Louisiana Voice

In Reflective Memory of Lost Friends

I’ve read extensively and viewed movie scenes in which a survivor of some catastrophe wounders aloud, “Why was I allowed to live when everyone around me died?”

I could never connect with that line. I suppose if you’re not affected by some similar situation, it’s hard to identify with the phrase.

Until now for me.

My father and grandfather each died at 76, so I was somewhat anxious when I hit that age but life went on in its relentless march and unlike them, my heart remained and remains sound.

But now I’m 81 and halfway to 82. Life is a fragile thing and recent events have caused me to begin asking that question over and over in my head. Why me? Why am I still here?

The recent deaths of several individuals whom I knew well has prompted me to ask that question repeatedly. They were classmates or friends who I knew from my baseball days as a young, idealistic man. The thing that seems to unfair (to them) is that they were the kind of people who took care of themselves as opposed to my carefree affection for potato chips and Cokes. One was a renowned heart surgeon; another was a former baseball player. A third was a former hospital administrator/next-door neighbor. One close friend who once was Terry Bradshaw’s favorite receiver left us far too soon. There were others – several women who were high school classmates. Two of those, were twins. Three more men with whom I played softball, are likewise gone. Alzheimer’s got some, cancer and heart disease claimed others. Sadly, there are too many to list here.

I knew them and I know they didn’t abuse their bodies. I, on the other hand, have refused to follow a proper diet my entire life. I love red meat, hate vegetables and refuse to drink sufficient amounts of water to offset my stage four kidney failure as I should.

Yet, I’m still here and while my walk, once a confident gait, has transitioned into a slower shuffle and the occasional stagger, and my back is bent in constant pain, I think my mind is as sound as my heart – that is to say, healthy. Arthritis has diminished my fingers’ ability of fast note-taking and typing, thus lessening my news reporting ability. But I’m still here and others who were more attentive to their good health are not. It doesn’t seem fair. Why me?

True, I don’t smoke and I drink only the occasional beer (like five or six over a year’s time). But I eat all the wrong foods. There was a time when I drank six to eight Coca Colas per day. That, I now know, was a horrible thing to do to my kidneys. I over-indulged in sweets. I still sneak the occasional Snickers bar or Krispy Kreme doughnut. And ice cream? I love Blue Belle vanilla and I could drink my weight in Dairy Queen milkshakes (and I still get one when Betty’s not around)

The fact remains, I have abused and neglected my body unmercifully in my 81 years. Yet, I’m still here and many of my friends who were much healthier, some younger, are not. It saddens me and gives me pause and forces me to ask again why I have been spared. The question helped me in composing this somewhat introspective – and amateurish – poem:

The Coffins that Pass me by

As I pass from middle age to the golden years,

And comprehend how time can fly,

It’s not the setting sun that brings the tears,

But the coffins that pass me by.

*

Whether friend or foe, it matters not a pip.

For one and all, life’s well does run dry;

And it’s not that I fear making that trip,

It’s those coffins that pass me by.

*

Friends and loved ones will pay their respects

As they share stories and laugh and cry;

And each one of us there quietly reflects

On the coffins that pass us by.

*

Whether loved one or stranger who goes on first,

Our own fate is to one day ride

On that dreaded journey we all have cursed

In that damned coffin that once passed us by.

John Raymond was found guilty but it’s unclear when he will ever be sentenced.

Raymond, for those who don’t know, is a preacher in St. Tammany Parish who was charged – and convicted – of cruelty to juveniles at Lakeside Christian Academy a school he founded in Slidell.

Raymond, the disciplinarian principal (well, it is his school), was accused of taping the mouths of misbehaving boys for up to 40 minutes at a time and he once held his hand over the mouth and nose of a four-year-old until the child went limp. One woman who observed the latter event thought the child had died.

At trial, staff members testified that Raymond, 62, maintained a culture of fear and intimidation at the school.  He often demeaned employees at the school, saying that “anyone off the street can be a teacher” and that no special qualifications were required. He also claimed “pastoral privileges” and that he was “spiritually ordained” in administering his particular form of discipline. He claimed that the school handbook authorized corporal punishment and that parents agreed to that provision upon enrollment of their children in the school.  But when the handbook was introduced at trial, there was no mention of the authorization of corporal punishment.

His was yet another case of social media self-victimization: He had this little habit of boasting of his disciplinary tactics in online posts.

A member in good standing of the Republican State Central Committee, he adhered to the party line in his defense, saying the case was “woke” and that he was a victim of cancel culture.

He somehow managed to drag the trial out to a six-day ordeal last August and September but it took the jury only an hour of deliberation to convict him – and part of that time was spent selecting a jury foreman.

Following his conviction, the Louisiana Republican Party, that party renowned for its pro-life (only up to the time you’re born) and pro-family façade, actually had the cojones to endorse Raymond in his bid to win a state House seat in St. Tammany. They say the political landscape in St. Tammany is something to behold. I believe that. He received only 39 percent of the vote.

But sentencing, like the inordinately lengthy trial, seems to be taking more time than it should. That may be attributed in part to his penchant to firing lawyers faster than Donald Trump. The latest clog in the judicial machinery occurred when Raymond fired yet another lawyer just before sentencing. This time it was Jane Hogan of Hammon.

That put his sentencing, scheduled for Monday of this week, on hold – again. Perhaps the state Republican Party would like to file an amicus curiae brief on behalf of Raymond. Oh wait. It seems that the State Republican Party, shocked and embarrassed at the reverend’s shenanigans, initiated procedures to remove him from his leadership position.

Of course these days it’s not just Kennedy:

Now why would they be reluctant to face their constituents?

That’s more than eight years that he has held the office of Louisiana’s junior U.S. Senator without having even once rubbed elbows with the great unwashed – us. You’d think he would make the occasional visit to places like Shreveport, Monroe, Alexandria, Lake Charles, Lafayette, Baton Rouge, New Orleans or Houma/Thibodaux to learn up close and personal what’s on the minds of Louisiana voters. After all, we are a red state, and he eems to believe that he is Donald Trump’s proxy (when actually, it’s Jeff Landry) so it would seem that he would be facing friendly crowds. Oh, come election time, we will see him on TV addressing concerned voters who, in reality, are paid actors on a tightly-controled set, ostensibly hanging onto every word the senator utters.

There are those, however, who would really love to ask him why he voted to confirm the likes of FBI Director Kash Patel or Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. But alas, he remains aloof. No one answers his office phones in Louisiana. Instead, we get a message that he’s “meeting with other constituents.” How stupid does he think we are? He’s “meeting with other consituents” if you call him at 3:00 a.m. And if you e-mail him about an issue, you will get a generic response that comes nowhere close to addressing your concerns. He is, simply put, the K-Tel records of U.S. senators – a knock-off of the original, a cheap copy.

His responses to e-mail inquiries calls to mind the old joke about the guy who, riding in a sleeper car on a train trip, encountered bed bugs and fired off an irate letter to the railroad company. A couple of weeks later he receives a response, an apology and a promise to fumigate the train car. But in opening the envelope, a note falls out. He picks it up and read the message: “Send the bed bug letter to this person.”