Police actions and training?

Disturbing video by anyone's standards.

Can police not learn how to take a potentially threatening person down without killing them?

Not hard to understand how communities of poverty and color feel in jeopardy while being pushed to the margins. 

I'm needing some answers.

How about you?

Crushing loss

Recently, two friends have experienced the crushing loss of young loved ones.  Steve Wilkes lost his 23-year-old daughter, Amy who died suddenly in her sleep on November 9.  Lorenzo Brown, minister at the Central Dallas Church, his 13-year-old grandson was murdered in Dallas on last Tuesday morning.

During the memorial service for Amy Wilkes, Frank Alexander read the following quote from Mark Twain at the death of his daughter.

We do well to cherish our children and grandchildren, as well as one another, every day.

You have seen our whole voyage.  You have seen us go to sea, a cloud of sail--and the flag at the peak; and you see us now, chartless, adrift--derelicts; battered, water-logged, our sails a ruck of rags, our pride gone.  For it is gone.  And there is nothing in its place.  The vanity of life was all we had, and there is no more vanity left in us.  We are even ashamed of that we had; ashamed that we trusted the promises of life and builded high--to come to this!

I did know that Susy was part of us; I did not know that she could go away; I did not know that she could go away, and take our lives with her, yet leave our dull bodies behind.  And I did not know what she was.  To me she was but treasure in the bank; the amount known, the need to look at it daily, handle it, weigh it, count it, realize it, not necessary; and now that I would do it, it is too late; they tell me it is not there, has vanished away in a night, the bank is broken, my fortune is gone, I am a pauper.  How am I to comprehend this?  How am I to have it?  Why am I robbed, and who is benefited?

I am working, but it is for the sake of the work--the "surcease of sorrow" that is found there.

--Mark Twain [Samuel Clemens] (1835-1910), in a letter to a close friend after his favorite daughter Susy, aged 24, died of meningitis while her parents were abroad. Mark Twain and his wife never returned to the  home where she died.

Urban death, urban despair

Each year for the past 15, Central Dallas Ministries has assisted low-income families bury their dead.  While every situation is unique, all share in common a desperation and an anxiety impossible to describe.  I find nothing more unsettling or difficult as the challenge facing very poor families when they've lost a loved one.  On top of the natural grief, the burden of claiming the remains and finding a way to pay for burial often proves extremely difficult. 

My own experience with these awful times drew me to the report below about the city of Detroit and the difficulties facing its morgue.  The story reports on what may best be regarded as a symbol of urban despair in our nation's central cities.
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Unburied bodies tell the tale of Detroit — a city in despairTim Reid in Detroit

The abandoned corpses, in white body bags with number tags tied to each toe, lie one above the other on steel racks inside a giant freezer in Detroit’s central mortuary, like discarded shoes in the back of a wardrobe.

Some have lain here for years, but in recent months the number of unclaimed bodies has reached a record high. For in this city that once symbolised the American Dream many cannot even afford to bury their dead.

“I have not seen this many unclaimed bodies in 13 years on the job,” said Albert Samuels, chief investigator at the mortuary. “It started happening when the economy went south last year. I have never seen this many people struggling to give people their last resting place.”

Unburied bodies piling up in the city mortuary — it reached 70 earlier this year — is the latest and perhaps most appalling indignity to be heaped on the people of Detroit. The motor city that once boasted the highest median income and home ownership rate in the US is today in the midst of a long and agonising death spiral.

To read the entire article click here.

Edward M. Kennedy (1932-2009)

News this morning of the death of Senator Edward Kennedy instantly brought tears to my eyes.

The reasons behind my emotional reaction are complicated, I know.

Living through the assassination of President John F. Kennedy here in Dallas affected my view of the entire Kennedy family.

Then, the assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy, when I was 18-years-old, moved me and my family deeply.

The passing last evening of Senator Kennedy completes a cycle of emotion, loss and celebration. His death is strangely personal for me and for millions of others, I expect.

