A Teacher Taught Science

“Those who believed in the letter of the Bible and refused to accept any teaching, even of science, which seemed to conflict with it, began in 1921 to call themselves Fundamentalists…The position of the Fundamentalists seemed almost hopeless. The tide of all rational thought in a rational age seemed to be running against them. But they were numerous, and at least there was no doubt about where they stood. Particularly in the South they controlled the big Protestant denominations. And they fought strenuously…They introduced into the legislatures of nearly half the states of the Union bills designed to forbid the teaching of the doctrine of evolution; in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, and South Carolina they pushed such bills through one house of the legislature only to fail in the other; and in Tennessee, Oklahoma, and Mississippi they actually succeeded in writing their anachronistic wishes into law.”

“There was something to be said for the right of the people to decide what should be taught in their tax-supported schools, even if what they decided upon was ridiculous.”

“The evidence ranged all the way from the admission of fourteen-year-old Howard Morgan that Scopes had told him about evolution and that it hadn’t hurt him any, to the estimate of a zoologist that life had begun something like six hundred million years ago (an assertion which caused gasps and titters of disbelief from the rustics in the audience).”

“…[Clarence] Darrow declared that his purpose in examining [William Jennings] Bryan was ‘to show up Fundamentalism…to prevent bigots and ignoramuses from controlling the educational system of the United States.’” 

With regard to the Scopes-Monkey Trial

From Frederick Lewis Allen’s Only Yesterday, published 1931

From the "How Dare You Criticize the Former (and Late) President" Collection

"The fact was that any relentless investigation of the scandals threatened to disturb, if only slightly, the status quo, and disturbance of the status quo was the last thing that the dominant business class or the country at large wanted."

With regard to the scandal-ridden Harding administration

From Frederick Lewis Allen’s Only Yesterday, published 1931

More Familiarity

"...the division of public opinion on the case was largely a division between those who thought radicals ought to be strung up on general principles and those who thought that the test of the country's civilization lay in the scrupulousness with which it protected the rights of minorities."


Regarding the Sacco and Vanzetti trials

From Frederick Lewis Allen’s Only Yesterday, published 1931

On Fear Mongering (Sound Familiar)

"Innumerable patriotic societies had sprung up, each with its executive secretary, and executive secretaries must live, and therefore must conjure up new and ever greater menaces. Innumerable other gentleman now discovered that they could defeat whatever they wanted to defeat my tarring it conspicuously with the Bolshevist brush. Big-navy men, believers in compulsory military service, drys, anti-cigarette campaigners, anti-evolution Fundamentalists, defenders of the moral order, book sensors, Jew-haters, Negro-haters, landlords, manufacturers, utility executives, upholders of every sort of cause, good, bad, and indifferent, all wrapped themselves in Old Glory and the mantle of the Founding Fathers and allied their opponents with Lenin…A cloud of suspicion hung in the air, and intolerance became an American virtue."


Regarding the fear of Communism in America following the 1917 Russian Revolution

From Frederick Lewis Allen’s Only Yesterday, published 1931

You've Changed

Yes, I suppose I have. You act like the ALS has changed me. I'm not sure that that's true. It's the having ALS that has changed me. The experience has changed me. Yes, I am a different person. You would be too. And yes the ALS has changed me a bit in itself. I laugh more easily, I cry more easily, I talk less. But it's what I've been through that has changed me more than any of that. It's what I've been through, and what I am unable to do, that has changed who I am. And yes some of it has been good.

My Bucket List

I want to play a round of golf in the evening, when no one else is on the course. I want to sit at the bar, drink a few beers and make conversation with strangers. I want to go for a run in the summer with my shirt off, and feel great afterwards. I want to go skiing out West in absurd amounts of powder. I want to buy a new suit and look great. I want to eat a slice of pizza off a paper plate as I walk down the street. I want to buy a new car and smile a huge smile as I drive off the lot. I want to hike the Long Trail, all of it, in a couple of weeks over the summer. I want to go to a wedding and drink too much, dance too much, and have just the right amount of fun. I want to go on a really long bike ride over several days. I want to have a conversation and express myself with the quick wit to which I was once accustomed. I want to live each day without worry for the next. I want to see old friends and have something to tell them. I want to lace up my sneakers, pull up my socks, and play some pick-up basketball. I want to grab a rebound over a taller guy and hear my feet slap the floor as I come down. I want to explore a new city, on foot. I want to wash my car, shovel my driveway, chop some wood, mow my lawn. I want to make music. I want to enjoy music. I want to travel on a whim, and make plans as I go. I want to ride a motorcycle, and go to the beach. I want to meet someone and go on a date. I want to do a good job, at something.

