night sunrise daylight
sunset nautical twilight
astronomical!

There are a lot things that someone who spent the first 50 years of their life in the Great Lakes state of Michigan has to adjust if they move south.

A lot of things, LET ME TELL YOU!

You do adjust.

I once went to a company breakfast, got a bowl, broke a biscuit in half and put it in the bowl, put some sausage patties on the biscuits, covered the sausage with scrambled eggs, added some grits on top of the eggs and covered it all with sausage gravy … and never thought nothing about it.

But I digress.

Something no one ever mentioned to me is what happens to twilight when you move south.

I now live in Bluffton, SC which is almost 1,000 miles south or 10 degrees of latitude (32°14′14″N to 42°57′48″N) south of Grand Rapids, where I grew up.

Look out the window and you see the orange sky of sunset.

Put on your shoes and go outside and by the time your get outside, its dark.

Using the wonderful calculator at https://suncalc.net/, I learned that in Grand Rapids, the difference between official SUNSET and NIGHT is 110 minutes while in Bluffton, due to curvature and angle of the earth, it is only 86 minutes.

This is defined using the wonderful delimiters of sunrise, sunset, daylight, night along with civil twilight, nautical twilight, astronomical twilight.

24 minutes may not seem like a lot but when it gets dark down here, someone hits a switch and it’s dark!

There is none of the lingering twilight that I remember as a kid growing up when the twilight went on forever.

Garrison Keillor once wrote (or said) that … “kids didn’t need a watch; they could tell time by the sun. Noon was when your shadow was shortest.”

I know what Mr. Keillor means.

Growing up I never wore a watch but always seemed to know what time it was.

Seems to me that the rule was to be inside “when the street lights came on” and with the lingering twilight of Western Michigan, we could be outside for a long time.

The City of Grand Rapids had a moment of wisdom somewhere in its history and the city officially adhered to what was the called the CITY SCHOOL/CITY PARK PLAN.

This plan called for large public parks to be built up around public schools so that neighborhoods got fields and playgrounds that the kids used for recess during the school year.

Schools weren’t surrounded by businesses or factories, but by a ball field and a black top and playground equipment and some woods if possible.

In our neighbor, the school was Crestview Elementary.

It was built during the baby boom expansion of the North End of Grand Rapids.

It was U shaped with the main entrance, which kids never used, at the outside top of the U and a blacktop connecting the two arms of the U.

The black top had a basketball court painted in thick yellow lines along with more yellow lines for hopscotch and four square.

Across the black top was our playground.

It was a square, surrounded by a chain link fence with gates at the bottom and on the right, if you had your back to the school.

It had a merry go round of heavy, thick rusted metal that screamed “get a cut, get tetanus” and it was on some sort of spindle that groaned and moaned as it spun over a concrete base with space just wide enough to stick your arm under and get it sliced off with no trouble if you weren’t careful.

Every once in a while, the mechanism got lubricated or something and with a couple of kids pushing, you could reach g forces that rivaled a NASA centrifuge and if you weren’t careful, you could let go and fly across the playground.

A few rides on the merry go ground and you were also ready to lose your lunch if you didn’t sit down for a while.

Across from the merry Go round were the blocks and barrels.

The blocks were big concrete blocks with letters about 3 feet wide on each side and must have weighed a ton each.

The were piled up for us to climb on and crawl over.

The barrels where sections of giant water pipe at least 4 feet in diameter as when we were in the lower grades, we could walk through them standing up.

Little kids walked through them.

Bigger kids ran and jumped to sit on top which was no easy feat as there was nothing to grab on top so you could go up and right over and right over and down head first.

The biggest kids and the dare devils would stand on the barrels and run and jump from barrel to barrel.

As I remember, there where five barrels in a line that was slightly curved and they were spaced further and further apart so you had to get your speed up to make that last jump as well as keep your footing on the very top of the barrel and since they weren’t lined up the chances of landing off center and losing your footing was very real.

Did I mention these barrels were also made of concrete?

Thank goodness for sneakers!

In the corner of the playground, opposite the merry go round was the monkey bars.

This was a scaffolding type arrangement of polished slippery pipe, in the circular shape of rocket and must have been about 20 feet high OR almost two stories!

You could climb and jump off or climb and hang down from the top INSIDE the monkey bars and drop.

Or you could climb and be pushed.

There was also a set of three sliders.

Two were about 10 feet high and then there was THE BIG SLIDER.

It also must have been about 20 feet high.

