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UP Hill

I just finished reading Jemele Hill’s brutally honest and unusually revealing memoir. Jemele Hill is a former Sports Journalist who worked for ESPN, various News Papers, and Sports talk shows. She spoke her mind but also knew her sports as well as many other culturally relevant things.  She was suspended from ESPN several times, most notably for expressing her opinions about former President Trump, particularly following his halfhearted and insincere condemnation of the incidents in Charlottesville, VA in 2017. She now writes for one of my favorite magazines (I have an online subscription) “The Atlantic”, which is known for current topics and foreign affairs.

Her book is titled UP Hill: A Memoir.  It details her life as a kid from the inner city of Detroit and at times in Houston, Texas. She has a very unique family with a well-read Grandmother who graduated from college and a mother who was addicted to drugs and at times a prostitute. She was raised by her single mother, but both of her parents were at various times addicted to drugs. Although her mother was addicted to crack, she did everything to make sure her daughter would not do the same. Her mother showed her what crack looked like, and said, “Do not do this ever!”

There is one section in the book where she speaks about keeping a journal. In that journal, she would write down some secret thoughts about her mother, and some of it was not very good. While in the 8^th grade and being tired of her mother coming home high and many other things, she wrote in her Diary something to the effect, “She better be happy she is bigger than me, or else I would drop-kick her ass!”

She came home one day and saw her mother sitting with the journal in her hand. As soon as her mother saw her, she started pummeling her and at one point grabbed a fake fire log about to hit her with it. Jemele was able to escape but her mother came after her but did not catch up. At one point Jemele returned to the house and saw a black trash bag filled with her clothes. Her mother was kicking her out, or at the very least taking her to her father who had no place to keep her. They eventually reconciled of course and continued with their many battles.

Jemele opening speaks about her relationships and was very open about an abortion she had herself. She also writes about why she came to that decision. In today’s climate it is risking revealing such a thing, but Jemele is just being brutally honest. She also speaks about her various boyfriends and finally about her current husband. One comes away with fact that Jemele is real and is speaking about real things.

Jemele was gifted in high school and a go-getter. She took advantage of many after-hours and summer programs, particularly in the field of Journalism, and eventually won a Scholarship at Michigan State.

At current times, Jemele and her mother seem to have reconciled and recently appeared on the Jada Pinkett-Smith show sharing their story.

As stated earlier, this story is brutally honest, but I highly recommend it because it is also inspirational. It shows how a young kid from her background would one day work at ESPN, Sports Journalism, Esteemed Magazine, but most importantly become a voice for the unspoken, so much so that she would earn the ire of a sitting President, who saw her as treat to his hidden lack of esteem.

She sometimes wore her emotions on her sleeves, but she never backed down!

Reading this book was educational and well worth my time.

Jerome Pearson.

By J. Pearson

January 2010

A few days after the earthquake in Haiti, one of my sisters emailed me with the title of her email as “Why Haiti?”  “I want to get your thoughts!” 

I might just be the only one in my family who would be asked this question, perhaps because it is thought that I will always have, for the lack of a better word, “thoughts”. 

But then, what if the question, issue, or event at hand is so immense and tragic that we feel ill prepared to even begin to contemplate or to offer an opinion.  There are some things in life that make us humble; things which we feel are beyond any kind of explanation.   Our opinions can never measure up to the tragedy that has happened.  Sometimes, all we can do is offer our hands, our love, and our support; and we can do so completely, even without a complete understanding. 

I think that my sister, being a Pastor herself, was seeking to ascertain some reasoning for such an epic disaster.  Unlike that quack of a Minister, Pat Robertson, she could never blame such a tragedy to both the “young” and the “old” on some kind of “pact” with the Devil.  She is too much of a true Christian to do that. 

There are millions of people who skillfully use religion only as a cloak to hide the paucity of their own dubitable morality.   Some, like Pat Robertson, have the unabashed audacity to even profess to have immediate access to both God and the Devil.  If he genuinely believes that the Haitian people made a “pact” with the Devil to gain their freedom from the French Colonialists, isn’t he then also implying that the Devil is more powerful than the God he believes in?  Wouldn’t this also mean that he believes in a God that has no way of freeing his people without the Devil’s approval? 

Wouldn’t a “just” God want all his creations to be free?  Also, why does Pat Robertson feel that he, himself, can be free without a “pact” with the Devil, but the Haitians could not?  It seems that he is insidiously implying that the Haitians would be better off as slaves, as if that’s what his God would have also desired. 

Some people are still trying to reconcile and justify the previous existence of slavery, hinting that it was not all that bad, particularly since they, themselves, were not enslaved.  Or, in the case of Katrina, the reason for the storm and its subsequent destruction had to do with the deviant sexual behaviors of the city’s residents, so much so, that God had to single them out for punishment; a punishment that was also inflicted with no regards as to who was found in its path, to include babies, the sick, and elders.  Helpless old ladies and old men dying on the floor of the Superdome was God’s way of teaching them a lesson, according to people like Pat Robertson.   I suspect that they have all now been forgiven for those so-called deviant behaviors, as evidenced by the fact that God has recently allowed them to host the NFC Football Championship game in the very same building in which old ladies and old men, during a suffocating heat, drew their last breaths nearly five years ago. 

Some people duplicitously propose that the causes of natural disasters, such as earthquakes and hurricanes, are due to the victims having strayed from God’s wishes, and that they, therefore, deserve the wrath that is now imposed on them.  The implication is that we should do nothing to help them since they are merely being punished for the crimes they have committed.   Such a diabolical twisting of events can only come from hearts that are so frozen – particularly in midst of a tragedy- that even the supposed ovens of Hell could never sufficiently thaw.  They can now bask in the glory and illusion that “it didn’t happen to “me”, so God loves “me”, and because it happened to “them” then they must have made a pact with the Devil.” 

Such thinking also implies that “bad” things never happen to “good” people and “good” things never happen to “bad” people.  But history is infinite, and throughout history both good and bad things have always happened and will probably always happen, oftentimes without distinction. 

As an example, does he really believe that all the people who were unfortunate enough to have boarded those planes on 911 and those whose only choice was to jump to their deaths from the top floors of the twin-towers were bad people?   Are we to seriously believe that those cute little kids we see being removed from the rubbles in Haiti made a “pact” with a so called “Devil”?

In the Western World, one of the first attempts at slavery during colonialism involved Native Americans.  When the Colonists were trying to enslave them, one of their first tasks was to try to convert the Indians to Christianity with promises of an ever-lasting life in Heaven.  The Indians did not want to be converted because they were thinking that the enslavers might be there too.

