Returning to the Scene of the Crime

Heading east out of Surry Courthouse on Route 10, I made a left turn onto Alliance Road and drove northeast toward Chippokes Plantation. The sky was gray & fretful; rain was imminent. Fields stretched for a ways on either side of the road, bordered by deep green woods. Up ahead on the left, a sagging old farmhouse marked the scene of a perfect crime. A crime I committed when I was seventeen.

Most readers are familiar with Surry County because of a much more recent crime. This quiet, rural county received the unwelcome attention of the national media when a multi-state criminal operation was discovered at a fifteen-acre estate owned by Michael Vick, NFL quarterback. Vick, a native of Newport News on the other side of the James River, picked an ideal locale for his illegal dog-fighting operations. Just across the river from bustling Williamsburg & Jamestown, Surry County is remote and generally unfrequented by travelers. Vick's Bad Newz Kennels was the scene of horrific cruelty to animals. The good news is that many of the dogs were rescued and have found safe haven with compassionate humans.

But let's get back to my own crime spree. From an early age, road trips were part of my life, so when I was licensed to drive, I'd pack my car with some friends and we would explore. Usually we would stick to Virginia Beach & Norfolk, but sometimes we would go farther afield. Eastern North Carolina was not out of the question, since going due north involved the expense of the lengthy Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. The countryside west of Portsmouth provided interesting day trips, as well. The rural counties of Smithfield and Surry had many hog farms, convenient to the meat packing plants that produce the famous Virginia hams.

One Saturday, during my senior year in high school. some friends and I spotted the old house you see in these photographs. It was obviously vacant, but not as decrepit as it is today; the yard was high with weeds and scrub, and the driveway was overgrown. We fought our way to the house and peered in the windows. The interior was dusty and neglected. No one had been inside this house for years.


Thinking nothing of it, we forced our way in (not my first B&E, I'm afraid, but more about that another time...maybe) through a back porch entrance and explored the house. The first room we encountered was the kitchen. Startled mice scurried for hiding places. There were mouse droppings everywhere, and old cans & boxes of food were still on the shelves. Flatware and dishes were on the kitchen table. It looked like the family had suddenly been called away from home decades past, and never returned.


Moving along through the house, we came to the conclusion that an old woman had lived here. After she died or went to a care facility, her family came in and removed anything of value, boarded up the home, and never returned. There were still odd pieces of furniture, bric-a-brac, and shelves filled with books. I took a copy of Ben Hur, which is still in a box in my attic. Abandoned mail and signatures in book covers identified her as Ruth Dearth. Nothing of real value had been left in the house.


Upstairs, we found the moulted skins of snakes. They would have grown fat from the mice that feasted on the food left behind in the kitchen. Vines grew through the walls. Curtains hung in tatters. The unwanted chairs that remained had all had their legs sawed off, leading us to the conclusion that Ruth was either a wee person, or the house had been filled with children at one time. Now, the only things that moved through these rooms were spiders, snakes, rodents, and - briefly - us. We gathered a few souvenirs (add theft to the B&E) and departed, speculating on the house and its long-ago occupants.

These photographs show what the house looks like today. It was strange finding the house again, and remembering a day in the past I had all but forgotten. Abandoned homes intrigue me, and I hope you enjoy these photographs of a lonely homeplace.

Colonial Lunacy & Manifest Destiny

In March, two friends & I went to an AA state assembly in Williamsburg. For most of our time there, it was cool & rainy, but on Sunday, our day to return to Richmond, the sun broke through and the temperatures became mild. It was a lovely Spring day, and we went for a stroll through Colonial Williamsburg. I'm glad I had my trusty camera with me so that I can share some photographs with you of the historic area.

When I was growing up, my parents & I went on frequent weekend trips to places of interest in the surrounding areas. Sometimes we traveled to places like Luray Caverns or Natural Bridge; other times we would go to historic sites.

I remember visiting Williamsburg, touring the restored area, and staying in a motel called Carolyn Court on Route 60. At the time, I guess I thought that Colonial Williamsburg had always looked that way. What we see today in old Williamsburg was actually the brainchild of Reverend W.A.R. Goodwin with the financial backing of John D. Rockefeller, Jr.


Before the extensive restoration work got under way, Williamsburg had become a sleepy backwater town. A 1912 editorial in the Richmond Times-Dispatch dubbed the town "Lotusburg" because "Tuesday was election day in Williamsburg but nobody remembered it. The clerk forgot to wake the electoral board, the electoral board could not arouse itself long enough to have the ballots printed, the candidates forgot they were running, the voters forgot they were alive." Another account I read spoke of a befuddled bell ringer who thought it was Sunday morning, rang the bells at Bruton Parish Church, and most of the townsfolk dutifully showed up, but it was Wednesday.