In 1850, the year the territory became a state, there were in California, according to the US census, 93,000 white residents. 86,000 were males, 7,000 females.

From Nothing Like It In The World

Ulysses S. Grant "failed" as a peacetime soldier. In part because he couldn't stomach killing Indians in the American West.

To The Chin

I'm going to start by saying that parts of this story could be entirely false. I distinctly remember how the story ends but not so much how it began. This happened 20 years ago, I don't remember everything.

In middle school, at the end of the year, we got to choose from a list of day trips to go on. In the sixth grade I chose to go hiking. In the seventh grade I played nine holes of golf, and in the eighth grade all of us had an end of middle school party at Quarry Hill. I'm not sure what the other choices were: going to the mall, seeing a movie, visiting a museum? I have no idea; it never entered my mind. There's no way in hell that I would've chosen to spend the day indoors; I chose hiking.

The trip was to hike Mount Mansfield. Nick and I were excited at the chance to go on the trip together, despite being in different grades. Neither of us had ever hiked a real mountain before. I do not count Mount Philo.

Being 11 years old, I don't know that I had any idea what hiking a mountain would entail. I'm not sure what I thought the trail would look like. I didn’t know how much distance we would cover, how long it would take, or what the top of the mountain would look like. I am sure that I was excited about it.

Our day started at the Underhill State Park. I'm not sure how large the group was, maybe 50 kids, each toting a backpack full of snacks and extra clothing. Here's what I know: we were to take the Sunset Ridge Trail down the mountain, we started at the Underhill State Park, and we took the Long Trail to the summit at Mansfield’s Chin. But I am confused: we did not take the Sunset Ridge Trail up the mountain, but I find it hard to believe that we could have taken a route so long as the CCC Road to the Maple Ridge Trail (5.4 miles to the chin) or so difficult as most of the other options. It might need to remain a mystery but nonetheless it's not so important to the story.

A short while into the hike, Nick and I found ourselves moving slowly with the group, when a few of our friends casually stopped and opened their backpacks. We paused with them, sat on a rock, and laughed at our undoubtedly idiotic middle-school jokes. A short time later, most of the group stopped again, but a few of us didn’t. I wasn’t tired or especially hungry, and it didn't seem that stopping was either necessary or particularly enjoyable. We knew where we were going and so we pushed on to the front of the pack and continued up the trail. Soon we were forging ahead and pausing to let the group catch us.

It was a warm, sunny, early summer day, and as will happen, sections of the trail distinctly resembled free-flowing streams. We hopped and jumped around the water as best we could but I'm certain my sneakers were soaked by days end. One of the chaperones called ahead to ask us, (tell us) to slow down; she needed to keep an eye on all of us and we were making that very difficult. Of course in the excitement of hiking our first mountain, (we were really just kicking everyone else's asses) we continued to move and soon became separated from the group.

There were three of us: Nick, myself, and our friend Will.

We were told from the beginning that we would be returning to the Underhill State Park via the Sunset Ridge Trail. Although this was our first time experiencing it, we were told that we would know the Long Trail by its white hash-marks on the rocks and trees. We weren't sure what sort of marks might be on the Sunset Ridge Trail, but surely we would see the sign. Anyhow, we weren't worried about that; we’d reach the summit and wait for the rest of the group.

So we forged ahead, reached our connection with the Long Trail, and headed north across the mountain’s rocky face towards Mansfield’s Chin. We continued to look behind us for the rest of our group, stopping every now and again to wait and wonder where they were. Should we wait here? Where are they? They will meet us at the top. Let's go. And so we continued our march and soon found ourselves at the windy, cloud-covered chin of Mount Mansfield.

This is where the story gets interesting.

The three of us waited there for any sign of our group. The plan from the beginning was to hike to the summit. We were at the summit. All we had to do was wait for everyone else, right? Well, we waited and we discussed and we thought out loud, and truly we didn't know what to do. As time passed we gave more and more thought to continuing our hike down the Sunset Ridge Trail and making our way back to the bus at Underhill State Park. How long should we wait? Should we go back the way we came and meet up with the group? Why aren't they here yet?
After a long period of waiting and debating, and truly never giving much thought to the consequences of our actions, we decided to continue towards the Sunset Ridge Trail so that we could meet up with the group back at our starting point. All's well that ends well, right? That was our thinking anyway.