I am not sure that I will ever want to go to a heaven if it contains the likes of Pat Robertson.  I don’t think I would find that too “heavenly”.  I cannot fathom living a great life on earth, only to be rewarded with the company of Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson in Heaven.  If such were ever the case, then I’d know that I must have truly made a pact with the so called, “Devil”.  I cannot indulge one minute of listening to Pat Robertson; therefore, if I were required to do so ever after, then I would know that I had truly gone to “Hell”.

Sometimes there is no known reason for why things happen.  Sometimes there is no answer to the question “why”.  Sometimes things happen with no cause, at least none that is known.  Sometimes even the word “cause” has no real meaning, other than “what came before”.  We may not always know what came before, but we can sometimes affect what comes afterwards, because, within each of us there is always that possibility of making things better, for both ourselves and for others, and perhaps the true meaning of Christianity is not just merely saying that you are a “Christian” but to become “Christ like”. 

This is true of other religions as well.  “Believing” is the easy part; it is how we behave that is most important.  People are affected in both good and bad ways by how we behave, regardless of what we believe.

I am inspired and encouraged by the much-needed help and support I see going into Haiti after the earthquake.  Those with good intentions are willing to put their lives at risk to help others.  They realize that this is not the time to assign blame or causes, but the time to find solutions.  In a sense these people are the true believers, regardless of their faiths, sects, or creeds. 

Our beliefs mean nothing if they do not inspire us to do good things!  And, while in the process of doing “good things”, we may one day even find the reasons “why?”

Jerome

by Jerome Pearson

June 27, 2021

When I was coming up South Carolina, there was only one bar and no whisky stores (Red Dot) in my community. As an amelioration to this obvious deficit, many folks would sell moonshine in their homes. How do I know this? Now that is another question for another day!

Therefore, instead of going to bars on Friday and Saturday nights, men in our community would travel from one house to another just enjoying themselves. Whisky was sold in special glasses. These glasses were used to measure the amount of liquor being requested.  You could get a quarter shot, a 50-cent shot, or a dollar shot. There was only one marker on the glass, and that was for the dollar shot. The half and quarter shots were only estimated.  

For physical protection, most men carried a pocketknife in case it should ever be needed. Guns would only be brought with them if there was a known or obvious threat.  We would sometimes know some men by the knives they carried.  A man referred to as “Bubber B” carried a jack knife, and he was known as one the most efficient knifers around. Some men would even carry ice picks, or if they didn’t have one, reach in your refrigerator and grab one in case of emergency. And some bad ass would carry a straight up razor blade.

I remember on one occasion two men got into a fight over a pig.  Man “A” had promised man “B” a pig one Friday night.  The caveat was that Man “B” was supposed to come by the home of man “A” on that Saturday morning to receive the pig.  Well, man “B” did not show up on time, so man “A” left his home and went on about his business.

After later coming by the house and finding no one at home, Man “B” finally arrived at the establishment where man “A” had traveled to.  Once man “A” saw man “B” entering the establishment, he immediately greeted him: “Hey “B”, me and my wife were waiting for you to come by, but you never came, so we decided to leave and come on over here. But we can go back to my house and get that pig if you still want it.” “B” pulled out a big gun, his hands shaking, and became quite formal when he said, “rather than do that, I would rather bust a cap in your….!” Others present had to persuade “B” to put his gun down. I can only imagine the fear that the kids in that establishment felt in observing this. But in the end, it turned out alright. A short time later, they were able to return to the home of man “A” and man “B” was able to get his pig.

On another occasion, two men were arguing with a 3^rd man about an organization called the “Masons!” The 3^rd man was apparently a member of the “Masons” and was describing to the other two men all the benefits of being a “Mason”, almost in a braggadocio fashion. The two friends were laughing at the 3^rd man and was making fun of his organization. In essence they were teaming up on him with an attempt to demean his organization. When they left that establishment, the 3^rd man was steaming, and felt that he was being unfairly demeaned and double-teamed.

Later that Sunday afternoon, the two friends returned to the same establishment. The 3^rd man returned shortly afterwards.  Apparently, he was hoping to find them again because now he had his gun with him. I can imagine him driving around just wishing to spot them somewhere. And to his good luck, those two men had returned to the very same establishment where they had the earlier argument. When the 3^rd man drove back to the establishment and observed that their truck was there, he was now swamped with a rush of adrenalin.  I can imagine him thinking, “I just wish they start some shit now!” He left his car and entered the establishment with his gun hidden underneath his shirt.  Oh, please say something now and we will see what happens.  

And would you know that as soon as the two men spotted him, the first thing they said was, “Oh no, here comes that “Mason” again” as they both began to laugh. That was the spark that the 3^rd man needed. He pulled out a big gun, pointed directly at them and dared them to keep talking. His hand was shaking with the big gun. The two men nearly wetted their pants as they had no idea it would turn into this. As the 3^rd man was being calmed down by the owner of the establishment, the two men were able to sneak out with their tails between their legs. They jumped into their truck and quickly sped away. I can only imagine what was going through their minds as they drove away. “That fool was about to kill us!”

Sometimes men would bring their wives along. Other times they would bring their side woman. But mostly the men were just stag. There were a few men who always had their wives with them because they would not let their husbands go out without them.  In such cases you would never see the husband without the wife. And those wives who attended on regular basis were usually the ones who make the most ruckus. And those husbands who chose to come out with their side woman had to be careful. There have been occasions where the wife and children would track the husband down and put a good whipping to both him and the side woman. The side woman received the worst of those beatings, which   often happened in areas where there were many witnesses. The witnesses would rarely intervene and would enjoy the fact that the husband was now finally getting his just deserts.  And they would call the side woman a name that I will not mention here.

During those days, the police department was always on the lookout for the selling of illegal corn whisky. They were on the lookout for those who were making it, those who were transporting it, and those who were selling it.  Moonshine was always manufactured in the middle of some forest so that the “whisky still” could not be detected. And usually, this production occurred during the middle of the night.

Distilleries are sometimes hidden in houses, garages, secret underground basements, or even dug into the sides of hills. The first step in making moonshine is fermenting a mixture of rye, sugar, corn, yeast, or other ingredients in “mash” kegs. The mixture is then distilled in cooker kegs, by heating the liquid and collecting the alcohol vapor through a network of copper tubes into a “thumper” keg.

It was not unusual that a policeman would stop a car along some dirt road or highway suspecting that there was corn liquor in the trunk. Sometimes, they were correct but sometimes it was a mistake. Sometimes they would show up at the house of the person selling it, and if they caught any inventory on hand, there could be trouble.  Therefore, a large inventory was never left in the home; no more than can be poured down the drain within 5 seconds flat if it came to that.

