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The

I thaca Time s

D e ce mb e r

27–Ja n u a r y

2017

The Ithaca Times Presents...

The 2017 Reader’s Writes Issue

This year’s theme,”JUSTICE,” is meant to evoke thought on the pusuit of a better world.

ell, it’s been quite a year. It really doesn’t feel like all that long ago I was sitting here in this same office, pounding out the editor’s note for last year’s Reader’s Writes Issue. There were about two weeks to go in the Obama presidency, I was closing in on my third month at the helm of The Times, and I was sitting here musing on what I felt was worth saying about last year’s theme. When we had pitched the theme of Aspirations to our readers last year, we did so hoping to see the world around us through a more optimistic lens than many were feeling at the time. We were beaten down – each and every one of us – with the foreboding sense we were on the precipice of something terrible. And all of us, in some form, felt some sort of responsibility for circumstances that otherwise seemed so far out of our control. We chose the theme of Aspirations last year, largely, to remind us of the power we do have to impact the world around us, whether that be through some small action to will a moment into a pleasant one, or through a vision of a better world. In a year that seemed to have bludgeoned us and tested our faith to its limit, both nationally and locally, it seemed only appropriate that we empowered our readers to see they do have the ability to strive for something more. This past year, society seems to have answered. College campuses have exploded as our nation’s young men and women fight to define the ethics of tomorrow’s society: one that rejects hate, exploitation and the suppression of free thought. From the boardroom to the newsroom, even to the floor of the United States Capitol, men long irresponsible with their power and influence are being rightfully removed for their years of abuse as we set to work rebuilding

our society – the right way, this time. Locally, we’ve had a political revival, as our citizens look to take back what they see as a system they’d been robbed of. In our legislature chambers, our lawmakers had the courage to look at the criminal justice system, listen to those inside it, and reject the construction of a new jail in favor of a gamble that might be radical in some of the counties around New York State: an increase in services, when so many others look to make do with less. With all the work we’ve set out to do, we’re only reminded of how much remains to be done on the way to a better world. Terrible people still walk this earth and in our community, there are some who are more desperate than ever. Men sleep under bridges, hungry and cold at night. Young families live one missed paycheck away from disaster. Every week, more information on how screwed up life in Tompkins County is for some among us goes through my ears than these hands could type. More often than not, I am less emboldened by what I can do than overwhelmed by the things I cannot: Earlier this week, I went on a walk down the Commons and struck up a conversation with a 50-something with a cardboard sign, sitting beside the construction site of a building that will soon be filled with apartments he would never be able to afford, even if he were able to get a job. I gave him some money for food (about 22 degrees that day, he said he would’ve preferred a cup of coffee), and asked him where he was staying that evening. “Under a bridge,” he told me. His tent in the Jungle, he said, had burnt down a while ago. I asked if he’d tried the Rescue Mission – it was full. I’d asked if he’d talked to anyone to help him out, and he said yes. “But it’s hard to build back up,” he said. “I’m just trying to get back on my feet.” I wanted to buy him a new tent. I wanted to buy everyone a new tent. I had visions of first and last month’s

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rent on an apartment somewhere, if I could afford it myself. But I’m just one person, and the problem is much larger than one man can solve. People in places I will never visit will still be poor. People in our backyards, in the Jungle, under the bridge, will still need help. When we think about justice, we must realize that what we lack is a greater commitment – from all of us – to reject what lends itself to the dysfunction and inequality in our lives today. Men and women should not be sleeping on the streets in one of the world’s wealthiest nations, but here they are. Being born poor should not be a life sentence to poverty. We are verifiably broken, far from the places we aspire to be. And while it is hard to build back up, it’s a noble – and necessary – pursuit for us to take on. Looking back on the thoughts I had sitting in this chair 365 days ago, I think I made the right decision. And as I write these words, I think that this year’s theme is equally appropriate, to contribute to a dialogue of justice that has begun to impact all levels of society today: from gender equality to civil rights. We have work to do. The task is immense. It might seem impossible to even know where to begin. When we do, it will be hard, and will challenge every piece of us. It will challenge our ideals and it will challenge our beliefs. It will challenge how we see the world These trials, I believe, are worthwhile. Because if we do not have justice, then what world do we have? Have a happy holiday, and as always, thanks for reading,

–Nick Reynolds, Editor

D ecember

2 7 –Ja nua r y

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2 0 1 7

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I thaca Time s

D e ce mb e r

27–Ja n u a r y

2017

Predating Hillbilly Elegy By R a n dy E h r e n be rg

ears before J. D. Vance wrote Hillbilly Elegy, I met a boy, who I will call Daryl to protect his anonymity. I was the assistant principal at DeWitt Middle School and Daryl was in sixth grade. He worked very hard in each of his classes, and his teachers all thought very highly of him. He participated eagerly, got all his assignments in on time, and spoke with his teachers with ease. He was an independent student and took advantage of everything the school had to offer. This competence continued into his sev-

enth grade year. As assistant principal of the school, every few weeks I gathered the names of students who were recommended to receive “Student of the Month” awards. Daryl’s name was submitted to me countless times for the varied categories represented by the awards, from hardest worker, to going out of his way to help other students, to assisting his teachers. More than any other student, Daryl’s name appeared in the papers I leafed through each month. I do not remember ever meeting either Daryl’s mother or father, and I do not think they attended the award ceremonies in which he was honored on a fairly regular basis. Yet Daryl continued to thrive at DeWitt. One day about halfway through his seventh grade year at the school, Daryl appeared at my office door wanting to talk. He began, “Mrs. Ehrenberg, I am tired of being called a scum each day on the bus coming and going to school.” With tears in his eyes, he continued, “I wash my clothes every few days and I can’t help it if I always wear the same sneakers.” I took a breath and told Daryl that he had every right to be angry and that the love for him of all of the adults at DeWitt was powerful, and I hoped he would not lose sight of that. I comforted Daryl as best I could and sent him back to class. Then I cried. I shared Daryl’s words with some of my colleagues in an attempt to improve

the environment in which our rural poor children found themselves at our middle school. What occurred on the bus to and from school was as important to Daryl as what happened inside the classrooms. As staff, we began to educate ourselves about the homes from which this segment of our population came. We read Janet Fitchen’s book, Poverty in Rural America, in an attempt to understand more about life for these youngsters outside of school. We brought Janet to DeWitt and she spoke to us about her studies of this population. From her, we learned that the “Student of the Month” certificates that we so prized did not necessarily find their way onto refrigerator doors of students like Daryl as these might “show up” fathers who may not have attended school past sixth grade. We learned that when we had dish to pass suppers at school to welcome parents the mothers in these homes wondered if cooking a squirrel in a pot and bringing it to school would be okay. Mainly what we learned was that these children deserved and needed our continued high expectations and love for them. They needed us to help them navigate the

world and find the inner strength to hold on to their sense of worth. They needed us to stop the teasing, bullying and harassment that they faced in school and on the bus and to stand up for them in situations where they didn’t have the courage or strength to stand up for themselves. They needed us much, much more than we had even imagined. The questions we needed to ask ourselves at DeWitt were similar to ones Vance raises near the end of Hillbilly Elegy. Were we tough enough to do what needed to be done to help a child like Daryl? If not us, then who? Randy Ehrenberg is the chair of the Community Foundation of Tompkins County. Several years ago, he retired after a career in K-12 public education spanning a period of over 42 years. The final nine years of his career, he writes, he served as Superintendent of Schools of the North Colonie Central School District in Latham, NY, outside of Albany.

