My Fond Memories
The picture above is of me as a baby, my dad David Richey (center), and my granddad Ben Richey (left). There is no date on back of the photo, but it had to have been 1959 because that's the year I was born! I'm lucky to have this picture. Three generations of men in one shot!!
Thursday, August 31, 2023
My Take: "Gaslit: June 16, 2015 to the Present" by Lee Richey 8/30/23
Friday, May 14, 2021
My Take: "The Possible Culprit of Chronic Shootings" (Transcript of podcast)
This is the first episode of my second weekly podcast, called, "My Take." My opinion about a specific issue, past, current or future. Today, I want to share my feeling and the possible solution to the recent spate, and long-term history, of chronic shootings, in the U.S., and globally.
I'm still so very happy with the two most recent election results, and I'm so very pleased and optimistic about how the Biden administration is handling most all of their agenda. But I am also so deeply despaired by the continued tragic epidemic of gun violence, evidenced by of all the recent mass shootings. Although support of the 2nd Amendment is definitely bipartisan, in the wake of the many recent mass shootings, it is beyond a tragedy that so many people still feel resistant to any restrictions on guns and that unrestricted access to guns seems to be more important in their lives than the safety and lives of people. That priority is clearly not working to stop the incessant carnage of all the shooting deaths, domestic or mass. I have heard the argument raised by gun rights advocates and gun enthusiasts that "Guns don't kill, people do." There is obvious truth to this. It takes a person to fire a gun. Few injuries or deaths are caused by a gun going off by itself. Or the argument by many to focus instead on treatment for the mentally ill who procure guns. There is obvious truth to this, too. Clearly, mentally ill people need treatment. However, these legitimate arguments should be separated from finding a solution or solutions to chronic shootings. In other words, to gun proponents any alternative argument seems better than blaming the gun. What both of these previous arguments, of a person needed for killing and focusing on treatment for the mentally ill, entirely overlook—and perhaps purposely as a deflection—are the obvious facts of a gun's sole function and its ease of use. The sole function of a gun is to destroy, when fired, whatever is in front of its barrel. The ease of use is simply pulling the trigger. Therefore, a gun makes it much *easier* for a person to kill. This ease of destruction, plus the far too easy availability of almost all guns and the refusal of too many people to enact any new gun control legislation at all, are why the carnage continues. But I concur with another culprit, a genetic one. I think it may be at the heart of the problem of all gun issues. It is a less widely acknowledged or discussed theory, and one that is very awkward to think about much less mention: That a gun is a machine substitute for providing a more powerful male appendage, a more powerful phallus. A psychological, exaggerated, and false antidote for the male fear of erectile dysfunction. It is a fact, not a theory, that the majority of the perpetrators of mass shootings are men. Most manufacturers, sellers, and owners of guns are men. Guns make many men feel dominantly, sexually, and powerfully invincible. So for many of these men, it is very nearly their indestructible male member. Not only has this point been written about before, but it doesn't take much imagination to notice that a gun clearly resembles a penis and its testes.
It is not a phallic fixation to notice this resemblance. In his April 17th, 2018 article, Guns Are the Last Bastion of American Masculinity, Taylor Kalsey wrote, "Guns symbolize manliness, both directly as a phallic symbol and as a tool for independence and strength." https://medium.com/
In his article on March 5, 2013, The Psychology of Guns: 12 Steps Toward More Safety, H. Steven Moffic, M.D. wrote, "The unconscious meaning of guns may of course vary from individual to individual. Although some view their ideas as anachronistic, Freud and Jung offered some basic interpretations. For instance, in their shape, guns can be an obvious phallic symbol." https://www.
And in the Disarmament Forum of 2003, in his essay, Disarming Masculinities, Henri Myrttinen wrote, "Guns as violent phallic symbols are used, for example, in chants of the U.S. Marine Corps (‘This is my rifle [holding up gun]/ this is my gun [pointing at penis]/ one’s for killing/ the other’s for fun’) or in pro-gun bumper stickers available in South Africa (‘Gun Free South Africa—Suck my Glock’). Condoms issued to soldiers in the Second World War and in later conflicts were often used to cover the muzzle of their rifle to protect them from dust and sand." https://philarchive.
