When Guns Left Campus

by Carla Helfferich

The recent brouhaha about weaponry on the University of Alaska campuses has been giving me spasms in my old-timer muscles. I’ve been associated with the university (now reduced to the lonely University of Alaska Fairbanks, but once the university) for longer than have most of the buildings now standing on Campus Hill.

Looking back on my days there as a student in 1959, I can be glad that guns then were so well controlled on campus. Too many of my fellow students still had that sense of adolescent immortality (“It can’t happen to ME!”) even when they were dripping blood from the skinning knife’s slip; still others fell into intense, romantic depressions, but St. Joseph’s Hospital (now Fairbanks Memorial) was pretty good at coping with too many pills on top of too much alcohol. Easy access to guns would have made for too many deaths by accident and by suicide, instead of so many cases of Close, But No Cigar, followed by some months of embarrassment for that student.

And in retrospect, I appreciate that I never had to worry about being blown away by a furious or despondent student when I was working as an instructor. I had my share of both—all university-level instructors do, eventually—young people in the grip of hormonal hurricanes or other upheavals. The typical college freshman hasn’t yet had time to learn that most hurricanes and upheavals pass, if you give them time and patience.

Yet, oddly perhaps, the impetus for the then-tight control of guns on campus came because of some adults in residence. That at least was the story I was told when I first came to campus. This is a place of hunters, I commented to a professor. I see by the student handbook that guns must be stored in special lockers, to be removed only with suitable permissions. Surprises me. Ah, he said, they instituted that policy just a couple of years ago. This is the history he gave me:

The university drew in a goodly number of Korean War veterans, attracted like so many of us by the Alaska mystique but with the chance at an education funded by the GI Bill. These men had been through battles and stresses well beyond adolescent pangs. The university also noted they were old enough to drink legally, and wisely decided the veterans deserved a habitation of their own. Thus Vets’ Dorm, a great shabby barracks-like building, held only men who had lived with their weapons by their sides. That they should continue to have handguns or long guns in their rooms was unquestioned…until one day, in an end room on the top floor, the resident dropped his supposedly unloaded rifle. He was just going to tuck it away under his bed, but it slipped out of his hand. The butt struck the floor hard, and the rifle discharged. The lightly built dorm walls offered nearly no resistance to the bullet. Five rooms down the hall, the occupant bent down to pick up his bottle of beer. When he straightened up, he found that the greasy spot on the wall that marked where he always leaned his head when sitting on his bed had a hole dead center.

When the Dean of Students proposed that guns henceforth should reside only in special lockers, no one in Vets’ Dorm objected.

Well, that was then, this is now, and our legislators seem unconcerned about adolescent angst or accidents. Once the Supreme Court decided that the portion of the Second Amendment referencing “a well-regulated militia” had no relevance, the right to bear arms became some kind of absolute, and a spirit of vigilantism pervaded the land. No matter how stressed, every college freshman has the right to carry a concealed weapon to the next kegger, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. No, I’m not comfortable on campus any more, and yes, that doesn’t matter to the legislators.

One question: are concealed weapons legal on the floor of the legislature?

Carla Helfferich has been in Alaska since 1959, mostly associated with the university, including first editing, then writing the Alaska Science Forum columns. She served as the first managing editor for the University of Alaska Press. She is the author of Cut Bait, a light mystery, and the editor in chief of McRoy & Blackburn, Publishers.

2009 in review

Once again it is that time of year: resolutions and reflections to gird oneself for adventure and mud-slogging for the days of the coming year. In some ways, this was a pretty rough year. So, here's how it looked last year:

January
The Stones' house caught fire.

A letter from Emmonak was published, and all hell broke loose. Sarah didn't notice, though.

I began my descent into ukulele madness, with the purchase of a brand-new baritone uke. Little did I know that this was the start of serious musical obsession. Woo-hoo!

Obama was sworn in to the presidency, and Service was Restored.

I received notice of my 30-year high school reunion. O gads.

February
Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir assumed the post of Iceland's prime minister. This is notable because she is Iceland's first female prime minister and she is openly lesbian.

The Fairbanks North Star Borough School Board decided that bullying on the basis of gender identity was every bit as nasty as discrimination or harrasment on some other basis.

Dave Lacey died of cancer.

March
The Republic's publisher and contributors and fans celebrated ten years of crazed publishing in a MAJOR party with live music (Back Cu'ntry Bruthers and the Slippin' Mickeys) and the Publisher's Picks.

I joined Facebook and set up a page for the Republic. Now it's become a major time drain…WAY too much fun.

I helped organize the first of a series of CSA roundtables at my university job. The group that has arisen from this, the Alaska Community Agriculture Association, gives me a little hope that Alaska may yet feed itself and with good, wholesome food.

