Archive » May 2024 » Columns

The Prodigal Son by Pompeo Batoni

For John Dominic Crossan

If we take the words of the New Testament at face value, we are led to believe that Jesus could not only draw large crowds but had inventive ways of handling them once they came.

The gospel writer Mark (4:1) says, “A crowd that had gathered around him was so large that he got into a boat on the lake and sat down [to speak] while the crowd arranged itself along the shore.” 

Once settled down, Jesus began to tell them stories called parables for, as Mark adds, “He did not say anything to [the crowds] without using a parable.”

And parables ought not be confused with fables, which the sixth-century B.C. Greek seanchaí, Aesop, made famous, where animals do the talking; in parables, only people speak — and always about some ethical predicament in which they find themselves.   

Jesus adopted the parable as his métier because he thought it the most accessible way listeners could grasp his lessons about what they must do to be a good human being. Mark says, “He taught them many things in parables.” 

New Testament scholars have counted as many as 50 different such stories — though undergirding them all is the same mandate: “Meet the needs of your neighbor as much as you do your own.”

There’s no way to know if Jesus composed his stories off the cuff or got them from somewhere else, but he could have known Psalm 78: “Attend, my people, to my teaching; listen to the words of my mouth. I will open my mouth in a parable, and unfold the puzzling events of the past.”

And the power of the parable is not just that it’s a mirror to see oneself in but a door to walk through and enter a world of deep self-reflection.

It’s pretty well agreed that the two best parables Jesus ever told were the Parable of the Good Samaritan and the Parable of the Prodigal Son, also known as the parable of “The Lost Son” or the “Forgiving Father” or “Two Brothers.”

Both parables reflect the deep radical economics of personal responsibility for one’s neighbor that Jesus included in all his talks but the Prodigal Son goes a step further by laying out the ideological choices available to a person as to how he will treat someone in need, a view of economics as deep as Marx’s “Das Kapital.”

The story is about a father and his two sons who wind up in an ethical fix. Luke (15:11-32) says the younger of the two boys had grown unhappy with his life on the farm and decided to strike out on his own.

To subsidize the dream, he asks his father for his portion of the family estate — what would come his way once the father died. 

The father, not wanting to stand in his son’s way, divvies up the family’s assets: He gives half to his younger son and puts the rest aside for the older brother who has dedicated his life to the farm.

The peregrinator, Luke says, “gathers up all that is his and takes off for a far-off land” to live the life of a sport. But he parties so hard he “squanders everything he had in reckless ways.” One translation says he engaged in “living riotously.” The vulgate is: “dissipavit substantiam suam vivendo luxuriose.”

To make matters worse, the country where the penniless soul was living gets hit with a famine and he is reduced to starvation. Scrounging for work, he lands a job on a pig farm, which every Jew was forbidden to do by law: no pigs! 

After pouring foul-smelling slops into pigsties day after day, the prodigal starts to think: “This is crazy; the people working for my father are better off than me. I’ve made a terrible mistake, I’m going home to tell my father I sinned and beg his forgiveness; maybe he’d take me on as a hired hand.”  

The gospel says that, when he got close to the house, the father saw him coming down the road and “felt compassion for him and ran out to embrace him offering a kiss of reconciliation.” The boy confesses his sin.

But the father, overjoyed at seeing his son alive, tells his servants, “Go get the best robe in my closet and put it on the boy; get a ring for his finger, put decent shoes on his feet, then go out and butcher the fattened calf we’ve been saving for a grand occasion.” 

A celebration ensues while the older boy is still out in the field working. Hearing the hullabaloo, he asks one of the servants what’s going on. The servant says, “Your brother’s back! Your father is butchering the fattened calf in his honor!”

The father goes out to the field and asks his son to come in and join the party but, feeling dissed, the son snaps back [my translation] “Are you nuts? I’ve been working my ass off all this time; I did everything you asked of me and you never so much as roasted a goat for me and my friends. And that ne’er-do-well who pissed away the family fortune with whores and harlots — he gets a party with our prized calf? Is that all I’ve meant to you?”

The father, understanding his son’s hurt, says with a heavy heart, “My boy, my boy, you are part of all I am; everything I have is yours but today we must celebrate, your brother who was dead has come back to life; he was lost and now he’s found.” Thus ends Luke’s story.

But that’s not all Jesus had to say. He wanted listeners to know that the older brother’s thinking reflects an ideology of deserving, asserting that people who do wrong deserve nothing; punishment and exclusion should be their reward.

But the father says, “Son, this is not a matter of deserving and reward; it’s about needs. Your brother needs forgiveness, food, a place to stay, and to be part of a family again — and our family needs him to be whole.”

Luke also mentions that, while Jesus was telling the story, he saw a number of Pharisees dispersed among the crowd and reinforced to them that meeting needs transcended their legalistic rights-based thinking as well. The Hebrew scriptures forbade Jews from having anything to do with sinners: “Let not a man associate with the wicked; not even when it involves taking them to court for justice.”