The trouble was, we'd already passed the Sunset Ridge Trail. We would’ve had to go back from where we came, south that is, to meet up with the correct trail. In our excitement, or possibly because we were literally in a cloud, we didn't see the sign for the Sunset Ridge Trail on our way to the summit. Now that I think about it, I don't think we were looking for it before reaching the summit. And having not yet come across it, we thought we had to continue north on the Long Trail.

We were wrong.

Heading north on the Long Trail from the chin brings hikers down the Stowe (east) side of the mountain, sending us in the opposite direction of where we needed to be. However we were middle school kids and we were headed downhill. That seemed like a good thing to us; we had to be heading in the right direction.

As more and more time passed and we still hadn’t seen any Sunset Ridge Trail, we were getting concerned. But heading downhill still seemed like the right move and how did we know that it wasn't still in front of us?

It wasn't still in front of us. It was on the other side of the mountain; the west side, the sunset side.

Before we knew it we were at the trailhead at Route 108.

Crap, uhh, we made a mistake.

The three of us looked around for a minute and wondered where the hell we were. About 30 yards up the road north of us, there was a group sitting on the grass at the roadside, with a passenger van parked nearby. One of the group’s leaders immediately saw three kids poke out of the woods and approached us. Stranger danger came into my mind but he looked like a nice guy. We were however conflicted. We could hike back up the trail and make our way back to the group. We had descended the mountain very quickly; we could make it back up quickly. The stranger talked us out of it. His was a hiking club of twentysomethings (or teenagers, who knows?) from out-of-state someplace that had come to the notch in a fifteen-passenger van. After telling him where we began our hike and where we should have ended up he offered, no, implored us to take, a ride back to Underhill.

The stranger (hiking expert and authority figure) made it clear to us that the only way we were going to make it back to the Underhill State Park was in his van. He sounds creepy I know, (I don’t remember any mustache) but he was right. And so after a bit of convincing we accepted his offer and headed up the road in the van.

I don't remember much about the ride. I think the three of us were contemplating how much shit we were in, like little kids waiting for daddy to get home and administer the punishment. Thing is, none of us had ever been in much trouble before. It wasn't as if this was another in a long line of juvenile troublemaking activity for any of us. As an eleven year old at school even I was a poster boy for the quiet, no hassle student. This was probably the first time any of us had a major transgression with authority outside the home.

I assume the van took us up through the notch to Cambridge and back down Route 15, but I can't be sure. I didn't know the roads, I wasn't paying any attention, and frankly he could've been taking us anywhere at all and none of us would've known. Fortunately that was not the case, and what seemed like a short drive was soon over as we pulled up alongside the school bus at Underhill State Park.

We got back safe; that's the most important thing. Is a phrase we heard from exactly no one. We got chewed out pretty bad. I didn't even know the woman doing the chewing, but oh boy was she upset. Beyond the intensity of the verbal tongue lashing, I remember that some of the other kids were around and able to hear every word.

As I said, we weren't the type of kids that were accustomed to getting disciplined by authority figures. Looking back, the phrase “Chill the fuck out” and “We are sixth and seventh graders, give us a freaking break”, come to mind. I'm not sure whether she treated us too much like little kids or too much like adults. Perhaps high-volume screaming was not the answer either way.

The bus ride home was full of quiet gossiping over our new misadventure. I'm sure my parents got a phone call but I don't remember any resulting discussion or discipline. We were likely told “Thank God you’re okay. Don't do that again,” and the book was closed on the issue.

I'd like to say that our exceedingly brave, rebellious adventure turned the three of us into legends in the halls of Frederick H. Tuttle Middle School. It didn’t.

Oh yeah, one more thing, turns out the rest of the group never made it to the summit.

The [early] locomotives put forth so much smoke that the downwind side of the tracks was less desirable, and it generally was on the poor side of town, thus the phrase "the wrong side of the tracks".

From Nothing Like It In The World

I do not want any Catholic to vote for me because I am a Catholic. But on the other hand, I have the right to say that any citizen of this country that believes I am capable of steering the ship of state safely through the next four years, and votes against me because of my religion, he is not a real, pure, genuine American.

