Former Students on the Web

Did Socrates take any pride in Plato? Was Plato proud of Aristotle?

From the fall of 2002 through the spring of 2007 as adjunct faculty I taught one Religion or Philosophy Course (some former students pictured at right) a semester at Davis and Elkins College, a small Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) related liberal arts college in the mountains of West Virginia. The course I taught most often was Introduction to Philosophy, in which I tried to employ the Socratic Method to draw my students out of the cave of unenlightened ignorance into the daylight of informed self-critical reality.

Perhaps the greatest reward of teaching is to see students and former students grow and mature. I am aware of at least three of my former Introduction to Philosophy students currently on the web and as their former teacher I proudly highlight them here. Check them out and let them and me know what you think about their work.

Tim Armentrout describes his blog breath made visible as the blog of a “West Virginia guerrilla mountain poet” whose writing “is primarily spontaneous and goes largely unedited.” His photos remind me of our shared home state and his poetry expresses the edgy feel of a critical, irreverent but thoughtful and self reflective young adult unwilling to accept the status quo. Tim started blogging in May 2006.

Eric’s Blue Reverie is a somewhat eclectic blog that Eric Stover started in May 2009. Eric describes himself as a smart ass but I think of him as a young, budding entrepreneurial free thinker just now finding his niche in the world. I am looking forward to reading where Blue Reverie goes.

I do not think of Vince LeGreco as a blogger per se but as the creator of the online “OH-NO Comics Featuring Whiskey Falls” which soon move to its own site at http://www.whiskey-falls.com/ Vinnie’s illustrations remind me a bit of the Simpsons. His subject matter appears to focus on uncovering the absurd and median of everyday life with a bent toward some self-effacing humor and a tinge of social criticism.

I invite any other former students of mine currently on the web to let me know of their presence, or to alert me in the future if they start blogging.

Crossing the Last Crevasse

Over two weeks have passed since our dog Hermes (photo right) died. Though I have previously posted to this blog about his death I have procrastinated writing a suitable tribute. Perhaps I have been hoping that as more time elapsed between his death and my writing this tribute that the interim would either offer me more perspective or lesson the grief, or both. Now I am confronted with the likelihood that a puppy will be coming into our home within days. While no dog can ever replace Hermes, I think I need to cathartically write now rather than later in order to make some psychic space for the fourth dog in our life.

Hermes was rescued along with another dog from under the porch of an abandoned house during a snowstorm by Andrea in January 2005. Even though Andrea and her soccer coach husband Matt already had two small children and two dogs, they took Hermes in, and called him Dusty. Andrea and Matt took Dusty to a vet for his shots, hoping to find him another home.

A few months later a few young women from the soccer team at the college where my wife served as Chaplain brought Dusty to a Blessing of the Animals Chapel Service. Dusty and my wife almost immediately connected. He came to our home shortly after for a trial visit. By the next morning I had renamed him Hermes, after the talking dog Character in Jostein Gaarder’s #1 international bestseller Sophie’s World. I was teaching undergraduate Introduction to Philosophy at the time as adjunct faculty and had been using Sophie’s World as the primary text. The rest, as they say, is history.

Hermes was not a good dog. HE WAS A GREAT DOG. Our Hermes never talked to me in this life, except with his love, companionship, loyalty, protectiveness, and barks, but it seemed that his vocabulary of words he could understand when we spoke was constantly increasing. He was fiercely loyal and protective. He was a good, well behaved puppy and a great companion on a lot of hikes in West Virginia’s Otter Creek and Dolly Sods wilderness area as well as New York’s Shawangunk range. He went backpacking with me at least twice, and car camped with us at the Cape Hatteras National Seashore campground on Ocracoke Island, NC.

It is said that tragedy and bad news comes in threes. Not long before Hermes died our good friend Whitney’s dog Ellie died. Elle and Hermes were doggy friends. A couple nights before Hermes died, Ellen’s dog Nina died. Ellen is a member of the church I serve and her dog Nina would often come with her to church events, so in many ways Nina was a canine friend of the congregation. Hermes death was the third death of a dog we knew in the period of just a few weeks.

I do not at all believe in superstition but as an amateur Jungian I do place some credence in synchronicity. While Hermes’ death being the third death of a canine we knew in a matter of weeks might be counted as coincidence, I cannot count as mere coincidence the fact that Hermes died two years to the day after he moved to New York City. Nor can I ignore the fact that the day after he died a thief stole a statue of Saint Francis (far right in photo at right), patron saint of animals, from off our front stoop. What I am supposed to learn from all this has yet to be discerned. Meanwhile, my wife and I still have not made any decisions about where to scatter Hermes ashes. There is still time for that.

In preparation for writing this post I have read, for at least the third or fourth time in the past thirty five years, John Muir’s classic short story and tribute to a dog named Stickeen, a dog that travelled an Alaskan glacier with Muir in 1880. Unlike Stickeen, Hermes never crossed a narrow ice bridge over a glacier’s crevasse. Hermes did, however, cross streams by walking and swimming, scramble up rocky slopes, and sit out thunder storms with me as together we hiked and backpacked. Thus, in the spirit of Muir and borrowing Muir’s words about Stickeen, I fondly and teary eyed write about and in tribute to Hermes “Doubtless he has left this world—crossed the last crevasse—and gone to another. But he will not be forgotten. To me [Hermes] is immortal.”

Kudos to Companion Cremation Services

When our first dog Sunny died he died at our home in West Virginia’s eastern panhandle and the next day I drove his body to the crematorium. When our second dog Cassi was euthanized by the vet at a clinic in central West Virginia her body was left there to be picked up by a crematorium. When Hermes died at home lastweek we wondered what the options were for cremation in the New York metropolitan area.

I discovered on the ASPCA website some very helpful informtion about what to do when a pet dies at home. The information included a link to Companion Cremation Services.

I called the number for Compion Cremation Services, explained our situation and needs, and was told someone would come to our home in a hour or two to pick up Hermes’ body. An hour and a half later, John D’Arienzo arrived. I experienced him as professional, sympathetic, and even pastoral. My wife experienced him as pleasant, quiet, and introspective.

John arrived carrying a large canine body bag because I had informed the female on the other end of the phone when I called Companion Cremation Services that Hermes had weighed around 80 pounds. John asked for some basic information about Hermes and about me but there was a minimum of paperwork, a one sided form. I escorted John upstairs to the bedroom where Hermes' body was lying under a window air conditioner, I helped John place the body in the body bag. He zipped up the bag and together we carried the body bag down the stairs and out to John’s SUV.

John informed me how much the pickup service and cremation would cost but never asked for payment. He said I could pay late, that the ashes should be available in about a week, and that someone would call when the ashes were ready. This was a Tuesday Morning.