In looking for a moral to the story, the scripture scholar, Howard Marshall — in his scholarly 928-page commentary on the gospel of Luke — feels compelled to bring God in as a deus ex machina saying the father is “meant to illustrate the pardoning love of God who cares for the outcast.” But the story has nothing to do with God. 

As an egalitarian humanist Jew, Jesus was talking about a human father who does not treat people in terms of what they deserve, saying — as he does elsewhere in the gospel — that meeting needs is healthful for soul and community alike — a concept Marx and capitalists never grasp.

But Pope Francis does; in April 2015 he told the world he was calling for a year of deep reflection on “Misericordia,” the practice of responding to those in need with compassion as opposed to treating them like a piece of their résumé.

For those who wished to take up the Pope’s invite, he opened the doors of cathedrals and churches throughout the world, even the Great Door of St. Peter’s. He called them “Doors of Mercy,” passages through which a person could go and reflect on how much he takes Jesus’s mandate at face value: “attend to the needs of your neighbor as much as your own, especially when the neighbor needs loving forgiveness.”

MIDDLEBURGH — On another beautiful morning, May 14, we arrived at the Middleburgh Diner and instead of turning right upon entering the diner as we always do, we were directed to the left this morning toward another room.

It was like going to an entirely new and different diner! I was going to say something about it not being a good idea to pull a switch on the OMOTM so early in the morning, when we are set in our ways and thinking about what we are going to have for breakfast, but that’s not the case at all.

There were positive vibes all around. The Maple Syrup OF showed off his syrup again, a clear indication that a tall stack of pancakes would soon be placed in front of him.

It was a perfect morning prompting one OF to comment about riding his motorcycle later in the day. Another OF said he was going for a nice ride in his classic early 1950s Hudson automobile. Yes, he was taking someone along with him to help enjoy the ride.

That comment led to a discussion about motorcycle sidecars. All of which just proves that the old saying about never being too old, especially in springtime, for car rides (even motorcycle sidecars), or boat rides, or just going for a walk, or sitting on the porch with that special someone. Just ask the OMOTM, we are never too old!

 

Flower power

A lot of the discussions around the tables dealt with flowers and gardens. Probably having Mother's Day a couple days ago and the nice morning it was with all the outdoor flowers in bloom, it was sort of natural we would get around to this.

Having to prepare the gardens, old and new, requires digging up the ground and that got us very quickly to rototillers. No one had a new rototiller, just old and older.

Which kind of tiller was easier to use, the kind that has the tines in front of the engine, or is it better behind the engine? It was felt that a tiller with the tines behind was easier to handle.

Then helping your neighbor or relative tilling their gardens when they found out you had a rototiller. Sorta like owning a snowblower after a big storm or a pickup truck to haul that topsoil back to the garden you just made ready with your rototiller. Sometimes you sure get popular in a hurry!

Also, that little flower garden leads to maybe a small vegetable garden, which leads to a somewhat larger garden. That’s when you realize you only have that little old tiller in the first place because you wanted to plant a few flowers in front of your house two decades ago.

 

Common thread

I have mentioned in this column over the last couple of weeks of the constant need for additional volunteers that virtually all firehouses and ambulance squads find themselves in search of. I’m happy to report that it prompted one OF to check out a service club that has been part of the fabric of the Hilltowns since 1960.

That organization is the Kiwanis Club of the Helderbergs. He said he had belonged to another service club during his working career and had enjoyed the many projects that he participated in over the years as a member of that organization. He always felt good when he put back a little something into the community where he earned his living and enjoyed what the community had to offer.

He is retired now and said he has some time to get involved in something. Sitting on the porch can get a little boring.

Another member of OMOTM invited him to come to a Kiwanis meeting. He said they were meeting for a potluck dinner at the Octagon Barn in Knox. He said he would go, if only to see what this Octagon Barn was all about, and besides that, he would get a free dinner! What could go wrong with that? Nothing!

The members, men and women, were gracious, friendly, and welcomed him into their meeting and potluck dinner. I won’t subject everyone reading this column to the long list of what this Kiwanis Club does with its youth-oriented programs for the Hilltowns. (I looked it up and it is impressive.)

They actively help the children in our schools by extending a helping hand to some of our neighbors who may need a little assistance once in a while. So the OF has joined the club in order to volunteer some of his time to give back to his community a little of what it has given him of itself over the years.

This writer is not promoting one particular service club over another. They are all great and we all live in a better place because of them. What I am promoting is the common thread that binds them all together. That thread is called volunteers. Give it a shot; it will give back more than you will ever give it.

 

Miscellany

Just a couple of random things heard around the room on Tuesday morning. We all know about the age-old argument about toilet paper; should the paper fall over the top, or under?

It was noted that one surefire way to solve this monumental decision is to install two toilet-paper dispensers, one for the over folks and one for the under folks.

Here is another comment that is near and dear to all of us OMOTM: Why is it that the older we get, the stupider we get? Yes, we all smiled and nodded in agreement.

