As I near the end of my earthly course (I couldn't help myself--I had to use that JW-speak for fun)--I realize two things.
1. If we want to reclaim a friend and do nothing--we lose them absolutely. (I tried, but should have tried again.)
2. Once a person is gone the opportunity (however difficult) is done.
Death's FINALITY is the part that eats away at your heart.
TerryWalstrom
JoinedPosts by TerryWalstrom
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24
Another JW "friend" bites the dust
by TerryWalstrom injust got word one of my favorite friends died a year ago!
only now have i heard about it.
he remained a devout jehovah's witness--so--he could not/would not speak to me.
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TerryWalstrom
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24
Another JW "friend" bites the dust
by TerryWalstrom injust got word one of my favorite friends died a year ago!
only now have i heard about it.
he remained a devout jehovah's witness--so--he could not/would not speak to me.
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TerryWalstrom
DIOGENESISTER: Would you like me to ask on Reddit if anyone knows these fellow friends of yours? It has a large active readership - over 20,000
Me: That would be wonderful--thank you! -
24
Another JW "friend" bites the dust
by TerryWalstrom injust got word one of my favorite friends died a year ago!
only now have i heard about it.
he remained a devout jehovah's witness--so--he could not/would not speak to me.
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TerryWalstrom
Tollie taught us all (in prison) to go back and read the early books from Russell and Rutherford. That area of JW "knowledge" was an abyss. Almost nobody (except the elderly) had an inkling of the upheavals in the early years.
Tollie intellectualized all the flaws. His intelligence worked against him in that respect. He could think up a way Jehovah's spirit could be guiding events.
Rutherford was a raw material and just the kind of Old Testament judge to fight through the war years and prevail--so he thought. Russell and Rutherford were seen as less than perfect sinners molded and shaped to accomplish a task.
"David was beloved of God and he stole a man's wife and sent the guy off to die." Jehovah uses the worst of us to accomplish the best."
Delusional but inspiring :)
JW history, through Tollie's eyes. was a shaping from raw materials and an incremental cause and effect process of cleansing.
Tolli saw tests of Faith as a way we get to know what we're made of.
Some of us were born to fail and die at Armageddon. By testing your devotion and dedication and Love for Jah--you discovered whether you were a "vessel fit for destruction" or a worthy vessel.
On the one hand, I admire that ingenious stupidity. On the other hand, I sure would love to have re-bonded over the duration of his last years.
I'm still looking for two other very close prison Brothers and I can't seem to find. (The ones I did locate were dead.)
Ron Clayton from Oklahoma and Joe Pruitt. I think he too was previously in El Reno prison and transferred to Seagoville from Oklahoma.
Here's what makes it difficult. These guys would be about my age (71).
How many folks that age are technophobes?
Plenty. So--the chances of them surfing the Worldwide Web are slim to none--or--of them having an electronic "footprint" I can follow.
If you know either of them--Please let me know. It's never too late unless they've planted you in the garden. -
24
Another JW "friend" bites the dust
by TerryWalstrom injust got word one of my favorite friends died a year ago!
only now have i heard about it.
he remained a devout jehovah's witness--so--he could not/would not speak to me.
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TerryWalstrom
I said the same thing before. I lost him before I lost him.
I get a double-whammy.
The families at JW funerals very seldom weep.
In fact--it's used as a platform for recruiting and giving a campaign speech.
At least, when I mourn a dead JW, I know (one way or the other) I"m never going to see them again. -
24
Another JW "friend" bites the dust
by TerryWalstrom injust got word one of my favorite friends died a year ago!
only now have i heard about it.
he remained a devout jehovah's witness--so--he could not/would not speak to me.
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TerryWalstrom
Excerpt from my book, I Wept by the Rivers of Babylon:
This commences as Tollie approaches the prison authority to report my assault:
________"What are you trying to tell me?" Lt. Bennet's voice filled the room.
His office stood pristine with surfaces shining and perfect like the polished mirrored glaze on the lieutenant's shoes.
His motto was: Get to the point or get the hell out! Impatient and insistent; he listened anyway.
Inmate Tollie Padgett's folder lay open on the desk before him.
Padgett was another JW, one of the inmate leaders of the 40 incarcerated non-combatants and a bit older than the rest, a college graduate.
Padgett had written a "cop-out" form requesting a personal hearing.
Inmate request forms served as the permanent record of inquiry and communication between inmates and staff.
Prison is bureaucracy, especially a federal prison.
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Bennet appraised requests, all of them. He was the final arbiter, the court of final inquiry and the warden's prime minister.