-Presidential Nominee Al Smith, 1928

One Day I went to Work with Nick and Nirmegh

One day I went to work with Nick and Nirmegh. Nirmegh was our high school ski coach, and is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, for example I bought my firewood from him this past year. He and Nick were working on the foundation of a house out by Red Rocks Park. I guess there was some water damage and the owner was looking to fix it, most likely on the cheap. One day that summer, I went with Nick and helped out.

They had dug a trench around the house to get at the foundation. The house was supported with wooden beams in the basement. They had also dug a trench from the house down the backyard to allow water to drain away. The trenches were maybe five feet deep, and were dug by hand, either because it was more cost-effective that way, or because they're just wasn't room for excavation equipment. It may have been the latter; it was a small area back there. The ground was almost entirely clay. I can’t imagine how much effort it had taken to dig all that clay.

Our job that day was to mix concrete for the foundation and to fill the drainage ditch with crushed stone. We transported the stone from Nirmegh’s truck bed with a wheelbarrow and shoveled and dumped it in the drainage trench. Let me tell you, a wheelbarrow full of stone is a heavy item. I'm not sure how many truck-beds full there were, at least two.

And then we mixed concrete. I carried bags of concrete mix over my shoulder and mixed them with hose-water. Again, I'm not sure how many bags there were, I can only say that there was always one more.

After a few hours of hauling, shoveling, and jumping in and out of truck beds and ditches, I was spent. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I was out of shape, lazy, or weak-willed; it was that Nick did not stop. When we finished unloading a truck-bed of stone, Nick quickly told Nirmegh to go get more. I wanted to slap him. Isn’t that enough?

I don't remember every detail about that day; we must have taken a break for lunch at some point but I don't remember. What I do remember is that we never stopped, we didn't take breaks. That sort of work requires breaks; it's exhausting. When I got home I felt like I’d been continually beaten for hours. I was more physically exhausted than I could remember.

I can still picture that drainage ditch. I remember putting a shovel to the clay and thinking “Holy hell I can't believe this was hand-dug by two people. Jesus.”

I never went back to work with Nick and Nirmegh after that day. I got paid cash, probably more than I made at the restaurant, but I never did it again. I'm not sure how long they worked on that house, or even what other work they did that summer, but if the rest of it was anything like that day, wow. Somehow Nick would find, this almost makes me laugh, the energy to run when he wasn't working. Maybe he only ran on days off. I can't imagine coming home from a day like that and going for a run. I can picture him crashing on the couch, with or without the TV on.

Things I Don't Get

Isn't there supposed to be a separation of church and state? What happened to that?

That anyone ever bought trickle-down economics.

How are the advertisements at the end of Car Talk still being read by Click and Clack? Are they old recordings? Did Lumber Liquidators sign up for an eternity of advertising?

How is it that in 2016 only 23 states require sexual education? How’s that denial working out for ya?

How the hell, in a democracy, does Citizens United exist?

If Tom Brady and LeBron James need union support, who doesn't? How is it that I don't know whether LeBron spells his name with a capital B? He does. And why is LeBron playing the violin the first picture that shows on Google images?

Why is showing emotion seen as weakness and bottling them up seen as strength? Why do we admire stoicism in the face of tragedy? Shouldn’t we embrace honest feelings?

How is it that the Major League Baseball All-Star Game still determines home-field advantage in the World Series? Ridiculous.

Why do you care what language someone else speaks?

I wrote this a few years ago; back when I could still type, with all of my fingers

How many times have you heard the phrase, “At Least You Have Your Health”? Have you ever thought anything of it? Chances are that unless you or a loved one has had a serious health issue, you’ve never given the idea much thought. But inevitably as you’ve gotten older, and more experienced with the fragility of human life, you’ve thought about your health more and more. Good health is one of those areas in life that is often taken for granted.

You may be thinking to yourself as you read this, “I don’t take it for granted. I work hard at it. I have a healthy diet, and I stay in shape.” Not to oversimplify, but you may think that if you take care of yourself, you will continue to be as healthy today as you were yesterday. And if something gets in the way, you’ll work through it; surely enough hard work can beat whatever life may throw at you.

We’re always seeing stories of hope, stories of revival. Time and again we see people fight through the worst and return to full health, reinforcing the dream that with enough determination, we can get through anything.

But of course life isn’t fair. Bad things happen to good people. And all we can do is try our best to deal with it.

Any time there’s something you don’t want to do, stop and try to appreciate the fact that you can do it. That is, you are able to do it. Next time you shovel the driveway and you have that tired, satisfied feeling when you’ve finished, well, just try to enjoy that feeling.

