Displays

The next time you see Lance Heartthrob at the bar, hair carefully coifed, teeth gleaming white into a fixed grin, open collared shirt revealing a touch of manly hair, sipping a dirty martini… don’t think unkindly of him… he is not that unique in the animal world… he is merely involved in a form of display.

Typically animals use display in courtship or as a threat. That in itself can lead some embarrassing situations and understandable confusion.

We are all too familiar with a Tom Turkey or a Peacock fanning its tail when trying to impress the ladies. Hard to resist that.

Male bulls like to pee in the dirt and then roll in it. I’ve tried that… it didn’t work for me (although one time a Guernsey did wave her tail at me. She was either swatting a fly, or it was a “come on”).

You can’t miss a Pigeon on the prowl. It puffs out it’s chest, bobs its head continually, executes several deep bows & pivots in circles first to the left and then to the right. I’ve tried this, too. First I got dizzy, then nauseous… then I threw up. This turned into a display of a different sort… not quite a threat (which will be discussed shortly); but certainly not what I had intended. Well… it works for Pigeons real good that’s for sure.

Male hogs love to nuzzle their snouts around the rumps of females, they make a few sounds of appreciation (not a grunt, that comes later). Lance Heartthrob tried that at Ash Creek Saloon the other night… they say that once the swelling goes down he should have nearly full vision restored to his right eye.

Threat displays are of a territorial nature. It’s the way for males to establish their dominance over their peers without resorting to a death battle. This is my ‘hood!

displays are of a territorial nature. It’s the way for males to establish their dominance over their peers without resorting to a death battle. This is ‘hood!

The Rhode Island Red that is strutting his stuff crowing at all times of the day puts other roosters on notice to stay clear of this here coop!

Approach a high mountain meadow in the spring time and the crack you hear is not a rifle shot. It’s the sound of two Big Horn Sheep smashing their heads together after taking a twenty yard run at each other (that’s not even legal in the NFL any more).

A 500lb Lowland Silver Back Gorilla standing up and beating his chest serves the dual purpose of keeping other fellas from mooching in on his turf… and at the same time it advises the women folk that “the laundry better be done and dinner on the table!”

Here are a few other displays that you may not be as familiar with.

The Sumatran Pygmy Lemur engages in an ambitious exhibition of swinging from vine to vine, a series of back flips, to a flyaway double summie before sticking a landing. All done to the adoring eyes of the ladies of appropriate age.

The Slow Loris will spend two years locating an appropriate nesting site. Then he will spend another two years (sometimes longer) selecting the right material for the nest before carefully assembling it. The nest might go under several modifications before completion. This impressive display does not go unnoticed by the area females who will evaluate a male’s suitability by the quality of the nest. Many males will die before having an opportunity to mate.

The Rough Coated Felix has a musk gland that emits a concentrated scent that is so potent that it completely disables the central nervous system of nearby females (whether they like it or not). Not exactly courtly behavior, I grant you… but there you go… it’s the animal world!

Roure of France has synthesized this scent for a cologne; but few females have found the fragrance, described as a cross between a can of Hormel Chili and a bucket of vomit, as attractive (of course that didn’t stop our Lance Heartthrob from splashing a liberal amount on his face).

The Ruby Throated Hummingbird has the most aggressive display in the animal kingdom. During the mating season male Rubies turn their long bills from their task of extracting nectar from flowers, to jabbing their rivals repeatedly and without remorse. And unique to the Rubies this behavior is extended beyond their species. They will bring a merciless attack to anything that flies, earning it the reputation of being the “Great White Shark of the Air”. Famed naturalist Charles Darwin once witnessed a Ruby bringing down a Condor… he wrote in his notes, “The Ruby must have done this just for the hell of it.”

Well… we’re all animals of one sort or another aren’t we? In abstract not all that different. Lance Heartthrob? He can’t help himself.

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Representations of Memory

I am both fascinated and moved by how folks choose to represent and honor the memory of those who have departed.

I have passed too many stretches of road dotted with bouquets, wreaths and occasional crosses placed near stone walls, trees or phone poles… the spot marking a place where a life was taken. Perhaps it is too easy to assume that the deaths were caused by some form of negligence… speeding, talking on the cell phone and not paying attention, driving under the influence. Still… for those that placed those floral arrangements, the circumstances of the death is not as important as the absence that is felt in their lives.

For those of us who are not specifically connected, we have the luxury of being judgmental… “they have no one to blame but themselves.” But for those who knew, who loved… they can not escape the result of life’s severe decree… and their loss, their pain is displayed the many roads we pass.

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I can think of few Memorials that are as powerful as the one on the Mall in Washington, D.C. that honors the men and women who laid down their lives in Viet Nam. A black slab wall cut into a grassy knoll engraved simply with the names of those who are no more.