For a little kid, it was a vertical climb up a steel ladder to a 2 foot square platform with low rails.

It was better than any Cedar Point thrill ride and the threat of death was real!

There were teeter totters, horse swings and little kid swings.

All made made with heavy duty lumber and rusted metals with lots of sharp edges and splinters.

Across from this playground were the BIG SWINGS which were in there own chain link space and were supposed to be just for the upper elementary kids.

As I remember there was also an argument of morning recess vs afternoon recess and if the swings where reserved as BOY SWINGS or GIRL SWINGS.

Seems like no one ever knew, but you called if for your gender if you wanted to swing but for the most part swings were not much noticed but the big kids.

Past the playground was our field.

It had a pretty sad baseball diamond but it was huge expanse that went on forever.

It also had some steep hills were we would go sledding in Winter time but we couldn’t bring our sleds to school so me made slides on the hill that we slide in on in our snow boots.

Also in winter, the field was were we would have snow ball fights, usually the 6th grade boys against everyone else.

This was against the rules and every once in awhile participants would be marched off for a talk with the Principal but the snowball fights were always part winter recess.

It was as if the school and the Board of Education provided all this equipment and parkland to enougrage us to go out and get killed or at least maimed for life.

And here’s the thing.

I don’t remember one time when anyone was badly hurt or that an ambulance had to be called.

Today, schools would have an ambulance parked at the playground entrance.

Oh sure, the rumor flew around once that Timmy Sugiyama slipped jumping barrels and ‘CRACKED HIS HEAD OPEN’ and we came running to see.

I expected to see Timmy lying there with his skull cracked like an egg with his brain all over like a broke yolk but he was gone by the time I got there and Timmy later showed up with a big bandaid on his forehead and that was that.

This was during school mind you.

During the school day.

When school was out of it was summer time, this was out neighborhood park and often you would find your way to the park and just as often, friends from school would be there.

Back then kids didn’t need a watch; they could tell time by the sun. Noon was when your shadow was shortest.

And twilight was when you met your friends at the park.

Because in Michigan, twilight went on forever.

that’s just an excuse
to cover up history
not to share the truth

“That’s just an excuse not to share the truth, to cover up history. But I believe that history is sacred – that none of us should have the right to change or alter history in any way.”

So said Ruby Bridges in an interview with Kirsten Welker of NBC News for Meet the Press – Meet the Moment segment, 4.28.2024 (as reported in the article, Ruby Bridges: civil rights pioneer rejects claim book makes white children uncomfortable)

Ms. Bridges was talking about how books and movies about her experience in school, growing up in the 1960’s in New Orleans were being added to the ‘Banned List’ by parents who were concerned that the story might make their children feel bad about themselves.

And what did Ms. Bridges experience in school, growing up in the 1960’s in New Orleans you might ask?

You might not remember the name, but I hope you remember the picture.

Nothing special, says Ms. Bridges, for a six year old.

Ms. Bridges relates that she was told she would be going to new school and they might be some commotion.

Ms. Bridges says that she had grown up in New Orleans and went to Madri Gras celebrations so the idea of a ‘commotion’ didn’t make much of impression.

But at some point, that this wasn’t normal, had to sink in.

Maybe when a package of new school clothes arrived (paid for by the family of a psychiatrist who volunteered to be available when Ms. Bridges started school).

Maybe when she arrived at her first day of school and there was an angry mob on hand to voice their opinion that Ms. Bridges should not be allowed to go to that school.

Maybe when Ms. Bridges was escorted into the building that day and for many days afterward, by US Marshall’s that looked more like the starting offensive line for the Chicago Bears.

Maybe when Ms. Bridges got to her room and found that her teacher was the ONLY teacher on the school faculty who would take the her class.

Maybe when Ms. Bridges got to her room and found she was the only student in her class and would be the ONLY student in her class the rest of the year.

Maybe when she left that day and her hulking guards and the angry mob was still there.

At some point, it had to sink in.

Still, Ms. Bridges came back the next day.

And the next and the next and the next.

Her parents lost their jobs over the publicity.

And she came back the next day.

Some Mom stood outside that school each morning and each afternoon holding up a small coffin and doll that was black.

And she came back the next day.

Ruby Bridges was 6 years old.

Growing up on the North End of Grand Rapids, Michigan, I did not know many black people.

Being ignorant, I accepted that ‘White Kids” and “Black Kids” were compound nouns.