The following Monday I received a phone call informing me that the ashes were ready. I think John would have delivered them but I wanted to pick them up, in part as part of the grieving process but also because I wanted to see the Companion Cremation Services facility myself.

Companion Cremation Services is affiliated with D'Arienzo Funeral Home, Inc. in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn. Located on a somewhat quiet and mostly residential side street, the facility was clean and modern looking. I was particularly impressed and comforted when greeted by Winston upon entering the facility. Winston is a dog. How appropriate, I thought.

John took a white cardboard box out of a gold paper bag, opened the box, and pulled out a gold tissue paper wrapped tin. In the tin was a sealed plastic bag of ashes. Also in the paper bag was an envelope containing a certificate of cremation. A black ribbon with the words “Beloved Pet” was tied to the bag.

I asked John what I owed and handed over my credit card. I thought the fee was very reasonable.

Should your loved pet die at home in the New York Metro area, I highly recommend Companion Cremation Services. They provided excellent service. Unfortunately, my wife and I still have to decide how, when and where we will dispose of Hermes’ ashes.

A Summit to Shore Week from Hell

Monday, July 27 to Sunday, August 2, 2009 was a Summit to Shore week. July 27th was my first full day off from my two part-time jobs in over a month, so I took advantage of it by taking our dog Hermes up to the Mohonk Mountain Preserve at the Northern end of the Shawangunk Mountains and together we hiked up to Bonticou Crag, one of the more prominent natural features offering one of the most outstanding views in the Gunks, and a hike I had been wanting to do for a long time. A week later, August 2nd, after Sunday morning Worship, I was able to paddle a circumnavigation of Jamaica Bay with my paddling friend and water blogger colleague Bonnie. A summit on Monday plus a shore on Sunday equals a summit to shore week.

This summit to shore week was week from hell, however, and as some readers may have notice, I did not post an entry all week, because five to six hours after Hermes and I were sitting on the summit of Bonticou Crag (photo right), Hermes was dead. The hike up to Bonticou Crag from the Spring Farm Trailhead was a moderate three mile circuit. Hermes showed no signs of having any problems as we hiked up to the crag. We rested several minutes on top before heading down. On the way down, however, Hermes started to drag. Even though he had drank his fill of water and we were descending rather than climbing, he was moving more slowly, wanting to rest more often, and panting almost constantly. I kept offering him water and he would drink his fill. By the time we made it back to the car I had to help him up onto the tailgate and into the car. I let him drink his fill of water, turned the car air conditioning on full blast, and headed home.

Hermes was a veteran hiker. He had accompanied me on several day hikes in West Virginia's Otter Creek and Dolly Sods Wilderness Areas, to the top of West Virginia's highest peak, Spruce Knob, and back, including a mile plus bushwhack through brush and thicket, and the Gunk's Sam's Point Nature Preserve as well as the Mohonk Mountain Preserve. Many of our day circuit hikes were over ten miles. He had also accompanied me on two overnight backpacking trips in west Virginia's Dolly Sods Wilderness Area. He had his own pack and would often carry his own food and water, but not this day. Hermes was used to hiking in wilderness and mountainous terrain. Our most previous hike was a circuit around the Trapps, hiking the lower and upper carriage roads the day after Thanksgiving.

When we arrived home and I went around to the rear of the car to allow Hermes out I noticed that he had evacuated his bowels. I helped him from the back of the car onto the ground. He could barely walk the quarter block home and I had to carry him up the steps to the house and up the inside stairs to the bathroom, where I placed him in the bathtub and bathed him.

Carrying him into an air conditioned bedroom I placed Hermes on a couple towels on the floor underneath a window Air Conditioner. He was still panting and no longer wanted to drink let alone eat. I was hoping the refreshing bath and quiet, air conditioned room would eventually calm and soothe him. Eventually my wife Vicki came home from work, joined us in the bedroom, and sensed that Hermes’ condition was more serious than I suspected. As soon as Vicki joined us Hermes breathing almost immediately became more shallow and slower and then he experienced some spasms, as if he was going to throw up. I went into another room to call the vet and while I was on the phone Vicki yelled to me that she though Hermes had died. I came back into the bedroom and confirmed it. We both broke out in tears.

Our best guess is that Hermes suffered a heart attack even though he was not yet five years old. He was a rescue and we knew nothing about his lineage or the first few months of his life and it is possible he had a congenital condition we did not know about and the vet had not detected. I will certainly be writing more about Hermes at a later time. For now I simply note that both Vicki and I miss him. While no other dog can ever replace him we are investigating nearby animal shelters for a dog in need of adoption that might bring some the joy and companionship into our lives that only a dog can.

After the Storm

Earlier in the week Bonnie had proposed a Sunday circumnavigation of Jamaica Bay, but since put in was scheduled for the morning I knew I would not be able to participate. When she later moved the launch time back to 2:00 PM I signed up. The float plan called for us to launch around 2 pm., ride the flood tide up past Howard Beach, hit the Wharf right around a pleasant time for dinner, and with decent conditions be back to the club around sunset. We were instructed to bring deck lights since there was a good chance we would be finishing in the dark. Originally the weather forecast was looking pretty good and I was looking forward to an enjoyable Sunday afternoon and evening paddle.

By Saturday the forecast had deteriorated to a prediction of showers and thunderstorms mainly in the afternoon. Bonnie was still willing to paddle but thought it best to start at 3:00 PM instead and to cut the trip down from a circumnavigation of the full bay (around Broad Channel) to a circumnavigation of the western side of the bay (around only Canarsie Pol and Ruffle Bar and the west side of Broad Channel). Just for fun, Bonnie prepared a couple of Google maps showing roughly what she was proposing.

The full circumnavigation would include a pretty long stretch where marshes and shoal water would keep us pretty far from shore over on the far side of Broad Channel, the preserve, and East Pond. The shorter route would include a lot more options for places that we could paddle to for shelter if we saw something coming and also not putting Broad Channel between us and the club and the Wharf as well as allowing for more options for changing the length of the trip by taking a more direct route instead of the meandering over through Broad Channel depending on what we ran into.

By Sunday morning however the weather situation had deteriorated. Bonnie cancelled the official club trip due to increasing probability of thunderstorms but noted that a couple of us are still going to meet at the club to see if we could at least sneak in a much closer to home, shorter paddle, with the weather calling the shots.

Bonnie phoned me around 11:30 to see if I still wanted to paddle. I did. We agreed to still meet at the club in the afternoon. Around 1:15PM it was raining pretty heavily. Nevertheless I was about ready to walk out the door to the car to drive to Sebago when Bonnie called again. We briefly talked about the afternoon and we decided I would pick Bonnie up at the bus stop and together we would go on to the club where we would evaluate the weather. Although five people had originally planned to join the trip, the paddle was now down to a possible two, Bonnie and me.

