A Memorial Day tribute.

Memorial Day has been set aside to pay respect to all those who went before us, especially those who sacrificed their freedoms to preserve our own. With that most somber thought in my mind, I pay tribute to a man for whom no songs be sung or monuments dedicated. A mere simple soldier who humbly did his duty out of respect and honor for this nation.



Honor, Duty, Country.

My uncle, Master Sergeant Frank Butler, was a combat veteran who fought through three tours of duty in Vietnam including the Tet offensive of 1968. He went to war because his country asked him to, and to be blunt because it was the right thing to do. Frank watched as his friends and comrades were torn to shreds in ambushes and on patrol. He experienced the hardship, sacrifice and pain of warfare first hand, privations he would hint at, only rarely, when drunk.

While he slogged through the Jungle his friends and family back home continued on with their peaceful everyday lives. They had jobs, built families, and got married all while Sergeant Butler was half a world away fighting for his life and the lives of his comrades. He was married too, not out of love, but necessity, to his 12 gauge pump action shotgun, which he explained was the finest bush fighting weapon ever devised. His job was to “Demoralize, murder, and maim” the enemy into submission, which he did without fail every single day.

When he returned in the summer of 1971, the world he had left was changed considerably. There were no parades, which I don’t think he would have marched in anyway, or general support for the troopers coming home. The only attention you were likely to receive from the media would be if you were unlucky enough to be in a body bag. Outside of that, no one seemed to notice or care, except loved ones and family. After three years of fighting, Frank was just happy to be at home where no one was trying to kill him.

I know the pain of those years wore heavily on Uncle Frank, I could see it in his eyes every now and again. Darkness would shadow his piercing gaze and a sense of melancholy would overtake him, these spells lasted not long, perhaps five to fifteen seconds or so, but they were frightening all the same. Once he caught me staring and noticed my concern. “Don’t worry Allen, it’s nothing.” He said and then cracked a crude joke to make us laugh.

Frank instilled in me a respect for the military and its purpose. He taught me that it is the trooper, airman, and sailor that secure the freedoms and security of our land. Without whom we very well may be subject to the barbarities of warfare here in our very homes. He hated communism and socialism with a personal passion as he had witnessed what those systems could bring about, and which was explained to me in some detail.

Sergeant Frank Butler was a great man, and I am proud to say I knew him. He went to serve his country because he knew it was the honorable thing to do. He understood that to maintain freedom, and liberty, one sometimes has to fight, and it was his duty to answer the call of his country. This was and is a very important lesson to learn especially at a young age, a lesson I have carried with me my entire life.

From the toils of my forebears I have received the gifts of liberty and opportunity, for generations my family has fought in the wars of this nation, without complaint, from the American Civil war to Vietnam, they answered the call of duty and gave their all. Frank was but one man of many who share my blood, and it is my duty, and my honor to remember them all with gratitude.

From such comes my ardor and love of this country it was passed to me by a hand strong and a heart true. Look to those of your family today and all days henceforth, and be thankful for those who are either serving or have served, for they are examples of what is good and right.

Honor,Duty,Country.

Allen R. Butler

A Long Retort

I came across this story this morning while doing a file clean up. It was written during the winter of 2010.

A long retort.

So yesterday the fine people of Maine were hit with another blizzard and though my tired body wanted nothing more than to sleep the day away, I drove to work instead.  The wind whipped huge drifts of snow across the winding back roads on my route and the chatter from the radio spoke of nothing else but driving conditions and cancellations. After something of a stressful drive I arrived at work and headed to my office to begin what I knew would be a very long day. You see every time a snowflake drifts from far above, my shop inevitably will be short handed due to people calling out.  Silently counting off in my head which of my employees would call, I began to open the door to my little office and noticed something that made my face twitch.

Taped to the middle of my door, was a note on a rather large sheet of paper which read:

               “Please leave the lights on!!! I do think I know how to shut them off!!!”

               The Security Guard.

This was obviously written to protest my shutting down the 312 fluorescent lights in the shop every night as I leave and lock up.

Now to do this fine scripture, this eloquent missive, justice I must explain that it was handwritten in blue marker and the letters were rather large. The author managed to cover the entire paper with but those few lines and barely had room for to add from whom it came.  On the very top, scrawled as an obvious afterthought was the date in ball point ink and circled. I could see the anger and frustration of this poor man in that last added piece; the circling motion had almost cut through the paper as he had pressed down so hard. It was this obvious frustration and anger that set my mind to thinking. Not nice thoughts mind you, but ones of evil and malicious intent as those are the most common and easily embraced by me.
Perusing the note again, I began to seethe with anger myself at the temerity and cheek of this act.