Election Day

Bedtime for Bonzo, of Dubya and that of our current clown? Did she intuit the aids epidemic, weapons of mass destruction, the 24hour news-cycle, the media as the By S h au na Gu i dici actual message, the mean resurgence of t’s a cold overcast election day in New Jim Crow, the police state nation (that we England. Those Were the Days by feared was inevitable when we referred to Mary Hopkins just aired on the sappy errant cops as pigs) hatred voiced and viooldies AM radio station. I guess you lence perpetrated to the extreme, unceascould say that I am still very tied to the ing corruption and greed, the drug crisis, past. The song brought me back to anoth- the destruction of the ecosystem, the furer election time in 1968. Four miserable ther degradation of women on this planet. events occurred that year-Martin Luther Election day 1968 was a relief for my King and Bobby Kennedy were murdered, mother. She didn’t like me hanging out and on election day the further disaster to with “that Kristy”. Well THAT Kristy ensue was-my best friend Kristy was mov- was so much fun, yes, a little wild, but we ing from Endwell, NY to Worcester, MA never really got into trouble. Trouble was and Richard Milhous Nixon was about to something to be dodged. Following her be elected president. lead we did it well. She was a year older, a The morning of that awful day we said year more troubled. She could be mean, our final goodbyes in but she’d always ask for “I remember my family’s driveway. forgiveness. It was THAT walking through She had come to retrieve Kristy who was the leader the jail green her worn penny loafof the pack of at least 10 or painted hallways more kids in our neighers. I can still see them of my junior high in my hands as I rushed borhood. The night before with the weight to the front door to give she moved we had a huge of grief dragging them to her. Her family bonfire as the ultimate me through seven sendoff. Maybe forty kids was waiting in a loaded periods. Not one up station wagon while were in attendance includstudent appeared ing a few of my siblings we promised to stay in approachable that and our summer boytouch. That was the last day. Nor did I want friends. We weren’t oblivitime I saw her. We sent them to be.” a few letters back and ous to the state of affairs forth. For years I kept worldwide, but we were the day-glo yellow letter where she had still just petting and barely even drinkcircled her tear stains. Our young lives ing in our relatively safe suburban playwere being lived in the here and now at a ground. fast pace. It took a few more decades to get Sometime in the early nineties I woke the concept of gone-for good. I was thirup from a vivid dream about Kristy. I teen then, a few years before I stood inside started to search for her. It took about ten a tavern to raise a glass or two with my years to find that she had died in her thircherished friends Barb, Holly and Cheri, ties. From all accounts she had had a difbut that was the song of the season and we ficult life. This is why I find the last verse sang it all Fall knowing that this sad day so poignant: would eventually come. I remember walking through the jail green painted hallThrough the door their came familiar ways of my junior high with the weight of laughter/I saw your face and heard you call grief dragging me through seven periods. my name/Oh my friend we’re older but no Not one student appeared approachable wiser/ For in our hearts the dreams that day. Nor did I want them to be. are still the same Then the busy years went rushing by us/We lost our starry notions on the way. Those were the days my friend/ We Mary Hopkins was a mere 18 years of age thought they’d never end/ We’d sing and when she wrote those lyrics. Those were dance forever and a day? We’d live the life the days of sit-ins, be-ins, earth days, arm we choose/We’d fight and never lose for we bands, nuclear disarmament, gay liberawere young and sure to have our way tion, women’s lib, consciousness raising, etc. For Kristy and our pack of friends it –Mary Hopkins 1968 was simply bombing around the streets of suburbia, innocent days of kickball and ice cream socials. Could Mary have for seen the future elections of the star of

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D ecember

2 7 –Ja nua r y

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A Letter To The Editor

Another Letter

By Kasheen Camel

By Dorothy Lonsky

At the Ithaca Times, we get a fair amount of mail. This piece came to us as a letter to the editor several weeks ago, and we thought it was appropriate to run in this issue. 11.21.2017 Letter To The Editor, My name is Kasheen Camel, an inmate at the Tompkins County Jail. I’m asking that you respect and honor my right to exercise the First Amendment through your weekly publication. I’ve been reading the Ithaca Times faithfully since 2008 and was once a freelance writer for the Ithaca Times. (Editor’s note: We could not verify this.) Some of my projects have gone unnoticed and I’m asking that you print the enclosed piece if your receptionist doesn’t throw it out. Thank you, –K.C.

he rise of incarceration is not a breath of fresh air. It is a scheme that lawmakers have purposefully ignored for decades because it was designed to impose a state of slavery upon black people, as if Abraham Lincoln never made his proclamation. Incarceration is the reconstruction of slavery and black codes. It is a system to steal your identity and outlaw black men in society. Black people of America know all too well that justice is not just, American history and conduct proves this true. It is eminent through the mass incarceration of black men, and the unjust police shootings of unarmed black people. It is a system composed by haters to impose a state of oppression on black men, for the incarcerated population in America is dispropor-

tionately made up of black and people of color. We live under a system of laws that are racist in nature, a body of laws manipulated by the masters to condemn black and poor people. There are more black men incarcerated in America than there are in all the world’s prisons, more than there were slaves of yesterday. This is an instrument of truth that sings through shackles and chains – a system of high, or excessive bail imposed upon black and poor people, yet you are presumed innocent until proven guilty, one of many contradictions of the law. Justice is but a figment of your imagination. The administration of justice and public officials have no reverence. Injustice and incarceration is the exercise of white supremacy.

n discussing “fairness” with my 6-year-old great grandson, we came up with

“Life is not about ‘fair.’ Life is about ‘share.’” –By Micah James Lonsky Age 6

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The

I thaca Time s

D e ce mb e r

27–Ja n u a r y

2017

New, Better World Coming By Conrad Istock

n 2020, it was often hard for most people to believe that our world could, or would, change for the better. Almost everywhere there was war, and murder. Weapons and their use was appalling. Millions of refugees were fleeing home countries, and encountering varying patterns of hatred, violence, and rejection, as well as helpful acceptance sometimes in few countries or communities. At times it almost seemed that chaos was normal. In many parts of the world people were diseased, starving, and dying. Destruction of wild nature was rampant, and extinction of species was continually increasing, especially with greatly rising losses of plant pollinating insects. Sandra climbed the small hill on the edge of her tiny village. As she gazed over the whole of her village, she thought: The world news is terrible every day. It was as bad as ever on television this morning. But, there has been no killing or robbery here. We have good schools, and a good, strong, police department that protects us, and there are refugees we have welcomed and helped. Many of them have made our lives better. It isn’t perfect, and we are not completely independent of all the material things we need. Still, it remains peaceful here every day, so far. I need to talk with a lot of our people about how we keep it this way. There must be other villages like ours, but where are they? Sandra had been on the Town Council for eight years, and had been elected to it’s chairmanship last year, 2019. The Village Constitution was strongly behind their democracy, and devoted to universal

justice. This was the way it would be for as long as possible. In coming meetings they would plan to provide for, and finance, an increase in their own military powers to be used against outside efforts that sometimes tried to invade their village. In consultation with a United Nations representative, in 2021, Sandra learned that two villages within a few hundred miles in her own country were similarly democratic, peaceful, and arming themselves. From that representative she also learned that about a hundred such small, peaceful, defended villages had been iden-

by that time the world population had plummeted from over eight billion to just two and a half billion, as violent wars continued in many places, and every year several Peace Villages were destroyed by attacking terrorist forces seeking recruits, supplies, more weapons, and the opportunity for ceremonial executions of all the rest of the Village’s defiant citizens. On January first of 2082 Sandra spoke to her Town Council: “What we are preserving in the Peace Villages is democratic and economic fairness for all citizens. We provide equal opportunities for peo-

tified worldwide in a hundred and ten countries. In 2040, using searches on the web, Sandra had found contact information for eighty of those peaceful villages. Thus, she helped start an international array of self-defending villages scattered in the otherwise terribly dangerous world. And in 2042 the new United World Peace Villages Organization was officially created. Sandra had two grown children, Ramon and Louise, now in their early twenties. She dreamed that a far better world awaited them, but as years passed it seemed not to be so. By 2080 there were less than one hundred such partially connected, self- defended, Peace Villages in the world, and

ple of all ages, including fleeing migrants. We have eliminated all homelessness and unfair wages. Our larger hope is that a new world will be created eventually when humans in the villages survive, and completely become a new, wiser, humane world population. But, she also had to announce loss of most it’s members to death in wars had caused the United Nations, and hope for help there, to completely vanish.” Sandra died the next year, 2083. and it would be another ninety years before her vision of a New World would come to be founded by the widely scattered, still remaining, sixty-five Peace Villages. In the final years of warfare only forty-five of these villages survived, as they completely

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defeated and killed the last of all their terrorist attackers. Sandra’s children were no longer alive, but two of their children lived on in the same surviving Peace Village. During that ninety years nature had begun recovery in spans of large, no longer disturbed habitats, and in time it would continue to bring on a more complete state of nature, eventually accompanied by the evolution of new plant, animal, and microbial life forms. Slowly, the new world grew modestly and prospered. Small numbers of new Peace Villages were created. Dozens of remaining languages and cultures where preserved, and widely shared. It was decided to not form new countries, while instead creating specific names for each village, and their geographical regions. Communication between all villages came, and wonderful meetings and celebrations formed, along with a new, universal, democratic World Constitution. Technology and communication had been restored in greatly advanced ways. Roads, airways, large boats, and trains had been made to connect all villages, so people could move freely among them for educational, occupational, pleasurable reasons. Excellent free universities were created all over this New World. Sandra’s great-great grandson Aaron wrote a short book about the origin of this surviving world, and humans. His final sentence was: “A new and far better world has arisen on Earth, and we still remember, and thank, our long-ago leader, Sandra Sentinel.” Conrad Istock is a Visiting Professor of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology (EEB) in Cornell’s College of Agriculture and Life Sciences (CALS). He writes short stories in his spare time at Sornea.com

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D ecember

2 7 –Ja nua r y

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2 0 1 7

Kickball Justice By Barbara K atz-Brow n “He budged the line.” “She threw the ball so I could not kick it on purpose.” “I threw the ball at him but didn’t mean to hit his eye.” “She cheated and stole a base.” “He didn’t follow the rules.” “She bit me on the arm to get the ball.”