I remember, as a young man, watching Ted Kennedy walking behind the funeral hearse that carried the body of his brother, Robert. I remember a much younger man standing with his older brother at the funeral of their brother, John. I remember the tears of my parents at the deaths of both of these American leaders.

Beyond those memories though, I'm moved by what Ted Kennedy worked so hard to accomplish and by the manner in which he worked.

My daughters and my granddaughter did and will benefit from the Title IX civil rights legislation that he worked hard to pass into law that equalized female participation in sports.

He passionately worked for the extension of civil rights in every direction--race, gender, sexual orientation, mental illness, special needs, immigrants and immigration.

His dying commitment envisioned health care benefits for every American.

Often referred to as the "Lion of the Senate," Ted Kennedy endeared himself to everyone by being a bridge builder and a masterful craftsman of workable coalitions. Even his most vociferous opponents regarded him with great respect and even love, as we are hearing now that he is gone. Senator John McCain's thoughts and recollections that I heard earlier this morning, exemplify the bi-partisan admiration that so many shared when it came to the Senator.

The closest I ever came to Senator Kennedy occurred here at Central Dallas Ministries. During a meeting of a national organization of foundations here in Dallas, the late Eunice Kennedy Shriver, his sister, visited our Food Pantry. Her interest in the people of the community, in our work and in every individual she met amazed us all.

Her ability to focus on each person is something I'll not forget. I remember when the tour bus had to wait on her because she hadn't completed a conversation with a woman who had come seeking assistance for her family. I've thought of her and her visit since learning of her brother's death.

Beyond all of our political differences, Senator Kennedy's death, like that of his brothers and his sisters who preceded him, was a loss to us all.

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Matt Martinez, Jr. dies: Sad day for Dallas and all of Texas

Anyone familiar with East Dallas, knew Matt Martinez, Jr., owner of Matt's Rancho Martinez. You can read the interesting and amazing story of Matt's life below from Sunday's edition of The Dallas Morning News.

Matt's is a regular gathering place for our family and for numbers of our friends and associates. Going to Matt's is sort of like going to a really wonderful "family" place. When Matt was in the house, he'd come by and visit witih you, tell a story or two and thank you for coming in.

Matt provided a favorite "watering hole" for a number of the gunslingers with whom I often find myself hanging out.

I'll never forget the night we closed on 511 N. Akard. We met a crew from the Central Dallas CDC to celebrate at Matt's--where else? We've planned just about every aspect of our Community Health Services around a table at Matt's.

He will be missed so much.

Rest in peace, Matt. You delivered joy, relaxing space, great food and laughter to lots and lots of us. We're all grateful.

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Tex-Mex restaurateur Matt Martinez Jr. dies at 63
12:18 AM CDT on Sunday, March 15, 2009
By ERIC AASEN and JOE SIMNACHER / The Dallas Morning News

Matt Martinez Jr., the colorful and charismatic restaurateur who injected his own culinary flair into his family's Tex-Mex legacy, died Friday night of complications from cancer. He was 63.
In Dallas, Mr. Martinez was best known for his Matt's Rancho Martinez, a popular Lakewood eatery.

[Read more here.]

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Community observed

Diane Rehm's show on NPR always holds my attention. Last Tuesday I found myself laughing and crying all at once as she interviewed Michael Davis, author of the new book, Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street.

I "grew up" watching Sesame Street with my daughters! I mean, what could be better than Cookie Monster's rendition of "C is for Cookie"?

In my current life I've decided that Sesame Street prefigured all that I've learned and come to know about community and community development in the inner city.

I love the title Davis gave his book, "Street Gang."

During the interview, Davis read part of the script of the program that delivered the bad news that Mr. Hooper, the older storekeeper, had died. The Children's Television Workshop decided to create a script that would attempt an explanation of death to pre-school children.

It is a very moving episode. You can watch it here.

I think it is true. Everything we need, and about all that's worth knowing, we learned from Sesame Street.

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Mother

My mom, Mildred Oleta Sawyers James, died Sunday morning at about 10:30, just two days shy of the one year anniversary of my dad's death. They had shared 68 years together in an incredibly strong and wonderful marriage. It's my opinion that she just couldn't go forward very much farther without him. Partly because she loved him so much, partly because he created a world in which she depended so much on him.