As I drove to pick up Bonnie I was listening to the weather on my vhf radio. Severe thunderstorms with possible cloud to ground lightening and high winds were predicted to move in from New Jersey and enter New York Harbor around 1:00 PM and then move further east by 3:00 PM. I arrived at the bus stop a little ahead of bonnie and sat in the car through a downpour. The weather radio reported possible water spouts over Raritan bay, pockets of heavy rain, and possible urban flooding. Bonnie arrived a little after 2:00 PM, ran from the bus to the car though the rain and climbed in the passenger’s seat. I updated her on the most recent forecast and we agreed to drive to the club and wait until 3:00 PM before making a decision to cancel paddling altogether, postpone paddling until later in the afternoon, or to head out into the bay.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the Sebago Canoe Club, folk from the morning’s Audubon bird watching paddle were preparing to head home after a wet morning’s paddle. Officer of the Day Andy, and Nahum, who also hoped the weather would clear, remained at the club. The rain continued but appeared to be lessening. By 3:00 PM it was barely raining and the sky to the east was clearing. The only warnings on the weather radio were for urban flooding. All the storms had moved out to the east. Bonnie and I decided to head out into the bay with the hope of at least reaching Ruffle Bar. We were in the water by 3:30 PM, Bonnie in her usual Yellow Romney and I in a Red Montauk. It was the first time I had paddled the Montauk, a club boat, which I later learned had a broken skeg.

At first paddling through some nasty effluent from the sewage plant up Paerdegat Basin we quickly paddled into cleaner water after passing the docks. Even before reaching the Belt Parkway Bridge I fell in love with the Montauk. It seemed to be handling well, moving well, and I felt very comfortable in it. The thigh braces hit me just right but I decided I needed to to adjust the foot braces a notch to gain just a little more leg room.

At the Belt Parkway Bridge I gently paddled into a few pilings, wedged the bow of the kayak between the pilings for support, and managed to readjust the foot braces without having to take off my spray skirt and get out of the boat. I was now really ready to paddle.

We decided to head toward Ruffle Bar. Even though we were paddling into a head wind and with one foot waves were making good time. An hour later, almost to Ruffle Bar, we decided to go ahead and paddle to the Warf for a bite to eat. Ninety minutes after leaving the Sebago dock were standing on the dock at the Warf, 416 Beach 116th Street, Far Rockaway. We both ordered a bottle or Corona. Bonnie ordered steak with fries. I ordered a hamburger as well as some fried shrimp with onion rings. We shared the fries, shrimp, onion rings and view of Jamaica Bay with the skyline of Manhattan far off in the distance (top photo right).

An hour later, recharged and refueled, we paid the waitress, climbed back into our boats (second photo right), and with the sky continuing to clear decided to go for the full circumnavigation of Jamaica Bay. We paddled east, under the Cross Bay Bridge and then under the MTA Subway Bridge carrying the A line. We then turned north and paddled with Broad Channel off to our left and Kennedy International Airport to our right. Had it not been for the occasional Jet taking off from Kennedy we probably would have been in the nearly complete silence of Jamaica Bay. At one point, with Bonnie paddling paddling off to my right and JFK behind her, it looked as though she was paddling for a landing as a jet took off behind her (third photo from top, right).

At the top of the island we paddled under the northern MTA and Cross Bay bridges and headed east toward Canarsie Pier and home. The longer we paddled the more hopeful we were that we might actually get to see a sunset (fourth photo from top, right). Around 8:15 we were rewarded. On water nearly as calm as I have seen Jamaica Bay and with only a slight breeze Bonnie and I both stopped paddling in order to pull out our camera’s and take pictures of the sunset (fifth photo from top, right). Once the Sun had set to our right we noticed a nearly full moon emerging from behind the clouds to our left. It was a nearly perfect setting.

With the Sun now down and some paddling still ahead of us Bonnie and I rafted up, opened our day hatches to retrieve our deck lights, and helped each other prepare for night paddling. With lights from Canarsie Pier and from as far away as Far Rockaway, as well as the lights from traffic on the Belt Parkway and the Moon for illumination, we could see fine. Even though I was now wearing a headlight, I did not turn it on. Our deck lights, mounted behind us, and the green and red warning lights mounted on the front of Bennie’s Romney were not meant to help us see but to make us more visible to other boaters, even though we had seen no more than three or four other boaters all day.

Under moonlight (bottom photo, right) we paddled past Canarsie Pier and toward the Belt Parkway Bridge at the entrance to Paerdegat Basin. As we approached the bridge we could hear drumming. Someone was sitting near or underneath the bridge keeping rhythm on what sounded like a djemba. The primitive and exotic sounding rhythm combined with the glassy smooth water and the moonlight was hypnotic.

By 9:00 PM. Five and a half hours after departing, we were back at the Sebago dock. We carried our boats up to the wash rack and hosed down paddles, spray skirts and boats. We put the boats away, changed, chatted with Nahum who has also just returned from a row, and were leaving the parking lot by 9:30 PM.

At 15.3 miles, this paddle was my second longest to date and the longest since October 2008 when I paddled 15.5 miles with Walter and Tony. Bonnie is a great paddling companion, experienced, competent, a strong paddler. Jamaica Bay never ceases to surprise me. The hour long dinner break at the Warf was a great break about a third of the way through the trip. The sunset and the moonlight were added bonuses. We almost had the bay to ourselves as the nasty weather earlier in the day apparently kept recreational power boaters off the water. This paddle after the storm is one of my more memorable paddles, a nearly mystical retreat from the everyday. And as you can read on Bennie’s blog, the best paddle she ever cancelled.

About August's Header Photo

August’s Header photo features our dog Hermes resting on a rock trailside on his way down from a hike up to Bonticou Crag along New York’s northern Shawangunk Mountains and part of the Mohonk Mountain Preserve. Over Hermes’ shoulders, to the east is the Hudson Valley. The photo was taken Monday Afternoon, July 27, 2009. There is a longer story related to this photo but I will save that narrative for later.

In Memory of Ken Ragbir

Ken Ragbir
November 26, 1964 - June 14, 2009

I’d like the memory of me
To be a happy one.
I’d like to leave an after glow
Of smiles when life is done,
I’d like to leave an echo
Whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing
Times and bright and
Summer days.
I’d like the tears of those who
Grieve, to dry before the sun,
Of happy memories that I leave
When life is done.


