The theme of this week's rambling is memorable people we've met once. For the millions of sleeves we brush as we fly around this planet, there's times when people can mark our memories, our souls... only if we let them.
Like Jackie, a/k/a Seat 9B (I kept the ticket)
Last October, two people met who had a lot to tell and no one they felt like telling it all to besides a complete stranger. What's more magical is that we both seized the moment. It's the only time I ever bought wine on an airplane. We didn't need a sign to tell us we were destined to share those 5 hours together, but we got one anyway. At one point, we got bored with heavy discussion and played "20 questions." I only needed 4 to guess she was thinking of an elephant. After we got off the plane, a flight attendant stopped us and asked if we dropped something. She was holding a stuffed elephant. We looked at it and then each other at the same time, mouths open like we were trapped in a bad Meg Ryan flick. (was there ever a good one? And Top Gun doesn't count.)
Anyway... she came up in conversation yesterday and I later tried to tally up all the kickass, "soul-marking" people I've met only once. The people who randomly appear in dreams, thoughts or Saturday conversations. Well, here's what I came up with:
(in no particular order)
1. Seat 9B
2. Rabbi Stephen Leon, who took me into his congregation as both a reporter and a fellow Jew on my first night of Hanukkah in El Paso. I had no idea I was lonely until I joined in the candle-lighting prayer. I even still knew the words.
3. A saxophonist, jamming out on a bench near the Public Gardens. It was pouring. I'd just finished my 1st Walk For Hunger. I sat and listened to him for a good 10 minutes.
4. A parent who approached me the day after I reported on a fatal ATV crash. She (and a dozen emailers) chastised me and my station for reporting the fact that this father of 2 and respected businessman was drunk and speeding when he killed himself. It reminds me how vigilant people are to hang on to the main thing I want to strip them of: Ignorance.
5. A girl dancing to a live jazz combo in my favorite D.C. bar. We were both... not in states recommended for operating heavy machinery. We went outside for air and I got her to sing me an Irish folk song. I have no idea what her name is.
6. Craig Scott, brother of Rachel Scott, the first girl to die in the Columbine shootings. He stopped at Las Cruces High during a nationwide school tour, spreading "Rachel's challenge."
(for more: http://rachelschallenge.com/IAccept/tabid/1595/Default.aspx)
Witnesses say Jesus, MLK and Gandhi had auras of beauty and strength so intense, you could nearly see them. In 24.5 years, I've felt the strongest aura in the presence of Craig Scott.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
...
Who have you met? Share with us. Maybe together, we can reduce the our global degrees of separation to 5.
***
In an unrelated story of interconnection: I realized today that I still had the Red Sox' 2006 schedule on my fridge. I decided to ask Mom for an '07 one as I walked to my mailbox. The first thing I opened was an '07 Sox Schedule via Mom.
Thanks, Mommy. And happy birthday on Monday :)
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
To Be or Not To Be?
The following is a guest blog by Jason Gibbs:
****
The New Mexico House of Representatives, on a 41-28 vote Monday, passed a bill that would repeal the death penalty in New Mexico. In place of the death penalty, the bill would create a new penalty of a true life sentence without the possibility of parole. The bill now moves to the Senate, where similar legislation was defeated in the Judiciary Committee in 2005. -- AP
The current debate on the death penalty in New Mexico is being hashed out without true input.
Those advocating the elimination of the ultimate punishment for the most egregious crimes may not have all the facts.
I've seen two men die at the hands of the Great State of Texas. I've spoken with both, before their sentences were carried out. I have watched their last breath escape, in the company of their family and in the presence of those they admittedly wronged. I also had the opportunity to interview another condemed man before a deadly dose of chemicals was sent through his veins at the government's directive.
Each of the three had committed henious crimes. Each of the three admitted their guilt after trial. Each of the three embraced, even welcomed, their final punishment.
Life in prison is a far worse sentence than a cold, clinical death at the hands of of the state, they told me.
I watched two of them die. Once, surrounded by the family of the condemned, once by victim's relatives.
No one left happy.
Except, perhaps, the condemned.
While I grant you that three out of the scores of condemed criminals are not a fair sampling, not an adequate assessment of what runs through a man's or woman's mind as they meet their maker, seeing life's breath exhausted at the hands of the state made an impression on me.