veryday. Every single day of the school year there were disagreements on the playground, usually between the fourth and fifth grade boys and girls. “It isn’t fair or Dooo Ooover” they would scream. Sometimes the anger resulted in balls thrown at the perceived offender. Often a running child would push the other off the base as he landed on the faintly chalked square thinking he was safe and then would say, “I didn’t see him and he was in my space so I slammed into him ON accident.” The infractions were numerous during the 25 minute outdoor playtime. Adults would intervene, remind the groups of the rules, issue “5 minute time-outs leaning against the school wall,” or write a referral to the school principal for further disciplinary action. Interpretations of who did what to whom went on and on during the course of the game and often extended into the classroom during the afternoon until finally the classroom teacher could not take it anymore and would send both students to the principal’s office. Despite the daily troubles during the kickball games, as soon as they could get out of the building the students would burst from the cafeteria. Coats would be unzipped and opened, flying in the wind or not even on their bodies during the frigid upstate winters as the kids would hold the precious ball close to their chests in their hot, sticky little hands. They lived for kickball. They came to school to play kickball even when they were sick. Kickball was their favorite outdoor activity. The students could not wait to get outside and kick, throw, run and beat whatever team had been established earlier in the day, the day before, or even the last minute. The important part of kickball was getting the runner over the home base, even if it meant performing some unscrupulous deeds like sticking feet out to trip a runner, sticking tongues out to distract a kicker, calling out 8

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“Nannie Nannie Boo Boo” as the ball was rolling toward the “man on home base”. Anything, they would do anything to win for their team that was within the boundary of the rules, or they would sometimes bend the rules when the adults were not paying attention, and then fib about what happened. “He said, she said,” was the norm. As the school principal of many a heated kickball game, getting the truth or the facts out of the players was an exercise that required multiple conversations and sometimes numerous days of investigation and still it was hard to believe any of their stories, which could change in a heartbeat. “Peter threw the ball at me on purpose, Haseem laughed at me when I was kicking so I missed the ball and my turn, Jordan pushed me as I was running...on and on.” Each day a different version of the event, each day another child might have a minor cut, scratch, punch in the stomach or black eye after a game. The school nurse had a stream of patients after each recess. Ice in Zip lock bags were handed out like other school supplies. Parents were called and some asked to come to school to discuss the behaviors. Apologies were rendered to each of the offenders and then the next day exactly the same rude transgressions happened with the same children or with a completely different group. Discussions were held about the violence in the kickball games between faculty, staff, PTA groups, students themselves and even higher administrators. Some people wanted the games stopped, “Just don’t let them have a ball’ was proposed one time and the kids improvised with apples or oranges that week snuck out from the cafeteria. “Teach them some other games” was a suggestion from a local college professor. She arranged for her students in physical education to come to the school and the students learned some other games for eight weeks. As soon as the college students left for semester break, a precocious child brought in a ball from home and the kickball games started again. Kickball was like an addiction. Maybe they needed lessons in kindness someone suggested so a program of social kindness and justice was initiated by the social worker and classroom teachers. New language was taught and practiced and the students were making changes in their responses to each other, especially during the classroom day. The kickball games improved somewhat and fewer students were getting hurt on a daily basis. Then the yearlong program ended,

D e ce mb e r

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2017

the students all moved up to the middle school, and many of the disruptive behaviors returned as the second and third graders became 4th and 5th graders in the fall of the new school year. It was as though each group of children had to go through a developmental stage of unkind behavior, physical interaction and bending of the kickball rules in order to become fully formed adults. In our school the faculty and staff and parent discussions began to center around normal child development, what constitutes a developmental stage and whatever does it take for children to recognize justice and fairness for all. We consulted with experts in school discipline and social equity programs. We bought books and had authors come and speak to the students, faculty and staff and parents. We began to have a better understanding of the reasons this game was so popular. Maybe kickball was really the vehicle to get the students to understand how rules are established we pondered. Maybe kickball should be celebrated as an example of equity since there was a rule that any boy or girl, stature or demeanor could play. Perhaps as adults we did not see how valuable a game of kickball could really be our ticket to the drama of what constitutes “fair play”. As adults in our community began to think out of the “kickball box,” we started to view the daily games as opportunities for teachable moments. The stage had been set all of these years, but we had been too blind to capitalize on the natural inclination of the children’s desires. As educators we can teach about turn taking, polite behavior, accepting defeat, winning graciously, following rules and many more human behaviors that would contribute to a healthy working society using kickball as the activity. Once the adults in the school realized what we could do, we approached it full force. We asked the physical education teacher to do a unit on kickball for all of the grades each fall and by adopting this approach it has made a HUGE difference in the behavior during the open playground times. It wasn’t the children who had to learn that kickball was a way to teach children about the ways of the world, it was the adults who had to embrace the concept that kickball was a valid method of teaching about social justice, in every way, every day and we just needed to figure this out for the benefit of the kids. Now, roll the ball... Barbara D. Katz-Brown is author of the book: Climbing The Rock Wall - Surviving A Career in Public School Education.

Poems By K ath a ry n Howd M ach a n

Bu rning

For safety. For the tick of the clock to keep it running smoothly. For hands not to have to touch old words, dangerous words. For eyes to rest, and praise instead. For stillness. Earth is not losing ice. Don’t listen to fools’ lies! Polar bears will swim and live and reindeer will stay large. Look to the clear blue sky; don’t ask about lost birds. We are making lists and lists of weak minds gone astray. Teachers. Poets. Journalists. We’ll put them all away. For sameness. Security in knowing neighbors smile and smile. One truth. One way to understand God’s time. Who needs a library when one book says it all? For freedom: no one

Bl essing Ea rth

We reach down, find it cold. Hard to our fingers, twin to our bones. Solstice and the light full-swallowed, night against fire, high moon. In a room of gentle circle we come together for deep story, prayer, the full green poems that warn away wrong frost. We will touch high silver starlight, swallow snow’s sweet stones. Not one of us surviving women will suffer winter alone.

Haikus

is another’s Injustice Depends on World View.

Killings: Abomination to a Just Nation!

“Blind Justice”

By Michael Mancuso

Class warfare they say: when Poor stand up for their rights, not when Rich take away!

For law enforcers to allow unjust murder discredits them all!

B y I va n S m a s o n

Class warfare they say: When Poor fight for what was their portion, that Rich stole!

To those who hunger, and thirst for Righteousness time for new diet!

Luck should not decide if one gets treated fairly or not in this life!

The Rich squash the Poor, into the dirt neath their shoes, but the ground cries out.

But luck does decide the quality of Justice for all involved.

Truth, Beauty, Justice now life worth living; for they be pure, and precious.

The luck of the draw is difference between the have and the have-nots!

Shots in the hallway at man crawling to Police Shame with no limit!

If Justice is in the eye of the beholder which “I” is in charge?

Justice was not done on that day, and never will if Police have way!

Might does not make right Right seldom has any might Future, thus be not bright! Having Justice is not having to say sorry to those in true need. A Just and Nice World is so hard for us to see Unless this we be. We live for so long Try to do well, and not wrong May this be our song. If you want Justice Then work Heartily for it and live in it too. To the Conqueror: You broke it, so you bought it. Now go and fix it!

An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth makes us blind and starving!

One person’s Justice

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t college in Upstate New York I had a psychology course instructor, a graduate student, who systematically failed males on an exam. She concomitantly gave females good grades on the test. Thereafter, I complained to her about the noticeable injustice. In response, she looked me over and called me an ogre. I followed up that complaint with a university professor who said I was not an ogre, and that I should drop the course and take another in its place. The replacement course, personality theory, turned out to have one of the best instructors I would have at college. If I looked like an ogre, that was lost to his visual blindness. A few years later, as a graduate student in psychology myself, I served as a course instructor in personality theory, and for that work I was nominated for a teaching honor. I don’t know what else to say about justice or injustice here except to say that injustice routinely claims to see clearly, while true justice is truly blind.

Extra-Judicial

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We Walk The Line By Lua n n k ru ll

hey know enough not to be fooled by the bright sun, still, the wind hiccupps through their coats. Not everyone has a coat. Not everyone has that kind of predictive mind: when you make a decision, do you consider that the consequences might not be in your best self-interest? Here Fred is, standing in line in essentially a metal cage, and it’s not his ideal way to spend a Sunday with his only child, Violet. Fred always counts how

many women are ahead of them—mostly they are women--mostly young, and of all ethnicities. Twenty. From past visits he knows there are 26 tables, but what he doesn’t know is how many people were let in before he and Violet arrived. “We can turn around and go home, Dad. I don’t want to waste your whole Sunday and not even get in.” Fred looks at his daughter as any father would, and remembers having her evaluated many years ago. You can’t have her stay home with you when you’re in this condition, his sister-in-law said. Fred cut Violet’s hair and dressed in white stockings

and clean clothes. The psychologist said, “Impressive. Not many four-year-olds can stay focused for 45 minutes. No separation anxiety. She’s ready for school.” Violet doesn’t ask for much. She never has. Fred acknowledges that bringing her up, he wasn’t always present. That’s the terminology: Being Present. He was Mom and Dad, and he worked too much, but he gave her what love he could, and he gave her books and told her that if she read enough she’d find answers—not all the answers, but some. It took him years to feel anything again after his wife died, and

