Approaching, nearing, curious / Thou dim, uncertain spectre - bringest thou life or death? / Strength, weakness, blindess, more parahysis and heavier? /  Or placid skies and sun?  Wilt stir the waters yet? / Or haply cut me short for good?  or leave me here as now? / Dull, parrot-like and old, with cracked voice, harping, screeching?

Answers from my Eightieth Year, Chuck Clause, died at ???? "Approaching, nearing, curious - now a decade on / The clear and certain spectre - diminished life and death. / Touch, sight, hearing, taste and smell grow dull and deaden / Memory, identity, and self evanesce. / And cut me short.  There's no leaving me here as now / Plague or plaques or plasias ultimately see to that."              

Vacillation,  W. B. Yeats "Things said or done long years ago / Or things I did not say or do / But thought that I might say or do / Weigh me down, and not a day / But something is recalled, /  My conscience or my vanity appalled."

1/29/23

 Sunday, January 29, 2023

In bed around 9:30, up at 5:20, after several pitstops, feeling a bit hungover though nothing to drink last night other than water Drained phone battery completely ...overnight with tinnitus masking app on all night.  Too much vanilla bean ice cream before bed, feeling it now.  Big snow last night, more today.  18 degrees now, high of only 21 today, wind chill of 2 degrees, current wind at 17 mph with winds today 9 to 18 mph, gusts to28 creating wind chill temps of -9 to 10 degrees.  Hard on furry and feathery friends, hard on the rest of us.  Sarah should be in LA today for the start of her 3 week business trip out West (CA, UT, WA, TX).

Our Town  A 1-year-old boy was killed in a hit-and-run car crash Friday night, and Milwaukee Police are looking for suspects.  The crash occurred in the 4200 block of North 35th Street at about 11:35 p.m., according to a police statement.  The boy and a 31-year-old female driver were in a white Pontiac that collided with a green Dodge Caravan. The Caravan's driver and passengers fled the scene on foot.  The Pontiac's driver and the boy were taken to a local hospital. She is expected to survive and was taken into custody. The boy died at the hospital.

Tyre Nichols  Dauntre Hamilton, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Walter Scott, Laquan McDonald, Freddie Gray, Philando Castile, Rayshard Brooks, Stephon Clark, Breonna Taylor, Botham Jean, Ahmaud Arberry, George Floyd, Daunte Wright, [Reserved]. [Reserved].[Reserved], . . .

About suffering they were never wrong,

The Old Masters: how well they understood

Its human position; how it takes place

While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along

How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting

For the miraculous birth, there always must be

Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating

On a pond at the edge of the wood:

They never forgot

That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course

Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot

Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse

Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away

Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may

Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, 

But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone

As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green

Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen

Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky

Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly by

Musee des Beaux Arts, W. H. Auden, 1938

1/28/23

 Saturday, January 28, 2023

In bed at 9:30, up at 10:10, unable to sleep, off to recliner to open my laptop and read and at some point nodding off, back to bed at 12:10, up at 4:55 &let Lilly out into the 15 degree darkness with wind chill at 5 degrees, wind 7 mph NNW, expected to range from 4 to 14 degrees, gusts to 22 mph today and a high temp of 22.  Sunrise 7:11, sets at 4:58, 9+47.

When snow is on the ground,

Lilly comes in with a snout full.

Memento, homo, quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris.  You can take the boy out of the Church, but you can't take the Church out of the boy. Irish Catholic variation on a lot of other 'you can take  --- out of  the ___, but . . ." sayings.  Reading an article on monastic practices in the latest New Yorker ("Eat, Pray, Concentrate," 1/30/2023) reminded me of my Kitty candle, the votive candle I bought for myself after I sent another to Kitty to keep her company during her sleepless nights and to remind her that her brother was always with her.  I've been focused this past week not only (though mostly) on Tom's death, but on losing him within the same year as losing Kitty.  I light my Kitty candle in the early morning hours when I am awake before dawn.  This morning I lit a Tom candle along with my Kitty candle and also burned a cone of frankincense to watch it reduce to ash, to dust, in pulverem.  "We are all tattooed in our cradles with the beliefs of our tribe;  the record may seem superficial, but it is indelible." Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Tom candle left, Kitty candle right

FB post this morning:  "Reading on my laptop this morning, I saw an ad for what appears to be a handsome overshirt that reminded me of my friend Tom St. John.  His many other friends will know why by the words that are printed on the front of the shirt: "That's what I do - I fix things and I know stuff."

LTMW and wondering if there is a predator hanging around in our trees, Cooper's hawk, Red-tail hawk, falcon?  I filled up the tube feeder with black-oil sunflower seeds yesterday and it remains filled today.  No visits from chickadees, sparrows, red finches, woodpeckers, et al.  Not even an acrobatic squirrel.  No visitors to the full suet cake out there either.  OTOH, nothing seems to scare off the goldfinches from the niger feeder. Que pasa?. . . .  20 minutes later or so, just saw a snowbird/junco land on the tube feeder, but s/he seemed to turn up its nose at the sunflower seeds.  I hope I haven't put nasty seeds out there.

