The Star Spangled Banner

It is not just something for which we rise, remove our caps, and place our hands upon our hearts at sporting events.  It is not a fairytale.  It is not a myth.

202 years ago, in a war that most seldom remember, events unfolded that placed our country upon a knife’s edge.  A new presence in the world, we lacked the political strength, the military, and the finances to stand with the mighty powers of Europe—most notably Great Britain.  Only decades away from our separation from that strong world power, we were struggling to find our identity.

Amidst the strife amongst France and Great Britain, stood the young, upstart United States.  England, still smarting from the loss of grip upon the abundant resources that the Americas could provide, saw the opportunity to try to regain control of the land they once held.  The people of the United States had a different idea.

However, things were not well.  The spirit of the country was very low.  Lack of military and naval strength, financial shortcomings, and poor organization, led to the British being able to sack the capitol, Washington DC.  Demoralized, our country stood at the precipice.

And yet, there were enough who believed.  Strength, and courage can come from even the most unlikely of places. 

Great Britain, after the destruction of the center of our government, continued to press their advantage, and prey upon our wavering spirit.  Their move—the city of Baltimore. In a fateful moment, the people of this country held fast.

On September 13, 1814, while the outskirts of Baltimore were preparing for a land assault by British forces, fort McHenry came under heavy canon and rocket bombardment by the British fleet. 27 rain soaked hours later, one flag rose above that fort.  The American flag.  The world’s greatest power had been repulsed, and one who viewed that amazing sight, was inspired to write a poem into music, that strikes as true and deep today as the day it was written.

The efforts of those who fought, bore wounds, and died in that moment, helped turn the tide.  In the end, there was no winner in that war.  But the United States persevered and grew stronger, by not wilting to an aggressive power.  Who knows what the shape of this country would be today without those people who were willing to sacrifice everything to preserve this country. Many do not remember this, nor do they care.

Those who claim to be citizens of this country, and who choose to ignore, or turn their back on this eulogy, are not citizens.  It is one of the greatest disgraces and disrespects to do so.

There are, and will continue to be, offenses to the commonwealth of all people in this world.  Some still occur in this country.  While many parts of the world yet do not enjoy the comforts and freedoms that many Americans enjoy, there are still transgressions here that should not exist. And that is the travesty—everywhere.

Our best effort as citizens is to take actions to help people overcome those injustices.  Instead of opposing, or demeaning in public, that which was a truly momentous sacrifice that gave us the opportunity to enjoy the freedoms and privileges we have today, take a moment to recognize those who are struggling to find those freedoms and privileges.  Use your strengths, skills, and resources, and do something positive that really makes a difference in people’s lives.

Many of us are in a fortunate position to do so.  If you have the resources and the opportunity to help those that need it, then take that step.  Then, maybe, you might be able to stand next to the ghosts of those who no longer stand because fragments of a mortar shell ripped through them. It is their ethereal strength that remains—don’t diminish it.  Cherish it.

That is what it means to be a citizen of these United States.

Twilight

Upon the Wings of Eagles

Enter The Scorpion

The sun drifts down just below the skyline as Michael enters the local watering hole that sits around the corner, down the street from his office—a low lit indoor and outdoor pub—The Scorpion.

Converted from a small two story paper factory on the edge of a revitalized industrial zone, the Scorpion draws a mixed crowd.  Young professionals are making a push into the area as the redevelopment continues, transforming it into a new active scene.  This time of day, a steady small crowd of locals and regulars filter through.  Later the stage comes alive as musicians and bands carry the evening, standing room only the norm as the week draws to a close.

Michael gets his bearings in the dark room as he scans the area.  A few tables and booths are occupied with patrons, as well as the three rough old regulars sitting at the one bar, half in the bag, and as much a part of the décor as the objects hanging around on the walls.  Staff flow around the room helping customers, and the owner chats with two bartenders as they get things prepped for a busy evening. 

The owner, David, a New Jersey import, has built a solid establishment for himself over the last 20 years in this western city.  A round individual with graying hair, glasses, and a demeanor that, while calm and composed most of the time, has an explosive edge when lit.  He spots Michael coming in smiles and lifts his head with a nod. Michael smiles and nods back.

Several of the detectives are already here, occupying a tall table near the bar across the room.  Michael strolls across the room the to his counterparts.