I was invited to speak at the Alaska Press Club annual meeting as part of a panel of bloggers. It was quite entertaining, but I got stuck in Anchorage (flight cancellation on account of belching volcano). One of the big topics was Mike Doogan's outing of Mudflats, the resultant fracas, and whether it was appropriate for bloggers to be anonymous. Hans drove down to fetch me, o noble spouse that he is.

April
The Ester Republic got a new office! Photos here and here. Here too.

John Reeves decided to shake things up in Ester a bit with a nuclear power plant proposal. Ester may or may not be a nuke-free zone.

May
Lee Shauer, Dwight Deely, and Linda Patrick committed suicide, all in one week. Ester was reeling.

The Banana Girls Ukulele Marching Band started practicing for the 4th of July. I started taking strum classes with Jean McDermott.

June
The Ester Community Market began its second season.

Emma Creek West reared its ugly head again. Or rather, Land Management did, with an old, previously rejected development plan. They just don't get it.

July
The Ester Fourth of July parade was GREAT. And the Banana Girls were there.

Sarah Palin's resignation speech got edited by Vanity Fair. More hilarity I haven't had in a LONG time.

August
The Onion once again published prophecy, this time on how Congress works not to provide health care.

Our cat Archie died of throat cancer.

September
I found a great song to learn.

Adam and Kelly Hullin of Wasilla embarrassed themselves publicly in an interview in the Frontiersman. Sadly, they probably have no clue just how stupid they made themselves appear. Sigh. Another blow to the Alaskan reputation.

October
Marjorie Kowalski Cole, scheduled to be the first speaker for the Ester library lecture series, was unable to make it but sent in her talk in written form anyway.

Mike Musick ran for borough assembly again and won, but Luke Hopkins and Tammie Wilson had to go through a runoff.

November
I got serious about Facebook.

Monique Musick gave the first lecture for the John Trigg Ester Library, a slide show and talk on her trip to China in 2008.

December
Marjorie Kowalski Cole died of cancer. I sent her book of poetry to the printer.

Addendum 1/5/10: (I never did a 2008 in review post), 2007 in review, 2006 in review

Marjorie

Marjorie Kowalski Cole died on Friday, December 4. I'm in the process of working on her book of poetry, which is ready for the printer for all extents and purposes (except that the biography of the author needs to be rewritten slightly now).

There was a memorial for her last night, to which Hans and I intended to go, except that we couldn't find St. Raphael's Catholic Church, where it was held. We drove around and around looking for it, Hans getting steadily more and more frustrated and tense because of the traffic, and me finding it funnier and funnier because the church was obviously well-protected against the possibility of atheists ever darkening its doors. We even stopped in to Fred Meyer's in a vain attempt to find a phone book and asked directions, which turned out to be to the Church of Latter Day Saints. We finally gave up and went to the Eagle, where we drank a toast to her honor with Irish whiskey.

I'd only gotten to know Marjorie (although I knew her by sight before that) from her contributions to The Ester Republic. I was delighted that she submitted her book manuscript to me for publication; Inside, Outside, Morningside should be out in January or February. My favorite poem by her is still "Ice Cream."

One of the things I liked about Marjorie was that she was feisty. She stood by her convictions. She founded Call to Action Alaska, a chapter of the national Catholic activist group Call to Action (which supports women's ordination, among other things). They helped bring Col. Ann Wright up to Fairbanks for her first speaking tour in Alaska. I think Wright stayed at Marjorie and Pat's house.

Ester and Alaska have lost a good person and good writer who made the world around her a better place. I will miss her.

Archiecat

Well, yesterday was a bummer. Our twelve-year-old cat, Archie, had to be put down. He had, it seemed, developed a tumor on his layrnx, which led to slightly louder snoring and a little bit of whuffling over the last few months (not really noticeable), and then yesterday a sudden inability to breathe. He sounded like he'd swallowed a kazoo--every breath was an effort. The tumor had reached sufficient size that it flopped over and practically closed his trachea off, and the pressure made a vibration which came out like a musical wheeze or honk.

We contemplated driving him down to Anchorage for surgery, but after the vet here consulted with a surgeon down there (no one in Fairbanks is qualified to do this type of operation, evidently), it was pretty clear he was a goner. So we took him back home, and a kind veternarian from Mt. McKinley Animal Hospital stopped by on his way home from work and gave Archie a lethal injection.

Then we made him a casket and buried him with some catnip in the garden. It seemed the right thing to do. Simply burying him in the ground wasn't right. It would have messed up his fur. Hans went and got a bunch of big stones and made a ring around the grave, and we will fill it with good garden soil next year and plant catnip. Archie was an intelligent, friendly cat, and a companion, and it makes me cry to think about all this.

A while ago, I put the photo above onto Wikimedia, into the public domain. I also used this photo to create an illustration of his eyes. The photo is one of two that I have of him. I painted a portrait of him that sold to the Aurora Animal Clinic, I think, many years ago when he was only a couple of years old. So he'll be around.