Cheap thrill, or a very expensive one?  I find all the I43 freeway construction that's been going on between Silver Spring Drive and Grafton kind of thrilling (teaching for the right word.)  I am just so impressed by it -- by all the planning, all the scheduling, all the coordination, all the procurement, all the required joint human effort it represents -- I am just really moved by it, like a little kid, like I was when Emerald Avenue during my childhood was torn up for sewer replacement.  I wonder at times if I'm in a minority to experience all the traffic disruption as thrilling, excited contemplating the finished product.  I think at times it's a cheap thrill, till I remember this is a $500,000,000 project.

Chantal Ackerman, Dis-Moi.  I watched this on the Criterion Channel this afternoon.  From a French tv series about grandmothers.  Ackerman interviews old women who survived the Holocaust, including her own mother.  Very Ackermanesque.  Each old woman reminded me of Mary Oliver's line "I see each one as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular."

1/27/23

 Friday, January 27, 2023

In bed before midnight, awake at 5:45 or so, up at 6 wanting more sleep but not in the cards, thoughts of the funeral, shiva.  Thinking I was somewhat rested but fooling myself, still exhausted. 17 degrees outside, wind blowing from SSW at 17, 8 to 21 mph during the day with gusts to 38 mph. Light snow is expected today.  A real January day with a wind chill at 2 degrees now, 0 to 22 degrees today.  Sunrise at 7:12, sunset at 4:57, 9+44.  A day to collapse, try to sleep, R&R, Rest & Recover.

Messages  Former next-door neighbor Howard Schoenfeld messaged me a very kind note: "We watched the service on live stream as we were unable to get to Milwaukee.  Thank you for your moving words.  I am still in shock.  He has left such a void."  Linda Stieber, first a receptionist at our law firm and then a legal secretary also sent a very kind note: "Dearest Chuck, this is Linda. I am so sorry that I could not be there in person to offer you, David, and of course Caela and the family my condolences. I watched your incredibly meaningful funny and lovely eulogy via the online service. You honored Tom so very well. Love, peace and many hugs to you, always. I can't find the last email address I had for you.... please feel free to free to message it here or to lastieber@yahoo.com. Take care, dear man, and greetings to Geri as well. 💗  I wrote back to each of them.  "Thank you, Howard.  Your words mean a lot to me.  I’ve been a bit of a wreck for the whole past week and wondered if I was up to delivering the eulogy.  I’m hoping to sleep for a week now that we have all moved through Tom’s death, the long wait for his body to be released by the VI authorities, meetings with Rabbi Cohen, etc., etc.   It was very kind of you to send me your message.  I send Paula a big hug." and "Oh, wow Linda, you touch my heart with your message.  How very, very kind of you.  I have such warm memories of you at the firm when we were both there and at your wonderful recital and the party at Bob Friebert's house afterward.  Thank you so much for taking the time to send me this message.  It means more to me than you can imagine."

To sleep, perchance not to dream . . .  I dozed off at some time on my recliner, and woke up at about 1:30, my body more rested but emotionally numb.  The house is so quiet, Geri napping in bed,with Lilly.  Put on my heavy bathrobe, filled the scooper funnel with sunflower seeds and finally filled the tube feeder that was emptied yesterday. The tall niger feeder is still half full, the suet cake also plentiful.

Contact mit die Kinder  I sent a short email to Sarah, caught up a little, shared Tom's eulogy; sent a short text message to Andy re how pleased I was that he attended Tom's funeral and the food gathering, how proud of him I am.

Pain around right kidney lately hoping it's not a UTI, worse yet a stone.😱

9 P.M. and a first  I never got out of my nightshirt today.  I want to think about and write about Tyre Nichols but not now.

1/26/23

 Thursday, January 26, 2023

In bed around 10, up around 4, thinking again of Tom and his eulogy, thankful to have slept this long, no toddy probably helped.  28 degrees out, like yesterday drizzle and flurries, snow predicted around 5 then a cloudy day with a high of 30, winds between 6 & 11 mph, gusts up to 16. a gloomy day all around as life moves on.

Our Town.  An 11-year-old boy was shot on the city's north side Wednesday night, Milwaukee police said. He is expected to survive. Police said the incident happened at roughly 6:15 p.m. on the 5600 block of North 65th Street.  The boy was transported to a hospital. Police do not have anyone in custody.

