Tag: Will Stanton

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Breaking into the Gay Culture, by Will Stanton

Breaking into the gay culture. I have no idea what that means. I suppose one first would have to define “gay culture.” I’m not sure what that is, either.

Does that mean living in San Francisco and being 99% nude in a parade? Does it mean hanging out in gay bars and trying to pick up tricks, perhaps even resignedly going home with a nameless body at 2:00 A.M.? Does it mean late-night roaming of Cheesman Park, or hanging out around men’s restrooms? Does it mean wearing rainbow colors, or lots of gay bling announcing to the world that my orientation may be different from yours? Is this that “gay culture,” especially as defined by uninformed or homophobic people?

On the other hand, could it mean that wealthy, cultured, and well educated gentleman who is bored by the bar scene and, instead, sits in the balcony of the Met Opera with a group of black-tie friends and then throws exclusive after-opera parties at his magnificent home? Or, does it refer to someone like billionaire, arms-industrialist Alfred Krupp enjoying the view of a dozen naked, young boys splashing in his swimming pool, flaunting the draconian anti-gay laws of early-20th-century Germany?

Or finally, can it mean a bizarrely inverted and destructive so-called “un-gay culture” populated by outwardly-straight army generals, fundamentalist preachers, homophobic Republican senators, or “pray-to-cure therapists,” anyone who fears or denies his own orientation that he does not understand or is willing to accept?

One obviously visible part of gay culture that I certainly respect is those persons who work for gay civil rights and to educate the otherwise ignorant public. Such work may expose them to ridicule or worse. Or at least, that dedication may dominate their lives and take up most of their time, possibly denying them the opportunity to pursue other, more personally rewarding directions.

For those gays, however, who may have realized their orientation but who have not found much of a of a life beyond it, I would hope that “gay culture” is not defined by unproductive pursuits for frequent sex partners, short-term relationships, beer-busts, and constant gay social events. Human lives should mean much more than that.

It seems to me that the natural, healthful approach for viewing one’s orientation is that it is simply one element of a person’s personality and thinking, that it does not have to dominate one’s mind. Consequently, choosing friends, joining clubs, selecting careers, interests, and hobbies does not have to be determined primarily upon whether they are considered to be gay or straight activities. After all, any psychologist or biologist worth his salt now knows that sexual orientation is not binary, not black or white; it is fluid, running the spectrum of thinking, feelings, and behavior. I could be mistaken, but perhaps some individuals think of Story Time more as a gay writers’ group. I chose to join because I prefer to view it simply as a means of telling our worthwhile, human stories. The human experience often contains universal elements not limited by gay or straight.

Denver, © 21 July 2012

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Rickyisms, by Will Stanton

To ease understanding of the
term “Rickyisms,” some people may equate these brief, humorous quips as
“puns.”  That term comes close; however,
“Rickyisms” are not so generalized as common puns, and they reflect more
precisely the personality of the originator, Ricky.  To begin with, anyone inflicted with “Rickyisms”
should be aware that the originator claims to have a personality of a
twelve-year-old boy; and his little bon mots usually are on that
level.  He has provided us with ample
opportunity to reach that conclusion.
Joking boy

Occasionally, however, his
little quips, written or oral, garner special attention; and, in my
imagination, I assign them special awards. 
One that comes to mind (and I’m sure Ricky will not mind my quoting it)
was, “As for poor Yorick, the slain court jester, I
believe Shakespeare killed him — in the library — with the quill.  Yorick probably told Will a ‘Rickyism‘ and was stabbed in the heart for his trouble.”  I found that quadruple Rickyism particularly
enjoyable.
I have encountered some people
who do not appreciate puns.  They may
prefer something supposedly more sophisticated and witty.  In addition, I also have noticed other people
who don’t even understand puns, or truly good humor in general.  These are the ones who rely primarily upon
the reptilian part of their brains, which also appears to correspond with how
they think and vote.  It also is
reflected in their love and admiration for racial or political jokes that lack
all valid meaning and wit.  Often, our
discomfort with their attempts at humor is fully justified, for their attempts
at humor are extraordinarily and unnecessarily obscene, or they  may be cruelly denigrating or politically and
maliciously motivated.  An essential part
of successful humor, unrealized by such people, is that there must be some
element of truth in it.  Otherwise, the
attempt is meaningless and unfunny.  I
frequently have noticed that deficiency in many so-called jokes from mindless
Right-Wingers in their attempts to attack and denigrate people whom they
hate.  And, they proudly think they are
being so witty.
 

