The Fall of Fleming

It may have truly been the last day of fall in Eastern Colorado.  Blue skies, bright sun and warmth covered the fields and grasslands of the plains in a last gasp of autumn's goodness.  Winter waited just beyond the western mountains to sweep in with snow and wicked, skin biting wind.  But this day no dirt devils danced among the corn stalks and the empty fields showed a hint of green winter wheat.  A group of horses played on a large pile of dirt along the edge of the highway.  On the road heading east is a well-worn classic Cadillac convertible.  The driver sports a black shirt, shades and sweet Elvis-like sideburns. We slide slowly by him, our minds struggling to capture this slice of the 1970s and its place out here on the prairie.  Passing someone at all turns out to be no small feat in a VW Westfalia van.  As the road unwinds before the tires, the snow covered brilliance of the Rockies slowly recedes in the rear-view mirror.

The Westy belongs to my brother-in-law.  The passenger list includes my almost four year-old twin nephews, their grandpa, my brother-in-law their dad and yours truly.  We were following what is quickly becoming a familiar refrain around this blog; going east toward the forgotten parts of Colorado for another taste of 6 man football.  Oh but I had ulterior motives.  How would city kids do in the other America?  What would they do when a kid wearing cowboy boots yanked their football and wouldn't give it back? How do you react when you get stuck on the highway behind a loaded, heavily fouled cattle truck? Whats are fries and shakes like from a legit roadside burger shack?  What is is a grain elevator?  Ah; so many questions that needed to be answered.

As an E Pluribus consumer you have no doubt read with great fascination about some of my previous forays into the world of 6 man high school football.  So I wont subject you once more to the minutia and nuances of the game.  It's vital however that you understand the magnitude of the struggle we were hoping to witness.  Our recently adoptedfavorite Fleming Wildcats were set to face off  against their hated foe - the Eads' Eagles.  The 10-0 'Cats were up against the 9-1 Eagles for a spot in the Colorado 6 man state championship game to be held a week later.  So not quitethe game for all the marbles but important none the less.

And now a few words about the buzzing metropolis of Eads, population 609.  Well that's it really, their is nothing more to say.  OK sure it was named after a railroad engineer, is almost in Kansas and I saw quite a few cowboy hats on their sideline.  Sorry no semi famous people.

We did stop for hardcore road trip grub in Keensburg at Benny's Burgers.  The fare is is mostly fried, wrapped in waxed paper, heart attack-inducing goodness.  Gramps amazingly put away two cheeseburgers, fries, Sprite and a shake.  The rest of us set an around-the-clock stroke watch on him and settled for shakes.  Needless to say by the time we trundled into Fleming the festivities were well underway.

The crowd around the Mike Sonnenberg Memorial Field had swelled considerably since my last visit. All of Fleming and the surrounding farms seemed to be represented, and the visitor stands were full of the purple and gold of the Eads faithful.  Three hours is never to far to come to root on our boys they seemed to announce.

By the time we had peed in a field behind the van and squeezed through a hole in the fence Eads was up on Fleming 24-16 in the second quarter.  Both teams "marched" up and down the field with varying degrees of success but the score remained the same at halftime.  Hordes of kids, my nephews included, rushed the field for impromptu battles of their own while the tiny Fleming band wobbled through a couple numbers.  Grandpa sat in the warm sun and ate a huge soft pretzel with mustard. Would we need a body bag to bring him home?

No one could have known that the game was already over.  In the second half Eads stymied Fleming with suffocating defense while adding to their own tally.  Fleming briefly brought a swell of hope to the home stands with touchdown, but the Eagles answered with one of their own.  As the time ticked down the hopes and dreams of one small town withered on the bright windswept grasslands.  But with each death comes life and championship hopes to another tiny hamlet.

The Eagles mercifully put the 'Cats season to rest with a couple gentlemanly kneel downs as time expired. There was prayer, handshakes and many hugs from proud coaches and parents on both sides.  The Fleming faithful lingered for a long time at the fifty yard line, not wanting the season to be over.  Kenny Chesney's "Boys of Fall" wafted through the late afternoon air.  One of my nephews tackled the other in the end zone as a man took down the American flag from its perch.  Honestly I could have written a dozen country songs right then and there.

We pointed the Westy back toward the city and the setting sun.  Four of us were hungry and looking for dinner but gramps said he didn't feel good and wanted to go home.

Give Me Your Tired...

