Part III: tribute to lost fire-fighters (fictional 9-11 story)

Part III of the 9-11 Saga: Tribute to Fallen Fire Fighters

Mike and his dad returned to the apartment and flipped on the television, instantly seeing the horror of what the planes had done: two distinct columns of smoke rising into the sky, and floors burning in the middle of the Twin Towers.

Presumably on duty, his fire-fighter brother Patrick did not answer his cell phone, but Mike was soon paged to return to his unit immediately. Every first-responder mobilized in those early hours of the 9-11 tragedy, many commuted into the city as thousands fled.

He didn’t like leaving his aged father Jim O'Keafe alone in front of the television, worrying about his beloved son in the city and his other one heading toward the call of duty; but during the drive into Manhattan, Michael O’Keafe continued to ponder the nature of duty, family, and his upbringing. Having spent the morning on the lake contemplatively, it wasn’t difficult to consider the strange reality that he was probably closer to his work colleagues through their bond of a shared mission, than he was to his own family? He knew it in his gut.

Already anguished with interior conflict, the snarled traffic only increased the anxiety. During these thoughts, out of love and concern for his brother Patrick O’Keafe; he wondered what makes one human being head into an inferno, despite the danger, in order to save another, even one whom he hasn’t met?

His head throbbed uncontrollably, and with visceral churning Mike felt the natural effects of both internal and external chaos. He sensed the demise in the gloomy sky in front of him, light obliterated. The smoke's murkiness thickened into nightfall the closer he drove into Manhattan.

He pictured Patrick leading his company into a World Trade Center Tower in order to battle the asymmetrical threat of a raging fire. How does a single individual fight something as large as a commercial structure engulfed in flames?

Again he thought about art school, painting, and living by the Pacific instead of Manhattan, as well as the split-second judgment required to avoid fire-fighting catastrophe. Two different worlds balanced in his subconscious.

If  “purpose” is the eternal condition for success, how many fire-fighters actually feel the calling or purpose of their work, especially as they venture headlong into danger, even the kind of which might jeopardize their lives?

©Mark H. Pillsbury

[Part One posted September 10, 2011, see previous posts...]

Escaping the Storm (2013)

commercial airline escaping a super-cell over Montana

Looking into the future is always a dangerous practice, but the 2013 economic outlook is “stormy.” 

By the end of this year the US should know if it escaped the clouds or not. 

Here is a general forecast for a perfect global storm which may occur in 2013 (Roubini):

Factors that might contribute to a massive global recession:

1. disorderly breakup of the Eurozone b/c of monetary instability.
2. another recession in the U.S. (2013) b/c of gov't instability.
3. slow growth in China, hard landing.
4. emerging markets stumble (Brazil, India, Russia, Africa, where growth is stalling).
5. Middle Eastern risk of military confrontation re: nuclear proliferation.

There is still time to fend off these threats or even escape by heading the other direction like the airplane in the picture above; however, reading these predictions this morning gave me pause about prospects for 2013.

Fasten your seatbelts, and place seats & tray-tables in the fully upright position. There could be some turbulence up ahead!

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Scuba diving Part III: It feels like the First Time

My first diving buddy, George Hansen, could attest that when there is no visibility in a slimy green Texas dive park, it is hard to stay close to your partner. During an unusual September cold snap in Hill County, 14 years ago, together we descended the depths of Lake Whitney in 78° water while the dark skies drizzled rain above us. Taking only a couple 3 Lbs. weights on my belt and all the pool training of a neophyte with me, I set out to earn the SSI® Level 1 diver classification from the great Wm. Sandy Hardy, my dive master.

How does fresh-water certification diving compare to the real thing? Not as deep, not as clear, not as warm, not as much color, not as free, less enjoyable! Like watching 1970s-vintage public television on the tiny black and white Sony® TV in my parents’ study growing up, compared to watching modern cable-TV on today’s HD flat-screen behemoths. In just six weeks, back in 1998, I went from Lake Whitney in Texas to the underwater canyons outside San Pedro, near Ambergris Caye Belize, in Central America. Hello HBO®

Lumbering out of the skies onto the dirt airstrip of Ambergris Caye Belize, the heavy single-engine turboprop Cessna® Caravan dropped down to earth carrying a weighty load of divers and gear. Largely undiscovered fourteen years ago, this tiny Caribbean hamlet operated at a unhurried pace along the second largest barrier reef in the world. No one wore shoes on this tiny diver’s paradise; it seemed that we all had webbed feet.

image: Alberto Bradley

The Bradley family business services the active tourists flocking to the outer atolls on the Caribbean side of Central America. With a team of boys rotating through as fishing guides, jungle canopy leaders, and dive masters, the Bradleys showcase the wonders of this small country above and below sea level. Alberto Bradley took us to three major canyons along the coast: San Pedro, Victoria, and Tackle Box canyons.

