Month: September 2012

A Reluctant Witness

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

The language in the official letter from the District Attorney was intractable. “You are hereby ordered to appear in the courtroom of the Honorable…on the 5th day of October, 2004, to give witness in the matter of…” I was not overjoyed. In fact, you might say that I dreaded the ordeal. I would go anyway.
A young woman had sold me a digital piano which was discovered to have been stolen from another music store in a neighboring town. I had surrendered the instrument to the local police and requested that I be named as a victim, so that reimbursement of my costs could be ordered. That had been over a year ago. It was my assumption that I would be asked to describe the transaction and identify the woman and that would be that. It was not.
Photo: brandonrush
The young, inexperienced Assistant DA quietly asked me the appropriate questions and I identified the lady sitting at the defendant’s table as the perpetrator. Then he sat down, apparently relieved to be done with me. The attorney for the defendant wasn’t so inexperienced, nor so gentle in his questioning. As long as he stayed on the matter of my purchase of the piano under discussion, I was in my element and skillfully gave the necessary responses. Then he changed tack. Without warning, he was asking me questions regarding a separate incident of which I had no knowledge. Telling him that I knew nothing of the event in question wasn’t met with a graceful apology, but with another slight shift in direction.
He began to ask me to compare the piano I had purchased with other models which were on a list he produced, evidently the police report regarding other incidents at the music store from which the piano had originally been stolen. I was suddenly, as they say, asea.Having no knowledge of the other keyboards, it became obvious to me that his intent was to confuse the court by having me answer questions that might cast doubt on the fact that any theft had occurred in the first place. When he asked me for the third time if a certain model keyboard, obviously not the one I had purchased, was in fact the same as the one I had, I told him that I had no knowledge of these other keyboards at all. “I can only tell you about the piano I have personal knowledge of. I’m not sure how asking me about these other ones can be helpful to you. They have nothing to do with me.”
Abruptly, he turned to the judge and said, “Your honor, since this witness obviously does not wish to be helpful, I have no further questions for him.” Whew! It was over! Helpful or not, I was relieved to be excused. I stepped down and went back into the room where the other witnesses were waiting. One of the policemen who was also a witness, said, “Boy, he sure thought he was going to get you to make his case for him!” Again, I replied, “I can only give testimony about something of which I have personal knowledge.” We left it at that, but within moments, the judge called us back in for the verdict. The young woman was found guilty and would be sentenced later. I was free to go and was certainly happy to do so.
I have been in any number of informal conversations wherein various events have been discussed. It has been my experience, almost universally, that people who saw an event are forthcoming with their description. They are in their element and almost anxious to tell of the occurrence, because they were there. In those conversations, seldom does anyone who wasn’t present at the event add any details. Oh, there might be a question raised, “I hear that so-and-so did this. Is that right?” That question must be answered by those who saw it happen, since one cannot testify to what he does not know. We cannot give witness to what we did not see. When we do, they call it hearsay, meaning that we have heard an account from someone else and are not qualified ourselves to give testimony.
I wonder if you need for me to ride herd on this roundup much longer. There are obvious applications to be made, the first and most important one being that we can only give witness to events which have happened to us personally. You will certainly have already gathered that concept some while back in this rambling treatise. But, we are called to be free with our testimony, anxiously telling of what we know to be true, leaving out no detail of the event.  Peter, the headstrong apostle, tells us, “Be prepared to give an answer, if anyone asks the reason for the hope which lies within you.” The words are not idle, nor do they leave room for ignoring them. You are a witness to the event; the summons has been delivered; you must appear.
One last observation, which parallels the case I described earlier, and then I’ll quit boring. Stick to the subject! The folks asking the questions will inevitably throw in what could best be described as a “knuckle ball”. This will be the off-speed pitch, designed to move us off our message and to dilute the impact of the truth of our testimony. Don’t be fooled. Give witness to what you know, avoiding the hearsay. When we are drawn to futile arguments, we fall into the trap, guaranteeing failure.
I like the instructions that a good friend of mine used to give to young minds that he was instructing in public speaking. “Tell them what you’re going to say, then say it. After that, tell them what you said. Then, shut-up.”  Good advice.
You’ve been served with your summons. It’s time to take the witness box.
“Any fact is better established by two or three good testimonies, than by a thousand arguments.”
(Marie Dressler~American Actress~1907-1934)
“The way to catch a knuckle ball is to wait until it stops rolling and then pick it up.”
(Bob Uecker~American professional baseball player/comedian)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Don’t Follow the Money