Wedged in the seams of that wall are pieces of paper bearing words from children who did not know their Fathers… or battle ribbons from those who had survived, and donated in loving memory to their buddies who did not make it back.

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There is a custom among European Jews to leave a stone when visiting a graveside. I love the simplicity… a plain tribute that is democratic in nature. I am a bit arbitrary about the stones I place… sometimes a perfect skipping stone from Woodmont, sometimes the nearest pebble to the headstone. Still, I feel compelled.

The concluding scene in Schindler’s List shows the actors from the film bringing the people they portrayed, and their families, by the grave of Oskar Schindler… placing a stone of memory to a Non-Jew, to a man of righteousness. To a Jew who survived that maelstrom, that plain rock represented an honor that no worldly wealth could surpass.

*****

I was driving thru Woodbury. A plain drive up Route 6 past more Antique Shops than you can count (interrupted only by beautiful Churches and liquor stores… I exaggerate). And last weekend I espied on the lawn fronting a simple home on the main drag a display of what must have been 3000+ small U.S. Flags sticking in the ground. It was, afterall, the weekend preceding our 5th Anniversary of 9/11. The Flags were the size of the ones they hand out along the parade routes of Memorial Day. But these flags were made of stiffened paper so that the Stars & Stripes would remain unfurled in a set wave.

Here is someone who filled their front yard with flags… maybe each one representing someone who lost their life in 9/11. Pass by that home at night and there is a flood light at ground level that casts a chilling dimension to the display.

Perhaps the resident lost someone on that fatal day. Or maybe it’s simply an expression of understanding.

And maybe that is the remaining responsibility for us… before each of these representations… understanding.

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A Journey of Completion

Ed Kirik had told me they were still in the area. I spotted one when I was on the Connector in Newtown just before getting on to I-84 East at Exit 11. I picked out the four engines as it traveled West and by the time I got to Exit 13 the big bird had come about and headed in my easterly direction. As it flew over I picked out the tail guns, the top turret and its clear nose. It was the first time I had ever seen a B-17 in the air. It reminded me of the day I saw a square masted “tall ship” under sail enter Long Island Sound. What a thrill. And what a thrill again.

In its day the B-17, dubbed the “Flying Fortress”, carried the lion’s share of our bombing missions against Germany in WWII. By war’s end 12,700 aircraft had come off the assembly lines at Boeing, Douglas and Vega. It had a crew of ten… pilot, co-pilot, navigator, bombardier, flight engineer, radio operator, 2 waist gunners, tail gunner and ball turret gunner. The plane was known for its flight worthiness and its ability to “take a punch.”

“This B-17 met a head-on attack by three Focke-Wulf FW-190 fighters. The gunners exploded two of them, and the top turret poured a stream of shells into the cockpit of the third. With a dead man at the controls, the fighter screamed in, and at a closing speed of 550 miles per hour smashed head on into the number-three engine. The tremendous impact of the crash tore off the propeller. It knocked the heavy bomber completely out of formation as though a giant hand has swatted a fly. The fighter cartwheeled crazily over the B-17. It cut halfway through the wing, and then sliced a third of the way through the horizontal stabilizer. The top and ball turrets immediately jammed, the radio equipment was smashed to wreckage, and all the instruments ‘went crazy.’ Pieces of metal from the exploding, disintegrating Focke-Wulf tore through the fuselage, and a German gun barrel buried itself in the wall between the radio room and the bomb bay. Crews of nearby bombers watched the collision. They saw a tremendous explosion, and the bomber hurtling helplessly out of control, tumbling as she fell. They reported when they returned to base that the Flying Fortress had blown up, and that the crew must be considered dead. The old Queen hadn’t blown up, and the crew was far from dead. The pilots struggled wildly in the cockpit, and somehow between them managed to bring their careening bomber back under control. The gunners shot down a fourth fighter that had closed in to watch the proceedings. And then they brought her all the way back to England, and scraped her down for a belly landing on the runway. Postscript: not a man was injured.”

The B-17 I saw was not heading over the Channel to paste a factory in Germany. Rather it was mid-way in a half hour flight out of Oxford Airport… a flight for a hand full of interested folks who could pay $450 for thrill of taking a spin in a vintage aircraft.

Ed had taken a flight out of Stratford two days before.

Ed’s Father had been a B-17 pilot during WWII. He flew 22 missions out of England for the 8th Air Force.

This is not the first time Ed had seen a B-17. Several years ago he and his Father had gone to see and inspect one on the tarmac of a local airfield. This is after Ed had spent years watching any WWII movie that had B-17s in it.