Why else would a man utter the phrase I have heard more than once, "I'll give you my gun when you pry (or take) it from my cold, dead hands" https://en.wikipedia.
That is obviously a severely exaggerated and defensive statement. But it is akin to the very real and legitimate fear of, and obvious objection to, the prospect of genital mutilation or castration. In Quentin Tarantino's film, Django Unchained, while suspended upside-down from a barn roof, Django's involuntary screams are muffled by a metal helmet on his head as the sadistic plantation rancher, Billy Crash, takes a fire-heated knife and nearly castrates him, before being interrupted by the equally despicable plantation butler, Steven. It is the tireless and fearless Django's most vulnerable moment in the story. Next to our deepest fear of death, fear of damage to, or the loss of, one's genitalia is nearly as horrific, especially for men.
Rifles also look like a phallus, and with longer-length aspirations. So do cannons and tanks. Machine guns could simulate multiple orgasms, of which women are much more capable than men—an obvious clitoris/vagina-envy for men. Actually, knives, spears, and arrows are phallic too, for that matter. But while a bow certainly propels an arrow at a considerably fast speed, it is still much slower than a bullet fired from a gun. And a spear or knife requires far greater effort, skill, and closer proximity to cause the same or similar damage as a single bullet. Spears, knives, and arrows are also less efficient (less easy) at inflicting nearly instant mass carnage, much less by one person. Hence the reason that there are far fewer mass stabbings, spearings, or by bow and arrow. And the discharge of the bullet or projectile through and out of the gun barrel is clearly a simulacrum of the male ejaculation. I don't think that is in the least a far-fetched idea. I think it is blatantly obvious. And it only confirms to me why I sense strongly that such deep and chronic resistance to any restrictions on the acquisition of any gun is a reflection on many men, and some women, of their deepest fear of personal and emotional loss. Fear of the loss of use of their sexual organ and its performance. Their gun becomes their tag-team wrestler. And the prospect of any restriction or infringement on their guns seems to be a deeper loss than the contined loss of lives from said guns. It is a very selfish and self-serving posture. Putting one's own insecure needs over the safety of others.
The proof that more restrictions on gun use works to reduce gun violence and deaths, and that there are many other people who don't need a gun to bolster their own inner personal and sexual worth, are in the countries whose gun deaths are decidedly lower because their gun laws are much more strict: New Zealand, Australia, Norway, Japan, Canada, Israel, the UK, Switzerland, and Germany, to name only a few. In those countries, gun ownership is legal but it is not unlimited, either in type of gun, ease of acquisition, or license-free use. So the problem of an indiscriminate and unlicensed purchase, by anyone, is all but eliminated in those countries.
I also agree with the argument that guns should be treated with at least the same caution and restrictive tests and laws as automobiles. In this country, you have to have a license to drive a car, and you have to pass a driving test (and in some states also a written test) to acquire the license. Case-closed almost right there. But guns obviously need more restrictions than cars because a gun is more destructive than an automobile. Though a car can become a lethal weapon depending on the driver, a car's intended function is clearly not to destroy; a gun's is, solely and unequivocally. Automobiles and guns are therefore a good comparison, because a car can become a lethal object and it is often a reflection of the personality and sexual posturing of the driver/owner. But the laws for obtaining and owning a gun should definitely be more restrictive than cars because cars cannot inflict anywhere near the same degree of mass carnage as can and do guns.
So, to me, the solution for reducing the amount of mass shootings in this country, or anywhere, is definitely not easy, but it is clear and practical and in two parts: First: As with drug and alcohol addiction, honest awareness on the part of men and women that the phallic association and need with guns exists, which requires individual support and recovery. And second: To learn and adopt the same or similar legislation enacted in the many other countries where the gun laws have clearly worked to significantly reduce their respective deaths from guns. It would take immense courage on the part of many men (and their supportive women) to change the focus of bolstering their feelings of masculinity: from the destructive tool of a gun to their own beautiful and loving inner self-worth. And an even stronger sense of the worth of the safety and lives of others.
Thank you all so much for taking the time to read. And love to all of you!