Cost of Seeing a Bucks Game is, on average, $129.37.  That covers the ticket, 2 beers, 1 hot dog, and parking.  If you go with your spouse, that adds up to about $250.  To watch the Knicks play at Madison Square Garden? $261.63 for one person.  To watch the Packers at Lambeau this season?  Average ticket price was $274.38.  That doesn't include the beers, the hot dog, or parking.  Home game for the Brewers? You should plan on spending $50 for the game ticket, $15 for parking, $18 for food and if you enjoy beer, around $28. This brings the total cost of game attendance to around $111. Those are all average costs, encompassing wide variations.  

Tom's Funeral was worthy of him.  Rabbi Cohen presided and did a lovely job, especially with his eulogic comments about Tom.  The cantor made a point of assisting me climbing and descending the short stair to the bimah, which was very thoughtful.  Saul started the comments with loving and tearful comments about his father and some about the circumstances of his death, that it was not a drowning, and not accompanied by a lot of suffering.  I spoke next.  Then, Jack, Micaela's brother made very touching comments about Tom and then Madeleine delivered her eulogy which was also very tailored, and thoughtful.  She was followed by Rabbi Cohen.  As well as the funeral service went, apparently the burial service was not well orchestrated, inadequately prepared for, making the process much longer than anticipated in very cold weather.  I was comfortably at home (despite some nasty CPP and exhaustion) so I heard about it when the mourners returned to Congregation Sinai, cold and tired, for the meal of consolation.  Andy and I arrived at the meal of consolation separately but at the exact same time and came in together where we were met by Karen Berk, the synagogue's director of administration, and Alan Mendelhoff, the synagogue's president, and then by Miriam Horowitz.  We sat with Donald and  Judy Shane, Geri joined us when she returned from the cemetery.  I spent time talking with the Shanes, with Natalie, with Joanne Watt, whose husband Dave owned the Park Avenue disco and nightclub on Water Street at Clybourn, next to Bob Romano's hair salon, and who died young in a freeway collision.  Also chatted with my classmate Tom Brown and was delighted when Ellen Friebert came up to say hello, Bob's older daughter, behind Jon and before Leslie 'the Last' as Bob referred to her.  After the consolation meal, I went home and rested a bit while Geri went on her errands of getting two big coffee containers, cups, etc., from Stone Ground in Shorewood.  She was stressed because everything was off schedule, running late, and she had her obligations, including picking up Marge at the Pfister.  I offered to get Marge at 6, which I did, and enjoyed chatting with her while driving along the lake to Caela's.  At shiva, there seemed to be at least 100 people present, literally a full house.  Several people commented on my eulogy, including nice comments from Jake.  I tucked myself into a corner in the kitchen and schmoozed quite a while with Liz and Larry, and later with Julie Darnieder, and then with Mark Darnieder during Kaddish.  I left for home a little after 8 when shiva was supposed to be done and the house was still full.  I left at the same time as Rabbi Cohen and asked if I could walk next to I'm while navigating Caela's walkway, a difficult trip for me.  The rabbi said they he is another one prone to falling but his wife offered to accompany me.  I joked that I had just met her, and here I was with my arm around the rebbitzen.  Geri got home a bit before 10 after driving Marge back to the Pfister.  When she left Caela's around 9, the gathering was still going strong with younger people, friends of Tom's kids. Geri and I were up until near midnight, unwinding from the day, the week.

A painting I did  from photos many years ago of Micaela on a ski trip with Tom.

A friend in need is a friend indeed: Geri  Geri doesn't like it when I call her an angel of mercy, but I was struck once again as I have so often been by her going to provide help to a friend in need.  She did so in spades with Caela this whole week, preparing for the upcoming funeral, preparing for sitting shiva tonight, providing rides for Caela's longtime friend Marge to and from the Pfister to Caela's house and to Sinai.  She is also such a friend to another old friend dealing with advanced Parkinson.  She was such a friend for my lonely old father, to her dear friend Kate when her husband died and so often.  She puts herself out when she knows someone could really use some help; she becomes the helper.  Really admirable.  Not a wonder woman, but a wonderful woman.  Mt. 25: 31-46.

1/25/23

 Wednesday, January 25, 2023

In bed around 10:30, up at 2, unable to sleep, too many thoughts swirling around my head, out to the recliner, hoping but knowing I was unlikely to sleep.  Nightcap of cognac making this worse? Geri up toilet Lilly out @ 3, I let her in.  Went back to bed at some point and slept till 8, with CPP.   Wintery day ahead, 29 degrees now with drizzle, flurries, snow expected during the day, about 1 & 1/2 inches.  Wind from W today, 6 to 14 mph, gusts up to 19.  Sunup at 7:14, sundown at 4:54, 9+40.

