Bad Boys, School Superintendents & Wal-Mart

Last night, I ran into two of my former students outside the movie store. Brandon and Ricky were always in trouble for one thing or another during their three years in middle school. Both of them flunked almost every class but were passed on year after year, as is the habit in most middle schools. Ricky had a violent streak and was finally placed in an alternative school for much of his 7th grade year. It was mostly 7th grade macho stuff that got him in trouble. Like so many other lost boys and girls we see in middle school halls every year, he had virtually zero parental supervision. Brandon's mom tried to become more involved, but her son was soft and lazy, a follower who seemed hell bent on being cool above all else. Brandon had a good sense of humor and was one of the few in my class who understood my jokes, but he hadn't learned much academically since the third or fourth grade.

They saw me first as I pulled into the parking lot. "Hey, Mr. Smith." It's always nice to see former students smiling when we meet. So often, my memories of scolding them and sending them to the office for some transgression are all I remember. Ironically, some of the worst discipline problems are the friendliest when we meet outside the confines of school. They seem to know that I really did like them - even the bad ones (sometimes especially the bad ones). The two bad boys sauntered up to the passenger side of the car as I pulled in, and we talked through the window. Ricky had his ball cap on crooked and wore an open baseball jersey, the uniform of adolescent rebellion.

"So how's high school going?" I asked.
"We're not in school," Brandon said, smiling.
"We're doing home school now," Ricky said with a straight face. Home schooling? I had to laugh.
"Are you kidding me?" Both of them smiled just a bit, not wanting to completely admit that they weren't doing anything remotely related to school work.
"So, who's teaching you?" I asked.
"My mom," says Brandon.
They knew I didn't buy it, but I didn't say anything more. We said our good-byes, and they drove away in Brandon's beat up Taurus with the bass vibrating a loose muffler. Poor lost boys.

I remembered one parent/teacher conference. Brandon's mom had broken down in tears, pleading for advice on how to persuade her academically-challenged son that doing well in school was important. "He's a good boy," she said over and over.

And now this poor woman was home schooling them? I wonder how she's holding up. Their situation seems hopeless now. I hate it that they have chosen to separate themselves from the one place where they might learn something outside their usual realm - where they could associate with adults who cared about them and had some insight into the real world. The sad thing is, Ricky and Brandon were both reasonably bright, funny kids - especially Ricky. There were times when I knew that I "had them" during particular lessons. There was definitely some hope there - they just weren't in class often enough for anything to stick. When he came to school for a stretch, Ricky actually contributed to class and truly enjoyed doing a little math now and then. He even passed a couple of tests. I can remember how he eagerly shot his hand up when he had the answer to a math problem. Now it seems their education is a lost cause, but I'll keep you posted if there are any future Brandon and Ricky sightings in the 'hood.

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Speaking of education, I met the new superintendent of schools the other day at an NEA meeting. He's an affable fellow, much more articulate than the last suit that flew into town to lead R-12 . . . and much funnier. All the principals like him, but I still haven't heard him say much other than "we must foster a culture of improvement", which seems pretty uninspired to me. Let's all agree to try to do better, okay?

This was his first meeting with Springfield NEA, and a couple of polite teachers lobbed softball questions. He was obliged to mention how awesome (a favorite adjective) the system was and how capable the staff was . . . but then somebody asked him what he thought about class size. Having just struggled through a year when my classes were jammed with 35-36 students every hour, I was interested in how he'd handle this one. It seems amazing to me that a big system like R-12 refuses to hire enough teachers to have optimum class sizes.

Dr. Ridder smiled and apologetically explained that he always gets a little "political" when talking about class size . . . He rubbed his hands together and said, "I've seen teachers do a terrific job with classes of forty and a poor job with classes of fifteen." And then he smiled and nodded as if to acknowledge that what he had just uttered was total bullshit. Exactly the kind of bobbing and weaving we've come to expect from administrative types. I was disappointed but not surprised. He has a nice personality at least. He's coming back in a few months, and I have already promised myself to ask him about the tax rollback. Should inspire a good soft-shoe.

One last thing while on the topic of home schooling and public education. Did you know that the world's largest and richest corporation, besides busting unions and offering low-wage, low-benefit jobs to the working poor, has been funneling all kinds of money to political action committees that are opposed to public education? Here are a few facts from an NEA article:

The Walton family dedicates the bulk of its philanthropy to pushing vouchers, tuition tax credits and charter schools, giving at least $250 million to such efforts over the past six years. (USA Today, 3/11/04)
Since 1998, the Walton Family Foundation has given more than $100 million to private organizations that finance vouchers to private schools, undermine support for public education, and are intended to increase political pressure for publicly funded vouchers. (Mediatransparency.org)
The late John Walton was the biggest paycheck in the anti-public education movement, providing tens of millions of dollars of his own money to support anti-public education ballot initiatives and organizations and sitting on the boards of the major pro-voucher organizations.

What can you do? My little family is boycotting Wal-Mart in favor of companies like Target and Staples, who generously support public schools across the country. In spite of all the problems in schools today, I sincerely believe that public education is the glue that holds our society together, as tenuous as that hold may be. For every Ricky and Brandon that drop out, there are also kids that are rescued from terrible situations and benefit greatly from their time in public schools.

Where's the Love?

The following is in response to Kevin Elmer's commentary in the News-Leader.

Kevin Elmer's one-sided and utterly simplistic commentary in Sunday's paper left me wondering when so-called "conservative Christians" will ever cut the rhetoric, take off the blinders and view the world around them.

Elmer builds a flimsy argument that Islamic radicals love death over life, while we in the U.S. prefer the inverse - and then neatly concludes that this Islamic fatalism is the big difference between them and us. They love death; we love life.