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2017

Violet was there the whole time watching him, and who knew what was going through her mind. Still, from her mom she inherited an awareness of the underdog, and from him, a sense of humor. “Mommy,” a little boy says, hopping on one foot then the other. “I need to pee.” The mother, obviously cold, tired, sighs, and someone suggests he go outside and pee beside a tree. But there are no trees. There are mostly cameras, and they are everywhere. “I’ll ask about a restroom,” Violet says. She presses the call button several times before a guard shouts back at her, and Violet calmly states her concern (and the line, in anticipation, starts to part) when the guard says, “The bathroom inside doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked. You’ll just have to wait.” Those outside shrug their shoulders and shake their heads. A murmur goes up. “The Quick Mart on the corner,” Fred says to the mom. “It has a restroom. We’ll save your place.” Violet presses the button again, asking for exit. The door buzzes, and the locked gate releases as the woman grabs her son’s small hand and hurries away. You not only must ask permission to get in, you must ask to get out. “Thanks, Dad.” “The guard might not let them back in.” “Everything is a calculated risk here. Right?” He nods, wondering again how they found themselves here. “We can only try, Dad.” Violet’s association with this stellar microcosm of society began when she returned to college after taking a few years off. Violet had her own demons to tame, and when she returned to college, listless and unmotivated, exasperated by the social life, a physics professor suggested she participate in the prison tutoring program. “Dad, a lot of people in jail are really smart,” she commented after her first foray out into that unknown realm. “Most have had a bad family situation. Abusive parents.” He did not want to hear anymore, but he listened, and with full attention. “Most of them have had bad luck. That’s why they are there.” “I’m sure there are other factors.” “Dad,” she smiled at him, “there are always other factors.” The line moves, and they baby-step forward. Fred and Violet have brought books with them to read while they wait. Books are not allowed inside. They will be locked up along with their coats—not allowed

inside--and driver’s licenses. Maybe that’s why these women don’t have coats. You are allowed a transparent bag of money, 20 dollars total, so you can buy your inmate expensive weak coffee and a handful of stale candy bars. Most of those in line don’t have 20 dollars, in fact, two weeks ago Fred gave a woman gilded with makeup, her hair a tower of curls, a few bucks. “Craig really appreciates this, Dad. Addicts who get visitors do better. Statistically. Right?” Fred nods. “You’re always asking: What are the facts?” Fred nods again. There are other facts, such as if you have been addicted to heroin for half of your life like her friend -- or is he a boyfriend? -- then chances of being drug free are miniscule, like winning the lottery. His dopamine receptors have been hardwired for heroin. Nothing else comes close. Craig is all of 27. As they baby-step to the next door, the sign indicating what not to wear becomes visible. Why should WDTC post that information on their website? It might encourage visitors, Fred thinks. Here it is: no skirts. No sandals. No holes in jeans. No stretch pants. No shirts showing cleavage. No V-necks. A woman starts panicking, “I came all the way from the City, I didn’t know about the V-neck.” Violet suggests turning the shirt backwards (“Been here before,” Violet says) and those in line form an impromptu dressing room. The finally get through the first door. “What are doing with the books?” The guard says irritably. “Reading them?” Violet say, squinting her eyes. “You can’t bring those in.” Fred watches Violet look at the guard. She knows not to talk back. “In the locker with your coats.” Another woman, vastly overweight, passes by them. Tears in her eyes. Green stretch pants. “Fucking bitch,” another guards says, watching her leave. The first guard takes their photos, they remove shoes and pass through a metal detector, slip their shoes back on, pass through a metal gate, get their left hand stamped, go through another door which opens up into a hallway of junk food machines, most of the machines empty, but they buy a few candy bars, a Mountain Dew, and another guard takes their paperwork and points to their table, 23. He tells them: “Sit at the side facing those win-

dows.” On the walls are the rules: all food must be consumed on site. No talking to anyone at any other table. No food exchanges. Violet and Fred wait again. Their inmate must be summoned, he must dress, he must be escorted over, then then all of his cavities inspected. From a distant hallway, Fred sees Craig, hangdog expression, in white shirt, tie, green dress pants, floppy brown shoes, being led into a restroom with a guard. Five minutes later they emerge, Violet stands, Craig—big smiles—gives her a hug; Fred hugs Craig too but not with as much enthusiasm, and they all sit down in their prescribed seats. After the usual conversation, Fred asks Craig, who has now spent many years in the twin combo of jail and rehab, how rehab – which this place is -- is different from jail. “Most of the guys here are not murderers.” He’s silent for a minute. “But there are some murderers, so I need to be constantly on alert. The guards like me, so I am a unit leader, and since I’ve had experience landscaping – I am very valuable.” He winks. “We’re doing lots of landscaping right now before it snows. And as unit leader, I am always really careful who I gave the power shears to.” Craig grins. “I don’t want to get in any trouble.” “That’s good,” Fred says, wondering why he didn’t think of this earlier. “Some of these guys, you look at them cross-eyed and they take offense. You have to know when to back off. I don’t want to be stuck here another three months. It starts to wear on you.” “But you get counseling?” Fred asks.

“That’s what you get at treatment centers.” “Fred,” Craig bends his shaved head low. “There are 900 inmates here. I’ve seen my counselor once. For five minutes. You’re put here for three months so you can figure out how you got here, and so you don’t return.” “It’s a great system,” Fred says. Craig and Violet talk, and Fred remembers Violet telling him, He was so depressed, Dad, when he got out. He had nothing. A gently used pair of Velcro sneakers, a backpack stuffed with two nice shirts, a pair of jeans, underwear. Fred bought him socks. Craig gave a friend a black garbage bag of clothes, but the friend disappeared along with his clothes. Craig ended up living in Fred’s garage loft for a couple of months, but after too many 911 calls involving narcan, the judge sent him back in. What can you do? If you could keep the addict isolated for two years, that might be enough time to reset the dopamine receptors. But keep him where? Where can he go? And with a bag of heroin costing less than a pack of cigarettes. Fred watches Craig smile: happy that there are two people in the entire world who care enough to spend an hour with him and buy him a few candy bars. And a Mountain Dew. It’s nice to have caffeine; for now, his drug of choice.

Words On The Wall By A n ita Syerson

“Justice” is sometimes elusive. This poems is about coping. With the writing of this poem I hereby intend To divorce myself from my unhappy past. I will hang it like a sign on my door I will keep it like the Key to the Future. Right living today paves the way For a safer, a saner, a better tomorrow And though I have much to hope for, I have much to be thankful for, too. If I must create a path in order to walk, I will get where I’m going someday. No regret for the years I’ve lost, Or the things that have slipped away. God is my sanctuary. It doesn’t matter that my hair Is beginning to turn gray, And there are lines on my face In my heart I am still a child. I will put behind me forever That which is better forgot. Blaming is a waste of time I most need to forgive myself. The last ten years have proved to me That I can turn my life around. No need to start from zero Ever again - I hope and pray. I will lay me down and sleep in peace.

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The Hammer Of Justice By Fr a n k K e l ly

ost of the guys on the freight gang were nice enough to me; especially, since – as a college kid and Out of Towner – I was presumed to be rich, stuck up and a pussy. Actually, I was anything but. Home was a “cold water flat,” heated by an aging kerosene stove – the noxious fuel drawn from a 100 gallon drum in the shed, one flight down, carried up the stairs in a smaller can and poured (carefully) through a wire sieve capped port into a tank. No car. No TV. Hell, no telephone for most of my growing up years. No. It was student loans, a scholarship and my single mother’s determination that combined to make college possible. That – and work: part time during the school year. Full time summers. The first summer it had been a supermarket. This year I’d gotten lucky. International Paper was hiring college kids at their Ticonderoga Paper Mill to cover for regular employees who took vacation – to fish, work their farms, or just get away from that small Adirondack village. The tiny Hamlet had little going for it beyond its proximity to Lake George, the Fort (an

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historic Revolutionary War site) … and Paula Hague, the 18 year old High School senior I’d met at the local Diner -- where she worked as a waitress -- and had been seeing behind her father’s back. Doing anything behind John Hague’s back was dangerous – especially if it had to do with his only daughter. But, at another level, it was easy. John was the size of vending machine with an IQ to match. You could hide three Paula’s, one of me and their mangy dog, Max, behind Big John’s back and have room left over for a wheelbarrow. And Paula was well worth the risk. For the past two months we’d made an art form of finding new places to meet without ever being caught. But Big John was suspicious. That – or he just had it in for this puny, college kid who struggled to keep up with real men like him, didn’t smoke and was rumored to spend more time in the Library than at one of the local Bars. In fact, I’d spread this rumor, thinking there’d be little chance Big John Hague would visit the Library – when I was actually making out with his little Paula underneath the High School bleachers. But it just reinforced his sissy image of me. And, in his one cylinder brain, this image gave the Big guy license to harass me on a daily basis. He’d threaten and intimidate, insult and bad mouth me to our foreman. It had gone on all summer. But today was my last day, and I’d a little surprise up my sleeve for Big John. Actually, it was up his sleeve – that is, the sleeve of the dirty jacket John always left hanging in the tool shed just past the Time Clock. Quitting time was 3PM, but the freight gang always got overtime. It was cheaper – at least this time of year – to pay overtime than add another shift. Normally, I’d have worked the extra hours. But today was my last and nobody thought anything of it when I declined the Foreman’s predictable offer an hour earlier – saying I’d managed to arrange a ride all the way to Lake George. At 2:55 PM I finished jockeying a 900# roll of paper into position in the Box car that sat between the loading dock and building No. 9, and retrieved my jacket – which, although I washed it regularly, reeked of rotten eggs, a smell, from Mill No. 3’s pulp and sulfite process, that hung over the Town like the smell of manure hangs over a Pig farm. I returned to the dock, where most of the crew – including Big John – had taken a break, even though their regular shift was almost over. They’d work the overtime … and drink the pay tomorrow