This may seem hard to believe, but it's absolutely true

Sometimes I think that someway, somehow, someday I could get better. I try to imagine what that would be like. I can't begin to imagine what it's like to run, or to ride a bike, or to approach a set of stairs without feelings of fear and anxiety. I have a tough time remembering what it was like to put on a shirt with ease. It's hard for me to believe that I could once do all of these things. The idea that I could jump out of bed, throw on my shirt and pants, and run out the door with a freshly tied pair of sneakers is so foreign to me that if it were to happen the shock might just kill me.

Dear People on the Phone

I'm sorry that I'm always on speaker phone. I'm sorry that I can't enunciate for shit. We can't all be as fucking perfect as you are. If my talk-to-text can understand me, then you should be able to as well. Please don't treat me like I'm stupid. Have some goddamn patience. That is all.

Whatever Works

I’ve been down before. You know what got me through it? Self-reliance. An attitude that says I don't need anybody else, I have myself. I used to feel very strongly about that. It’s empowering to know that you're okay by yourself. You can take on anything that comes your way. You will beat it. You'll take care of it. You're strong and you’ll kick its ass.

I don't have that anymore.

My attitude has changed a bit. I'll try to describe it. Whatever comes up it's not the worst thing that could happen. Whatever it is, it won't kill me; life will go on. It’s more of a don't-give-a-shit attitude, a no-big-deal nonchalance, to use a positive spin. Sometimes a part of me enjoys when something goes wrong. It serves to reinforce my theory. It serves to remind me that the little things that might go wrong on a day-to-day basis don't mean shit. This attitude can work both ways, but I think it’s mostly for the best.

That was 4+ Years Ago

Every now and then I fall down and everybody freaks out. Okay, my mom freaks out. But of course I usually keep these things to myself when possible. I've told you about a few instances over the last few years. The time I tripped and fell on a sidewalk in downtown Seattle comes to mind. Or the time at work when I tripped and fell in the lobby, fortunately prior to filling my coffee mug.

Most of the time the cause is the same. Imagine you stub your toe but can't catch yourself as you're falling forward. The force of your foot hitting the floor as it comes forward is enough to knock you off your feet. Of course the other issue is that should I begin to fall forward, chances are I won't get my arms in place in time to catch myself. If I do get my arms up, I won’t get my hands open and be able to catch the ground in the manner that you might. If I am to catch the full force of the fall, I will probably hurt my fingers, hand, wrist, or something else down from the shoulder.

Let me get to the point. I've fallen a lot of times over the last several years. The first one that comes to mind was at my apartment in Waterbury. If you ever visited you know that I lived on the second floor above a garage. In November of 2011 I was still in pretty serious denial of my diagnosis, and having just arrived home from work I decided to get some exercise by trying to jog up and walk down the 15 wooden steps that led up to my apartment. At the time I was able to get up and down stairs mostly without using a hand rail, but not always with confidence.

After a few trips up and down I was descending at a relatively moderate pace, not holding the hand rail at this point. About halfway down I started losing control and falling. If you have ever fallen down stairs you probably slipped and fell on your butt and slid down a few steps. That hurts; it really does. Landing on your tailbone is not enjoyable by any stretch. That however is not what happened. As my momentum gained my ankles began to feel more like springs than the shock absorbers they should be. Out of control, I managed to hit a few steps before I launched into a somersault.

It hurt. A lot. My right hip slammed into the cement landing at the base of the stairs. I was stunned for a few seconds. I felt like I couldn't move. Maybe I could move. I'm not really sure. In the moment, the shock caused me to lie still and absorb the blow. After a moment or two I was able to get up. There was no lasting injury.

For a long time now, and probably preceding this fall, stairs have been a symbol of my disease, my condition, whatever it is that makes me different from the rest of you. Stairs are always a reminder of the truth.

Does Craigslist Have a Section for the Terminally Ill?

I've been living under the assumption that I'll always be alone. I'm not sure that this necessarily has to be the case, but I have a difficult time seeing it any other way. It seems unrealistic to expect anything else. Am I wrong?

I Have Proof

I often feel the need to carry a picture of myself.  So that when I’m introduced to someone new, I can show them.  And tell them.  I can explain that this is who I was.  I can tell them and make them believe that it wasn't always this way.  I used to look different.  I used to be different.  I have proof.