Tuesday, May 4, 2021
Memories and Musings: "My Dear Grandmother Richey"
It's been quite some time since I shared a blog or podcast, so no time like the present to start again. This is the first of two weekly podcasts I will share. This one, Memories and Musings, is my personal memories and thoughts. The second, My Take, will be my own opinion about a specific issue or event, past, current or future. Today I am going to enjoy remembering my late grandmother Richey. She was one of the most selfless and loving people I have ever known. Her maiden name was Jaime Grace Yeager. She married Ben Richey, my late grandfather, who died of a heart attack in 1970. They had one child, a son, David Richey, my late father, who died of a brain tumor in 1977. I have written tributes about my father, both for his birthday and for Father's Day. He inherited his wonderfully innate capacity for loving all people, without judgment or prejudice, from both his parents, but particularly so from my grandmother. She once said honestly and sincerely, "It's not hard for me to love people." And she truly did. She loved everyone with whom she came into contact, even those who were less easy to be around.
She and my grandad founded a boys home in Abilene, Texas in 1947, called the Abilene Boys Ranch. Many times in my childhood, when my family visited the ranch during Christmas or on our way out west to one of the many music festivals where my mother was on the faculty, my grandmother would take us around to meet, or see again, all the ranch staff and the boys. Everyone we met clearly loved my grandmother because she loved them. They were always incredibly friendly with us, and smiled and laughed because they were happy to see my grandmother and to be with her. We all became instant family, and my grandmother's unconditional love was the catalyst. Her love was beautifully infectious. Because my grandfather, Ben Richey, died when I was only 11-years-old, I have fewer memories of him. But I certainly also remember him dearly. In fact, one frightening day stands out to me that made me proud of both my grandmother and grandfather. It was winter, so we must have been visiting them during Christmas. But on one of the days, I was outside playingin the snow outside my grandparents house on their ranch when my grandmother came out of the front door. Neither she nor I knew that ice had formed on the steps just outside her front door. Suddenly, one of her feet caught the ice and she slipped and fell, landing hard on her backside. I called out to her and said, "Grandmommy, are you ok?" Not moving, she looked up and replied quietly but firmly, "No. Go get your granddad." I wasted no time and ran to where I knew my granddad was working. When I knocked on his office door, I heard his voice answer, "Come in." When I entered the room, he was there leading a meeting with about two or three other men. All I needed to say was what I did say, "Grandmommy has fallen on the ice." My granddad was less of an effusive man, either in friendliness, energy, or affection than my grandmother, but the moment he heard my words he moved with lightning speed to get his coat, immediately ending the meeting. The only important thing became the safety of his wife. It was the most protective and loving moment I ever saw in my granddad toward my grandmother. His jump to action had emotional worry as well as urgent energy. The next memory I have of that incident is playing cards with my grandmother while she sat in a non-reclining easy chair after returning from either seeing her doctor privately or going to the hospital. She was sitting comfortably with a blanket draped over her lap and legs. Thankfully, she had not broken anything and her injuries were minor. It could have been much worse. But despite the bad fall, she maintained her sweet warm smile and laughed with the mirth of the card game, as if she had never been hurt. No complaining, just sweetness and radiating love. That was my dear grandmother Richey. I remember a cute moment when my grandmother was firm after being nice. This was when my brothers, Craig and Evan, were very young, easily both under 10-years-old. I wasn't present, but my grandmother related the event to me later. One day, Craig and Evan were playing together, and Craig must have said or done something that was disagreeable to Evan because Evan yelled out in protest. My grandmother first tried to protect Evan from Craig, saying to Craig, "You're not gonna do your brother that way." But Evan surprised her by coming to Craig's rescue, maybe just giving my grandmother a playfully threatening look, or maybe Evan actually verbally sassed back at her. But my grandmother then retorted to Evan, "Ok, then, young man, you fight your *own* battles!" A very funny story I know about her I was also not privy to see, perhaps because I was not yet born. But it was also at Christmas. She and my granddad were in their living room. She was decorating the Christmas tree and had used a step-ladder to be able to hang an ornament on a higher branch, perhaps the star at the treetop. In any case, in reaching to hang it on the tree she accidentally