J Daniel Hess’ Blog

You readers are an extension of me. You are my riches.  I welcome your comments to the blog and I welcome your guest blogs.

Today I share a guest blog from Jay Brubaker, father of two, graduate of Bluffton University, former social worker, now an attorney and of course a coffee buddy. His blog, as he says, is motivated by a sharing at church. One of our friends told of the suicide of a colleague.  Jay’s reflections mean much to me since I too have had to manage depression throughout my life.

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I suffer from depression.   It’s hard to explain how hard it is to write that simple sentence in a forum where I do not know who will read it.   My reluctance certainly has a lot to do with my own journey in coming to grips this disease, but it  has also been reinforced by many messages I have received from people around me and by society as a whole.  Despite the significant progress that has been made from the time when people with mental illness were locked up in “asylums” and cutting edge treatment involved surgically destroying part of a person’s brain, mental illness still carries a stigma with it.

I still have vivid memories of the pastoral figure I reached out to in my teens telling me that killing myself would be the worst possible sin I could commit, and if I did this that I would spend eternity in a special section of hell where all my earthly problems would be magnified tenfold.

More recent, if much less dramatic, situations have also reinforced the stigma that I learned early on.  On my State Bar application, I was required to disclose any mental illness.   During the follow up interview to determine my fitness to be an attorney, I was questioned about my treatment.  No questions were asked about my physical health.  In my personal life, well-meaning and caring people close to me have informed me that my disease is something that is all in my head, and therefore I should just be able to move past it.  On the job front, a good friend of mine was asked to take a “personality profile” as part of a job interview process, an assessment that turned out to be mental health diagnostic tool rather than the Myers-Briggs style personality indicator she expected.  Although this is not necessarily unique to mental illness, multiple insurance companies have informed me that the word “depression” in my medical history renders me uninsurable.    Each of these incidents, some more overtly than others, has reinforced the message that my illness is one that I should not readily talk about; that my disease is something that should be hidden away.

A few weeks ago, another friend informed me that a colleague of his had committed suicide.  As is often the case, those around him could not believe it.  He seemed to those around him to be happy and full of life, the last person anyone would expect to suffer from depression.   As I have learned more about my own mental health, I have come to view suicide as a fatal result of the disease of depression, not the ultimate sin I was originally told it was.  Like many other potentially fatal diseases, such a result can potentially be avoided with proper intervention and management of the disease.  I have no way of knowing, but I can’t help wondering if this person had similar experiences which discouraged him or her from speaking about the disease, from seeking assistance.  I can’t help wondering if it would have lessened the stigma, if he would have felt any less alone, if he had heard someone else admit, “I have depression.”
Jay Brubaker

My good friend, my beloved friend Donovan Miller died this morning. In a city filled with festivities, his family and wide circle of friends grieve.

He introduced me to kayaking out on the Indiana Museum of Art lake. We talked faith and religion in cafes. He showed me one of the natural habitats that he helped preserve. He was one of the “urban farmers” who shared breakfast at Just Judy’s on the third Saturday of the month.

Perhaps of most value to Donovan, we talked through his inchoate plans to write about his Amish father’s trip west. And those conversations led into our sharing about the homes we grew up in.

Donovan spent his two years of alternate service to the military at a child service agency in West Liberty, Ohio, a place I would later visit as a consultant.

He devoted the major portion of his adult career to social work, although he took a break at a point of burn-out to offer lawn/garden services. Along the way he became more and more involved in nature study and care.

Donovan was not an avid church attender although he never spoke disrespectfully of the church. For him, the horizontal or social dimension of faith was as important as the vertical. He was not inclined to define God but he lived a gentle, godly life.

When he learned of his fatal illness, he called together his friends. We sat in the backyard to share our common stories. Don had that grace-filled ability to laugh with those who laugh and to cry with those who cry. In the back yard, we laughed and cried.

One Saturday morning we urban farmers talked about death and about our own dates with destiny. Don said little; he had just heard his own call. Fortunately he was able to be with us for two or three additional breakfasts.

On Sunday he will be buried in a biodegradable box made by a friend. His book about his father will be published. His gardens around town will be cared for. Our memory of Donovan will endure.

I learned to know Donovan and his wife Barbara through his daughter Shawndra who lives near us. We share many friends, a love of writing, and a world view. My condolences go to Barbara, Shawndra and Shawndra’s partner Judy in this time of Transition.

I’ve had it up to here: I don’t want to hear that phrase again in 45 years.

Urban Dictionary expresses my sentiments calling it a “rubbish phrase used by many annoying people.”

Ben Zimmer in Visual Thesaurus: “It was all over the news yesterday: according to a new poll from the Marist Institute for Public Opinion, whatever is the word that Americans find most annoying. The poll asked respondents which word or phrase bothered them the most, and whatever easily swamped the competition, with 47 percent naming it the most annoying. You know came in at 25 percent, it is what it is at 11 percent, anyway at 7 percent, and at the end of the day at 2 percent.”