When I was in 3rd grade, my elementary school, Grand Rapids Crestview, was integrated.

So far as I know, and I was 7, it wasn’t ‘busing’ as ‘busing’ is understood but I may be wrong.

What it was was that the population of the North End of Grand Rapids exploded after WW2 and several new elementary schools, Riverside, Crestview and Wellerwood, had to be built to handle all the kids.

But the folks who moved into these neighborhoods, all stayed put in these neighborhoods and the families aged out and there weren’t enough students to keep all these elementary schools open.

At the same time, elementary schools on the South End, like Sigsbee, were overcrowded.

The solution that the Grand Rapids Board of Education came up with was to send a bus load of kids to Crestview.

It was 1967 and all at once Crestview, that had been nothing but white kids, was integrated.

I can guess that there was some ‘concerns’ but I do not recall anything happening those first days.

What happened to me is that I realized that ‘Kids’ was the noun all by itself and words like ‘white’ and ‘black’ were nothing but adjectives.

We were all kids.

And about all we thought being was being kids.

I think about that as I think about Ruby Bridges.

I never thought about what the kids, who happened to be black, felt when they were told they would be going to Crestview.

I never thought about what the kids, who happened to be black, experienced when they got to Crestview.

I lived at the bottom of the hill from school and could hear the first bell and run out the door still eating a pop tart and make it to school by the time the doors opened.

I didn’t have to make it to a bus stop and ride for an hour on a bus before and after school.

I went home for lunch.

I didn’t eat lunch in the Art Room because Crestview had no lunch room because when it was built, there were no plans for students eating lunch at school.

Life went on for all us I guess.

For myself, I appreciate what I learned and I appreciate that I had time to learn it.

Did it have a lasting impact?

For me it did.

I knew forever after, that kids were kids.

I knew forever after, that people were people.

Any other words added to those nouns were just adjectives.

Years later when my wife and I started the adoption process we had to have one-on-one interviews with the social worker.

She looks at me and asks, “What kid of child are you hoping to adopt?”

I looks her in the eye and I say, “What’cha got?“

She smiled and made a note on her pad and I said, “Hey wait, what are you writing down? What do other people answer to that question?“

“In your case“, she said, I would have expected, “Blond hair, blue eyes, someone who looks like me …”

“What happens to those people?”

“Well, that’s why they wait 2 or 3 or more years.”

Seven kids later, I would still answer the same thing.

BUT I DIGRESS.

The question I have is why would kids feel guilty reading the Ruby Bridges story?

Is there a story of anyone, let alone a six year old, filled with more courage, more grit, more heart, more hope or more of the eternal struggle of right over wrong then the Ruby Bridges story?

But the parents worry their kids feel guilty?

On that, Ms. Bridges said in the NBC interview, “All of the letters, all of the mail, I have little girls from all walks of life, different nationalities that dress up like Ruby Bridges, I found through … traveling that they resonate with the loneliness, probably the pain that I felt. There’s all sorts of reasons that they are drawn to my story. So I would have to disagree.“

Maybe it’s not the kids.

Maybe its the parents who worry, not about their kids, but that THEY feel guilty.

I did just say that this was a story of the eternal struggle of right over wrong.

Maybe if someone somehow lined up on the wrong side of the story, you might feel guilty.

But who wants to line up against Atticus Finch?*

But who wants to line with the Major Strassers,** the Mr. Potters of this world?***

As Huck Finn said, “… right is right, and wrong is wrong, and a body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better.”

If you know better and persist in doing wrong, I bet you end up, I hope you end up, feeling guilty.

And what to do if the Ruby Bridges story makes you feel guilty?

Well, stop telling the Ruby Bridges story of course.

And force the book and the story out of libraries.

Yep that will do it, Boy Howdy!!!!

“That’s just an excuse not to share the truth, to cover up history,” Ms. Bridges said. “But I believe that history is sacred – that none of us should have the right to change or alter history in any way.”

I embrace the story of Ruby Bridges.

The story was captured by local low country artist Lisa Rivers.

You can tell a Lisa Rivers painting by her visible signature, she always paints the soles of shoes red.

It’s a story of courage, grit, heart, hope in the eternal struggle of right over wrong.

I think Ruby Bridges is a hero.

Mr. Shakespeare writes in his play, Henry V, “This story shall the good man teach his son.”

We have a print of this painting by Lisa Rivers and we have it hanging on our wall in our home.

In my book, those kids who came to Crestview are part of the same story.