My analysis? Death is not an appropriate punishment -- even for those who have committed the most egregious, unspeakable crimes.
Why, you ask?
Too often, our criminal system is incorrect, fallable, and just plain wrong in assessing this, the ultimate punishment. Innocent people have been put to death or, remarkably, saved at the last moment. Finding one case where an innocent person was executed is one person too many. Our justice system can't guarantee the guilty are guilty. Neither can it always convict the true criminals.
What sways my opinion is the words of three confessed, condemned men.
To a man, they said they would rather die than serve another day -- 23 hours in solitary, one alone to groom and walk.
If an executed, alleged criminal is innocent, we as a society have murdered an innocent. If a truly guilty criminal, justly and dully convicted of a crime against humanity, is executed, we've let them get out of serving the punishment they truly deserve.
If they are innocent, we have committed the sin of murder.
If they are guilty, we've let them off too lightly.
Here's a little something I wrote after watching my first Texas execution:
Kitchens Executed - Drifter dies for killing Abilene woman in 1986.
By Jason Gibbs (publication date Wednesday, May 10, 2000, Abilene Reporter-News)
HUNTSVILLE - Flowers bloomed in their sidewalk beds along the pathway that led to the death chamber. Their bright color offered sharp contrast to the grim task about to take place inside the infamous "Walls" prison unit where, at 6:22 p.m. Tuesday, William Joseph Kitchens was pronounced dead.
Kitchens' execution comes just one week shy of the 14th anniversary of the violent crime for which he was sentenced to die.
In May 1986, Kitchens robbed, raped and murdered Patricia Leanne Webb. The wife of an Abilene firefighter, Webb befriended Kitchens at a nightclub where she was socializing with a group of friends and co-workers. He brutalized her after she offered him a ride to his hotel, a friendly gesture that was typical of her caring nature, family members said.
Webb's brother, Steve McNally, was the first to report her missing following her death. After witnessing Kitchens' execution, he said it marked the end of a 14-year ordeal. The healing, he said, had begun.
"It was not an act of retribution," McNally said. "But we can begin to heal. It starts now."
Webb's husband, James Webb Jr., added, "He accepted responsibility, said he was remorseful. Fourteen years is a long time. This severs a link between us and the criminal."
Webb went on to say forgiving Kitchens even after such a long time was hard.
"But I probably can," he added.
Tuesday evening, Kitchens was strapped to a steel gurney in a cold and antiseptic room that smelled of disinfectant.
After the needles were inserted into his tattooed arms and prison officials began to administer the first of three chemicals in the injection that ended his life, his family began to weep softly. First one, then the rest, comforted one another as tears welled in their eyes.
As Kitchens spoke his final words, two of his sisters, a sister-in-law and two friends wrapped their arms around one another in gestures of support. As the deadly mix of chemicals inexorably began to cloud his senses, Kitchens spoke first to James Webb.
"If there has ever been any doubt in your mind at all . . . I want you to know that Patty was always faithful to you - that I forced her," he said.
The social gathering that preceded Patricia Webb's death began as a typical Friday nightclub excursion. It ended in a field three miles west of Tye. There, Kitchens murdered Webb and fled in her car to his home in Blanchard, Okla., where he was arrested days later.
Webb's fully clothed and rain-soaked body was found later that same day. Kitchens gave Taylor County sheriff's deputies directions that led them to the body.
In a shaking voice after the execution, Webb's husband, a tall, lean firefighter, said Kitchens had answered a question about his wife's fidelity that he had never fully settled in his own mind.
"He answered a question I thought I knew the answer to," the still-grieving husband said. "But it is comforting to know for sure."
Casting his eyes to the half-inch-thick glass and blue-green bars that separated the death chamber from the room in which Webb's family members stood, Kitchens offered an apology.
"I am sorry," he said. "I just want you to know that I am sorry for what I done. I can't change that. I can't replace your loss."
The execution chaplain rested his right hand on the dying murderer's leg, offering comfort as Kitchens turned his eyes and words to the members of his family who had traveled from Oklahoma to witness his death.
"I just want you to know that I love all of you," Kitchens said. "You all just keep on with life. It's going to be good. The Lord's going to be with us."