Unfunny man

True wit requires valid
knowledge and practiced skill.  Far too
often, too many people come to the forum half-prepared.  If you were paying attention, you may have
caught all the puns in this piece.
Wink wink
©  26 November 2015 
About
the Author 
 I have had a life-long fascination with
people and their life stories.  I also
realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or
fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual
ones.  Since I joined this Story Time
group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.
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Acceptance, by Will Stanton

There actually have been times during my adult life that some people wished to use me as a role-model. I am far too self-effacing to comfortably accept that suggestion. I never have had a huge ego, and I do not regard myself as a remarkably successful person. Nor am I especially emotive or flamboyant, drawing attention to myself. Still, I recall a markedly ironic episode in 1970 when I specifically was asked to play that role.

I was in my early twenties, living and working for just one year in a stereotypical Midwest town. It was not a town that I would like to spend a lifetime in. I suppose that many of the citizens were decent people, but they were much more narrow in their experiences and thinking than I would like. The dominating economic force in town was an Alcoa plant. Other than people’s work and families, the main focus of their attention was devoted to church – – there was a disproportionate number of churches for the size of the town – – also men joining the Rotary Club, along with the almost mandatory high-school football and basketball. I gathered from hearing people talk that, when a baby boy was born, he immediately was destined to play football, if he was chunky, or basketball, if he was thin and long.

Even the school-teachers were not particularly well educated, and they certainly were not cosmopolitan. I recall one English teacher stating, “I told them students to put them books back on their desks.” Then she adamantly asserted, “I’m not interested in ever going to Europe. Everything in America is bigger and better than anything in Europe.” You can just imagine what their attitudes were about sexual identity, appearance, and affect, especially for boys.

I recall one sunny day sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus, when a well-dressed woman sat down next to me. She did not hesitate to introduce herself and engage me in conversation. She seemed eager to tell me that she had a daughter my age, not yet married, who had been in Japan and soon would be rejoining her. Almost as though the mother were vetting me as a potential son-in-law – – and perhaps she actually was—, she inquired all about me. She seemed impressed that I had more to offer than the usual young men born and raised in that town. I also got the distinct impression that, when I told her that I had, over the years, much interaction with many Japanese because I had studied Judo and Karate, she apparently concluded that I possessed an appropriate degree of masculinity.

She then very kindly, but also rather forcibly, suggested that, my being relatively new in town and not knowing many people, I should come to her home and join her husband and teenage son for supper. She claimed that we would have so much in common to talk about; and, later when her daughter returned, I could meet her, too. Without hesitation, she stated an appropriate date and insisted that I accept, which I did, albeit with some misgivings.

From the moment of my arrival at their home, I sensed a peculiar situation. The husband, rather than standing up to greet me, remained slunk in a coach, looking at me in discomfort. Then her fifteen-year-old son politely but timidly approached me and held out his hand. I remember his appearance quite clearly. He was blond, pleasantly attractive, and, like many colt-like, long-limb fifteen-year-olds, slim.

What she said next astounded me, for she said it right in front of her husband and her son. She stated that she was concerned that her son did not show signs of being sufficiently masculine, that he needed to have a masculine role model to interact with on a frequent basis, and his father was not up to the task. She thought that, if I visited the boy frequently and engaged in various activities with him, I could be a good influence on him. I was truly embarrassed for the father, and I could just imagine what that poor boy was thinking and feeling.

