New Bartender

Debra

A new bartender at 1762 Broadway Lounge was in for the usual day bartender who went home sick after disinfecting the bar. Debra is sweet, petite, polite, pretty and perfectly proper. I really encourage regulars to come out and see this lady on Sunday, her regular day. I was in Friday afternoon and found her to be absolutely delightful.

A note: Cowboy E came in Thursday Night with some of the regulars and saw the Blonde Night bartender wearing “Daisy Dukes” or hot pants.

He told me it looked gross. To quote, “Her cellulite, cottage cheese, ultra pale ass hung out of those things like rotting melons… I heard her talking about a dress code for patrons at one time. That night a dress code was needed for the bartender.” Cowboy said his brother in law took the meal he ordered home after one beer and a short conversation. Sometimes I wish the pretty bartenders would work Thursday and Friday Nights.

I can wish.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

4th of July

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” (Preamble: Declaration of Independence)

“We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.” (Preamble: Constitution of the United States).

So many of us take so much for granted, we can get together with others where we want, associate with whomever we choose, worship where we want, live where we choose and live how we see fit. But sometimes those who we elect fail us miserably and prove no more loyal to the Constitution or to the nation than Benedict Arnold. In my humble opinion, even a President of the United States has proved less loyal than Benedict Arnold.

Even in the face of a failed administration, “We the People” live in what is still the greatest nation on the face of the earth and the greatest republic since the Roman Empire. We take for granted we can say what we choose and express thoughts in opposition to the very government that we elect. We take for granted the price paid for this wonderful freedom. This coming 4th of July remember what some men and women sacrificed for your freedom.

There are countless stories of heroism of men and women in uniform who fought in war or paid a price in combat for our liberties. Then there are the heroes out of uniform who by civil example or righteous indignation, changed the way we live by forging freedom by the force of their will or their faith.

Davie Crockett, Fredrick Douglas, Susan B. Anthony, Harriet Tubman, Daniel Webster, Earl Warren, Thurgood Marshall, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Abraham Lincoln changed America by their determination to challenge hatred, social separation, racism, sexism, division and evil where they saw it. In even these tough economic times, we can be thankful for the comforts and rights we have as citizens of the United States of America.

We will have our barbeques, our fireworks, our alcoholic beverages and our ball games. We should be thankful. Some who made these things possible will never really appreciate that freedom. Some suffer from terrible afflictions as a result of their service to this nation. I speak not only of the maimed and scarred who are in wheelchairs or have artificial limbs, also of those who have scarred souls, maimed minds, shattered spirits and broken hearts.

I speak of the Prisoners of War who are still unaccounted for, I speak of those who died before the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, I speak of those tortured by conscience and regret, those marginalized by their government and their society; I speak of the unneeded, the unwanted, the unnecessary, the unappreciated, I speak of the discarded Veterans among us.


We see them everyday, panhandling, walking like zombies down the street, or mumbling to themselves as they sit alone. I thought that they were the ‘institutionalized’ or ‘broken’ who were unable or unwilling to be part of the work force, non-hackers looking for a free ride. One day, I realized that everything I worked for was worthless because the government refused to disclose information on a neighborhood that was poisoned by toxic waste. I discovered by accident I lived there. I was also grieving the death of a friend.

I went to my State Senator, my Assembly Person, my County Legislator and my Town of Hempstead Representative. I was treated like I was radioactive, like I was a troublemaker, like I no longer belonged to society, they treated me like I was pitiful, they all referred me elsewhere until someone told me that my situation was beyond help. After all the calls I grabbed my chest and rocked myself slowly until the resounding empty ache subsided.

I felt warm and my finger was infected, I went to the VA Hospital. Once there, things went downhill quickly. My fever and my blood pressure was now a priority. I told them I needed something for the constant pain I have been battling from a badly injured back. My doctor asked me what was wrong, I told him. The Doctor asked me how I felt, I said, “astonished”. He sat down with me and asked a bunch of questions.

I just wanted to go home, no matter how toxic it was. I just wanted to get a bottle of whiskey, sit in the dark and punish myself for being me. My Doctor had me talk to the triage nurse who then took me at the Doctors request to another Doctor. I knew something was wrong. I got a shot of something in the Doctors office before I got walked to the ER.