Kitchens then prayed for peace for the Webb family and for them to find it within themselves to forgive him.
Focusing his eyes on the white acoustic tiles overhead, Kitchens uttered his last words.
"I love you all. You all take care. I'm so sorry," he said before nodding to the warden.
With harsh fluorescent lights bearing down on his white face, the lethal components of the injection poured into his veins. WIth a sudden, choked gasp, Kitchens drew his last breath. A slow gurgle and a low groan escaped his lips as he exhaled.
When the chemicals had taken full effect, a member of the prison medical staff entered the room.
He first held his hand above Kitchen's mouth and nose to see if he had stopped breathing. He then shined a penlight into Kitchens' eyes and checked for a pulse to determine if the injection had stopped the killer's heart.
Finally, the medical attendant slowly donned his stethoscope and warmed it before slipping it underneath Kitchens' freshly pressed blue shirt. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, smoothed the shirt and slowly drew a neatly folded, white terrycloth towell over the dead man's face.
"It's 6:22," he observed before raising the microphone that had amplified Kitchens' last words.
Kitchens' family began to whisper words of comfort as the shock began to fade.
"It's all right. He's home now," Kitchens' sisters told each other. Just 24 minutes after they entered the Walls unit, nicknamed for its ominous and towering red, brick walls, the family of Patricia Leanne Webb, then that of William Joseph Kitchens, walked back out the heavy steel doors and through the 6-foot chain link fence.
Neither group seemed to notice the flowers.
****
The New Mexico House of Representatives, on a 41-28 vote Monday, passed a bill that would repeal the death penalty in New Mexico. In place of the death penalty, the bill would create a new penalty of a true life sentence without the possibility of parole. The bill now moves to the Senate, where similar legislation was defeated in the Judiciary Committee in 2005. -- AP
The current debate on the death penalty in New Mexico is being hashed out without true input.
Those advocating the elimination of the ultimate punishment for the most egregious crimes may not have all the facts.
I've seen two men die at the hands of the Great State of Texas. I've spoken with both, before their sentences were carried out. I have watched their last breath escape, in the company of their family and in the presence of those they admittedly wronged. I also had the opportunity to interview another condemed man before a deadly dose of chemicals was sent through his veins at the government's directive.
Each of the three had committed henious crimes. Each of the three admitted their guilt after trial. Each of the three embraced, even welcomed, their final punishment.
Life in prison is a far worse sentence than a cold, clinical death at the hands of of the state, they told me.
I watched two of them die. Once, surrounded by the family of the condemned, once by victim's relatives.
No one left happy.
Except, perhaps, the condemned.
While I grant you that three out of the scores of condemed criminals are not a fair sampling, not an adequate assessment of what runs through a man's or woman's mind as they meet their maker, seeing life's breath exhausted at the hands of the state made an impression on me.
My analysis? Death is not an appropriate punishment -- even for those who have committed the most egregious, unspeakable crimes.
Why, you ask?
Too often, our criminal system is incorrect, fallable, and just plain wrong in assessing this, the ultimate punishment. Innocent people have been put to death or, remarkably, saved at the last moment. Finding one case where an innocent person was executed is one person too many. Our justice system can't guarantee the guilty are guilty. Neither can it always convict the true criminals.
What sways my opinion is the words of three confessed, condemned men.
To a man, they said they would rather die than serve another day -- 23 hours in solitary, one alone to groom and walk.
If an executed, alleged criminal is innocent, we as a society have murdered an innocent. If a truly guilty criminal, justly and dully convicted of a crime against humanity, is executed, we've let them get out of serving the punishment they truly deserve.
If they are innocent, we have committed the sin of murder.
If they are guilty, we've let them off too lightly.
Here's a little something I wrote after watching my first Texas execution:
Kitchens Executed - Drifter dies for killing Abilene woman in 1986.
By Jason Gibbs (publication date Wednesday, May 10, 2000, Abilene Reporter-News)
HUNTSVILLE - Flowers bloomed in their sidewalk beds along the pathway that led to the death chamber. Their bright color offered sharp contrast to the grim task about to take place inside the infamous "Walls" prison unit where, at 6:22 p.m. Tuesday, William Joseph Kitchens was pronounced dead.