Once outside the protective barrier reef, the waves slowly roll, punctuated by the occasional splash of frothy water, briny and blue in the mid-morning sun. The water temperature at ten degrees warmer than the freshwater in Texas made it quite comfortable. Visibility in the Caribbean Sea reached easily 100 feet; at the bottom of the canyon (110 feet) we looked up to see the boat waiting to pick us up. Seemingly scuba diving in a Godly aquarium, our dive group observed some of the finest excursions the ocean could offer.

One of the beguiling sensations of diving is swimming in the solitude and silence of deep water. Combined with the velvety abyss just over the blue horizon, a diver feels like an astronaut exploring a distant planetary seascape. Unlike the solar system, this world is teaming with life. Witnessing an undersea population explosion made fishing seem a lot easier looking up toward the surface, with millions of yellowtail snapper ready to take the hook. Small angelfish with their shimmering purple & gold skin caught my eye; and in a surprising example of cooperative living, I saw a spider crab inhabit the same apartment space as a 6-foot green Moray eel. Even in cramped quarters, they seemed to live together peaceably as neighbors.

just drop in a hook

During the first few dives in open water amidst the swirling Caribbean Sea, I learned that I am very small in relation to the rest of the world, especially one covered by salt water. My survivability existed within limited risk-management parameters compared to the danger of such a colossal ocean. Although we were trained for this adventure, inserting ourselves into vast, seemingly invisible currents limited our ability to maintain control over direction and speed of movement. Understanding human limits underwater fosters attitudes of patient, realistic, openness—anticipatory, actionless action* which requires a hopeful, situational awareness that this monstrous ocean will unfold in front of you at its own torpid pace. I wrote of this in a previous post (Part II) and will tell of a perfect example in a later post, as I describe a particular dive occurring on Sunday, October 25, 1998.

No offense to buddy George but in addition to the great visibility, my dive partner in Belize was so much easier to look at than he was. There were times she was so beautiful I thought it was a mermaid.

Diving taught me, that as in life, knowingly inserting yourself into a larger stream of consciousness and action, can carry you off to places to which you had not planned to go. Knowing the environment, watching the flow of circumstances, seeking experienced guides, observing forces, destinations and conclusions, often allow the diver or businessman to “plan the process” with some sort of foreknowledge or strategy. Otherwise, you go where the ocean current takes you.

writing ©Mark H. Pillsbury

(pictures are for personal use)
*note: again I am using an original application of these concepts to Scuba diving, learned reading Sue Monk Kidd's When the Heart Waits (HarperCollins 1990) see Ch. 2

Scuba diving Part 1: Dive Like You Train, Train Like You Dive

Unencumbered, young, daring, athletic, honeymooning, just plain stupid. What adjective do you use to describe a SCUBA diver? [SCUBA is the acronym for Self-contained, underwater, breathing, adventurer!]

90% of earth’s surface is covered with water, but humans were not designed to be aquatic.  Without packaged air living underwater is impossible for over a couple of minutes. Conversely, fish do not live well on dry land. Is this too complicated?

Diver certification is like learning to be an astronaut; strangely, what becomes second-nature your body, it is not designed to do. Wearing layers of protective equipment, strapping on a weight belt so you will actually sink, and continuously breathing underwater is a very presumptuous act, but it is as freeing an experience one can feel, an audacious activity completely legal.

Training begins in learning the basic standards of the atmosphere underwater and the proper use of all the equipment. After that, teamwork in a pool separates the swimming-Sams from the panicky-Pauls. Surprises and accidents that happen 100 feet below the surface turn into risky, often dangerous circumstances that must be identified, simulated, and practiced. “Best-practices” replaces thrill-seeking, and timid careful routines are learned and repeated so they become rote.

