A Thought Or Two, And Then I’ll Leave It Be For Now

I’m kind of slowing down on posting about the Henry Granju case for a bit, not because it’s not important, but right now the family is sort of regrouping regarding their efforts and going on with daily life as best they can – which I know is hard and there’s nothing about “getting back to normal” about it – as well as Henry’s mom preparing for the new baby about to arrive, and having some minor difficulties in recent days.

That’s not to say I don’t still think there’s something horribly wrong with the way the case was handled by authorities – and I’m certainly not the only one, and not the only one with Knox County ties or in Knox County. For now, I guess pending the actual final autopsy results, anyone that’s been following the situation’s just kind of in a holding pattern. Really the only thing I have to say at this point is that I still stand by pretty much everything I’ve said thus far and, frankly, no matter what the outcome is – there’s just no getting around the fact that many, many aspects of the situation just plain really reflect poorly on KCSO’s part.

For now, I’ll leave it be with a couple of fantastic links:

• First to a really great article that uber-talented music writer Steve Wildsmith of The Maryville Daily Times wrote here (and about which Henry’s mom, Katie, posted some more about here);
• And then a link to Katie’s post with information about the memorial scholarship fund and a link to Knoxville music legend Carl Snow’s wonderful song he wrote for Henry, “In Lieu of Flowers”. Carl has set up a way people can donate $1 to the scholarship fund by downloading the song, which is absolutely beautiful.

Steve and Carl are both really good guys who hang out at one of the same Knoxville-related online spots I hang out in a bunch, and I found both of these gestures just very touching, kind, and thoughtful. Steve’s article is a really good read, as is Carl’s song a good listen. Have a box of Kleenex handy.

For now, thoughts and prayers continue for the Granju-Hickman clan. It’s hard enough dealing with the loss of family – much less one’s child – and I know their struggles with how the case has been/is being handled are far from over. They are such good people and they, and Henry, deserve no less than to see justice prevail somehow, some way. The biggest crime of all is that those who so savagely assaulted that young man are still out on the streets and in public, somewhere, nearly two months after the attack – and that fact right there should be more than enough to give any citizen pause to question why that’s so.

Next Things Next: The Truth Is Out There – But While We’re Waiting, Make Sure That If You’re Going To Get Yourself Killed Or Maimed In Knox County, They Have A Weapon In Their Hand First

Today, 18-year-old Henry Granju’s life was celebrated by his family and friends and all who loved him throughout his life, as well as many more who cared a great deal about him – some that knew him, some that didn’t. And then he was laid to rest by those same people, which is something no mother or father of an 18-year-old young man should have to do except in nightmares – the ones you have while you sleep as well as the ones that sometimes, unfortunately and horrifically, happen that you can’t wake yourself up from because they’re real.

I didn’t really realize until late in the morning, while sitting here today reading and writing and thinking about Henry and his family and the then-upcoming service, what day it was. Today’s one of those several days throughout the year that have a special meaning for me.

I lost three very special people to me when I was still a teenager (or just barely not one). Three boys my age, all gone from this world before any of the three turned 21 years old. Two at seventeen, one of which took his own life and is much missed by so many. Another killed in a horrible accident when we were 20 years old – my dearest, dearest, very best and closest friend in my lifetime, and the one who really pretty much was my real “high school sweetheart”, as opposed to the one I very narrowly missed winding up married to.

And then there was the other one, who was killed in a terrible car accident when we were seventeen, during the same summer that the other 17 year old took his own life. He was the first of the three that died, and he and I were also very close.

He was also a very, very troubled teenager. There wasn’t an addiction – at least not yet at that point, or not that I was ever aware of – but I’d heard things. And besides that, he just had a lot of teenage problem type stuff going on at the time – some very extraordinarily so, really.

We had been separated for almost two years at the time he died because my family and I had moved to another town, and most of what I was hearing was being filtered back to me through others. But the troubled time and problems started long before I ever moved – a lot of them, to this day, I’m probably still the only other person alive who knows what some of those troubles were.

Things that I heard about later were disturbing enough that, at one point, I’d written several letters begging him to just come on up to where I was now living, telling him he could live at our house and finish school up there with me – all this without having consulted my parents, but I just figured we’d deal with that when and if he ever arrived.

My letters went unanswered, phone calls were never returned. I only saw him twice more before he died – once only for a moment, across a crowded gymnasium at a high school graduation; and shortly afterward, the other time, and only for a second. I thought I had dreamed it, because I was asleep. I hit the ground running to the driveway, just in time to see the vehicle with that other’s county’s plates swing out and take off up the street.

A handful of weeks later, he was gone forever.

Should I have told someone, an adult, all I knew? Probably. Would it have made a difference? Probably not. He had already made the choice not to accept help when he could have. The accident that took his life truly was just that – an unfortunate accident. But if it hadn’t been that accident and that night, there would have been another one – or something far worse than just a tragic teenage car accident.

Today, he would have been 44 years old, like me. But he, nor the other two, will ever be middle-aged like me, or old like I will (hopefully) be someday. They’ll always be seventeen, always be twenty.

Is that why I have been so wrapped up and vocal in my support of Henry and his family? Because I couldn’t save my own dear friends as a teenager that needed help, and lost another soon after? No, not really. Certainly their loss has affected my life and how I live it irretrievably, but this now is not because of that and them. Nor is it because of the “there but for the grace of God” aspect for me and PC, and the fact that my significant other was once a teenager very much like Henry, and very much struggling with the same demons of addiction.

And of course, yes, certainly it has something to do with that I know this family – without having had the opportunity of meeting any of them in person to date, yes. His mother and stepfather have been active in sort of the same circles online as me for many years now, but we also share many of the same friends and acquaintances both online and off – many of whom I’ve had to watch struggle with their sorrow these past several weeks, as well as that of Katie and her family. I’ve literally watched the Granju kids grow up in photographs and anecdotes for ten years now, both publicly on Katie’s blog and her writing, as well as slightly more private “among friends” type settings.

But my sorrow and – yes – anger and outrage now is not just because of that, either. It’s because what’s been happening in Knoxville this past almost six weeks – and especially right now – is terribly wrong.

I don’t really know what to say about the appalling statements that came out of the Knox County Sheriff’s Office last night. Much as I said earlier today, most of this appears to be a poor attempt at spin on what I’m sure has been somewhat of a PR nightmare for KCSO this week – but it was a horrifically boneheaded move in execution, timing, and content, and one they may very well not be able to recover from.The effects are likely to be a lot more far-reaching than anyone down there predicted, and it might be time to step back and cut their losses on this one.

Once again, Aunt B. has already outlined a lot of what was on my mind this morning about it all. And better, and with less of my rather habitual and usual rambling.

Here’s the thing – when you do something stupid, it’s usually best to just step back and admit you did something dumb, apologize, and move on and get back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing.

But NOW – as if there wasn’t already plenty enough stuff messed up and wrong here – they’ve added yet ANOTHER factor to the mix of messed up stuff about this entire situation.

Now, everybody’s been made aware that if you’re in Knox County, and someone beats you nearly/almost to death with their hands and fists instead of a weapon – not only even if you die, but especially if you die – KCSO’s not going to do a thing about it unless they saw it happen. And if there’s no “weapon” but hands and fists – it’s only a misdemeanor.

The tire iron, as declared now by the KCSO to be fictional, not withstanding – this is what they said:

Because no weapon was used in the assault on Granju, the attack would be a misdemeanor offense. With Granju’s death, any chance of prosecuting the two assailants has passed.

“The only way we can charge in this kind of misdemeanor is if it’s witnessed by us or occurs in our presence,” Jones said.

Huh????

So, okay, let me get this straight. If I’m in Knox County visiting family, and someone – whoever - decides to beat me with their fists, and I wind up in the hospital for over a month with a skull fracture, a broken jaw, and a closed head injury, and am going to be significantly disabled probably for the rest of my life – and then to top it off, I die about five weeks after I’m admitted to the hospital -

Nobody’s going to do anything about it? Because that’s pretty much what that statement above says.

I don’t know about you, but I’m a 5’2″ female and I don’t weigh very much, and I’m not terribly strong. Someone would probably have a bit of a tough time doing any significant damage to my significant other without a tire iron or other weapon because he’s an athletic type who works out all the time and in excellent shape for a dude in his forties. But me? I can’t even get anywhere arm wrestling him, I have like ZERO upper body strength. Most men – and women, for that matter – could wrap their fists around my wrists two or three times over and still maybe have room left over for more.

Somebody could kill me easy without a weapon – absolutely no doubt whatsoever. But it really doesn’t matter whether you’re a pathetically weak little shrimp like me, athletic and strong like my other half, male or female, 100 pounds or 300. There’s people out there that could kill or severely injure anyone, no matter their circumstances, without aid of a weapon.

What they said was that if someone kills you or me, or almost does, and there’s no weapon involved, and it doesn’t happen in front of them or in their presence – they won’t do anything about it.

Makes you feel really safe now, right?