Family gathering with Rabbi Cohen at Tom &Caela's house.  Caela, Jessie, Saul, Jake & Kari, Jack, Liz, Madelene, Geri & me.  Jessie gave me a big hug when I came in,  First time I've seen her in decades; she's 53 now.  Caela had me sit down next to her at the dining room table.  Explanations of logistics, scheduling, rituals led by Rabbi Cohen.  Discussion of regards planned by Saul, Madeleine & me, perhaps also by Jack.  I told Caela that I was pleased that Tom & she had plots at Greenwood cemetery and that I had a plot purchased next door, in the green burial section of Forest Home, so we would be next door neighbors.  It was comforting, heartwarming for me to hear all the comments made by everyone around the table.  I told the rabbi that I was anxious about my ability to deliver my eulogy because of physical problems and asked whether, if necessary, someone would be able to finish it from my text.  He said yes.  These sleepless nights aren't helping.  I've not felt good in quite some time, often thinking that I am approaching 'last legs' status, time running out with the clock ticking faster.  Nearer term, I need to pick up some Orbit chewing gum this morning, see if I can speak with a wad in my cheek to help with lingering amtrptyline dry mouth.  Water mug w/ honey water?  Need to test.

Mezuzah given to us by Tom & Micaela

Andy called this afternoon to tell me that Tom's death notice was posted on JSOnline and that he hoped to attend the funeral on tomorrow.  He has never attended a Jewish funeral and asked if there was anything to be aware of.  I explained about the availability of kepahs at the synagogue and said I would look to see if I had one he ould use.  He is picking Peter up after school today and dropping him off at his workplace and will try to stop over here for a visit.  I need to remember to show him my 'death dossier' & box of memorabilia in the basement, let him know that it's unlikely that he will be needing them but in the highly unusual event of simultaneous deaths, he should know about them and their location.

American M1 Abrams & German Leopard 2 tanks will finally be sent to Ukraine.  I don't doubt they are useful, even essential, for the Ukrainian war effort, but something seems anachronistic about this, a throwback to tank battles in North Africa in WWII.  They seem like land-based aircraft carriers, especially the Abrams tanks.  Enormously expensive to develop and to build and to operate.  News reports suggest that it will take literally years for any Abrams tank to be available for combat service in Ukraine because of training and maintainance requirements., including the need for jet fuel to power its turbine engine.  The German Leopard uses ordinary diesel fuel.  All these tanks would seem to me to be vulnerable to air and drone attacks and perhaps missile attacks guided by satellite location information.  Of course, I know next to nothing about any of this but I know that every one of the American tanks costs multiples of $1,000,000, the number of multiples varying from model to model.  And figuring out the real costs of these armored monsters is probably next to impossible, depending on what items you factor into the cost.  computation in addition to the nuts and bolts.  A brand new MiA2 probably costs about 10M; retrofitted older ones, considerably less, but still.  Each mile, they literally cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to operate because of the jet engine and required jet fuel.   Even if Ukraine should hopefully win its battle with Russia, how will its war-ravaged economy ever cope with maintaining and operating these tanks without permanent US support?  It's not hard to figure out why DOD Secretary Lloyd Austin resisted so long sending these tanks to Ukraine.  Boo to Germany for forcing our hand as a cover of some sort for their sending Leopard tanks to assist Ukraine. Interesting that the largest tank battle of WWII was not El-Alamein in Egypt, but the Battle of Brody in western Ukraine in 1941, with more than 4,000 tanks engaged by the German and Russian armies.

Andy came over this afternoon in part, I suspect, to make sure I was OK.  He shared with me his memories of Tom St. John.  He always thought that Tom was my 'coolest friend,' friendly, supportive, and 'he looked like Robert Redford but aged better."  He remembered that he and Ben St. John were on the same Little League and Tom attended all the games.  In one game Andy received the MVP award for the game.  I was out of town and not at the game.  Tom took Ben and Andy to McDonald's after the game to celebrate.  I took Andy to the basement and showed him my 'death dossier' on the butcher block desk and the box of photos and memorabilia in the workroom,   I explained I prepared the materials for Geri but in the unlikely event that we would die together, he would be in charge of death arrangement and needs to know of these materials.  Then we pulled CDs and other materials he has stored here for years, including Peter's baptismal candle, and some books I had boxed up for him and Anh.  He loaded several boxes into his car before leaving to pick up Lizzie.

Geri is out and about this afternoon with an appointment with Dr. Baugrud at 3:30 and fulfilling some responsibilities she has undertaken to help Micaela with tomorrow's sitting shiva.  An angel of mercy, again.  

1/24/23com

 Tuesday, January 24, 2023

In bed at 10:40, awake at 2:40, up at 3:10,unable to sleep.  Thoughts of eulogy swirling in my head, Tom's playing basketball despite poor depth perception, our wedding & reception, photo of him at The Bog. Let Lilly out at 5:45.  26 degrees, high today of 35, wind chill at 17 with wind from the W at 10, winds of 3 to 11 mph expected, gusts up to 21 mph.  Sunrise at 7:14, sunset at 4::53, 9+39.