Sometimes, they would get a tip that about a “Whisky Still” being located in a certain area in the middle of some forest. Sometimes they were even able to catch the manufacturers in the act. Other times, they would only see the “Whisky-Still”, but no one present. But because these “Stills” were often located on land that did not belong to the manufacturers, there would be no way to trace the “Still” to the owner unless they were caught in the act.

By 1980, major moonshine operations had been largely vanquished. The sale of moonshine in the South was gradually replaced by liquor stores. But prior to this time, the sale of moonshine was key source of income for many families and many kids benefitted from this resource.

The sale of moonshine has died, but the memories continue to live.

But this story is really not about me!

It is only about some of the things I remember.

By Jerome Pearson

January 2014

Although working in tobacco was not as bad as picking cotton, I was not fond of either. Working in tobacco could mean many things, as there is more variety to it than there is with picking cotton.

One of the first tobacco jobs I had was planting. This job was not too bad, even for me, because it merely involved riding on a machine that would dig a hole in the ground; drop water into the hole, and all you had to do was drop a tobacco plant in each hole. Simple enough, right?

Planting usually occurred during the spring season; the weather was usually no problem during the spring because, unlike summer, temperature and humidity are, for the most part, bearable. Moreover, we rarely had to miss school to do this job even though school had not ended for the year. Basically, we would do this job a few hours in the afternoon after school.

The worst tobacco job I had was “suckering” tobacco. As the plants grow, they usually require topping and suckering. “Topping” is the removal of the tobacco flowers while “suckering” is the pruning out of leaves that are otherwise unproductive. Both procedures ensure that as much of the plant’s energy as possible focuses on producing the large leaves that are harvested and sold. The suckering aspect was not quite easy and very often it would take a knife to cut those leaves that were difficult to remove. Plus, your hands would be covered with tar that came from the tobacco. For some reason there was more tar on those parts. It would sometimes take a couple of minutes to even move from one stalk to the next.

Around the second week of June would be the start of tobacco harvesting. My first job in this arena was called a “toter.” Basically, “toting” means to “carry”. Therefore, as a “toter”, my job was to take the tobacco away from the croppers, and carry it to the drag or wagon, or whatever apparatus being used to transport the tobacco. In essence most fields were divided into sets consisting of four rows, and between each set of four rows, there would be enough space for a tractor and wagon. If available there would be 8 men cropping the tobacco, one on each row and four on each side of the tractor. Rather than having these men leave their particular row to load the tobacco they had accumulated in their arms, they would have the “toters” run to each cropper, grab their tobacco, and then run to the trailer and then load the tobacco in the trailer. There would be one runner for each of the four croppers. Therefore, throughout the day when the cropper’s arms were filled, they would yell out “toter!” So, there was a constant echo throughout the day: “toter”, “toter”,” toter”,” toter” … and so forth.

And if you did not come in time, they would complain that you were preventing them from doing their job because you were not taking their accumulated tobacco fast enough to allow them to continue. There was one occasion where a man name Ivory (who was called I.B., for whatever reason) complained to me “you no wanna tote my bacca?” As if I had some ulterior motive for not getting to him on time.

“Cropping” was the term used for removing mature leaves from tobacco-plants. Leaves are cropped as they ripen, from the bottom to the top of the stalk. The first crops of leaves located near the base of the tobacco stalk are called “sand lugs” in more rural southern tobacco states. They are called “sand lugs” because these leaves are close to the ground and get splashed with sand and clay when heavy rains hit the soil. Usually, a field is harvested on a weekly basis; each week you returned to crop the next set of ripe leaves, and this would continue thought-out the summer until the stalk was finally bare. The croppers were men, and the stringers were usually women or young girls.

Smaller farmers would have the women situated at a designated area awaiting the arrival of cropped tobacco. Upon receipt, they would have one person hand them the tobacco, usually 3 or 4 leaves in a bunch, and they would proceed to string the bunch on a pole that was 4 feet long. Some women were good at this and there was often a beautiful art to the way they could string tobacco on one side of the pole and whip it over to other side as if they were tying a not. The women were paid by the number of poles they completed.

Larger farmers would have an apparatus that pulled by a tractor that would contain the croppers and the stringers. There were no “toters” in this type of apparatus, as the croppers could hand the tobacco directly to stringers who were sitting on seat above the cropper; more efficient, right? The harvesters had places for one team of ten workers: eight people cropping and stringing, plus a packer who moved the heavy strung poles of wet green tobacco from the stringers and packed them onto a pallet that was connected to the tractor as well.

There was a group of guys responsible for the loading the tobacco into the barn. The pallets of stringed tobacco would be loaded on a trailer and carried to the barn. The barn contained several rows and several levels which were call tiers. You would begin loading the barn from the top, and then levels 2 and finally level one. In order to do this, there would be a loader on the top tier and one loader on the middle tier; these two individuals would straddle two rows (legs apart) and the sticks of stringed tobacco would be handed from the bottom level to the person on the second level, who would then hand the to stick to the person on top level. The person at the top was responsible for hanging the tobacco on the columns. This process continues until all rows and all levels had been filled.

When the tobacco had been cooked (cured),usually around 3 days after starting burners, the process would be reversed when unloading the tobacco; this was more fun than loading because the tobacco would also now be much lighter, as all of the liquids would have been drawn out by the heat, leaving only a dried yellow leaf. At this stage, it is as close to a cigarette as it would ever get. Once unloaded, there used to be a process of separating the cooked tobacco by “grades.” This would require examining each leaf by looking at its color to determine if it was a higher grade or lower grade. There would piles of beautiful yellow tobacco, some brownish color tobacco, and third pile of very brown tobacco, which I think was used for cheap cigars. Obviously, the higher grade would garner more money than a lower grade, although all of it would be sold.

• 

By Jerome Pearson

December 2015

“Well, my mother is on that train; coming around that curve; coming around that curve; coming around that curve; and the train goes chu chaka ling and bell goes ding aling aling, and the whistle goes WOP, WOP, WOOOOP…..!”

As he made that “WOP, WOP, WOOOP” sound, my Step Uncle, Rigby James Jr., would jump nearly 2 feet in the air or more, depending on the amount of liquor that was in his system at the time!

Starting with the early 70s, a group of folks from the Davis Station area of Clarendon County started an acapella spiritual group who called themselves the “Jeremiah Singers”.  I am not sure how they went about choosing that name, as “Jeremiah” was a prophet who was tasked by God to give warnings of the possible outcome of sin. 

In our town, however, it is highly unlikely that this group would have been chosen as a vessel tasked with continuing this prophecy!    I can say this because half of its members were from my family! 

