The Murder of Ahmaud Arbery

My son has taken up running of late. He wants to train to run in a 10 K. Back before the Coronavirus, he would run in a neighborhood adjacent to his office during his lunch hour. Suppose that one day during one of his runs he was gunned down by a couple of vigilantes who wrongly suspected him of a burglary in that neighborhood. Then imagine that the two vigilantes were a black father and son. Cops arrive at the scene and quickly determine that they have probable cause to arrest the two killers but when they present their evidence to the district attorney, who is also black, she refuses to do so because one of the killers used to work for her. The killers go free for two months, my son’s murder in cold blood is ignored and there is no justice for him. How would any of you expect me to react to such injustice? 

But Doug, you might say, wouldn’t this story be just as tragic without mentioning the race of the people involved? Sure it would. But that’s exactly the point. Try to imagine this happening where the victim is white, the assailants and the district attorneys are black and no arrest is made until a video surfaces two months later? You can’t. Because it never would happen. That is the tragedy of what has happened to Ahmaud Arbery in Brunswick, Georgia. It took three district attorneys to finally summon the gumption to arrest Gregory and Travis McMichael for the brutal murder and it took a leaked video splashed all over social media to accomplish that. 

I have written many times in this space about the two separate but unequal systems of justice in this country, one for the rich, powerful and well-connected, and a second for everybody else. This is not a distinctly American problem. It is as old as justice itself. But too often in this country, the people most victimized by the injustices of the system are either black or brown. It can’t be denied by any reasonable person. It is a stain on us and should make all of us angry. I cannot speak for this young man’s family. I can’t begin to understand what they are going through right now. But, there’s one thing I do know. If the victim were my son, I would become the Glynn County Police Department’s worst nightmare.

The attorney for the victim’s family said it best, “They did not arrest the killers of Ahmaud Arbery because they saw the video, they arrested the killers of Ahmaud Arbery because we saw the video.”

Shameful.

Mother’s Day and a Wedding

So, last night we had the fourth different couple over for dinner on our deck over the past three weeks. This time it was my in-laws, Russ and Vi White. Pam wanted to celebrate Mother’s Day a little early since the forecast for Sunday isn’t great. We ordered a meal from Taziki’s which was delicious. Then Pam served up strawberry shortcake for dessert. After dinner we sat around a fire like we have done at least a thousand times up at Dummer’s Beach in Maine. Lucy entertained us with her frisbee-catching skills. It was a lovely evening.

This woman is the only Mother I have left, my Mom having passed away eight years ago. Vi White has been just about the best mother-in-law anyone could ask for in our 36 years of marriage. Whenever we have needed her for anything, she has dropped everything to help. Never once has she interfered in our lives. She has loved and doted on our kids and their spouses. She has even tolerated the constant succession of golden retrievers running around our house all these years, quite the accomplishment for an unrepentant cat person. So, on this Mother’s Day weekend, I salute her.

Tomorrow, we will be attending a socially distant wedding at a drive-in theatre in Christiansburg, Virginia and we are so psyched. We will get in our car and drive three hours, pull into our spot, watch the proceedings from inside our car, then drive three hours back home. I’m thinking about wearing a dress shirt, tie and suit coat along with pajama bottoms and tennis shoes! It’s supposed to be 48 degrees in Christiansburg tomorrow. I’m worried the poor bride is going to freeze to death, but...what price, love?

My Protest Beard

It’s been two weeks since I last shaved. How does it look? Suffice it it to say that I look like an extra in a Zombie apocalypse movie, or for my older readers, I very much resemble Humphrey Bogart in the African Queen. I haven’t had a haircut since the 3rd of March which only adds to the stranded on a deserted island look. I could allow Pam a turn at giving me a trim, and, I could shave. But I choose this version of myself for the moment. Why? Because frankly, it feels right. Call it my protest beard.