The cause of her death was related to her chronic Myelodysplastic Syndrome, or MDS. She battled the disorder for about five years, including enduring countless blood transfusions and chemotherapy. She received great care from Dr. Manish Gupta, a brilliant young doctor with whom she developed a wonderful friendship.

During the last two months of her life, Hospice workers more than befriended her with gentle care, rich compassion and strong friendship.

Mom was a real character in her own right. Both of my parents were largely defined by their marriage and commitment to one another. Both had memorable qualities that set them apart.

My mom never met a stranger. She loved people. Her friends meant the world to her. She could be incredibly opinionated, especially about politics, narrow-minded religion and people who condemned others.

She would often ask me unanswerable questions about theology and the Bible, questions that if I could have answered, I surely would have landed on the cover of Time magazine!

She remained interested in what was going on in the world until the end of her life. A CNN-junkie, she was very pleased and excited to see the nation take another step beyond its racist past to elect the first African American as the president representing of all of us. My dad would have shared her joy, and likely did from the other side.

Unfortunately, I was an only child. The upshot of that cruel reality was her tendency to be a bit over-protective of me. My response basically was to go about my business and just not keep her very fully informed. I remember a million stories related to this! All fond memories.

Growing up, I loved sports and played about everything. I know it drove her nuts, especially football and baseball. I loved cars and, at times, speed! She would never fall asleep until I came home at night. We never really battled over these concerns of hers. I learned to listen, agree and then make my own choices! I deserved a serious whipping on many occasions! Still, grace prevailed.

I remember in about the 9th grade, it was a Sunday afternoon. I rode my bike over to meet a friend who had a new Honda motorcycle, a 150 I believe. He let me take it for a test spin. I got on Central Expressway without a helmet or a license to drive and streaked (well, streaked about as much as a Honda 150 could streak!) all the way to Allen. She never knew about that one! Didn't seem worth upsetting her even years later. Sorry, mom.

My mother loved my father and he loved her. Their lifelong love affair. . .well, it was something to behold. Of course, it helped a lot that my dad worshipped the ground she walked on. She felt the same way and, unfortunately for him, in his later years she transferred her anxiety and worry over in his direction. They really cared for each other, as they did for me and my family.

My mother loved Brenda like the daughter she never had. She loved our girls in a way I didn't fully understand until our own grandchildren came along. So many great stories here. And, the great grandchildren, oh my. She loved the three of them--we'll spend the rest of our time trying to help them understand that legacy of love for them.

She could be an insufferable braggart about all of us! She was just proud of everybody in her family and she loved to share "just the facts," especially with her best friends.

She loved her church and her friends. She displayed fierce loyalty and, as I say, a tendency to defend and protect people who were being judged or criticized by others. Since I had been her minister for fourteen years, she and my dad were huge supporters of the all of the other ministers who served with me and who followed me after I left the church. You'd best not criticize one of her ministers or you'd learn quickly the folly of your mistake!

Both of my parents were extremely generous. Since taking over their finances over the past couple of years, I've been amazed at all of the efforts they supported beyond their church--human and civil rights organizations, environmental efforts, medical research, veterans' organizations, Third World relief and development groups. This was certainly true of my mom. She found all sorts of ways to help me, usually without doing much damage to my sense of the importance of hard work, diligence and effort. She loved to give and her an my dad made a good team of it.

She enjoyed a great sense of humor and loved telling us stories from her childhood during the Great Depression and from the earlier days of her married life.

She loved to take road trips across the country. We never could get her on an airplane. She always told us that she didn't fly because she "wanted to see the countryside." I remember with great fondness one Christmas road trip to Colorado. She and my dad were packed in the backseat of our Jeep Laredo like E. T. in the closet! What a time of laughter and joy.