Our Town.  This morning's JSonline: Thirteen shootings were reported over the weekend in Milwaukee, leaving 18 people shot and four killed, including two teenagers, one 14, the other 15. Investigations are ongoing for each of the shootings except for one in which a 19-year-old armed suspect was treated for non-fatal injuries and later arrested.

Rare event: Geri stumped. Geri has become superb in solving Wordle each morning.  Yesterday she was stumped, even with 3 letters in the right spots after  or 4 stabs at it.  I tried to help and I was stumped (not unusual😞)  Jordan telephoned this morning from Alexandria to tell her that he finished it late at night and that the word was "elude".  

Eulogy anxiety.  I've never been very good at public speaking.  Since Tom died 7 days ago, I've semi-dreaded being asked to do a eulogy.  One, it's of course painful to compose the eulogy, to try to wisely select among a thousand competing memories, to relive some of those memories, mostly good but some not so good.  How to compose a narrative that is honest and respectful, suitably somber, but at least somewhat human and humorous.  Not all that easy.  And when there is time, there are different drafts to try to improve an initial miserable one.  Second, there's the delivery aspect, actually speaking the narrative before the gathering for whom it is intended.  This is my biggest anxiety producer.  My voice has been weak for about 2 weeks, so weak that I've written my primary care doc wondering about esophageal cancer in light of my long term Barrett's Esophagus.  She had me stop taking the amitriptyline first to see if that helps and I think it has but my voice is still very much 'iffy.'  Then there's the problem os unpredictable IC/CPP pain and discomfort that usually or at least often has me not wanting to leave the house.  I've told Geri that I don't expect to attend the burial because I can't be out and about, away from facilities, that long.  Plus possible balance problems navigating the terrain.  I wish I were stronger, healthier, in better shape.

Gerard Manley Hopkins Spring and Fall

to a young child

Márgarét, áre you gríeving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leáves like the things of man, you

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! ás the heart grows older

It will come to such sights colder

By and by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

And yet you wíll weep and know why.

Now no matter, child, the name:

Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It ís the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.

Eulogy

Tom St. John

January26, 2023

Congregation Sinai

Fox Point, Wisconsin

Tom St. John and I have been friends since 1967, when we started law school together.  He had just turned 23, fresh out of MBA & CPA training at UW-Madison.  I was 26, fresh out of 4 years in the Marine Corps.   Each of us hoped to become a lawyer.  Each of us was married.  Each of us had our first child during our law school days.  We came to know each other early in law school and our friendship grew throughout our first 2 years of study. 

  

 Tom was the undisputed star of our law school class.  At the end of our 1st semester, when grades and class ranks were distributed, Tom was at the top of our class of 119 students.  First by a wide margin.  He maintained that position for the next three semesters and was unanimously elected editor-in-chief of the Marquette Law Review by the outgoing board of editors with the unanimous concurrence of our incoming board and with the approval of the Dean and Faculty.  There was never a question about who would be the Editor-in-Chief.  Our first board  meeting was held in June of 1969 in his little apartment at 46^th & State Street, across from the old Milwaukee Montessori School.  Our exuberance and eagerness about working together on the law review was dampened only a few weeks later when we learned that Tom, our leader, had been drafted into the Army.  The war in Vietnam was getting more lethal every month we all feared that Tom would be sent there and become yet another casualty in that misbegotten conflict.   Fortunately, the Army recognized his already-evident legal and intellectual skills and assigned him to assist a judge advocate general lawyer in the Finger Lakes region of New York.  That office handled appeals from courts-martial and the preliminary reviews were handled by Tom,  with all of 2 years of law school behind him.  During Tom’s tour of duty there, his supervising officer came to realize that if Tom found no serious errors in the court-martial record, there were none.  Tom used a shorthand code from the old Lucky Strike cigarette slogan, LSMFT.  'Lucky Strikes Means Fine Tobacco'.  When Tom wrote those initials on his memos to his supervising JAG officer, they meant, "Legally sufficient/mighty fine trial."  As his time in the Army drew to its close,  Tom wanted to return to Marquette and finish his degree requirements  The good news was that he was a “short-timer”  The bad news was that his scheduled discharge date in New York would make him too late to start his senior year with the class of 1972.   By this time I had graduated and was on the law school faculty .  Tom called me from New York and asked me to write a letter on law school stationery advising the Army of the effect of his discharge date and asking whether he could be discharged a few weeks early to allow him to start and finish school with his new classmates.  I wrote the letter of course and to my great surprise, the Army agreed.   Tom returned to Marquette, and became a star in the class of 1972, as he had been in our original class of 1970.  