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night. Each man looked up and smiled as just before Rt. 9 takes a left and heads I walked up and extended my hand -- all south along the Lake – I turned, stuck except Big John. Oh, he shook my hand out my thumb, and prayed. Sometimes, all right – swallowing my size Large in a the first Semi would pick you up. Other hand the size of a First Baseman’s Mitt … times you’d wait for an hour. Today, I and squeezing it until tears welled up bewanted to be as far from Ticonderoga and hind my eyes. “So long, kid,” he growled. Big John Hague as I could get before he I winced, as he finally released my now punched out. An 18-wheeler, pulled by a throbbing hand and, with a weak smile, bottle green Peterbilt Tractor, roared past replied “So long John,” wanting to add and disappeared around the bend. An “I’ve really enjoyed your daughter” but old Ford Station wagon with Canadian not wanting to risk a broken jaw to go plates carrying a family of four followed with my swollen hand. … then a rusty pickup. Then nothing. Having endured the Big man’s final Five minutes. Ten. I was beginning to insult, I turned on my heel and headed worry. Five more minutes by my Timex. for the Time Clock, managing to punch Then, a familiar sound. The throaty pipes out at 3:06 PM and deposit of Brian Murphy’s ’55 Chevy. I my time card in the OUT couldn’t believe my eyes as the “… It’s the portion of the adjacent wire distinctive, cherry red converthammer of rack. Then, turning to be ible came into sight, slowed justice; it’s sure Big John hadn’t left the and came to a stop. “Hop in,” the bell of loading dock; I crossed to the smiled the carrot-topped kid freedom …” tool shed, just a few steps bebehind the wheel. “Headed yond. Unlatching the woodhome? en door, I slipped into the small room “Yeah.” and pulled it closed behind me. Quickly, “Me too.” I retrieved the hammer and nails I’d hidTossing the duffel into the back seat, I den under a pile of cleaning rags the day climbed in beside him and pulled the car before. I crossed the few feet to where Big door closed … breathing a huge sigh of John’s enormous jacket hung in its usual relief. resting place. Unzipping the jacket, I had “How far,” he queried? room to nail the back of it to the wall be“As far as I can get,” I said. hind. “Roger that,” he replied, his smile I sang the words to “If I Had a Hamwidening. “Great summer, but I’ve had mer” softly as I worked, enough -- that damned stink from the pa“… It’s the hammer of justice; it’s the per mill … and those crazy locals. How bell of freedom …” about you? Are you gonna miss any of When I had finished, I zipped up the it?” jacket and stepped back, smiling. “The games,” I replied wistfully. “Serves the bastard right,” I muttered, “Games? What games?” “hassling me the way he did – CRETAN!” “At the High School,” I said. As a final gesture, I reached into the “High School? I didn’t think they pocket of my jacket and withdrew a tiny played during summer vacation,” he said, bottle. It was an extra sample that came puzzled. with the Chanel No. 5 I’d given Paula as “No,” I replied, grinning … “… just a a going away present, when we’d met for little 1 on 1 pick up!” one last session behind the High School “Oh,” he said. “Damn. You mean I was Bleachers the night before. Removing the here all summer and didn’t even know cap, I sprinkled the contents on the colpeople were playing games at the High lar of the coat, which was now securely School?” nailed to the wall … but in a manner that “Don’t feel bad,” I said, consolingly. its owner would not discover until he “Some of the locals didn’t even know we failed to dislodge it. Stuffing the empty were using the facilities!” bottle inside my jeans pocket, I cautiously I leaned back, closed my eyes and beopened the door, looked both ways and gan humming … “it’s the hammer of jusheaded for the Main gate and safety. tice, it’s the bell of freedom …” Ten minutes later, I was at the rooming A twinge of quilt whispered in my house. – where I collected my single dufinner ear but then fell silent. This was fel, hugged my Landlady, Mrs. Balinsky, Justice, after all. Big John had it coming. and headed for the edge of town. Once Didn’t he? I’d passed the last house – the small, ramshackled cottage that hugs the highway

Our Ideas Of Justice By Rich John

ow. Justice. This is a topic worthy of the year end Readers’ Writes issue. It is a timely subject too, as real questions of justice will be directly in front of Tompkins County this coming year. But maybe the topic is too big. What does the word really mean? For some guidance, perhaps we can start with someone who thought the big thoughts, Aristotle. He saw the ideal of justice as a good by nature (in itself). In contrast, because for the just man, justice must be learned, he or she represented a lesser good than justice itself. As it is not essential to being a man to be just, he saw justice in people as a variable. Similarly, he reasoned that admiring justice in a friend is a higher virtue than desiring justice from an enemy that could harm you, presumably because of the self-interest. Well, yes. Although it is hardly newsworthy to note that we struggle towards the higher principles of justice, and arrive at something less than perfection. But it is perhaps a useful starting point to recognize that, implicit in what Aristotle is saying, justice is relational. If there was only one person left in the world, justice would not really mean anything at all. Justice is what we do to each other, or is done to us. And we can be more or less just to each other. And at the governmental level, we can really only deal in this lesser self-interested and imperfect definition of justice. Further, as a government, we cannot do nothing. Even not deciding is a choice with a string of consequences, for justice as in many other realms. Anyway, whether you know it or not, all of us imperfect people in Tompkins County, are engaged in a large experiment to redefine some pieces of what that more immediate lesser form of justice means here. Both County government and several not-for-

profit agencies spent a lot of 2016 and 2017 thinking, planning and budgeting on major changes to our criminal justice system. In 2018, we will work to see what we can make real. We always want our systems to work, and to work better. In particular, the ongoing opiate crisis demands both a public safety and public health response. But a factor that helped prompt this recent introspection was the New York State Commission of Correction determining that we needed to act to reduce overcrowding at our Jail. The message was that we had to reduce the number of prisoners boarded out to other jails by either expanding our Jail or reducing the number of people we hold. One or the other. The clear consensus of the citizens who came and shared their opinions was that we needed to put a smaller percentage of our population in the Jail, rather than make the facility bigger. We are betting (on behalf of you the taxpayer) that we can make our system better, not bigger. Tompkins County is already a leader in the State in terms of using alternatives to incarceration (“ATIs”) to keep our Jail population down. We have implemented a variety of programs to help us run our Jail at about a third of the national average. Based on population, Tompkins runs a dramatically smaller jail than our neighboring counties. Our crime rate is comparable with our neighbors, so it does not seem that we are paying for the lower jail population with more crime. But because we have already implemented good and effective programming, the low hanging fruit has been picked. We have OAR with its bail program. Our District Attorney has explicitly stated a policy of releasing people charged with a misdemeanor, rather than routinely requesting jail and bail. We have misdemeanor and felony drug court. We have counsel at first arraignment. We have electronic monitoring and day reporting. We have a mobile mental

health response unit to help the police with interventions. And more. But we have to do better if we are truly going to reduce the Jail population. As a result, the County budget includes a series of new spending items intended to expand our existing ATIs and introduce new ones. Probation is expanding its electronic monitoring capability and its Drug Court presence. The Mental Health Department is launching a revamped reentry program to help match services to people leaving the Jail. We are working with the City of Ithaca to stand up a new program called Law Enforcement Assisted Diversion (“LEAD”) that would give arresting officers the discretion to divert certain non-violent offenders into the social services system, rather than the jail. The Tompkins County Alcohol and Drug Counsel is working to open a 40 bed detox/ stabilization facility. Offender Assistance and Restoration is opening its Endeavor House to provide housing to people coming out of the Jail. Cayuga Addiction and Recovery Services is expanding by 25 beds its substance abuse treatment center in Trumansburg. The County increased funding to another OAR program called the Upstate College Initiative that, as the name implies, helps people out of the criminal justice system and into education. We are hiring a new position of Criminal Justice Coordinator to track and report on the overall effort. The underlying point of much of the ATI programming is to not just warehouse individuals for a time, but to address, at least for some of these people, the basics behind their involvement in our system. People become involved in the criminal justice system often correlate with issues of misuse of alcohol and drugs, mental illness, poverty, homelessness, racism, lack of education or training, unemployment, and just plain despair. Addressing the basic numbers of people in our Jail in a meaningful way actually requires examining and attacking these underlying factors that damage our social

fabric. Our emphasis on ATIs is in no way meant to be “soft” on crime. Participation in the ATIs should be harder than jail in that there will be demands for behavioral change. And, yes, we will not reach everyone. We recognize that some individuals just need to be in jail for their own safety or the safety of others. But the idea is to try. So 2018 is where our experiment really begins. Can we get these initiatives on line? Can we get them working? Will our local judges use all the tools we are putting in their toolboxes? Will these programs make a difference in Jail population and the need for board outs? In the longer term, will our efforts appreciably reduce the number of people who routinely cycle through our Jail? If we are successful in further reducing our Jail numbers, will we see more crime? If we are keeping someone out of Jail, are they being properly punished for misbehavior? Are ATIs “fair” to the victims of crime? Are you the taxpayers getting value? And, of course, do all of these collective imperfect efforts move us closer to a better community? These are all good and necessary questions we are going to try to answer in 2018. Tompkins County intends to continue as a leader in New York State in building this more comprehensive approach to criminal justice and public health. This is ambitious and exciting. We want to be fair. We want to be safe. We want to see a rising tide lift all boats. And we can only hope to do so in a humble imperfect way, with imperfect people and programs that are limited in scope and funding. Ultimately, the answers we arrive at will say a lot about defining ourselves as a community. Is this justice? What would Aristotle call it?