Is it that way all over the state of Tennessee? Is it a flaw in Tennessee law? I don’t know. Possibly. It shouldn’t be that way anywhere. That much is clear.

But in any case, Knox County law enforcement’s now made it abundantly clear, in print, that’s the way it is up there and they won’t do anything about it.

No weapon? Aw, too bad. Sorry about your kid’s broken skull and closed head injury. Sorry your kid died, but there’s no weapon, so you’re out of luck.

Whether that “fictional” tire iron (or any other weapon, for that matter) turns out to actually exist in the end of the full and complete investigation or not – one horrible truth has already come out, and that’s the apparent fact that nobody in Knox County is going to be held responsible for your death or severe injury if there’s no weapon involved and it doesn’t happen in the presence of KCSO law enforcement.

I have a pretty good idea of what Henry’s parents are feeling about all that, because I know how I would feel if my significant other and I were being told the same about his parents, his brother and sister-in-law, his grandmother – all of whom live in Knox County. Except as horrific and bad as that would be – I can only imagine the pain of losing an 18-year-old and beloved son must feel about a million times even worse.

KCSO all but called Katie a liar last night in that statement. In their version of the story, no tire iron or any other weapon exists, among other information as set forth by Katie and the family that last night’s statement has refuted.

Even if it someday proves to be correct that there was no weapon – that still doesn’t make any of this all right. Not by a long shot.

KCSO’s latest actions are, at best, appalling and unprofessional – and appear to be rather spiteful, from much of the public view. That’s disappointing to see from any public service agency – anyone, anywhere, anytime.

The preliminary autopsy results were just that – preliminary. There’s still forensic investigation left to be done, and many folks are of the opinion that some of the statements released last night regarding the preliminary autopsy results were both premature and unwise. Many (including, obviously, me) suspect that someone’s going to have to eat their words, so to speak, at some point in the future.

The Knox County Medical Examiner’s office has been afforded a great deal of respect by the public – especially in recent years over the Christian-Newsom case. While the preliminary autopsy results in Henry’s case were disappointing and baffling, there are many out there who still have some faith that Knox County’s highly skilled ME will find the truth – the real truth – before it’s all over with.

Katie Allison Granju has her son’s medical records, which she has stated publicly clearly state – in regard to Henry’s condition – terms such as skull fracture, broken jaw, closed head injury, and other severe injuries. And Knoxville has a host of highly trained and skilled physicians who, no doubt, can identify such injuries when they see them.

As for the, now as per KCSO, “fictional” tire iron/weapon? Who knows.

And in any decent society, who cares whether it’s a tire iron, a 1000-lb. grand piano, a baseball bat, or a hand and fist?

There’s something terribly wrong with this investigation. Even the naysayers out there who generally come out of the woodwork rushing to defend Knoxville and Knox County law enforcement every time anyone questions anything at all about anything have said as much. There have been several comments in various places stating that it appears someone’s lying, or that it looks like something’s being covered up.

What do I think?

I think there’s more truth out there somewhere, and hopefully it will all come out someday. And probably when it does, whatever comes of it won’t likely be favorable at all towards the current administration of the Knox County Sheriff’s Office.

Whether or not the current administration of the KCSO can bounce back and survive after the unfortunate errors in judgment and boneheaded moves that have been made this week – I guess that will remain to be seen.

Some folks who didn’t know anything about Katie, Henry, or the case until it hit the news this week are projecting that the medical records won’t be released; that the family will ask for privacy; and that this will all just go away. Maybe Friday night, KCSO hoped it would all mostly go away and out from under the microscope too.

Those folks don’t know Katie very well. And – I’m going to make a guess here – might have gravely misjudged, underestimated and failed to predict just who all might be fully in support of seeing that this family, and Henry Granju himself, get the justice they deserve in this case.

That’s just a guess. A not entirely uneducated one, no – but a guess all the same.

I just hope that the family, many friends and loved ones, and everyone else who loved and cared about Henry Granju were able to not let the ill-timed and absolutely appalling latest developments in the case cloud their celebration of Henry’s life earlier this afternoon. Many there were friends and acquaintances of mine as well, but everyone there, whether I knew them or not – virtually all of them were in my thoughts today, and still are. Henry’s loss has been an incredible loss to so many, and it’s been heart-wrenching to watch the suffering of so many, both those I know and those I don’t.

I hope everyone was able to get past the unnecessarily negative new turn of events today to find a little peace. By all accounts I’ve heard thus far, they did, and it was a lovely service and gathering after – despite KCSO’s horrible timing this weekend.

When it comes down to it, though – it’s just that it was a memorial service that should have never had to be arranged and carried out in the first place.

And especially not with thugs still out there on the streets of Knox County – somewhere out there – probably looking for the next person they can carry out such brutal and savage acts of violence on. Especially now that everyone knows that as long as you do it where law enforcement can’t see you, and you don’t use a weapon – you can get away with it.

After all, that’s the message the Knox County Sheriff’s Office put out today. They said so, right here.

And of all the many and varied points of information in that article last night, that’s precisely the one people are probably going to remember the most – and for a long time to come.

First Things First: Down Here In Tennessee, We Call That Shameful

So, right around the time I was reading the rather absolutely appalling latest from the Knox County Sheriff’s Office via the Knoxville News Sentinel online in the middle of the night last night, so was Katie Allison Granju reading it somewhere online on her computer.

Seriously – who’s in charge of protocol, PR, and spin control at KCSO? If it’s ultimately all up to the Sheriff himself, surely they also have some legal eagle on that payroll that says things like “Maybe you should wait ’til…” or “I would advise holding off on that until…” and whatnot. Or if not an attorney, I would guess that they probably have (as most such state and county and metro agencies do), some PR person for whom one of their primary roles in their job description is advising “yes, this is a good idea” and “uh, this is not a good idea”.

Maybe they should hire me – someone with ZERO experience other than several years of voluntarily unpaid stuff that’s been mostly me helping out musician friends – because even I, in my complete and utter ignorance about law enforcement public relations, would have had at least a shred of good sense not to:

1. Release a new public statement on their most recent findings and autopsy results to the press before notifying the listed next of kin or a family member of the deceased of the results;
2. Release said statement late on Friday night (the time stamp on the KNS article was midnight EST) when they know good and well the family is laying their son to rest on Saturday.

The first – if not a legal issue and an outright violation of something – it’s overwhelmingly a questionable move, and most definitely highly unprofessional no matter how you look at it. KCSO has obviously taken the offensive regarding this case, but that shouldn’t just give them carte blanche to ignore what is obvious to anyone with a working brain the more appropriate thing to do in such a case (and, I suspect, is probably in their protocol and someone just chose to ignore it or find some excuse not to follow it because they were pissed off).

The second is just plain a matter of class and decency. Since it was at or almost freakin’ midnight on a weekend (Friday night) when that statement was released to the press – it could have waited until Monday. Or at least Sunday, or – at the very least – late Saturday afternoon or evening, and AFTER Henry Granju’s memorial service, to release those results to the press, especially since obviously no one was going to notify Henry’s mother or father of the results first before making them public. No class – no class at all, and most well-mannered human beings with any class and decency would agree.

KCSO may well have been within their rights to do both – releasing the statement publicly without talking to the parents first, and releasing it however and whenever they wanted to. Does that make it right? Heck, no, not in any decent society.

Which I’d like to think, simply by virtue of being down here in the South, we tend to at least handle some stuff with a little more care, sense and common decency than some other places maybe do sometimes. It shouldn’t be that way, no – everybody everywhere should have common decency – but still, we in the South do tend to do a little better than some at treating “acting decent” as sort of an unwritten law that pretty much just everybody knows. (Though obviously not everywhere in Knox County, huh…)

And whether or not it was within their rights to do both, it doesn’t change the fact that their actions still appear questionable on a moral and ethical level (at the very least) and completely without class, and are going to appear to anyone with (A) sense and (B) any interest in this case in support of the family (and probably some who weren’t, or didn’t really care either way before) to have been exacted the way it was on purpose, and out of offense at perhaps feeling “under fire” right now.

It’s simple, really. Very, very few people are going to look at the news of the preliminary autopsy results this morning, when they open up their paper or turn on the morning news, and NOT think:  You know, that could have waited until Henry was laid to rest today. People that knew him or his family, people that don’t, and pretty much everyone else with any sense of common decency.

Even those who really aren’t and haven’t been interested at all in the case and don’t/haven’t care either way -  it’s not going to go unnoticed to a lot of them either. Totally besides the people that were already mad and upset about all this stuff with Henry’s case yesterday – there’s going to be heads shaking and “tut-tut”-ing all over East Tennessee (and elsewhere) who couldn’t have cared one way or the other all that much yesterday. Guarantee it.

Then there will be those who learn that the latest results were released to the media without notifying either parent first, and that Henry’s parents found out the latest results just like the rest of us did – and pretty much most every one of those people is going to think, well, THAT was a shoddy (I’m trying hard not to curse here) thing to do.

Especially to a mother and father who are laying their dead child to rest today.

