Obituary For Common Sense

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.

He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, life isn’t always fair, and maybe it was my fault. Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don’t spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a class mate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn’t defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault.
Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little on her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common  Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.
He is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I’m a Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

The regulars encouraged their piracy by providing offerings. The reflected sunlight danced and weaved and rolled in a fantastic light show on the nearby surface until it was broken by a passing intruder who was completely unaware of the dazzling display that he just interrupted. The wind was picking up and the motion of my surroundings increased with each warm gust. I walked back down the wooden path, rocking, first on my left foot and then on my right until I was back on earth.

One evening, Jack’s mother called and told him, “Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday.” Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

“Jack, did you hear me?”

“Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said.

Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.

“I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.

“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life,” she said.

“He’s the one who taught me carpentry,” he said. “I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important…Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral,” Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture….Jack stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mom asked.

“The box is gone,” he said.

“What box? “ Mom asked.

“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he’d ever tell me was ‘the thing I value most,’” Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
“Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said. “I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom.”

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. “Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days,” the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

“Mr. Harold Belser” it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There  inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack’s hands shook as he read the note inside.
“Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It’s the thing I valued most in my life.” A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.

Inside he found these words engraved: “Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser.”

“The thing he valued most…was…my time.”

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. “Why?” Janet, his assistant asked.

“I need some time to spend with my son,” he said.

“Oh, by the way, Janet…thanks for your time!”

Adapted from a story found at www.rogerknapp.com

He practices his passion daily in the Spring, Summer and Fall. It is like a second shift job and he is loyal and dependable to his vocation. His vehicle is his office and inside is all the equipment and supplies necessary to complete his tasks.

His main piece of  equipment is about 6 feet long with a mechanical gear box attached to activate the tool. Some thin line and 3/8 oz. of metal complete the necessary items.

He begins his “workday” with a hot cup of coffee as he plans his strategy. He surveys the liquid vista before him for rises and notices any unusual breaks on the surface. He sips his coffee and practices patience. He is in tune with weather patterns and pressure systems. After he is satisfied he will leave his office and stretch his stiff muscles and joints. Age has touched some body parts, but not the ability to hone his art. Being able to stand for long periods of time is no longer an option, but a folding camp chair serves the purpose.

He used to enjoy his passion in the winter months, but age has a way of deterring desires. The second shift was not always his time slot. He has pursued his passion through all the shifts.

Sixty plus years is a remarkable addition to any resume. He has labored in this vocation in early mornings hours, early to late afternoon hours and evening hours. He traveled all over The United States and other countries enjoying his craft and had experiences only he could re-tell. He received huge bonuses in size at times and small ones at other times, but his greatest satisfaction is his time spent performing. There are slow times but they are far better than no times.

He will discuss any topic at any time when he is working and will never lose his concentration or focus.

At times the 6 foot instrument with the mechanical gear box will be used differently. A barb and a floating egg will replace the 3/8 oz. piece of metal. The thin line is still instrumental in achieving perfect performance, but leaning the apparatus against a solid object will accomplish the same results. At this stage he is able to sit in his office and perform his duty. Eye sight is critical for success and he has never yet failed to complete the task. In the comfort and warmth in his office he can work and shield himself from the elements.

He has the patience to sit for hours and wait for his bonus, knowing that action can happen in a split second and payout is at that time. He is never bored. He can perform his job with people around him or by himself. He has reached this serenity from many ups and downs in life, but has progressed and seems comfortable with his own life.

His routine is his day and his shift starts at 3:00 PM. He works from 3:00 to dark most days. On days he chooses not to work, he still goes to the workplace. I call this dedication. He will watch others try his trade and be content observing. He knows how to make people feel good and is an attentive listener. While working he is in a good mood and relaxed. He likes old and new stories. He will converse on present day situations, but he is at his best when discussing his craft. A bump, a hit,  a rise are words he may use.  A  Kastmaster, a rooster tail, a Phoebe, a Rough Rider, or a motor oil colored worm are other forms of his communication. He knows inches and he knows pounds. He knows sunrises and sunsets with optimum times to collect the bonus. If he gets one payout per day he feels satisfied. He is a special addition to his passion and is very humble concerning his successes.

He is very familiar to waterways, both moving and still. He knows depths and their importance to his trade. He is familiar with weights and swivels.  Some say he is lucky, but I know instinct and experience bring luck to another level.

He is from a generation where his passion was part of growing up. He grew up outside exploring instead of internet exploring. His television was landscapes and nature. He prepared for weather changes not hid from them. He had the tools of his trade when he was a child. He grew up fast when he was a kid in a war. Through his whole life he never lost interest in his hobbies. He is law abiding and seem  s like he always was. He is what I would call a true American, but one label would not justify him, so I will just call him a fisherman.