Rich John is a Tompkins County Legislator and chairman of the Public Safety Committee.

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2 Frasier, 2 Furious

“Why the hell are you talking like that?” Frasier said, barely interested in the answer. “Daphne’s signed us up for mechanical bull riding lessons and I don’t want to seem out of place,” he answered. “She already vetoed the bejeweled underside of the brim on my 10-gallon hat.” “Fantastic,” Frasier grumbled. They headed down the stairs and hopped in Niles’ car. Frasier, embracing the cable car system that had quickly become his worst enemy, had sold his car and had been unable to acquire a new one since moving back. He was saving money, though, and now it was just a matter of making his way to the dealership. By the time he had returned to Seattle, he was unable to regain his normal midafternoon timeslot on the radio. Offered a late-night show instead, Frasier declined and opened up his own private practice. It was hard though, and the feelings of loneliness and futility that had initially forced his move to San Francisco were creeping back into mind despite his best efforts to keep them at bay. He had joined a gym, started yoga, tried out for a choir, yet nothing was sticking. He had even begun volunteering in the local police department, partially as a way to reconnect with

his father after the senior Crane’s long bursts of braying braggadocio with procareer as a detective. That had at least longed moments of dozing. With a lunch helped give them something to talk about break from 12-2, Frasier headed out after at dinner, and it gave Frasier some desper- his first appointment and to grab a cup of By M att Bu tler ately needed sense of direction. coffee at Cafe Nervosa, his old stomping rasier Crane awoke from a deep After a short ride, grounds. It seemed slumber, a soft tongue lapping his they entered Selike the only thing face. attle Shopping Mall, that was familiar He sighed, gently shoving his father’s where Frasier’s new since he had moved Boston Terrier, Eddie, off the bed. Anothoffice was. Keeping back. er day had begun, one more in a life that a psychiatry office After his coffee, had long ago seen its ripeness flee. in the same buildhe stepped out onto He rolled to his side and rose out of ing where the teens the street corner for bed, putting on his robe and heading to would routinely the brief walk home. the living room for breakfast. His vengo to brawl while Frasier took one step ture to San Francisco had flamed out; skipping school on off the curb before the free-wheeling nature of its younger Fridays wasn’t ideal, leaping backwards as demographic didn’t quite suit the erudite but it was an afforda blue flash screamed nature of Frasier’s radio psychiatry, and able rent and a noby him, grazing his he soon became the target of street shouttable location. The stomach with its side ing and near-daily mooning via passing dreary site, plopped view mirror. Becable car. He had returned, defeated, to in the middle of a fore Frasier realized Seattle, after just six months and moved frantic and festive what had happened, in with his father and step-mother, Marmall, seemed to mirthe flash was gone, tin and Ronee, a cruelly ironic outcome ror Frasier’s own life in a way that he felt having turned the corner and roared off after years of carping due to his father’s taunted him. He hadn’t noticed until he down the street. occupation of Frasier’s apartment. moved there, but he hated the sight of the “What in God’s name was that?” he His brother Niles was seated at the place now. shouted, dusting the sidewalk dirt off his dining table, looking nervous. After giving Niles a short tour of his backside. He had narrowly missed spill“Giddy-up, Frasier, the rooster’s been office, they revisited the previous night’s ing coffee all over himself. His heart was crowing for near an hour,” he said with dinner conversation. beating, his hands were shaking. His forced cheer and a twang. “I keep telling you, I can help, I have hand went to the small kids sheriff star in the money,” Niles said as he grabbed his the pocket the guys at the police departcoat. ment had given him as a hazing ritual. “No, no, come on, I’ll be fine,” Frasier Regaining himself, he turned and trudged said with genuine appreciation. “I’m gotoward his office, his flirtation with traging to be back in my penthouse before the edy quickly fading from memory. fall performance of Pagliacci, we’ll have As he arrived outside the mall, the our opening night soiree there and I can same blue flash caught his eye, but this debut my new pickled pheasant a la cotime it was stationary. Frasier took a secquillage recipe.” ond to examine the flash, but as he apBRAND NEW Niles huffed. “Last time I had pheasproached B it morphed into less of aR flash TWOBEDROOM BEDROOM APARTMENTS T W O D TWO APARTMENTS T W O B ant my cheeks swelled so much I almost and more B of a car. A brightE blue car, with • Spacious • floor plans • Energy S Efficient p Appliances • a Patio or balcony c availablei o u s f l o o r p l a n s • E n e needed tos get my molars but flames painted onl thee side and large, ob- r o • Spacious• floor plans Energy Efficient •C or balcony available • S p c ih o u s f lrealigned, o o r p a n Clubhouse with•great room •Smart • CardAppliances Laundry Center • Patio Fitnessa Center l u b o u e w i t h g r a t s • Computer Lab • •Smart 24 Hour Emergency Maintenance C o pi u e r g L a • Clubhouse with great room Card • Laundry Center • Fitness Center l u b C s e w tt h r e forh you, I’llo take• myu pills beforehand and m noxious metallic fixtures on the hood • Controlled building • access • Close toC shopping, schools o & medical n facilities t r o l l e d b u i l d i n g a c c e s s • Computer Lab • 24 Hour Emergency Maintenance • C o m p u pack some ice.” and trunk. It was pristinely kept, the blue • Controlled building access • Close to shopping, schools o & medical facilities • C n t ro l l e d b u i l d i n g a He closed the door. Frasier sat back looking nearly majestic if it wasn’t encasCALL (607) 288-4165 CAL L (6 behind his desk. He was running out of ing something so grotesque and ugly. TODAY TO SCHEDULE A TOUR! T O D A Y T O • Spacious floor plans • Energy Efficient Appliances • Patio or balcony available time with his brother; such a skilled psyFrasier sneakily spat on it, and it felt good. edrooms $754 - $836 2 d r • Clubhouse with great2 Broom •Smart Card Laundry Center • Fitness Center chiatrist could only miss depression for HeB turned ande walked to his office, arTODAY TO SCHEDULE A TOUR! TO D A Y so long. Soon after, his first client came riving just in time for his 2 p.m. appoint• Computer Lab • 24 Hour Emergency Maintenance in. Because of doctor-patient confidentiment. 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Dom entered the office shortly after Frasier. He was muscular, bald, with a deep voice. Like many men, he was nervous at the prospect of seeing a psychiatrist and the vulnerability that could come along with that. The discomfort lingered into their session; Frasier attempting to probe his brain, Dom throwing out empty answers and cliches. He brightened at the mention of his career, though: while he maintained a coy vagueness about the specifics, he explained a fast-paced life-

smart or charming, though he was wellgroomed. Whatever job he had must be something Frasier too could do. Frasier was no longer interested in helping Dom. He wanted to be Dom. Forget the yoga, forget the sheriff’s department. That was his way out. After an hour, the two were laughing like old chums. Dom’s nervousness had left him; he liked Frasier’s interest in his craft and being around him made Dom feel more stable, like things could slow down. Frasier enjoyed Dom’s “Remember, your adrenaline!” rough-and-tum“Too late, Doc,” Dom said, waving off ble je ne sai quoi, Frasier’s objections. so vastly different He looked around quickly, analyzing from the crowd his environment. His eyes stopped on a Frasier had clean white cylinder at the top of a pole. “There’s cameras. Thank God, I’m getting used to admire, though admitsecurity.” tedly he would have preferred style of glamour and danger. He would that Dom hadn’t worn a sleeveless underonly call it his “family business.” shirt to their appointment. Frasier, acting It awakened something in Frasier, a on his better judgment, did not mention feeling he couldn’t quite describe but cau- his casual involvement with the police tiously enjoyed. Dom kept talking, at this department to Dom, sensing it might repoint a monologue as Frasier had stopped build the barrier between the two. asking questions. He grew more and more Frasier’s schedule was free the rest of curious -- Dom didn’t appear particularly the day, so he decided to walk Dom out

to his car. As they came closer to the vehicle, still locked in conversation, Frasier glanced around and became nervous. They were heading directly for the blue, metallic and flamed flash car. “How didn’t I understand this?” he thought to himself, still hoping they passed the blue flash. “The fancy life, the mystery stories, the adrenaline. Of course this is his car.” They stopped at the blue flash, and Dom unlocked it. “Well, I guess this is bye fo--,” he stopped short. Something had caught his eye. “Who the hell did this?” He made a beeline for the right side of the hood, where Frasier’s saliva had crystallized under the cold clouds of Seattle. Frasier was now dripping anxious sweat – this new friend had sparked a vigor inside him that he thought was gone forever. And already he had befouled something clearly important to him. “Gosh, I--” Frasier stuttered. “No, nobody gets away with this stuff, not with me,” Dom said. “Remember, your adrenaline!” “Too late, Doc,” Dom said, waving off Frasier’s objections. He looked around quickly, analyzing his environment. His eyes stopped on a

clean white cylinder at the top of a pole. “There’s cameras. Thank God, I’m getting security.” “Dom, wait, please,” Frasier said. Dom did stop. The urgency in Frasier’s voice caught him. “Look, I’m sorry. That was me. You almost hit me outside of Cafe Nervosa and when I saw your car here in the lot, I just let loose. I’m sorry, I’ll pay for a new paint job.” Without a word, Dom reached back and punched Frasier in the left side of his jaw, knocking him down. Frasier, with his heart beating in his ears, for the first time in his life felt anger overtake embarrassment and shame. He rose back up and head butted Dom onto the hood of his car. Dom rolled off and landed on his feet across the car. The two men stared back at each other, fists clenched. Suddenly, Dom’s gaze relaxed, and he released his fists. Four cars came screaming up to them in the parking lot, seemingly out of nowhere. Each one was as gaudy and sounded as ferocious as the next. “Welcome to the family,” Dom said.