I remained polite throughout the dinner, keeping the conversation focused upon general topics having nothing to do with the personalities of the boy or his father. I somehow managed to make the evening short, thanking them for a pleasant evening, and, much to my relief, departed.

For some reason, I managed to never return to that home. I never got to meet the daughter once she returned. I suppose, considering the fact that I never phoned their house, the mother must have concluded that I was not eager to become connected with her family.

In retrospect, that mother’s attitude toward her son and her husband does not surprise me, especially considering the time and place of that encounter. Yet, that mother’s lack of acceptance toward her son, whatever his orientation or personality, and that of her husband, saddens me. I have no way of knowing what may have become of that boy; yet, obviously, I hope that he found some degree of happiness, security, and acceptance.

© 16 September 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Wrinkles, by Will Stanton

Human cells are supposed to repair themselves by being replaced with duplicate, new cells. If that process worked perfectly, then we would look about as young as when we first were fully grown. Mother Nature, however, with her cruel sense of humor, arranged it so that, sooner or later, that replication begins to fail, resulting in malformed or even diseased cells.

Aging is a major contributing factor to this breakdown in replication. So are disease, injury, smoking, chronic drugs and alcohol abuse, and too much sunshine. Unfortunately, cellular deterioration can occur with any cell, inside the body and visible on the surface. I once read that medical research has identified 12,000 diseases and afflictions humans are prone to, many caused by cellular failure. I imagine by now that many more have been discovered.

For many people, wrinkles are the most obvious evidence of aging, along with a few other delightful imperfections, such as gray hair, baldness, obesity, and loss of those youthful facial features. My time spent at the mirror is minimized to those brief moments when I am required to shave. Otherwise, I avoid mirrors almost as often as do vampires.

Speaking of other bad contributing factors, it is well known that chronic stress can contribute to premature wrinkles. Outdoorsy-people, such as traditional farmers and cowboys, often ended up with wrinkled faces and skin like leather. I also have seen a picture of a pair of identical-twin sisters aged fifty. The one who smoked and drank heavily looked seventy-five; whereas the one who did not drink or smoke looked forty. I have seen pictures of men and woman who have abused methamphetamine, and their faces looked like actors from the movie “Night of the Living Dead.” Meth is terribly destructive. On perhaps on a more positive note, there are such things as “laugh lines,” too. So, if your face is very wrinkled, just tell people that you laugh allot.

It is said that facial wrinkles give a face character, showing much of one’s life-experience. That makes sense among us superannuated folks. Of course, the young, and also those who admire or even envy the young, would prefer never to show signs of aging. Why else would billions of dollars be spent on face-lifts, botox wrinkle-removal, cosmetics, expensive hairdos and fancy clothes?

Ending on a silly note (and I must hasten to explain that I very rarely, if ever, indulge in humor that possibly can be regarded a repellent) the subject of wrinkles never fails to remind me of a little story once told to me. Now I can inflict it upon everyone here.

Once during one hot summer, two little boys were taken to their great-grandparents’ house for a weekend stay. The little boys woke up early the next morning. Hungry and bored, they went looking for their great-grandparents. They climbed the stairs to the sweltering second floor. Very quietly, they opened a bedroom door and looked inside. They were surprised to see their great-grandmother lying naked on the bed. The littlest boy whispered to his brother, “What are those wrinkles all over Great-Grandma?” — “Great-Grandpa.”

© 13 September 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Depressed, by Will Stanton

Homophobia, fear, hate, ignorance, and stupidity. Tragically, there still are hate-mongers such as Pastor Steven Anderson of the Faithful Word Baptist Church in Tempe, Arizona, who publicly rants and raves that all homosexuals must be rounded up and executed. No gays should be allowed to live; “The Bible says so!” I felt sickened when I saw in November, 2015, that Republican presidential candidates Ted Cruz, Mike Huckabee, and Bobby Jindal agreed to participate in one of Anderson’s hate conferences. Too many people agree with them.