That’s all folks. Time for the roll call. Joining this morning were: Harold Guest, Ed Goff, George Washburn, Wm. Lichliter, Pete Whitbeck, Frank Fuss, Roland Tozer, Pastor Jay T. Francis, Wally Guest, Ted Feurer, Jake Lederman, Russ Pokorny, Warren Willsey, Frank Dees, Jake Herzog, Gerry Cross, Herb Bahrmann, Jack Norray, Lou Schenck, and me.

— Photo from the Guilderland Historical Society

Under the watchful eye of their schoolmaster, boys play outside of the cobblestone Schoolhouse in about 1900.

The early history of Guilderland Center District No. 6 goes back to 1812 when New York state passed new legislation requiring towns to create common school districts to educate local children up to the eighth grade.

In 1813, Guilderland town officials met at Widow Appel’s tavern where they laid out eight school districts, which eventually were realigned, increasing to 14 districts as the town’s population grew during the 19th Century. Each of these districts had at least three trustees to serve as its board of education.

Property for the Guilderland Center school building was deeded to the community by Stephen Van Rensselaer, the last patroon, in about 1840. The deed contained a revision clause stating that, if it were no longer used for education, it would revert to his heirs. He had a large family and many descendants.

Guilderland Center’s District No. 6 Cobblestone School was built in 1860 by Robert Zeh, a Knowersville mason who left his name incised in the quoin at the corner of the building. His skill must have been held in high regard as Guilderland Center was one of three cobblestone one-room schools he put up in Guilderland.

The Osborn Corners School burned in 1893, while the cobblestone school building on Stone Road still stands; it was converted to residential use when District 10 joined the Voorheesville Central School District.

Today the Guilderland Center cobblestone school building looks very much as it was when Zeh originally completed it. The bell still hangs in the cupola, most likely purchased from one of the Meneely bell factories either in West Troy (now Watervliet) or Troy as were the other surviving town school bells.

This cobblestone building replaced an earlier structure and remained in use for the children of the hamlet and the nearby surrounding area until 1941 when students began to be bused to Voorheesville schools. It had never had running water with the result that privies were in use up until 1941. Heating was provided by a pot-bellied stove, originally burning wood, which in later years was converted to coal.

Guilderland finally centralized in 1950 with modern elementary schools opening in 1953 and the junior-senior high school in 1954. Once these schools were in operation, Guilderland Center students returned to the town’s central school district.

At this time, the centralized district sold the other existing one-room schools, but because of the original restrictive deed, continued to own the Cobblestone Schoolhouse. For a short time, it was used as the central district’s office.

 

First-hand account

Fortunately, a woman who was born in 1896 left a written account of what it was like when she attended this one-room school in what would have been the early years of the 20th Century. The school day at the Cobblestone Schoolhouse began in the morning at 9 a.m. with the ringing of the school bell at top by pulling a rope inside the entry, ringing again at 4 p.m. when the school day ended.

There was a heavy front door opening into an entry where there were two doors, one on the right for the boys and the other on the left for the girls. In the back corners of the main room were hooks for coats and hats.

A shelf ran around above where the lunch pails were placed. Almost no one had a lunch box at that time. A low shelf ran along the entry wall. On the boys’ side was a basin and towel and a mirror above the basin while on the girls’ side a pail for drinking water with a dipper that hung from a nail.

In a time when contagious diseases such as diphtheria or scarlet fever took the lives of children, this primitive sanitation could spread an outbreak. Usually local teachers closed schools for several days if one child developed one of these possibly fatal diseases.

Inside the school room, there were four rows of seats with two longer rows on either side of the room. There were two short rows in the center of the room.

To account for the wide age range, the seats and desks were lower in front and higher and larger for older pupils in back. In the very front of the room was the teacher’s desk on a platform up about a foot off the floor.

There were blackboards in back of the teacher’s desk. At either end of the blackboards were narrow bookshelves running floor to ceiling, which they called the library. In the corner between the blackboard and the library was the place where an unruly pupil had to go stand with his back to the other students.

In the early 20th Century, the big po-tbellied stove in the center back of the schoolroom burned coal, which was stored out back in a small shed called the coal shed. Also out in back of that shed were the two privies, which they called backhouses with a board fence between them, one for the boys and one for the girls.

Recess time often meant baseball for the boys with the girls standing around watching. Otherwise, there were other games that were played such as “Burn the City” and “Annie, Annie Over.” There was usually a picnic at the end of the school year as well.

From old photographs taken at various times over the decades the school was open, there were either male or female teachers. They were expected to invite in the community to special programs presented by their students at such times as Columbus Day, Arbor Day, and Christmas when the children sang, acted in skits, or recited poems or speeches.

 

Mrs. Witherwax

In 1922, Marguerite Witherwax was appointed teacher, bringing a breath of fresh air for the old school. The author of the Jan. 19, 1923 Enterprise Guilderland Center column was very impressed, enthusing that “the new seats have been installed and the room presents a much improved appearance. Mrs. Edmund Witherwax (she was never referred to by her own name, always her husband’s) has the school well in hand. The pupils are interested in their work and really enjoy going to school.”

What really seemed to count with the writer, however, was that Mrs. Witherwax was turning over part of one Friday afternoon on a monthly basis to a representative of the WCTU, the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, to promote the benefits of sobriety and temperance.