I was put in a room by myself and I started to get really worried. Then the Doctors came in and sat down. “Sir, the medication we gave you will lower your blood pressure but may have side effects.” “Like what” I asked the female Doctor who spoke to me in a soft and compassionate voice. “It could make you very, very, dizzy…did you drive here?” “Yes Doctor I did and I want to drive away after my finger is treated.”

“We can’t let you go because it was a narcotic we gave you, besides you look very distant, very upset, can we talk about that?” “Why? Its not as if you could help me, it’s a problem with my house, government, death and my life, which is in near ruin…just fix my finger and let me go.” “Sir, please talk to us, we know something is very wrong and drugs alone may not fix it or the wrong drugs could do a lot of damage…we have your record and want to ask some questions.”

After several minuets of questions with just one Doctor in the room and feeling sick to my stomach, I was admitted. After a night in a Cardiac Unit, I was moved to another floor. That morning I had a meeting with a room full of Doctors, Nurses, and Shrinks. “We have determined from blood tests, muscle degradation and your neurological responses that you are suffering a Major Depression.” “No SHIT! Can I go home now?”

“Not until we figure out what medications work together without hurting or killing you” said the Psychiatrist as she had two really big muscle bound orderlies escort me to a room. “Am I being held here against my will?” “No. If you choose to leave, you can sign yourself out and absolve the hospital of anything that happens if you leave and hurt somebody or yourself” said the Psychiatrist as she crossed her legs.

“I don’t want to be drugged up, locked up or marginalized because you think I’m going through an emotional trauma…I don’t want to be made a statistic, I don’t want to be put in a system that’s going to take my freedoms, my rights or privileges I fought hard to get in life, do you understand?” “Absolutely! We are not going to do any of that” she said as she got up to hold my hand. She said “I promise, you’ll be able to go anywhere you want on hospital grounds.” I took the Doctor at her word.

For the next few days I lived in a mini-campus with several Veterans from all the Wars except WWI. Everyone was there for different reasons, but all of us had one thing in common, some kind of trauma that effected us physically or mentally. I got to know some good people and heard their stories. I was outraged and amazed that our country treated some of these men so terribly wrong.

Here are some stories: There is the tall young tank commander from a decorated Armor Unit who fought in Iraq. His tank had to hold its position and fight, the logistics train that was behind them had been hit and their tank had nearly no fuel. They fired on the enemy coming from all directions. The next morning after being refueled he learned that his girlfriend an officer in the logistics train was killed. He went bezerk with an M1A2 Abrams tank. PTSD they called it, he was suicidal over the guilt of killing people and not saving his lover.

There was the Army Ranger who was on a reconnaissance patrol who was in a vicious night battle, the lead vehicle was hit and two of his close friends and fellow soldiers were killed. They kicked down doors, found the enemy and he killed a lot of bad people. After being in another firefight that left him as squad leader he again took care of business, but fell into a deep depression. He was sent home to be treated for PTSD.

Before the Ranger could get medical attention, as soon as he arrived in the United States he was sent back to Iraq for a second tour. After several firefights he got considerably worse and went to pieces after getting his squad back to his firebase. They saw bodies of women and children caught in the middle of the firefight. He was sent back to the States and taken to Northport to be treated for depression and PTSD.

Two days after he had been hospitalized the Army sent two officers with orders to send him back to Iraq for a third tour. The VA, his Congressman and a Senator stepped in, he won’t be going back to Iraq. He told me if he had to go back a third time that he would have been sent home in a body bag. He was guilty about having survived the firefights, the dead kids and angry that his unit treated his buddies like trash because of him.

And the last story is about a Lieutenant Colonel of the Green Beret who taught killing and tactics to the South Vietnamese Army, Vietnamese Villagers and Clandestine Resistance fighters. He also taught, fought, killed and destroyed forces in Guatemala and other South American countries. He was married had two kids a house and a stellar career. One day he came home, his house was empty, his wife and kids were gone.

He found his wife doing pole dances in a strip joint working for a scumbag. After he confronted her, the scumbag came after him. He was court-martialed for manslaughter (he terminated the scumbag) and was found not guilty. His wife divorced him and he could never see his kids, he had to pay child support and attempt to salvage his career. After being passed up for promotion and having failed a clandestine mission he decided to eat his gun.