The original members of this group included my Grand Uncle Felix Pearson and his wife Anna Coard Pearson; Grand Aunt Pauline Miller; step Uncle Rigby James Pearson; George Jones; and Nero Pearson.  Each member of the group seemed to have a talent:  Felix sang base, George and Anna were leads, Rigby and Nero soprano; Aunt Pauline was back-up lead!

In addition to the primary members of the group, there were often visiting members such as the brothers Robert, John, and Eugene Coard, who were the sons of Mrs. Anna Coard Pearson.  Many years later, I recall seeing an obituary for Eugene Coard, and he was recognized as being a member of the Jeremiah Singers.

The original lead singer was George Jones. George Jones sang lead and was perhaps the best singer in the group.  One of my favorite songs of his was: “I have a mother at the beautiful gate, waiting and watching for me!” In some ways, that song was always personal to me!  I will admit that I may even have the wrong titles of some of these songs because I had never seen the words written down any place.  This should be expected because, unfortunately, most of its members could barely read.  They basically sang old spirituals from memory.

However, without a doubt, their most famous rendition was the one about the train coming around the curve: it was indeed the highlight of any program they participated in!  It did not matter where they were when that song was being sung, the crowds just went absolutely crazy laughing!  They were indeed one of a kind.  And although he sang falsetto, Uncle Rigby’s incomparable rendition of the whistle was the song’s apogee. 

For a year or two the group even had a manager.  Her name was Florence Lemon!  In addition to trying to boss the group around, she would also mess-up many songs while trying to sing base.  She did not last long because the Jeremiah Singers could not be managed.  Everything about them was spontaneous.   One thing that Mrs. Lemon was able to do for them was to get them a rotating spot on the Sunday morning Manning radio station.   The Jeremiah Singers were proud to be on the radio but did not like their manager.  They remained on the radio but got rid of their manager.

After getting my driver’s license I was tasked with driving the singers to the radio station every Sunday morning.  Uncle Felix did not have a license, so around 6: 45 each Sunday morning, I would hear that lime green Ford pulling into our yard.  I would then have to get up and drive them to the Manning Radio Station located off highway 301.  They had 7:30 spot! We would go by and pick up some of the other members on our way to Manning.  Many of them would have already had their first drink of the day! 

Once we arrived at the radio station, I would sometimes remain in the car, but other times I would sit in the studio waiting area and watch them sing.  There were several groups with appointed times which were either leaving or coming to the station.  Each group had a 15-minute spot and would be heard all over the local airwaves.  Almost all homes in the area had their radios tuned to a gospel station on Sunday mornings. And many of these radios were of such poor quality that, unfortunately, the music often sounded like a whole lot of aggravating noise! 

Once we returned from the radio station, I would eat breakfast and prepare for Sunday school.  The Jeremiah Singers, however, rarely went to Sunday school.  As a matter of fact, some rarely went to any kind of Sunday service.   Their main attendance at a church involved what they would call “programs”.  They would be invited to sing at some churches’ program in the afternoons and felt that was the only church they ever needed.  Between singing at the radio station, and singing at various “programs”, they felt that they were meeting, or perhaps even exceeding, their religious obligations.   Also, not having to attend normal church services provided them with additional opportunities to drink.

I was also tasked with driving them to many of these “programs”.  Often, there would be only one completely sober person in the car: yours truly! There was always a pack of chewing gum around, and just before entering church they would each take a stick!  Sometimes, the church they were visiting would collect money for them.  I can recall one night following one of those programs when they asked that I figure out a way to divide their total collection among 7 people.

 I did, however, enjoyed driving them because in addition to the fact that they paid me, I would often hear some of the craziest and funniest stories.  I gained so much natural wisdom during the time I drove them places.

I think that being a member of the Jeremiah Singers was probably the most significant thing any of these folks has ever done.  Sadly, I think that all the members of the group have since died, including some of the alternates. 

Obituaries often tell lies!  Very often we see in obituaries that “so and so” was educated in the public schools in Clarendon County, when they might have only gone as far as the first grade.  The obituary would often say that “so and so” gave his life to Jesus at a young age, when they were actually raising hell for most of their lives. 

However, in my mind, there is nothing inherently wrong with this; being in this world is not always easy, and we all struggle to find our way!  The least we can do is to find something positive to say about those who have departed during their “home-going day!”

But for the Jeremiah Singers, the obituary is true when it says that “so and so” was once a member of a singing group; a group that provided some measures of joy; to both themselves and to those of us who were around them; and, finally, when the days become dark; and when we are “waiting and watching” for that train to come around that curve with that…. chu chaka ling and bell going ding aling aling, and the whistle going WOP, WOP, WOOOOP…..!”

We, too, can jump two feet in the air!

Jerome

by Jerome Pearson

January 8, 2021

Back in the 1980s and early 90s, the Republican Party made a big deal about “character” and why character matters.  They did this with the support of many from the evangelical community. They felt that now that the 60s were over and Vietnam protests had all but disappeared, they now had the upper hand. Everything was now about God, Country, and Ronald Reagan. 

When Bill Clinton was running for the presidency, they made a big deal about his alleged affairs and the fact that he had not served in the military. They were able to do this despite the fact that most of them had not served either. I know this because during those days I was in the Military and I always found it interesting that so many in the conservative movement were making so much about patriotism when their level of commitment was mush less than my own. And many in the evangelical community back then, (Swaggart, Baker -Tammy and Jim- and that Ilk) proved to be more deviant than anyone I had ever met in my life.

Fast forward to nearly 30 years later, they were perfectly fine with Donald J. Trump.  We don’t even need to enumerate the long list of things this con had done (everyone knows even if they choose to deny it), but all of that high falutin demagoguery from the 80s and 90s no longer mattered.  A family man like the previous President Obama had not met their righteous standards, but a thrice married, multi-affairs having, numerous allegations, grabbing them by the P, Donald Trump was perfectly acceptable. 

Their excuse for 45 was that he was spoke to their issues and that “he was who he was.”  Well, aren’t we all “who we are?” The question should not be whether “we are who we are”, but rather whether “who we are is representative of acceptable behavior.” Most could never answer that. Instead, they would refrain, “let Trump be Trump!”

Well, for the past 4 years Trump was allowed to be Trump, and I could see nothing admirable about that! And in the last two months since the election his behavior became worse.

And now this week, I dare anyone tell me that what we have witnessed was in anyway acceptable behavior for any human being, let alone for the leader of the Free World.   

Throughout his presidency, 45’s behavior was of a kind that would never be tolerated in any company I have ever worked for, including the military. Imagine re-tweeting something terrible to your colleagues, and your excuse to HR being: “I didn’t write it, I just retweeted it!” Such an excuse would come from the mouth of 45 on numerous occasions, and that was perfectly fine with some. These same people knew they could never do such thing in their own jobs.  When your leader’s behavior is allowed to be less than what is required of the average citizen, then that is a big problem.

