In Praise of Mr. Hibbs

Today I attended my youngest son’s wedding, outdoors among the autumn oak and chestnut trees at a nice little park in Auburn, Washington. Everything went off without a hitch. Even the weather cooperated from beginning to end, and don’t even get me started on how good the minister was…

◄◄ Rewind

4 Days ago:  With the final countdown to the wedding well under way, the person scheduled to perform the ceremony suddenly became unavailable. To put it mildly, this was a wee bit stressful on the Bride and Groom to be.

“Dad?” my son asked on the phone, “Remember that friend of yours who does weddings? Do you think he might be able to help?”

I was thinking “This close to the wedding? Ain’t no way!” but my answer contained more hopeful phrases like, “I doubt it,” “Don’t get your hopes up,” and, “but I’ll call him.”

Now to bring you readers up to speed, “my friend who does weddings” is Jonathan Hibbs; recently ordained minister, longtime friend, and the co-conspirator in many of my most ill-conceived, and therefore coolest and funniest childhood (and teen) adventures. Though our communications were infrequent for a few decades there after high school, we’ve done a better job at staying in touch recently, and despite the years I still consider Jon to be one of my closest friends.

So I called Jon, explained my son’s situation, and asked for his advice on how to go about finding a minister that could do a wedding on 4 days’ notice. It seemed unreasonable to ask Jon to do it, so I hemmed and hawed, hoping that maybe he knew of some kind of ordained guy network, or secret call center where wedding officiants waited around like day-laborers at Home Depot ready to jump in your truck, and go conduct a wedding. Well I guess that network doesn’t exist, but before I could think of how to give my son the bad news Jon said, “I’ll do it.”

Slam, bam thank you Jon! On ridiculously short notice, without an opportunity to even meet the couple-to-be, Jon reviewed the planned wedding vows and ceremony script via email, complete with Scottish handfasting tradition, and…

Fast Forward ►►

Today I attended my youngest son’s wedding, outdoors among the autumn oak and chestnut trees at a nice little park in Auburn, Washington. Everything went off without a hitch. Minister Jon, though it was only his third wedding, did a phenomenal job. The ceremony was reverent, entertaining, sweet, and funny in all the right places.

My dear old friend, Mr. Hibbs, did more than just save a wedding for my youngest son, and new daughter-in-law today. He, and a well-timed window of September sunshine conspired to make it perfect. And that will be long remembered.
     

  

A Stone Unturned

Her life came

Her death came

 

Her thoughts

Her dreams

Her words

Her deeds

Lie unwritten

Unrecorded

Unrecalled

 

Her face

Smiles only

In the memory

Of a mirror

On a wall

In a hallway

Irretrievable

 

She was a stone

Unturned

Happy Hanukkah.

Just a reminder that a 2,176 year old tradition begins anew tonight. So tonight in honor of all Jews living and passed who have helped to light up the world we live in, I light my menorah. I don’t light it out of a profound belief in the miracle of the Maccabees, for I don’t believe in miracles. Nor do light it out of any family tradition, for I was raised Roman Catholic. I light it in honor of the millions of Jewish families who should be lighting their own menorahs tonight; the millions of “missing families” who don’t even exist today because the men and women who would have been their parents and grandparents were slaughtered in the Holocaust. Slaughtered not because of anything they had done, but merely because of who they were.

Hanukkah means "to dedicate."  It’s not a major Jewish holiday, but it is the most well known Jewish holiday to non-Jews, so I think it’s a good time for us non-Jews to dedicate ourselves to remembering the Holocaust; a good time for the world to dedicate itself to never letting such genocide happen again. Religion aside, respecting and protecting all people is just the right thing to do, so for the next eight nights I will light the menorah for those who never had the chance. Happy Hanukkah.

Only the Hemlocks

  
Raindrops splash on a dashboard Jesus.
The coroner’s van sits black as a crow.
Streetlight halos hang empty of angels.
While hemlocks watch over the chaos below.

Over water and blood and gas and oil,
Over hush of death, and hand of fate,
Over waning cries, and tears and toil,
As they flow into the culvert’s grate.

Into the blackness, toward the ocean,
Back to the place where life began,
And what remains is towed away,
Or placed into the waiting van.

And only the hemlocks stand in witness,
As flashing lights at dawn abate,
And as painted roadside crosses fade,
Only the hemlocks wait.
  