He hung out with the wrong buddy from ‘Nam and found something that helped him with the pain. Paraphrasing Neil Young, “the needle took another man, gone, gone, the damage done.” After being honorably discharged, living in the streets of Manhattan hooked on junk he had a real bad trip. While tripping he made another attempt to see his kids and was arrested. He was released after paying a fine and gave himself the last injection he thought he would ever need.

It didn’t work out the way he wanted. He is getting his life back together. His friend, who told me this story said when he lost his kids, he lost his humanity, he felt he didn’t belong to society anymore, “he said he was a nobody” and to bury him face down and “pin his Distinguished Service Cross to his ass so that God could see it as he fell into hell.” Some scars are so deep and pain so bitter you just go numb.

When I left the hospital after my blood pressure, pain medication and elevated temperature had been taken care of I thought about the fourth of July. Some of us have much to celebrate, a country that has been good to us and a life that has been prosperous or fruitful. Others will be thankful they live in America just because its America. When you do celebrate, consider someone paid the price for that freedom, and some are still paying the price.

RJ

Doh!!!

I always know when I've stayed up too late. Usually, it's when some TV show like "The Twighlight Zone" comes on or some other program (if it's an infomercial then you know it's way too late to be awake) from another lifetime is being aired. Anyway, it's not that late (1:00 a.m.) but I still feel the urge to be horizontal, I'm just not tired yet. This beats the alternative - tossing and turning, my mind racing about anything and everything and then there is the clock watching. Drives me nuts.

There is not much for me to write about. The bar has been quiet for me this week but I'm told that all the bars are slow right now. Weird because the last two weeks weren't bad for me at all. I guess when gasoline and beer cost the same (not beer by the gallon, though) then people can't afford to drink and fill up the car also. ($60.00 to fill my pig) We all have to get to work somehow and that's the priority. Stupid economy, it's making me broke.

I hope to be busier soon. I'm really bored and I feel stagnant. It's like I'm getting stupider by the day. Anyone else feeling dumber?

Maybe something will change and I'll be able to write about it. Wanted: DRAMA PLEASE

Rednecks, Ravens and Aliens

I sat in traffic on the Cross Bronx when traffic came to a crawl at Third Street. I was on my way to do some hiney hunting somewhere in UFO land. N.F. Pluto has made an astronomical announcement so I was on my way upstate to check it out. I got a beep on my earpiece and answered the call, ‘What’s going on,’ I answered while traffic did slink ahead ever so gradually. “RJ, it’s Bear, I gotta tell you, you were right, the South is the South…”

“Bear, I’m on the Cross Bronx, let me call you back, I got a tractor trailer in the process of rolling over a Volkswagen and I’m trying to get ahead of it.” “RJ, I’ll say it quick, you were right about Gwenn, she almost got Benny in trouble with the ‘good ol’ boys” Bear coughed up something nasty and said he wanted me to call him when I got to the landing area. (Bear got NF’s announcement also, Bear wants N.F. committed).

As I got over the GW and headed west on 80 to pick up a passenger on the other side of Fort Lee, I thought about my Smokey Mountain adventure. (Recap: For those of you who’ve come lately to the blog go to “The Archives” on the left side of the page, click ‘Mar’ for March and read ‘Smokey Mountain Highs’ a real Red Neck ‘As The World Turns’) I knew that Bear’s info would be crazy, I counseled a gay black fool (friend of Star's) who lived with a fat white nasty sex fiend bitch (former friend of Star's).

I picked up my ‘traveling buddy’ in back of an after hours club. She was in a black dress that was mid thigh, prancing to my car in her black FM space heels with her backpack in hand. I opened the back door, she jumped in and I took off. I called Miss Elly and read my odometer giving both the time and my location. (Cop precaution taken when transporting minors, jail bait and screamers to their elders).

Taking back roads I got to the Palisades as my traveling buddy took off her dress, her pumps, lift bra and corset. I was glad it was late and it was dark, or I’d have been too distracted to drive, I was already paranoid. “Call Miss Elly girl!” I handed her my phone. She dialed and got Miss Elly, “Hi, …yeah, RJ picked me up…I don’t know yet, I’ll talk to RJ…I heard, N.F. got the word to all of us…later.”