Come on. PR/Spin Control/WhoeverPerson (or the Sheriff, if it was ultimately up to the Sheriff) should have known all that. It ain’t rocket surgery (borrowing a favorite phrase from a favorite friend) to figure that one out. It wasn’t a matter of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t, damned whatever you do” with this particular piece of the whole shebang.

It’s just plain common decency, class, good morals and ethics. That’s all. Nothing more than that. Well, and professionalism too, yes.

Yeah, a lot of people were going to be upset and angry and outraged about that press statement anyway, no matter when nor how it was released. No doubt. It probably wasn’t going to calm too many people down too much.

But releasing that statement to the press before notifying the parents, and releasing it mere hours before Henry’s memorial service – on a weekend, late on a Friday night, no less – instead of waiting until Monday? Or at least Saturday afternoon or evening after the young man was laid to rest?

I grew up with an absolutely darling young lady who was plenty book smart, but just had absolutely no common sense whatsoever. Some people are just like that.

And some folks, bless their hearts – we all know the odd person or two or three who just wouldn’t know the difference between class and no class even if they had to spend twelve years studying that and only that. Even people who act without class at times usually really do know the difference. But still, there’s some out there that really and truly just don’t know any better.

Perhaps that’s the case here – that someone just doesn’t know any better and wouldn’t know class if it bashed them in the head and gave them a skull fracture and a closed head injury. If so, what do you do about that, other than hope one has advisors around that can discourage such a massive faux pas before it gets out, which obviously isn’t the case here.

But whatever the case may be with how and why things went down as they did, the problem NOW is this – the majority of folks out there are going to look at what’s happened overnight and see that press statement as either a deliberate, offensive move on the part of the issuer, or a move made totally without class, ethics, or decency. Most people will see it as both.

Whether it was truly deliberate or not is beside the point. And it’s too late to take it back – and really, any more spin or damage control on that’s just gonna make it worse. This kinda thing is just one of those things you really can’t fix – not in the public eye – other than maybe apologizing and moving on from there.

And even if those responsible just really and truly didn’t know any better – I can’t imagine that someone that DID know better didn’t advise them against it, and advise them to wait.

You have a county agency up there that has been under fire for a good while now for things completely unrelated to this particular case, and even more under the microscope this past week because of this case – and somebody makes a boneheaded move like that last night?

If the good people of Knox County decide they’ve finally had enough – and a whole lot more of them are going to be outraged this morning when they weren’t at all yesterday, and the rest are gonna be a lot more outraged than they were yesterday – those responsible for issuing that horribly ill-timed and poorly handled statement to the press aren’t going to have anyone to blame but themselves. Period.

It really just all boils down to one word, which is the one my Grandmama probably would have been shaking her head this morning and saying, were she still alive and reading that press statement hours before that young man is being laid to rest – “Shameful.”

My grandmother would have said it, my great-grandmother would have said it. Your grandmother would have said it too probably, or something like it.

Point being – so, probably, would have their grandmothers and great-grandmothers too.

In Which I Ask, “How Is Beating Someone With A Tire Iron Not A Criminal and Arrest-Worthy Act?” – More on the Henry Granju Case

So I woke up today to find this flood of online stuff just everywhere – so much I couldn’t really keep up with it fast enough, and I haven’t even made my way over to Facebook today yet – mostly stuff resulting from the KCSO’s most recent announcement regarding their stance on the investigation of teenager Henry Granju’s death and the preliminary autopsy results, which set off  another firestorm pretty much around the globe, and rightfully so.

Also this morning, which I didn’t read until after I woke up today, Henry’s mama – who has tried extremely hard throughout this entire ordeal to be as patient, polite and respectful towards law enforcement as possible – expressed her disappointment with KCSO’s most recent statement on the case:

I am disappointed that… the Knox County Sheriff’s Office chose to release a statement in response to media coverage of Henry’s death in which they stated that the “preliminary investigation shows no evidence of homicide as a result of an assault.”

As a mother who has lost a child, it is certainly tempting to get into a point by point refutation of KCSO’s statement; I won’t do this however, because I do not wish to sully or interfere with their ongoing investigation. Suffice it to say, however, that the “preliminary investigation” to which they refer has been extremely disappointing at this point despite my own active efforts in following leads, talking extensively with witnesses, and BEGGING authorities to follow leads I’ve provided. Let me also say that as I sit here next to my dead son’s medical records that refer to “assault,” “skull fracture,” closed head injury,” etc it’s hard for me to understand reasoning that assumes at this point that the assault he DID experience in the 24 hours preceding his ER admission has no relevance to their investigation.

I have been trying pretty hard as well, though not always wholly succeeding, to hold my temper in deference to the family – especially in dealing with the species of troll that is an entire species unto itself and tends to feed mainly off newspaper and TV station websites. Trolls are trolls and always have been, but that particular breed of troll is always astounding in their sheer fortitude and need to expound on every single thing and towards everybody no matter what the subject, and almost always negatively or insulting. It’s absolutely amazing sometimes what people will say from behind the protection of their anonymous usernames and their keyboard. (I can assure you there is nothing on this blog nor anything I’ve ever written anywhere else on the Internet that I have any qualms about saying to whoever’s face, and nickname aside, I’m pretty non-anonymous after 15+ years of relatively high-profile activity in online music sects as well as elsewhere.)

In any case, yeah, all that happened today, and frankly – and especially since Katie publicly expressed her disappointment with KCSO’s statement – I’m not going to bother trying much to hold my tongue in check about it anymore.

People (mostly trolls) are coming to Katie’s blog and asking does everybody expect law enforcement to just “drop everything” to investigate this?

Drop everything? How does waiting almost five weeks to make any major moves on this investigation constitute “dropping everything”?

Can someone explain to me how five weeks (going now on six weeks) constitutes expectations of “dropping everything” or asking for “immediate answers”?

And the only other thing I really have to say today is pretty much what I said this morning before I went to sleep, in a discussion in response to a mutual friend’s similar statement.

Granted, I’m no expert. But I don’t get where you get to just walk around free for over a month when you beat someone nearly to death with a tire iron – AND there are witnesses.

Henry’s drug overdose is totally a moot point. How is that tire iron beating NOT a criminal act?

How in the world is beating someone brutally and violently and nearly to death, and to the point where it causes a jaw fracture, a skull fracture, a closed head injury and other damage NOT a criminal act? And how is it not reason enough to pick someone(s) up off the street, when you already have their names?

The fact that Henry eventually did die notwithstanding – I am really, really having trouble wrapping my brain around why his three assailants weren’t picked up WEEKS ago and charged with attempted murder, assault, WHATEVER. At the very least. Something.

They’ve had their names for weeks. They’ve had witnesses’ names for weeks. The people who beat Henry with a tire iron are still walking around. Why is what they did not criminal enough to pick them up on reason of beating someone with a tire iron alone?

For that matter, it’s been going on six weeks since the assault. They could be in Timbuktu by now, this much later.

I’ve seen people picked up and hauled in for far, far lesser offenses – if not almost immediately, within days - and I just don’t understand.

If there were NO witnesses it might be a little different.

But this makes no sense to me. Henry’s drug overdose is totally beside the point. Violent criminal activity took place and there were witnesses, yet these people are still walking around going on five, almost six weeks later. And weeks after their names, and the names of witnesses, were given to KCSO.

By the family, no less. Perhaps KCSO needs to budget some of their 2010 salary budget to pay Henry’s family for doing an important part of the investigation for them.

Bottom line – a kid was beaten savagely with a tire iron.

The fact that he also overdosed on drugs is a moot point.

How is that savage beating NOT a criminal act?

And how is it not worthy of arresting someone(s) for committing it – whether someone’s dead or not?

All along, the family has been unbelievably patient. They never expected “immediate” answers or for KCSO to “drop everything” to investigate.

But five weeks later – going on six weeks – that is NOT “immediate”. Nor is it “dropping everything”.

Whatever the autopsy results show – and even if the medical examiner declares Henry’s death is not a result of the beating – as long as those people walk free for that brutal, savage and violent beating – the world is being told that it’s okay to come to Knox County and beat someone bloody until they’re nearly dead.

The young man’s drug overdose is beside the point here.

Until and unless someone(s) is/are held responsible and accountable for this beating, it must be okay to beat someone with a tire iron in Knox County. Or hey, if you do it – you’ll have several weeks to get away somewhere else, and therefore maybe get away with it.

That is the point. And it’s sickening.

I never really worried too much about my family, future in-laws, in Knoxville’s overall safety much, to be honest. Having lived down here in Crime Central as long as I have, Nashville and especially Knoxville always have seemed so much better in this regard. But this situation really, really gives me pause to be a whole lot more concerned about my people up there than I ever have. My family, my people, my many friends who are Knoxville and Knox County residents and tax-paying citizens.

In any case, that’s all I’ve got for right now. My head feels like it’s going to explode from all this stuff.

I just do NOT understand how and why that beating with a tire iron is not a criminal act.

Or not criminal act enough for someone to actually DO something about it.

I just don’t understand.