Exploratory diving’s purpose is to get safely to depth and let the ocean wonders float by, then safely ascending so that the diver lives to tell of the exciting sights he/she witnessed. There are no surprises in the procedures, only in the viewing. SCUBA diving is touring God’s oceans as a visitor, or alien; always looking at the clock to see when you have over-stayed your welcome in the fish’s living room.

Life at these depths requires balance. Buoyancy’s balance is achieved slowly and with proper weighting. Once the diver is comfortably gliding through the water breathing calmly; the weightless flight often transports the inner-consciousness to another universe. The unearthly quiet of a deep dive, peering into the abyss is transformative, but it is not without cost.

Early training must instill this search for inner calm and the quiet peace of marine exploration. Anything that encumbers that mission must be rooted out and conquered or the certification delayed. Diving is a grown-up sport one cannot undertake half-heartedly, or casually. Achieving other-worldly joys, floating through the ocean forests, a qualified diver must be disciplined, teachable, and resilient.

Panic kills. Panic is the enemy. It can cause the delay and mayhem that lead to bold mistakes. Panic takes away the enjoyment of the adventure, replacing it with fear, dread, fatigue, and stress. Obeying the standards of certified diving is like an insurance policy against panic. Dive trainers experiment with everything they know in practice to fluster, frighten, and rattle the diver so that in real time under salt water, an unexpected glitch doesn’t cause the diver to freak out. Pre-planning and training for each dive destination is essential; the buddy-system seeks survival because if one diver goes to pieces, the buddy calms her down and assists in recovery of whatever control was lost (like oxygen).

Fortunate to have the wise old divemaster Bill "Sandy" Hardy train me in 1998, I learned the basics for weeks in a pool before I was allowed to do a check-out dive and apply for SSI® certification. That September, he threw us into the harshest of environments on a cold spring day in dark Lake Whitney, Texas, with no underwater visibility. The conditions starkly contrasted the warm water Caribbean diving which dominates the rest of my log book. I am going to dig that thing out and swim through my underwater experiences over the next few installments, without having to travel anywhere, or make a safety stop. Let’s go diving! (Part I)

writing ©Mark H. Pillsbury
pictures are for personal use

See Part II of the Diving Series:
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Reflections on Hurricane Ike

written September 16, 2008
©Mark H. Pillsbury

(Houston, TX) Aftermath of Hurricane Ike:

I watched Hurricane Ike come through the neighborhood from the comfort of a wing-back chair. Even though the storm windows on the front of the house performed flawlessly under heavy fire, the long night witnessing the storm’s destructive power was in retrospect, dangerous. However, the past few months have been times of both reflection and danger for me. Spending five lonely hours watching the eye-wall continue to pound our little street in Houston, I reflected on a stay in the hospital in 2007 wondering, “Why God brings difficulties into our lives?”

John 15:2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.

During trials, God prunes us like a tree, even though at the time pruning seems painful, it allows one to become stronger and able to produce more in the long term: to be more fruitful for His purposes. The concept of spiritual discipline is not very popular, but it is apparent to me over the last year how God’s providence in pruning can lead to better living.

The process of getting in shape is slow and painful. By gradually losing weight and eating right, God transformed my body; I not only feel better but my long-term health is improved. Daily pruning off bad habits, over the course of a year, not only increased longevity but gave me a fresh outlook on life. Even more, my family did not just witness this blessing but participated in it. During this period of change it was apparent that God is a faithful, but pruning God; constant like a rock but allowing our world to evolve. He is a God of change and hope and new beginnings (as Paul wrote to Ephesus, “You can start living an entirely new life, as a person regenerated…”). The Gospel gives us the chance at new life in Him if we believe by faith alone.

"It takes courage to push yourself to places that you have never been before....to test your limits....to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." –Anais Nin

Thoughts on my favorite tree

There is one tree in our front yard; a majestic southern live-oak tree that my old neighbor says grew from a solitary acorn. It was just me and my tree during that dark storm. Sheltered inside my house, I watched her fight with Ike all night long. The oak tree did gyrations and swayed in the wind, slapping, twisting and contorting in extremes I thought impossible to survive. At times the branches looked like strands of spaghetti, boiling in a pot, whirling like a dervish! However, after all the swaying subsided, there was only one branch hanging loosely from her limbs. There were many trees in our neighborhood with dozens of branches littering their yard, but not ours. If any neighbor could assess this tree like God can, in geological time, they would see it leap out of the ground and turn to the sun and spread its arms and bask in the joys of being an oak tree in Texas. (thanks, Marilynne Robinson).