George:  Retired designer for a tech company.  Very intelligent and practical, he was pressed into retirement with the evolution of technology and the influx of a new younger, college educated, and expendable crop of designers.   George has a knack for finding out things.  He relies on old school modes of gathering using phones, newspapers, and knocking on doors.  He is also the nursemaid of the group, often figuring out how to keep the rest out of trouble.

Finn:  The young expendable program designer.  Thin and wispy with pale features and blond hair, Finn has a keen mind that can figure out detailed problems, when it is not wandering away on a side project or idea.  Taking one of those jobs like George used to occupy, Finn burned out quickly and was fired for reasons he has yet to fully explain.  He has become an adept computer forensics specialist, which has proven helpful to the police several times.  He is a gadget and on-line maniac, and constant thorn to George’s side, heckling him often on his old school ways.

Riley:  Sometimes called the rat.  The youngest of the group, Riley’s rough and dark past had left him few options for a positive future until Michael pulled him from a very sinister situation.  Average height, but strong and burly, with long brown hair and several tattoos on his arms shoulders and back, Riley can dish out beatings and he can take them. Barely high school educated, but mechanically minded, Riley has totally immersed himself in his role as the bruiser with the detectives.

Misfits all of them, and Michael, in his late 20’s and running the odd detective agency, feels most misfit of all.  He approaches the group and they break out of their conversation to acknowledge their leader. George gives a nod.

  “Hey boss.”

Michael pulls out a seat.

  “Hi guys. Anyone seen Carlton?”

Riley snorts.  Finn chimes in.

  “He’s working something over at InfoCom, but he texted that he’d be over shortly.”

David stops over with a pitcher and an extra glass for Michael.

Welcome to the Scorpion—this is their place.  While it stands as a sort of refuge for each of them in its own way, expect the unexpected, as a lot of things will happen here, and the detectives are only beginning to find out the dark world within which they are entering.

Edge of Forever

When I reach out,

With all of  my being within,

Beyond, the realm of sight,

touch, taste, and sound.

Intangible, my heart stretches

out to the farthest edges,

the edge of forever.

Breathtaking, absorbing vision

and imagination,

deeper than the ocean,

further than the stars,

A path only my heart can travel

   

Where I have pushed myself,

to that edge

Will you join me?

Stir the energy that swirls within,

and find the ethereal world

Touch each other and dance,

as the wind touches the sky

join hands and guide one another

and find ourselves together

on the edge of forever.

The Detectives

Soft sunlight filters through tall windows, onto several desks, file cabinets and hard wood floors in the loft style office that Michael rents.  A lone man, George Devries, sits at a desk, legs propped upon it.  Slightly round, with glasses, receding hairline and cherubic face, wearing slacks, short sleeve button down shirt and a smart bow tie, George is immersed in the daily paper when Michael strolls into the room.  George looks up.

  “Good morning.”

Michael continues to walk to his desk. He tosses his keys on it and drops down into his chair.  He rubs his face.  George looks at him.

  “Or not.”

Michael looks up at the ceiling. He finally utters a few words.

  “Where are Finn and Riley?”

  “Working on something I suppose.”

Dead silence slips through the room for a moment. George takes his feet of off his desk and sets down the paper, looking intently at Michael.

  “You were there, weren’t you.”

Michael rubs his eyes and nods.  George lets out a light sigh.

  “The write up is in today’s paper.  Felix Emerson, pro tour golfer, found

   dead at Wilmington Club.  No mention of cause.”

Michael sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Yeah.”

George shakes his head.

  “The guy buys it right before the open, not that he had much chance of winning

    anyway. Do you think the wife did it?”

  “She hired me, but I can’t rule that out…not likely though.”

Michael sits up in his chair, looking thoughtful.

  “While I was casing the place, the girl he was banging slipped out of the clubhouse,

   around the time he was killed, but there were several other men who left at

   various times as well.”

Michael looks at George who has been listening carefully.

  “You know a bit about this guy?”

George forms a round cheeked smile

  “Hey, you are talking to the sports library here.”

  “Good, you are coming with me.”

  “Where to boss?”

Michael gives him a good look and grabs his phone, starting to punch some buttons.

  “To the open of course.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

Spectators mingle around the golf course, quietly moving along pathways under a brilliant sun.  Pros are swinging on the driving range, chatting casually, and signing autographs. Fans gather at tees and greens watching players practice through the course.  Media members scurry to speak with players and catch a quote or a lead for their stories. From some shady trees, Michael and George emerge.  Michael, tall and slender strolls along in kaki pants, comfortable polo shirt and glasses, George still wearing his bowtie, tags along looking at a guide, sweat glistening on his brow. They stroll through the crowd of this opening day practice round. George pulls out a handkerchief and pats his brow..