Padgett was bid to sit down in a chair the color of despair.
"One of the Brothers was attacked by another inmate. . ."
"Which inmates are we talking about here?"
(It is never safe to snitch names; there is an unwritten code of zero tolerance.)
Officers asked anyway to see how each man negotiated, persuaded, lied or begged. This was an x-ray for character and honesty.
"Inmate Terry Walstrom, Y-11857, was the victim and I don't know the name of his attacker. I can tell you which building and what room the perpetrator is in, though."
Bennett leaned forward instinctively as though a thought had crossed his mind.
"Exactly what went down and why isn't your ‘Brother’ in here telling me himself if he is an injured party?"
Padgett pursed his lips and glanced thoughtfully to the side.
"He's—I guess, not talking—at least, not in any detail. He doesn't exactly know what to do. The perpetrator pretended to be interested in hearing about what we Jehovah's Witnesses believe. He used that to lure Brother Walstrom into one of those storage warehouses behind Mess Hall. He grabbed him from behind and threatened him."
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"Threatened what?"
This sort of incident was more uncommon than people on the outside would ever believe.
Inmates could find anything they want inside the fence. It isn't necessary to use force. Something was awry. Prisoners quickly learned how to barter and negotiate. The price, if right, brought everything but freedom.
"My guess—this other inmate wanted to force sex on Brother Walstrom. This happened yesterday around this time."
Bennett grinned sardonically and shifted back in his chair. He turned toward the window and looked out across the compound. It was noon, or, a little past.
Inmates were scurrying around like toy soldiers on patrol. Bennett put his arms behind his head and clasped his hands for thoughtful support.
"You guess? You either know something or you don't. Why are you wasting my time?"
Padgett could sense he was about to be tossed out. This was the time to get right to the point.
"I know this Brother; I know his temperament and character.”
“Something terrible happened. He isn't talking because he doesn't know how to deal with what happened. He is very likely ashamed and filled with rage. I would be!”
Bennett listened dispassionately. JW's were boys among men.
What did they expect?
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"Well, now, when he is ready to tell me what did or didn't occur, I'll be all ears."
Bennett threw a meaningful glance Padgett's way. It was a dismissal.
Rising anger took hold as Padgett walked toward the office exit. He pivoted and faced Bennett.
"Sir, if the Brothers are being molested it is your responsibility to investigate!”
Bennett flinched imperceptibly. His face suffused with blood.
Then, he gained icy control and made not a move or a sound. That was his own tactic and he wouldn't rise to bait.
"Really? You boys aren't Bennett’s Witnesses are you? What the hell does Jehovah do all day?"
Padgett stared briefly, then exited. He and the other guys would take care of it.
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24
Another JW "friend" bites the dust
by TerryWalstrom injust got word one of my favorite friends died a year ago!
only now have i heard about it.
he remained a devout jehovah's witness--so--he could not/would not speak to me.
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TerryWalstrom
Just got word one of my favorite friends died a year ago! Only now have I heard about it.He remained a devout Jehovah's Witness--so--he could not/would not speak to me. I loved him very much.We were in prison together.He was my mentor. He was an intellectual firebrand.When I was assaulted, he's the one who went to prison authorities and snitched. (I refused to do it.)It was he, Tollie Padget, who gathered six of the toughest looking JW's and surrounded my assailant and gave him a good talking to. (I smile at that...we were there as non-violent folks, you see. Words were our only weapons.)Tollie showed me what a Great Teacher was all about.I patterned myself as closely as possible after him.Tollie was 3 years older than the rest of us. He was a college graduate with, I think, a degree in Physics.He had given up Science to become a JW. He attended the now defunct JW Missionary school, Gilead. He served in Chile until health problems sent him home in El Paso where he died.What a guy!Four years after we were paroled, the END of 6,000 years of human existence was supposed to happen--immediately followed by the Thousand Year Reign of Christ.(Spoiler Alert: it didn't happen.)I turned away from the cult and pursued the Art career end of things. Tollie didn't flinch.Just think about that, will you?His religion predicted THE END and he remained another 40 years thinking it was going to come "soon."I called Tollie on the phone about 2 or 3 years ago.I heard rumors he was mentally free of the religion.He was happy to hear my voice.We chatted for about fifteen minutes until---He said something or other--it was the statement of a devout True-Believer!Oh, no.I made an excuse to go and promised to e-mail him.You see...I just didn't want to have "THAT" conversation with him.You know, the one where I'm an Apostate and he has to disconnect from me because I'm going to die at Armageddon?Yeah.I wrote him instead and included a copy of my prison biography--(with a chapter on Tollie).I invited him to read it and we'd discuss things---If he so chose.He did not.Now...he's gone. So many of my band of Brothers are dead and gone. They died waiting on the bus that doesn't come.Sigh.Wherever you are, Tollie my good friend--I love you. -
The Pawnbroker Bubble
by TerryWalstrom inpawnbroker bubble______.
don't blink as you drive past.it's one of those.the cracks between piano keys, like the spaces between words on a page: a roadside pawnshop perched between blinks.snagged by the allure of a ramshackle businessi stopped.
and long i stood outside.. "i think i've been here before...long time ago.".