* * *

Kenny was born in Trinidad, grew up in New York and never led a dull life…
Carefree he lived his days…Days that turned into years…
His life’s achievements are too many to list but for all who knew him his memory will be cherished forever…
Some of you may remember him as a boy…so cute and bright…
Some of you may remember him as a teenage…coming into his own identity…
ASome of you may remember him as an employee…hard working and very handsome in a suit…

Some of you may remember him as a friend…the all out good-time party guy…
Some of you may remember him as a loved one…always the one to make you laugh out loud and share a story (me ah soon come), a hug and a smile in good and bad times…
His daughter Ashley will always know how much he truly loved her…
His mom Lilia and dad Joe will always know that as their only child he was a true treasure in their lives…the diamond that glittered in the snow, the gentle autumn rain, the soft starlight at night…
…if tears could build a stairway and thoughts a memory lane, we would walk up to heaven and bring you home again…
Since you will never be forgotten we ppledge to you today a hallowed place within our hearts in where you will always stay
Lord put your arms around him, don’t leave him on his own, for today he is far away, his first away from home.


* * *

Peace, my heart……
Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
- Rabindranath Tagore

* * *

Om asato maa sada gamaya
Tamaso maa jyotir gamaya
Mrityor ma amrit m gamaya
O Lord, save me from the path of untruth and lead to the path of truth,
From darkness of ignorance lead me to the light of knowledge,
Save me from disease and death and lead me to immortality

* * *

We all have different journeys,
Different paths along the way,
We are were meant to learn some things,
But never meant to stay.
Our destination is a place,
Far greater than we know,
For some the journey’s qwuicker
For some the journey’s slow.
And when the journey finally ends,
We’ll claim a grat reward
And find an everlasting peace,
Together with the Lord.

* * *

In lieu of flowews. You may make donation in Ken’s name to one of the following charities:

St.Jude’s Children Hospital
800.805.5856
donors@stjude.org

Susan G. Komen for the Cure
877.465.6636
donorinquiry@komen.org

New York City Food Bank
212.566.7855
A Friednd Forever
In loving memory of Ken Ragubir

* * *

The road sometimes rough but once said he aint heavy
I knew of a good-hearted man, they called him Kenny
Poised in his ways, grounded firm in his stand
Fully in control of his will, afraid of no man
In seconds to the signal, he was ready set, go
Never an excuse of how high or low
He brought so much laughter, never requiring an applause
Always open to listen obediently to the cause
A bit too outspoken, but never worried about the consequence
For the wisdom of his age, he always knew what would make sense
But on that dreadful Sunday evening, his judgment destined his fate
Og the pain is too unbearable, why couldn’t this day wait?
But the last chance he took was favorless to brave
He miscalculated his perception, his memories went vague
An out of body experience, yet his presence can be felt
He left in our memory his greatest wealth
And though out of sight yet bounded deep within
Ken will always be remembered, as a great human being.

Written by Jimmy Seenath on behalf of R&M Ambulette Crew

* * *

The phot at top right as well as all the text above were provided by Ken's family and friends. I did not know Ken in life but have come to know him in death. Through the chance circumstances of time and place, the power of the internet, invitations from strangers offered and accepted, strangers willing to trust and reach out, I have come to know a total stranger after he tragically died in a motorcycle accident on the Van Wyck Expressway in Queens on June 14, 2009. As a result the vastness and anonymity of New York City has become more personal and smaller. Namaste, Kenny.

Searching for a Retreat Center

What do you look for when searching for a location for a private, quiet, spiritual retreat? If you have already found what you are looking for, what is it like and where is it?

I live in New York City, in many respects an urban paradise. A person can find almost anything they might want in New York City. Even though there are numerous religious institutions and spiritual organizations throughout the city, I have yet to find a retreat center where I can spend a few quiet days at minimal cost.

I am not looking for five star amenities. I desire a simple but clean room with a single bed (I am even willing to bring my own linens), a writing desk, comfortable chair, a good reading light, a window with some natural light, and preferably a comfortable reading chair. I do not need or want a television, a clock radio, or internet access. With access to a small kitchen I am willing to fix my own meals. A small garden or courtyard with plants and a statue or two would be a plus.

Access to a small library of biblical and spiritual writings would also be nice, as would a small meditation area with perhaps candles, an icon or two, and stained glass.

Oh, I also want to be able to get there via public transportation such as subway, train or bus. I do not want to have to drive or take a cab. I would not mind walking up to a mile from the closest station or stop.

Internet searches have returned numerous Buddhist and other eastern spiritual centers but I am a Christian. Several years ago I spent a full day meditating at The Bhāvanā Society. The hospitality was outstanding. The vegetarian food was tasty and fulfilling. The spiritual energy was discernable. I missed observable Christian symbolism, however. There were no crosses, icons, or biblical scenes anywhere.

At present I am considering Kirkridge but wonder how I can take with me all my food for a few days while still using public transportation. This is not an insurmountable problem especially if I eat simply and take nonperishable food.

In my profile I say that “My dream job is to manage and provide spiritual direction at a retreat center with easy access to water for kayaking and rock for climbing. A small progressive worshipping community or church associated with the retreat center would be a plus.” Maybe access to rock for climbing and water for kayaking is too much to ask for. Perhaps a small community of progressives worshipping together is a reach. Right now I would settle for a few single rooms set aside for people on retreat, a small library, courtyard or garden, prayer chapel, and easy access to public transportation. Any suggestions? Any offers?

2 – The End (Continued)

I am now standing across the street from Ken’s home. What am I doing here? What am I about to walk into? Who are these strangers that have invited me into their home?

I walk across the street, see two doorbells and press the appropriate button. I hear sounds.

It has been a surreal chain of events that has brought me to this moment. Three weeks earlier on June 14, 2009 I was driving south on Queens’s Van Wyck Expressway when a few minutes after 5:00 PM I happened upon the aftermath of a single motorcycle accident in the north bound lanes. I stopped to offer any assistance I could. Though I did not know his identity at the time, I approached Ken Ragbir’s lifeless body lying face down in the road, his head covered by a shirt or towel.

That evening I searched the internet and watched the local TV news to learn more about what happened. I learned nothing. I blogged about what I saw and experienced, in part as a way of processing my experience.

Ken’s family was also trying to find more information about the accident. Ken’s relative Nadira stumbled upon my blog and alerted other family and friends to my post. Eventually total strangers also discovered my post as they were looking for news about the accident they happened to pass by. They, as well as Ken’s family and friends, started commenting on my post. I have since learned that my post about Ken’s motorcycle accident was the only news and the only semi-eyewitness account Ken’s family and friends had of Ken’s accident.

After reading my post, exchanging emails, and conversing over the phone, Ken’s family invited me to come to their home in the Bronx to meet with them and talk with them about what I saw that afternoon. That is what brought me too the end of the MTA 2 Line and to be standing outside their door.