  “A beer would be nice right now. Nice hook up on the passes by the way.  Didn’t

   know you had connections on the tour.”

Michael nods

  “Yes, Nicky’s a good friend.  Been meaning to come to one of these.”

  “Never been, huh?”

  “Nope.”

George looks back down at the tour guide.

  “Well, Felix was an average tour player at best. On the tour for about 10 years.  Made

   decent money, but never broke top 15 in any tournament play.”

Michael looks around as they continue along.

  “What else?”

George shrugs.

  “Well, he wasn’t well liked, by pretty much everybody.  He was a bit of an asshole.”

Michael stops for a moment, and looks up at the sky, shaking his head slightly.

  “That helps narrow things down a bit doesn’t it.”

George laughs.

  “Yeah”

Michael enters a beverage tent, George in tow.  He walks up to the bar and orders two beers.

  “We need to track down one or two of the people I saw leave last night.  Perhaps

   we can find out more from one of them.”

George takes a beer Michael handed to him and takes a long sip, looking quite satisfied.

  “How will we do that?

  “Hopefully I can recognize one here.  I believe all of them work for the club or the

    tour in some fashion.”

George nods his head.

  “Ok.  Give me a description of the ones you saw and I’ll figure it out.”

Michael smiles.

  “I knew you would.”

Take your shot

As he approaches his shot on the 18^th, the heat presses in around Guthrie.  Still as a statue the air is, and the sun a steady and constant bombardment of energy upon the mingling crowd.  Guthrie’s first shot from the tee had sailed wide right on him, into a clump of aged, bent trees.  The course staff had marked the ball and were creating a wall around it so the spectators would not interfere.

Nothing like watching a young talent struggle with a challenging shot.  What choice would he make?  How would he handle the pressure?  It’s only day one, but the leaders have struck early and hard with low scores, pressing the rest of the later field to keep up the pace.  After day two the number of entries is cut in half.

Guthrie approaches the shot.  There is one small window through a group of trees that might give him a chance to land the green about 160 yards away.  But it will require him to get the ball to arc to the left around one last tree after lofting over the first two and missing one that is leaning right in front of him..

Or he could chip out onto the fairway safely and get a better look at setting up on the green.

A crowd begins to muster around the ball as he scans his options.  It takes him little time to decide.  He is going for it.  He and his caddie discuss strategy as the onlookers shake heads, gasp, chuckle, and discuss the likelihood that his ball will survive the travel to the green.

This is no small time tournament.  Here, Guthrie stands on the big stage, in a pivotal moment that may decide a number of things for this potential emerging star.  He has talent and skill.  Can he make the shot when he needs it the most?

Knowing that keeping himself in the tournament might require him to take risks, he grabs his club and sets his sights on the 18^th green.  People who were mingling in front of where he might be are ushered out of the way.

“You might want to move back a little” Guthrie mentions with a slight smile to a few nearby onlookers.  The crowd chuckles, swooshing out the half held breaths of the people watching, as if they were the ones taking the swing.

The course staff holds up their hands to silence and still the crowd.  People stop moving.  Guthrie looks intently at the ball and lines up his club. Time stops moving.  He cocks his arms back and swings gracefully through.   His ball lifts out of the pile of bark chips within which it had landed, flies past the bent tree, lofts over the clump of trees and arcs to the left around a last tree slightly along a path that lands right on the green.

The crowd cheers and incredulous smiles break out on many of the spectator’s faces.  Truly a remarkable shot.  With the heat, the crowd, the pressure, Guthrie pulled out a shot that defines focus and perseverance.

In our moments, do we have the ability to focus our talents and do the best we can, when it matters most?  Indeed we all do.  It may not come in the spotlight of national TV.  It may not come with the reward and adulation that we all hope we can have every day.  And it may not always work out the way you had intended.  But it will come, when you believe in yourself and you trust the energy and talent that swells from within you. 

Some days it may be harder than others to reach for that energy and belief--to instead succumb to insecurity and self-doubt.  But without the drive to succeed, we would have long ago perished into obscurity.

That is not our destiny, and it is not yours either.  Live for today and take the shot that you know you can make.