"I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"
Death thought about it.
"Cats," he said eventually. "Cats are nice."

--Terry Pratchett, Sourcery

Funeral on Friday

Services for Dwight Deely will be held at St. Matt's downtown at 2 pm on May 22, Friday. I'll post more here as I find out more, regarding wakes, etc. I'm not sure yet if this will include a service for Linda or if that will be held separately.

Addendum 5/20: these will be services and a reception afterward for Dwight only. I have not heard about plans for Linda, but again, will post as I know more.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Dwight K. Deely Memorial Fund at any Mt. McKinley bank; this will help offset the expenses of the funeral and any other associated costs.

Three in one week

This, as a friend of mine would put it, sucks.

The owners of a local mortgage company were found dead of apparent suicides within hours of each other Thursday night, leaving those who knew them wondering if a bad economy and hard-hit mortgage industry were too much for them to take.

Dwight Deely, 50, of Ester, and Linda Patrick 61, of Fairbanks, started Evergreen Pacific Services Mortgage Co. in 1999 when they separated from a parent company in Seattle. … Deely…was found dead in his Ester home of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. Patrick’s body was found a few hours later near the South Cushman Street dike. Authorities say that she likely died of a prescription drug overdose, though an autopsy will be performed.

Funeral today

Lee Schauer's obituary is now on line at the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner.

The thing about obits is that, although they tell you the facts, it's hard to get a good sense of what the person was like, just from reading the obituary. An obituary is written so as to be kind to the people left behind, usually, so they don't have to hurt more than they already do. Lee called it like he saw it, blunt sometimes. Not an in-your-face kind of guy, at least when I would encounter him, usually at a party or at the Eagle, but damn direct when he spoke. He struck me as honest, solid, a bit wild too. A good laugh. I imagine that if he'd written his own obituary, it would sound quite different. I can't see him being easy on himself...

Hans and I went to his and Star's wedding, at Hartung Hall. Lee was in a tux, which was shocking. I was used to him in blue jeans and leather jackets. Yet, he didn't wear it as though it was uncomfortable--a man with a wide sartorial range.

Another one of those weeks: deadlines and Lee Schauer

Talk about a rollercoaster.

I've been working hard on the paper for the last week, with edits and layout and last-minute ads (Mary, it almost didn't make it!). On Sunday evening I quit a little early, heading down to the Eagle, where I found out the Lee Schauer was dead. Had, in fact, died around 5:30 at his house. I haven't seen Star yet, but I imagine she's a wreck. I sure would be. I want to say I hope she's okay, but of course she isn't.

I finally got the paper to the printer by pulling a 2-am-er on Monday. Surprisingly, I was just fine on Tuesday, lively and awake, although subject to moments of gloom, given Sunday's news. I worked in the library yesterday night, and then went to the Eagle, where I met Peter Pierson, who will be doing the service for Lee.

Here's the particulars:

Funeral for Lee Schauer
4 pm Thursday, May 14
Unitarian Universalist Fellowship
4448 Pikes Landing Road (map)

My editorial for the Republic was especially difficult to write this time, and was the very last thing I did before I converted the InDesign file to a PDF and sent it to the printer. I ended up writing about community projects and volunteering, "social capital" as it were. I wasn't ready to write anything about death, other than the notice, which took a lot of effort for a short few words.

I ended up not going in to listen to Lewis Feldstein, working instead in the Ester library as I said, and although I'm glad I cleaned up the library a bit, I just wasn't up to leaving the village, despite my perversely energetic mood.

Addendum: There will be a potluck after the funeral, at the Golden Eagle.

Memorial for Dave Lacey on Saturday afternoon

There will be a memorial for Dave Lacey on Saturday, starting at 4 pm, at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship hall, across from the Princess Hotel. They are at 4448 Pikes Landing Road, and you can reach the Unitarians at (907) 451-8838 or e-mail them to get more information.

(Cross-posted at the FCCM blog)

Any Old Time for your main peace and love man

Lori Neufeld, volunteer coordinator on KUAC, asked me to post this message about Dave Lacey:

We will miss Doctor Dave dearly here at KUAC. The past and present Oldies hosts are planning a memorial show for Saturday. Any Old Time will also be in honor of Dave's amazing contributions to our community. So tune in to KUAC starting at 7pm for music and remembrances of our dearly departed Dave Lacey, your main peace and love man.

The KUAC tribute to Dave ought to be something special; Dave's voice and choice of music enlivened many an evening here. Any Old Time starts at 7 pm and the Oldies Show starts at 10 pm on Saturday night.