This week 45’s behavior was definitely worse than the average citizen. Not only was it worse, but because he had the power of persuasion, it was also motivation for others to be equally as bad. Go ahead and set that house on fire and “I will be there with you?” If not with you, then I will at least grab a bag popcorn and a coke and watch it from the Whitehouse.  And once you are done, I will praise you and tell you that I love you and how special you are for doing it!

I agree with the concept of character. I do think that character matters. But I think it has to be genuine and honest character and not the pretense of character.

All too often people conflate declaration with actuality! And some use Religion only as a cloak to hide the ambiguity of their pretension. They give themselves a label of being “such and such” and having “such beliefs”, which are not always exemplified in their actions.

“Saying” is different from “being!” You can say one thing, but actually be something else.

45 has talked so much about loving this country and its history!

But he encouraged his supporter to breach the Capitol and do whatever they felt like doing!

In addition to interrupting our democracy, they also contributed to the loss of lives!

What happened this week has only confirmed who 45 truly is!

We don’t need to hear otherwise!

His actions have spoken for themselves!

And that is a fact!

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By Jerome Pearson

At the end of my sophomore year in college, I traveled from Baltimore, Maryland to Buffalo, NY to spend the summer with my Uncle Isaac and Aunt Frances Pearson. I chose Buffalo, NY because I wanted to spend some time with my aunt and uncle and also because I thought I would have a better chance of finding a summer job in Buffalo than in South Carolina.

At the end of the school year most students would be leaving for home on the Friday before senior graduation. As for me, rather than leaving on that Friday I chose to spend the weekend at Morgan and not leave for Buffalo until the Sunday evening following senior graduation; I did this despite the fact that I had no intentions of attending graduation ceremonies. I don’t currently recall why I chose to spend the weekend in Baltimore before leaving for Buffalo; perhaps I didn’t want to arrive in Buffalo until the beginning of the week.

I remember on that Friday afternoon a man had chosen to run around the school’s track from Friday afternoon until that Sunday afternoon’s graduation. He was apparently doing this in honor of the recent graduates. Along with other spectators, I chose to run with him for a while. I was in exceptionally good shape during those days and could run for at least an hour without getting tired; especially at the pace he was running. After I was done, every so often I would revisit the stadium, sit in the stands, and just observe him running. Keep in mind, this man was attempting to run continuously from about 4pm Friday afternoon until approximately 1pm the following Sunday. That would have amounted to nearly 40 hours of continuous running.

After breakfast the following morning, I returned to the field and he was still running. Spectators continued to observe him run around the track. Unfortunately, sometime on that Saturday afternoon (nearly 24 hours later non-stop), he sprained an ankle and could not finish.

However, it was exciting to know that someone would even attempt such an endeavor.

Because I now had some money, I chose to purchase my own ticket for Buffalo. My uncle would have done it, but I insisted, since I now had a bank account resulting from refunds from an ROTC scholarship, I received at the beginning of my sophomore year. I was one of those kids who insisted on doing for himself if it were possible. However, rather than flying, I chose to take a bus which turned out to be a longer trip than I had imagined. I left Baltimore on that Sunday evening. I was travelling through towns in Western Pennsylvania and New York I had never heard of and after many hours of the bus ride, I became slightly ill.

Buses have this rather unfortunate requirement of stopping in every little town. The towns on this particular trip are considered “middle America” “steel mill” or “rust belt”. There were towns with names such as Harrisburg, Scranton, York, Ithaca; most appeared as boring as their names. Many years later residents of such towns would often get a chip on their shoulders and pretend that everything was being taken away from them, and therefore, become vulnerable to a con like Trump. Make America great again? I saw nothing great about those towns back then, so how could they possibly be great again! I could not wait for the bus to get the hell out of dodge!

I finally arrived in Buffalo at approximately 4pm on that Monday afternoon. Buffalo is the 2nd largest city in the state of New York. The city received its name from a nearby creek called Buffalo Creek. Some people believe that the creek got its name from the American Buffalo which roamed as far as Western New York. As one of the most populous cities of the 1950s, Buffalo’s economy revolved almost entirely on its manufacturing base. Major companies such as Republic Steel and Lackawanna Steel employed tens of thousands of Buffalonians. Integrated, national shipping routes would utilize the Soo Locks near Lake Superior and a vast network of railroads and yards that crisscrossed the city.

Because of its booming economy, before and after the 2nd world war, many folks from the South had begun migrating to Buffalo. I think that my mother’s oldest brother (Uncle Robert) arrived in Buffalo sometime during the early 50s and was followed by his younger brother, Uncle Isaac, in the early 60s.

This was my second time in Buffalo. I had been there during the previous thanksgiving, and I must say the weather was lot better this time. Although the city is known to have snowy winters, “Buffalo has the sunniest and driest summers of any major city in the Northeast, but still has enough rain to keep vegetation green and lush. Summers are marked by plentiful sunshine and moderate humidity and temperature.” Therefore, summers in Buffalo are often very pleasant.

The city is not far from the Canadian Border, and you can drive to Niagara Falls within a short time. Buffalo is 50 miles (80 km) south-southeast from Toronto.

The city has 78 public schools and 47 private schools. “The State University of New York (SUNY) operates three institutions within the city of Buffalo. The University at Buffalo is known as “UB” and is the largest public university in New York. The University at Buffalo is the only university in Buffalo and is a nationally ranked tier 1 research university. Buffalo State College and Erie Community College are a college and a community college, respectively. Additionally, the private institutions Canisius College and D’Youville College are within the city.”

My Uncle Isaac taught at the Public School for approximately 40 years. But during this time, in addition to teaching, he would often take on other jobs, such as the Republic Steel Company. My uncle was working at Republic Steel during the summer of my visit.

During those first several days in Buffalo that summer, I was often home alone as my Aunt and Uncle went to work. I would eventually get an interview at Republic Steel during the upcoming week. In the meanwhile, I began to do something I had never done in my entire life; I began watching Soap Operas. My favorites during this summer included the famous “Another World” and a relatively new one called “Guiding Light”. I would also watch daytime comedies such as “All in the Family”. This was my first time becoming familiar with Archie Bunker, and I must say I found him quite funny.

When not watching TV, I would study my vocabulary book. I purchased a book that contained 1000 big words, and it was my goal to learn the meaning of each. Other folks had their own hobbies. Reading a vocabulary book happened to be one of mines. Words would become my weapon, and I was planning to strategically deploy them when necessary, oftentimes out of context.