I would argue that many Americans, even devout Christians like Rev. Pat Robbertson, are quite selective about their love of life. It depends on whose life it is - or the stage of development. From conception to birth, we're all about the sanctity of life - but for babies being born into abject poverty, like many of those left behind in New Orleans, well, they're on their own. We build bigger and better prisons to house those kinds of people. They aren't really part of the economy. They are expendable. Nixon advisor Henry Kissinger called them "eaters".

Mr. Elmer also states that 9/11 was the event that "ensured that (Al Qaida) would grow beyond a small group into an inspired movement." He might recall that the entire civilized world condemned the 9/11 attacks and rallied to support the U.S. No, it was the misguided U.S. invasion of Iraq that most certainly boosted the rolls of Islamic fanaticism - virtually every Mideast leader cautioned the Bush Administration on this.

I do agree that the victims of the 9/11 attacks "were not soldiers armed to protect . . . they were innocent." But are the 25,000 Iraqi civilians who have died since the U.S. invasion of their country any less innocent? When asked about civilian casualties, an American general said, "We don't do body counts." Where's the love?

It's always great to hear somebody cheerleading about how the U.S. is the greatest nation in the world. USA! USA ! But right now, after the veneer has been stripped away in New Orleans and with the continuing death and destruction in Iraq, I don't think we're gaining many converts worldwide.

Used Syringes

Today was a first. I've lived in this neighborhood for 14 years, and although there are a few shady characters renting houses a few blocks east of here, it's always been a quiet neighborhood of dog-walkers and kids on bikes. Sure we have our share of teenagers in their baggy pants and slightly askew ball caps trying to look tough, but they're just kids. Right?

I was cleaning up some stuff in the yard today, picking up what people typically throw out of their cars - a couple of fast food cups, a plastic grocery bag. But the grocery bag had something in it. I opened it up and looked down on somebody's discarded meth kit . . . three syringes, one still had a few cc's left in it, and a couple of spoons.

After thinking about all the little kids that live next door and across the street, I decided to call the police. I didn't really think they could do much, but I figured it might confirm what they already suspected about a certain house - maybe a red flag that might get them patrolling the neighborhood more often. I guess that's a good thing. The nice lady on the phone told me SPD didn't send officers to pick up syringes anymore - too many calls, I suppose.

She told me to very carefully place the syringes and spoons in a milk carton or some closed container and throw it in the trash. (This caused me to think of Mayor Carlson's son, whose arrest we talked about a few months ago. One method of investigation the police used in that case was sifting through the suspect's trash. In fact, they did find seeds and stems that served as a basis for his arrest. Now, the nice police lady is telling me to go ahead and throw the syringes in my trash. I guess the police can tell you to throw drug paraphernalia away, and it's all okay. I think there might be a dusty old bong in the attic - might as well toss it in for good measure.)

But seriously, the discovery of this stuff laying in my yard was a little unsettling. I haven't told the neighbors yet. Children ages 11, 6, 5 and 2 live in homes surrounding the dumping spot. Imagine one of them pulling dirty syringes out of bag - gives me chills.

The Drowning of New Orleans

The following snip is from Scientific American, October 2001:

New Orleans is a disaster waiting to happen. The city lies below sea level, in a bowl bordered by levees that fend off Lake Pontchartrain to the north and the Mississippi River to the south and west. And because of a damning confluence of factors, the city is sinking further, putting it at increasing flood risk after even minor storms. The low-lying Mississippi Delta, which buffers the city from the gulf, is also rapidly disappearing. A year from now another 25 to 30 square miles of delta marsh--an area the size of Manhattan--will have vanished. An acre disappears every 24 minutes. Each loss gives a storm surge a clearer path to wash over the delta and pour into the bowl, trapping one million people inside and another million in surrounding communities. Extensive evacuation would be impossible because the surging water would cut off the few escape routes. Scientists at Louisiana State University (L.S.U.), who have modeled hundreds of possible storm tracks on advanced computers, predict that more than 100,000 people could die. (end of snip)

While many thousands were evacuated, it makes you wonder . . . scientists have warned of this calamity for years, and yet the Army Corps of Engineers and federal officials did nothing to prepare for or avert a disaster of monumental proportions. Monster hurricane Andrew missed the Big Easy by a mere 100 miles in 1992, and in 1998 hurricane Georges was making a beeline for the city before veering just a few miles east at the last moment. Katrina veered a little at the end, as well, but the water surge following the storm broke two levees, and now we see the dreadful images that back up what scientists predicted years ago. (Now, about global warming . . . )

The human suffering going on down there is just unimaginable from our comfortable vantage point here in the Ozarks. These are the kinds of things that only happen in third world countries, right? The truth is, we've always had a hidden third world subsisting within our borders, and events like this only make that truth more evident. Have you seen the faces of the people trapped in the Superdome?

You can expect the rolls of the poor to continue to grow as the struggle to maintain a middle class becomes more and more difficult. The Louisiana coast supplies 1/5 of the nation's oil and 1/4 of its natural gas. We've already seen gas spike to $3 a gallon. Everybody feels this calamity, even here in Springfield.

And we were worried about terrorists.

Blogging from Iraq

So much of the news about the war in Iraq is filtered through corporate-owned media that have their own political connections to protect, it's hard to know if you're getting a "fair and balanced" account of what's really going on in this hellish endeavor. In today's America, that's just the way it is, as Walter Cronkite would say.