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School, 111 Chestnut St | The league is non-competitive and fun and involves pick-up style playing. Check out the league’s website for more information: https://ithacawomensbasketball. wordpress.com/Â

12/28 Thursday

Overeaters Anonymous 12-Step

Music

12/27 Wednesday | Monks on the Commons, 120 S.Aurora St, Ithaca | (Jazz)

12/27 Wednesday

12/28 Thursday

Upgrade your event for the online calendar for only $15 a day. Go to ithaca.com.

Dino Losito, Brian Murphy, Terry Light | 6:00 PM-7:30 PM, 12/28 Thursday | Collegetown Bagels, East Hill Plaza, Ithaca | (Jazz)

12/29 Friday

Dead Night at The Dock | 9:00 PM-, 12/29 Friday | The Dock, 415 Taughannock Blvd, Ithaca | (Grateful Dead covers)

12/30 Saturday

Dr. K Paul Kempkes | 6:00 PM-8:00 PM, 12/30 Saturday | Americana Vineyards, 4367 E Covert Rd, Interlaken | Solo guitar and vocals.åÊ All my favorite songs from Springsteen, Supertramp, Steely Dan, and a few others that start with the letter “S”.åÊ Get out of the house for a little New Years Eve practice.

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Beginner Bird Walks | 8:30 AM-, 12/30 Saturday | , Cornell Lab of Ornithology, 159 Sapsucker Woods Rd | Guided bird walks every Saturday

Meetings 1/2 Tuesday

Notices 12/27 Wednesday

Ithaca Jazz and Blues Jam | 4:00 PM-7:00 PM, 12/31 Sunday | Mix Kitchen and Bar, 205 Elmira Road, Ithaca | All jazz and blues instrumentalists and vocalists welcome. Hosted by Dennis Winge Trio.

1/2 Tuesday

12/30 Saturday

Tuesday Bluesday with Dan Paolangeli & Friends | 6:00 PM-, 1/2 Tuesday | The Dock, 415 Taughannock Blvd, Ithaca | (Blues, Rock, Every Tuesday)

12/31 Sunday Upgrade your Event!

addiction, anorexia, bulimia, binge eating, or overexercising â€” we have a solution. No dues, fees, weigh-ins.

Foodnet Meals on Wheels and Subaru Share the Love Event | 12:00 AM-11:59 PM, 12/27 Wednesday | Foodnet Meals on Wheels is proud to announce that it will be participating in the tenth annual Subaru Share the Love Event as a member of Meals on Wheels America â€“ one of four national Share the Love charitable partners supported through the promotion. From now to January 2, 2018, Subaru of America will donate $250 for every new Subaru vehicle sold or leased to the customer’s choice of participating charity. Participating Meals on Wheels America

27–Ja n u a r y

2017

Driftwood Weekend! Catch them at the Haunt Saturday Dec 30 th with Lady D & The Shadow Spirits AND Sunday Dec 31 st with Milkweed (New Years Eve Party) (Photo: provided)

members, like Foodnet, will receive a share of the donation raised by Subaru in their state.

12/27 Wednesday

Wednesday Night Ithaca Women’s Basketball Association | 7:00 PM-9:00 PM, 12/27 Wednesday | , Lehman Alternative Community

meeting | 7:00 AM-8:00 AM, 12/28 Thursday | , First Unitarian Church (yellow house), 306 N. Aurora St. | Open “Big Book” OA 12-Step meeting. Contact Judy 319-0573 for info and accessibility. No matter what your problem with food--compulsive overeating, under-eating, food

and Sunday morning, starting atÂ 8:30 a.m., sponsored by the Cayuga Bird Club. Targeted toward beginners, but appropriate for all. Binoculars available for loan. Meet at the front of the building. http://www.cayugabirdclub. org/calendarÂ

1/1 Monday

GeT An ideA. get a loan.

Something to hold on to | 12:00 AM-11:59 PM, 1/1 Monday | , Community School Of Music And Arts, 330 E State St | Featuring submitted work from local artists.

12/29 Friday

Third Stoyr Band | 7:00 PM-9:00 PM, 12/29 Friday | , The Westy, 516 W. State St. | Classic Rock

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12/28 Thursday

DJ Southpaw | 10:00 PM-, 12/28 Thursday | , The Nines, 311 College Ave | Hip-Hop, R&B, Reggae, Top 40.Â

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12/30 Saturday

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Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous Weekly Meeting | 8:00 AM-9:30 AM, 12/30 Saturday | , Just Be Cause Center, 1013 W. State Street | Twelve-step recovery program for those who can’t control their eating. No dues, fees, or weigh-ins. Long-term help for overeaters, undereaters and bulimics.

Loans subject to credit approval.

12/31 Sunday

Beginner Bird Walks | 8:30 AM-, 12/31 Sunday | , Cornell Lab of Ornithology, 159 Sapsucker Woods Rd | Guided bird walks every Saturday and Sunday morning, starting atÂ 8:30 a.m., sponsored by the Cayuga Bird Club. Targeted toward beginners, but appropriate for all. Binoculars available for loan. Meet at the front of the building. http://www.cayugabirdclub. org/calendarÂ

1/1 Monday

Overeaters Anonymous 12-Step meeting | 7:00 PM-8:00 PM, 1/1 Monday | , Just Be Cause Center, 1013 W State St | Open “Big Book” OA 12-Step meeting. Contact Leigh 379-4858. No matter what your problem with food--compulsive overeating, under-eating, food addiction, anorexia, bulimia, binge

eating, or overexercising â€” we have a solution. No dues, fees, weigh-ins.

Kids Blast Off with Geology!--Holiday Break Programs at the Museum | 10:30 AM-3:00 PM, 12/28 Thursday | , Museum of the Earth, 1259 Trumansburg Road | December 26-30, 2017 Museum of the Earth, 1259 Trumansburg Road, Ithaca, NY Are you looking for an adventure for your family over the holiday school break? Blast off with Geology! at the Museum of the Earth. These daily activities are in celebration of our “Mapping the Planets in Silk and Sound” special exhibit. They run Tuesday, December 26, through Saturday, December 30, 2017, and are included with Museum admission (free for members--including YNAP).

“No Place Like Space” Storytime - Every day at 10 :30 am. Take off with Geology activities - Every day from 1 - 3 pm. Tuesday, Dec 26th-Playing the field with Geologic time“ Wednesday, Dec 27th-Mapping the solar system Thursday, Dec 28th-Astrobiology-Is there life out there? Friday, Dec 29th-Rock Cycle of Life Saturday, Dec 30th-Planetary Swag for the Seasons

ART 12/29 Friday

The World Bewitchd: Visions of Witchcraft from the Cornell Collections | 12:00 AM-11:59 PM, 12/29 Friday | , Hirshland Exhibition Gallery, Kroch Library, Cornell University | The exhibition features

rare and unique books and documents â€”from 15th-century witch hunting manuals to 20th-century movie posters and it examines themes such as gendered stereotypes, belief in night flying, shapeshifting, demonic pacts, and the witch epidemics that resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands. Leanora Mims | 12:00 AM-11:59 PM, 12/29 Friday | , New Roots Charter School, 116 N Cayuga St | Leanora Mims’ pieces depict African-American history and the black experience in the present day. Seventh December Juried Show | 12:00 AM-11:59 PM, 12/29 Friday | , State Of The Art, 120 W State St Ste 2 | More than 60 artists from the area will display paintings, drawings, mosaic, prints, sculpture and digital work. Show dates: November 29-December 30, 2017, with a reception and awards ceremony Friday, December 1, 5-8pm.

12/31 Sunday

Open Meditation | 10:30 AM-12:00 PM, 12/31 Sunday | , Foundation of Light, 391 Turkey Hill Road | All are welcome to meditate according to their own practice. It begins with 20 minutes of silent meditation, after which we read and discuss related texts. It ends with 15 or 20 minutes of silent or guided meditation. Beginners are welcome and instruction in basic meditation will be provided. There are chairs and cushions in our meditation room, but you are welcome to bring your own. Sessions are an hour and a half from 10:30 to noon. Sacred Sunday Community at Yoga Farm | 9:00 AM-11:15 AM, 12/31 Sunday | , Yoga Farm, 404 Conlon Rd

New Years Eve Party at Americana Vineyards 4 PM - 8 PM

| Sacred Sundays Community at Yoga Farm.Â All are Welcome.Discover Your Self & Awaken Your Kindest HumanityPray. Move. Sit. Connect.