Aunt B. says some of my same and similar thoughts today much more eloquently than I ever do right here.

The inimitable Les Jones blogged about Henry’s case today here.

Michael Silence of the Knoxville News-Sentinel and Katie’s associate Shane Ryne have compiled fine lists of all the other blogs writing about Henry’s story and his case here. At last count I saw, Shane had compiled the list from 87 blogs, many with multiple entries.

Michael Silence also announced today that he will be writing about the avalanche and outpouring of support worldwide in blogs and social media networks regarding Henry’s story in his Sunday column for the KNS.

On another note, I know I mentioned the other day that I thought it was pretty downright not smart of KCSO sitting on this case for over a month as they did when they had a distraught mother on their hands who was not only well-known in Knoxville media overall, but a former employee/online producer (and not all that long ago for either) of the Knoxville News Sentinel and TV news station WBIR. I failed to mention at the time that Henry’s father is the director of a Knox County agency.

To their credit and as far as I’m aware, I don’t think either of them tried to use any of that to any advantage, and they have certainly been more patient with law enforcement through this ordeal than I probably would have been. But I do know a little bit about how violent crime investigations go and that information about the “alleged victim’s” (yes, I’m using that term loosely) parentage should have been turned up in any decent preliminary investigation almost right from the start – as well as the fact that it’s just plain common sense that someone down at KCSO most likely knew that info anyway, or someone who did know would likely have made someone aware of such a thing at some point. Come on, Knoxville is NOT that big of a town.

I guess that just goes to show you that obviously no preferential treatment is afforded anyone no matter who they are – nor am I saying there should be. But it does seem pretty ridiculous when you look at it (an acquaintance was not quite as kind, calling it “downright stupid”). If I’m Knox County law enforcement and I have a kid beaten nearly to death on my hands in the hospital with a severe head injury, and I find out not only is the kid’s mother a former KNS employee and WBIR producer, but that the kid’s dad is director of a county agency? Uh, yeah, I think I’m not going to be too lazy with that case, if it were me.

I’m sorry. I have dear, dear friends – especially two who are like little brothers to me, even though they are far from little anymore – who are police officers. I worked down at the record store many years ago with one of the finest Memphis PD officers I have ever known, who worked down there to make some part-time money. I know of other law enforcement officials who have been kind to people I know when their colleagues weren’t. I am not anti-law enforcement.

But much as Aunt B. said – things have become very strange in the case of Henry Granju. Something is obviously terribly wrong.

If I go beat somebody nearly to death with a tire iron tomorrow, and someone sees me do it and knows my name? I don’t expect to have more than a day or two – if even a whole day – to be free and out walking on the streets.

That makes sense.

What’s happened with Henry’s case doesn’t. Not at all.

I can’t do much. I am very sad that I can’t get to Knoxville for the memorial service on Saturday, but I’ll be there in spirit.

I can’t be there for hands-on support and can’t help cook meals and carry the other Granju and Hickman kids around to where they need to go, and get pianos tuned and arrange for musicians for Saturday, and all the other absolutely wonderful things so many others I know have been doing all along throughout this ordeal and doing now this week. All of these people are just absolute angels.

I can’t donate much money in Henry’s memory for the memorial scholarship fund, but I’ve sent what I could. And probably will continue to for a long time to come, and send much more when I am able to. I frankly cannot think of a more appropriate fund for PC and I to set aside any philanthropic funds we are able to for, for the rest of our lives – and the fact that it is in honor and in memory of Henry, even better. “There but for the grace of God” for us and all that, as PC was Henry at that age – we were just fortunate that he lived through it, and that his parents were able to afford treatment – which is what the Henry Louis Granju Memorial Scholarship Fund is for, for families that can’t afford to put their teenagers through drug and alcohol treatment. We also have another family member who’s been through the same terrible struggles. For us personally, it’s an entirely appropriate charity and we will support it indefinitely.

So I can’t do much. But I can blog, and use various other social media to keep Henry’s story out there, so hopefully other families won’t have to suffer this same tragedy. And to keep it out there until this case is fully, thoroughly, and finally brought to justice.

So that’s what I’ll do, because it’s all I can do.

It’s been five weeks. Going on six weeks. No one’s ever asked for anything “immediately” or to “drop everything”.

And even if they had, “immediately” and “now” has long since passed, these five – almost six – weeks later.

When the people responsible for savagely beating this young man with a tire iron until he was nearly dead – and who now has died – are off the streets, then maybe I’ll really sleep again instead of waking up every five or ten minutes.

How that brutal and violent beating was not a criminal act worthy of hauling someone’s butt into jail – as soon as their names and the names of witnesses were known – is something I am just not ever going to understand.

First, The Good Part

Somewhere in my WP drafts getting dusty and still unfinished, I have several posts – including the long-delayed Alex Chilton related one, one about the flooded and destroyed Opryland Hotel and the realization  (something I’ve known for a few years now, but haven’t written about) that I’ve been wrong all along about who my REAL “high school sweetheart” was, and a few other odds and ends and mostly goofy stuff.

But all that’s on hold right now because, honestly, I’m just too frustrated and aggravated – and yes, a little bit angry – over all that has transpired over the last couple of days in the wake of Henry’s death. And, naturally, so terribly sad and heartbroken for Henry, his family, all of their friends – many of whom are also my friends and acquaintances and people I’ve known for many years, whether just online or off. It is absolutely killing me and breaking my heart to see folks I’ve known for years, who’ve known the Granju-Hickman clan for years, preparing to go to his memorial service on Saturday. Or people like Henry’s former guitar teacher – who doesn’t know it, but he’s an old pal of my significant other – just now today finding out that Henry had passed, and horrified. It’s all been so heartbreaking to watch.

And I’ve seen a lot of angelic, wonderfully kind and generous and thoughtful acts among that same group of folks too, some that have just taken my breath away at how sweet and thoughtful they have been through this ordeal. This particular tribe of Knoxvillians and Knoxville-related folks, most of whom have been yakking with each other much of the last decade – we’re kind of like a dysfunctional family and there’s plenty of infighting just like most slightly dysfunctional families. But when someone’s been wronged or hurt, or something terrible has happened – man, to see the whole bunch come together as they have is just something amazing and life-affirming.

Watching “the blogosphere” come together as they have in such loud and vocal support of Katie and her family – and not just the Nashville-Knoxville-TN-etc blogosphere this time, but literally ALL over not only the country but the entire planet – again, amazing and life-affirming.

I just wanted to say that before I went on to the next subject on my mind, because my next thoughts related to this situation aren’t too terribly pretty and I didn’t want to spoil this with those. Out of something so horrible and so tragic, good things have sprung like that, and like the memorial scholarship fund Henry’s family has set up. Everything is awful right now, but out of such awfulness springs such kindness and hope that it’s just breathtaking.

In Lieu of Flowers for Henry

There’s probably not too very many that come by here these days who aren’t already fully aware of this situation, so feel free to skip the rest of this post if you’re a Nashville/etc/TN blogger or a KnoxBlabber. I’ve just been feeling somewhat frustrated and helpless for the past month, and especially now, that I couldn’t do more to help regarding this situation. There’s folks I know in Knoxville that have been up there busting their butts and hands-on helping – whether with food, helping get kids where they need to go, other stuff – and I wished several times the past month I hadn’t been on the complete other side of the state still, and could have maybe done at least something to help.

But now there’s something I can do, which is help spread the word about the scholarship fund being established in Henry Granju’s memory, and help spread Henry’s story so maybe it will help others not have to go through the horrors this family has gone through in the past five weeks or so.

Those of you who are parents (or even if you’re not) who aren’t already aware of this heartbreaking story… I’d like to introduce you to Knoxville blogger Katie Allison Granju & her wonderful son, Henry. I’ve watched Henry & his siblings grow up in photos & stories for about the last ten years in Knoxville-based forums that their mom and stepdad have been active in, as well as Katie’s blog. Their folks and I share several mutual friends in Knoxville; their stepfather (and father of the youngest sibling and one that’s due to be born in about a month), Jon, has been my “go-to” guy about various techy and WordPress questions on several occasions; and this family’s just plain good people.

So if you’re not already aware and haven’t been there before, I encourage you to visit Katie’s blog, and read a little. Or read a lot. If you go back to posts at the end of April and read forward, you’ll pretty much read Henry’s story in its entirety.

If Henry’s story saves even just one family & their child from a similar tragedy, that’s a blessing in the face of this terrible thing, and I encourage anyone to share it with others… especially your kids, if you have kids. If you read and think “Not MY kid”… I guarantee you his parents never thought something like this could happen to their kid, either. If you haven’t had “that talk” with your kids yet (or heck, even if you have), they’re probably really never too young or too old these days.

If you feel compelled to do more, the scholarship fund info is in the memorial service announcement in the June 1st entry on Katie’s blog.