Michael Yon: Online Magazine is definitely worth a read if you'd like to get a truly unbiased glimpse of what daily life is like for the soldiers risking their lives doing the dirty work in Iraq - helping the Iraqis gain freedom from tyranny, or whatever the Bush administration rationale is this week.

Jesus Addressing a Republican Fund Raiser

Now that the Republicans have co-opted Christianity in this country, they have re-created Jesus in their own image. Here's a funny excerpt from an article in Slate Magazine entitled "The Parable of Jesus and the Rubber Chicken". This is our Lord and Savior addressing a Repubican fundraiser:

"In My youth, I made certain ill-advised statements that I now regret. If I offended anyone, I apologize. I want to clarify that it is easy for a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven. (CHEERS, WILD APPLAUSE)
"I'd like to apologize specifically to the money-changers. It is My sincere hope that you will come back into the Temple free of charge as My guests." (WILD APPLAUSE, CHANT OF "U.S.A! U.S.A!")
Finally—and this is Me speaking for Myself now—I want to say to the meek: Once we finally get rid of the death tax, you're not inheriting anything. Not while you're meek, so buck up. (CHEERS) And that goes double for you peacemakers. (LAUGHTER) Good night and Dad bless America. (CHEERS, WILD APPLAUSE)

The whole article can be found at: http://www.slate.com/id/2124768/

Springfield School Board Rolls Back, Rolls Over

I'm not even going to justify this little speil with a link to the Gnews-Leader or quotations from proud school board members. After finally selling a tax levy increase to the voters of Springfield - with a great deal of help from teachers seeking smaller class sizes, I might add - the Springfield School Board has elected to rollback the levy in order to save voters $27 a year on property taxes.

It's a gesture of good will, I guess, aimed at placating those in the community who don't support public education. Seems like an odd stance for a school board, if you ask me. But it also is a complete rollover onto an already burdened teaching staff, and stiffs the kids as well. The board's action further creates the impression that the initial levy campaign, with its threats of program curtailments, was over-stating the problems in our schools. The critics and naysayers were right, they tacitly acknowledge. What an ingratiating and inauspicious start for the new superintendent.

There is a big myth floating around Springfield. The myth is that the citizenry here care about improving education and investing in a good future for the children. The school board's caving on the levy in order to create better PR with the community is disingenuous at best and deceitful at worst.

Who will end up enduring even longer delays on basic improvements to the system? The students and teachers - the people in the classrooms trying to get it done. Are there any teachers out there celebrating this decision? Find one. I remember the leadership meeting I attended last summer. The day the tax levy passed there was a room full of 500 celebrants, cheering, even dancing. But that was an abberation. Nothing has changed.

Last year, this math teacher had 138 middle school math students divided into four classes. You do the math, and it adds up to 34.5 students per class - and this is in a core subject that students are tested over and over and over. The school is ultimately rated over these test scores and then publicly labeled as successful or failing.

If the school board had any inkling or inclination to significantly help the system perform better, they would put as much money as they possibly could into hiring more good teachers and shrinking class sizes. It's interesting that the R-12 school board feels compelled to raise the superintendant's salary "to be competitive" but gets all squeamish when it comes to using that same rationale when hiring teachers. Makes you wonder about priorities.

Am I the only one who thinks this school board is just slightly out of touch with reality? And I'd still like to hear the reasoning behind moving all the R-12 administrative employees to a separate pay scale from other professional staff (teachers). It almost seems like a "class" thing. Surely not. No wonder so many third-year PE teachers opt for getting that administrative certificate, thus utilizing their wealth of teaching experience as building principals. Next step . . . superintendent at Sparta or Ava or Bumfuck . . . who cares? It's great money!

By the way, did you know that the new superintendent's salary schedule was given a sweet $45,000 boost this year? Now it's up to $190,000 for yet another migrant administrator to fly in and utter the same tired platitudes about "ownership", "leadership" and "community". Hell, he just moved here, and he's leading cheers about the community already. Have you ever wondered why they don't promote from within Springfield? If this is such a great community, why is it we can't find any leadership from within? Is it some kind of civic inferiority complex, or what?

But let's get back to the pay scale. The R-12 superintendent's pay raise alone - let me say that again - the superintendent's raise alone, makes up more than 150% of a starting teacher's full salary in Springfield. Just his raise. You want to talk about rollbacks?

Bongs for Burgers! (from the springfieldian #6)

Click to enlarge.

More Precious Mutants

"He Ain't Heavy, He's My Parasitic Brother"

Precious Mutants (from The Springfieldian #5)

My Little Antichrist

From the Book of Revelations, it's "My Little Antichrist," archnemesis of all humankind. Exclusive Mark of the Beast-style eyes say "666", but his arms say, "Hold me!" With flames of retribution pedestal. Hurry, available only until the Apocalypse for just $39.99.

In 1977, artist Sam Butcher received a divine inspiration: Create a line of collectible figurines aimed at the lucrative Christian market; have them manufactured by unwitting non-Christians in Asia; slap on enormous price tags; build a (Sistine-inspired) chapel/retail outlet in the Ozarks to promote the figurines; and become very, very rich.

Inspiration paid off. Today, the world-famous Precious Moments line of products generates half a billion dollars in sales yearly. Key to the popularity of the winsome moppets are their unusual stylized features. Each character is blessed an impossibly oversized cranium - and never has encephalitis been so appealing. The trademark teardrop eyes are equally malformed - yet magnetic, pulling at your heart - and purse strings. It's all held up by freakish swollen ankles. Elephantiasis.

Adorable, yes, but not enough for the notoriously voracious Precious Moments devotees. Snapping up the collections as fast as they could be made, insatiable fans demanded more - bigger heads; more pathetic eyes.