The sounds I hear are the footfalls of a young and attractive female who opens the door and introduces herself as Nadira (fourth photo right), one of Ken’s family members. She and I have exchanged emails and talked over the phone. She invites me in and escorts me through a hallway into a living room where some of Ken’s other family and friends are gathered. She introduces me to Ken’s father Joe (top photo right), to Ken’s mother Lila (second photo right), to his ex-wife Julie (third photo right, person on right) and their beautiful sixteen year old daughter Ashley (Third photo right, person on left), to his girlfriend Lalita (bottom photo right), and to many other friends and family members.

Following introductions Lila, Nadira, Julie, Ashley and I head into the dining room where I am offered refreshment. Lilia asks what I saw that day three weeks earlier. I try to remember and describe the scene the best I can. Providing a firsthand eyewitness account of the scene of the accident, but not the events of the accident, seems to somehow bring some closure and comfort to the family.

As we talk I learn that Ken was forty-four years old, an only child, and raised by his grandmother in Trinidad. His parents brought him to America when he was twelve. Raised a Hindu by his Indian family (like many people of his generation raised as Christian), at age twenty-five he lost interest in the faith he was raised in and more or less embraced secularism. I am thinking that even across cultures and religions people from the same generation have more in common with each other than they do their parents and grandparents.

Lila shows me copies of the police report and tells me about her and Julia going to the hospital to identify Ken’s body. She narrates how the funeral home was packed for Ken’s viewing. She, Julie and Nadira share with me a touching poem written by Jimmy Seenath on behalf of the R&M Ambulette Crew in loving memory of Ken. I am shown a memorial booklet with pictures of Ken, information about his life, including a poem by Bengalie poet Rabindrath Tagore, and more tributes. After a while we move back into the living room where on the monitor of a desktop computer I view digital photographs of Ken while he was alive as well as photos taken at his Hindu memorial service.

After his divorce from Julie, Ken cam to live with his mother, taking a room in the basemeny. Lila tells me that Ken often said, especially lately “Mom, I want to die before you, because if you die before me I am going to throw myself into your grave.” Ken got his wish. Before his wish was granted, however, he lived everyday as if it were his last, displaying the true meaning of living for the minute. Ken’s last day was June 14, 2009, and his last minute was probably a few minutes if not seconds after 5:00 PM.

As nearly three hours slip by I come to know not only the identity of the lifeless stranger I encountered following a motorcycle accident on Queens’ Van Wyck Expressway on June 14, 2009 but also come to know many of his family and friends. As I stand in the kitchen eating homemade Indian food I feel like I am no longer in the home of strangers or even friends but at home with family. This Indian and Hindu family, an extended family that came to the United States via several generations in Trinidad, has welcomed me, a total stranger, not only into their home but also into their lives, even into their grief and sorrow. I am blessed by their hospitality.

As we prepare to say our goodbyes we talk about how our encounter is atypical for New York City, where for years people may ride the same subway car or bus and pass by each other as they walk the same streets in the same neighborhood but never talk or even say hello, usually avoiding eye contact. Yet for us a chance encounter made possible by telecommunications has broken down barriers of culture, ethnicity and religion.

As we talk I further learn that Nadira works in a building where I often attend meetings and so it is possible that we have passed in the hall or have been in the same elevator. She and I also discover that we share a common colleague and work associate. The world, and New York City, has just become a lot smaller.

As it turns out my ride to the end of New York Subway’s 2 line is a one way trip. A couple of Ken’s relatives and friends, one of them having recently moved to the city from Canada, offer me a ride home in a car with Canadian plates. I accept. Here I am, in the nation’s largest city, being driven home in a car with people I did not even know three hours ago. The journey gives us more time to talk, especially as we pass by the accident scene and try to identify the exact spot where Ken died.

We pull up in front of my house. I open the door, climb out of the back seat, say thank you and goodbye. I open the front door to my home and walk inside, wondering if my journey is now over, or just beginning.

I am certain that eventually I will blog about the afternoon, and sooner or later past some sort of memorial tribute to Ken Rabgir.

A Sunday on Jamaica Bay

My wife Vicki (that is her in the photo at right, heading back to Sebago, with the Empire State Buidling above her head in the background) and I finally had some free time at the same time (a rarity these past few months) that coincided with some good weather so we headed down to the Sebago Canoe Club and took our sit-on-top kayaks out into Jamaica Bay. It was the first time I had been kayaking in two months. It had been even longer since Vicki and I kayaked together.

We had intended to head to The Raunt but after paddling for two hours into a strong wind opted to beach on Ruffle Bar instead. As we approached closer to Ruffle Bar we saw a couple other kayakers that ended up also being from Sebago. We beached, dragged our boats up on shore, and aet the lunch we had intended to eat on the Raunt. We broke out our Subway subs and a couple cans of Cherry Coke and enjoyed our lunch out of the wind but under the sun. As the tide came in and lapped against our boats we packed up and headed back to Sebago. With the wind at our backs and surfing a few waves our return trip seemed to take half as long and was twice as enjoyable as our paddle out had been frustrating.

Back at Sebago, as we were taking our boats up to the wash racks, we met Bonnie. She had returned just ten minutes earlier from her paddle all the way from Governor’s Island. We congratulated her on the accomplishment and then rinsed our boats, packed up our gear, and headed home.

All in all it was a good afternoon on Jamaica Bay. The water was warm. The sky was blue with a few high clouds. Power boat traffic was minimal.

Farewell and Godspeed, Charles

I and six other Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) Ministers of the Word and Sacrament recently gathered for lunch at the home of colleague in ministry and friend Charles Brewster (photo right) to say farewell and which him Godspeed. Charlie recently retired as the Pastor of the multicultural First Presbyterian Church of Forest Hills and he will soon be moving to Dallas, Texas, where he plans to eventually move into a Presbyterian retirement facility.

Several of us would usually gather at Charlie’s home once a month for fellowship and lunch. Our time together would usually focus on catching up with one another’s lives and ministries, talking about national as well as New York State and City politics, talking shop (theology), and commiserating about our dysfunctional New York City Presbytery. After an hour or so up conversation we would move from the living room to the dining room to enjoy a light lunch. Then we would all go on our way.

Until recently Charlie and I served together on New York City’s Committee on Ministry and would regularly sit next to each other at committee meetings, sharing notes, ideas, and impressions as the meeting progressed. Since he has a long history in the Presbytery and I am a newcomer, Charlie has been instrumental in helping me make entry. His command of Biblical Greek has been legendary, evidenced by his nearly constantly carrying a Greek New Testament around with him wherever he went. Since his retirement he has also filled in at the pulpit of North Church Queens a few times when I was away.

Charlie has truly been a valued colleague in ministry and I will miss his local presence. Farewell and Godspeed, Charlie.