Thank God, such insane hate and ignorance appears to be diminishing among younger Americans, at least among the more educated and cosmopolitan ones. Even the Supreme Court squeaked by with a five-to-four decision to treat gays equally in marriage, despite unlawful resistance by hypocritical Christians such as the Kentucky county clerk Davis, supported by Huckabee, who refused to issue marriage licenses to gay and lesbian couples.

The idea that so many ignoramuses staunchly believe that personal religious delusions override the U.S. Constitution’s guarantee of equal rights and separation of church and state is astonishing and depressing. I have noticed also that such people as that county clerk appear to have absolutely no awareness of the concepts of irony and hypocrisy – – in her case, committing adultery, having children out of wedlock with her third lover, yet having her second lover adopt the children, then marrying yet a fourth man. I suppose that none of this counts because “Jesus has forgiven her.” Many Christians ignore her transgressions.

That silver-tongued serpent Huckabee, who as a former governor, should know better than to employ his well practiced verbal skills to exacerbate the situation by lending his supposed authority to the clerk’s bogus claims. Also, those opportunistic lawyers pretending that there is legal standing to the clerk’s claims is an abuse of the Constitution and the legal system.

I hope the situation is improving in the general population, at least in the areas of the nation that are not so backward. In our time, two generations ago, otherwise even decent people, through ignorance, tended to lack understanding and acceptance of gays. There was so much fear and rejection. So many LGBT adults spent many years feeling isolated, lonely, unfulfilled, depressed. This obviously was especially hard on young people, struggling to come to terms with their own orientation and need for friendship and love.

In my hometown, there was a successful, upper-middle-class man who had built a lovely modern home in one of the better parts of town. I remember my classmate’s mother telling him to stay away from that house because a very bad man lived there. What was so evil was that the man was deeply enamored with youth and beauty, which led him into a ill-fated situation. The laws of that time still are on the books in this country that an adult may not have relations with a seventeen-year-old. Yes, I know seventeen is legal in Britain, and even sixteen is legal in France, however, not in America. He was well aware that he was risking fate entertaining seventeen-year-olds in his home.

Naturally, young guys potentially are less trust-worthy because of their immaturity and relative inexperience. So inevitably, one of them talked. The police came to the house and placed him under arrest. A court date was set, and he was released on bond.

Word rapidly spread among the townspeople about this “shockingly evil man.” The man’s whole life fell apart. He knew what his fate would be in the courts and subsequently in prison. He fell into a deep depression. He felt helpless, hopeless, and that his life had come to an end. So, he put a hose into the tailpipe of his car, turned on the engine, and committed suicide. It was reported in the newspapers, which probably satisfied the readers’ enjoyment of local scandal. I can just imagine that many people probably said, “Good riddance!”

Man feeling despair

With young people, statistically more gays commit suicide than straight kids. Remember also that teens, in general, tend to be more emotional than rational. Some emotional upsets may seem to be “the end of the world.” They may too easily think that life is just not worth living.

In one high school, not far from where I lived, one teenager, who was straight, generally was regarded as the most popular boy in school, and with good reason. Sometimes, it appears that some people “have it all” – – extraordinary good looks, intelligence, charismatic personality, athleticism, you name it. Naturally, probably all the girls in school fawned all over him, each one hoping to be chosen as his girlfriend. Inevitably, there always is the possibility that a few boys have similar dreams, too. There was one boy who did become obsessed with his idol.

Out of desperation, the gay teen approached his idol and, best as he could, presented his case for their becoming close friends, perhaps even becoming intimate. I frankly do not know whether the straight boy truly harbored hateful feelings toward gays or, instead, if he merely was frightened of what others might think of him if he hung around this school pariah. Either way, his rejection was humiliating. The gay teen felt absolutely crushed. His despair and depression increased to the point that he felt that life was not worth living. He thought, however, that he would leave this world demonstrating to his never-to-be love the depth of his love and the worthlessness of his life without love.