And so, we proudly announce the arrival of Precious Mutants: an exciting new series of figurines incorporating these fan-inspired changes . . . and more! We're sure you'll find them the most irresistible additions to your collection yet. With Precious Mutants, genetic innovations are taken to new heights - and now, with the announcement that a toxic waste facility has moved in next door to the Precious Moments Chapel, the possibilities for further mutations appear to be unlimited.

Downtown Saturday Night

Downtown Saturday night in Springfield, Missouri is not what it used to be. Music from a dozen different venues fills the air. There are misplaced teens everywhere, riding skateboards, beating on worn out guitars. A local prophet of god stands at a street corner, tonight with his son along, warning people about the wages of sin and sex.

The crowd at Ernie Biggs is singing very loudly and another smaller crowd hovers at the door, trying to figure if there's actually enough room to enter the place. They were singing Neil Diamond songs. It was awful. A woman with huge propped up breasts and cleavage about the size of my ass, raised her arms and danced up by the stage. The crowd was way more interesting than the music, believe me.

On the corner of Walnut and South, we ran into what has become a downtown fixture - our own placard prophet. There were two tonight, father and son. When we passed the first time, they stood alone. Most passers by politely ignore them, but when I came back with my camera, there was a crowd of revelers milling around the placards - asking questions, pointing fingers. The prophets usually have four double-sided placards to aim at passing cars and pedestrians. There was one message that really had a group of young halter-topped girls in a tizzy - something about lustful dressing.

The elder prophet calmly tried to explain - the younger one was obviously intimidated by these loud females, who were, by the way, lustfully attired by anyone's standard.

I told my friend, "They're probably rubbing themselves through their pockets right now." It was an awful thing to say. I apologize. Anyway, things got very volatile a little later, as I tried to maneuver to get a good shot of the younger prophet's sign.

"I'm going to take your picture. I hope you don't mind," I said.

"I'd rather you wouldn't," he said, turning away so I couldn't get the shot.

"Well, you're out here on a public street corner, are you too shy to get your picture taken?" I asked. He turned sideways, so the sign was not visible to me. I walked around him. He turned. It was like a weird magnetic effect I had on this guy. We danced like that for a couple of rotations before I gave up and we crossed the street.

One sign, held by the elder man, warned that marrying after divorce was adultery, which I took to mean that you might as well live in sin and save the paper work. Another sign, held by the younger, caused a little ruckus. It read: "True Christians Do Not Go To War". (He's holding this sign in the picture above.) As we reached the other side of Walnut Street, a couple of young men, maybe a little drunk, accosted the two sign holders.

"What do you mean true Christians don't go to war," one of the men shouted, obviously a good Christian patriot. "My brother is over there fighting for your freedom, you fucking coward." He stopped and menacingly pointed a finger, while his friend tried to lure him away. "You don't know a goddamn thing about war, you fucking pussy."

And just like that, the elder prophet interrupted his proselytizing, and screamed back at the man. "YOU DO NOT TAKE THE LORD'S NAME IN VAIN!" (He didn't react at all as his son was being publicly berated as a coward and, worse, a pussy. Does this imply tacit agreement?)

At exactly this time, the police came roaring in. Two cars, and officers quickly calmed the drunk Christian patriot guy, as he earnestly tried to explain and justify his outburst. "My brother's over there," he said.

Things calmed down from that point, but it seemed like the younger prophet apprentice was a bit shaken. He might put the war sign away for a while and stick to safer topics - sex, lust, divorce and adultery. The standards.

Novak a Little Testy (or little testes?)

Conservative columnist Robert Novak must be feeling the heat of the CIA leak investigation. The normally cool and urbane man-about-Washington stormed off the set of CNN's "Inside Politics" on Friday after what seemed like a mild ribbing from Democratic consultant James Carville.

Novak sat next to Carville while host Ed Henry was asking them about the Florida senate primary coming up. Former Florida Secretary of State, Katherine Harris, is one of the Republican candidates, and Carville was saying how this would be a great boon to late night comedy shows like Jay Leno. Harris, among other things, has recently asserted that the media purposely doctored photos to alter her makeup, which set Carville off. Novak, predictably, spoke in support of Harris's makeup claim and was commenting on her chances of winning the primary when Carville interrupted.

"I'll tell you this, you know, you've got to show these right-wingers that you've got backbone. The Wall Street Journal editorial page is watching. Show them you're tough." To which, Novak turned to Carville and said,
"I think that's bullshit, and I hate that." He then stood up, unhooked his mic and walked off the set while Henry and Carville continued talking without a hitch. (video clip)

Novak had already been informed by host Ed Henry that he would be asked about the CIA leak investigation, but the topic never came up. Did Novak purposely walk off to escape further questioning on the matter? We'll never know, but his little tantrum got him suspended by CNN. "Bob Novak's behavior today was inexcusable and unacceptable," a spokesperson for CNN said on Friday. "We've asked Mr. Novak to take some time off."

As far as air time goes, Novak may have finally shot himself in the foot. He was formerly a regular on Crossfire and The Capital Gang, but both shows have been cancelled. His next big media appearance, however, may be on all the networks, as the CIA leak investigation comes to an end. Novak, who started the whole thing, has been less than forthcoming on the subject to fellow reporters. But it now seems very possible that some indictments will be coming down - and the smug little bastard probably knows he'll be in the vortex when the shit finally hits the fan.

Here's a little background and commentary from a previous Ozarks Angel.

Psychogenically Fugued Up

Here's part of Carpenter's long-distance phone conversation with Detective Hamilton on Christmas Eve, according to police report: 

TC: How did you get this number? 

SPD: Tim, we need to talk to you. 