NOLS Alumni Gather at the Delancey

About a dozen NOLS Alumni in the New York City area and their friends gathered in the beauty outdoor rooftop garden of The Delancey Monday evening, July 13, 2009. With people coming and going throughout the evening it was a little difficult keeping track of how many of us were there at any one time. Most enjoyed the $5 rooftop hamburger and hot dog barbecue as well as various brews. Chris was congratulated on his engagement and upcoming wedding. Tobey shared some amazing stories from his week volunteering on the Clearwater, including calling on his emergency medical training to provide first aid to a crew member experiencing anaphylactic shock after being exposed to onions, to which she is highly allergic. Elizabeth is still looking for employment in the field of higher education. Lori is anticipating a new roommate moving in. Gint is looking for an apartment of his own. We also heard about he bachelor beaver which has apparently set up housekeeping on the Bronx River.

As always, Tobey, Lori and Gint demonstrated their group leadership skills by arranging for the evening, including reserving tables and making sure we all got the word.

The next gathering may be planned for the Boat Basin Café, an outdoor venue which was rained out last month.

On August 22 we are planning to float the Bronx River on a private trip with the Bronx River Alliance.

Pin the Beard on Calvin: Happy Belated Birthday John C.

Yesterday, July 10, 2009, was Humanist, Philosopher and Theologian John Calvin’s 500th birthday. Members of North Church Queens and the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone and a few others gathered at North Church’s Studio North, festively decorated with balloons and paper streamers, to celebrate. After singing happy birthday to the absent birthday boy we enjoyed cake, ice cream and coffee while watching and a fifty minute documentary about Calvin’s legacy. Afterward we sang the hymn I Greet Thee Who My Sure Redeemer Art.

Knowing that no birthday party would be complete with out at least one party game, but not wanting to resort to a juvenile game like pin the tail on the donkey, we opted for something more decent and in order: pin the beard on Calvin! A portrait of John was hung on the wall, partiers were blindfolded, turned around three times (Presbyterians are, after all, Trinitarian), and with paper beard with tape on the top in hand, were pointed toward the portrait (photo at right).

Today, Saturday, July 11, 2009, Summit to Shore wishes John Calvin a belated 500th birthday.

July 10, 2009 Sebago Canoe Club Youth Paddle

One of the things I like about being a member of the Sebago Canoe Club is the expectation that the club and its members will give back to the community. One way we do this is by sponsoring youth paddles. I volunteered to help with a youth paddle last summer but the youth never showed up. After waiting around an hour or two most of us who had shown up to help went paddling on our own. Willing to give it another try, and responding to a desperate e-mail plea from a Sebago member, I volunteered to help with the paddle last Friday, July 10, 2009.

The youth and an adult leader from the 68th Precinct (Park Slope) arrived a little late but still with plenty of time to get out on the water. Once all the youth and Sebago helpers were on the water we paddled out under the Belt Parkway Bridge, beached for a break, and then paddled back to Sebago. Back at the club we washed boats, put gear away, played volleyball, ate lots of hamburgers and hot dogs, celebrated birthdays with a cake, and said goodbye.

All in all it was a good day. The weather and the water were nearly perfect. I am glad I volunteered. I had the opportunity to paddle and catch a few rays, meet some great young people, reconnect with Sebago members, and meet a few members I had not met or paddled with before. I have posted photos from the paddle at Picasa.

The Reverend Chad Miller, 34, Dies in Kayaking Accident

Here is a story from the Presbyterian News Service of interest to both Presbyterians as well as Kayakers.

July 10, 2009
by Jerry L. Van Marter
Presbyterian News Service

NEWARK, DE — New Castle Presbytery continues to mourn the loss of the Rev. Chad Miller, 34, who died in a kayaking accident along with his brother, Chris, 28, on June 9.

Miller was associate pastor for mission at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Wilmington, DE, the presbytery’s largest congregation. A memorial service was held at the church June 14 in lieu of the regular Sunday liturgy. The service was led by Westminster’s other two pastors, the Rev. Greg Jones and the Rev. Anne Ledbetter.

More than 1,000 persons crowded the Westminster sanctuary for the service. Every standing-room spot also was filled. Two choirs and a quartet provided music at various times.

Approximately 20 ministers and elders in New Castle Presbytery who were unable to attend the memorial service gathered at Westminster June 24 for a service of remembrance.

In his weekly column for the New Castle Web site after the tragedy, Executive Presbyter James L. Moseley penned these words:

In a church which begs for the energy and idealism of younger adults the loss of a bright, talented and often testy spirit such as Chad Miller is a double tragedy.

Chad and his brother, Chris, drowned when their kayaks were pulled under by the rising waters of the Brandywine River spilling over a low water dam. This all took place early last Tuesday afternoon. The news media and local papers have documented at length the events of the day as described by witness at the site.

Chad was having a ball. After days of overcast skies the sun had finally broken through. The river current was accelerated by the recent rain fall and he was relishing the company his brother who had driven down from New York for the day.

As a former camp director and frequent paddler I know the rush of a perfect day on the water. Part of the thrill is to challenge oneself to negotiate more and more difficult passages and rapids and spill ways.

Chad loved to challenge himself and he challenged just about anybody with whom he had any contact. He certainly challenged me.

One Sunday when he was filling the pulpit, the opening lines of his sermon began by bemoaning the fact that he had, on the previous day, wasted a perfectly good Saturday attending a meeting of the presbytery. He proceeded to note how long the meeting had been and how long winded were the speakers. I suspect I was one of them.

His pronouncement got under my skin right away, and I had to struggle mightily to hear him out in order to discover what point he intended to make. Though I don’t remember the particulars of the exegesis I do recall the impression he left with me that day. It’s one worthy to share with any who love the church and long for its renewal in a time when it seems unable to break out of old patterns of church business.

Beneath the obvious irritations about boring meetings, I believe Chad was expressing a deeply felt though diminishing hope that the Church of Jesus Christ might one day live up to its calling to love the world into a new reality… A reality where healing and justice and goodness and godliness and loving kindness would overshadow all other concerns of propriety, paychecks and church politics. The urgency in his preaching and restlessness in his demeanor seemed to reflect such frustrations.

What Chad may not have realized is that all of us who love and serve in the Body of Christ have the same hopes and experience many of the same frustrations.

Chad was one of those young whippersnappers we hope will push the institution to do more and be more than it has ever done before. It is a lot to ask.

Whatever it is we admired about Chad, whatever we hope for from the other young clergy, must be something we find inside ourselves.

No one keeps us from living fervently and from hoping and praying and working for a radical, Jesus loving, people serving church. We dare not place such hopes on the generations following. It is our work.

If we wish to honor young hearts and minds such as Chad Miller's we need to make more room for their voices in the assemblies of our church. And, as they sound off, we need to listen for what is fearful and fresh.