 

Federal district court Judge Myron Gordon selected Tom as his law clerk and the two of them became a mutual admiration society until Judge Gordon's death in 2009.  I remember Judge Gordon presiding over Tom and Micaela’s wedding in the living room of their first home on Edgewood Avenue in Shorewood.   While he was clerking for Judge Gordon, Tom got to see in action a young lawyer named Bob Friebert.   He shared with me more than once the story of  him sitting in the courtroom watching Friebert represent a young defendant in a criminal case in which Judge Gordon made what Friebert considered an egregiously erroneous ruling, holding the fellow in contempt of court for lying on the witness stand testifying in his own defense and  summarily jailed him.  Friebert was quiet for a moment or two while he collected his thoughts and then slammed his fist on counsel’s table and  bellowed, as only Bob Friebert could bellow, OUTRAGEOUS! and protested the judge’s action.  Judge Gordon asked “Are you suggesting, counsel, that if you were to throw your chair at me, I could not summarily find you in contempt and jail you?  To which Friebert replied, ‘I may not be throwing my chair at you, your Honor, but at the man creeping behind you with a gun and, in any event, I am entitled to a hearing.” (A matter on which the 7^th Circuit court of appeals agreed, BTW)  

 I mention this  story from so long ago for 2 reasons. First, because it describes the beginning of the long, happy, and important professional and personal relationship between Bob Friebert and Tom St. John and (2) because, as all the lawyers who have known him could attest, Tom St. John could have practiced at any silk stocking law firm in the country, but he knew then watching that otherwise insignificant trial, that he wanted to practice with and emulate Bob Friebert and of course that is just what he did.     And even when he was new to the practice, Tom was a brilliant, skilled, tough-minded lawyer, well respected in the legal community.  In 1975 I decided to leave teaching at the law school to practice law, Tom encouraged me to join his firm, which I did, precisely because Tom St. John was practicing there. That was all I needed to know.  The firm was then known as Friebert & Finerty but would soon become Friebert, Finerty & St. John

 

Tom was a man of immense talent.  He was a brilliant lawyer, a lawyer’s lawyer, regularly appearing on lists of Super Lawyers, the top lawyers of Southeast Wisconsin and the state.  More importantly, he was a client’s lawyer, a zealous advocate on behalf of each of his many clients, a professional and a friend they could trust.  He was a teacher, regularly called upon as a guest lecturer at the law school and asked every year to serve as an advisor to law students in their appellate practice and trial practice courses.  He never refused.  He acted as a mentor  both to the young lawyers in our office and to our law clerks.  He shared his legal, business, and other expertise generously throughout our community, serving both as a volunteer providing services and as a board member in charitable organizations providing leadership, significantly including Jewish Vocational Services, as it was then known, and Neighborhood House, the vital community center on 28^th Street that serves the residents of  some of Milwaukee’s most underserved neighborhoods.  He also was  an accomplished carpenter, an outdoorsman, a  sportsman and an athlete.  We spent many a day fishing and boating and water skiing, with him opting to do the skiing and me opting to drive the boat.  We went camping together, sometime by ourselves, and when we could with our children.  Tom introduced me to downhill and cross country skiing, undoubtedly hoping that  I could develop some skill in these sports at which he excelled.  I managed to dash those hopes pretty quickly but I have always been grateful to Tom for his great if misplaced optimism about my potential.

 

Mostly, Tom was devoted to and so proud of his wife Micaela, his children, Jessie, Ben, Saul, and Jake, to whom he has passed on som many great qualities, his grandchildren, Sophia and Sebastian, his sisters Judy and Mary, and all his mishpuche.  Our hearts have been with all of them this past week.

 

    Tom was my close friend, my bosom buddy, from the 1960s into the 2020s, 55 years.  He helped me learn how to practice law, though never as well as he did.  He stood by my side and supported me through difficult times in my life.  He was with me during the best times.  My wife Geri and I were married under the crabapple tree in Tom and Caela’s front yard on Wood Place.  Tom and Caela hosted our wedding reception in their home.  They retained a videographer to record it all. We had keys to each other’s houses in case of emergencies.  I was given my own key to their cottage on Bean’s Lake, Funkytown.

 

  Tom introduced me to many good friends of his who were to become good friends of mine.  I remember telling him at a dinner at the old Chip and Py’s restaurant that he and Caela had hosted that he was  a catalyst of friendship for all the people he brought together, who knew and befriended one another only through their common friendship with him.   Many of those friends are here today. I am grateful to Tom for that, for enriching my life with that gift, and for so much more.   