During my second week in Buffalo, I had an interview and a medical physical at Republic Steel Company. Built along the Buffalo River the Republic Steel Mill was one of several mills operated by Republic Steel along the Great Lakes, making the company the third largest steel producer in the United States for a time. This was not going to be your typical college intern job; it was truly a job that required much laborious investment. I think I did well enough during the interview, but the question was going to be whether I was physically capable of doing the job. At the time I weighed less than 120 pounds, but I was in excellent shape. After all, I had been a student in ROTC, both as a freshman and sophomore, and we had to be pretty decent shape.

When I left the interview, I think HR still had a question about whether I would be able to handle the job. My aunt Frances told me that perhaps I should eat a lot of bananas to increase my weight. In my mind, I was not likely to get the job. I began to turn my mind to other things.

About week later I had gone to the local store to purchase some items. When I returned, my Aunt greeted me at the door and said, “The Human Resources Manager from Republic Steel was here and you have the job!” I will not say that I was stunned, but I was pretty close to it. The HR Manager was a friend of Uncle Isaac, and he came by their home just to let them know I had the job.

Nearly a week later I began my new job at Republic Steel. There was another young man from Howard University who would also be starting. The job was hot, dirty, but fun in some ways. We wore work boots and hard hats. My primary job was loading scrap pieces of steel into a wheel barrel and transporting it to a local dump area. At the end of the day, everyone was required to take a shower. You would never want to leave the plant in work clothes or without showering.

We were paid on a weekly basis and the check I received following my first week was the most money I had ever made for week’s work. When I saw that first check, it did not matter to me how hot and how tough the job was, I was going to do an excellent job. The other student and I report to a little old many who was our foreman. The first appraisal he had given me was positive. He simply said that “you are always where you should be. I never have to go looking for you!”

This was the summer of 1978. And one of the hottest stars that summer was Buffalo’s own: Rick James. His family had lived not far from my uncle. As a matter fact, his young brother came by our home one day. One of the biggest disco hits that summer was “You and I”. That was followed up with “Mary Jane”. At the time I did not know that “Mary Jane” was actually referring to Marijuana. “I’m in love with Mary Jane; I’m not the only one. If Mary wanna play around, I let her have her fun.”

I would attend several concerts that summer! The first was the “Commodores” with their current hit “Three Times a Lady!” That is a beautiful song, but the album was not nearly as good as the one the year before. The Commodore would never be as great as they were in 1977 with such mega hits as “Zoom”, “Break House” and “Easy”.

I would also see the “O Jays” that summer with their current hits “She Used to be my Girl” and the beautiful “Brandy” which was inspired by a dog: “sittin by the open fire-place in my favorite dungarees; played a few balls of a melody and it sounded sweet to me!”

I recall one Saturday treating one of neighbor’s daughters to dinner at a steak restaurant since she had been so helpful to me. As we were driving to the restaurant, I saw my cousin “Anita” walking down the street. I pulled over and asked if she would like to join us for dinner. She said yes, so it was so wonderful treating these ladies to dinner with money from my big paycheck.

In late August of that summer, I returned to Baltimore to begin my junior year at Morgan. After returning to school my Aunt Frances mailed all of my savings and I deposited it in my bank account. Along with my ROTC Scholarship, which provided me with a monthly stipend, I made enough money that summer to last me for the remaining two years in college.

My decision to spend that summer in Buffalo was one of the best decisions I had ever made, and for that reason, I am forever grateful to the city of Buffalo.

But most importantly, I am forever grateful for the love and care i received from my Aunt and Uncle, Frances, and Isaac Pearson!

Jerome

Isaac Pearson

December 9, 1938 – December 1, 2020

Isaac Pearson, husband of Frances McKenzie Pearson, was called back home by his Lord and Savior during the early morning hours of December 1, 2020.

Isaac was born to the union of Emma Pearson and James Pearson on December 9, 1938 in the Davis Station area of Clarendon County, South Carolina.   Isaac, along with twin Sister, Rebecca, was the 4^th oldest of seven children. His other siblings include brothers Robert, Hubert, John and Jesse, and an older sister, Ethel Mae. He was preceded in death by both parents, sisters Ethel Mae and Rebecca, and brothers Jesse and Hubert.

Isaac was born to the union of Emma Pearson and James Pearson on December 9, 1938 in the Davis Station area of Clarendon County, South Carolina.   Isaac, along with twin Sister, Rebecca, was the 4^th oldest of seven children. His other siblings include brothers Robert, Hubert, John and Jesse, and an older sister, Ethel Mae. He was preceded in death by both parents, sisters Ethel Mae and Rebecca, and brothers Jesse and Hubert.

He leaves behind his dedicated wife of more than 50 years, Frances Pearson.  He also leaves behind brothers, Robert Pearson (Buffalo, NY), and John Pearson (Manning, SC); Godchildren: Shavonne Wilson, Carlos Mongo, Tykia Douglas, and Amani Works; numerous nieces and nephews; cousins, and a host of other relatives and friends.  In addition, he leaves behind his brother-in-law Edward McKenzie, of Buffalo, NY and sister-in-law, Lucille Mongo, of Douglasville, Ga.

Isaac gave his life to Christ at a young age and became a member of New Light Baptist Church in Davis Station, South Carolina. Always active and studious, he was a member of the choir and a Sunday school teacher as a teenager.

Isaac was educated in the local schools in Clarendon County, SC and was a part of that generation of African American students that played a key role in school desegregation in the United States.  Attending high school at a time where there was no bus transportation for African American students, Isaac walked seven miles daily from his home to Scott’s Branch High School in Summerton, SC. His high school was central to outlawing segregation in public schools. Isaac graduated from Scott’s Branch High in 1956, only two years after the Brown vs the Board of Education US Supreme Court decision outlawing segregation in public schools in 1954.

Isaac was the first in his family to graduate from college. He received a bachelor’s degree from Morris College, Sumter, SC in 1960. While at Morris College he met his Soul Mate, the former Frances McKenzie, who became his lovely and dedicated wife.

Isaac joined his older brother Robert in Buffalo, NY, where he resided for the next 60 years. He was employed as an educator in the Buffalo, NY Public School System for more than 40 years. While in Buffalo, NY Isaac continued his education at Buffalo State. In addition to teaching, Isaac spent time as a supervisor at Republic Steel Company for several years.

While in Buffalo, Isaac continued his spiritual pursuits and became a highly active and respected member of Pilgrim Missionary Baptist Church in Buffalo, NY.  At Pilgrim Isaac served as Superintendent of Secondary Sunday School, Sunday School Teacher of Class 8, Chairperson of Christian Education, and was a member of the choir.  