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TerryWalstrom
Pawnbroker Bubble
______Don't blink as you drive past.
It's one of those.
The cracks between piano keys, like the spaces between words on a page: a roadside Pawnshop perched between blinks.
Snagged by the allure of a ramshackle business
I stopped. And long I stood outside."I think I've been here before...long time ago."
The peeling paint gave a wordless witness to a downcast history: AJ'S Pawn.
The windows blocked by--dare I say? Junk. Excuse me--I mean merchandise.
Here there be archaeology.Smallish, cluttered, yet not at all oppressive to my wide-eyed gaze...I grabbed the doorknob and twisted.
Locked!
Then--after a couple of beats--unlocked from within.
AJ is a cautious man.The ting-a-ling bell announced my entrance.
Dark-eyed AJ's deep-set eyes bored in on me, lifting his chin in greeting as he turned back toward the lady customer.AJ is a Middle East bazaar and Mediterranean mix. A classic monger tilting his voice and head in persuasions and the shoulders shrug now and then with feigning dismissals.
He is at once an actor, psychiatrist, and priest.Lady customer is stunning.
I am not a man who stares. I stare.
AJ notices my notice and crinkles his eyes in amusement while raising his eyebrows toward me. Those bushy arches whisper to me.
"She is something--is she not?"I wrench my eyes away before embarrassing myself.
Pivoting, I sigh deeply and take it all in--the shop and its myriad contents. What spectacular chaos!Everything is everywhere.
Layered, wedged, balanced, stuffed, stacked and fitted into bulky anonymity--watches, knives, guns, rings, necklaces, golf clubs, taxidermy, god-knows-what-else is here.But then, the Pawnbroker bubble.
An unlikely dome of plastic off in the dusty corner summons me urgent and mysterious.
As a child, I'd drop a quarter in a vending gumball machine and crank the metal handle's winding key all the way to the right. Clockwise.
Clink. Click.
Let go and the plastic bubble containing a prize and a gumball appeared.
Small it was--that bubble.
The Pawnbroker bauble bubble is not. Not at all: small.If our planet spun somehow inside a magic soap bubble, no less wonderful in its scale is AJ's universe in a bubble.
Peer through the most powerful microscope and you'll see all things are composed of smaller and smaller things nested one inside the other like a hallway of mirrors.
We are but dust.
Dust from exploded stars.
Dust is made of yet finer parts, of course. Worlds within worlds.
Pawnbroker bubbles floating in the expanse one and all.Three steps and I'm there, an astronaut on a tether, eyes pressed close to plastic, surveying miracles inside the dome.
What do I see?
Russian dolls within dolls. baubles, Hummel figurines,
a single pin with all Ten Commandments etched thereupon,
snow globes (Rosebud?) six steelies, eight agates, half-dozen pee-wee marbles, watch fobs, cufflinks, tie-pins, Masonic ritual rings, expandable watch straps, fake nails, gold toothpick, belly button jewel, a humidor, Zippo lighter, cigarette holder, skate key, miniature Bible with hand-carved bone ivory cover and latch...
Wonder of wonders. Tier upon tier. Paleontological illogic.The voices of AJ and the astounding lady customer drift back in and I hear a voice directed at me.
Her voice snaps the spell of the Pawnbroker bubble and I whirl about to answer.
"I'm sorry--what did you say?"
I stare directly into her sunlight--blinded.
AJ chuckles privately to himself."I asked where you got that wonderful red wristwatch."
Approaching them, I remove my timepiece from its perch and launch into a Professor Harold Hill patter.
"It is a solar-powered Atomic watch with 31 Time Zones, night lite, stopwatch, waterproof to 100 meters, and able to withstand vigorous impact and robust handling without damage."
I dangle it in front of her, offering it for closer inspection.AJ observes, listening and appraising my performance.
I turned toward him. "Do you remember back in 1983 when I sold you my Canon AE1 with the telescopic lens?"