The next year, Mrs. Witherwax’s students “rendered a very pleasing program of Christmas songs, recitations and exercises” in a school room with a decorated Christmas tree. This was followed by gift-giving to her students who in turn responded with gifts for her. Then, after all that excitement, the children later repeated their Christmas program at the Community Club Christmas Party.

Mrs. Witherwax, a community resident and an active member of one of the local churches, seemed to have probably stayed on for the remainder of the years the school was open. In 1933, it was reported she was back for the 1933-34 school year when “a successful year of teaching is anticipated.”

Again in 1939, school opening was announced with the comment, “Mrs. Witherwax has been the successful teacher of the village school for a number of years.”

Memories of a few 1930s students have been recorded as well. Apparently “Burn the City” and “Annie, Annie Over” were recess games passed down from one generation of students to the next as they were favorite recess recreations where the children formed two teams, one on each side of the schoolhouse. Soft ball and tag were also played and, with the ringing of the teacher’s hand bell, everyone knew recess was over.

Academic work seemed to consist of geography, reading, arithmetic, and spelling. None of the memories included learning any American history and certainly no science.

While Mrs. Witherwax taught the upper grade children, bright students from the lower grades often listened in, learning the more advanced work. Children would be assigned reading while she worked with other grade levels, then she would question them to check comprehension when she had moved on to their grade level.

One woman remembered a set of “well worn, fuzzy edged phonic cards,” used by a group of children sitting together on the floor flashing them to each other for responses.

Mrs. Witherwax kept firm control, but at the same time loosened up enough sometimes to play Chinese checkers with five students at a time. She was also caring and on frigid mornings stood by the door as children entered holding a bowl of cool water for children to plunge in frozen hands to warm them.

One woman, who started at the school at age 6, lived on a farm outside of the village, walking one-and-a-half miles each way, one of many farm children who hiked similar distances. And during those Depression years of the 1930s, some of these children may have had inadequate clothing for winter weather.

For these children, being bussed to the modern Voorheesville schools must have been a great adventure, but something of a shock at first after being in a little one-room school. In the meantime the school sat empty.

 

After centralization

With centralization and the opening of Guilderland’s modern elementary schools in 1953 and the junior-senior high school in 1954, Guilderland Center children returned to Guilderland schools. However, seniors were given the choice of becoming part of Guilderland High School’s first graduating class or remaining in Voorheesville to graduate with the class they had been part of since the 1940s.

Because of the original restrictive deed, the outdated school could not be sold when the district’s other old schools were put up for auction. Over the years, attempts have been made to find a use for the building that met the terms of the deed.

Beginning in 1970, the newly formed Historical Committee, later chartered as the Guilderland Historical Society, began raising funds along with the school district’s Yorker Club.

The June 5, 1971 School Festival, spotlighting the Cobblestone Schoolhouse as the center of attraction, was a fundraiser seeking to draw attention to the venerable building. The event kicked off with the ringing of the school bell by the man who had been school custodian long ago.

Exhibits were inside and a large turnout of former students from classes from 1906 to 1941 attended. Farnworth Middle School children were involved through a grant for “Community as a Classroom.”

In 1973, the Guilderland Historical Society began selling historic photo calendars to raise funds and volunteers commenced to work to restore the long unused building. Fred Abele, president of the historical society, and Alton Farnsworth, retired superintendent of the Guilderland Central School District, were co-chairs of the committee directing restoration.

Then in 1982, the Guilderland League of Arts planned to use the school, continuing restoration begun a decade earlier, planning to locate their office there and as a space to exhibit art and to display school memorabilia.

A new century and new plans to utilize the building came in 2000 from Deb Escobar, a Farnsworth Middle School teacher who had received a grant from the New York State Archives and Records Administration for students to learn about the old school through documents and records. She was hoping to visit the school as part of their study.

Fast forward about a quarter-century and the Guilderland school district has done the legal work to clear the deed and is willing to sell the building to the town of Guilderland. It is to be hoped that district voters will allow the sale, which will preserve this gem of cobblestone architecture on the National Register of Historic Places and the last remaining intact one-room school in the town of Guilderland.

DUANESBURG — It seems like each Tuesday’s weather is nicer than the last one. May 7 was no exception as we gathered at the Chuck Wagon Diner in Duanesburg.

With more OFs returning from the southern climates our numbers continue to increase. Last week’s column regarding the need for volunteers for our volunteer firehouses and rescue squads resulted in several OFs approaching me with positive thoughts and their own memories of their time being part of a volunteer firehouse or rescue squad.

I learned of one OF in particular who just celebrated 70 years of membership in the Huntersland Volunteer Fire Department! He did acknowledge that he no longer runs into burning buildings carrying the fire hose like he did when he joined as an 18-year-old in 1954.

He told me of how they acquired an old school bus, cut the top off, got rid of the seats, and modified the interior so they could carry the equipment and the substantial pump they needed to pump water from a pond to fight the fires. They would drive their early version of today’s pumper truck to the pond or lake or river and pump the needed water.