Count me with that 2 per cent.

Yes, Tim Kidwell, I agree with what you wrote  in the Wall Street Journal.  ”‘At the end of the day’ has certitude, finality and a hint of righteousness. But it’s cheap and it’s stale. No surprise that every talking head, politician, sportscaster and game show host lunges for it like a linguistic life preserver.”

We know what it means literally. The sun goes down.

Figuratively it’s all over the place.  Like “… when it’s all said and done …”  Or “… the bottom line is …”  Or “… when everything has been taken into consideration …”

If truth be told, it’s a worn out idiomatic phrase that goes into the final sentence of whatever inane point you’re trying to make.  The final sentence. Unless you repeat that sentence again so that you can reiterate “at the end of the day.”

Political Recipe for 2012

• Take LOTS and LOTS of MONEY

then, using your hands (they need not be clean)

• mix with raw undefined VITRIOL

heat but don’t bake, not even half-bake

• then dish it (cable and networks are ok).

Believe in America.

Read the rest of this entry »

What a day to play in the park!

Lucy on the merry-go-round.

Annie at the top of the slide.

I love weather. It connects me with nature … with the earth … with the solar system … with the universe. Customarily I don’t think about weather until something unusual is going on — like today, January 31, 2012, when we are likely to set a record for warmth.

As a child, I knew that God makes weather, all kinds of weather: thunderstorms, snow, tornados. That was a comforting thought, that God in Heaven made weather.  The profundity has only increased. The solar system is not static; there is constant movement including the rotating of the earth in its orbit around the sun. I am told that the rotation creates winds that shape our weather patterns.

We are also told that our behaviors on the planet have profound effects upon the weather.

Thus, in the park today with Lucy and Annie, we enjoyed the slides and swings and “Egyptian bar house” and merry-go-round and the weather.

PS.  On a different subject — living within a plutocracy (see recent blogs).  Global Gifts, the humble fair-trade store on Mass Ave may not put, among its festive show window objects, the words SUPER BOWL without consent from and payment to the National Football League.

The preacher in Ecclesiastes says there is a time for everything. In Indianapolis, this is the time for festivity.

Our fierce and sometimes in-your-face sports writer, Bob Kravitz, says “The time has come. Celebrate it. And enjoy.”

The thoughtful Matthew Tully writes, “The spectacle that’s about to take over Indianapolis won’t solve our problems and, yes, there will be headaches in the coming days. But this will be a week unlike any the city has ever seen. Do yourself a favor. Enjoy it.”

The lively smart Erika D. Smith says, “For now, Indianapolis is still our city. So, claim it. Go party.”

Indeed let us celebrate Indianapolis’ success. Let us celebrate what Indianapolis can become.

One of four zip lines high above Super Bowl Village.

Downtown and all over the city there are  crowds, shoulder to shoulder people, neighbors coming together … there is talking and laughing and  dancing … there are seniors walking with canes and babies in strollers … there are lights and brightness, music and noise, food and drink … there are games and jokes and stunts and clowns and over-the-top gaiety … there is raucous abandon bordered by Hoosier modesty.

Festival belongs to eros, not thanatos. Festival is for dreaming. Festival is for celebrating community, individuals, nature, success and  this moment of  communal life.

Indianapolis is doing it quite nicely. What I mean is that Indy is doing it Hoosier-style. The city is not pretending to be Miami or New Orleans or New York or Phoenix. This event is “back home in Indiana.” I was pleased to see, for example, right in the middle of the Super Bowl Village a lovely grass plot on which were about 40 pairs of corn holes, all of which were occupied by enthusiastic tossers.

I regret that those who have not realized the benefits of living in The Good Society are not given to a festive spirit at this time. But I hope that this week can be a step toward a time when we all can celebrate life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, and the access to opportunity.

Super Bowl week has begun.

The strategic planning of forty years ago has effected what many outsiders see as an extraordinary  rebirth of a rust-belt city. Indianapolis has received headline raves from newspapers and magazines throughout the country. This city is now world-class in amateur and professional athletics, bio-medical research, medical care, the arts and several specialties in education. Downtown is welcoming; many youth and seniors are moving to the inner city.

I’m proud of Indianapolis. We enjoy living here. We like to show people around. Among the organizations we have supported: the Indianapolis Museum of Art, Eideljorg, the Indianapolis Symphony, Indiana State Museum, the Children’s Museum, Indianapolis Repertory Theater and local galleries. My spouse is assistant manager of a fair trade store (Global Gifts) on the vibrant Mass Avenue.