Quite often when persons contemplating suicide make the final decision, they ironically lose their sense of impotence and inaction; for they now have a plan. This was the case with the gay teen. He made sure the object of his love was home, then drove over to his house. He honked his horn to draw attention. The straight boy came out onto the porch and saw him sitting in his car. Certain that his love was watching, the teen put a shotgun to his head and pulled the trigger.

That horrifying incident was so tragic. A young life lost. Yet, can you also imagine the impact of that terrible scene upon the straight kid? What did that experience do to him? It is safe to say that this trauma would remain in his memory to the end of his days. We here in this room can feel the pain of this tragic story. Unfortunately, however, there probably still are many people who might say, “Good riddance.”

Boy who feels that life is not
worth living.

© 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Close but No Cigar, by Will Stanton

“A miss is as good as a mile” is another hackneyed expression equivalent to “Close but no cigar.” Sometimes winning just is a matter of sheer dumb luck.

I suppose that it’s human nature often to dwell upon bad luck at the expense of thinking of one’s good luck. We might call that the “Charlie Brown syndrome,” that is, “If I didn’t have bad luck I wouldn’t have any luck at all.” Which reminds me of Charlie being told, “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and sometimes you are rained out,” along with Charlie’s response, “You mean that people sometimes win?”

Years ago when I still hoped that I had better luck than exists in reality, I occasionally used to play the lotto. I did not choose quick-picks. Instead, I had a series of favorite numbers that I always used.

Then one day, I went to the Seven-Eleven for a lotto ticket. To this day, I do not know why, at the last moment, I changed my mind and chose differently how to play. I spontaneously selected three tickets rather than just one, and, having not won with my favorite numbers before, distributed those numbers among the three tickets.

Yes, what you are thinking came true. All my favorite numbers came up on just one winning ticket. I did not win. To “rub salt into my wound,” it turns out that, a young college woman in Boulder, not choosing her numbers herself but, instead, using a simple quick-pick, won – – -with MY numbers! She had gone to a Seven-Eleven to pick up some ready-made frosting for her boyfriend’s birthday cake; and, at the last moment, decided to buy a quick-pick.

How much was the winning amount? Eleven million dollars! I never have forgotten that, especially because, since then, my not possessing entrepreneurial acumen, I have ended up being white-collar poor. How much simpler my life would have been all these years had I not missed winning that lotto loot. I almost chose the right numbers but lost because I changed my mind. I came close to winning, but close doesn’t cut it. Close but no cigar.

© 23 August 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Left and Right, by Will Stanton