One more example of yesterday’s and today’s volunteers; they have always done whatever it takes to get the job done.

One more thing about volunteer fire companies, when I mentioned the nine volunteer fire companies in last week's column, I am sure that there are many, many men and women volunteers who just looked at each other and either said out loud or at least thought, “This writer doesn’t have the faintest idea of how many volunteer fire companies there are up here in the Hilltowns!”

You are right. I don’t. I have done some additional research, and I won’t even bother to try to quantify the number. Let’s just say the low number nine I threw out there last week is beyond laughable. However, I believe the message for the need for volunteers was on the mark.

 

BYOS

Last week, the subject of 100-percent pure maple syrup vs. commercial maple syrup was part of the breakfast conversation at one of the tables. This week, one OF had a waffle and commented he didn’t bring his own 100-percent pure maple syrup like the OF from last week.

This started a general conversation about how the whole industry of making maple syrup works in the first place. The large number of trees involved (more than nine; I’m not making that mistake again!) and the short time span to actually harvest the sap. How the lines from all those trees are all connected together and the lines are maintained, ending up at the sugar shack.

How many gallons of sap are required to make a quart of syrup (a lot), and the constant even temperatures that are maintained in the cooking process, where the source of heat is provided by wood-burning “furnaces.”

In early spring, while all of this is going on, there is usually a weekend or two where the public is invited to come and witness this operation right at the source. There are tours at some of these operations where they will take you out to the trees to see how they are tapped and show you the lines the sap flows through to get to the sugar shack.

I made this trip; it was a great afternoon, and yes, you can generally purchase some 100-percent pure maple syrup on the spot. Afterwards, the next time you have some pancakes for breakfast and use your own real maple syrup that you watched being made, you will find it tastes so much better than what you used before, that you too will want to BYOS (Bring Your Own Syrup!).

Recognizing Ron

The Chuck Wagon Diner is the home of Ron, the fabulous, famous, and favorite coffee man of the OMOTM. One of the OFs had decided to recognize Ron with a nice plaque showing all of the OMOTM’s appreciation. This was previously presented to a much-embarrassed Ron

On Tuesday, the owner, Chris, made sure that we all took note that the plaque was now hanging on the wall in the room where the OMOTM meet for breakfast. It looks good hanging there.

 

Side hustle

One last note left over from last week. At another table we took notice of a unique side hustle taking place.

You know those small little creamers on the tables that are there for those of us to use in their coffee? It was observed that one OF asked another OF for just one of those creamers.

The other OF promptly gave him one, and then said that would be 50 cents! The cream was free, but there was a delivery fee of 50 cents!

After a bit, the first OF needed another creamer, and this time the delivery fee was 75 cents! Well, the first OF had had enough and demanded to know what was going on.

The second OF calmly explained that this was how he made enough money to pay for his breakfast! That all he needed was a few more little creamer sales and he would have enough!

The first OF asked if he could have the second OF put it on his tab, the second OF said sure! Everybody was happy.

Those OMOTM who enjoyed breakfast this week were Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Miner Stevens, Wayne Gaul, Ted Feurer, Jake Lederman, George Washburn, Wm Lichliter, Pete Whitbeck, Frank Fuss, Paul Whitbeck, Jake Herzog, Jake Herzog, Paul Guiton, Paul Guiton (I had to put Jake and Paul down twice because I failed to list them last week when they were present), Marty Herzog, Michael Kruzinski, Roger Shafer, Russ Porkorny, Roland Tozer, Frank Dees, Gerry Chartier, Joe Rack, Ken Parkes, Duncan Bellinger, Mark Traver, Jack Norray, Lou Schenck, Gerry Cross, Dick Dexter, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, Elwood Vanderbilt, John Dab, Pastor Jay Francis, and me.

DUANESBURG — The OMOTM started arriving at Gibby’s Diner shortly before 7 a.m. They said hello to their fellow OFs and talked in their cars as they waited for the doors to open at 7. Sure enough, the doors opened, and in they went.

So in they went, still talking about whatever it was they were talking about in the cars. Another thing about the OMOTM that may not be common knowledge, they can talk! In a car, walking along, waiting in line, eating breakfast (that does slow them down a touch).

One of those conversations had to do with the old ice-cream drive-ins around the area, most of which are gone now. Places like Dutchers ice cream in Altamont. Their ice cream cones were huge! One OF was heard to comment that you really had to eat them fast in hot weather before they melted all over the place.

How about the Toll Gate Ice Cream in Slingerlands, or Dukes Dairy Bar in East Berne. I spent many a summer Friday or Saturday night at Dukes eating ice cream, drinking a Coke, and shooting darts over in the far corner all the while sneaking quick glances at the pretty girls.

Sometimes we would drive over to Fonda for the stock-car races; I had to bum a ride because I was too young to drive. I believe Duke would lead the way.

I could be wrong about that; an 80-year-old’s memories about things that happened when he was a young teenager sometimes are not the most accurate! But I do remember a stock-car driver driver named Kenny Shoemaker and speaking of Toll Gate Ice Cream, how about Howie Westervelt driving the the #24 “Toll Gate Special.”