"A dictator sees the truth as a matter or will; anything he says or dreams is the absolute truth and soon the people are forced to go along with him.

For the so-called democrat, the truth is the will of the people. Whatever the majority says is the law and that law becomes the truth for the people.

But for men like us, the only truth is the truth of the tree. All trees. Because the truth of the tree is its roots in the ground, and the wind blowing, and the rain falling. The sun is the tree's truth, and even if it is cut down his seed will scatter and those roots will once again take hold." --Tolstoy McGill

In the five years we have lived in our house we paid expert arborists to prune our lone live-oak twice. These were expensive and painful but all the unnecessary branches were taken away and the strength of the tree grew until she was ready when the real trial came. When light finally broke the horizon and the worst of Ike moved on, the large canopy drooped all the way down so her branches almost touched the ground. I never saw a living thing so tired from fighting, yet so proud to have survived. There was quite a scattered mess in our front yard, but the branches and limbs I cleaned up were not from the tree pruned, they were from trees not so well prepared.

Thoughts on the future of Houston

The city can take two paths during the aftermath. One is outward, blame-centered, and passive. The other is an active, self-sustaining, collaborative time of healing and growth over the next year, a chance at a new beginning. My hope is the city can focus on the priorities of its citizenry and prune away the petty arguments and wasteful bureaucracy hindering the execution of the city’s daily priorities. Many neighborhoods discovered unity after they were all leveled by the storm, living two weeks without power connected to their homes. The cooperative force of political leaders working together for provision of city services inspired the citizenry, and showed us the best purpose of government.

"The flight crowd is created by a threat. Everyone fleas; everyone is drawn along. The danger which threatens is the same for all. People flee together b/c it is best to flee that way. They feel the same excitement and energy of some increases the energy of others; people push each other along in the same direction. So long as they flee together they feel the danger is distributed..." --Elias Canetti (Crowds & Power 1960) [reminded me of *Hurricane Rita* when the whole city left and nothing happened]

Unlike New Orleans, this city has already rolled up its sleeves and started the entrepreneurial work that rebuilding and re-visioning requires. Instead of feeling sorry for ourselves, Houston begins the cleanup with the mindset that it could have been a lot worse; and we will patiently work until life is back to normal and the economic engines of this great city churn again. Like live-oak trees, all of us were severely pruned during Hurricane Ike, but this trial in the end will be thought of as a good thing. One day we will tell of how we rose out of the rubble and blossomed into a better place, one more fruitful for future generations.

If peace be in the heart,
The wildest storm is full of solemn beauty,
The midnight flash but shows the path of duty,
Each living creature tells some new and joyous story,
The very trees and stones all catch a ray of glory,
If peace be in the heart.
--Charles Francis Richardson

How hard is Death... Part 4 of the storm-chaser saga...

And as we stood near the taffrail side by side, my Captain and I, looking at it, hardly discernible already, but still quite close-to on our quarter, he remarked in a meditative tone:

"But for the turn of that wheel just in time there would have been another case of a 'missing' ship."

"Nobody ever comes back from a "missing" ship to tell how hard was the death of the craft, and how sudden and overwhelming the last anguish of her men."

"Nobody can say with what thoughts, with what regrets, with what words on their lips they died. But there is something fine in the sudden passing away of these hearts from the extremity of struggle and stress and tremendous uproar—from the vast, unrestful rage of the surface to the profound peace of the depths, sleeping untroubled since the beginning of ages." [from "The Mirror of the Sea" by Joseph Conrad (Harper & Bros. 1906), page 101]

Decision-making happens along points in time: planning, policies, procedures, precedence, preparation, priorities, programs mean nothing when the urgency of a decision dominates the moment.

With lip service to these systems we hold dear; it is emotion, instinct, intuition, and common sense that often rise up as influencers of whether we move one way or another.