I’m a pretty seasoned veteran when it comes to having witnessed firsthand how lives can be destroyed by stuff like this, but this has just been so terribly heartbreaking to watch happen, even for me. It’s just ripped my heart out these last several weeks and especially this weekend, when the worst news there could have been came. I don’t think I’ve ever been as shocked in my life as I was when the Facebook alert popped up with the news early Monday evening. The medical person that spent 25 years in healthcare knew this could happen… but I just never really once thought he wasn’t going to walk out of that hospital and go home, someday. Even when the long-term prognosis was looking pretty grim in itself, I just never thought at all it would turn for the worse like it did. Not when he’d made it as far as he had.

I’ve probably seen thousands of pictures of all of Katie’s kids in the past nine or ten years, and read millions of various anecdotes about them since 2000 or 2001 or whenever I first landed on the old forum the Knoxville weekly used to have. I’ve never met them – and now, sadly, will never meet Henry.

But I know one thing for sure about Henry – he was extremely, extremely well loved by virtually everyone ever that knew him. I bet I have heard and read a million times in the past decade what a sweet child, sweet boy, sweet young man he was, from hundreds of different people. And I know he fought so very hard to survive this horrific nightmare.

I’ve been so sad and heartbroken for Katie & Jon and their whole family, but my heart aches a bunch right now for the many friends of theirs up there in Knoxville that are in so much pain right now too, the ones that have been up there helping out and so many more, several of whom I’m acquainted with through the forums or elsewhere. I’ve seen people kicking themselves, right after Henry was hospitalized, who’d just seen him shortly before then and wished they’d talked to him about their own past problems, thinking maybe they could have made a difference. Things that have just been so very much even more heartbreaking. This has been such a terrible loss for so many.

I guess I would be remiss in not commenting on the fact that I’m pretty angry too, as the Knox County Sheriff’s Office basically sat on this investigation for over a month and only now – with Henry’s death, and a short article about the investigation hitting the local newspaper last night – does it seem to have suddenly have a fire lit under it. Katie wrote several days ago about having called to find out what was going on with the case, and basically being told nothing much had been done and there wasn’t a victim if Henry couldn’t be interviewed (which he couldn’t, due to his severe head injury).

Not only that, but the family had already provided them with names of witnesses AND the names of the assailants. And STILL they’d been more or less sitting on the case for over a month.

Pretty deplorable – and to me, not terribly smart, considering that the mother of the “non-victim” is not only well-known in Knoxville media, but a former employee of both the local daily newspaper AND one of the larger TV news stations. I can’t imagine that someone down there didn’t know that – or at least not been made aware of it by someone that did know. And I don’t think Katie ever tried to play that card – as far as I can tell, she didn’t want to bother them and hadn’t called KCSO until the recent call, when she was just incredulous to learn nothing much had been done.

But the whole “no victim because they can’t be interviewed” thing is definitely a significant misstep. (I’d have liked to have seen someone try to tell Gary Christian that his daughter wasn’t a victim, since she couldn’t be interviewed…? Come on.)

Anyway, whatever the case – whether you just read over at Katie’s place, whether you share Henry’s story with others and/or your kids, whether you decide you wanna do more, or even if you just hold on to some good thoughts for them all or say a prayer – thanks for keeping all these good folks in any thoughts & prayers (if you pray) that you have to spare. They could really use them right now.

(And if by chance Katie’s blog is down again – I think after the blog got linked by the New York Times reporter that wrote in May about Katie going public with Henry’s situation posted an update yesterday and after Heather (Dooce) Armstrong posted the link on Twitter, as well as some other links going everywhere on Tuesday, the bandwidth limit got overshot by a long shot and the site was suspended most of Tuesday, but the issues seem to have been resolved now – but anyway, in case it’s down again, here’s the memorial fund info from Katie’s blog, please feel free to pass it on):

Our family is starting what we hope will become a permanent, endowed fund that will provide scholarships for families who cannot afford to pay for needed drug and alcohol treatment programs for their children. In lieu of flowers, we ask that you remember our boy and his struggles by considering a donation to:

The Henry Louis Granju Memorial Scholarship Fund
c/o Administrator: James Anderson
Morgan Stanley Smith Barney
2000 Meridian Blvd.
Suite 290
Franklin, TN 37067

River Deep, Mountain High

While catching up on all the commentary and tons of great photos following the Nashville blogging community’s Holiday Blogger Meat-Up at the Mothership last weekend, it quickly became obvious to this reader that one young man had definitely made a big impression on the ladies. So much so, in fact, that his mom was later seen apologizing him getting, shall we say, a little handy in the boob department with some of those smitten females, heh. He really is one of the most adorable little round headed babies ever.

Anyhow, all that hangin’ out with precious little babies stirred up a little motherly instinct and baby lust in some who attended, discussed earlier this week (I’ll not repeat where since she was having second thoughts about posting such stuff as it was :) – which I should probably be having second thoughts about right about now myself). But I can’t really say that I didn’t get a little of that myself just looking at pictures of all the cuteness. Babies and children are adorable, no doubt.

And in recent weeks elsewhere at another spot I hang out a lot, there had been some questions posed about one’s reasons to have kids or not, which I didn’t really get involved in at the time. But I’d been thinking about that stuff anyway – and listening to the biological clock I used to be pretty sure was broken ticking – for a while now.

ne important thing about all this is that originally, kids were never NOT supposed to be in the picture. I grew up fully expecting I’d have kids someday and never thinking anything different. Arguing with my mom on dozens of occasions when there was resistance to whatever teenage scheme I was trying to push and get permission for, I got told time and time again that I’d understand when I had kids of my own.

But that day never came, even though at one time, it was most definitely supposed to.

Though I have not lived in a small town in over 20 years, somewhere deep down in this jaded city dweller’s heart, I am still a small town girl. There was a small number of us that left for college elsewhere after high school, though several of those that left did eventually return. Most of my friends and acquaintances, however, are still there and never left.

Consequently, when I find myself back home, two things always happen: one, I’m reminded that they all think I’m crazy to have stayed in Memphis. I think this is just me, rather than others who left town years ago – if I’d remained in Murfreesboro/Nashville instead or gone permanently to Knoxville/Maryville, I don’t think the issue would be quite the same. Memphis, however, is like the big bad awful city of crime and other negative things to most of them, and I just won’t even go further into that right now or this post would be 50 miles longer and go off on a whole other secondary subject. Let’s just say Memphis is bad and scary to them, OK to visit but they wouldn’t wanna live here, and leave it at that. So therefore, I’m crazy for staying here, especially for 20 years.

The other thing that inevitably happens – and I don’t even have to be there in town, if there’s someone here in Memphis or anywhere else that I went to high school with, it always comes up – is that my high school sweetheart’s name comes up in conversation. Sometimes it’s directly asking where he is and what he’s doing these days (I do know, although there’s no logical reason anyone should expect that I would know that). Sometimes it’s just brought up as an offhand comment or remembrance that has nothing to do with me; sometimes it’s a little more involved with me, like, “Remember when y’all went to (wherever) with us?” That kind of thing.

It’s like this parallel universe there, where my name and his will always be inextricably linked. They see me, they think of him too. I wonder if they do the same thing when they see him (which is much less than they see me, in general – he’s been several states away for many years now). I am guessing that most of them do, if not all. I think they probably don’t ask him about me nor mention me at all though. Probably mainly because so many of them wanted to string him up and tar and feather him when we split up, and after all these years, they’ll be pleasant to him, no doubt, but they’re still holding a grudge. They’ve got my back, even though I never asked for it nor expected it, nor have felt it even necessary for a couple of decades.

It’s a little bit odd that this word/name-association continues after all these years if you look at those still in my hometown, mainly because many of them are on their second and third, and even a few on their fourth, marriages. And some of them have married folks that I never in a million years would have guessed they’d have wound up together. Those people have become mentally disassociated with their past lives and past relationships, in the minds of others around them. This type thing doesn’t generally happen with them. At least I think so. But all of them see each other all the time; I think that’s the difference.

The difference with me is they don’t see me but maybe once, twice a year if even that much. And actually, admittedly, I’m kind of guilty of the same thing – even if I don’t say anything about that person from the past, I see so-and-so and I immediately think of whoever it was they were with way back when.

I don’t know, maybe we ALL do it, and I just don’t know this. Maybe everyone, in the back of everyone else’s mind, is inextricably linked with whoever from their past, in some weird small town way. I just know I’m the one, and seemingly about the only one, who always gets asked about him, or he’s mentioned when I’m around. At least I never hear anyone else get asked some of the things I do, or hear their high school sweetheart’s name dropped every single time like always happens to me.

But that might be, I’m going to guess again, because I am just about the only one left who has never gotten married or had kids. There might be one or two others left, but I’m probably the only one who actually is seen at some hometown functions from time to time.

And that’s the other thing about this whole dynamic. Besides thinking I’m crazy (maybe the better word here is “eccentric”, heh) for never leaving Memphis in all these years, it’s that it really, really kinda bugs them that I’ve never gotten married and/or had kids. In fact, I’d go so far to say that it has often been thought, and also probably verbalized, that I “ain’t been right” since aforementioned HS sweetheart and I split up – solely because I have never gotten married and had kids, and exacerbated by the fact that I have chosen to remain in, god forbid, Memphis for so very long.