Oh, the dreams a young teenager, who didn’t even have his first driver’s license, would have that night! I also spent a lot of time at the Toll Gate enjoying ice-cream sundaes and eating French fries and watching pretty girls. Do you sense and pattern here? Hint, no, it wasn't the ice cream or FFs!

Mind you, all of this was being talked about and old memories being stirred before we had even all arrived and sat down to order breakfast.

At another table, one OF sat down and promptly pulled out a bottle of 100-percent pure maple syrup made right here in the Hilltowns. When asked why he had brought the syrup, he explained that he was going to have a tall stack of Gibby's big pancakes for breakfast and he wanted “real” maple syrup along with plenty of butter!

And that is exactly what he ordered. He ate it all.

 

Call for volunteers

From ice cream, maple syrup, and pancakes, we moved on to another table where the conversation was somewhat more of a serious and important nature — of volunteers for the local fire departments and ambulance squads. These organizations depend 100-percent on volunteers.

I went online and quickly found nine fire companies from Berne to Knox to Medusa to Westerlo and they all had two things in common. First, they all are officially called and known as “Volunteer Fire Companies” with the name of the town coming first. The second thing they all have in common is, they are all in need of additional volunteers.

The same holds true for emergency medical services. Although the two organizations are different in that they serve two separate segments of our community, they nonetheless are joined at the hip.

You will always see the EMS vehicle at a structural fire, standing ready to assist a firefighter or anyone who may need some help. Likewise, you will always see the firetruck and or the rescue truck standing by a car accident also to lend a hand if needed.

Another thing they all have common is the behind-the-scenes army of volunteers. The public, for the most part, is unaware of this army of men and women who are standing by with whatever is needed to help the firefighter or emergency medical technician who stumbles out of the smoke-filled building and really needs a drink of water or maybe some oxygen or maybe just a place to sit for a moment to catch their breath.

All that and much, much more is waiting for them because of this behind-the-scenes army that is always there, ready to do what is needed. Maybe that help is in the form of a 75-year-old OMOTM just handing out a towel or half a sandwich or directing that firefighter or EMT to a chair.

All volunteers. No one is getting paid for this; they are all just doing what they can to help their friends and neighbors in their communities.

It takes all kinds of volunteers. Are you good at numbers? Accounting? Mowing a lawn? Organizing an open house to try to get a new member? How about a fundraiser? Participating in a work detail to keep the trucks and equipment and building clean?

Are you a purchasing agent/inventory type person who can make sure there are enough Band-Aids and spare parts for the equipment? Are you a mechanic who can help keep those trucks and the rest of the equipment in perfect operating condition so when the time comes they all perform the way they should, as if people's lives and homes depend on it? Because they do.

They are a team. They work as a team. They are all heroes. They are volunteers. 

Please consider donating a little time to volunteer; it will change your life. Just ask the OF at the table who was reluctant at first to join the EMS squad but, when he did, he stayed for years and he says it was the most interesting and rewarding endeavor he ever did. I can personally attest to that, but that is another story.

Those OMOTM who made it to Gibby’s for breakfast included Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Ed Goff, Jamie Darrah, Wm. Lichliter, George Washburn, Miner Stevens, Frank Fuss, Russ Pokorny, Frank Dees, Ted Feurer, Jake Lederman, Marty Herzog, Roland Tozer, Roger Shafer, Ken Parks, Joe Rack, Glenn Paterson, Mark Travor, John Dab, John Williams, Jack Norray, Gerry Cross, Dick Dexter, Lou Schenck, Herb Bahrmann, Elwood Vanderbilt, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, Allen DeFazio, Henry Whipple, and me.

The Blind Oedipus Commending his Children to the Gods by Bénigne Gagneraux

Because I studied ancient Greek and Latin for many years, I developed a love for the Greek language — its unadorned sophistication — as well as for the great tragedians of fifth-century-before-Christ Greece. Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides were its Murderers’ Row.

And though their plays appeared two-thousand years before the great Bard of Avon wrote, their work is as good as his and better than or equal to the tragedies of Dante, Arthur Miller, Spielberg, Tarantino, Scorsese, and others of that ilk.

Sometimes in my mind’s eye I see my younger self sitting in Greek class poring over the text of the “Antigone” of Sophocles, line by line, giving the text what the recently deceased poetry critic Helen Vendler called “a close read.”

I remain grateful to this day that I was able to read the very same language the Bard of Athens used with his wife and friends.

“Antigone” is about a woman who defies a king’s command in order to honor her brother’s death but the stress of the conflict leads to her death and the deaths of those she loved. (Sophocles is pure poet so young scholars are advised to carry their Liddell & Scott as a vademecum.)

There’s no need here to go into what Aristotle says about “tragedy” in his “Poetics,” written two-hundred years after the trio wrote, except to say he draws attention to an ailment called hamartia — the Greek is ἁμαρτία — which is the blind spot a person has about who he really is and how his acts affect others; such loss of vision brings unhappiness and ultimately a person’s demise and is why Aristotle says ἁμαρτία is key to tragedy.