TC: How did you find me? 

SPD: We spoke with Melisa. At this point, Hamilton noted a crack in Carpenter's voice. He paused for several seconds. 

 TC: Oh. 

SPD: Tim, where have you been? Tim, are you okay? 

TC: I, uh . . . I, uh, don't remember. 

SPD: You don't remember? 

TC: No. 

One needn't ask Tim Carpenter for his definition of hell. It began when he finally opened his apartment door to allow his wife and pastor Lindell to enter on a dark Christmas Eve. According to Lindell, he "cowered like a wounded dog" and refused to recognize anyone. And then there was that long, dark drive back home to Springfield from Memphis during the wee hours of Christmas morning. 

When Carpenter first realized he was being taken to Cox North Hospital, he became very upset, according to the report. When he found out Pastor Lindell had already completed the necessary forms to have him admitted for mental evaluation, he became quite angry, but pastor had taken over at this point.

"We don't think Tim is in a situation where he is capable of making rational decisions," Lindell said in a public statement. 

Police were eager to interview Carpenter, but they were unaware of his arrival. On duty nurses at Cox North were apparently told by their supervisors not to tell SPD that Carpenter had been admitted. Somebody had tipped off SPD that Carpenter was in town, but they were unable to find him. One clever detective found out Carpenter's location only by leaning over the nurses' station desk and viewing the computer monitor while the nurse was away asking superiors what to do. 

On Christmas Day, pastor Lindell issued a news release to the public that presented the storyline about a head injury and lost memory. Here's an excerpt: 

"Thankfully, Tim has been found in Memphis, Tennessee. Unfortunately, Tim is not well. He has suffered a head injury apparently from one or more blows to the head. He has lost his memory, and he is disoriented. He does not know his wife, his children or his friends, including me . . . There are so many unanswered questions concerning Tim's current condition, the circumstances surrounding his disappearance, and what has occurred since he's been gone. Tim is totally disoriented." 

Lindell further suggested that Carpenter may have to go out of state for treatment and then added: "Those of us who have gone to Memphis to bring Tim home would be willing to hold a news conference to share the information that we have gathered, our personal observations, and to field questions . . . Requests for further information or a news conference should be faxed to . . . " 

Springfield Police were notified by Carpenter's attorney, Larry Bratvold, that same morning. Bratvold asked that no interviews with Carpenter should occur except in his presence. When police persisted, Bratvold repeatedly contended that Carpenter's doctors advised against any "police interrogation". 

Exactly who Tim's doctors were was a mystery. There was some mention of a psychiatrist from Bolivar, but no doctor contributed anything publicly regarding Carpenter's mental condition. Lindell later notified the media that Carpenter had been diagnosed with Psychogenic Fugue, a dissociative disorder in which a person forgets who they are and leaves home to create a new life. 

During a fugue state, there is no memory of the former life. After recovery, there is no memory for events during the dissociative state. A perfect description of Carpenter's behavior except for the fact that the "fugue" state didn't seem to begin until he realized, while talking on the phone to a Springfield detective, that his "abduction" caper had come to an abrupt end. 

Our best guess is that he continued the ruse of failed memory to avoid talking during his second very real abduction back to Springfield with pastor and wife. Police were never able to question Tim Carpenter, and the story died a merciful death in the media.

By the first week of January, he had been checked out of the hospital and, once again, his whereabouts were unknown. It's interesting that during questioning by police after Carpenter's hospital release, Rev. Lindell admitted that the tormented associate pastor had repeatedly asked to be allowed to contact Springfield police and submit to an interview and tell police the real story. 

It's possible that Lindell, who had invested a good amount of air time rallying media and prayer groups, didn't want the truth told quite so quickly. Carpenter also told Lindell that he had planned to contact his wife and explain the situation but had decided to wait a few days. Note: People in a fugue state don't do things like that.

So where are they now? The last we heard, and that was a long time ago, Tim Carpenter was living in Tulsa working for a home security company. He laid out a $10,000 check to local authorities for his official transgression, filing a false police report. As one might imagine, the Carpenters never worked it out and were divorced a couple of years after the incident. Oklahoma authorities tried to serve the divorce papers to Carpenter at home, but there was no such address in Tulsa. They finally located him at work. 

Pastor Lindell is still working God's agenda down highway 65 at James River Assembly of God Church, which has since dropped the A/G moniker for some reason. Our attempt for an interview a few years ago ended abruptly, though it did reveal Lindell's off-the-record grasp of what truly happened. "What he did was reprehensible," Lindell said over the phone, before uttering the ultimate Christian kiss-off, "We're praying for him." Click.

The Self-Abduction of Tim Carpenter

It was right before Christmas back in 1998. If I remember correctly, the word character was being tossed around a lot by folks here in God's country. President Clinton was being skewered by a GOP-led special prosecutor about cum stains on a woman's dress, and Osama Bin Laden was establishing a nice foothold in Afghanistan. 

Locally, the George Revelle murder trial was going on, and police were working to find out who shot a local man five times and dumped his body in the downtown quarry. This was the backdrop for a strange case of abduction on Springfield's south side. 

Tim Carpenter, associate pastor at James River Assembly, loving husband and father of two teenage girls, had gone missing. The founder of Christian Publishers Outlet and owner of Heir Press had failed to return home after a late night visit his Heir Press offices on South Campbell. Police were sent to Heir Press the next morning only to find mysterious blood smatterings, a tan left shoe that belonged to Carpenter on the sidewalk and stacked up office equipment inside. Nothing was stolen. Carpenter's Geo Tracker was nowhere to be seen, and there were no witnesses. 