Throughout his years in Buffalo, NY, Isaac often returned to South Carolina to visit his relatives. He enjoyed stopping in Baltimore, Maryland to visit family there, and would often bring them to South Carolina with him.  In addition, he often invited nieces and nephews to spend the summers at his home in Buffalo, NY.  Being a teacher, he took interest in the education of his nieces and nephews and encouraged them to succeed. He was a great mentor to his nephew Jerome Pearson in ensuring that he had all that was needed for him to enter and finish college. He was always there for him, attending graduations and weddings.

Although Isaac has left his earthly home, he is now with his God, and will reunite with all of his loving siblings.

We all love you and will miss you dearly Uncle Isaac.

By Jerome Pearson

January 2013

(8 years later! Sandy arrived in New Jersey 29 October 2012)

A week before Hurricane Sandy hit our area, it was said that she would leave the Caribbean on her way to just north east of Florida – without hitting land- and then head north up the Atlantic Coast, barely skirting the outer edges of Eastern Sea Board, and then somewhere near Atlantic City, NJ, at approximately 6:30 pm on evening of 29 October 2012, make a sharp left turn and then head directly towards me!

That was one heck of a forecast, wouldn’t you say? However, no matter the forecast, nothing could prepare us for what was about to happen. It was almost as if the creators of Hurricane Hugo nearly 23 years earlier decided that this time they were going to make sure to get Jerome, who was not in his home state of South Carolina back in 1989, but rather attending his wedding in the District of Columbia. This time, Sandy set her GPS for Wayne, New Jersey, and that mechanical female navigation system voice that guides you to your destination, gleefully exclaimed – at about 8:30 on the evening on 29 October 2012- “You have reached your destination!”

On the day before, as my wife, Cecelia, was at the beautician getting her hair done, I went to our local Gym, with plans of getting together later to stock-up on groceries and other supplies. That Sunday was cloudy and windy; there were already mild hints of what was about to come the next day. The local grocery store was packed, the gas station lines already longer than I had ever seen, and this was before we lost any kind of power. Although we went to the grocery store, we never had to wait in gas lines, since our cars were filled on Saturday.

Later that Sunday, the day before the Hurricane, we went to an Italian restaurant in the town of Montclair, NJ. Realizing that we would probably be eating at home the next several days, we wanted to enjoy some time away from home. There were already warnings that everyone, minus essential personnel, should stay home the next day; this was in spite of the fact that the storm was not expected to hit land until late Monday.

My hope was that the forecasters would be wrong; they have been wrong before, even though I must admit that in the last several years they have been more right than wrong. This hope is selfish, perhaps, because it often means if not “us”, then “them”. I secretly wished that since the Costal New Jersey was being hit and Long Island, New York, then perhaps the storm would not come so far in land. I was wrong! This time the storm was so humongous that almost everyone on the east coast was affected, although some to a greater or lesser extent than others. However, even those who were affected the least still sustained some damage.

After returning from the restaurant on that Sunday, I went to the local Barnes & Noble – a Sunday night ritual of mine – to skim some of the latest offerings. I am an avid reader and I discover new books just by perusing the “new books” section in Barnes & Noble. I have discovered many new writers this way. Now days, I don’t buy the books from Barnes & Noble, since for the most part I can order them on my Kindle and the electronic version allows the access of numerous books with little or no extra weight, particularly when traveling. The Barnes & Noble on route 46 West in West Patterson, NJ closes at 9 pm on Sunday evenings, so I am usually on my way home just in time to catch the latest Masterpiece Theater mystery that begins a 9. I am somewhat partial to the Scandinavian mysteries which always exude an air of mysterious coldness and darkness, i.e., the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo! When I left the bookstore on this evening, I felt as if I were about to part-take in my own little mystery, prompted, perhaps, by the impending approach of Sandy.

The television stations were having a “field day” with this approaching storm, as they always have with the possibility of any disaster. I am often amazed at the excitement they have regarding possible disasters, and the disappointment they have when they don’t materialize. The Friday before I was sitting in the waiting room as my car was being serviced, and the local TV station just could not cease talking about Sandy. They were like, “you need to stay with channel 12 so that we can keep you prepared for the storm.” Was the significant damage done to Staten Island due to them not watching enough of channel 12?

After returning from the bookstore on the evening before the storm, there was no Masterpiece mystery, so I did some work on my computer, and began surfing the web for the latest stories. I would occasionally glance at the TV to see what was happening with the storm. The prognosis was just as dire as before, but I was still thinking (hoping?) that there was a chance that we could be missed, which was quite contrary to what was being reported.

The next morning, we were informed that no one should be on the roads, and the Governors of New York and New Jersey were basically suggesting that any employer that would force their workers – minus those essential personnel – to show up to work were basically callous and would pay the consequences. I think, for the most parts, most places of employment took heed.

The Governor of New Jersey was having a running feud with the mayor of Atlantic City, who he indicated was disobeying his orders to have people evacuated. I think that this fight probably had more to do with ongoing tensions between the Governor and the Mayor, which the storm provided an ideal opportunity to exploit. The Governor would eventually come out looking better than the Mayor in this particular instance, since Atlantic City was one of the hardest hit areas on the entire east coast.

Cecelia and I had breakfast at home, and then began working from home. We can both work from home on occasions; I know we got just as much done as we would have in the office. Cecelia even had several telephonic meetings throughout the day, only breaking for lunch. Her plan was to roast a Chicken and put vegetables in the pressure cooker later that day and have everything ready before the storm arrives. At that time, we did not realize that this would be a candle-lit dinner!

At around 5 pm on this afternoon, we began to notice flickering of the lights, and the television would go off and on. We knew that it had to with the storm, but I was still hoping that we would be spared.

Just as dinner was being served, the power went out for good. We had candles and multiple flashlights of all sorts, something that we have stocked up on for many years.

Sure, enough the dinner was eaten under candlelight. My wife is an exceptionally good cook, almost gourmet at times. And she is as smart as they come if I may say so myself.

After dinner, all we could do was sit in the living room under candlelight, listen to the radio, and read our kindles. By this time, the wind was as forceful as any that I ever encountered during my life. Shortly, I noticed a cop’s car parked outside our door. I guess they were just checking out the area. About 30 minutes after this, I heard my next-door neighbor outside, and I opened the front door to see what was happening. By that time, a tree had already fallen in our yard, just missing the house. My neighbor was standing in the street with a flashlight, and I thought he was calling me. I attempted to walk outside to see if I could hear what he was saying, but then I realized that several electrical wires were down, and I was not sure if they were live. He just wanted to know if the tree had hit our house, which it hadn’t. I could see that several trees were already down, and I had not even heard them fall. Nearly ½ hour later, I attempted to open the front door and the pressure from the wind was so forceful that I could barely close it again. I then knew not to try that again!