When I first prepared this
piece, I read it to two acquaintances. 
One is a retired accounting teacher, the other is a successful, wealthy
oil-and-gas land-man.  Neither one understood
it.  They had absolutely no idea what I
was talking about.
What I wrote is satire.  It portrays a type of ignorant, irrational,
intolerant individuals which often is typical of extreme right-wing,
religiosity-minded people.  Many such
extremists, for example, reportedly never understood that Steven Colbert merely
portrayed an unthinking right-winger as satire; they really were happy to think
that he was a rabid conservative.  As
with all satire, my piece also expresses my dismay and mystification that so
terribly many people display mindless hate. 
In doing so, it also expresses my own wish that such intolerance did not
exist.  So, here goes.
Letter to the Editor, The
Denver Post, from Mrs. Winifred Hash.
Headline: Our Society is Going
to Hell in a Hand-basket.
I am outraged, disgusted!  I could just throw up.  While I was in church this morning, Mrs.
Hogsbreath revealed that her little girl Suzy’s teacher this year is
left-handed.  I am horrified.  How in God’s name could any school let a
left-handed person into the school to teach innocent children?
Everybody knows that
left-handed people are evil.  After all,
the word “sinister” can mean “left.” 
That’s why Godless Liberals are called “The Left.”
The principle and
superintendent should be fired.  They are
just as guilty as those left-handed perverts. 
Once they sneak into our schools, they promote their left-handed agenda,
trying to convert our little boys and girls into being left-handed.
I’ve heard those so-called
scientists spouting their claims on TV that some people are born left-handed.  I just know that’s not true.  I asked Reverend Spittle, and he said that’s
a lie – a damned lie, and only those adulterous, Hollywood actors and Commie’s
in Congress believe it.  I should have
known I’d hear only lies on Liberal-controlled media.  From now on, I’ll stick with Fox where I can
hear the truth.
Being left-handed is a
down-right choice, and these repulsive people choose to engage in left-handedness,
engaging in disgusting practices and flaunting their abnormality on TV; and, if
you actually can believe this, I’ve seen them in parades!  My good friend Mrs. Offal said that the
church runs a restorative therapy clinic to cure youngsters, who were led
astray, back to normality.  She had to
send her teenage son Billy there.  They
are praying away his sin.
After church, my husband Al
and I had dinner at our good friend’s Joe and Agnes Hollowhead.  Joe was just as outraged as Al and me.  He said that we need to stop that left-handed
plague right now, that we need to round up all those perverts and lock them all
up in some big pen in the middle of the dessert, away from good, God-fearing
Americans.
I know that a lot of people
feel the way the Hollowheads and us feel, and it is time we do something about
it.  Maybe my letter will help wake people
up and stop God’s country from going to Hell in a hand-basket.
Yours truly,
Mrs. Winifred Hash 
© 09 August 2015 
  
About
the Author 
I have had a life-long fascination with
people and their life stories.  I also
realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or
fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual
ones.  Since I joined this Story Time
group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.
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Away from Home, by Will Stanton

Two generations ago (or was it
two centuries ago?), I was away from home at university in England.  At the same time, my father was in charge of
a university-student group in Frankfurt am Main in Germany.  My mother was with him.
During session-breaks during
Christmas and summer, I went to join them. 
This was long before the “Chunnel” days, so I took a channel ferry from
Dover across the rough waters.  Then I
took the train to Frankfurt am Main (not to be confused with the eastern
Frankfurt am Oder in the federated state of Brandenburg.)  Trains in Europe always have been up-to-date,
modern, fast, comfortable, and on-time. 
(I wonder why America stopped doing that seventy years ago.)
Once I had arrived in
Frankfurt, my parents met me at the station. 
They were staying in a typical apartment, theirs on the second floor
with a view of the narrow street below. 
I enjoyed walking with them the short distance to the many little
markets for fresh fruit and vegetables, meats and sausages, and pastries.  I was especially impressed with Frankfurt’s
famous Christmas markets with their hand-crafted gifts and traditional,
beautiful Christmas carols.  I could not
help but contrast that with our own commercial shopping malls with piped-in renditions
of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” 
For Christmas, my parents gave me a 35 mm. camera.  I strolled all over the inner city, taking
color slides.
Frankfurt always has been, and
continues to be, one of the most important cities in Germany in regard to
almost everything – – – size, culture, business, finance.  Frankfurt even was considered to be an
excellent choice for the provisional German capital after the Germans lost 40%
of their lands when the Soviets forced-marched twelve million Germans out of
their homes in the eastern regions of East and West Prussia, Pomerania, and
Silesia, and then took complete control of the central regions surrounding
Berlin.   In 1949, however, Konrad
Adenauer (the former mayor of Köln who was sacked by the Nazis in 1933) became
West Germany’s first Chancellor; and he was concerned that Frankfurt was such a
good choice that, if and when West and Central Germany ever were reunited,
Berlin never again would become the capital. 
He, therefore, chose the lesser city of Bonn. 
As for the old city of
Frankfurt, for several hundred years, the two square miles of the central
region was known world-wide for having the greatest expanse of stereotypically
charming, half-timbered houses and shops, so charming that Johanna Spyri, who
wrote the popular children’s story “Heidi”, chose Frankfurt as the town where
Heidi lived.  It was filmed there in
1937, just two years before the start of the war.
Typical half-timbered, pre-war
shops and residences.
Unfortunately, the bombing of
Frankfurt late during World War II obliterated all of that, along with so much
more, including the elegant civic buildings, cathedrals, the university with
all of its archives, and many fine houses. 
When I explored Frankfurt during Christmas, 1966, I saw a  large manor-house, damaged in the war and
still boarded-up.  Apparently, the
original owners were missing and never found. 
I was very moved viewing the hulking, blackened remains of the huge,
former grand opera house.  With so much
of Frankfurt to rebuild, the great expense of recreating the building in its
original form was beyond the city’s means.