Her long raven black hair and glamour model looks made her appear like she was mid 20’s, she was not long turned 18. As she got into a Christian T-Shirt and blue jeans, I asked “Does your boyfriend know what your doing?” “Well does he?” She threw her sandals into the front and said, “what do you think?” “Girl I’ll ask the questions you give the answers, don’t put me in the middle of no bullshit, does he know?” “No RJ, he doesn’t?” “What about your Daddy?”

“Fuck No!” “Then Violetta you better get your shit together. By the way… Miss Elly is on to you.” “WHAT! HOW!” “Never mind that right now…you wanna go to N.F.’s or you want me to drop you at Red Tavern lil’ girl. “I’m not little, a lot of guys look at me and like what they see.” “They’ll see a jail cell if they find out your 18 in a after hours club, liquor license’s aint cheap or easy to get,… like you Violetta.” I reclined the front seat and she slid from the back to the front.

Her pretty face got flushed and vicious as she lashed out, “I’m not there turning tricks, I’m doing Comedy.” “There was nothing funny about that dress... I’m surprised that fake I.D. fooled them…they’re really gonna laugh when they get in front of a judge.” Violetta’s face scowled as she said, “take me to Miss Elly, I got to make sure Dad doesn’t find out.” “What about your boyfriend, baby girl?” “I can handle him!” “N.F.’s not gonna like what your doing either. She folded her arms, shook her head and rolled her eyes.

We got to N.F.’s where Miss Elly was waiting with dinner and beer. After dinner I waited for N.F. in the den while Violetta and Miss Elly were engaged in serious ‘girl talk.’ N.F. was a couple of hours away so I called Bear to find out the scoop about Benny and Gwenn. “Bear, what’s going on?” “About time you called back, remember the night Benny came over to ask you questions about that old Bible he had.?” “Yeah Bear, he’s still going to hell…”

“RJ, are you going to listen or what,” “go ahead Bear”. “Well it turns out that the old plantation that his family met at for their reunion was the household of the slave master that owned their great great grandparents. I bet the peckerwood in that community hadn’t seen that many black faces on a plantation since the Civil War. Anyway, Benny’s family knows that he’s gay, they didn’t know he was living with a white woman. One of his relatives found out about the bitch, now they talk to him again.”

“So he’s still living with Gwenn, right Bear?” “No! That’s why I called, he kicked the bitch out.” “What happened Bear?” Well you know Benny could never have his faggots over because the bitch is always doing three of four donkey hung niggers at one time…yeah, the bitch loves takin’ it in the but, in her mouth, up her snatch and she had room for the hamster too.” “Bear, Benny let that go on anyway.” Bear continued, “Yeah, but he finally went off…Benny grew some balls.”

‘What event took place to get him to grow balls?’ “The fat nasty bitch left used rubbers all over the trailer, she could at least teach her coochie coons to clean up , Benny found her passed out bent over the couch, gagged with a sex toy in her…"OK, I GOT THE PICTURE BEAR," "...and if that wasn’t bad enough Benny told Star that Gwenn was covered with semen, beer and sweat, empty bottles were all over the place, Benny told Star it smelled like pig shit and vomit.” “So that’s what got Benny to kick her out, turning his trailer to a swine pit.”

“No RJ, that was the beginning of the end”, Bear did another lung ripping cigar cough and continued. “Apparently the bitch had a warrant for her arrest, she wrote all kinds of bad checks at PeachTree Corners and Ms. AnnaLee got a warrant put on the nasty, slimy, cunt, whore bitch and the Sheriff came out to Benny’s trailer.” “Oh no, it wasn’t when Benny was in the trailer with her, was it Bear?”

“Yep, about 10 minuets after Benny went in he tried to wake the bitch up after putting on some rubber gloves. It was nasty. He took a picture of the scene because he knew no one would believe him and he was right…when the Deputy walked in he saw Benny standing behind Gwenn with bright yellow rubber gloves on, holding her by the hair, she was bent over the couch, sweaty, smelly, otherwise naked, passed out. Deputy drew down on him RJ.”

“Did they kill him Bear?” “Almost, remember you told Benny to write down Gwenn’s weird acts and notify the trailer park manager when she had her sex circus going on….he did. Benny told Star the Deputy told him to get down on the floor, Benny said, ‘Oh please Deputy not in here, can I lay out in the dirt, its not as nasty’. RJ, the Deputy put him on his knees outside of his trailer when the Trailer park manager showed up.” “So the trailer manager spoke up for Benny?”