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“I’m sorry. I only have a debit card.” The elderly woman is purchasing a guitar string, the price–one dollar and ten cents. Plus tax. She has no cash, but her trusty plastic card is readily accessible and is in her wrinkled hand in a flash. It is only one of a multitude of such cashless transactions which will be handled through my cash register today. I smile at the lady and tell her not to worry. “We like plastic!” It is, in fact, the mode of payment for the great majority of our sales these days.
I mention this mundane event, truly an everyday occurrence for us, only because of the deeper thoughts that I can’t stop from racing through my head. I chuckle every time someone apologizes for not handing me what they think is real cash, as I consider the progression of this thing we call currency. I laugh because I have recently heard many people bemoaning the lack of the stamped coins and folding printed bills with which to pay their tabs in my store. They’d rather pay with cash, but they only carry the plastic cards now, and they miss the way their wealth used to feel in their pockets and hands. And, as I hear them complain, I am taken back a few years to the time when the printed money was changed in appearance. “It looks like someone spilled coffee on it!” I heard, as one man held up the then-new ten dollar bill. “They’re just like Monopoly money,” was heard again and again, as the new bills appeared in wallets and cash registers. Back then, I found myself recalling a time a few years before, when President Nixon had effectively taken us off of the so-called Gold Standard. It was almost like heresy to many, who wanted to believe that their cash had something tangible to back it up. Before that, under President Johnson, silver coins were devalued when new silver-clad ones were issued, much cheaper copper making up the bulk of the coin hidden inside. We sarcastically called them sandwich coins, intimating that they were worthless, although in appearance, they were quite similar.
Do you see a pattern here? If all you have done as I’ve written about the changes in our currency in recent years is to agree that we have greatly devalued our money by these changes, you are missing the point. Back up just a bit more and take in the entire scene. Go back a few more years. See the gold being confiscated by President Roosevelt. Think about the hundreds of thousands of dollars in paper money issued during the Civil War, without any backing whatsoever. Almost a century before that, when the Continental Congress issued the first money for our new nation, it was called Continental currency. Within months, it was worthless, backed by no assets whatsoever. Many refused to take the Continentals in exchange for their goods or labor, giving rise to the phrase, “Not worth a Continental.”
Have you backed up far enough to see it? Sometimes we are so spellbound by the magician’s hands that we don’t see what the rest of his body is doing. Yep. It’s all just an illusion. I’m talking about currency again. We focus so much on what we have worked all of our lives to earn and save, that we don’t realize that the dollars, or pesos, or yen, are nothing more than simple tools which have been elevated in our collective minds to be the finished product. We believe the cash itself is the goal, when in actuality, its only purpose is to help form a common evaluation which can be used to acquire goods and services.
The value is not the dollars. It is what those dollars will accomplish. Yet whole civilizations have risen and fallen based on worthless currencies. Kingdoms have been built out of trashy pieces of paper and shiny pieces of metal. Countless generations have sold their souls for those same baubles and knick-knacks. Even our generation is right now sacrificing our children and our grandchildren on the altar of cash–that cash, without argument, just as much an idol as any wooden or stone image ever formed with human hands.
I have a proposition to make. Maybe we could agree to recognize money for what it is—simply a tool to perform a function. Perhaps, in this election year, we could even agree not to be offensive to each other as we discuss how this tool is wielded by our representative government. Perhaps we could talk rationally and cooperate with those around us, as we help to open as many eyes as we can to the folly of trusting in the paper and coins cranked out daily by our printing presses and mints. We say that we trust in God. Let’s prove it by not arguing about money. There are more important things about which to go to battle. When we fight over the false gods of the world, we guarantee that the world will ignore any other warnings we may voice about the real dangers all of us face.
Cash, or credit. It matters not. I’m finally beginning to see through the illusion.I think I’ll be putting my trust in something just a little more dependable.
“For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil…Command those who are rich in this world not to be arrogant, nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain; but to put their trust in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.”
(I Timothy 6:10a,17~NIV) 
“Money is the worst currency that ever grew among mankind.  This sacks cities, this drives men from their homes, this teaches and corrupts the worthiest minds to turn base deeds.”
(Sophocles~Ancient Greek playwright~Fifth century BC)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.