 Despite a groundswell of prayer groups, billboards, posters, aerial searches and news releases emanating from James River Assembly, police detectives stubbornly insisted that there was no evidence pointing to an abduction. This did not dissuade James River Assembly pastor, Rev. John Lindell, from quickly establishing himself as the point man for local media for the Carpenter story. From his Sunday pulpit, Lindell asked for a "miracle from God" while Carol Carpenter pointed out that Tim "would be really embarrassed. He doesn't like attention," adding that "whatever happens, Tim is glorifying God." 

In a sense, she was right. What nobody knew at the time that Tim had gotten a job at Payless Cashways and was glorifying God with a cute little nurse living on the outskirts of Memphis, Tennessee. Carpenter didn't meet Melisa at church or at a Christian publishing convention. They first met during the summer of 1997 at a local cowboy bar called "Diamonds & Denim". She later told police that he had been very polite at first, explaining that he was newly divorced and trying to start his life anew. Later in their visit, however, Tim apparently said something that made Melisa feel a little uncomfortable. She grabbed her stuff and walked away with Carpenter in tow, apologizing profusely. Undaunted, Carpenter kept after her with calls and visits, and within a few weeks was sending flowers, love notes and even some lingerie from Victoria's Secret. 

Back in Springfield, the Carpenter investigation seemed stalled. Local police had reported virtually nothing to local media, but they were making progress behind the scenes. When police discovered a bill from a pager service in Buffalo, Missouri, they noticed a frequent caller from the Memphis area. Detectives tracked down the number, eventually contacted Melisa and told her the bad news. She was, of course, shocked to learn about Tim's deceptions but was more than willing to give police his new cell number. 

The Christmas Eve long distance call from Detective Hamilton was one of the first Carpenter would receive on his new phone. He was sitting in his sparsely furnished apartment. "How did you find me?" was his first response. The detective told TC that he'd caused a lot of worry back home and that his wife and family were anxious to see him. He was stunned and stumbled for word. 

At this point, according to police reports, the SPD detective inexplicably asked Tim if he had hit his head. Carpenter replied that he had indeed hit his head. It was almost as if the detective was offering an out. The call ended.

From this point, reports are murky. SPD did send a detective to the apartment complex, but Carpenter wouldn't answer. At some point he busied himself hiding all his IDs (except his SS card). He then proceeded to, justifiably enough, beat the hell out of himself. One can imagine something along the lines of Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar - except Carrey played a man who was cursed with the inability to lie, while Carpenter had built a new life based on his selective inability to tell the truth.

Police contacted Carpenter's wife to tell her the news, and within a few hours she, pastor Lindell and a couple of James River friends were flying in a private plane straightway to Memphis where the Lord, with a little help from a UPS driver, helped Lindell and company find Carpenter's apartment. 

After hours of negotiating, they coaxed him into his own car, drove him back to Springfield late Christmas Eve and, on the down low, admitted Carpenter into Cox North Hospital on North Jefferson.

From this point Pastor Lindell became the self-appointed storyteller of Tim Carpenter's self-abduction.

Part 2: Psychogenically Fugued Up

The Return of The Springfieldian

Back in 1992, a little underground newspaper called The Springfieldian started circulating around town. It had a small but loyal following that included some elected officials, city employees, media folks and interested ne'r-do-wells about town.

The Springfieldian was published somewhat irregularly for a few years before stopping with the infamous "Hammons Attacks" issue #9. A tenth issue was almost finished but never came to fruition.

Ozarks Angel has managed to come up with the entire collection of old Springfieldians and will publish some of our favorite pieces in upcoming weeks. The cartoons were some of the best ever published in this town. These cartoons are from issue #4.

Just Pretend It's All Okay

Just pretend the world is safer since this grand incursion. Just pretend this will all end soon. Just pretend 23,000 Iraqi civilians aren't dead. Just pretend this war hasn't aided the cause of Islamic fanaticism worldwide. Go buy a fucking ribbon. Maybe that'll help.

The Frakes, Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks & Gin

It's Saturday morning - 10:49 - and I'm already feeling ready for a big gin and tonic, extra lime, please. It's going to be another hot one today. Yesterday was 102 they say. Dog days. Days that are so hot, a person could come down with a bad case of the frakes.

It was in Donald Harington's wonderful novel "Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks" where I first heard about the frakes. It's been years since I read the book, but I do recall that frakes almost always strike during the hottest days of summer. And they can strike a grown man down where he sits, rendering him nearly motionless for hours at a time. Some kind of nervous system shut down, I'm guessing. I've found gin and tonics helpful.

Back to the book. Architecture covers the growth of human habitation of the Ozarks region from the very first Indian dwellings to, well, rusted out mobile homes. The setting is near the town of Stay More, Arkansas.

Here's a snippet from the book. In this exchange, Fanshaw, a native Indian whose people have lived in the area for generations, meets up with settler Jacob Ingledew (an occasional victim of the frakes). I can't recall how Fanshaw came to speak perfect English, but it adds to the colorful dialogue.

From Architecture of the Arkansas Ozarks, The Toby Press

"It don't matter to me whether the earth is round or flat," Jacob said to Fanshaw one evening in the late winter. "I aint gonna git to the other side nohow."

"Where are you going to get to, old chap?"

"Huh? I've done got there."

"The time has come, now, when we must at last cultivate a topic of discussion which, hitherto, we have avoided: why did you come here and build upon this land?"

"Hit was gittin jist too durn crowded back in Tennessee," Jacob said. "I purt nigh couldn't lift my elbow 'thout hittin somebody and the preachers was so thick a feller couldn't say 'heck' without gittin a sermon fer it."