We decided to remain downstairs on the living room couch with multiple candles and flashlights. While we do own a portable generator, I was not planning on starting it on this night. We had enough light to read.

I did not want to go upstairs because there is a humongous tree right outside our bedroom window, and I thought we would be safer downstairs. I told Cecelia that we were not going upstairs until the winds died down, somewhat at least. At around 11:30 Cecelia started sleeping on the couch while I remain vigilant and just read under candlelight. At around 1:30, I decided that it was perhaps safe enough to now go upstairs to our bedroom. The winds were howling like nothing I had ever heard before. At some points, it would seem to pick up so much speed that you began to wonder just how much our house and the surrounding trees could withstand.

It was difficult sleeping this way, so I was only dozing off and on, being continuously awakened by another accelerated burst of wind.

Around 4am the next morning, I knew that the storm had moved out of the area, but there was an eerie quietness, with the exception of multiple generators running throughout the neighborhood. I feared looking outside, not knowing what to expect. How much damage was there? How long would we be without power? The previous year, during the October 2011 ice storm, we were only without power a day and a half. If only we should be so lucky this time! The radio stations were reporting there was so much damage that it would take weeks for most residents in the tri-state areas to regain power.

Although we lost power, we still had hot water. We were able to use the stove top for a little cooking since it is gas ignited. Cecelia was even able to make coffee on the stove top.

After breakfast, we charged our cell phones in the cars which are stored in our garage.

We could see families walking through the streets, surveying the damage. We decided to do likewise. As we walked, we had to be careful not to step on any of the numerous electrical lines that were down, particularly since we were not sure if they were live or not. I think they were all dead, but there is no need to take chances.

We could see one neighbor who had 3 large trees that had fallen on his house. Up and down the street, trees that were planted by the township years earlier had almost all fallen. This was due to the fact they were planted between the road and the sidewalk and there was not enough space for their roots to expand and grow, unlike the ones in the back yard. Therefore, almost all of those trees were down, with the entire roots out of the ground.

Not far from our house, there was a building that was being used as shelter being run by FEMA. The Shelter had coffee and doughnuts, and multiples places to charge phones, run laptops, take showers, etc. We had already eaten breakfast, and although our house had no heat, we certainly had hot water, so we did not the need the showers at the shelter. But it was nice to know that the place was not far, and we did use it for phone charging, and actually running our computers on multiple occasions. Plus, unlike home, it was warm.

There was a fat security guard in the place who was holding court with a group of older women, telling them that he was so happy that we would only have one more week with Obama as President. I was wondering if he even realized that if it were not for Obama, we may not even have this shelter that was currently being used to stuff his gut with multiple doughnuts and coffee. I think he had been listening to just a little bit too much of FOX news! I would love to have seen him a week later! Ha, ha!

The shelter even had cots for sleeping for those who could not sleep at home. There was a young couple that was expecting a baby in about two weeks it seemed. They seemed like they would be in a shelter even if there had been no storm. I felt kind of sorry for them because the girl looks to be only about 17 and boy the same. I was wondering what brought them there since they didn’t seem to live in the neighborhood, and I could tell that they were staying at the shelter since they were both in pajamas. They were also helping out the shelter staff, as if they were trying to earn their stay. I was wondering what would happen to them once the storm was totally over. At one point when the girl was in another room, one of the ladies asked the young man when his wife due was! He indicated that they were not married, which was something the lady must have not considered; it seems to me immediately that they were possibly not married.

Later that evening, I had my generator running for several hours. The generator was mainly used to provide light for a while, at least – and to indulge my love of the old Columbo series. I have always been a fan of this series from the early seventies. I actually have the first 3 seasons on DVD. I love seeing the actual crime at the beginning and watching Columbo methodically trap the antagonist in his wrinkled raincoat, cigar, and that beat-up jalopy. I am always entertained when Columbo is about to exit a room, knowing that he has just one more pertinent question, which is asked just as he is about leave. That question would always be one that would make the antagonist begin to sweat, realizing that this quirky detective is shrewder than he first appears.

After exhausting the Columbo series, we begin watching the “Wire” which is set in Baltimore, with many of the characters actually from the streets, some of whom may even be related to me. Felicia “Snoop” Pearson is one the most frightening female assassins to ever hit the television screen. She is the real deal, having actually killed another teenager in real life when she herself was only 14 at the time. There is no scene on television quite like her visit to Home Depot to buy a nail gun. You would have to Google “The Wire, Snoop at Home Depot”, to see what I mean.

On the Wednesday following the storm, one of my neighbors was brave enough to lift up one downed power line and allow several of us to move our cars to an area where they could be parked and driven if needed. We decided to move only one of our two cars out of the garage. This would allow us the freedom to drive around the neighborhood and to go to other local areas where travel was possible. We were even able to drive to a local Chinese restaurant later that day.

I was supposed to be leaving for Ireland the following Saturday. However, the trip was cancelled by the folks in Ireland, which had nothing to do with our storm in the U.S. Realizing that my trip was cancelled, Cecelia and I decided to drive to D.C. for the weekend (where there was electricity and heat). We knew we would be taking a chance because gas lines were extremely long. However, I anticipated correctly that as you drove further south on the NJ turnpike, the gas lines became shorter and shorter, and by the time we got to Delaware, the lines were so normal, you’d think there had been no storm. We spent the entire weekend in DC and only returned on the following Monday afternoon. This Monday was the day before the Presidential Election, and it was very cold. It was so cold that we knew it would be difficult stay in the house on this night. We called around forever, and finally found an available spot at the Hilton in Parsippany, NJ. We reserved a room for two nights.

Of course, as soon as we checked into our room, our neighbor called to let us know that the power, which had been out for a week had finally come back on. Since we were already in the room, we chose to stay at the hotel for one night and checked out the next day, which was Election Day. We did not have to vote since we had mailed hour absentee ballots several weeks earlier.

The next day Cecelia returned to work, but I chose to work from home. Although we had electrical power, which was wonderful, cable was till down, which meant that there was neither internet access nor TV. Although I can work from home, sometimes it is difficult if you don’t have access to the internet, so I spent most of Election Day at the local Panera Bread which did have Wi-Fi.

When I was at Panera Bread, I ran into some of the older folks who I had met at the shelter the previous week. They were all retirees, so they did not have to work in any case. They were surprised to learn that we had actually driven to D.C. and back the past weekend.

Later that Tuesday evening we listened to the election results on the radio since we still had no cable. By 11 pm – Carl Rove not withstanding – the results were already known.

That night, although we still had not completely recovered from the devastation caused by SANDY, for one night at least, I was able to fall into deep comforting sleep, and dream about all of the myriad “wonders” that the world has in store for us.

Jerome Pearson

Wayne, NJ