Don’t misunderstand. I’m not “protesting” against government overreach or bureaucratic incompetence. I’m kinda over that. I’m not even protesting the orgy of corporate greed on display as publicly traded companies with full access to capital markets gobble up stimulus money designed for small, closely held businesses...greed being an ancient vice, nothing new under the sun and all that. No, I’m just protesting the giant, unmitigated disaster that 2020 has become. I figure if this entire year is going to slouch along in such an unkempt, disheveled, thoroughly unbuttoned fashion, why shouldn’t I??

But, I am supposed to be a professional man. Consequently, I feel a twang of guilt when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, enough to make me question the whole no shaving thing but not enough to make me change my behavior. So, like all emotionally conflicted people, I have constructed a compromise...just for today. Wednesday’s agenda does not include any FaceTime appointments. Today is full of case planning, bill paying, and an online continuing education course, all of which could be done in my underwear. Instead, I have decided to get dressed up today. For the first time in over two months, I am going to put on dress pants, a dress shirt, real shoes and socks and see if I have forgotten how to tie a tie. Yes my friends, I am going to dress like I used to dress for a face to face appointment with human beings back before the Coronavirus. I can only hope that I don’t get pulled over by a cop on my way to work:

Me: Yes, Officer? I feel certain that I was going the posted speed limit.

Cop: What? Are you some sort of wise guy? Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?

Me: Like...what?

Cop: What’s that thing around your neck?!

Me: It’s a silk tie.

Cop: So, you going to a funeral or something? You expect me to believe you’re headed to church??

Me: No no...I’m going into the office. It’s just around the corner.

Cop: Out of the car please!! And keep those hands where I can see ‘em!  Wait...you’re wearing dress shoes, with SOCKS? That’s it buddy. I’ll have to take you in for questioning.

Me: But I’m not...

Cop: Save it for the judge, fancy pants!!

About Those Annoying Commercials...

I don’t watch a lot of television. When I do it’s usually Netflix or some other service which doesn’t have commercials. But, during this shutdown I have watched more TV than usual. As a result I have been exposed to my share of these insidious new commercials which have sprouted up like mushrooms after three days of rain. For lack of a better term, I will refer to them as the...We’re all in this together advertisements, or W.A.I.T.

You’ve all seen them, these WAIT ads. They all feature a soft piano followed by swelling orchestration. There are beautiful children on the screen, looking back at the camera as they run in slow motion through fields of grain. An announcer begins his heartfelt message:

During this time of great challenge we are all rediscovering the importance of family, the simple beauty of a sunset, the hopeful smile of a child. We here at Subaru have known all along that we aren’t in the car business, we’re in the people business.

Subaru. Here for you.

I don’t know about you, but before COVID-19, I had no earthly idea how many corporations were in fact not in the automobile, household cleaner, health and beauty aids, real estate, computer, insurance businesses, but rather in the people business. It has been quite a revelation to learn that the real business of Coors Brewing is not to sell me watered down lite beer that taste like horse urine but instead to come along side our neighbors in their hour of need. Seriously? What can Coors possibly offer my neighbors struggling through the isolation and lost revenue of a two months and counting economic shutdown that doesn’t involve a cold six pack of their product? Regardless, I suppose it is comforting to know that Cadillac is there for me if ever I might...need them. I’m trying hard to imagine what I might ask of them. I mean, they have promised to be there for me. Maybe I can call the local dealership and see if they wouldn't mind running over to Publix and doing Pam’s grocery shopping later this week. 

But, its not just big companies killing us with kindness. Even local concerns are jumping on the WAIT bandwagon. I’m telling you, Short Pump is suddenly awash in exemplary corporate citizens, all lining up to assure us that they too are in the people business. Never in my lifetime have the people become such an integral component of the business plans of every thing from Alcoa to Zenith...

(Swelling music slowly building in intensity as design engineer works diligently at a drafting table)

Narrator: When I came to work here at Lexus, I knew that my job wasn’t just to design cars. No, at Lexus my job is about serving humanity for the greater good, which is why we are all now designing the finest personal protective gear that money can buy, which we are offering to all Lexus customers at our cost...

It’s this type of public-mindedness that makes me want to rush right out and buy one of their $60,000 cars.