Kitchens' execution comes just one week shy of the 14th anniversary of the violent crime for which he was sentenced to die.
In May 1986, Kitchens robbed, raped and murdered Patricia Leanne Webb. The wife of an Abilene firefighter, Webb befriended Kitchens at a nightclub where she was socializing with a group of friends and co-workers. He brutalized her after she offered him a ride to his hotel, a friendly gesture that was typical of her caring nature, family members said.
Webb's brother, Steve McNally, was the first to report her missing following her death. After witnessing Kitchens' execution, he said it marked the end of a 14-year ordeal. The healing, he said, had begun.
"It was not an act of retribution," McNally said. "But we can begin to heal. It starts now."
Webb's husband, James Webb Jr., added, "He accepted responsibility, said he was remorseful. Fourteen years is a long time. This severs a link between us and the criminal."
Webb went on to say forgiving Kitchens even after such a long time was hard.
"But I probably can," he added.
Tuesday evening, Kitchens was strapped to a steel gurney in a cold and antiseptic room that smelled of disinfectant.
After the needles were inserted into his tattooed arms and prison officials began to administer the first of three chemicals in the injection that ended his life, his family began to weep softly. First one, then the rest, comforted one another as tears welled in their eyes.
As Kitchens spoke his final words, two of his sisters, a sister-in-law and two friends wrapped their arms around one another in gestures of support. As the deadly mix of chemicals inexorably began to cloud his senses, Kitchens spoke first to James Webb.
"If there has ever been any doubt in your mind at all . . . I want you to know that Patty was always faithful to you - that I forced her," he said.
The social gathering that preceded Patricia Webb's death began as a typical Friday nightclub excursion. It ended in a field three miles west of Tye. There, Kitchens murdered Webb and fled in her car to his home in Blanchard, Okla., where he was arrested days later.
Webb's fully clothed and rain-soaked body was found later that same day. Kitchens gave Taylor County sheriff's deputies directions that led them to the body.
In a shaking voice after the execution, Webb's husband, a tall, lean firefighter, said Kitchens had answered a question about his wife's fidelity that he had never fully settled in his own mind.
"He answered a question I thought I knew the answer to," the still-grieving husband said. "But it is comforting to know for sure."
Casting his eyes to the half-inch-thick glass and blue-green bars that separated the death chamber from the room in which Webb's family members stood, Kitchens offered an apology.
"I am sorry," he said. "I just want you to know that I am sorry for what I done. I can't change that. I can't replace your loss."
The execution chaplain rested his right hand on the dying murderer's leg, offering comfort as Kitchens turned his eyes and words to the members of his family who had traveled from Oklahoma to witness his death.
"I just want you to know that I love all of you," Kitchens said. "You all just keep on with life. It's going to be good. The Lord's going to be with us."
Kitchens then prayed for peace for the Webb family and for them to find it within themselves to forgive him.
Focusing his eyes on the white acoustic tiles overhead, Kitchens uttered his last words.
"I love you all. You all take care. I'm so sorry," he said before nodding to the warden.
With harsh fluorescent lights bearing down on his white face, the lethal components of the injection poured into his veins. WIth a sudden, choked gasp, Kitchens drew his last breath. A slow gurgle and a low groan escaped his lips as he exhaled.
When the chemicals had taken full effect, a member of the prison medical staff entered the room.
He first held his hand above Kitchen's mouth and nose to see if he had stopped breathing. He then shined a penlight into Kitchens' eyes and checked for a pulse to determine if the injection had stopped the killer's heart.
Finally, the medical attendant slowly donned his stethoscope and warmed it before slipping it underneath Kitchens' freshly pressed blue shirt. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, smoothed the shirt and slowly drew a neatly folded, white terrycloth towell over the dead man's face.
"It's 6:22," he observed before raising the microphone that had amplified Kitchens' last words.
Kitchens' family began to whisper words of comfort as the shock began to fade.
"It's all right. He's home now," Kitchens' sisters told each other. Just 24 minutes after they entered the Walls unit, nicknamed for its ominous and towering red, brick walls, the family of Patricia Leanne Webb, then that of William Joseph Kitchens, walked back out the heavy steel doors and through the 6-foot chain link fence.