One may accurately observe in this modern history, however, that power has concentrated itself among the wealthy. Thus one might venture to say that at times the political mode is that of a plutocracy. Indianapolis, too, has its 1% and its 99%. One may argue with plenty of evidence that the big money derived from sports hasn’t trickled down the whole way.

Yes, there are many pleasant communities, both upper and middle class communities that benefit from city leadership and city wealth. We live in one such community, Irvington, that is as friendly and cohesive and alive as Goshen. Nonetheless, it is quite clear to us who travel through blighted areas to get downtown that we’ve got a lot of people who do not live in The Good Society. The photos below were not hard to find. I took those photos along the route we travel from our house to Global Gifts.

What percentage of Indianapolis’ 850,000 are poor?  My guess is that a third of the adult population would say that they do not live in The Good Society. Rust-belt factories have closed, leaving lots of people without jobs. Unemployment is especially high among African American males. Drug use is blamed for much of the gun violence that kills more than 100 people each year.

When I travel by city bus  I learn of the inadequacy of food stamps, medical problems that won’t be treated because of cost, children who have been educated in the streets rather than at school or church.

The city has thousands of empty houses, some of them clandestinely occupied by homeless families. Homelessness has escalated in recent years, now to include many entire families. A nighttime huddle of street people sleeps under an elevated train track.

Indianapolis Public Schools have deteriorated to the point that many responsible parents stretch their dollars to send their children to private school. On our street with many children, not one of them attends IPS, thus hurting the schools even more. The state will be taking over several schools this next year.

Because of the widespread use of coal for power, the city’s air does not meet acceptable health standards. And conservative politics has not as yet banned smoking in public establishments.

The mayor is now addressing the infrastructure which has been disregarded for decades. Many streets, curbs, sidewalks and bridges must be repaired. (Poorer communities lack sidewalks and curbs.) The storm sewer is outdated.

Indy has one of the worst public transportation systems among the nation’s large cities. This deficit contributes to highway gridlock and  further isolates poor people, making it difficult for them to hold jobs, to go shopping and in general to be mobile.

The police have given to themselves a compromised reputation due to charges of  police brutality, drunkenness while on duty, and unprofessional behaviors while off duty.

The state family and child care programs have come under fire because of the number of young children who have died at the hands of abusive parents.

Prostitution had been centered in a motel several blocks from our house. That building has been shut down finally, but this simply means that the issue has migrated to another part of the city.

City parks and the public library with its many branches have curtailed hours of service due to lack of funds.

Both the African American and the Hispanic American communities speak of their being excluded, not by overt discrimination but rather by systemic racism.

Because of the shift of advertising dollars to new media, The Indianapolis Star, which has historically performed a valuable watch on government has been weakened. There has been no replacement.  I find this troubling in a city where too many government officials and legislators have been cited for corruption.

I do not intend a jeremiad. Rather, I am insisting on presenting an accurate view of a successful American city wherein not all are created equal, not all are given equal opportunity to live fulfilling lives, and not all benefit from glory of hosting a Super Bowl.

Indianapolis Colts games cost more than many an Indianapolis adult earns in a week. Pacers games aren’t quite as expensive yet beyond many middle-class budget. Two people can expect to pay $500 for two season tickets for the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra or Indiana Repertory Theater.

The Super Bowl activities will be beyond the reach of thousands of us.  No seat can be purchased for $1,000. Low-end hotels are charging $500 per night with a four- night minimum. Parking fees have doubled and tripled. Restaurant prices have jumped. Downtown parties are charging $1,000 + entrance fees.

Meanwhile, the plutocrats gain. For every soft drink sold downtown, the Colts get 50 cents. For every beer, $1.00. For every mixed drink, $1.50.)

Often I find myself asking, “How might a city do quality strategic planning to ameliorate the suffering from poverty? Could Indianapolis ghettos be reborn just as the downtown has been reborn?”

So it is a tale of two cities. Yesterday I took a walk downtown. I saw and heard the stage programs, watched shouting people move high overhead on the zip line, eyed the 33 racing cars lined up on South Meridian, saw the lines at the bars. There was a lot a good will, lots of happy faces, lots of community spirit, many families having fun. But the poor people weren’t there.

A documentary of Indianapolis’ modern development was shown on television this week. I think that the history and this documentary would make a valuable graduate seminar on strategic planning. I’ve known this history from a distance. Now I live within it.

The story begins about fifty years ago when Indiana’s capital was non-descript, a dull midwestern city known only for a once-a-year raucous Indianapolis 500 race. Then a miracle occurred: a few people got together to dream about what the city could be. Among these people was a young mayor named Richard Lugar. Among his noteworthy accomplishments was the convincing of most of Marion County to join in uni-government which led to their becoming part of the city. This bringing together of potential adversaries saved the city from decades of political hassles.