"But you have never even asked for permission to build here. Stay More is the land of my grandfathers."

" 'Stay More'?"

Fanshaw chuckled. "Yo. That is what I have come to call it."

Jacob Ingledew repeated the name a couple of times, and him-self chuckled. "I reckon that'll do as well as ary other name."

"But you cannot," Fanshaw said.

"Cannot what?"

"Stay more."

"Says who?" Jacob demanded. "You fixin to try to run me off?"

"My grandfathers are buried here."

"My grandchildren will be buried here."

"Ho. Where is their grandmother?"

"I'll find one, by and by."

"Ho."

Then Fanshaw told him the story of the origin of his people. Once upon a time a snail was washed far down the river by floods. He was a good snail but he was alone. Wahkontah, in appreciation of his goodness and in pity for his loneliness, caused the snail to sleep for a long, long time. During the sleep, the snail's entire body was changed. When he awoke he started back into his shell, but it was far too small. Then he looked at himself, and, seeing that he had long legs, he stood up and walked about. As he walked he kept growing. Hair grew on his head, and from his shoulders long, powerful arms grew.

This new creature remembered his former home, and walked far back up the river to the home of the snails, but he could not live with them, and he went in search of some place he could call home. When he grew hungry, Wahkontah gave him a bow and arrow and taught him how to get food. Day by day he went out in search of a home. At last the man, for such he had become, came to the hut of a beaver. The old beaver came out, and said, "Who are you and what do you want?" The man told his story and said he was seeking a home.

The young man and the beaver were about to fight, when the beaver's daughter came out and said she would teach the man to build a house, so that he would not have to trespass on others. To this arrangement the old beaver finally agreed. So the beaver's daughter and the young man went away together, and she taught him how to build a house of bent bois d'arc poles and to thatch it. Because of her kindness, Wahkontah changed the beaver's daughter into a maiden, and she became the squaw wife of the man. These two were the first of the people, and that is why they wear the beaver skin ornament.

"What is the origin of your people?" Fanshaw then asked him. Jacob, although an ungodly man, knew the story of Adam and Eve. He told this to Fanshaw, who listened attentively. When he had finished, Fanshaw said, "I now propose the topic for our next debate: Which is greater, the story of the snail and the beaver or the story of Adam and Eve?"

The two men debated this topic at length. Fanshaw pointed out that while there is a distinct reference to the paraboloid house of the man and woman who were snail and beaver, there is no reference to any sort of house for Adam and Eve, neither before nor after their Fall. What did they live in? Jacob went and fetched his brother Noah's Bible, and read second and third Genesis, but couldn't find any mention of a house, so he had to concede that point to Fanshaw.
His own chief point was that God created Adam in his own image, whereas snails are pretty slow and slimy, and beavers are fat and bucktoothed. They argued that point back and forth until Fanshaw conceded.

So went their debate, and both men realized that what they were actually debating was the beginning of their Great Debate: Who has the right to Stay More, the Indian or the white man? although they did not ever say so in other than metaphorical terms. When it came the usual time for Fanshaw to go back to his lady, and Jacob uttered his ritual "Stay more," Fanshaw replied, "Thank you, I believe I shall," and he stayed a long time.

Truth & the American Way

There was an excellent column in Wednesday's News-Leader written by a local minister, Roger Ray of National Avenue Christian Church. Usually, when ministers start waxing on about "truth" and politics around here, it's another diatribe about the Clintons or how God got kicked out of the schools, blah blah. This article was refreshing - and, of course, in today's paper there was the obligatory rebuttal by a local yayhoo . . . something about Ray's liberal leanings. Yawn.

Here's a snippet of truth from Ray's column:

How can a free people be numbed into accepting a government propaganda campaign that will silence dissent even if it means giving up the names of undercover CIA agents to silence their families and cutting National Public Radio to keep the public uninformed? Are we so easily frightened that we will give up the freedoms our founders gave us, dismembering our democracy under the rubric of a "Patriot Act?"
What happens to a nation that loses its passion for the truth? Well, they get health care policies written by for-profit insurance companies, environmental policies written by mining and timber interests, prescription drug bills written by the pharmaceutical companies, foreign policy designed by military industrial interests, gun policy written by the NRA, and tobacco legislation written by the tobacco industry, energy policy which serves energy interests and preachers who babble like drunks about things that no one understands or cares about.

Thank you, Rev. Ray, for shedding some light. God help me, I may have to start going to church again.

The Search for Humanity in God's Country

For reasons known only to God, the Ozarks Angel has for several years been the recipient of multiple mailings from the Assemblies of God movement. I call it a movement because, in the beginning years at least, it was more of a movement than a church - driven by a charismatic adherence to the Pentecostal system of belief and worship. The congregations were poor to middle-class in those days. One need only check out the parking lot at James River Assembly some Sunday morning to see how that's changed.

The Assemblies of God in 2005 is a large international church and publishing company that hauls in a tidy sum in tax free revenue. It's big business - and let's not even talk about tithes. One can only imagine the holdings in their Ministers Benefit Association fund, which claims that it specifically screens out those companies that are predominately known for and/or derive significant revenues from abortion, alcohol, gambling, pornography, or tobacco. Praise the Lord!

But hold on . . . that sounds sort of neutral, doesn't it? They don't really say they won't invest in companies that gain revenue from tobacco, abortion, gambling and alcohol. It says they won't if these companies are predominantly known to gain revenue from these sinful endeavors. Seems like some equivocation going on here . . . especially for those who proudly adhere to and rely on literal translations when citing other documents.