Listen, I get it. Madison Avenue is a powerful voice and the nature of public relations is to get out in front of things to help shape the narrative. But, merciful fathers, enough already. Here’s a better suggestion. Try honesty:

Look folks, here at Acme Equipment, we are holding on for dear life. Our working capital is almost gone, we’ve had to let half of our employees go and we’re not sure how long we will be able to last if this shutdown stays in effect much longer. So, if we are still here when it ends, we sure would appreciate your business. Until then, please check out the GoFundMe link on our website.

Can I Make a Suggestion To My Church?

Zoomed with my kids yesterday. They are all healthy and handsome. We don’t zoom with them every five minutes, just once every ten days or so. It’s always such a relief to see their faces, to be reassured that they are well. For this I am thankful. But video-chats are a poor substitute for hugs.

What’s today...Monday? Yes, Monday. We had church on the deck yesterday morning when we watched Wes Peterson bring the message via Pam’s iPhone while eating breakfast...so yesterday was Sunday...making today Monday. This is how I keep up with the days of the week now.

Yes...that breakfast was amazing. Pam has been finding recipes all over the place during this...thing...and the results have been stellar. This particular offering was sausage wrapped in a croissant stuffed with cheese, somehow moist and flaky at the same time. Poor Wes didn’t have a chance. It’s hard to concentrate on a sermon when eating such a thing. He spoke about Elisha, I do remember that much. I’m about done with virtual church. It’s been eight weeks since I’ve been in a congregation at my church. I’m missing it more and more with each passing week. I have a half-baked plan in my head of how we should reopen, and since every other response to the Coronavirus has been half-baked, this one should fit right in.

My church normally has four services on Sunday. Our main auditorium seats roughly 700 people. We have an overflow room which seats probably another 100, and we have a separate building down the hill a ways called The Lodge which seats another 100 or so. In normal times each of these services are full or nearly full. In the auditorium the seats are crammed together very closely, too closely I have always thought. Here is my half-baked plan. Let’s say Pam and I wanted to attend the 9:30 service next Sunday. We would have to go to our website and make a reservation...first come, first served. As soon as a pre-determined number make such reservations (say 250), that service would be sold out. We would then be instructed to download a ticket to present when we arrive. Meanwhile, the chairs inside the building would be vastly reconfigured, providing for the proper social distancing requirements. Two chairs together for husbands and wives, space, space, space, then some single seats, space, space space then another couple of seats together etc.. No offering would be taken up, no communion served. This plan would only provide roughly a thousand people to attend on a given Sunday over those four services, far lower than the twenty five hundred that currently attend. But, as the weeks go by, the number allowed in would rise from 250 to 350 etc. No coffee would be served. None of those delicious cookies. (I TOLD you this was half-baked). I have no idea what to do about the kids wing. That’s beyond my pay grade. 

I offer this plan as a starting point. I’m sure that the very bright people on our church leadership team have already discussed similar plans for re-opening, but so far have shared none of their ideas with us. If I could offer any suggestion to them it would be to share their vision of how we will re-open. Their silence on this subject isn’t helpful or hopeful.

Ok, enough of that. How do you all feel about blond jokes? I have to be careful in this day and age. For one thing, I am married to a blond. For another thing, in my experience people either think that blond jokes are hysterical or they think that they are a misogynistic tool of the patriarchy. Such are the treacherous waters of the comedy ocean. But, I will take the risk and the heat for what follows:

An old, blind cowboy wanders into an all-girl biker bar by mistake. He finds his way to a bar stool and orders a shot of Jack Daniels. After sitting there for a while, he yells to the bartender, "Hey, you wanna hear a blonde joke?" The bar immediately falls absolutely silent.....

...in a very deep, husky voice, the woman next to him says,

"Before you tell that joke, Cowboy, I think it is only fair, given that you are blind, that you should know five things:

The bartender is a blonde girl with a baseball bat.

The bouncer is a blonde girl.

I'm a 6-foot tall, 175-pound blonde woman with a black belt in karate.