Has this ever actually been verbalized to me? Nope. But I know it’s true, and furthermore, the bottom line here really is the fact that they blame HIM for me having never gotten married, not having children, and not living happily ever after.

I suppose there is some logic there because, at one time, that was exactly what was SUPPOSED to happen. It was not only all practically planned down to some of the smallest details, but we came dangerously close to blowing off all the traditional and formal plans and running off to elope, get married a few years before planned. Somewhat fortunately in retrospect, we were both too drunk to drive – the discussion taking place at a college football game between his school and my school – and upon sobering up the next morning, the immediate urgency of the nuptials from the night before was all but forgotten. And can I just add – whew.

Because while I appreciate the friends I have who would not only fight to the death for me but hold that grudge for me for all these many years, I know that marriage would have been a mistake. Granted, it took me a few years to come to terms with that conclusion, but I know that relationship would not have survived intact to today. We’d have been divorced before either of us turned 30, no doubt. In fact, the person he did end up marrying, he divorced, though they later remarried (and are married still, far as I know).

Like I said, though, when we were still planning to get married eventually, we had everything planned out right down to various wedding details, the cars we would drive (he was a car nut, so that was muy important to him), and had picked out names of at least firstborn male and female children. (I know, it’s sickeningly sweet, ugh.)

He has a son. It just so happened that his wife’s maiden name is the same as the name we had picked out for the firstborn male child. It threw me for a moment when I’d first heard, yeah, but I had to get over it pretty quick. Under the circumstances, it’s not like I could be really angry about THAT.

For many years after, I kind of took some pride in the fact that I had gone on to have a life that had a few adventures and such, and certainly doing and seeing things and going places that someone in his position couldn’t really do. He was one of those people so bright he could have gone to college anywhere, and ended up giving up the college education he was in the middle of, and a doubtless promising career after graduation, in order to work full-time to support the family he had within barely a year of our split. I can’t say I fared much better with college seeing as how I kept dropping out, but for a long time I was still in and out of school, and certainly doing things and going places that I couldn’t have if I’d been a working mom with a baby to raise and a husband at home in my twenties.

For a long time, I thought, well, I wound up having a life, and he didn’t have one. That was, of course, coming from a still pretty bitter and resentful, and still fairly young girl in her twenties who maybe needed to feel that way for a while to be able to move on to something else where things like that didn’t matter. I’m not particularly proud of all that residual bitterness and resentment, but things between us ended on a pretty ugly note, and that’s probably really kind of an understatement. All of my friends wanted to kill him at the time; some of our mutual friends were pretty angry with him at the time, though maybe not quite as homicidal. The last time we were both in the same room 20 years ago, he himself admitted to one of my friends he was scared to death to try and talk to me – which, if you know me, that’s pretty laughable, I’m the easiest person in the world to talk to.

In any case, yes, it was ugly when it ended, and may be the only ended relationship of my life that I ever truly walked away with this huge upper hand, even though my failure to marry and have children later has rendered me “irreparably damaged” by well-meaning friends who I love very dearly. So for a long time I was happy I’d had this “big life” while he’d had “no life”. And then I got over myself after a while, and grew up, and none of that mattered anymore and was all but forgotten.

Well, obviously – my allegedly grown up self can now recognize – he probably had the life he wanted. And he certainly has something I’ve never had, like a family of his own. A child of his own.

In that regard, I’ve got to wonder – sometimes – who really missed out.

When pondering such issues (which I really don’t do often – nay, I mostly try to avoid this direction of philosophy!)… well, it probably doesn’t help matters, in my mind anyway, to have to remember that I pretty much wasted my twenties, and most of my thirties. It was sort of an accident, almost as if one day I was 21 or 22 with alllllllllllll this time ahead of me to do whatever, and then all of a sudden, I’m pushing 40. And where did all that time go?

Well, a good nearly seven years of it was spent with the Freeloader Ex, who I moved down here to Memphis with in the first place. Well, seven years if you count the four years we were actually a real couple, plus the next three years we spent as roommates with occasional delusions that everything might be all right and we’d be okay as a couple again. His extreme drug and alcohol problems kind of kept taking care of those delusions time and time again, which was certainly all for best, all things considered.

But the first couple of years we were together, it wasn’t like that yet. His problems had not evolved to what they eventually became. I don’t know that at the time I was really active thinking marriage and children at that point, with him anyway, but I still always figured that eventually I would, indeed, one day have kids.

Before I ever even got to the point where I was thinking in that direction, though, something came up that forced the issue. We had been together probably less than six months at that point, when we learned that he might indeed already be a father. The child was already born and the mother was requesting a paternity test. Stress, stress, stress.

In the course of a conversation about it all one afternoon, that’s when I learned that it was his intention to never bring any children into this world – or at least not any more children, if this child turned out to be his. He didn’t want to be a father, didn’t want to have children. Not with me; not with anyone.

Well, okay. I spent the next several days being bothered about that, as well as being kind of puzzled that it was bugging me so much since it hadn’t really been an issue or even a thought at that point. And it wasn’t so much that I desperately wanted to have children and soon. And at that point in time in my early twenties, I didn’t really feel like I was ready to make that jump yet anyway. But it had never ever occurred to me that I wouldn’t ever have children of my own, someday. And at the time, having just started a new life in a new city with someone I was really in love with at the time, I certainly hadn’t been looking to leave that relationship anytime soon.

I struggled with it for a while until it got to the point where I knew the decision was going to have to be made. Should I stay or should I go? If I stayed, then I was settling for never having children. Should I stay, or should I walk and possibly have children and a family of my own someday?

You know how that turned out – I stayed. And eventually, I actually convinced myself that I really didn’t want kids anyway.

And I love kids, I enjoy them. I spent years being “favorite aunt” and godmother type to dozens of my friends’ kids, some of whom are almost grownups themselves now, and that’s always been really cool.

And yes, at that point of my life it probably would have been a bad idea. We had a few really good years, and then a few years that were a complete and utter nightmare as his substance abuse problems escalated. When we finally made the mutual decision that he was moving out (albeit before I was going to have to just kick him out) – once he was gone, I felt like I’d been run over by a few dozen trains. Putting my life back together again wasn’t easy, but god, it was such a relief to be rid of all that craziness and negativity.

But you just don’t expect that what starts out as a fairly normal relationship and a pretty good thing is going to turn into something as horrific as that did. I get angry with myself sometimes for not having been able to predict what would happen. But in reality, I couldn’t have.

I dated a while, even ended up in another long-term relationship that wasn’t bad at all; we just never really belonged together in the first place. Some more shorter relationships after that, none of which ever really stuck, save for one; and in that one, had things gone in that direction, I would have ended up being a stepmom, which I would have been pretty cool with had that worked out.

In any case, for that entire time I was still pretty certain I really didn’t want to have kids of my own anyway. And as a family member or two or three made a point of pointing out, I was getting a little bit old for that kind of thing anyway (oh, yes, thanks for reminding me).

Then around my mid-thirties – 34, 35, 36 – three things happened. First, I had a routine test turn up bad, and spent the next eight months under a cancer scare and dealing with the possibility that I might well be having a hysterectomy before it was all over with. Fortunately, at the end of those eight months, all was well and I got a clean bill of health.

But it’s one thing to think you probably don’t want to or are not going to have kids. It’s a whole other thing to deal with when that choice is potentially about to get taken away from you without you having any say in the matter.

Second, I fell in love with my best friend, someone who had been pretty much right under my nose for well over a decade anyway. In the old days, I had been with Freeloader Ex, and his significant other at the time was one of my best, longtime girlfriends – and, in turn, he and the Ex had been close pals. NOW, it’s as obvious as the nose on my face that the wrong two couples were together at the time, and it’s obvious that there were already some pretty deep feelings there on both sides. But the timing would have been bad; and chances are, had a relationship evolved at the time, it never would have lasted. When the time was right, the time was just right. Four years later, we’ve had ups and downs like everyone else – some of them maybe a little more extreme than a lot of people – but we’re solid.

So there was that, and I guess anybody out there who did find the right and perfect person for them knows that when that happens, strange things happen. Like, even though you may have just felt absolutely certain for the last 15 years that you just really didn’t want to have kids, have a family – that hmm, maybe it would kind of be nice to have those things after all, maybe.

Though in our case, it really is starting to get kind of late. His mom had his youngest brother when she was in her forties, and older than I am now. And he loves kids, is great with them, would be a terrific dad. It’s still a possibility, certainly, and not only that but there’s the adoption and foster options too, especially older kids that they have such a hard time finding adoptive or foster homes for. But we’ll be okay, too, if it winds up just being us.

The third thing that happened around the same time as the other two, though, was undeniably the most bittersweet and the hardest to swallow.