Gathering data like a sponge, comparing it with what has gone before, weighing the costs of one direction with the benefits of another; one cannot know the thinking of decision-makers, we cannot know the games playing in their head.

Assuming that reason, fairness, honesty, objectivity, rational experience, and logic plays into decision-making seems comforting, yet it is no more predictable than the course of a tornado. And if God controls the universe, our galaxy, this solar system and all its inhabitants; then who can know what paths to take?

With momentary inputs we do the best we can, hoping others operate similarly; or even better, actually implement the strategies they worked so hard to devise. Training becomes routine, routine becomes habit, habit roots deep in our brain’s conduits and eventually becomes almost automatic behavior during a regular 12-hour day. This turns into a pretty good life.

Nevertheless, at this crucial point, these junctures seem the same as daily, mundane decisions. For Clay, Rick & Jessica, danger and opportunity meet on a dusty road in Liberty County, Texas. 30-foot high flames roar to life, demanding attention. These young friends peer down the path and discuss quickly what to do next, the heat rising around them. Time, fear, and asphalt roadway limits their ability to operate methodically, with the luxury of balanced discussion. This is a crisis, and the hunters seem now to be the hunted.

(to be continued in Part 5...)

Fiction ripped from the headlines… ©Mark H. Pillsbury (2011)
photo credit, http://vi.sualize.us

Texas wildfires: the escape (fiction ripped from the headlines)

Part 3: The Escape

Ironically, Gregg Allman’s sad dirge, “Midnight Rider” played on Sirius/XM® radio as Rick cranked the Tahoe’s ignition. “Outlaw Country,” Station 332 suited him fine as they wove their way through east Texas to find the ranch.

The lyrics, “I’m not gonna let ‘em catch me no/not gonna let ‘em catch the Midnight Rider,” inspired no confidence as both the weather wunderkinds focused on the red tail-lights of Clay’s truck which sped out the front gate kicking up a blinding dust cloud all the way onto the road, away from the wall of fire.

Nature’s fury has myriad forms, whether 100-feet below the ocean as a rushing current or approaching a massive tornado; Rick and Jessica knew intimately the harm that can come from the physical world in a matter of seconds. Even recognizing how fragile one holds to human life, like everyone they rarely feared imminent death; although frequently exposed to it. Nevertheless, today on a rural road in Texas, they finally took a right-turn which turned out to be a dead-end.

“C’mon Rick; catch up!” cried Jessica.

“Babe, look at the computer, and let me drive,” replied Rick, intently. “See if there is something to tell us where these fires are!” They fled at high-speed but their bandwidth for internet was dial-up slow.

image: Clint Harrington

After zooming down hilly back roads straining the capacity of the Tahoe, clinging to the contrails of Clay’s truck; they swooshed up-and-over a rise in the road finding him pulled over on the shoulder, brake lights glowing devilishly red through a cloud, like evil eyes. Rick didn’t know how far they'd travelled, only that they sped generally in a southeast direction. Both jumped out, approaching the driver’s side of the pickup.

“Can you see down toward the bottom of that next clearing?” Clay said as he looked forward through the windshield, not exactly asking a question, “I see flames and smoke rising above those trees?! Izat what you see?!”

photo credit: Idaho

“Could there be another T-intersection down there before we hit the wall?” Rick responded with panic in his voice, almost a shout; squinting a look down the path, silently agreeing with Clay’s observation.

“Can we at least try 9-1-1?” Jessica pleaded, “Maybe they could bear down on our GPS; tell us which way to turn?”

This turning point hinges on the decisions they make in the next two minutes; however each of the drivers eagerly wanted to get back behind the wheel, with itchy pedal-feet like a gunfighter fingering a holster. The traditional Chinese character for crisis (wēijī), widely abused by western motivational speakers, allegedly means the intersection of danger + opportunity. Danger is there alright, but the secondary word is more of “crucial point,” than opportunity. Crisis visits these young people through dark, hot, encircling flames, and no real exit strategy. As hard as it was to fathom, they are lost on an obscure back road in rural Texas without a credible opportunity for escape. This is the most crucial point in their young lives.

To be continued in Part 4....

©Mark H. Pillsbury (6 July 2011):
This is a work of fiction, and similarities to real individuals or other copyrighted material on cable TV or satellite radio is merely a coincidence