The first psychiatric hospital in the U.S. was built in Williamsburg in 1771, originally called the Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds, known these days as Eastern State Hospital. The 1770 Act in the Virginia colonial legislature stated "Make Provision for the Support and Maintenance of Ideots, Lunaticks, and other Persons of unsound Minds.' During those times, treatment for mental disorders was restraint and discomfort. Patients could enjoy cold plunge baths, bloodletting, intimidation, cupping glasses (sounds ominous), blistering salves, and - new in 1793! - sessions with the electrostatic machine.


The photo above shows Duke of Gloucester Street, the primary street in the colonial section, anchored at the western end by William & Mary's Wren Building, and House of Burgesses (the Capitol) at the eastern end. Immediately below are photos of a merchant's window, followed by the Milliner's Shop.




The stout building above is the Powder Magazine. That name made no sense to me as a child, no matter how many times my dad tried to explain it.


That's the Governor's Palace up there, and a horse & carriage ambling by the gate below.


The original Governor's Palace was destroyed by fire in 1781. Some outbuildings survived, but were demolished during the Civil War. The Governor's palace we can tour today is a reconstruction based on drawings by Thomas Jefferson (the last resident, who urged that the capital be relocated to Richmond for security reasons during the American Revolution), General Assembly records, and a copperplate engraving found in England's Bodeian Library.


The restoration of Colonial Williamsburg got underway in 1926 with the quiet acquisition of properties by Reverend Goodwin and John D. Rockefeller in the designated area. They revealed their plans in two town meetings in 1928. Structures that post-dated 1790 were demolished, and 88 of the approximately 500 buildings in the historic are are original. Most buildings were completely recreated.


When I was born, my parents were into the modern look. Their furniture had clean, square lines. The end tables and coffee table were blond wood and metal. Somewhere along the way, this stuff went out and Early American furniture entered the house.

As it turns out, Colonial Revival decor started in the 1870's with the U.S. Centennial. The simplicity of true American colonial design was mashed together with Victorian fussiness. As the popularity of the Victorian era faded, Colonial decorating motifs became simpler. Travel became easier in the 20th century, and people made pilgrimages to historic homes. Williamsburg became a popular travel destination, and the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation became a national leader in retailing museum-quality reproductions of items in its collection, including furniture, pottery, pewter and silverware.


Williamsburg is a great place for a stroll. It is truly "picture perfect." Archaeological excavations continue to bring up secrets from the past, and Colonial Williamsburg operates as a 301-acre living museum. Although you must buy tickets to tour the buildings, anyone can walk the streets without charge. Re-enactors are dressed in period clothing, although there was a bit of a fracas prior to the U.S. Bicentennial in the 1970's when someone thought it would be a good idea to outfit the tour guides in polyester red-white-and blue pantsuits. Tourists were not at all pleased. The pantsuits plan was ditched.

I wonder, though, what the real old Williamsburg looked like in its heyday. I doubt that all of the houses were painted so neatly, and that streets were as clean as they are today. Just judging by the few horse carriages nowadays and their wake, I'm pretty sure the streets were filled with horse poop. There were probably chickens flapping around, dogs fighting, pigs squealing, babies squalling, cats yowling, women mud-wrestling, and politicians prancing around in dust-coated tights. We get a sanitized version today of what must have been a rough & tumble small-town existence in the middle of deep forests, swamps, and rivers.

At one time, in an attempt to ward off disgruntled Native Americans, a stockade was built across the middle peninsula between the James & York Rivers. This was a harbinger of Manifest Destiny, which would push the original Americans ever westward into smaller & smaller controlled settlements. Nearby, at Weyanoke Plantation, artifacts have been unearthed proving that this area was settled 10,000 years ago...and it wasn't by greedy Europeans.



The picture below is the House of Burgesses, which was the Capitol of Colonial Virginia. Our state legislators still assemble here one day every four years. I'm sure they get a lot of work done on those days, too. No, really.

President Obama took his first trip aboard Air Force One to a House Democrat's retreat in Williamsburg back in February. I remember waiting for a flight at nearby Newport News-Williamsburg International Airport, and watching Air Force One practice repeated landings and take-offs several years ago.


After our stroll, we aimed the car toward Richmond. We made one more stop, at the Hog Wild Smokehouse on Route 60. The food was quite delicious, and I'm sure will eat there again when I can. This place used to be a biker bar, closed by day but rowdy at night. Today it's a cute little eatery. You can decide what you want to order by clicking here.

Happy Easter!

I hope your Easter is filled with wonderful food, friends & family, fellowship, and plenty of chocolate & colored eggs!