Neither group seemed to notice the flowers.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
New Life's Resolution
It's time to let go the Ego.
I define "ego" as the inner drive to achieve more, have more, be the right one, earn recognition and apprecation... the drive that this society tries to enstill in every one of us. Except for the Enlighted, we all have it. It is the source of our fears, our insecurities, the muse of our desperate acts.
I used to think Ego would drive me to success. Anyone who knew me in high school knows I bought this idea hook, line and sinker. Despite my lasting friendships, I often isolated myself. I relied on no one but me to complete tasks. I pushed myself to achieve awards, positions, grades for the sole reason of proving to myself that I could.
My intentions were good: I was building my confidence, sharpening my skills and improving my enduration by putting myself through insane amounts of stress. (My doctor says I likely began developing diabetes my latter half of high school. I'm not surprised.)
Last month, I hit a mental ceiling. Physically isolated for 18 months, out of love and well-adjusted to my new lifestyle, Ego stopped inspiring me. I felt like I was creating and achieving less and less by the week. I needed to change my channel.
Mom prescribed "The Power of Intention," by Dr. Wayne Dyer.
Dyer proposes that Ego is an obstacle to happiness and creation, rather than a tool. This was a tough pill to swallow. But like the beaten-yet-loyal spouse who's told divorce is the only path to betterment... I realized Ego's taken me as far as it can.
Now, I solely focus on spreading positive energy and simultaneously attracting more positive energy to me. I don't need people to be happy with me. I want them to be happy. If you want a room to be brighter, you don't stand in the middle of the room praying for light and feeling less deserving when it doesn't appear. You flip the switch. And there is light.
Divorcing ego is an ongoing, but fun and enlightening process. I see all my thoughts and actions through this new prism. Last night, I got into another shouting match defending the media with my political friends. I should have just let them bitch; all they wanted to do was be heard and be right. I could have changed their minds in a discussion... but that wasn't a discussion, it was them venting. Next time, I'll spot it sooner and recuse myself because such an environment generates lower, negative energy that affects everyone and leaves no one happier. (One of them is probably reading this... I had a lot of fun, even moreso because it served as an important lesson).
In the shower this morning, I sang "Hands Down" by Dashboard... a song I've dedicated to someone I met right before graduating college. For an entire year, I hoped we'd be back in the same place and dating. I used to feel that hope helped me through my first months out west, a feeling of purpose- direction.
***
"my heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer"
***
I laughed after I sang that, realizing for the first time how desperate my feelings were and how illogical it is to hinge happiness on someone else's decision.
It's not just letting go of these negative, restrictive feelings. It's replacing them with an Intention to visualize what we wish to create in our lives. What job do you want, where do you want to live, what type of people do you wish to share your life with. Don't wait for them to appear. Be positive and you will attract positivity and ultimately... you create what you Intend. It's all right in front of you.
"If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at will change."
-Dr. Wayne Dyer
I define "ego" as the inner drive to achieve more, have more, be the right one, earn recognition and apprecation... the drive that this society tries to enstill in every one of us. Except for the Enlighted, we all have it. It is the source of our fears, our insecurities, the muse of our desperate acts.
I used to think Ego would drive me to success. Anyone who knew me in high school knows I bought this idea hook, line and sinker. Despite my lasting friendships, I often isolated myself. I relied on no one but me to complete tasks. I pushed myself to achieve awards, positions, grades for the sole reason of proving to myself that I could.
My intentions were good: I was building my confidence, sharpening my skills and improving my enduration by putting myself through insane amounts of stress. (My doctor says I likely began developing diabetes my latter half of high school. I'm not surprised.)
Last month, I hit a mental ceiling. Physically isolated for 18 months, out of love and well-adjusted to my new lifestyle, Ego stopped inspiring me. I felt like I was creating and achieving less and less by the week. I needed to change my channel.
Mom prescribed "The Power of Intention," by Dr. Wayne Dyer.
Dyer proposes that Ego is an obstacle to happiness and creation, rather than a tool. This was a tough pill to swallow. But like the beaten-yet-loyal spouse who's told divorce is the only path to betterment... I realized Ego's taken me as far as it can.