“How dare this insignificant bug lift his less than human voice to me in protest?  By what reasoning does this insect believe that I will take notice of his concerns? He is but a parasite living and breathing only by my benevolence.”  Continuing to think along those lines, with much happier thoughts of tearing limbs out one by one much like I would to a captured fly, I went about my day.

Yet after awhile I realized I was looking at the whole incident in the wrong light. Oh yes he is but a wee biting fly, but even they have a purpose, if only to spread disease unto the human race. “No” I thought, “The author is mentally challenged in some way and he understands not how light switches work”

And with that I decided to write him the following note:

 Dear Mr. Security Guard,

                                            I cannot express the disquiet your recent note as concerns lights in the shop, has given me. It is rare indeed for me to notice, let alone acknowledge the existence of someone in your position; therefore it is good that you have brought this most important of issues to my attention. After reading your note several times I have come to realize that you somehow know how to turn a light switch to the off position yet are unable to reverse this basic mechanical function to turn the lights on as well. Would that I was more sensitive to this obvious handicap, I can only imagine how dark and bleak your life must be. It intrigues me greatly and I must ask how do you get on? You must have to wait for someone else to turn the lights on at home but what if they are out, or an unfortunate accident befalls them? I can see how cruel a twist of fate that would be as you wander about in the darkness unable to enjoy the comforts of electricity. I can only assume that this handicap extends beyond the use of light switches and that you are incapable of turning on any number of appliances as well. If I am incorrect in this assumption please forgive my ignorance, your condition is rather new to me.

That being said, I see you are a man of reason for in your note you express the phrase “I do think”. This gave me hope that somehow we could overcome this difficulty and utilize your skill of thought to better your day to day life as well as improve the working relationship between us. God knows the latter is what I desire more than anything on this earth. So let’s begin to address the issue with a bit of thinking.

You have already deduced that with some form of downward motion of your paw you can turn the switch off thereby extinguishing the lights associated with that particular outlet. There is a direct correlation between the act and the effect. This same concept “Paw to Switch” or PTS as it is commonly known can also work in the reverse. This is accomplished simply by placing your paw beneath the switch tabs and then lifting up. This may take some practice as you have a lifetime of downward paw motion to overcome. You may experience moments of great frustration as you attempt to train yourself to swing upwards yet the rewards will be satisfying. If you are unable to facilitate an upward motion with your paw then I would suggest using a tool of some sort to flick the switch up and on. The flashlight you carry around would work wonderfully in such a capacity.

Now do not think you are alone in this for as I said I wish to better our relationship, so in the spirit of that thought I will do what I can to help you overcome this handicap. First; I will continue to shut out the lights every evening even though you won’t like that much. It is for your own good really, no sense in enableling you any further. You will never learn if you don’t try and you won’t try if we make it too easy for you. Second; as you are a subcontractor and not an employee I feel it necessary to inform your direct supervisor at the security company of your disability. I am sure you have been much too proud to divulge this information, yet by telling him/her they will be able to work with you on overcoming this handicap in other ways, such as when you work at other facilities they can plan your route so that you have to turn every light on and off at least once if not three times a night. Lastly; I promise that once you have mastered the act of turning lights on I will help you learn how to use that Flashlight of yours by shutting the lights while you are walking around inside the building. This advanced training will continue until such time as we find a proper replacement. You will then be free to take these new found skills and the sheer power that they inherently give to your new situation.

I am glad that you found the strength, and fortitude to confide in me, however inadvertently, as to your condition. Together we can beat this thing, and you can go on to live a happy and normal life if only you try.

Allen R Butler

Operation Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang

At the beginning of each episode of A&E’s reality program Hoarders the viewer is informed that there are millions of Americans afflicted with what is called “Compulsive hoarding disorder”. Accompanied by the eerie ding of a piano key the text on the screen also states clearly “that there is no known cure for this behavior.”

You are then subject to a disgusting, mind numbing hour long trip into the hovels and filth ridden dens of people who just can’t seem to pick up after themselves. Psychologists and “organization experts” enter the wreckage and try to straighten up the home. They patiently listen to the woeful wailings and inane ramblings of the program’s star hoarder of the week as the afflicted loses his or her mind over some tattered refuse being thrown into a dumpster. It is a grim scene, one I find not only disturbing but also a complete and utter waste of everyone’s time.

Allow me to elaborate.

By the program’s own admission, “there is no known cure” for these people. If this is true then I have to ask,” What the Christ is everyone doing there?” You are just going to clean the place up and the nut job that lives in the self-made outhouse will fill it back up with another treasure trove of trash. I suppose if one wants a bit of job security this makes sense, but for me it looks like nothing more than a dog and pony show.