The Sweet Life

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“If you can count to ten, you can play this instrument.” I heard the words many times, as my father-in-law attempted to sell the wooden four-stringed box. They were indeed, true. The mountain dulcimer, with its single melody string and a trio of relatively-tuned drone strings beside it, was an extremely easy instrument to master. Well, perhaps not to master. There are many talented instrumentalists who take years to become virtuosi of the dulcimer.
How odd, you might say. I thought your father-in-law said that it was as easy as counting to ten. Ah! You see, there is a slight difference of opinion regarding this ancient folk instrument. In its original form, the frets, which determine the intonation (tuning) when the string is depressed to the fingerboard, only extended below the one melody string. Since that time, the design has changed in this one respect; the frets extend across the entire fingerboard under all the strings. While the old-time dulcimer players insist that only the one melody string is to be fretted and the others left open to be strummed as drone accompaniments, many players see the frets under all the strings and assume that they all must be depressed, as with a guitar or banjo. When the original method is employed, it is just as easy as counting to ten. It takes a bit more practice and knowledge of the instrument to use the other method.
I will do nothing to settle the argument tonight. I will, however, tell you of a customer who carried one of these beautiful folk instruments into my store the other day. She is a musician herself, a trained pianist and a vocalist. When she and her husband purchased the pricey instrument a couple of years ago, she had the best intentions. She bought books, and videos, and accessories, fully expecting that she would be able to play this fine walnut instrument. On this more recent day, she was declaring failure. She will never play the dulcimer. I mentioned the sentiments I had heard vocalized by my late father-in-law over the years. She scoffed at the idea, even as I, completely untrained, began to strum the first strains of “Amazing Grace”, fretting the melody and strumming the drone strings. “Well, sure! I could do that! That’s not playing.” She went on to talk about the various tunings and the random chord patterns, as she bemoaned her inability to play the beautiful thing.
The very name of this simple instrument tells a story in itself. From the Latin “dulce” (sweet) and “melos” (song), meaning “sweet music”, the dulcimer can be a remarkably versatile accompaniment to other instruments and to voices. Even in its simplest usage, the music it produces is haunting and lies sweetly on the ears. I would expect nothing but sweetness from this fine example of the luthier’s art. Alas, its former owner would dispute the wisdom of that expectation. She is left with a bitter taste in her mouth from the wasted hours of practice and the frustration of her perceived failure.
I will spend but a moment on my thoughts regarding the truth to be learned here. I wonder often if we don’t make life much too difficult. Before us, we all have days with the same number of hours. There are tasks set before each of us which must be accomplished. In my experience, we are almost always equal to the task, but we often handicap ourselves with a poor attitude, and by procrastination. I have also noted that we frequently make the job before us harder than it needs to be, decrying those who would give valuable help and despising wise advice. Sometimes, the simplest answer to our problems is the last solution we will consider. I don’t claim to have learned the lesson myself, simply to have observed the situation again and again. I am, after all, a slow learner, requiring repetition to grasp the simple concepts many others adopt the first time they are presented with them.
I sat with the dulcimer for a moment tonight and strummed out the haunting melody of the ancient plainsong carol “Of The Father’s Love Begotten”. It wasn’t a masterful performance, neither was it fit for consumption by any other ears but my own. That said, I have a differing feeling toward this dulcimer than its former owner does. To my mind, it is indeed a source of sweet music and a joy to play.
And, I only needed to count to ten to be able to play it.
“All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom; justice; honor; duty; mercy; hope.”
(Winston Churchill~English orator and Prime Minister~1874-1965)
“It is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones, after all.”
(Laura Ingalls Wilder~American author~1867-1957)
© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved. 

Ugly People

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Wally World!  The one day off I get in three months and I end up at Wally World.  I detest the place.  You know the place I mean.  That mega-store that tells you the lie that the way you’ll live better is if you save money.  What they really mean is that they’ll live better if you’ll spend more money there…but wait…If I go off on that tangent this early in the discussion, I’ll never talk about anything important.  Come to think of it, what I write may not be so important anyway, but I’m at least going to give it a shot.