Frankfurt, May, 1945
 After the war, Frankfurt
chose, unlike many other cities in Germany, to rebuild mostly in the modern
style with steel and glass buildings. 
Today, the city is referred to as “the German Manhattan” with towering
skyscrapers dominating the financial district. 
So that the citizens would not be deprived of operas and classical
concerts, Frankfurt built a modern hall.
I attended there the seasonal
production of “Hänsel und Gretel,” flying witch and all.  One of the most emotional moments that I have
experienced came during the “Fourteen Angels” scene.  I noticed near the top of the backdrop, what
I thought was, a tiny hole in the scenery with a light shining through it.   In some mysterious way, the stage and
lighting designer had  made that light a “star” that increased in size and
brightness until it became a conical shaft of brilliant light reaching the
children on the stage.  And, through that
beam of light descended fourteen “angels” who slowly surrounded the children to
guard them in their sleep.  I noticed
that this moment, combined with Humperdinck’s beautiful “Evening Prayer” and
the subsequent orchestral music, had brought tears to some eyes.  
The
citizens of Frankfurt, with more recent financial donations, voted to rebuild
the destroyed old opera in the exterior’s original Baroque style but with a
very modern interior.  Some original
interior mosaics were reconstructed.  A
replica of the iconic Pegasus statue was returned to the roof.  The hall is used for concerts, ballets,
conferences, and some operas.  Frankfurt
hopes to complete rebuilding the city by 2016, seventy-one years after the war.
The rebuilt Alte Oper.
In
my strolls through one of Frankfurt’s parks, I found a circle of life-size,
human statues, four males and three females, all nude in their youthful
beauty.  I can just imagine the indignant
outrage some Americans would bring should we attempt to place such statues in
our parks.
Frankfurt Statues
I
also came across the huge, I.G. Farben office building constructed in the
typically bland, 1930 style.  It once
housed the offices of that giant chemical-company conglomerate, which
notoriously once owned 42.5 percent of the Degesch company, responsible for the
production of Zyklon B, used to gas Jews, homosexuals, Gypsies, and anyone else
considered by the Nazis to be a threat. 
After the war, company officials stood trial for crimes against
humanity.  The Americans spared the
building in the bombing so that the military and American occupation forces
could use it after the war. Then the Marshall Plan was administered from
there.  After extensive restoration, it
recently became the Western Campus of the University of Frankfurt.
I.G. Farben Building.
The stereotypical notion of
Germans is that they are hard-working but rather severe.  I’ve noticed, however, that they are not
immune to the European penchant for Karneval, as proved by their wild
partying during Fasching in late December to Lent.  From my witnessing an overabundance of
injudiciously thrown fireworks, I would guess that the “Frankfurters” had
consumed a lot of beer and wine.
Time flies “when you’re having
fun,” and two generations have passed since I last was in Frankfurt.  The majority of the population has been born
since then.  The city’s massive expansion
outward and upward would render much of it unrecognizable to me if I were to go
back for a visit.  That’s not likely,
partly because Frankfurt now is about the most expensive city in Germany. 
Fireworks Over Modern Frankfurt 
© 25 July 2015 
About
the Author 
I have had a life-long fascination with
people and their life stories.  I also
realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or
fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual
ones.  Since I joined this Story Time
group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.
Posted on