She was a perfectionist about her house, her looks and just about anything she did. The ultimate "neat freak," mom took tidy to a whole new level! She actually loved to clean house. She loved to cook. She loved flowers and plants. She loved being a homemaker. She turned a little bungalow at the southeast corner of Spring Valley Road and Greenville Avenue into a wonderful, warm and delightful home. She was so proud of the new home that she and my dad built in 1976, but she always loved that first little house in old Richardson. So did I.

She also loved to get dressed up, "cleaned up," as she would say, and dolled up! I told Brenda a few days ago that on the day of her death, if she were able, I wouldn't be surprised if she got up and put makeup on and "fixed her face." I know she did that every day toward the end as her way of trying her hardest to get well. She displayed so much courage and will to stay with us.

So many memories.

So much to tell.

Feelings overwhelm at times like this.

Now that both of my parents are gone, things seem really different. I feel the same loss as when my dad died last year, but more now. My mom is gone after a tough physical struggle, but so is my father.

Life will be both the same going forward and never the same again for me.

I'm so grateful for her, as I am for him. What blessings they both were to me.

When I was just a little boy, I can remember praying again and again that nothing would happen to my parents, that they wouldn't become ill or die and leave me all alone. Today I realize that my prayers were answered, answered for a long time.

Words can't convey how much I will miss them.

How very blessed I have been for so long.

Good-bye, mom.

Later, for sure.

[Family reception for Mildred James will be tonight, December 16 from 6 to 8 p.m. at Restland Funeral Home in Richardson. Her memorial service will be on Wednesday, December 17 at 10 a.m. in Memorial Chapel at Restland.]

A week of death. . .forced reflections

Death forces reflection.

It has been a week of death for me.

Four precious people, lost in the same week.

Three funerals on Thursday.

One more yesterday afternoon.

Four people with widely differing life experiences and ends.

One, a young mother of two, shot and killed as she drove to work. A friend who walked alongside us to make the community better for everyone, especially the children. A person of compassion, but much more. An advocate for renewal, justice and hope. Read a local Dallas news opinion about this amazing community leader here.

One, a homeless man with a number of difficult, chronic health issues, died at his new home. No longer forced to live on the mean, tough streets of our city, the ill-health created by so many years out there finally caught up with him.

One, a much beloved grandmother and the mother of one of my good friends and team members who works with us in bringing legal assistance to the poor who can't otherwise afford counsel. A woman who spent her time, her life and her resources serving, connecting, leading, fighting for others and loving everyone in the process.

One, a bright, handsome teenager, a young man who couldn't see himself the way all of the rest of us saw him--so full of potential, brilliance, future-- ended his own life at home. He battled hard. His parents, brothers, grandparents, friends did all they knew to do, but in the end he determined that life hurt too much to go on.

All represent hard, tragic losses to our world. Each so very different in circumstance. Each with completely unique stories.

Yet, still all so much the same.

The passage has occurred for each of them.

In each case I found myself thinking about that small space separating "here" from the approaching "there."

My faith tells me that each has found the perfect, the prepared place "over there." Peace follows this realization.

Strangely though, these losses force me to focus more intently than ever on my "here and now."

"Here" I find my calling.

I can ill-afford to take anyone for granted "here."

"Here" is found the work we have to do among and with one another.

"Here" is where we make sense out of our coming passage to "there."

"Here" is so very short, and so very important.

For those of us left on the "here" side of the passage, death forces us to reflect and to grapple with the meaning and the purpose of our time.

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Wyshina Harris, tragic loss

Last Saturday morning at about 7:00 a.m., Wyshina Harris, our dear friend and former team member here at Central Dallas Ministries was gunned down on her way to work. A wonderful person, a great mom, a hard working community leader, Wyshina Harris was murdered in cold blood on her way to work.

When she worked with us here at CDM, she provided wonderful direction for the children in our After School Academy located in Turner Courts, a Dallas Housing Authority development where she lived for a time. More recently she had moved with her children to a house in far East Dallas.

No doubt many of you have seen the stories about this heinous crime. Read the initial report in The Dallas Morning News here.

Wyshina leaves two precious children, Jordan, second grader, and Jazmine, a seventh grader (pictured above).