“Yeah, but the Deputy wanted to know why a black boy was rooming with a fat ass white woman…when he told the Deputy she was his roommate and he was gay, the Deputy nearly laughed to death as he took the cuffs off him. They called hazmat along with an ambulance to take Gwenn out of the trailer, they refused to remove the dildo, the thong, or the ball gag until they got to the hospital.” So that’s the end of the matter for Benny, right?

Bear said, “No! He has to testify as a witness when Gwenn goes to trial for those bad checks and the Trailer park manager said if he has any other roommates he has to pay extra to live in the trailer park.” “When did all this go down Bear?” “A couple of days ago, by the way Gwenn’s name is in the local papers and she can’t be found.” Ms. AnnaLee wants information as to her whereabouts.” “Why Bear, the matter is in court isn’t it?”

Bear went on, “Ms AnnaLee said she would drop some of the charges if Gwenn goes with her to Rev. Elias’ Church and gets counseling, confesses in front of all the women in Maryville she's a whore and repents in front of the whole congregation.” Bear started to laugh but stopped when I asked him, “Isn’t Rev. Elias the Pastor of that Right Wing Ultra Reformed Church that got you labeled as a ‘heathen’. Doesn’t that Pastor like to have female ‘sinners’ get on their knees in front of him and….” Bear shouted, “Don’t fuckin go there, RJ…I gotta go”.

Bear said, “I’ll fill you in on Skippy and his Indian Woman later.” ‘What is she Bear, Cherokee, Navajo….’ “No from India Indian, a dot head, RJ!” ‘You are so culturally sensitive Bear…talk to you later.’ I drew a beer from the Heineken keg and went back into the kitchen. Violetta seemed perturbed. “What’s your problem now lil’ girl?” “Daddy knows,…did you tell him?”

“No, if I did you wouldn’t be here…ask Miss Elly who told him?” Miss Elly looked at Violetta, “RJ, I don’t know who told him but he’s on his way here and should get here about when N.F. shows up”. . Sure enough Arty (Violetta’s Dad) and N.F. walked in and greeted everybody. “Baby we’ll talk at home, right now lets go with N.F. to the landing zone” said Arty.

In the half moonlit night we all strolled to the landing zone. In the words of Dylan, “all the women came and went, barefoot and suntan too…outside in the cold distance, a wildcat did growl…two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl.” (I won’t get into all what happened that night at this time but Violetta’s boyfriend ended up sleeping with her Dad.)


RJ

WTF?? How Petty Can Some People Be? I'll Tell You...

Monday - 6/16/08

This is a letter from me to a couple of people who just had to complain to the boss about something they know nothing about. It may sound bad to everyone else but this is a blog and I'm going to vent my frustrations regarding the following subject. My apologies to everyone else.

Today, the day shift was extra dead. That's just business, I guess, so I went about my day doing other things.......like cleaning.

The reason I mention "cleaning", is due to my finding out that some of the other bartenders are upset about money. Very little money, I might add, but honestly earned.

No-one, except the boss, appreciates the work I do for a few extra pennies. When I arrive for the day shift, I start the day cleaning up after the night shift. The glasses are all washed and hand dried, the sticky ass bar is cleaned, the floor is swept and mopped, the mats behind the bar are taken up and mopped on both sides (also sticky) and the floor is washed before I put them back. I take care of the empties (by emptying them. Nobody likes a beer bath with old stale beer, especially the delivery guys who pick them up), and put them in the correct boxes (which should be done by the person who served them the night before, not too difficult but I guess laziness prevails)

These things I mentioned above are not even close to the amount of chores I perform on my shift. Why do I do all this cleaning you ask? I do it so that the bar will be ready for the night shift. Cleaned, stocked, juices filled, beer iced and all that other stuff is not for my benefit. If I have time, and I usually do, I try to make it easier for the next person so they can just come in and work. And what do I get for it? I get people complaining that I earn a pittance more than they do. Let's not even mention that I don't have as many customers during the day shift and make a lot less in tips than the night shift.

Sometimes I feel more like a maid cleaning up after teenagers than I do a bartender.