The Lovely Lady and I had attempted to visit a new antique store, but today being a holiday, were met with locked doors and darkened windows.  Since we were already close and knew we needed dog food for the little monsters in the back yard, the evil-empire seemed a reasonable secondary destination.  It wasn’t.  It seems that thinking about how much money we need to save to live better makes all of us more than a little self-centered.  I lost count of the times people pushed their way from the end of a side aisle into the main one, without ever looking and never even muttering an “excuse me” or “sorry” as I had to stop for them or be run over.  Hands reached in front of my face as I waited for the Lovely Lady to find a grocery item and other carts bumped mine in the narrow aisles, but there was no sign of concern, not even a head nod to indicate a mea culpa from any of the guilty parties.  We all ignored everyone else as, for the duration, our focus narrowed in on our own needs and desires.

Mere moments into our little excursion, I was in much the same condition as most of them, angry and self-absorbed, intent on getting what I came for and getting out.  Then I saw her.  THE Wally World Shopper.  The young lady (she was indeed an adult) was dressed in the consummate costume for shopping in this zoo.  Below her mussed-up mop of brown hair, her obese body was stuffed into a too small spaghetti-strap tank-top covered with vertical stripes and a pair of colorfully clashing shorts (also too small).  From her shoulder hung a huge handbag adorned with brightly colored polka-dots.  Positioned as it was, beside the striped top, the picture was already ridiculous. The brown leather cowboy boots which came up to just below her calves were the last straw.  I was momentarily powerless to stop what happened next.

I took a picture of her with my cell-phone.  She didn’t know it, since I had the phone in my hand already.  It was a good photo, showing the “ugly” shopper in all of her splendor.  As I wandered on down the aisle, I clicked over to my Facebook page and tapped the “photo” button.  The picture was moved to the appropriate screen, ready to be uploaded for all the world to see.  I even typed the words below it, “Can you tell where I am?”  Laughing at my own wit, I reached my index finger over to click on “upload”, but something stopped me. I just couldn’t tap the screen.

I left the post on my phone without uploading it and caught up with the Lovely Lady as we checked out.  Happy to leave the madhouse, we escaped into the triple-digit heat and headed home.  As we drove, I showed her the photo and mentioned that I was going to post it.  She said just one sentence, “She’s somebody’s daughter or niece, you know.”  Nothing more. It was enough.

When I got home, I sat and looked at the picture and at my words.  My thumb touched the “cancel” button.  The question flashed on my screen, “Are you sure you want to cancel this post?”  Almost angrily, I mashed the screen where the “yes” button appeared, again and again.

I remember now why I hate television programs such as “What Not To Wear”, where fashion snobs shame people into becoming what those snobs think is acceptable.  I hate them because they reinforce the idea that we are better than people who are different than we are.  I hate them because they legitimize the laughter at someone else’s expense, simply because we believe that we are smarter, or better looking, or stronger.  I say I hate the programs like this, and yet I do the same thing.  Regardless of whether I made the right decision today, I think that way in my heart, in the depths of my soul. Why else would I have taken the picture, or written the words?

Now who’s ugly?  In my mind, I see the Teacher, sitting and drawing in the dirt with a stick, as the intelligent ones, the arrogant ones, slink away one by one, confronted with their own sin, their own ugliness.  “Let him who is without fault begin the punishment.”  I am one of those accusers, now faced with who I really am.  What will I do about it?

I don’t have the answer.  I know that the journey to any destination starts with just one step in the right direction.  Tonight, I take that step.  Tomorrow…I’ll try to keep going. It won’t be a short journey.

I’d like to have some company as I make the trek.  Do you see any reason you might be going my way?  Two are always better than one alone.

I trust you won’t mind being seen with an ugly person. Hopefully, it will only be a temporary condition.

“When evil men shout ugly words of hatred, good men must commit themselves to the glories of love.”
(Martin Luther King Jr.~American minister and civil rights leader~1929-1968)

“You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things.”
(Romans 2:1~NIV)

“My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said, ‘I want a second opinion.’  He said, ‘Okay, you’re ugly, too.”
(Rodney Dangerfield~American comic~1921-2004)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2012. All Rights Reserved.