The Greek dictionary defines hamartia as “missing the mark” (maybe with a bow and arrow), or being off course (as in the case of a floundering ship), which in people causes mental anguish. The ailment derives from ignorance in some cases but in others because the tragic soul lacks the tools — to mix metaphors — to keep his psychological boat afloat. He has no overview, no sense of the long-haul, which always morphs into a suspicion of others.

It’s easy to see why some writers define hamartia as “tragic flaw”; you look at the afflicted person and wonder how someone can be so blind, live so crazily as to harm himself and the people he loves, affecting even the health of his society.

With respect to being off course, Aeschylus in his “Oedipus Rex” — considered to be the greatest ancient Greek tragedy — tells of a man, Oedipus, who learns of a prophecy that says some day he will kill his father and then marry his mother — the kind of sex “Playboy” never covered.

Unable to accept such a reality, Oedipus takes it upon himself to hunt down the killer and bring him to justice — Sergio Leone style — all the while unaware that it is he, Oedipus, who is the killer, fulfilling part one of the prophecy.

Because of a mix-up at birth, Oedipus never got to know his “real” parents; then one day on a trip he crosses paths with a man on the road who gets sassy with him; to make short shrift of the nuisance Oedipus kills the man — who turns out to be not only the King of Thebes but his father!   

Once back in the city, the patricide meets a woman he likes and then marries her — has sex with her — only to find out that the woman is his mother! Part two of the prophecy is fulfilled. 

When the facts about the killing and incestual sex come out, the queen — Oedipus’ wife — is unable to withstand the grief and takes her life, thus Oedipus loses not just a wife but his mother. His guilt is so unredeemable he punishes himself by gouging his eyes out.

When I think of great literary tragedies, what comes to mind are: Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman,” Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” Roman Polanski’s “Chinatown,” and Chantal Akerman’s “Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du commerce, 1080 Bruxelles,” even Michael Curtiz’s “Casablanca.”

But one title I never see ranked among the best is Woody Allen’s 1989 “Crimes and Misdemeanors.” Some critics say it’s not even Woody’s best, while “Empire” magazine, in its “The 500 Greatest Movies of All Time,” slots it at 267. And yet, when we look at the structure of the film and its continuous flow of primary-category ideas, we are forced to sit Woody aside Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides.

From beginning to end “Crimes and Misdemeanors” keeps asking: Is there a moral structure to the universe? What about in the case of a society, a community, a neighborhood, even a person’s psyche? Is there a “force” that governs bad behavior while encouraging people to be good?

Allen also wants to know whether, when someone commits a dastardly deed, a society, a family, a person, has the ability to set the ship aright — through punishment or forgiveness — to deal with the harm-done without someone having to gouge his eyes out in reparation.

The protagonist in “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” is Doctor Judah Rosenthal, a highly-successful ophthalmologist, who’s had an affair with a stewardess who now threatens to tell his wife unless she can have all of him. She reminds him that she knows about the shady business deals he was involved in and, if she can’t have him, the police will. The doctor turns into a sheet of frozen panic.

When we see Rosenthal for the first time, he’s telling family and friends at a gathering what his father used to tell him, “The eyes of God are on us always”; that is, Omnipresence is the moral governor of the universe.

But when threatened, the doctor discovers that God, and the moral values he grew up with, are unable to assuage his pain; he hires a hitman who kills the woman thereby ending the menace to his upper-middle-class psychological, social, and economic well-being.

While his dark night of the soul was going on, the doctor plied his imagination to see what his elders taught him growing up. Should a person prefer God to Truth? What happens when someone deflects the eyes of God? Can such a person get away with murder? The voice of his Aunt May always seemed to prevail, “Six million Jews burnt to death and [Hitler] got away with it!”

During an office visit with one of his patients, a rabbi who’s going blind, the doctor bares his soul. The teacher tells the killer-to-be, “I couldn’t go on living if I didn’t feel with all my heart a moral structure with real meaning and forgiveness, and some kind of higher power. Otherwise there’s no basis to know how to live.”

Throughout the movie, we hear similar thoughts from a wise Jewish philosopher, Professor Louis Levy, who serves as the traditional Greek chorus. In one of his forays he says, “We are all faced throughout our lives with agonizing decisions. Moral choices … [and] We define ourselves by the choices we have made. We are in fact the sum total of our choices.”

And yet, he says, we all need, “a great deal of love, in order to persuade us to stay in life … the universe is a pretty cold place. It’s we who invested with our feelings and, under certain conditions, we feel that the thing isn’t worth it anymore.”

He then commits suicide. The eyes of God failed again.

The curtain comes down in “Crimes and Misdemeanors” at the wedding reception of the esteemed doctor’s daughter; in attendance is the now fully-blind rabbi who inquires of his host, “Tell me, if I’m not prying, did you ever resolve your personal difficulties?”

“Yes, actually. It resolved itself. The woman listened to reason.”  

“Did she? That’s wonderful!” the rabbi says, “So, you got a break. Sometimes to have a little good luck is the most brilliant plan.”