dropped the ornament and it fell to the floor. My granddad was sitting close by in a reclining easy-chair, probably watching football on TV. My grandmother was irritated that she had clumsily dropped the ornament, but she was also annoyed at my granddad for being lazy and watching football and not offering to help her decorate the tree; maybe especially because he was tall and could easily, or more easily, have reached the top of the tree. Upon dropping the ornament, my grandmother momentarily couldn't control her slight temper and she let out a quiet but involuntary, "Damn!" Even mild swearing was taboo, or at least quite frowned upon, in many homes at that time, especially from women. So my granddad was understandably surprised out of his reverie with the football game at hearing my grandmother utter a word of profanity. They also both had typically light and pretty Texan southern-accents. He looked up at her and said firmly, but with more astonishment than anger, "Jaime...whenjoo start talkin' like *that*?!" My grandmother was absolutely loving, but she also had a firm and feisty hair. She replied resolutely, "Since *ratt now*!!" My granddad, knowing better than to further challenge her, said nothing more. She wore the pants between them at that moment—and probably at many other moments, too! I remember her free sense of humor, too. Two moments were with words she considered "off color." Years after my grandad's death, when she was visiting us in Winston-Salem, N.C., she was in our car with us out on errands. She was sitting in the driver's side back seat, my brother Craig was driving, my mother was sitting next to my grandmother, and I was sitting in the front passenger seat. Craig and I were having fun relating about some comedians we had seen recently on TV. I don't remember which comedians we mentioned, but Craig remembered one of the lines. The comedian had noticed a sign that was misspelled. It read: "Pubic Parking." Upon hearing that, my grandmother threw her head back laughing freely and without any restraint or reservation. I had never seen her laugh so easily, especially at a joke of a sexual nature. She laughed so hard that her eyes closed! Another moment, maybe during that same visit, we were all eating dinner in the kitchen together. My grandmother was telling a story that involved quoting someone who swore. As she got to that part, I had just taken a swig of milk. But when she tried to quote the person's profanity, she hesitated so that all that she could manage to say was only part of a syllable with an extra sound. It sounded like, "Shibbuh...shi...shibbuh..." I had not yet swallowed my mouthful of milk. My milk sprayed from my mouth onto the table with my involuntary laughter! Everyone else erupted in laughter, too, even my grandmother! Still another time, I was visiting her at her ranch while I was working on my Master of Music at Southern Methodist University. During one conversation we were enjoying together in her living room, I think it was she who told a story in which she also had to quote someone else swearing. This time I think she managed to get the word "shit" out, but then she laughed hard and blushed with embarrassment. When we both could talk again after laughing, she said, "I haven't laughed this much in years!" My grandmother was also very self-sufficient. In fact, she said more than once, "I don't want to live so long that I can't take care of myself." Ironically, she actually got her wish, and in a very bizarre way. Someone religious might say a providential way. We were not with her, and no one was with her. Someone related this to us. On a normal day of doing her chores, my grandmother realized that she needed to go outside for something or to check something. What she didn't know yet was that it happened to be very windy that day. When she opened her apartment door to go outside, the wind was so strong that it pushed the door open faster and stronger than she was expecting. Before she could react fast enough, the door made quick, abrupt, and hard contact with her head and knocked her to her carpeted floor and unconscious. Very sadly, she never regained consciousness. I am not religious, but because my grandmother was, I sometimes fancy that she proved my family and me wrong that day. God might have actually answered her wish, taking her life with the wind and her door, thus sparing her from any chance of being dependent on anyone in her advancing years. Two years after my grandmother died, the name of her and my granddad's ranch, the Abilene Boys Ranch was changed to the Ben Richey Boys Ranch to honor my grandfather. Actually, because my grandmother worked tirelessly with my granddad on the ranch for all those years, the name should have been changed more simply to the Richey Boys Ranch, to honor both my grandfather and grandmother. Thank you all so much for listening and letting me share with you about my grandmother Jaime Grace Yeager Richey. I look forward to being with you next week, and love to all of you!
|
Monday, April 13, 2015
We now use only two superlatives, and, unimaginatively, they both begin with the letter, “A.”