Ray

  
Today while I was cutting firewood in the backyard, I began reminiscing about my job at the sawmill, over thirty years ago. The fresh Douglas fir sawdust flying from my chainsaw smelled the same today as it did back then. I began to hear the sounds of the sawmill. The pounding of logs on their way to the head-rig, the tearing of saw blades, the rip of the planer, the slapping of lumber coming off the green chain. I could feel the building shake, and I began to see their faces again. Phil, Bob, and Jay. Mark, having a laugh with Cho and Kim. Patty with her leather gloves tucked in the back pockets of those tight blue jeans. Glen and Old Throp, grading and stamping the lumber. Ken, high on speed, keeping up with the best of ‘em. And Ray.

Today I wished I could go back to that mill just one more time. Back three decades. Back to the night before Ray died. I’d sit by him at the lunch table and say “Ray, don’t come in to work tomorrow. Take your wife and kid out for a drive in that new truck you’re so proud of. And when you come back, don’t wear those steel toe boots. They’re not safe. They’re more dangerous that you could ever imagine. And from now on, don’t climb up on that machine of yours anymore when it’s running. And when boards get caught in the rollers, don’t ever try to kick them through with your foot. When boards get caught like that, turn off the machine Ray. Turn off the machine.”
 

Remembering Jim Hinde (singer-songwriter, patriot)

  

In 2003 I attended my first Oregon Country Fair. I walked in with little idea of what to expect, and immediately became lost among the many paths winding through the trees. The woods of the fair grounds were filled with stages, booths, and eateries, occupied by an eclectic variety of performers, artisans, and cooks. The first performer I happened upon was a gray bearded folk singer sporting a wry smile and worn out blue jeans. He was surveying the crowd through piercing gray eyes from beneath the brim of his tan panama hat. The black guitar case that lay on the ground in front of him contained a few CD’s and his morning’s earnings. Several stickers adorned the case, but one in particular stood out from the others. It was a large black and white bumper sticker that read simply “IMPEACH BUSH.”

If the bumper sticker seemed bold, the songs were even bolder. Songs like Doin' the Perp Walk, and Raise Your Ass, Raise Your Bail told us all what he thought of our presiding administration. They called for the impeachment and arrest of Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Ashcroft, and the rest of the gang who were running the country into the ground at the time. This guy with the rosy red cheeks and glinting eyes may have looked Santa Claws, but he was angry. Not angry at life in general, or at the people around him. His smile and kind nature let everyone know he was a gentle man, and his irreverent humor made us all laugh. His anger was an intense anger at injustice and greed. An anger at people so greedy that they’re willing to send other peoples children to die just to increase their own fortunes. As I learned during the show, he was one of those sent to die some three decades earlier.

His Name was Jim Hinde, a proud but disillusioned American Veteran of the Vietnam War. I watched Jim perform again later that same day, and I’ve returned to The Oregon Country Fair every year since to watch him perform his songs of peace and defiance. I’ve purchased every CD Jim ever made (some of them twice) and played them repeatedly to keep my sanity during the “Bush years.” As cowards like Bush and Cheney played army with the lives of millions, Jim Hinde sang his songs of true patriotism, and sought to change his country for the better.

The song Frank Dennis and Me tells the story of survival, sorrow and lies that tens of thousands of Vietnam Veteran’s experienced. Songs like The Dance, Shout Down the Wind, and A Mighty Sad Song, give you further glimpses into life of this remarkable man. The song They’ll Have to Kill Me Down the Road reflects his determination to never compromise. The song Freedom Road was the gift he wanted to give all of us. And after the songs were done, Jim’s willingness to talk to each and every fan who wanted to get an autograph, or share a story showed his genuine humanity.

Jim Hinde was one of my heroes. A man who fought for his country and was nearly destroyed by the Vietnam War. A man who spent the rest of his life fighting his own demons and fighting for peace until his death in 2008 at age 56. May you at last rest in peace Jim.

A memorial tribute performed by folk singer-songwriter Jim Page and others was held for Jim Hinde at the 2008 Oregon Country Fair. Jim’s songs were sung by several of his musician brothers and sisters, as a life sized rainbow colored silhouette of Jim with his guitar stood at the edge of the stage. A photo of Jim, and his tan Panama hat rested on a stool beside it.