Chad, thank you for challenging us to want more and to expect more from ourselves as those who follow the path of the one whose extravagant love redeems us all.

2 – The End

It is a Sunday afternoon around 3 PM. I am on the subway platform at the 14th Street Station waiting for the 2, the 7th Avenue Express through Manhattan and a local in the Bronx. I do not ride the 2 often, maybe once or twice a month, and usually between 14th Street and 96th Street. The farthest north I have ever taken the 2 is Gunn Hill Road in the Bronx.

My ringing cell phone surprises me because I usually do not have reception underground. It is Nadira. She wants to know if I am still coming, if have the address, and if I need any directions. Nadira and I have never met (as far as we know) but have exchanged emails and talked over the phone. I am on the way to meet her and her family, all of whom I have never met, not at her home but at the home of Ken Ragbir. This is not a blind date arranged by E-Harmony but a follow up to a couple of my posts to my blog Summit to Shore. It is amazing where the internet can take a person and I am wondering how this journey will change me.

The 2 pulls up, doors open and I walk into the front, northernmost car. There are fifteen others in the car. At first I think of my surroundings as a “blue Delta” car because the plastic seats are blue and the Delta Airlines advertisements (photo top right) near the top and on the side wall across from me are blue. I eventually realize that the ads on my side of the car are red Verizon ads (photo middle right). Depending on which side of the car one is sitting on can affect perception. Perhaps life and death are only matters of perception as well, but there is very little communication across the great divide between the living and the dead.

At Penn Station more passengers board than leave. At Times Square enough people enter the car to make it standing room only and at least a dozen people are standing as we leave the station.

There is a mass exodus at the 96th Street station. As the train continues north from the platform there are now only eighteen passengers left in the car.

Somewhere between 135th Street and the 149th Street we leave Manhattan, pass under the Harlem River, and enter the Bronx.

Between 3rd Avenue and Jackson Avenue we leave the dark subterranean world of subway tunnels for the light of day of an elevated track. Plato would have welcomed the transition. Sometimes the shadows of the valley of death feal more familiar, however, than the light of goodness and mercy.

As the 2 pulls out of the Gunn Hill Road Station, the farthest north I ever been, there are only seven of us still in the car. I am now exploring new horizons. I have no idea what lies ahead and where the tracks are taking me other than the colors, lines and words on an MTA New York City Subway map. Some journeys are not related to geographic reference points, however. After five more stops I will be walking toward and eventually into Ken’s home. No map made of paper and ink could orient me for that.

The train halts just yards away from the Wakefield-241st Street Station and sits motionless as we wait for another train to clear the platform. There are now only three of us left in the car. The woman across from me has been on the car since when I got on at 14th Street. We have been sitting across from one another for 227 blocks and 60 minutes. I am not sure we ever made eye contact. I certainly do not know her name. I wonder where she is going and who she will be meeting. I am not sure about the woman at the very end of the car. Was she in the car when I boarded or did she get on later?

Finally we pull ahead into the station (photo bottom right) and the end of the 2 line. According to the MTA map I am at the northernmost station in the New York Subway system and farther north in the Bronx that I have ever been before. As I leave the car, step onto the platform and enter the station, it looks and feels other than what I was expecting. I am impressed by how new and clean it appears, especially in comparison to some of the Manhattan and Queens stations. I was expecting something more run down, rougher, and dirtier. I do not even see any graffiti on the walls or litter on the floor.

Climbing down the stairs from the elevated station to street level I am again impressed, this time by the neighborhood. I am no longer in Ridgewood. This is not Fort Apache. I am certainly no longer in Kansas, but it is not Oz either. I am in the midst of generally well kept single family homes rather than the row houses I am more familiar with. I pass by a closed Lutheran Church, a for sale sign adorning its front fence. I think its location, so close to the subway, might make it a good location for a retreat center. I wonder what it looks like inside.

As I walk the few blocks up to Ken’s home I see small yards with grass, most well cared for. I smell burning charcoal and hamburgers being grilled. I hear music and conversations emanating from open windows. In the midst of death there is life. In the midst of mourning people still talk, listen, cook and eat. I wonder how many times Ken rode his motorcycle up and down this street.

I am now standing across the street from Ken’s home. What am I doing here? What am I about to walk into? I cross the street, see two doorbells and press the appropriate button. I hear sounds.

( . . . to be continued . . . )

Six Months and Counting

Summit to Shore premiered and I first entered the blogosphere on January 5, 2009. My first post was entitled ex nihilo and the first photo I published on Summit to Shore appears top right. That was 112 posts ago. Since then I have been averaging eighteen to nineteen posts a month or about one post every other day.

According to Google Analytics, which I did not start using until January 27th; Summit to Shore has logged visitors from forty-six countries and territories other than the United States, the most coming from Canada. Visitors from every state other than Montana and South Dakota have logged in, including the District of Columbia. If you know anyone in either or both South Dakota and/or Montana, please send them a link and invite them to be the first from their state to visit Summit to Shore. Most US visits, 1,420, have come from New York. California has sent the second most number of visitors with 140. The most viewed page, with 436 page views, has been Death on the Van Wyck. The second most viewed page, with 235 page views, has been 45 Reasons to Learn How To Sail.

According to sitemeter, which I did not start using until February 1st; there have been 2,664 visitors to Summit to Shore since February 1st, an average of eleven per day, with the average visitor staying four minutes and 25 seconds.

My Presbyterian Bloggers colleague Jody Harrington, who usually blogs at Quotidian Grace, notes on Presbyterian Bloggers that “many blogs are abandoned within a few weeks of being created”. I guess that means I have stayed the course (so far) and passed the first milestone. So what might the future hold for Summit to Shore? As eclectic as this blog is, that is hard to tell. My hunch is that there will be some upcoming posts about kayaking and hiking as well as a memorial tribute to Ken Ragbir and possibly a reflection of a Subway Ride. I plan some future installments of my series Welcome to my Neighborhood and possibly some rants and raves about our dysfunctional New York State Senate if it does not soon get its act together.

Stay tuned. Log in/on often. Tell your friends about Summit to Shore. Rate my blog (top far right column). Post a comment or two about articles you read, like and do not like. Link to Summit to Shore. Send me ideas for future posts.

And the Rocket’s Red Glare

According to an article in the online edition of the New York Times, New York’s July 4th fireworks display was the largest in the country. Vicki and I watched the pyrotechnics from near the western end of Pier 54 jutting out into the Hudson toward New Jersey. A crowd filled in behind us 9pictured top right). We arrived around 8:15 PM expecting the show to begin at 9:20. The fireworks actually began around 9:25 and lasted for at least thirty minutes.