 

My son Andy stopped over to visit me yesterday afternoon and he shared some of his memories of Tom.  He said he always thought Tom his Dad’s “coolest friend.”  It was a close call because he really liked David Lowe too  but he tipped the scale in favor of Tom, maybe because he was a bit older and he was so friendly and supportive, but also because Tom looked so much like Robert Redford, and how cool is that?  He reminded me that he and Ben St. John played on the same Little League team, the Pirates and one day Andy had a real good game and got the MVP of the game award from the coach.  I was out of town and not there, but Tom was and Tom took Andy and Ben out to McDonald’s  afterwards to celebrate the game.  I still have Andy’s award for that game so I know  exactly when it occurred.  It was June 24, 1984, going on 40 years ago.  Andy ordered a Big Mac but had just gotten new braces on his teeth so he came to regret that Big Mac.  But he hasn’t forgotten Tom St. John’s support and Tom St. John’s kindness.  That was the kind of effect  Tom had on people,  including children.

 

 When I learned of his death in water, I thought to myself that it seemed fitting that he should take his leave outdoors, with his family, enjoying their company, engaging Nature, living life large.  And I couldn't help remembering a fable that the two of us concocted decades ago.  Someone somewhere, probably in a bar, asked us how the two of us met and became such good friends, a guy from Appleton and a guy from the South Side of Chicago. One of us, probably Tom, said we met cliff diving at Acapulco.  That after a full day of defying death by diving off the high cliffs into the pounding surf, we  went to a local cantina to drink beer and compete for the attention of a beautiful senorita named Maria Conchita.   We got into a fistfight over her and she went off with some other guy, but we dusted ourselves off and became friends.   It was all made up of course and ridiculous and when we told the story no one believed us for more than a few minutes.  But Tom and I both  enjoyed the imaginary beginning of our friendship  and played off it for years. 

 

 Emily Dickinson’s wrote what probably was her shortest poem, just 2 lines, a couplet:  “In this short life that only lasts an hour / How much - how little - is within our power.”  Since Tom was younger than me, and since he lived a much healthier, more vigorous life,  I long assumed that Tom would be the eulogist at my funeral.  But here we are.  I’m so grateful to Micaela for the honor of bearing witness to Tom’s character, to his generosity of spirit, to his excellence as a lawyer and more importantly as a man, to honor him.  I’m grateful to Tom for the honor of his friendship for so many, many years, for sharing his goodness with me and my family, and with so many others.

 

1/23/23

Monday, January 23, 2023

In bed by 10:30, up at 5:30, no toddy.  19 degrees out, high of 32, wind from W at 9 mph and wind chill of 9 degrees.  Winds expected between 6 and 18 mph with gusts to 34 mph, a cold cloudy morning to be followed by a sunny afternoon.

Our Town.  Two teenage boys were shot on the city's north side Saturday night and were transported to the hospital in serious condition, Milwaukee police said. Police have confirmed that a 14-year-old boy died of injuries following the shooting late Saturday night.  Currently, no suspects are in custody.  The shooting occurred on the 2600 block of North 52nd Street around 6 p.m.  A 13-year-old boy was shot in both arms, the Milwaukee Fire Department said. The 14-year-old boy was "pulseless/non-breathing" but was resuscitated, according to the fire department. Both victims were transported to Froedtert Hospital.  The investigation is ongoing.

Aged Organs.

Pickles by Brian Crane

 

Second Draft of Eulogy

Draft (2)

[Most honors in life we cherish. They signify achievement, or attainment, some excellence.  One honor we dread, that is eulogizng  a best friend whom we have lost.]

Tom St. John and I have been good friends since 1967, when we started law school together.  I He was 23, fresh out of MBA & CPA training at UW-Madison.  I was 26, fresh out of the Marine Corps.   Each of us aspired to become a lawyer.  Each of us was married.  Each of us had our first child during our law school days.  We came to know each other early on in law school and our friendship grew during our first 2 years of study.   

 Tom was the star of our law school class.  At the end of our 1st semester, when grades and class ranks were distributed, Tom was at the top of our class of 119 students.  First by a wide margin.  He maintained that position for the next three semesters and was unanimously elected editor-in-chief of the Marquette Law Review by the outgoing board of editors with the unanimous concurrence of the incoming board and the approval of the Dean and Faculty.  There was never a question about who would be the Editor-in-Chief.  Our first board  meeting was held in his little apartment at 46th & State Street, across from the old Milwaukee Montessori School.  Our exuberance and eagerness to work together on the law review was dampened only a few weeks later when we learned that Tom, our leader, had been drafted into the Army.  The war in Vietnam was getting more lethal every month we all feared that Tom would be sent there to serve in harm’s way.   Fortunately, the Army recognized his already-evident legal and intellectual skills and assigned him to assist a judge advocate general office in the Finger Lakes region of New York.  That office handled appeals from courts-martial and the preliminary reviews were handled by Tom,  with 2 years of law school behind him.  By the end of his tour of duty, his supervising officer came to assume that if Tom found no serious errors in the court-martial, there were none.  Tom developed a code using the old Lucky Strike cigarette slogan, LSMFT.  'Lucky Strikes Means Fine Tobacco'.  When Tom wrote those initials on his memos to his supervising JAG officer, they became, "Legally sufficient/mighty fine trial."  As his time in the Army drew to its close,  Tom wanted to return to Marquette and finish his degree requirements  The bad news was that his scheduled discharge date would make him too late to start his senior year with the class of 1972.   By this time I had graduated and was on the law school faculty .  Tom called me from New York and asked me to write a letter advising the Army of the effect of his discharge date and asking whether he could be discharged a few weeks early to allow him to start school with his new classmates.  I did of course and to my surprise, the Army agreed.   Tom returned to Marquette, and became a star in the class of 1972, as he had been in our original class of 1970.  