Earlier this week I received a message from Janet Morrison, Director of Education Outreach and Wyshina's former supervisor, that read in part:

Education and seeing her kids succeed was so important to her. I know that she would want to know that they are completely taken care of. We are assuming that Jazmine and Jordan will stay with their grandparents here in Dallas, but nothing has been finalized yet. I have been trying to think of ways that Wyshina would have wanted to see her children taken care of in her passing. Sylvia and I decided that the best way would be to set up a trust fund of some kind so that the kids will have be taken care of. We are currently looking into the details of setting it up. After I talk to Wyshina's parents, I can let you know more about what they decide will be the most helpful.

DONATIONS
If you would like to donate money (in lieu of flowers…or in addition to flowers) to secure a fund for Jordan and Jazmine, please make checks payable to Central Dallas Ministries with Wyshina Harris in the memo line. You can send the checks to Central Dallas Ministries, Attn: Jenny Fogel, P.O. Box 710385, Dallas, TX 75371. Or, if you would rather donate online, go to www.centraldallasministries.org/donate and click on Wyshina Harris in the drop down menu. (Note: if "Wyshina Harris" hasn't been added yet, click on Education and then email me to let me know the amount you donated so that they can make sure your funds are designated correctly).

To read more about this wonderful person and what a great loss our community has experienced in her death visit Janet's blog at http://janetmorrison.blogspot.com/. You'll be able to see a number of photos at Janet's site. Those of us who counted Wyshina as a friend will smile and cry at once.

May God have mercy. May the violence stop.

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The Bucket List

Looking to see a movie with a message?

Needing to laugh long and hard?

Searching for meaning in the face of death's reality?

Wondering about the importance of friendship and community with others?

Go see The Bucket List, starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman.

I promise, you won't be disappointed!

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Death and our last acts of community

Lots of folks have theories and opinions about the so called "poor." I invite and encounter the theories right here almost every day.

Most who comment here don't really understand poverty or what life is like inside the limits defined and imposed, often cruelly, by this reality. I know for sure that I don't really understand. I'm not poor. I've never been really poor.

I come face-to-face with my ignorance when I relate to impoverished families who must deal with the practicalities of death in the city.

What is a very poor family to do when a loved one dies?

No money.

No ability to line up credit.

No real options that they control or direct.

A loved one passes. A lifeless body must be cared for. How?

[Disclosure: On funeral expenses in general this is likely not a time for me to attempt even an approach to objectivity, having just gone through making arrangements for my father's burial. I actually have a proposal almost drafted in my imagination in which all burials are standardized with a set fee limit and very modest amenities regulated by a public institution. I also know that my ideas will never be accepted! But, back to my original subject.]

Shysters move through our neighborhoods on a regular basis selling "insurance" policies that hold out a solution for this frightening challenge facing every poor family. The promises seem wonderful, until it is time to file a claim. Amazing how the fine print disqualifies almost everyone. I know there is a special place reserved in hell for people who exploit the aging poor around the issues arising at the end of life.

How does a family with basically nothing pay for a funeral and a burial?

Bottom line: if you are poor and if your daddy dies, what do you do?

You beg for help.

You call for a family meeting. Everyone pools their almost non-existent assets. You total up your ability to pay. Then, you beg. You go to friends and neighbors. You talk to your church. It may take you weeks, but you do what you have to do to lay your loved one to rest.

Whenever I am with grief-stricken families who have no financial resources, I see the agony, the pain, the embarrassment and the desperation.

Most of us can't imagine, especially some church folks who operate out of their air tight theories about poverty and the lives of poor people.

Years ago my good friend and partner, John Greenan, told me that we should purchase land and create a cemetery and a funeral home. He had in mind the community we love and live with daily. He knows that the final and ultimate act of community involves celebrating the lives of our friends and providing a dignified and kind burial.

John always seems to get it. He keeps it real.

Most of us who seem to care never think about this inevitable human dilemma.

How do I bury my father when I have nothing?

The question is real. The answer goes to very important work.

Across the years we've helped bury lots of people.

I'm looking for land so that we can do this important work more effectively and with much more dignity.

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