Here's my solution: I will take a pay cut, only do basic cleaning for my own benefit, not worry about refilling the juice bottles (my day guys drink mostly beer anyway) so that when the night shift comes in they'll have to take care of it themselves while they have customers at the bar wanting immediate service. Let's see how everyone likes walking around on sticky bar mats, touching sticky surfaces, serving drinks out of dirty, spotted glasses and whatever else I do to make other people's lives easier. That's right, you won't like it!!

Here's my advice: Get over yourselves and grow up. The initial complaint about money (I can barely get a gallon of gas with this "money") is petty and makes the complainers sound very greedy, not to mention ungrateful.

I'm laying it all out here. I do my job to the best of my ability, responsibly, professionally and cleanly. If you object to my working at the bar, well, that's tough, deal with it. I'm not leaving unless the boss asks me to and I will never be as considerate as I have been to the complainers (yes, I know who you are) so be prepared to reap what you sow. Crybabies.....So much for teamwork, respect and good work ethics. You have none of these qualities. I'm disgusted with you so you're on your own.

Later for you two....

RRRRRRRR

KAREOKE!!!

Are you or do you know a local singer/performer?

Karaoke being held at Backstage Nite Club/Sports Lounge (948 Broadway, Woodmere, NY, 11598) every Wednesday, starting at 9PM, through the summer. Prices at Backstage (which is 3 blocks from the Woodmere L.I.R.R. train station and next door to Woodmere Lanes) are very reasonable and there is food available as well as several flat screen TVs, two pool tables, an air hockey table and dart boards.

It is a very large place with a big dance floor, stage and excellent sound system. Party ends at 1AM (singing and dancing not required, but highly recommended!!) Thanks and have a good time.

Gary & Lori want to get the "Old Corner" Folks over to Backstage on a Wednesday Night real soon. Please let Gary know by leaving comments on this entry.

Doctor, My Eyes...

Wrestling against the restraining straps I strained my stomach and there was strap burns on my wrists. I fought for every breath as I was flat on my back as they wheeled me restrained to the gurney down the dimly lit corridor to the back of the emergency room. My neck was in a tight brace, so tight I could not move my head up or down, left or right as I heard menacing noises and could feel the impending treachery of not knowing if I would live or die. I was fighting.

“You will relax or you could go into shock…we’re trying to help you” said the statuesque nurse as she secured the second medical lock in my left arm, they prepared an IV for both arms. It felt like they were running fire hoses in my veins. ‘Nurse, its hard to see…what are you doing? Are you a nurse?’ “I’m Nurse Ross, Trauma RN for this emergency room.” We are working to help you, you need to relax and be quiet?

She leaned over my body, I was tied down and restrained to a board on the gurney, her auburn hair was in a weird bun and her breast and cleavage were prominent in her purple nurses smock. “RJ, do as we tell you or this experience will be all the more painful…if you understand, squeeze my hand.” I squeezed Nurse Ross’ hand….her voice was soft, stern and ominous to me, she reminded me of Nurse Ratchid in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. I didn’t want to play Nicholson’s role in this real life drama. I was scared for my life.

The Doctor came in and made his assessment and ordered all kinds of medication. “Nurse we can’t control his blood pressure with the meds we already gave him…RJ are you in pain?” Hell yeah Doc, why the fuck else would I be laying hear? “Give him morphine, 600cc”, said the Doctor, I screamed, ‘Noooo’ “I will get sick on Morphine and throw up, I will choke on my own vomit.” Ratchid, I mean Ross, shot me full of Morphine, I could feel the heat of it all through my body as my stomach slowly soured. I started praying out loud.

The Doctor took my blood pressure again….he said, “Nurse, you need to inject those medications a little quicker or he’ll go into shock.” “Yes Doctor, but I must make sure its not to fast, or he’ll crash” Nurse Ross looked at me as if she was punching my ticket to the promise land. I left myself in the hands of God. Other Nurses, orchestrated by Ross and the Trauma Doctor, now surrounded me. “We must lower his fever….strip him” said Nurse Ross.

My shirt was opened and I was naked from the waste down. Nurse Ross shoved ice between my legs, on my scrotum and atop my manhood, at that point, most thoroughly shriveled. Ice was shoved under my armpits and on my chest. I prayed not to throw up when the world went into slow motion and everything sounded like an echo from another dimension. Nurse Ross was pushing needles into the Med Lock as the Doctor pushed another needle into my arm.