Special Events New Year’s Eve Community Dance | 8:00 PM-, 12/31 Sunday | , Cortland Repertory Theatre, Dwyer Memorial Park Pavilion | The 3rd Annual Dancinâ€™ Thru The Decades New Years Eve Dance. Dance in the New Year and have a front row seat to the downtown First Light celebration. New Year’s Eve Party | 4:00 PM-8:00 PM, 12/31 Sunday | , Americana Vineyards, 4367 E Covert Rd | Start your New Year’s Eve celebration early and in true Americana style at our first ever New Year’s Eve Party! “Dine. Dance. Mix. Mingle.” is the theme, and attire is anything you want, from casual to fancy. Upstairs in the Winery, DJ Rob Knobel kicks the party off on the dance floor at 4:00pm, playing swing and jazz until 8:00pm, for your dancing and listening pleasure. Downstairs in the Tasting Room, the Crystal Lake Cafe will put out the party spread, starting with appetizers at 4:00, followed by dinner and desserts from 5:00pm-7:30pm. Dinner selections will include seafood, pasta and a prime rib carving station, along with a variety of sides and salads. Tables will be spread throughout the Winery, Cafe, Taproom and around the dance floor -- for guests to use as they please. And a variety of drinks will be available, including beer, bubbly, wine, wine cocktails, vertical tastings and even some rare library wines from Joe’s private collection. In addition to food, drinks and dancing, there will be door prizes awarded each hour and basket raffles, with the proceeds going to the shelters and rescues of Woofstock.Â Attendance is limited to 200 guests, 21 and over only. Admission is just $25 per person in advance, and $30 at the door.Admission is just $25 per person in advance, and $30 at the door, and includes your first glass of wine or beer.

12/28 Thursday

Online Calendar Check out all of these events and so much more over at ithaca.com/ calendar. Never miss an event again.

Th e

I t h a c a Ti m e s

D ecember

2 7 –Ja nua r y

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Town & Country

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Southern Cayuga Central School District anticipates an opening for a Part-Time Account Clerk in district office, minimum qualification graduation from high school w/courses in bookkeeping OR three months experience in bookkeeping, starting rate depends on experience, apply online with the Support Staff Application: go to southerncayuga.org/644, click on the application in the right column; deadline February 2, 2018, Loretta Van Horn, Business Administrator, Southern Cayuga Central School, 2384 Route 34B, Aurora NY 13026,vanhorn1@southerncayuga.org; SCCS EOE

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is accepting applications for the following: Wastewater Treatment Plant Operator/Trainee: Currently, there is one vacancy. Min. Quals: Visit website. Salary: $43,059 (trainee) $53,649 (Operator). Exam: At a later date. Residency: Must be resident of New York State. Applications accepted until position is filled. Executive Assistant: Min. Quals: Visit website. Salary: $44,365. Residency: Must be resident of Tompkins County. Application Deadline: 1/18/18. Exam Date: 3/3/18. Technical Assistant for Fine and Performing Arts #68-57: Currently, one vacancy in the Ithaca City School District. Min. Quals: Visit website. Salary: $41,261. Residency: Must be resident of Tompkins County or one of its 6 contiguous counties. Application Deadline: 1/18/18. Exam Date: 3/3/18. City of Ithaca HR Dept., 108 E. Green St., Ithaca NY 14850. (607)274-6539 www.cityofithaca.org The City of Ithaca is an equal opportunity employer that is committed to diversifying its workforce.

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WheelsForWishes.org

1)Model # 101 Carolina $40,840…BALANCE OWED $17,000

services

Handy Man

services

Lower Collegetown

1 Bedroom,, Furnished, Spacious, Large Rooms, Hardwood Floor, Quiet Building, eat Included, Reasonable Rent, Walk to Central Campus or Downtown, Tracey 607-379-2776

services

Ithaca’s only

hometown electrical distributor

Call: (315) 400-0797

Your one Stop Shop

Since 1984 802 W. Seneca St. Ithaca 607-272-1711 fax: 607-272-3102 www.fingerlakeselectric.com

* Car Donation Foundation d/b/a Wheels For Wishes. To learn more about our programs or financial information, visit www.wheelsforwishes.org.

Ithaca WebsIte DesIgn

Do you have a business? are you starting a business? Let Us help You!

State of New York Mortgage Agency

We have been in business since 1980 specializing in streaming audio and video. Our team of experts can build you a website with features such as search engine optimization, tracking web site visitors, listing on Facebook. Check us out on www.ithacawebsitedesign.com Call us at 607-272-9175 we are open Monday to Friday 9am. to answer your questions.

LOAN TODAY. HOME TOMORROW.

Mortgages with down payment assistance for ﬁrst-time homebuyers

WANTED!!

Old Motorcycles, Parts and Memorabilia Top Dollar Paid!

Call (800) 382-4663 or visit sonyma.org

607-564-1808 Th e

I t h a c a Ti m e s

D ecember

2 7 –Ja nua r y

2 ,

2 0 1 7

BackPage

For rates and information contact Cyndi Brong at cbrong @ ithactimes.com

277-7000 p h o n e 277-1012 f a x

Independence Cleaners Corp

MINDFULNESS

RESIDENTIAL & COMMERCIAL

STRESS REDUCTION

Janitorial Service * Floor/Carpet

at Island Health & Fitness

High Dusting * Windows/Awnings

in partnership with Cayuga Medical Center

24/7 CLEANING Services

New Sessions Start in Early January

607-227-3025

nickboyar.com

PEACEFUL SPIRIT TAI CHI

10% off Total Check

Buy, Sell & Consign Previously-enjoyed

With Greenback Coupon at

FURNITURE & DECOR

It’s Your Funeral

Tokyo

MIMI’S ATTIC

Will it be What You Want?

430 W. State St. (607)882-9038 Open Every

Get unbiased funeral planning information

722 S. Meadow (near Tops)

Day!

607-277-8888

and price comparisons from

* BUYING RECORDS *

4 Seasons

LPs 45s 78s ROCK JAZZ BLUES PUNK REGGAE ETC

Landscaping Inc.

of the Finger Lakes www.fingerlakesfunerals.org 273-8316 info@fingerlakesfunerals.org

Angry Mom Records

607-272-1504

Funeral Consumers Alliance

115 The Commons Basement

lawn maintenance

319-4953 angrymomrecords@gmail.com

spring + fall clean up + gutter cleaning

drainage snow removal

FRIDAYS 7:30 - 8:30 PM ALL LEVELS WELCOME admin@peacefulspiritacupuncture.com

Reliable and Affordable

www.cayugadogrescue.org

Latest Technology. Affordable

Richard F. Vogt

www.facebook.com/CayugaDogRescue

Les - 607-272-9175

Luna offers $5.00 OFF

Save 10%

(minimum order $20.) with

on Total Check with

Greenback Coupon

Greenback Coupon at

Phlebotomy Technician Oct. 2-Jan 4

310 Stewart Ave / 113 N. Aurora

Poke`land

Pharmacy Technician Oct.17-Dec.14

256-5862, 269-6139

308 E. Seneca / 206B Dryden Rd.

Men’s and Women’s Alterations

YOGA FARM

Get Qualified for the

Find us on Facebook!

Careers of the Future Health Care Training:

DiBella’s Subs

(same building as Spicey Asian)

with a Camera Surveillance System

dumpster rentals

with Greenback Coupon at

335 Elmira Road

Adopt! Foster! Volunteer! Donate for vet care!

Call 387-4190 water1945@live.com

$5.00 off any purchase

Centerlne Fitness and Martial Arts

Protect Your Home

Basements, Barns, Garages & etc.

landscape design + installation

at our new location and time

Check out Cayuga Dog Rescue!

“CLEAR IT OUT”

patios, retaining walls, + walkways

Love dogs?

Please join us for traditional Yang Style Tai Ji Quan (Tai Chi)

Medical Admin. Assistant Oct.17-Dec.14

222 Elmira Rd.

Call 607-844-6586 or

254-2432

email: biz@tompkinscortland.edu

AAM

$1/day annual membership

“I’m healthier and happier!”

Fur & Leather repair, zipper repair.

for 2018 through 1/31

Here’s to the best year ever!

Same Day Service Available

20+ classes every week

Start with 30 Days of

John’s Tailor Shop

Make 2018 YOUR YEAR

John Serferlis - Tailor

to Nourish, Cherish & Restore

102 The Commons

Your Self with high-quality Self Care!

273-3192

www.YogaFarm.us/607280-2010

ALL ABOUT MACS

UNLIMITED Yoga for $30!

Macintosh Consulting

MIGHTY YOGA

http://www.allaboutmacs.com

Voted Best of Ithaca

(607) 280-4729

for over 20 years

Visit www.mightyyoga,com 272-0682

Holiday GreetinGs from

ithaca com

Holiday GreetinGs 20

The

from

I thaca Time s ithaca com

D e ce mb e r

27–Ja n u a r y

2017