I wrote (joked) about the detox effort with my ex a few weeks ago, in a short post That was close to seven years ago, and the next chapter of that little story is that we came very close, once he started getting clean and sober again, to getting back together again. Prior to his going into rehab, we talked about it some, and basically mutually agreed to talk about it again later on down the line, once he had gotten through rehab and gotten his shit together again. It was not the time to be discussing such things when he needed to focus on getting straight. I had made the arrangements for him to get into residential treatment, with some financial help from a family member, and drove him down there, a few hundred miles away, and let go, for the time being.

That future planned talk never happened. In the end, when it came down to it – when the answer was going to have to be either yes or no – I’m 99% certain my final answer would have had to have been no. The water that was under that bridge seemed way too deep, and I guess the feeling was mutual. It just wasn’t supposed to happen.

I wasn’t prepared at all for what did, though. He went back to college while still in rehab. Eventually, he graduated, and even went on to get his master’s. Which was great, fabulous, of course.

He also got married, and had a child.

Yeah, well, it took Mr. Edge (Not of U2) about a month to talk me down from the cloud of anger and venom and bitterness and resentment and all manner of rather violent wanting to go kick his ass to Timbuktu and back, or worse, over that little bit of news. I was so mad for weeks I was practically spitting not only proverbial nails but proverbial poison darts, dammit. My outrage got crazy and twisted enough that Edge – who dislikes him intensely and for reasons that mostly have little to do with me and are more about leftover garbage from what was their friendship of the past – was almost taking up for the ex, in the face of all my venom-spewing. I was picking apart every little incident and occurrence from that past relationship and tossing all kinds of evil theories out there, and poor Edge would be saying things like, “Look, I know you’re angry, and you have a good reason to be, but I was there, remember, and I really don’t think it was that way,” or “I really don’t think he meant it like that.”

And eventually he said, “You’ve just got to let this go.” And he was right. No matter how angry I was at this person who’d insisted he was never having children, we were never having children – and no matter how much a part of me really wanted to just pick up the phone and scream that he’d “robbed” me of my twenties and any dream I’d ever had of a family and children, and how dare he have a child of his own after that – no matter all that.

He might have been the catalyst, but it was ultimately MY decision. I made the choice to stay, knowing what I knew, and I stayed for years. It was on me, totally.

That’s not to say it doesn’t have the potential to still sting a little. If my mind goes wandering in that direction, which it doesn’t often, I very quickly remind myself it was my choice. End of story, fini.

I regret some things I didn’t used to, I guess. One thing I DON’T regret is having helped him get clean and get his life back together and back on track when I did. He hit bottom a bunch of times in many years, some of which I witnessed and some of which I wasn’t around to, but that last time – which was the first I had heard from him in over five years – I knew if I didn’t do something, he probably wasn’t going to make it. So I did what I felt I had to do. Presumably, he’s still alive, safe, well, and these days pretty successful. No regrets.

And me, the whole kid thing’s not much in the forefront of my mind, if at all. Something, like some of the discussions and questions posed in recent weeks, I’ll get to thinking things like, “Well, you know, I don’t know.” Deeper than that I suppose, in truth, but that’s the Cliffs Notes version.

Or I’ll be talking to or hanging out with my mom, who is, like, the coolest. With the exception of the teenage years, which were kinda tough on both of us, we’ve had this really great relationship, and especially so since I’ve been an adult. We don’t see each other in person as often as we once did, but whenever we do get to hang out, we have a great time. And we’re really, really close.

And I guess that’s when it occurs to me most, to think – well, maybe I HAVE missed out on something here after all. What my mom has with me is something I’m quite probably not going to have the opportunity to have.

Not going to lose a whole lot of sleep over it, no. But yeah, it’s there. At least a little.

So, obviously the latter part of this week has been kind of uncharacteristically deep in thought and serious, ugh. But like I said, sometimes I write just to get it out of my head and be somewhere else. And now it is. At least, until and unless writer’s remorse gets the best of me. Then again, I’ve always been pretty much an open book and could care less.

So I’m done with the deep and serious this week, everyone will doubtless be glad of that. Blondes shouldn’t ever, ever think this much, it makes our head hurt, heh heh.

Deep thought moratorium officially begins. Now, pardon me while I go see what Britney Spears has been up to for the last 24 hours.

Memory in the Making

Warning – rocky road ahead, so to speak. You don’t have to stick around and read for this one. It’s probably really just for me, and someone else who might never read it. But it’s okay if you do. Doesn’t matter to me.

Sometimes I write because if I don’t, it’ll nag and nag and nag at me until I finally just do it and get it all out and be finished with it. I would say I make a habit of that, but there’s boxes of notebooks and typewriter-typed pages and all kinds of other such stuff tucked away in a box in the back of my bedroom closet that would prove that to be the contrary; that I always finish it, that I always get it out and over and done with. Which, actually, probably explains a lot about, oh, everything. I think I’ve come to terms with the fact, lately, that after 20 and 15 and 10 years, none of that stuff in those boxes is ever getting finished.

And sometimes it’s just the stuff that has no potential entertainment or literary value whatsoever – it just needs to get out of my head and be somewhere else.

So, here.

Having written about Nashville, non-country, music past this week and reading a bit about the same genre in the present – and having been involved in a couple of long conversations that included a lot discussion about Nashville past and present this week – I find myself over here at the sorry, flat, ugly southwest end of the state a little preoccupied, both with past memories and a few present troubles. And also a little homesick, I suppose.

It’s never been any secret among my friends and family that I never really wanted to leave Middle Tennessee. I basically moved to Memphis because I was young, stupid, and in love, and thus I convinced myself that moving here was the right decision to make.

Actually, if I’d HAD to move somewhere and had no choice at all about staying in Middle Tennessee at the time, I would have rather gone to East Tennessee. That was where the object of my affection was at the time and had been for a while, and where I was quite a bit of the time anyway at that point. But he decided he wanted to go westward for school. I came with him, and here we ended up in Memphis.

Sort of eerie and what may have been a portent of things to come – fortunately he was driving – I became violently ill, sick to my stomach, before we even left Rutherford County on the day we moved, and stayed sick for a couple of days after. I couldn’t even drink a couple of sips of water without it coming back up.

In retrospect, it was yet another really bad decision to go right along with all the other thousands of bad decisions I have made in life. Still and all, I was a pretty big fan of Memphis for a while, and there were some good years here with him, and still some more good years here after him and without him. It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes I think I just outgrew this city. I don’t think there was any one thing or one event that soured me so, such as I am. I think I just stayed too long.

And again, the longer I’m here and not that happy about it, the more I regret ever leaving Middle Tennessee in the first place. The last year I was there was the best ever. I had finally moved into an apartment that I absolutely loved, after years of bouncing from place to place every six months or less, on a quiet street a few blocks from the MTSU campus. I was taking classes again, at night. My job at the time, I worked with people I genuinely liked a great deal. Three very distinctly different groups of friends to hang out that were all great fun – friends from school, some of which were also from my hometown; friends from a former job to party with in Murfreesboro; friends I hung out with, most of the time, in the clubs and indie music scene in Nashville, a couple of whom I had actually known since childhood via church camp and other Episcopal youth statewide stuff throughout childhood and teen years.

It was that last group I was closest to, always have been, all these years still. What’s left of us anyway. Kind of like everything else I had, all those great things I was so happy with at the time in Middle Tennessee that I left behind. They’re just gone, mostly.

Many of my friends from that time are gone, not only from Nashville and that old scene, but gone from this world altogether. Accidents, drugs, a murder, illness – you name it, most of the usual culprits have whittled down what was a very close-knit group of twelve or thirteen-odd or so people down to a meager group of six. The oldest one is only 42 years old.

I know, “only” 42. Maybe that sounds old to some people. 40 sounds old to me lots of days. But it’s really not, not in the grand scheme of things. No, it’s not.

Anyway, that – coupled with many more friends I have lost from my hometown crowd, and some other friends – it’s just stunning. You’re not supposed to be 40 years old and have lost count of how many people are irretrievably missing from your life. You’re not supposed to be 40 years old and have outlived so many of your peers.

I’m kind of afraid though, lately, I’m losing another one. I’ve been down this road before – and with the same person, no less, as well as others – to know you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Or find someone who doesn’t want to be found.

Way back in those old days, technically I lived in Murfreesboro at the time, but most of my friends and my boyfriend for a good bit of that period were in Nashville. Throughout much of the last half of 1986 and almost all of 1987, I was really pretty much living in Nashville, even though my mail was still being delivered to Rutherford County and I was still paying rent there.

One of our gang had this little apartment that’s no longer there, almost within spitting distance of the good old Exit/In. Even though there was, like, NO room – it was a tiny place, really small – the core group of a dozen of us were living there almost ’round the clock. Between all of us, plus all the people that were always coming home with us from the clubs as well as some of the bands from out of town, there was hardly room for that many bodies. Somehow we managed, as long as you didn’t mind getting stepped on in the dark in the middle of the night sometimes.