In reparation for his sin Judah Rosenthal does not gouge his eyes out like a maniacal Oedipus. He welcomes the future scot-free, proving what Ivan Karamazov says in Dostoevsky’s “The Brothers Karamazov”: “If God does not exist, then all things are permissible.”

SCHOHARIE — On a cool crisp Tuesday morning, the OMOTM gathered at the Your Way Café in Schoharie for breakfast. We welcomed back some OFs that had spent some time in Florida who took great delight in talking at length about the warm (mid 80s) dry weather and cloudless blue skies.

After they got through “mouthing off,” the rest of the OFs pretty much ignored them as their “moment in the sun” had definitely passed.

Much discussion ensued about the “Name Game” of matching the first and last names of the OFs who attended last week’s breakfast at Mrs. K’s. I had printed out a bunch of extra sheets containing the A and B columns of names. The OFs’ first names were in column “A” to be matched with the OFs’ last names in column ”B.”

Two OFs had already gotten back to me, “The Game Master” or “TGM” for short, with 100-percent accuracy in their answers. They indicated they didn't cheat, which actually is allowed in this game. Those two OFs were present today so I had the ability to refer the rest of the OFs to them if they still had questions after I explained the game rules — again.

Of course, there was an OF who wanted to know why the mysterious new member’s name from a few weeks ago was not on the list. That’s what started this whole thing in the first place. Since the mystery man is no longer a member of the OMOTM, he was definitely not in attendance and therefore his name could not be on the list.

Others wanted to know where the attendance list was, so it was explained that this was the attendance list and they had to match the first and last names to find out who was present. Sigh. I don't think the TGM is going to do this game thing again. He has, however, developed a whole new respect for makers of “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy.”

 

Mourning Mike Willsey

To turn to a much more serious matter, our long time Charter Member, Warren Willsey, passed away on April 16, 2024. Warren, who virtually everyone called “Mike,” would have celebrated his 98th birthday in June.

Please allow me to take a few moments of your time to express my feelings for a man that I didn't personally know but I am proud to be associated with a group of men that we know of as theOld Men of the Mountain, of which Mike was a charter member.

Here is where I want to make myself clear. As I read Mike's obituary, the book “The Greatest Generation” by Tom Brokaw comes to mind, and  seems to be written directly about this man, his friends ,and family from the Helderberg Mountains and the surrounding Hilltowns of Albany and Schoharie counties.

The obituary talks about Mike's “very deep ancestral heritage in the Helderbergs.” Both of Mike's parents, Frank and Mille, grew up on neighboring farms. Mike's future wife, Whilma, also has very deep roots in the Helderbergs as she grew up on land her grandfather farmed in the 1700s.

Whilma’s brother, Herbert, and Mike became very close life-long friends as both worked their dairy farms in the East Berne area. Herb also was a charter member of the OMOTM.

Mike enlisted in the Army Air Corps before he graduated high school. Of course he did. When WWII ended Mike came home and married Whilma. He refused VA benefits, to quote from the obituary, “He strongly felt only those who saw combat or were wounded in action deserved the benefits.”

So this man from a dairy farm in the mountains outside of Albany, New York, who grew up during the Great Depression, went to war, came home to the family farm, married and with his wife raised a family, a man who worked hard and asked little, if anything, for himself, certainly epitomizes Brokaw's The Greatest Generation.

I enjoy having breakfast with one of his five children, also named Warren, who is a current member of the OMOTM. I just wish I had been able to get to know Warren “Mike” Willsey. He was the type of man, like my own father, both from that same greatest generation that Tom Brokaw writes of, who are my heroes.

Well done, Warren “Mike” Willsey. To you and your generation, well done.

 

Band of brothers

On a considerably different and happier note, another OF has some brothers and guess what? They like each other!

I will keep with the tradition that the Scribe established and limit my use of the names of the OFs as much as possible as the Revenuers may still be out there watching and waiting.

This band of brothers, like so many families, are spread out across the country from Illinois to New York to Vermont, but they get together once or twice a year at one of their homes to “light the drinking lantern.”

They catch up with each other and their families, maybe talk about old times they had at the same college in southern Illinois where they all attended for a million consecutive years, or to figure out where to get together next time.

They went to breakfast at the Chuck Wagon which, you may recall from a previous column, originally was in Champaign Urbana, Illinois, close to where I went to college and got married. It really is a small world.

I think we all can relate somewhat to this, as many of the OMOTM and their families get together for family reunions. It is a good thing. There is enough sadness around; this is a happy thing.

No more Name Games this week. It is OK to write the attendance because it is a well-known fact that the Revenuers never read the Final Paragraph; they fall asleep! This week the following OFs made it to breakfast at the Your Way Café in Schoharie: Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Frank Fuss, Roger Shafer, Glenn Patterson, Mark Traver, Joe Rack, George Washburn, Wm Lichliter, Frank Dees, Russ Pokorny, Paster Jay Francis, Jake Herzog, Ed Goff, Warren Willsey, John Dab, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, Elwood Vanderbilt, Lou Schenck, Jack Norray, Gerry Cross, Herb Bahrmann, and me.