How did I get here, what the fuck happened. Oh yeah, I was sitting in traffic waiting for the light to change. I was stressed out over finances and couldn’t wait to be on a plane to Los Angeles for some summer work. I was waiting for traffic to move when suddenly…my head snapped back over my head rest, my right leg buckled and popped off the brake, my dashboard flew apart and my stereo flew into the back window, my head was then snapped forward and bounced off the steering wheel when my car was abruptly push-forced into the SUV in front of me.


I was hit hard from behind by an SUV with incredible force. I opened my glove compartment after hearing a knock on my window. I heard bells and ringing in my head. I called 911 after hearing, “are you O.K.” It was then I realized I was slumped over my steering wheel and my neck, leg and back were all going numb. My head had funny sharp pains shooting through it. It was hard to talk, it hurt, I gave my name, location, condition and said things looked fuzzy and it hurt to talk.

The 911 operator said, “You need to repeat that…” I threw the phone on the floor and said ‘fuck this’. I tried to open my car door and pain, in waves of intensity that could only be brought on by torture, ripped through my body everywhere. The paramedics removed me from my car, which I last saw all banged up while being rolled away. I had to get out of this mess and get to L.A. I had to make this money or I would be in serious trouble.

The pain didn’t go away after the morphine, but it felt ‘different’. I told that to Nurse Ross who responded by giving me more morphine. I prayed again, they left my head and neck in a brace but released the restraints. After being wheeled from one MRI, X-Ray, Sonogram and EKG to the next MRI, X-Ray and blood tests galore, I realized I might miss my flight on Friday. It was Thursday night, 22 June 2006 and I was in Good Samaritan Hospital in West Islip.

Nurse Ross turned me over to an Orthopedic Surgeon who had my test results and gave me a bunch of bad news, Dr. Grimm ran down the problems; “RJ, you have a severe concussion that has affected your eyesight, but that’s not on the main menu of problems we need to confront immediately…you have disc damage to your cervical spine, lumbar spine, damaged vertebrae in your neck, nerve damage obviously causing severe pain throughout your body, numerous bruises and your blood pressure is above stroke or heart attack level.” We’re gonna see if you can stand.

The Nurses removed the neck brace. As I put weight on my left leg the room spun like a carousel going at 1000 rpm in reverse, “Doctor this aint a good idea, I’m a little dizzy.” “Hold on to the rail and try putting weight on your right leg” said the Doctor as I tightly held on to a wall rail as I sat up on the bed facing the wall. When I put weight on the right leg, waves of pain buckled me as I crashed to the floor pulling out some of the tubes they had shoved in my arms.

“Its safe to conclude you can’t walk” said Dr. Grimm. I wanted to curse him out. I didn’t say anything as the nurses cleaned up the blood and stuck me with all kinds of needles running new micro tubing inside my arms. I finally threw up. I was admitted, put in a room and put on a stroke watch as an ERT Unit rolled in with all kinds of equipment.

“Doctor his blood pressure is uncontrollable,” said Dora the floor RN who now had me in her care. “Doc, do something about the pain and I won’t be so damn anxious,” I said while they ran for more drugs. Doc said “We are going to do something for both pain and blood pressure.”

“RJ you need to relax as much as you can, the people around you are an Emergency Response Team. If we can’t control you blood pressure which is now at 230/145 you will have a heart attack or a stroke…. calm down.” I started praying again, the team left the room after morphine, darvon, percocet and other pharmaceuticals mixed with a blood pressure cocktail put me in a weird consciousness. People now had ‘weird lights’ around them that illuminated in different colors. Different people had different glowing colors, walking shadows scared me.


It was night and I thought about my life and I struggled to get calm. The ERT people were outside my room on a Code Blue for another patient when an extreme bright soft glowing light that didn’t hurt my eyes, glided into my room. She was in all white with a black band around her white head wrap that covered her head and neck, her face was soft and radiant and her robe like dress flowed gently. She sat down next to me and smiled.