The above picture was taken one Easter Sunday at our home in Virginia Beach. Note the shoes: Hushpuppies, of course!

Relapse

Last Saturday, Sheldon took me out to dinner for my (then) upcoming sobriety anniversary. I asked him if his mother could go along, because I always enjoy her company, too. We went to a popular restaurant, and as we were waiting for our meals, a lady at the next table was served a beer in a tall mug. The beer looked really enticing in the cold mug, and I thought about how nice it would be to order one. Then I gave myself a mental slap and asked myself why I was thinking that way? I don't even like beer! The answer to my question, of course, is that I am an alcoholic, and "the idea that somehow, someday he will control and enjoy his drinking is the great obsession of every abnormal drinker." ¹

In December of 1941, General Douglas MacArthur had more than eight hours warning following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor to prepare his base for an assault. Although he touted himself an expert on the Far East, he underestimated the military might of Japan. He did not disperse the aircraft from his base on the Phillipines for concealment. The planes, including seventy-two P-40 Warhawk fighters, sat in pretty rows on the airfield, vulnerable to attack. When the Japanese bombers came, most of the U.S. aircraft were caught on the ground and destroyed. MacArthur had a fool's measure of hubris, and when he failed he always pointed the finger at someone else.

Tuesday was a long day. I went to my early morning meeting and picked up my anniversary medallion. Afterwards, I went to the office early to prepare for a monthly evening meeting. I was at work until 10:00 p.m.

Wednesday morning I slept in, and as I was getting ready for work, I got a call from my sponsee, Hope. Hope was shaken because two of our home group members had relapsed. One woman had been on vacation, got into a disagreement with a family member, and went to the hotel bar and drank. Her story prompted a woman with nine months of sobriety to confess that she had relapsed over the weekend, but had been ashamed to tell us.

I explained to Hope that relapses are part of the disease process, not the recovery process. There is no requirement to relapse. It is an experience you may miss, if you choose. No one that I have talked to felt that it was a dandy idea afterwards. For some, though, it seems to be the event that really makes them value sobriety, and they return to embrace the 12-step program. AA always welcomes everyone back; unfortunately, not everyone makes it back. One of my friends told me about a man he met when he was in rehab. After his release, the fellow relapsed and tried to detox himself in a hotel room, and that's where his family found him - dead from a heart attack. Withdrawal from alcohol without medical supervision can be fatal.

I was fortunate that I collapsed at the home of a friend, and she immediately called the rescue squad. The decision about medical help was taken out of my hands. In the hospital, I required several blood tranfusions, insulin, and massive doses of potassium - in addition to medications and multi-vitamins. My liver was in terrible shape; I was dehydrated, and severely anemic. I was constantly monitored through several days of detoxification. When I went home, I knew that drinking meant death. I drank two nights in a row anyway, even though I did not want to do so. That is when I knew that I could not stay sober without help.

When I woke up the morning after my second night of drinking following hospitalization, I reached the bottom. I could no longer fool myself into thinking that I chose to drink. I could not honestly say "I can quit whenever I want...I just don't want to quit." All of my reasons and rationalizations were stripped away, and I felt completely beaten. I went to the local AA website and found a meeting near my home. Something about that simple action kept me sober. When we were at dinner the other night, we were talking about Sheldon meeting me for the first time about two weeks after I joined AA. Sheldon was laughing about how bad I looked, and he told his mom "I was almost afraid to shake his hand, because I was afraid his arm would snap off." But he did shake my hand and he offered to help me, because that is what the sober members do for people like me who walk in frail & bewildered.

So, unlike General MacArthur, I do my best to stay on guard. Warning signs are heeded. I know that the disease will employ surprise attacks, like the thought that pops in my head when I see the cold mug of beer at the next table in a restaurant. Or anger and resentments which will take me to a hotel bar if I allow them to fester. When I think about how nice a martini would be, I'm thinking of the days long ago before I was an alcoholic, so I refocus my thoughts on how miserable I was a month before I came to Alcoholics Anonymous. A day will come, though, when this line of defense will not work. The best offense is the daily maintenance of my spiritual condition. That is why I pray & meditate. I thank God each morning for keeping me sober the previous day, and ask for help staying sober today. I go to at least one meeting nearly every day. I also go for the laughter and fellowship. We are not a glum lot! I found my sense of mirth again in AA. I have "succumbed to that gay crowd inside, who laughed at their own misfortunes and understood his." ²

¹ Alcoholics Anonymous (Big Book), page 30
² Alcoholics Anonymous (Big Book), page 160

Two

TWO YEARS SOBER

Thank you for letting me keep coming back.