Without pausing a beat, Abdul Jamal nods slowly, pursing his lips and cocking his head slightly.
AJ licked his lips and began speaking admonishingly.
"I sold it the next day to a married man from a fine family who returned the following year to tell me how it ruined his life."
My eyes widened. The beautiful lady immediately lost interest in my red watch. She spoke wonderingly.
"What do you mean?"
I saw AJ's eye twinkle return as he pulled himself up to full height and began spinning the wild story of downfall and humiliation engendered by my camera.
________________AJ's STORY_____________
I won't belabor this tale. I can't match the thrilling narrative spun in that Pawnshop on that afternoon. I'll stick to the bare bones of it all.
It seems I had spoken to a friend of mine who owned an Art gallery right after selling my camera. His name was James.
He asked all sorts of technical questions. I answered.
He wanted to know the location of the Pawnshop. I wrote it down.
James wanted that camera.
I forgot all about it.
Now, many years later, I hear the upshot of that transaction.James began a new career within his Art gallery career. He began photographing ladies. He would print the photo and rework the details into a paint-on-top concoction. Yes, he painted over the photo matching it as best he could and using the actual image as his guide.
Long story short: ladies loved the result.
This was the Gateway Drug!
Soon James was taking nude photos of lady customers.
Same procedure. Paint on top of photo: thrilled ladies.Poor James. He loved his newfound career way too much.
He was staying late at the gallery night after night and making transparent excuses to his wife for the absence.Of course, he was discovered and the ensuing divorce broke him in more ways than one.
James returned the camera and sold it back to AJ, blurting his tawdry and lurid confession in the process._______
I slipped my red watch back on my wrist.
The lovely customer didn't want to touch it any longer.
Bad vibes, you see.I excused myself and walked out into the late afternoon.
"What was THAT all about?"As Rod Serling might say:
There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity.
It is in the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge.
This is the dimension of imagination.
It is an area which we call the Pawnbroker bubble.___
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8
This is a Masterpiece of writing as an example of properly breaking bad news
by TerryWalstrom inwhat follows is a masterpiece of writing.
this is how to present bad news and make it palatable.____from a college coed to her parents___.
dear mother and dad:.
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TerryWalstrom
I had a dentist who told me to wiggle my toes as fast as I could while he gave me a shot in my gums.
It worked!
What that has to do with anything is beyond me.
I suppose it is sufficient to say: We are so easily modulated, distracted, reprogrammable, diverted, and misdirected--it is a wonder we aren't more self-aware than we think we are.
Tens of thousands of years of evolution over countless generations from one-celled to billions...all the while adjusting, overcoming, surviving and passing along little tidbits, nuggets, urges, whims, instincts, and gut-feelings to our progeny.
Do we really know why we think or feel or do...anything completely?
Dunno.
However, those who DO know are able to mold us as they please.
Take a look at this piece of writing:
http://elibrary.bsu.az/books_400/N_232.pdf
http://elibrary.bsu.az/books_400/N_232.pdf
http://elibrary.bsu.az/books_400/N_232.pdf -
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JW culture of "informers" is very similar to Communist China under Mao
by TerryWalstrom infirst, let's look at what counsel is published by the watchtower and required as proper behavior in the congregation.. *** g88 9/8 p. 20 should i tell on my friend?
***understandably, you may not feel you have the spiritual qualifications to readjust an erring friend.
but would it not make sense to see to it that the matter is reported to someone who is qualified to help?
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TerryWalstrom
In the last few days, I've been reading about psychological studies into "hazing" and basic training in the Marine Corp.
Distilled down to the fundamental point is this: What people suffer the most to achieve creates intense loyalty.
This has carried over into--believe it or not--the psychology of Sales.
Articles of jewelry that don't sell are marked UP rather than down as a final effort to sell them, and--guess what? The chances of a sale increase 40%. "You only get what you pay for" as a believable adage translates to: "This is a high price to pay--THEREFORE--the value is incredible."
Now, this made me wonder what "hazing" a JW goes through to become a Witness in good standing.
Then it came to me. Look at what a kid faces in school. Look at what employees go through with time off for assemblies. What all Dubs endure during holidays. It's a never-ending gauntlet of disapproval by others.
The result:
"I'm paying a high price--THEREFORE--it must really be worth it all." -
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This is a Masterpiece of writing as an example of properly breaking bad news
by TerryWalstrom inwhat follows is a masterpiece of writing.
this is how to present bad news and make it palatable.____from a college coed to her parents___.
dear mother and dad:.
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TerryWalstrom
Being a father myself of 4 daughters--I was relieved too at the end vicariously :)