And in the middle of the family outings, with all the work he had to do, still, if he found a particularly fat seed, or a berry, anything he knew she really liked, he’d fly over and feed his darling.  The hummingbirds looked on and sighed.  So romantic!  Their husbands chased them away from the feeder – saying it belonged to them!

Mrs. Cardinal did not take this treatment for granted.  She loved him every bit as much as he loved her, and she was secure in his lovingkindness.  Mr. Cardinal sometimes worried he wasn’t doing enough, though he certainly was.  She’d just get distracted, is all, building the nest, because she knew, she just knew exactly how it was supposed to be, and she wanted to finish it in time.  She felt heavy and full.  She missed her children from last year, and she couldn’t wait to see her new babies’ fluffy little faces, to snuggle in with their warm little bodies, to love them.  She knew she was the luckiest bird in the world.

Some birds stay throughout the day, looking for food or the seeds I’ve scattered.
Others stop by to drink from one of the birdbaths, or to wash their dusty feathers.
I sit outside in my chair, pretending to read the mail, but really observing them.
As I am quiet, they feel quite comfortable with me.

At dusk they leave for nearby yards and trees.
Stillness descends with darkness,
and I go to sleep awaiting their morning sounds tomorrow.

I remember playing in our back yard when I was young, where the grass was so green that it would ripple as the summer breeze gently blew it. I remember the robins singing late in the afternoon and all the neighborhood kids coming over to play hide and seek until our mothers called us home for dinner.

Later there was no T.V. to watch so we listened to the radio. The Lone Ranger or The Shadow was favorites; sometimes we played cards, not my favorite thing to do.

Early in the morning I could hear old Mr. Smith pushing his lawn mower as I lay in bed. I can still hear the whir of the wheels as it cut the grass if I listen closely, that sound was always very comforting.

When my sister snored at night in the other twin bed, keeping me awake, I would quietly get up, sneak over to her and push her until she cried, then run like mad back to my bed, scramble under the covers and pretend to be sleeping when mom came in to check on her. I guess that was a bratty thing to do. As we got older I protected her because she ws so small, the only one who could hit her was me of course, but that gave me an excuse to hug her.

As adults we became very close and I guess she forgave me. Now we have many, many fun memories. We used to be invited to most of the same parties because we were the free entertainment. She has a very dry sense of humor, and I was her best audience, I would picture everything she said. Needless to say we got very silly and so did everyone else. We still do the same thing! And you know what? There’s an old woman in her mirror too.

June 4, 1950, Sunday. Last Wednesday, the wild, illegal driving of others irritated me. Instead I should have thanked God that I and my vehicle escaped damage.

At 11 a.m. rodman E.R. was down a side street giving line. Party chief, Louis Johnson, was out in the road on the main baseline. A car stopped with Louis. It was the Agawam Chief of Police. Later, I learned that he was inquiring about E.R. It seems E’s mother attempted to fix E’s speeding ticket by calling the Chief. The Chief asked Louis, “Isn’t he sort of a smart aleck. He tried to make a liar out of the officer.” Did Louis think prosecuting E would do any good? Louis said E was a good enough kid, but he didn’t think it would do any harm. The Chief decided to reduce the reported speed from 65 down to 55 so as not to hurt E’s driving license and go ahead with the case.

About 2:30 p.m. a blue car stopped beside by transit setup. It was E’s mama and papa. “Where’s E?” He was a thousand feet up the road giving line. I was introduced to Papa, an ALA  official. Mama made some remark about “the smartest fellow on the crew.” I didn’t know if she meant me or E, so my simple “Huh!” was an appropriate answer. The Chief had phoned them and wanted to see E. Hence they came to get E and go in with him. They returned soon. Chief wasn’t in. Since then I’ve heard no more.

Thursday, E found a dead animal in the road. It was mostly white with a few dark hairs on its back, pointed nose, medium-size ears, claw feet, and a long hairless tail. After several wild guesses I settled on ‘possum. Checking at the library proved O’possum right. I didn’t know these animals ranged so far north. Hester says her father Emerson used to go hunting and supply family with a ‘possum supper.

During rain between 11:30 a.m. and 1 p.m. I went to the Universal C.I.T. office in Springfield to make this month’s car payment. Across State Street was the Sperry & Hutchinson Store. It’s a classy place. My jeans and jacket didn’t fit with all the perfume. I had enough green stamp books to get a bathroom scales.

Next I went to Alling on Worthington Street and bought a pair of Gantner, yellow swim trunks for $3.50. At Johnson’s Bookstore I got 8 more USGS topo maps for $1.20 and a logarithm book for $1.25.

At the Russell Post Office I found the “Tuffies” jeans ordered from Oklahoma. They have narrow legs, zipper instead of buttons, and kid’s size to fit my 28 inch waist.

Just before reaching Russell I overtook a familiar, black Chevrolet sedan full of children. Suddenly the sides bristled with cap pistols fired in my direction. From Postmistress Laramie I learned the driver was her sister, Beatrice (Mrs Dr.) Arenstam. She and school principal, Mr. Ward, had taken seventh and eighth graders to Mountain Park. Too bad it rained.