Federal district court Judge Myron Gordon selected Tom as his law clerk and the two of them became a mutual admiration society until Judge Gordon's death in 2009.  I remember Judge Gordon presiding over Tom and Micaela’s wedding in their first home on Edgewood Avenue in Shorewood.   While clerking for Judge Gordon, Tom got to see in action a young attorney named Bob Friebert.   He shared with me more than once the story of Friebert representing a young defendant in a criminal case in which Judge Gordon made what Friebert considered an egregiously erroneous ruling, holding the fellow in contempt of court for lying on the witness stand testifying in his own defense and jailing him.  Friebert was quiet for a moment or two while he collected his thoughts and then bellowed, as only Bob Friebert could bellow, OUTRAGEOUS! and then proceeded to tell Judge Gordon why he had erred.  I mention this  story from half a century ago because, as all the lawyers who have known him could attest, Tom could have been hired at any silk stocking law firm in the country, but he knew he wanted to practice with Bob Friebert and of course that is what he did.  First in the small  firm known as Friebert & Finerty, soon to become Friebert, Finerty, & St. John.     Tom was a brilliant, tough-minded lawyer, thoroughly dedicated to advancing his clients' causes. In 1975 I decided to leave teaching at the law school to practice law, Tom encouraged me to join his firm, which I did, mainly because Tom was practicing there. [For a time we were a firm of only 4 lawyers, Bob Friebert, John Finerty, Tom St. John and me.   I learned more of the realities of law practice from working with those three lawyers than I had learned  from all the academic doctrines I learned and taught at the law school.]

Tom was a man of great talent.  He was a brilliant lawyer, a lawyer’s lawyer, regularly appearing on lists of the  top lawyers, the super lawyers.  More importantly, he was a client’s lawyer, a zealous advocate on behalf of each of his many clients, a professional and a friend they could trust.  He was a teacher, regularly called upon as a guest lecturer at the law school and as an advisor to law students in their appellate practice and trial practice courses.  He acted as a mentor  both to the young lawyers in our office and to our law clerks.  He shared his legal, business and other talents generously in the community, serving as a volunteer and as a board member to charitable organizations, including JVS and Neighborhood House.  He also was an outdoorsman, a  sportsman and an athlete.  We spent many a day fishing and boating and water skiing, with him opting to do the skiing and me opting to drive the boat.  We went camping together, sometime by ourselves, and when we could with our children.  Tom introduced me to downhill and crosscountry skiing, hoping probably that  I could develop some skill in these sports at which he excelled.  I managed to dash those hopes pretty quickly but I have always been grateful to Tom for his misplaced optimism about my potential.

Tom was my friend from the 1960s to the 2020s, 55 years.  He helped me learn how to practice law, though never as well as he did.  He stood by my side through difficult times in my life.  He introduced me to many friends of his who were to become friends of mine.  I remember telling him at a dinner that he and Caela hosted that he was  a catalyst of friendship for all the people he brought together, who knew one another only through their common friendship with him.   I am grateful to Tom for that, for enriching my life with that gift, and for so much more.  Though he was the younger of the two of us, I followed in his footsteps.  I followed in his footsteps at the law school, at the law review, and in the practice of law.  When I learned of his death in water, I couldn't help remembering a fable that the two of us made up decades ago.  Someone asked us how the two of us met, a guy from Appleton and a guy from the South Side of Chicago. One of us said we met cliff diving at Acapulco.  That after a day of defying death by diving off the cliffs all day, we  went to a local cantina to drink beer and got into a fistfight over a beautiful señorita, Maria Conchita.  It was all made up of course and ridiculous  but no one was hurt by our fable and we enjoyed and played off that fable for years. 

 Emily Dickinson’s perhaps shortest poem was just 2 lines, a couplet:  “In this short life that only lasts an hour / How much - how little - is within our power.”  Tom was younger than I am, and he lived a much healthier, more vigorous life.  I long thought that Tom would be the eulogist at my funeral.  But here we are.  I’m grateful to Caela to be able to share a few memories of Tom, to attest to his excellence as a lawyer and as a man, and to honor him.  I’m grateful to Tom for sharing so much of his goodness with me all these years, and with so many others.