To paraphrase that line from the end of the HBO series, ‘Band of Brothers’, if my Grandkids ask me if I was a hero in grade school, I can say, “No, I wasn’t a hero, but I went to school with some.

*Atticus Finch: The Father in the movie To Kill a Mockingbird, played by Gregory Peck

** Major Strasser: Evil bad guy played by Conrad Veidt opposite Richard Blaine played by Humphrey Bogart in the movie Casablanca

*** All around bad crabby old man played by Lionel Barrymore opposite George Bailey played by James Stewart in the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life

complications of
envenomization from …
a gila monster

I joke that I grew up in a family where I was told that Woody Hayes, the evil football coach at Ohio State, was under my bed and if I got up in the middle of the night, Woody would grab me and take me to Columbus.

That isn’t exactly true.

I was never told anything was under my bed when I was a kid.

I knew.

Gila Monsters were under my bed.

I knew Gila Monsters were under my bed and if I got out, they would get me.

For some reason, when I was growing up, the scariest thing for me in all of nature (after that thing on the wing in the Twilight Zone) were Gila Monsters.

And I have no idea why.

But I have an theory, an idea.

The reason I was scared of Gila Monsters was the TV show, The Wonderful World of Color from Walt Disney Studios.

It was on TV every Sunday night back in the day when 1) church started at 7PM and us little kids got to stay home (there was much politicking amongst my older brothers and sisters to ‘babysit’ and get of going to church) and 2) there were only three TV channels so we always, always watched The Wonderful World of Color.

“Color is on” or “It’s time for color!” we would yell and for the next hour, Mr. Disney would take us all over the world with shows about the Vienna Boys Choir or back in time with Davy Crockett.

One the regular stops would be the Natural World as amateur filmmakers around the world, the people who had the patience to film a prairie dog farm or make stop action films of flowers blooming, would send their film clips to Disney and Disney would crop all these clips together, add music and captivating narration and The Living Desert came to life on our TVs.

One Living Desert episode had a short segment on the Gila Monster and the video was so scary it was burned in my brain.

The even paced, deep narration emphasized the awfulness of the Gila Monster and the terribleness of being bit by one.

I doubt I slept that night as somehow I knew, there were Gila Monsters under my bed.

The were probably every where.

The next day at Crestview Elementary in Grand Rapids, where I went school, what was the major topic of conversation?

Monday morning in the hallways at school, at recess and in class we all talked about Gila Monsters.

Because there were only three channels, everyone in my class watched the same show.

Out on the play ground, We all looked for likely places Gila Monsters could be hiding.

I wouldn’t go in the concrete barrels on the playground for weeks and never ever felt comfortable playing in the sandbox.

Those of us who could talk with authority on the subject (anyone who might have been to the Southwest United States or someone whose Dad might have been the desert) would assert that there was no more terrible way to die than to die from a Gila Monster bite.

These shows would get repeated and the conversations would be repeated and over the years it was Gila Monster dread that kept me from walks in the woods or from turning over rocks.

The funny part is that I don’t know that it was unique to me or my school but, much like Davy Crockett, it may have a national phenomena as Gila Monsters even got featured in a Charlie Brown comic strip in 1966.

Gila Monster Phobia doesn’t turn up in the google but …

Today in the New York Times was the article, “Colorado Man Died From Venomous Gila Monster Bite, Autopsy Confirms” By Aimee Ortiz.

Ms. Ortiz writes that: Mr. Ward endured a four-minute-long bite by the lizard to his right hand on the night of Feb. 12, the report said. He lapsed in and out of consciousness for about two hours before seeking medical attention, the report said.

Paramedics found Mr. Ward in a bed, minimally responsive and “in apparent severe distress,” the report said. He was taken to a hospital, where he was put on life support and “continued to decline throughout his hospitalization.”

“Minimally responsive and “in apparent severe distress” sounds pretty bad to me.

“Continued to decline throughout his hospitalization.” sounds even worse.

It was all my nightmares come true.

Then I read:

Kevin Torregrosa, the curator of herpetology at the Bronx Zoo, said that it’s rare to be bitten by a Gila monster and that “it’s also incredibly rare to die from one.”

“This is certainly the first one that I have firsthand knowledge of in my career,” he said on Saturday.

The Associated Press reported that it was believed to be the first death from a Gila monster bite in the United States in almost a century.

It was believed to be the first death from a Gila monster bite in the United States in almost a century.

Oh.

Well, that’s because I stayed in bed.