Wouldn’t it be more honest for the program’s preamble to read:

 “We are about to rape your eyes with the lifestyle of a mental patient for which there is no hope or cure. In the next hour, we will wander about spouting off useless and half-baked theories in an attempt to entertain as well as sicken you. Enjoy.”

I do not pretend to have a cure for hoarding and all the dangers it breeds, but I do have a solution, and I call it “Operation Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang”, as it was inspired by the Child Catcher character from the film.

 My plan requires the formation of two three man teams, Alpha and Bravo.

Phase one: Alpha team parks a pack van in a conspicuous location in front of the hoarder’s residence. Placing signs on the sides and rear of said van that read “Free for the taking”. Pull the ramp down for easy access to the piles of useless items inside the box part of the truck. Once the trap is set, Alpha team redeploys to a position out of site of the van where they will equip themselves with large butterfly nets in case the hoarder tries to get away.

Phase two: The temptation of unknown treasures before their very eyes will be too much for any hoarder to resist and they will eventually totter out of their hovels and up the ramp. When the Nutter is in the truck two members of Bravo team race from their hiding place around the corner and slam the door shut, thereby trapping the loon for safe transport. The third member of Bravo team simultaneously runs up and kicks in the door of the Hoarder’s residence throwing a Molotov cocktail into the recently vacated domicile.

Phase three: Open the door to the van and allow the captured crazy to see the destruction of all his/her dreams and to give them a false sense of hope of freedom. Once accomplished, the use of pepper spray, though unnecessary at this point, is still encouraged to subdue the distressed further. Slam the door back down and drive to the Loony Bin where your charge will spend the rest of his/her days dreaming of dented cans and filth while doing the Thorazine shuffle.

Though Operation CCBB will not have the “Feel Good” flavor of the current program I believe it would have greater positive effect overall. The removal of an insane person from an unhealthy and dangerous environment is but one of the beneficial effects of my solution. There also comes into play the raising of property values by removing the eyesore that once was the blight of the neighborhood, not to mention the entertainment value.

Allen R Butler

Reunions: the bare facts.

"Having a wee bit of fun 1984 style"

Have you ever wondered what happened to all those people you once knew in High School? Those friends or enemies of an age long since past? You would not be completely alone if you did, for it seems much of the hype behind High School reunions is couched in such curiosity. Every year millions of Alumni across the nation get together for trips down “memory lane” accompanied by cheap food, weak drinks, and small talk.  Some travel across the country in eager anticipation of seeing some of those persons who were once called friends. I am a little baffled over this phenomena as the question of “where are they now?” never poses any difficulty, as I can honestly state “I really don’t care.”

I say this not out of anger or contempt, but from a purely practical point of view, for if I really wanted to know what a classmate has done with his/her life I think I would have made an effort to contact them by now. So too would I expect the same, and if some former school mate of mine does not have the wherewithal to understand this simple concept then no amount of small talk will ever overcome their lack of intelligence.

I sure enough wouldn’t sit and wait twenty five years to say; “hey how have you been?”

“Oh pretty good Al, except I could’ve used your help ten years back while I was being raped in prison”.

“Yeah, sorry I couldn’t be there for you. Did you see Jeanie? Man did she get fat or what?”

To be completely honest it is not so much curiosity that spurs people on to these events but a desire to measure one’s life. In essence, to see who has succeeded and who has failed. Ask anyone who has gone to a reunion and they will quickly be able to point out not only how far down the social ladder the captain of the football team has fallen, but do so with a self-satisfied smile upon their face. For that is the crux of the matter. You can wrap it up in any feel good packaging you want, and pretend that the balding middle aged man across the room is your dear friend, though you don’t even know where he lives. But, more importantly, you can sit back and take pleasure in the fact that the same man was once the school Casanova, the desire of so many teen aged girl crushes, yet is now marked by age and rather a mere shadow of his former self.

Or on the opposite track you may find yourself bypassing all the supposed “winners” from High School with your own achievements. Now that is an experience worth shooting for isn’t it? Travelling hundreds if not thousands of miles to stand in a gymnasium and strut before strangers who barely remember your name and don’t really care whether or not if you live or die. I cannot help but think “How utterly futile and stupid”. Will such a moment produce a lasting positive effect on your life? I doubt any pleasure derived from such an act would persist beyond waking the following morning. If it does well then, I am sorry, for your current circumstance must be rather dull and unhappy.

For me I have no desire to dig up the ghosts of the past, there’s no upside to it. Neither do I feel the need to unzip my pants and measure the length of my manhood. I already know how much larger it is than all of those who need the reassurance of reunions to give them self-confidence.

Cheer up though, it's Friday.

Allen R. Butler