Then following Mr. Lugar (who has gone on to a highly visible senate role) was another smart, ambitious mayor, a former Presbyterian minister, Bill Hudnut, who asked the next strategic question: what shall we now make of this city? He persisted with his question, gathering civic 
leaders to engage in futures thinking. When strategic planning is done well, then top priorities are identified and developed while lesser priorities are set aside. Stragtegic planning involves inclusions and exclusions. The Indianapolis planners opted to emphasize athletics and sports of all kinds. It was an understandable decision — the Indy 500 was in town, the state was considered a basketball capital.

Thereupon, Indianapolis began to seek athletic teams and for them to provide athletic venues. First came the Pacers who were part of the American Basketball Association. At first they practiced in the Hinkle Fieldhouse at Butler Unviersity and then later in the fieldhouse on the state fair grounds. Indy lauched a huge fundraising campaign that led to the building of Market Square Arena.

This initiative led to many others in baseball, swimming, tennis, track, and ice hockey, again with new venues. The result: the eventual hosting of the Pan American Games that brought world-wide attention to the city.

There is a crucial chapter in this history. City leaders, which now included mayors after Mr. Hudnut, were able to attract the participation of the city’s financial leaders, and most significantly, Eli Lily. The Lily Endowment and other similar agencies began investing in the city, which led to a period of physical growth, skyscrapers, hotels, and a renewed downtown.

Things were beginning to hop. An expanded zoo, a fine children’s museum, a first-rate orchestra, Indianapolis Museum of Art, Eideljorg Museum, Indiana Repertory Theater, an active Murat center for performing arts — these and other cultural organizations prospered.  Ditto the city’s universities: Indiana Univerity/Purdue University at Indianapolis, University of Indianapolis, Butler University, Marian University and another half dozen closeby.

And then the city, again with great ambition, built a football stadium in hopes of attracting a professional football team. With the persistent effort of Mr. Hudnut, Indy was able to attract the owner of the Baltimore Colts who was in a fight with the city of Baltimore. He left with his team in the middle of the night (in Mayflower moving vans) and arrived at a city giddy over its gain.

The football era was then blessed with the contract to bring Peyton Manning here as quarterback, delivering ten years of football at its best. As success piled onto success, and sport elitism demanded more and more, the city brought down its Hoosier Dome as it built a new stadium that attached to an enlarged convention center. The cost: more than $750,000,000.00.

The city became home to the headquarters of the NCAA and other sports organizations. The city hosted regional and national championships in several sports.  The city fathers continued to dream: what about hosting the Super Bowl?  On the third try, they succeeded and that brings us to this day.

Here is a summary.  The strategic planners skillfully focused on a priority, got the populace to support the agenda, assigned money to the ventures — private and public money, found capable people to lead the projects and realized a great success.

You will certainly hear about Indianapolis and see its beauty in upcoming days. Indeed, this is a great place to live.

Tomorrow in my blog I shall address the tale of two cities.

These are high times for Indianapolis, home of the Super Bowl, to be played a week from Sunday. Usually the Super Bowl is played in a southern tourist-centered city. But this year, the gala event will be held about five miles from our house.

I shall use this occasion to think about The Good Society. That term, by the way, was the title of a course in Goshen College’s Humane Studies Program back in the ’70s and ’80s. At its best, the course invited students to think broadly and deeply about what makes for effective social organization, and what destroys it.

Indianapolis at this moment offers us an apt specimen for the study of the good society. Many newspapers and magazines across the country have written about the remarkable rebirth of this place once known as “Indiana no place.”  Today it is honored by many laudatory headlines near and far. At the same time, Indianapolis is more than one story. It is a tale of two or more cities that occupy Marion County, Indiana. I hope to remark on some of these tales.

This photo shows the new Marriot Hotel, built specifically for this event. It has well over 1,000 rooms and numerous restaurants. The hotel is just one of many new structures to anticipate this event, none of them outdoing the new 68,000 seat football stadium that bears the name of a former Hoosier who has made it big in the oil industry. The stadium and the enlarged and attached convention center cost more than 3/4 of a billion dollars.

The city expects well over 250,000 visitors during the ten-day fete.  I read this morning at St. Elmo’s Steak House is fully reserved until the week after the game. Georgia Street has been decked out with a heated walkway, many stages for outdoor concerts, a light show, and many etceteras. The convention center features a Super Bowl village with a real-sized football field for punt/throw contests. An approximate one-mile square downtown is dedicated to this event that supposedly is going to enrich Indy by hundreds of millions of dollars.

Today I learned that Super Bowl advertising will cost approximately $3.5 million per thirty-second ad. And Super Bowl Sunday is the second-largest day for U.S. food consumption, after Thanksgiving Day. Because their aren’t enough restaurants downtown, the city has invited in many street/truck vendors.

Well, that’s enough for this first entry. I’ll try to go deeper tomorrow.