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Earlier this summer our government pledged to take in some ten thousand refugees seeking refuge from the dumpster fire formerly known as Syria.  Only ten thousand huh?  Pretty weak when you consider that some 4 million Syrians have fled to neighboring countries and Europe to escape the civil war there.  But hey its a start right?  Maybe we can work up to twenty thousand if you give us a little time.  According to CNN so far this year we have "welcomed" 1,199  refugees from Syria. Oh and that ten thousand number that's been thrown around well it will be allocated out of the yearly quota of seventy five thousand admissions slated for the year instead of being added to that total.  So basically we aren't doing shit!

Well now following the ghastly ISIS-linked attacks on Paris this past weekend governors, house and senate members, and wanna-be politicians all over the country have been jumping up and down on their soap boxes to denounce the planned resettlement.  Its seems there may have been a Syrian refugee involved in the attacks in France.  Maybe.  www.washingtonpost.com/news/were-syrian-refugees-involved-in-the-paris-attacks-what-we-know-and-dont-know/

(An aside:  Wasn't it just a few years ago that we all decided to hate France because they wouldn't support the war in Iraq? Bet you aren't calling them freedom fries anymore!  Oh and how did that Iraq thing work out anyway?)

Hold on a second guys and gals.  Aren't we a nation of immigrants already?  How many of us can say we are truly from here?  Do we really think taking in ten thousand men, women and children from a war torn hell is going to open the door to ISIS?  Or could we just possibly be using this as an opportunity for political gain?   Bobby Jindal aren't you the child of immigrants yourself?  We welcomed your mom and dad to this country from Punjab, India so that you could have a better life. Have the words of Emma Lazaras inscribed on the Statue of Liberty ceased to mean anything?

(Another aside: I am over these ISIS guys!!  My bleeding heart peacenik instincts have been violated.  I believe there is a list of reasons to throw haymakers, for instance if someone assaults your lady.  Well ISIS you're on the top of the list!)

Take a look at the blood flowing through my very long veins.  On my Dad's side of the family I am a first generation American with Irish and English roots, my grandparents having fled war torn Europe in the 1940s for South America, eventually landing in Connecticut in the 1960s. My Dad did not come to the US until the late 1970s.  My Mom's Mom comes from a long line of Quakers who were lead to the new world by William Penn and who founded a colony were they could live free of religious persecution.  One of my Grandfather's fore-bearers sailed under Lady Liberty's torch and was processed for immigration at Ellis Island. I am a mutt just like the rest of you.  I was lucky enough to have my elders make that hard transition to America so I could have a great life here.  How many Syrian kids are going to have opportunity?

Stop reading my blather and take some time with this piece by Nicholas Schmidle that appeared in the New Yorker last month. newyorker.com/magazine/2015/10/26/ten-borders  This story will make Harriet Tubman roll over in her grave.

I believe that sanity will prevail in this national dialog because we all have immigrant hearts.  Our routes into this nation are as long and as varied as the roots of a tree.  How about we welcome fifty thousand next year? It's still a drop in the bucket but what a great sucker punch in the gut that would be to ISIS, and to our collective fear that is so present this week,  I am proud that my governor openly welcomes refugees to our state. 

 My basement is open and the welcome mat is in place.  "I lift my lamp beside the golden (mine's wooden) door"

Now What- Where I Am From, Part Three

Dear Gentle Reader,

It is difficult and potentially life changing for me to explore the topic of where I come from.  I know that the interweb is monitored for content related to "the sect" and that content deemed negative can result in unwanted attention.  For that reason I have chosen to not include the names of any people associated with this story, or to name "the sect" outright.  Please understand that my relationship to some members of my immediate family could be effected by the way in which this piece is spread online. Many of you have heard or lived this story in your own life or because we have been BFF's for long enough for me to open up and tell it to you.  It has been 18 years since I got on a Greyhound bus to start a new life and I have been through many different stages in my relationship with the group I am calling The Sect .   I have gone from having season tickets on the bitter bus to who gives a damn and everywhere in between.  In the last couple years I have been slowly learning that my life does not need to be colored by or remotely controlled by a group of people that choose to live very differently than the rest of us.   It's still not easy to write this piece so thanks for reading and for respecting the lives of those involved!
-Marvin

 If you missed the first and second installment in this series you can catch up here:

Where I Am From-Part One

Where I Am From-Part Two

The other day I was listening to a "best of" podcast of Teri Gross interviewing a series of famous authors on her show Fresh Air. (do yourself a favor folks!) One of her chats was with John Updike, who in the middle of their conversation casually mentioned that people don't really like hearing about other's families.  If that's true its clear that this series has gone on long enough and I had better slam the door on this baby. I have had the nagging feeling of late that too much of my life is lived through a lens that somehow ties everything back to "The Sect". Some of that is natural I am sure since we all view our daily experiences through the filter of our past experiences. For example;  I lived in Appalachia for four years so much of my view of poverty comes from that time. And I am a sucker for misty mountain valleys and bluegrass.   Another part I believe is that it's a very unique background which tends to start and consume a lot of conversations with new people I connect with.  Whatever the reason I am sick and tired of being defined by that past!  As I mentioned in part two I have now lived more then half of my life outside The Sect, so does that mean that the lens with which I view life is starting to shift?

In my family I am the oldest of six.  Four of us kids have jumped that gap between the two bridges and are living "normal" lives.  I have two sisters that said "I do" to life as members of The Sect.  I think they are relatively happy with the choice they made, in spite of the fact that both have discovered many of their passions since becoming members, and neither have good prospects for marriage or families.  One of the issues facing those who stay is that a much higher percentage of young men leave than do young women, which means that over time women who stay have a lower and lower chance of finding a spouse.  Once you hit thirty in that culture you're pretty much toast in that department, which is true for my sisters, and makes me sad.  I also believe that they signed up for membership before discovering that they had interests and/or skills that they developed that are not part of what it means to be a cog in the system and therefore have not been allowed to blossom.  One of my sisters is a nurse who would love to work in a third world country or low income clinic somewhere but she gave up the freedom to make that happen.  Connected to that is one of my biggest beefs with The Sect.  I believe that they use revivals or awakenings to get young people to stay. What do I mean by that?  Well I believe both of my sisters made the lifetime commitment to join largely because they were not presented with other options and they got caught up in a good old case of peer pressure masquerading itself as a spiritual renewal. I do not mean to discount someones else's spiritual walk however I have witnessed the kind of push that young people face when that snowball starts rolling down hill. Before you know it many of your peers have made a public declaration of desire for membership and the spotlight is trained on you.  Its a tough spot to be in.

Note: I have been working on this piece for a little while which means life circumstance can change right in the middle.  Today my parents are on a plane to Australia where a satellite group of The Sect is located, and where my sister has been living for the past 8 years or so.  It appears from the intel floating around and the hints my dad has been dropping that my sister has found a man.  No one will come out and say that for sure which is typical of The Sect.  They are very hush-hush about things like who is dating or pregnant.  In my family for instance all but one of my siblings just magically came along one day.  The only one that we knew about was the youngest because of the wide age range.  So it appears as if my sister is getting married but us outsiders will not be invited. My guess is we will get a letter(yes snail mail) from her and whomever this dude is announcing their marriage . That's how it goes.

People ask me all the time when I knew that I did not want to be there.  Honestly I can't say I ever made that decision, at least consciously.  My subconscious may have been doing its thing starting around age fifteen or sixteen when I started to understand how the system worked.  But even after I left on the Greyhound for California and started to slowly figure out how to live life on the outside there was never a time when I said "no" out loud.  I believe it was that figuring out life, friends, work, having a bank account, a car, and falling in love that slowly pulled me away until it the cord snapped. Getting married was the final straw since its unreasonable and unheard of to expect your spouse to make that kind of life change.

My relationship over the years with my family on the inside has been tumultuous.  Early on they played the tough love card on me by refusing to allow me to visit.  At the time that was hurtful, but it may have also helped make that unspoken cutting of the apron strings happen.  Since then we have had some really good interactions, some ships passing in the night kind of communication and some hard talks.  As my other siblings have left my folks have gotten as used to the situation as I think they can.  I often forget that as weird as it is to relate from the outside in, it must be really hard to have the majority of your kids living in a different world than you do.  This summer at my siblings'weddings we were able to spend extended time together outside The Sect which is a rare blessing.

For me the only pill left that is hard to swallow is the fact that my family members on the inside see their fellow Sect members as more of a family than their blood relations.  When the important and/or special moments in life happen they want to be with the group.  Be it birth, marriage or death we all want to be with those we feel like family with.  That's a tough realization to come to as a kid who chose the other bridge.  So as my parents get older and my siblings get married and have families of their own the next few years are going to be interesting...on both bridges.