This was only the second time I have watched New York’s July 4th Fireworks. The first and only other NYC fireworks I watched were a few years ago before we had moved to the city and were visiting friends here. It was a chilly and wet July 4th and a down pour preceded the fireworks, softening to a drizzle as the show began. While the fireworks were impressive the setting on the FDR drive was not.

As we walked out onto Pier 54 I was particularly impressed by the NYPD’s crowd control. Ditto for after the fireworks display (pictured bottom right). The crowd itself seemed more relaxed and congenial than I was expecting. Perhaps the Obama administration, or the recession, or the dysfunction in Albany has softened normally gruff, pushing and shoving New Yorkers.

I was also impressed with how the six barges of fireworks were synchronized and coordinated. Surely there was some computerized control involved. If our State Senators could only be as coordinated as the fireworks and congenial with each other as Saturday night’s crowd, we would not have the mess in Albany that we have.

At the conclusion of the display it seemed like every ship in the Vicinity, from yachts to sailboats to small craft blew their fog horns. The crowd then erupted in applause.

Thanks, Macy’s, for another memorable Fourth of July fireworks display.

July 4th Memories and Plans

What are some of your memorable July 4ths? Are there any special places, events or people you associate with the day? What are you planning for today? A Picnic? Fireworks? A day at the beach? Reading the and/or reciting the Declaration of Independence?

As I look back over previous July 4ths, three come to mind.

1976 was the summer between high school and college. On the day of our nation’s bicentennial I was travelling with three other West Virginia teenagers from our home state to Wilmington, Delaware. We flew into DC where we caught a train to Wilmington. We had a couple hours between the time our flight landed and catching the train so the four of us did the tourist thing in our nation’s capital on July 4, 1976. We wlaked around the Mall and into a museum or two. Unfortunately our train left before the fireworks display. Where were you, who where you with, and what were you doing on July 4, 1976 (if you were born before then)?

A year later I was enjoying a long weekend from a summer factory job. After getting off work on Friday, July 1, I hitch hiked to Seneca Rocks, WV. At Seneca I hooked up with a climbing buddy named Greg and we spent the July 4th long weekend climbing during the day, hiking in the evenings, including hiking around the summit of Spruce Knob, and partying with other climbers at night on July 2nd and 3rd. On Monday, July 4th, Greg and I scouted out Church Rocks and then I headed back home. What I remember most about that long July 4th weekend is sun, rock and blue sky without a drop of rain or a worry in the world.

In 1984 I was pulling resident chaplain duty in a Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) program at a hospital in Northern New Jersey. The chaplain supervisor and the five other CPE Students had the day off. I got stuck spending all 24 hours of the July 4th holiday in the hospital. Not only was I NOT paid time and half for working on a holiday, I was actually paying the hospital to do what I was doing. Go figure. Needless to say, this is not my happiest recollection of a July 4th. The only thing that redeemed that July 4th was my wife coming to the hospital to have dinner with me. We watched nearby fireworks out the windo near the top os a stairwell. Do you have any memories of July 4 you would rather forget?

Today I will be working at Eastern Mountain Sport in SoHo. My wife will meet me after work and we will hang out in Manhattan and probably head over to the Hudson to view the fireworks. The day promises to be seasonable, and dry, almost perfect Juky 4th weather. I’d rather be kayaking, climbing or backpacking than working, but all in all I think this will be a good Fourth of July.

What are you planning for today?

In the grand scheme of things, celebrate that in the Unites States of America we have the freedom to make our our plans, the freedom to choose how we will spend the day, and the freedom to decide whether or not we even want to mark this day.

Welcome to My Neighborhood: Subway

Sometimes I ride the Subway and sometimes I eat Subway. I usually do not eat national brand fast food. One of the few exceptions is Subway. Even before Jared lost all his weight I appreciated both the speed at which a Subway can prepare its subs as well as the fresh baked rolls from which those subs are made.

Being a creature of habit my tastes do not very much. I used to prefer the BMT on white bread but after becoming a little more health and weight conscious I now prefer a six-inch roast beef on honey oat, no toast, no cheese, with lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers, black olives, banana peppers, black pepper, oregano, and a little sweet onion dressing (one swipe). My wife’s favorite is a six inch turkey on hearty Italian, no toast, no cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, onion, green pepper, black pepper, cucumbers, spinach, jalapeño peppers, oregano, parmesan cheese and vinegar. We usually get the meal deal with baked chips and soda (half Diet Coke, half Cherry Coke).

I regularly frequent three Subways. One is near where I work in Flushing. One is near where we kayak in Canarsie. The other is in Ridgewood, near where we live. Let me introduce you to the Subway in our neighborhood.

When my wife and I first moved to Ridgewood almost two years ago we frequented our local Subway franchise at 56-53 Myrtle Avenue (front view pictured top right) daily as we were unpacking. We went there so often our first few weeks and months in the neighborhood that some of the people that work there not only came to recognize us but remembered what we always ordered. They now miss us when we do not go there and when I show up by myself they ask about my wife.

The Subway at the corner of Myrtle Avenue and Seneca Avenue (corner view pictured middle right) in Ridgewood has been owned and managed for the past fourteen years by George. His wife Rose is his constant helper. Rose and George came to America from India twenty or twenty-five years ago. Felix, a young and recent hire, was also in the shop the most recent time I was there. That is Rose and Felix pictured bottom right. George was camera shy.

While I was in Subway a recent Sunday afternoon I witnessed a steady stream of customers effectively served by Rose and Felix taking the orders and making the sandwiches and George working the register. Perhaps those customers were drawn into the establishment by the aroma of the fresh baked bread, an enticing bouquet I could smell and appreciate from across the street as I approached. George and Rose provide five tables for eat-in customers and so can handle about twenty people in the corner shop, plus take-outs.

What George likes most about being in business in Ridgewood is that, in his words, Ridgewood is a “decent, peaceful, clean place where the people are nice.” He said he has had only one problem in his fourteen years in business but did not elaborate and I did not pursue with further questions.

When I asked him about his business philosophy, George replied “My business philosophy is similar to my philosophy of life. Open on time. Keep the shop spotlessly clean. Do your best. Leave the deserts to God.” As George spoke in clear, thoughtful, well articulated but slightly accented English about his business philosophy and philosophy of life, comments spiced with religious and spiritual morsels of wisdom, I could almost imagine that I was sitting across the table conversing with a slightly older Deepak Chopra.

When I asked George how the current recession was affecting his business he sounded like a British economist bullish on America, citing unemployment trends and putting a positive spin on them. He sees the current recession as a passing storm, a storm we will weather, and a storm that will clear by the end of the year if not in the near future. While his shop’s profitability is down he has not noticed a reduction in customer traffic.

If George could communicate one thing to potential customers that are not acquainted with Subway in general or his Subway franchise in particular, it is that the food is fresh, non fattening and that “tasting is believing”. I’ll eat to that!