Thursday, June 30, 2011
My cats, Gemini, Sophie, and Minx
On June 20th, 2011, Minx also succumbed to cancer. He was a marvelous animal and lived a long and full life. Because Minx was born on a farm, like Sophie he already knew how to live both indoors and out. He was also an extremely smart cat and loved people. Oddly, though he bonded nearly instantly with Sophie, Minx could not tolerate any other cat his whole life. I tried to adopt a kitten about five years ago as a playmate for Minx, but Minx rejected the idea by seizing any moment he could to attack it. I had to take the kitten back.
Minx had two very funny mannerisms. The first was a sort of an affectionate head/jaw-butting to one's hand. That caused my current veterinarian to nickname him "The Doinker" because it resembled the onomatopoeia of a sudden bump or "doink!" The second was a very unusual habit he had while he was drinking water. He would cross his left arm in front of his right and "swat" in the air with his paw at "nothing." It seemed inexplicable until I considered that maybe, when he was nursing as a kitten, he got in the habit of trying to "bat" another kitten out of the way so he could have his turn at his mother's teat. I'll never know. BUT...I managed to catch him in the act a few days before he died. Check out this funny video I put together:
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Abilene (Ben Richey) Boys Ranch
The Abilene Boys Ranch was founded by my grandparents, Ben Richey and Jaime Grace Yeager Richey, in 1947. I don't remember the first time I visited the Ranch, but when I was old enough to remember it was clear that it was a special place where young boys were taken care of whose families were not able to care for them. It was also easy for my two brothers and me to mingle with the boys because many of them were our age. This was always true when we visited (usually twice a year, Christmas and during the summer) because the age range of the boys was such that there were almost always boys there younger and older than us.
I have very vivid memories of all my visits to the Abilene Boys Ranch (before it was renamed the Ben Richey Boys Ranch) during my young life. I knew then and now that both my grandparents were loved as people and for the gift they gave the boys who lived under their care. My brothers and I became friends with many of the boys while we were visiting. It was like having a temporary extra home and circle of friends. And even though Craig and Evan and my background was different than many of the boys living at the Ranch, we were all still boys and we always found ways to become part of their resident family: eating with them in the Richey Hall, going to movies with them, playing pool and ping pong, going to rodeos, watching TV together, celebrating Christmas by helping them decorate their tree, helping them with their ranch chores (feeding the hogs and the "moo moos!"), riding horses together, participating in their softball tournament (unfortunately we usually lost), etc.
I remember one particularly funny moment with one of the boys. It was summer and my family and I had been camping at KOA campgrounds. We had a VW Campmobile for many years and drove it for all our family vacations. For some reason, on this trip we had only carried one bar of soap in the car. One morning during one of our stops at a KOA campground, so that my mom and us "men" each could have soap for our showers, my dad spontaneously bit the single bar of soap in half and handed one half to our mother. When we arrived at the Ranch and had met some of the boys (or seen them again because we already knew them), I asked one of the boys if he wanted to help me unpack the car. He agreed and we went to the car and opened the large sliding rear door. I opened a drawer to empty its contents and we both saw one of the half-bars of soap. From my dad's generous offering to my mom, it naturally had teeth marks. Before I could say anything to explain, the boy got a funny look on his face and asked, "Does someone in your family eat soap?!" (I want to say that the boy was Tony or Danny Floyd, but I don't remember well enough. Evan feels pretty sure that it was Danny!)
Among the boys I recall most vividly over the years were Barry Gibson (one of the smartest), Jimmy Merrick (a very friendly boy and one of my best friends there), Tony and Danny Floyd, Edward Twilley (could run like the wind), Charles Messer (he was a budding artist), and Dusty and Billy (can't remember their last name, but I think they were brothers) and a boy named Stacey.
I don't think many of the boys were musical, but they enjoyed the fact that we were. We always found music in common though if there was a guitar around. I remember a couple who were the resident parents of the younger boys at one point, Mr. and Mrs. Burns. We enjoyed all of them so much that my brothers and I were given beds in their sleeping quarters so we could literally "live" with them during our visit. That was loads of fun. Mr. Burns would get out his guitar and sing for and with us. What a treat that was!