I tried to talk; she put her finger to her lip and whispered “quiet”. I couldn’t quite see that well out of my right eye, I turned my head toward her and asked who she was. “I’m a Doctor, call me Nona.” O.K., Nona what kind of Doctor are you, I asked, “the healing kind.” She put her hand on my head and looked into my eye, I could see a bit better after that. “You need to stop worrying, all your problems don’t mean a thing if you can’t solve them” said Nona.

“Talk to me, tell me about the accident” Nona asked. I gave the extreme short story but said I will loose an employment opportunity, which means probably loosing my home. Being in a hospital bed waiting to stroke out wasn’t a solution to my problem. Nona said, “If you didn’t have the house you were in what would you do.” I told her I didn’t want to live with my mother, stay with friends or be in a shelter. I needed to be self-sufficient.

“Who is in your life right now to help you”, Nona smiled waiting for my reply. I told her, ‘No one is in my life that can help me with this. I live alone and help support my mother who lives with my brothers. I am fighting to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table. As you can see I am in the process of failure.’

Nona took my hand and said, “Stop it! Listen. Give up on what is yesterday, what is useless, what is defeated and what is gone. Live for giving, heal your soul, live with faith to confront what is real and dismiss what isn’t, if you really believe you will heal.” ‘Doctor my eyes hurt when in the light, but not when I look at you, I don’t know why.’ ‘I cry in the dark because I’m ashamed of failure and failing and this accident is a metaphor for my life, all pain and no joy.’

“RJ you will never love anybody until you really know how to love yourself, stop living subjectively, live objectively…understand!” Nona put one hand on my head and another on my heart, I felt warm all over and wondered about the morphine and other pharmaceuticals I’d been given. I started to see my life playback in living color, I saw much that made me proud, a lot that made me humble and some things that made me ashamed of what I’d become.

“You can’t make a life by yourself, and you won’t have life until you really love”. What do you mean Nona! “Tell me what love is RJ?” What kind of love are you talking about Nona? “What is the greatest love, RJ”? I know its not doing for someone or purpose because of what you feel but doing the most right despite what you feel…that’s what the Word says Nona. “What is duty RJ?" ‘Duty is the obligation of service for a high cause likeGod, Country and family, why Nona?’

“Are you getting your love entangled in your duty? Love knows when to hold on, and when to let go, if you give all possessions even you’re life and have no Love in you, what does it profit?” I was stunned to understand something like severe injury had to get my attention, I was afraid. I looked at Nona, she continued, “You know the time to kill and to heal, the time to laugh and to weep, you’ve been there…without Love you will never have the time, don’t let time run you out.”


‘Nona…Doctor my eyes feel funny, they’re hurting and you’re starting to get blurry.’ “RJ your going to hurt all over for a long time, healing is often long and painful, but an Almighty God will renew your strength…. do you believe?” ‘Hell Yeah…I mean, Absolutely!” Nona got up and glided to the door saying, …Love! After she faded out of sight everything turned black.

I could hear voices echo in my head, shouting, cursing, screaming, it hurt to open my eyes, but I did, everything was blurry, my arm hurt from the force of the blood pressure cuff, my body hurt everywhere but I was relaxed as if all my cares were taken away. “RJ can you hear me.” This big black man about 6’7” 330 lbs had a stethoscope under the blood pressure cuff waiting for me to say something. ‘Yeah, I hear you. What’s going on?’

“Your pressure was high all night and the drugs seemed not to be doing anything, about an hour ago your pressure peaked and then you suddenly lost blood pressure, we caught you while you were crashing.” ‘What Doc?’ “We are going to test you right now to see if you had a stroke or a heart attack, I’m Doctor Green, I’m a Cardiologist, I think we pulled you out of a dive.”

After a day of tests I rested that Friday Night and would be in the hospital till the next Friday undergoing an operation and therapy. That night I asked Dora, the supervising RN about ‘Nona’ and what kind of Doctor she was. Dora turned sheet white while shooting me up with meds and then she caught her breath.

Dora said, “about 7 years back a woman belonging to some religious order, a PhD in Psychology helped out at the hospital though she was dying of Cancer, she always had the same advise, ‘no matter what live, love and do something meaningful.’ Nona dressed like a Nun.” I couldn’t wait to get out of that hospital, living to Love takes time and I had too much wasted time to make up for. Its not enough to know what love is, the pursuit continues.



RJ