June 12, 1950, Monday. Friday we did final cross sections on the Suffield gravel pit. I ran the rod so E could run the transit and we finished in good season. We met a Connecticut state survey party. They wore white shirts and ties. George Berry brought the new weekly time sheets (instead of monthly) out from Greenfield. On the way home I met the old Grant house in the middle of Main Street. Building movers had it in front of its future lot, and traffic was detoured through Lindberg Terrace.

After my brook bath I found Charles Peckham and Danny at my well. They wanted to work the pump. We gave them root beer, and I played catch with them. When they left Hester and I went to Congamond and I had this year’s first dip in the lake.

Saturday I mowed the lawn. As we prepared to leave three Russell boys arrived on bicycles. Dickie Thayer, Billy McAdam, and Buddy (Charles) LaPlante said they wanted a drink but, most of all, they wanted to try the pump. All three help out at the General Store. Next our new tank of cooking gas arrived.
Finally we got to Westfield and paid Bryan Hardware $10 for the gas. Then I practiced piano at the library.

In the evening we visited Mrs Etta Kelso. Mrs. Rufus Coe was there too. They told of a Norwich man who mistook the abbreviation Co. for a proper name and remarked what an important person this Mr. Co. must be. I played duets with Esther Paquette, Mr. Kelso’s daughter. She had her mother-in-law with her.
Sunday, the Harold Pattersons visited. They caught me sunbathing in briefs at the brook. Six-year-old Dickie was thrilled with the brook and the well. We played catch and walked. I found a ladys slipper down beside the road.

June 13, 1950, Tuesday. Resident engineer, Clif Hubbard wanted us to lay out traffic islands at the intersection of Agawam’s River Road and Main Street. The plan was very incomplete and Louis had to do some on spot designing. While we were there, the contractor, Louis Saco, was hit by a woman driving a 1937 Dodge. He was taken to the hospital but wasn’t hurt.

Tuesday evening I bathed in Congamond, and then to Uncle Ralph Emerson’s. He showed us slides of their western trip—Boulder Dam, Grand Canyon and Yosemite.

When I stopped for gas in Tatham I asked Charlie if his garage could accommodate our survey carryall at the end of the month if I have to look after it while Louis is on vacation. He was willing.

June 21, 1950, Wednesday. Mother’s sister Maude (Aunt Betty Kelly) died last Sunday Morning. Daughter Marjery Latham sent a telegram yesterday. Hester was able to have Uncle Ralph put our names with his when he wired flowers for this morning’s funeral.

Louis let me take detail notes all afternoon to prepare for next week when he goes on vacation. I’m supposed to run the party.
Monday we took Bessie Sibley with us to Niantic and New London. It was too cold and rainy for the beach, but we explored coast roads and Hester and Bessie had a  meal of fried clams for 85 cents each. We went up East Road to look over New Haven, then took the Wilbur Cross Parkway through West Rock Tunnel and got back to West Springfield about five.

There was a fire in the drying room at Texon across the river. Stanley Rusin told Hester that alcohol fumes had been suffocating. It is thought that a spark from an electric truck touched off the explosion. The young truck operator died. If windows had not been open, the building might have collapsed.
The same day a railroad laborer died from the heat. The hearse and State Police parked by Bear Den Brook bridge to bring him out on the mountainside trail.

I’ve received the first of my new weekly pay checks.
E paid a $5 fine on his 50 mph speeding ticket from Agawam. I was told his name was in the newspaper.
The laurel blossoms in our woods and along the power line are beautiful.

• The flag is normally flown from sunrise to sunset.
• In the morning, raise the flag briskly. At sunset, lower it slowly. Always, raise and lower it ceremoniously.
• The flag should not be flown at night without a light on it.
• The flag should not be flown in the rain or inclement weather.
• After a tragedy or death, the flag is flown at half staff for 30 days. It’s  called “half staff” on land, and “half mast” on a ship.
• When flown vertically on a pole, the stars and blue field , or “union”, is at the top and at the end of the pole (away from your house).
• The American flag is always flown at the top of the pole. Your state flag and other flags fly below it.
• The union is always on top. When displayed in print, the stars and blue field are always on the left.
• Never let your flag touch the ground, never…period.
• Fold your flag when storing. Don’t just stuff it in a drawer or box.
• When your flag is old and has seen  better days, it is time to retire it. Old flags should be burned or buried. Please do not throw it in the trash.

The Marine Corp. League of Westfield maintains a box where you can drop off flags for proper disposal. The box is located at the Old Fire Station at 71 N. Elm Street in Westfield. Should the box be full, flags can be dropped off inside on any Saturday morning.

For more information about flag day visit www.USFlag.org and www.holiday insites.com.