Now, I solely focus on spreading positive energy and simultaneously attracting more positive energy to me. I don't need people to be happy with me. I want them to be happy. If you want a room to be brighter, you don't stand in the middle of the room praying for light and feeling less deserving when it doesn't appear. You flip the switch. And there is light.
Divorcing ego is an ongoing, but fun and enlightening process. I see all my thoughts and actions through this new prism. Last night, I got into another shouting match defending the media with my political friends. I should have just let them bitch; all they wanted to do was be heard and be right. I could have changed their minds in a discussion... but that wasn't a discussion, it was them venting. Next time, I'll spot it sooner and recuse myself because such an environment generates lower, negative energy that affects everyone and leaves no one happier. (One of them is probably reading this... I had a lot of fun, even moreso because it served as an important lesson).
In the shower this morning, I sang "Hands Down" by Dashboard... a song I've dedicated to someone I met right before graduating college. For an entire year, I hoped we'd be back in the same place and dating. I used to feel that hope helped me through my first months out west, a feeling of purpose- direction.
***
"my heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer"
***
I laughed after I sang that, realizing for the first time how desperate my feelings were and how illogical it is to hinge happiness on someone else's decision.
It's not just letting go of these negative, restrictive feelings. It's replacing them with an Intention to visualize what we wish to create in our lives. What job do you want, where do you want to live, what type of people do you wish to share your life with. Don't wait for them to appear. Be positive and you will attract positivity and ultimately... you create what you Intend. It's all right in front of you.
"If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at will change."
-Dr. Wayne Dyer
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
This Is What I [Did]
"Shattering the Quiet"
Susannah Meadows, for Newsweek 1/1/07
"I was one of the reporters who converged on the peaceful Pennsylvania
countryside after the shooting of 10 Amish girls. When there's a
tragedy, journalists struggle to report what happened while still
respecting the feelings of a grieving family. But as a hundred news
trucks choked the small roads, the contest between public interest and
privacy was thrown into high relief.
"The Amish boarded up the schoolhouse windows to keep our greedy eyes
from the space where their children had been lost. Reporters from
across the nation stood in a row for their stand-ups with the school
behind them, providing a nice backdrop for the evening news.
"The Amish desire to live simply, apart from modern society, has always
had real integrity. It's not as if they courted media attention and
then complained, like Tom and Katie, when the scrutiny got to be too
much. They build the windows in their schools high enough to keep
tourists from taking pictures. So throughout that week, I had to fight
an unfamiliar instinct for a reporter: to leave these people alone. I
settled on a method of going through a third person - a volunteer who
worked with Amish people at the local fire station, for example - to
see if any Amish wanted to talk (an approach that is usually more
effective anyway).
"I heard that one reporter walked into a house while an Amish family
was eating dinner. As revolted as I was by such a tactic, I wondered
if perhaps she was a better journalist than I, willing to do anything
to break news."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Comments welcome.
-30-
Susannah Meadows, for Newsweek 1/1/07
"I was one of the reporters who converged on the peaceful Pennsylvania
countryside after the shooting of 10 Amish girls. When there's a
tragedy, journalists struggle to report what happened while still
respecting the feelings of a grieving family. But as a hundred news
trucks choked the small roads, the contest between public interest and
privacy was thrown into high relief.
"The Amish boarded up the schoolhouse windows to keep our greedy eyes
from the space where their children had been lost. Reporters from
across the nation stood in a row for their stand-ups with the school
behind them, providing a nice backdrop for the evening news.
"The Amish desire to live simply, apart from modern society, has always
had real integrity. It's not as if they courted media attention and
then complained, like Tom and Katie, when the scrutiny got to be too
much. They build the windows in their schools high enough to keep
tourists from taking pictures. So throughout that week, I had to fight
an unfamiliar instinct for a reporter: to leave these people alone. I
settled on a method of going through a third person - a volunteer who
worked with Amish people at the local fire station, for example - to
see if any Amish wanted to talk (an approach that is usually more
effective anyway).
"I heard that one reporter walked into a house while an Amish family
was eating dinner. As revolted as I was by such a tactic, I wondered
if perhaps she was a better journalist than I, willing to do anything
to break news."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Comments welcome.
-30-
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