The woman sitting next to me is blonde and a professional weight lifter.

The lady to your right is blonde and a professional wrestler.

Now, think about it seriously, Cowboy. Do you still wanna tell that blonde joke?"

The blind cowboy thinks for a second, shakes his head and mutters, "No, not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times."

Best Day of The Coronavirus

Yesterday was perhaps the best day I’ve had since the onset of COVID-19. It was a premeditated gardening day. I had braved the long line at Strange’s the day before and bought all the necessities. God provided me with picture perfect weather that felt like July 1st in Maine. So, I spent five hours with my hands buried deep into potting soil, laying out my tomato plants and Pam’s herb garden. For the rest of the year we will reap the benefits of the herb garden. The tomatoes, not so much. They are mostly my personal vanity project. I water them, check on their daily progress, fertilize them, take pictures of their prodigious growth, then bask in the glow of pride as dozens of green tomatoes burst forth on their sturdy vines. Then literally hours before I plan on picking them to make BLT’s I will discover large chunks of ripe tomato flesh missing...in the shape of squirrel teeth. My deep, psychotic and clearly deranged hatred of that worthless animal renewed, I will roam my backyard for days afterwards, BB-gun loaded and cocked seeking revenge. Out of the 75-100 tomatoes which these plants will produce during the summer, Pam and I will eat roughly 10-15 of them, making my tomatoes the most expensive vegetables in the western world.* The rest will either get befouled by squirrels or ripen while we are in Maine, providing nourishment for our dog sitter. And yet, every year you will find me laying out my tomato plants. Hope springs eternal.

We will have far better luck with the thyme and parsley...

...two varieties of basal.

...mint and rosemary.

To top off this perfect day, Pam invited my sister Paula and her husband Ron over for a socially distant dinner out on the deck. We ordered our meal from Tazikis, sat ten feet apart while eating, then gathered around a fire that I made in my beloved solostove, the single greatest purchase made in the Dunnevant household since Lucy...

Today looks like another beauty. Maybe another fire tonight.


* before I get inundated with helpful tips on protecting my tomato plants from squirrels, let me save you the trouble. I’ve tried everything in the book...yes, even deer urine. Nothing has been able to prevent the tree rats from stealing them at the peak of their ripeness. Although, I have had the intense pleasure of catching a few of them in the act and skillfully sending them to squirrel hell with one single shot from my Daisy Powerline 35, an activity which makes the entire project feel temporarily worthwhile.

Seven Things I Learned This Week

Having your personal freedoms taken away from you during a pandemic should be viewed as a growth opportunity. At least, that’s what an endless barrage of insufferably upbeat self-help posts on Facebook have been telling me. I should be seizing this golden opportunity at self-reflection presented to me by the evisceration of my liberties. So, this week I have heeded their advice. To that end, may I present to you...seven things I learned this week:

1. When cracking jokes about the most ruthless and ridiculous sociopath to rule a nation since Pol Pot, it is apparently possible to go too far. 

2. There is an enormous amount of difference between growing a beard and simply not shaving, which a surprising number of people don’t understand.

3. Sitting around a blazing fire with people you love might be one of life’s greatest pleasures.

4. If one’s own happiness is temporarily unattainable, there is always the happiness of others to consider. Put another way, get over yourself.

5. Without naming names, there are several Governors who are clearly enjoying their shiny new status as men and women of consequence. Their newfound powers must feel positively intoxicating. I mean, one minute they are lounging around the governor’s mansion in their pajamas asking their aides which outfit they should wear to the new strip mall ribbon cutting and the next thing they know, they’re standing in front of a bank of microphones, with a sign language dude in their peripheral vision ordering people to do this and don't do that and trying desperately to give off a Churchillian vibe, dreaming of the White House.

6. There is possibly no phrase in the English language that I presently despise more than...new normal. Our present circumstances are neither, and for all of you statists out there desperately seeking that generational opportunity to reorder society to your liking...this ain’t it. When this is over, the old normal is coming back with a vengeance.

7....with the possible exception of the movie theatre and the post office, which are both dead.