I am sure that Mr. Kirik had regaled his son with stories about the plane. And undoubtedly he would have amplified any information provided about the aircraft.

I could imagine Mr. Kirik being lost in memory strolling around that bird… thinking of times spent with brothers in arms. And I could imagine Ed’s pride in being there with his Father.

Ed and his Dad could not go up for a flight then, although Mr. Kirik wanted to go up one more time more than anything. Insurance and liability issues would not permit it.

And sadly Mr. Kirik passed away before those insurance issues were ironed out that allowed Ed to take that flight on Thursday.

The morning couldn’t have been better the day Ed traveled to Stratford. Blue skies and dry air. He went armed with a camera, a photo taken of his Dad in England during the War and a silver I.D. bracelet his Dad wore.

You have to hoist yourself up in the tail of the plane to get in. You then strap in during the take-off (and landing); but then you are free to move about the aircraft’s interior.

Ed took some great shots from what I believe would have been the waist gunners position. He also took a shot from the bombardier’s position in the clear nose. Wonderful shots of the Connecticut coast line.

We spoke about the flight later in the afternoon. Ed said that he had been on “cloud nine” all day. I could hear that in his voice. He had made that trip for him and his Dad. He had shown the photograph of his Dad to the crew, shared a smile and a story or two I am sure.

Mr. Kirik didn’t take that flight. But in many important ways he did. It is a blessing of life that our experiences and memories extend beyond our own mortality. That we are able to share, even after our time here is no more.

I told Ed he was heading for a great night’s sleep. The comfort you feel when you lay to rest in a bed after a great day at labor, when your team wins a big one, when you can love and be loved without qualification and when you can take a journey of completion.

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And the Signs Said…

“Behead those who slander Islam”

“Europe take some lessons from 9/11”

“Europe you will pay. Your 9/11 is on the way”

“Be prepared for the real Holocaust”

Real pleasant sentiments. Still, I wonder at the purpose of putting pictures of these demonstrators with their hideous signs into circulation. Do we really need evidence that there is hatred in the world?

Do we really believe that some how Islam has cornered the exclusivity on irrational extremism?

Yet I am sure that there are those who believe, who want to believe, that somehow the beliefs expressed by a portion of the Islamic Community are emblematic of the feelings of the entire Islamic Community.

And there are those who would fan the flames of fear and discontent to pursue their mindless policies. And these despicable characters, these master manipulators of information, can be Al-Queda from Headquarters unknown, and they can be Senior Executives of this Administration from inside the Oval Office.

Don’t you think the Islamic World is flooded with pictures of our troops near blasted Iraqi buildings with Mothers and children bloodied and in tears?

And who benefits from this?

It is the way the extremists lure those of more moderate views to their orbit, like a massive “tractor beam” from Star Wars.

Each day these highly charged images of hate swell the legions of their respective audiences. Opinions and positions harden… in turn leading to further demonstrations and counter demonstrations.

Let’s take a closer look at these photographs. It’s a demonstration taking place in London. A mixed crowd of young and old, men and women. Some faces set to angry scowls, mouth opened to loud shouts, signs printed clearly in English, “Behead those who slander Islam.”

What about these guys wearing keffiyehs? Their faces are conveniently hidden from exposing their identities. Brings to mind another group of cowards who wore hoods doesn’t it? Except those cowards who were draped in white robes and hoods hiding their identities weren’t Muslims, they were White Christians of the KKK.

You don’t have to look under too many rocks to find slime.

And you don’t need the internet, CNN and an active Press to provide you your daily ration of anger and bile. You don’t have to go to London or Baghdad either. Just drive down the road and knock on 100 doors I am sure that you will find hatred lurking behind a door or two.

I do not believe that everyone who prays in a Mosque is an extremist plotting a Holy War against the West. Although I am sure there is an extremist or two among their number who supports that call to a Jihad.

The question is now… what are you pre-disposed to believe?

It’s real easy to accept the signs of hatred… it’s all over for the taking. It’s what sells… the dirty little headlines at the check-out counter. There is plenty to feed your fear and distrust.

You can choose to believe that vigilance and strength can be sustained by setting out concertina wire and buying more fancy ordinance. But vigilance without morality is a fortress built in sand.

You can choose to answer extremism’s clarion call. Stockpile weapons both mental and real. Head for your bunkers both mental and real.

Or choose a path that puts the purveyors of hate in perspective. A path that recognizes that for every delusional suicide bomber there are 100,000 souls who respect life and would not dream of carrying out such a heinous act.

Look at the photograph again… a young man whose fist is raised in rage before the sign, “Exterminate those who slander Islam.”

These ugly pictures are recruitment posters for hate and fear.

Do you want to sign up?

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