Any Writing is Experimental, by Will Stanton

Any
writing, especially when one first endeavors to write, is experimental.  This is particularly true for those not well
versed or prone to writing.  As one
becomes more accomplished, the need for experimentation is reduced but rarely
eliminated.
The
primary function of writing (and speaking, for that matter) is to communicate
clearly, conveying accurately what is meant to be said.  If that is achieved, the secondary
consideration is to communicate in an engaging manner through a good command of
language and perhaps, when appropriate, with humor.
The
main advantage of writing, versus attempting to speak extemporaneously, is one
is given the chance, in advance of presentation, to organize one’s thoughts and
words.  In that way, the presenter has a
good chance of eliminating pauses or non-verbal utterances while searching for
the next thing to say.  This also
prevents one from repeating or wandering astray onto unrelated and unnecessary
sidetracks.  The presenter also has the
advantage of not droning on, losing the main point or topic meant to be
conveyed and, consequently, driving the listeners to distraction.  The presentation should be no more nor less
than required.
A
colleague of mine, Dr. Hughes, made an in-depth study of well-known
speakers.  He concluded that the most
effective, extemporaneous speaker was, unfortunately, Adolf Hitler.  Winston Churchill found it impossible.  He had to write and re-write his speeches and
then practice them until he felt comfortable presenting them.
Over
the years, I regularly was required to speak extemporaneously in my
therapeutic-group sessions, in lectures regarding some of my other interests,
and even, for fun, spontaneously creating and relating stories.  Apparently, I’ve inherited a modicum of
verbal skills.
I
still find, however, reviewing and fine-tuning early drafts beneficial.  The main reason is that imagery and memories
are clear to me, yet they may not be clear to listeners unless I make sure that
I express them clearly.  As a
consequence, I always begin early thinking through and writing about a topic,
rather than waiting to the last moment or, perhaps, not writing at all.
I
am aware of only one super-genius who never had to rethink or revise what he
wrote, and that was the superlative composer Mozart.  He could perform one of his piano concertos,
then at the same time compose another in his head, and finally, upon returning
home, set the new concerto down on paper without a single change or
correction.  Obviously, that skill is
astonishing.  Most of us, however, are
not so astonishing, and experimenting with our writing still is required.
© 14 July 2015 
About the Author 
I have had a life-long fascination with
people and their life stories.  I also
realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or
fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual
ones.  Since I joined this Story Time
group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.
Posted on

Forgiveness, by Will Stanton

Where has the time gone? More than three score years. What do I have to show for it? Why so many trials and tribulations along the way?

I have not suffered alone. That is the fate of being human. Everyone is familiar with disappointment, malaise, unfulfilled dreams — some more or less than I.

Since time began, humankind has asked for answers to the purpose of life, why we are here, do we finally go somewhere else. I started out life relatively innocent and painfully naïve. I can’t say that I know much more, despite the experiences I have had these many years.

I have tried to be kind to others and have hoped for kindness in return. They say, and I have sensed, that love is the most powerful force humans may experience. Those who have loved and have been loved may have possessed the greatest treasure humans are permitted to enjoy. Yet, those fortunate ones who have experienced love ultimately are left open to loss and grief. Love is a two-edged sword.

In my own small way, I have made my mark, nothing grand, perhaps nothing particularly memorable. I have helped a few people, and I have made efforts to share with others what beauty exists in the world. But, I have left for posterity no great symphonies, no great architectural monuments, no cure for cancer. Only a select few are granted such privilege.

I am no philosopher; I have no deep thoughts as to the purpose of life. Perhaps the whole thing is some kind of ironic joke. Perhaps Robert Frost sums it up best in just two lines:

“Forgive, Oh Lord, my little jokes on thee
And I’ll forgive Thy great big joke on me.”

© 12 January 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.