My "grandmommy" Richey lived longer than my "granddad," Ben (he died of a heart attack when I was in the 5th grade), and my dad, David Frank (dad died of a brain tumor in 1977). She was essentially the resident "mother" for a long time after until her death. I visited her regularly even when she was no longer doing much of the work, but still living in her section of the building. Though she was not tending to her former amount of daily chores, everyone there treated her with love and respect and knew that she and her husband had been the reason for the existence of the Ranch.
On a very poignant note, my grandmommy Richey said that she didn't want to live any longer than she could take care of herself. She actually got that wish. As it was related to me by my brother Craig (as he had heard from Jaime's late sister, Elizabeth), one windy day she was walking along the walkway next to one of the buildings. The winds blew open a screen door that wasn't latched hitting her and knocking her to the ground. We're not sure if the door hitting her actually injured her or if it was the fall, hitting her head on the concrete, but it doesn't matter. She never regained consciousness. Her death was quick and painless, so she never had to experience the invalidity that she feared. It was also a blessing of a death because I knew that she missed my granddad and dad very much. It was very difficult for her that she had outlived them both.
My brothers Craig and Evan and feel very proud and fortunate to come from such good "stock." In our personal and professional lives we are in our own ways carrying on the family tradition of caring for young people in our teaching and parenting. Craig is in Los Angeles and is a piano and accompanying teacher at Cal-State Long Beach and a very successful film composer. Evan is the co-owner of Ovation Sound recording studio in Winston-Salem, N.C. and has two beautiful children, Carter and Rosalie. I am the cellist with Phantom, The Las Vegas Spectacular! and I teach privately and at two area schools of music. We are all happy and healthy and owe a great debt of gratitude to both our grandparents and our parents (on both sides of the family!). They were all marvelous people.
http://www.benrichey.org/
http://www.benrichey.org/html/history_of_the__ranch.html
www.leerichey.com
http://www.craigrichey.com/craigrichey.com/Bio.html
http://www.ovationsound.com/
For Elaine Stetson Lee Richey (Ben and Jaime's son David Frank Richey's wife, 1932-1997), go to Facebook and type in the Search field: Elaine Lee Richey
Monday, October 25, 2010
Mom read The Hobbit to us!
This is one of the most enjoyable memories I have of being read to. I was nine years old and I remember being mesmerized and riveted by the story. From the opening sentence and first exchanges between Bilbo and Gandalf ("Good morning!" from Bilbo...and "What do you mean?" from Gandalf.), to the chapter "Riddles in the Dark," to the end sentence, I was captivated. It helped immensely that my mother also had a particular fondness for the book because she read it well. She brought the characters and the narrative to life. She was particularly good with the dialogue.
My favorite chapter is still "Riddles in the Dark." I find it so interesting that the horror Bilbo feels at being alone deep down in mountain, having no idea whether he'll ever see his friends again, and then encountering the erie and slithery Gollum, is offset by the almost humorous game as they exchange riddles to determine whether Bilbo gets eaten by Gollum if Bilbo loses, or whether Gollum shows Bilbo the way out of the mountain if Gollum loses. The ingeniousness of the writing juxtaposes playfulness and extreme horror splendidly. This chapter is of course also the introduction and turning point simultaneously of the entire plot of the one ring of power and how its power affects its bearer over time. As Bilbo discovers, (because Gollum has actually lost the ring and Bilbo finds it quite by accident and puts it in his pocket before he ever meets Gollum), the ring, when worn, gives the power of instant invisibility. Over time, however, the ring, also when worn, slowly decays and decimates its wearer. Gollum has become a vile wretch from wearing it, and now lives in a decrepit dwelling on a small island in the middle of a dark underground lake deep beneath the Misty Mountains. The chapter is brilliant in every way: in narrative, ambience, dialogue, and action.
I reread The Hobbit recently and was pleased to find myself remembering how I felt lying on the couch in our sweet little cottage in Ketchum, Idaho listening to my mom read it aloud. My mother later told me that though she enjoyed reading it to us as much as we enjoyed listening, she always felt a bit of frustration too. Even though we looked forward to it every night, we also almost always fell asleep while she was reading. She never knew quite where to start again the next night since Craig and Evan and I probably all fell asleep at different times! Regardless, I must not have fallen asleep too soon into her reading because I still remember the details of the book and the sound of her voice vividly!!