Anyway, I'm reading up on some resolutions that will pass before the 51st General Council of the Assemblies of God that is coming up in Denver during the first week of August. In a recent mailing, General superintendent Thomas Trask covers some of the talking points at the upcoming convention, and it's clear that the denomination's official positions on abortion and homosexuality are at the forefront.

"It should give us great concern to listen to the verbal attacks of the U.S. liberal media against the newly elected Roman Catholic Church Pope, Benedict XVI, for his strong stand for the doctrines of the church," Trask said. He then characterized the new pope as "the chief custodian of the RCC position on abortion, homosexuality and other controversial issues which liberals were hoping to change with the election of a new pope." Trask went on to say that "the spirit of compromise and tolerance has worked like termites, undermining doctrinal foundations."

Sort of sets a certain tone for the General Council, don't you think? Forget this compromise and tolerance stuff, we're right and they're not! And isn't it interesting to see how common political rhetoric finds its way into church documents? But how nice it is to see the pentecostals are now making nice with Catholics. Around here, it wasn't too long ago they were calling them Catlickers and Mackerel Snappers. I guess all that animosity is now held for gays and unfortunate women.

Back to the General Council. There's a lot of unfinished business on the agenda, most of which deals with honoring various General Presbyters, establishing a Korean District Council and other boring stuff. But a couple of other resolutions were interesting.

Resolution #1 Credentialing of Divorced and Remarried Persons
Resolution #5 Humanity of the Lord Jesus Christ

On divorce, the resolution states that "we maintain a desire to impede the lowering of morality within our churches, where divorce rates approach those of the world . . . " There was some quibbling over pre-conversion and post-conversion divorces until they resolved to "disapprove of any married minister of the Assemblies of God holding credentials if either minister or spouse has a former companion living."

This should either clean up the divorce rate or increase the murder rate among A/G ministers. (Or, if you're one of those brethren who's particularly sensitive to public opinion, you could fake your own abduction, move to Memphis and start up a new life with your girlfriend. More on that story later.)

Resolution #5 is much more political in nature. It's basically the church attempting to clear up some messy language and beliefs regarding the conception and birth of Jesus our Lord in an attempt to blend their political position on abortion and stem cell research with the infallible word of God.

It seems that over the years, as the good brethren have proclaimed from the pulpit the absolute deity and sinlessness of Jesus, they have either implied or asserted that he had no genetic link to any other humans. The local Catholics have a church and school named after this belief . . . Immaculate Conception. While determining all this may seem like a mere technicality, it does become important when the church adopts a public stance on political issues like abortion. It all gets very confusing at this point

"The assertion that the Holy Spirit created the human body of our Lord in the womb of the virgin Mary without using one of her ovary eggs denies that He has human ancestry and . . . this would make Mary a surrogate mother and Jesus a surrogate son."

Surrogate son . . . has a negative ring to it. And it's important, given all the proprietary talk among the righteous about embryos and fetuses, that the church firmly establish that Jesus was made from a human egg. Never before has the egg gained such lofty status.

Recently, on the similar convoluted topic, President Bush held a White House photo-op with a group of conservative Christians in the East Room in an effort to undermine a bill that would have expanded the use of unused embryos from fertility clinics for stem cell research. The children in these families had all been conceived through a Christian adoption agency that promotes the practice of one couple donating its frozen embryos to another.

"The children here today remind us that there is no such thing as a spare embryo," Bush said, evoking a few "Amens" from parents. None other than House Republican leader Tom DeLay was also moved enough to chime in on the matter. "We were all at one time embryos ourselves. So was Abraham. So was Muhammad. So was Jesus of Nazareth," Mr. DeLay said.

Yes, the lines are blurring . . . a church leader complains about the liberal press and quibbles over the wording of a document, while a calloused, cut-throat politician emotes on the lives of Jesus and Mohammad. And all this talk about wombs and fetuses by a bunch of old white guys. What does it all mean?

I saw a bumper sticker that asked a good question about this obsession with pre-birth issues and the fact that most of these espoused pro-lifers are okay with cutting benefits that help poor children.

Does Being Pro-Life

End at Birth?

A Hundred Points of Terror

Back in 2003 when Bush & Co. had already decided to invade Iraq and were busy constructing provocations the American public would buy, many world leaders, allies and enemies alike, spoke out in opposition.

Among them was Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak, one of the more moderate leaders in the region. Mubarak, the first Middle East leader to sign a peace agreement with Israel, has had his own problems cracking down on Islamic fundamentalists in his home country. You might recall that he succeeded Anwar Sadat, who was gunned down by Islamic militants in 1981. Yet under Mubarak's leadership, Egypt joined the anti-Iraq coalition during the 1991 Gulf War and has been a strong U.S. ally for years.

Like the warnings of many world leaders, his pleadings for caution and reason about the impending U.S. invasion fell on deaf ears in the White House - but Mubarak's words come back to haunt two years later.

"When it is over, if it is over, this war will have horrible consequences," Mubarak said in March 2003. "Instead of having one bin Laden, we will have 100 bin Ladens."

He also stated that many Arabs will see this invasion as western aggression against an Arab country and that the war would "cause great tragedy and destruction in a deep-rooted culture and people."

New York, Madrid and now London. While the Pentagon bemoans recruitment problems and re-enlistment continues to fall, rest assured that the U.S., as a result of the Iraq invasion, has greatly boosted the rolls of willing recruits to Islamic extremist factions all over the world.

While it's easy to blame the Bush administration and their GOP lackies for this horrible mess, much of the blame must also fall at the feet of the gutless Democratic Party for chiming in with the war chant out of political expedience - and the mainstream media, which really dropped the ball with their "investigative" coverage of the abject fabrications that led us into this awful war.