I wrote about that time earlier this year here in the blog (at the time, my intentions being to poke fun at my good and old friend Josie Walker’s gigantic boat feet, which really are huge, you wouldn’t believe):

“…way back in the old days when everybody used to flop at Scott’s old apartment in West End, which was small to begin with, sometimes it was even harder to find sleeping space because not only the twelve or thirteen of us in our little group, as well as any assortment of dates and girlfriends and boyfriends, would be crashing there as well as, sometimes, most of whomever had been at whichever club that night. As well as, sometimes, whatever band from out of town had been playing at whichever club that night. Sometimes it would just be wall to wall people crashed in every available chair (not many) and the couch (only one) and the floor and you’d have to watch where you stepped if you had to make one of those middle of the night sneaks to the bathroom. This was always especially fun if you’d had too much to drink that night and were, indeed, trying to get to the bathroom to throw up or something.”

Some of the best and funnest (sic) times of my life were spent in that little hole of an apartment. As long as you had no immediate need for the restroom facilities – since there was ALWAYS someone else in there – it was actually a pretty cool little place to be, at that age anyway.

Also in that apartment, so were some of the worst times. One of the worst days of my life was the morning I had to drive down there after working the graveyard shift at the ER at Southern Hills, having had the misfortune of being the one on the front desk that night when the ambulance brought one of our group in following a wreck on Harding Place. The only explanation for why he was down that far south in the first place, and at that time of night, was that he must have been coming to visit and hang out with me at work. And instead, I had to be the one to go tell everyone the next morning, everyone crashed and hungover in that little apartment, what had happened and that he was gone.

But there were probably many more good times than bad back then, and if not good memories, extraordinary ones. It was a pretty wild time, crazy time. When the party ended at whichever club, the party relocated to that teeny apartment most nights. You never knew who you might find worshiping the porcelain god in the bathroom, since that door would never lock. There’s a few secrets I can never tell.

All of the great bands that came through town at the time, I had the privilege of getting to meet almost everyone I could have ever possibly wanted to back then – with the exception of Paul Westerberg and the rest of The Replacements, which is a humongous thorn in my side to this day. Every single time The Replacements ever came to Nashville then, I had to be somewhere else, one time back home for a funeral. I never got to see them play live until the last tour before they broke up, seeing them here in Memphis.

The only person whose name was actually ON the lease of the apartment – well, if it was three in the morning and we weren’t bailing him out of jail or picking him up from night court, he was frequently found hanging upside down off the balcony half-naked (or sometimes all naked) singing at the top of his lungs, sometimes with guitar in hand, sometimes not. Several in that core group of people living/slash/squatting there had serious drug and alcohol problems, but that one – he was completely out of control. So much so that people all over town were taking bets on how long he’d last, when he was gonna pull the ultimate Jim Morrison or Jimi Hendrix and, you know – ::poof:: – be gone, just like that.

And then he shocked the hell out of everyone by cleaning up, getting straight. Going back to and finishing college. Went out west for a while. Made a shitload of money, enough that he could pretty much retire before he was 40 years old, though he still kept working when he felt like it.

Fifteen or so really good years, and then in a flash, it was like all that good stuff never happened. He was using again. Things got ugly. There was a horrific argument between four of us – three against one. He told us all to go to hell, especially me. All of the addicts and alcoholics I have known except for a couple, it’s either my “fault” or I’m the first and foremost target when they’re lashing out. I’m used to it, I know how to stand my ground with them, they hate me for it, big deal. I’m only 5’2″, but I somehow become like the biggest threat to them being able to poison themselves with whatever they’re on at the time, like I’m someone who will take their drugs or their booze away from them. Not that it ever stopped any of them.

But then he got clean again, shocking what few of us are left to be shocked once again. And was doing so, so great.

And then he split town to go work on a big project, presumably for a few weeks. That was late August, or maybe early September. Supposed to be back long before Thanksgiving.

The cell phone’s still on, though goes to voice mail every time. Credit cards are still being used, and with the proper signature (very helpful when the best friend is also one’s accountant). MySpace profile has been logged into a couple of times. Shrug.

Back in the old days when we were all living/squatting/crashing in that little place in West End, young Greg, who was like my baby brother and was the only one of the whole group younger than me – he was 17, 18 at the time – had these delusions that we would just all be together forever. That we’d like all just go off and set up some bohemian commune somewhere. Since everyone there was either a musician or artist or writer, or a wannabe of any of the three (except Stevie Kane, who rather inexplicably went into accounting and will, by god, tell you himself that accounting is an art in itself – yeah, OK, Steve)… well, Greg just had these stars in his eyes about all this hippie dippie shit. Let’s all just go off and start our own little artists’ colony or whatever and just live there forever, happily ever after. I think it broke his heart when everyone started graduating, moving away and moving on, scattering as people do. Growing up, supposedly.

I won’t go so far to say everyone in the bunch was hugely talented in their respective art, but we did have a few that were simply amazing. Watching and listening to Joey or Greg or Scott play guitar; Joey crafting a new song from start to finish; watching Scot the Happy Italian draw or paint and his keen eye for capturing everything perfectly; reading anything Ev wrote – all experiences I was fortunate to be able to witness, day after day.

But the most prolific and constantly evolving piece of art in the house (and I use the term “art” here loosely) was one big giant long poem (also using the term “poetry” loosely) that was scribbled in black Sharpie, in the handwriting of a dozen or so different people, on this beat up old bulletin board that was hanging down almost the entire side of the refrigerator. That bulletin board was Communication Central for the house for about two years, and the rule was everything written there had to keep the poem going, no matter what it was about. Grocery lists, reminders, arguments and calling someone out on their shit, whatever – it had to be part of the poem.

A few I remember -

Paper towels, milk, and please some Cap’n Crunch?
Pork chops and applesauce – The Brady Bunch!

Can someone pick me up after work today?
That all depends, Miss Jo, how much you willing to pay?

Looks like someone forgot to pay the electric bill.
Oh, you’ll learn to love the dark, quit bitching and take another happy pill.

You fucking asshole, Scott! Where the hell is my money??
Ummmmmm probably in his dealer’s pocket, honey.

Nope, no stellar poetic talent there, but at least it was kind of entertaining most days. Two, two and a half years’ worth of it. Probably mostly arguing about money, since nobody ever had any, something always needed to be paid or someone needed to be paid back, and whenever the boys had any money anyway, it almost all went to colossal amounts of booze, weed, other party favors. If not for Jo and me, we’d have never had electricity.

I’ve no idea what happened to it after everyone finally moved out and left for good, it’s probably a shame no one kept it. I called Josie Thursday morning to ask about it. She remembered how it was about to fall apart to begin with when the boys slapped it up there on the fridge, so she figures it probably fell apart when anyone tried to remove it.

This below lives elsewhere on the ‘Net, posted late this past summer:

Photos scattered all around my floor
Twelve souls plus a couple or three more
But only a handful of souls outside 900 Broadway
Bitter gray cold February day
Walking along Church Street, pausing at a stop sign
“When there are two or three of us, it’s fine”
“When we’re all together, it’s toxic and sick”
And with that the wise little one stopped traffic
Don’t tell me you’ve never been able to see
The common denominator was always me?

I didn’t write that, you see.
But you who did, I think you’re reading here still – please, just call me.
Or Stevie Kane or Jo or Jay.
We just want to know that you’re okay.

I Wanna Grow Old With You

On my reading rounds this morning, I saw this link to Deathforecast.com on another blog and checked it out, just to see. I’ve done this at another similar site before, with basically the same general questions, and got a much better result somewhere in the 70s, but, whatever.

According to this one, if The Edge (Not of U2) and I get married, he dies at 73 years old and I die at 68.

If we don’t get married, he kicks it at 71. Moi, 66.

Actually, the results ballpark-wise might not be all that far off for real, as we both have heart disease galore in our families, and many of those in my family died around the 70-ish mark and a couple earlier than that. Of course, one can do plenty of things preventative measure-wise to better those chances.

But I’m a little bit miffed about those results, seeing as how one of us is a former drug addict in recovery and has literally baked in the sun every day for a lifetime pretty much, and here’s a hint – it’s not me.

Apparently if I had been eating more balanced meals and regularly instead of being pseudoanorexic and skipping meals for a day or two at a time, and working out a little more often, I could have been getting a tan all the time and shooting up heroin* all along!

And, obviously, this marriage is going to have to happen sometime within the next 25 years, though the way we’ve both been about finalizing plans and making concrete and definite decisions like that, it might well take us that long anyway…

* (Yes, just kidding, Mom… it’s a joke!)

The Fires of Hell Will Take You

Reason #1,274 that I am probably going to Hell for my smart mouth…

Year: 1999

On my couch: Freeloader Ex, for the first time in five years since we split up and he split town

On the table: Bottled water, ibuprofen, various bottles of herbal remedies like St. John’s Wort and others, vitamin supplements, wet and dry washcloths, and a bucket to throw up in

Why: In-home detox attempt (don’t try this at home, kids)

Him: “Okay, so now you know what to do and no matter what I say, don’t give me a drink. Do you have any questions?”

Me: “Yeah. This isn’t going to turn out like Leaving Las Vegas, is it?”