Dave Lacey

Dave Lacey died yesterday at his home. He'd been sick (cancer, I think) and it finally got him. I know Dave from his volunteering for KUAC (Doctor Dave), a couple of articles he wrote for the Republic, Green Party meetings long ago at Into the Woods, and most recently, from his drive to establish a cooperative community market in Fairbanks. The man was one of those wonderful eccentrics with a good heart who make this town worth living in, and I'm sorry to see him go.

This photo came to me via Doug Yates.

Public testimony and a poll on the death penalty

There's an informal poll on KTVA.com on the death penalty bill. So far it's 56 percent against, but of course these things change like mad.

Alaskans Against the Death Penalty has a bunch more information on the hearings for HB 9. Jay Ramras, it turns out, is a co-sponsor. Well, I may appreciate his concern for agriculture in the Bush and villages suffering from hunger and lack of fuel, but I think his judgement is WAY off on this one. This is wrong, Jay.

Vengeance is mine, sayeth Chenault

Ah, yes, in commemoration of our 50th year as a state, Representative Mike Chenault wants to introduce the death penalty to Alaska. As if we didn't have enough stupidity and expense in gummint these days. (Actually, I'm not that generally displeased with Alaska government, but boy, howdy, certain Republicans sure seem to want to muck things up but good.) Sarah Palin, good little bloodthirsty Christian that she is, shares Chenault's absolute faith in the impeccable, color-blind, and utterly error-free operation of our criminal justice system. Ramras evidently also has no qualms about it, either: "Hang 'em high." Or, if they don't think the system is perfect, they're still perfectly willing to sacrifice one or two here and there, or not worry about the disproportionate application of the death penalty depending on the convicted person's race, or the expense before the person even gets to trial.

And to top it off, Chenault is just fine with wasting the legislature's limited time:

It is not my expectation that HB 9 will pass the Legislature and become law this year. In fact, I would be quite surprised if it did.

Nope, Chenault wants us to have a "healthy dialogue" about it. I submit that perhaps the 90-day session is not the best place to do this.

Talk about stupid.

Calf slaughter

After seeing Blue Oasis' post on Alaska cow news, about eagles going after newborn calves, my memory was jogged about another problem in the Homer area with calf killings--only the predator in this case is a joy-riding asshole who likes running down livestock with his big truck. This happened last year, according to an article by Jan Flora in the newly-minted periodical from Delta Junction, Alaska Farm & Ranch News. The editor, Michael Paschall, sent me a copy of the first edition; very interesting piece. Homer livestock raisers seem to have quite a few problems to contend with...among them that the Troopers were unwilling to investigate and that, apparently, there is a gap in Alaska statutes: no protections for livestock.

singing

Sometimes, I get to singing, at the top of my voice, in tune, with the lyrics, and I think to myself, Damn I'm good, if I could only relax and remember the entire song. That's my main two problems when it comes to singing: I get uptight and my voice cracks as a result, and/or I only know the refrain, or one or two of the stanzas but not the whole thing. Very frustrating. I've long wanted to learn an instrument, but of course I'm really not terribly into practicing, and so I have never gotten myself ept at music.

However, it will happen. Hans, who is musically inclined, is getting himself back into performing (he plays guitar and has one hell of a voice), and as he plays more and sings more and goes off practicing, I recall that yep, I'm reasonably good at music too and actually like to sing, and try to do more in that vein.

Tonight, the song that inspired us both (after Mack the Knife, which I do know by heart) was Under Pressure, by Freddie Mercury and David Bowie. Going over the lyrics of a song again and again forces one to really think about what those words actually mean. In this case, it seems to be about homelessness, and despair, and yet hope: how inner or physical alienation can still be overcome or resisted by paying attention to the things and people one loves. Really, a very hope-filled song, and given that Mercury was dying when this song was written and performed, an amazing piece of music. Something we should pay attention to in this day and age.

New Orleans jazz-style sendoff

Hans Klint, former paramour of yours truly and now deceased, once told me that he'd like to have a New Orleans jazz-style funeral. All that moroseness at funerals just didn't seem the right way to go; he wanted music, and people having a good time on his behalf. If he couldn't be there for the party, at least there should be a party.

So that's what we're doing. Patience Frederiksen and her son, Chris Klint, are coming up here from Anchorage on Monday, and on Tuesday evening we're having a memorial/funeral for Hans Klint, Chris' father. Patience has the dirge and dance music, and made up a program. So here's the particulars:

When: 6:30 pm, Tuesday, July 8
Where: Ester Dome Summit, Ullrhavn (where the ski lodge used to be). We'll meet here and head up to a suitable spot nearby.
Bring: photos of Hans, memories to share, recordings of him singing if you've got them. The photo above is from 1987 or so, at the Blue Marlin (now the Marlin) on College Road, where Hans used to live and work. After the funeral/memorial, there will be a gathering at the Marlin.

Obituaries

So, I started working on an obituary for Hans Klint last night. I've worked on a few before (Ray Kulp, Pat Davis, Chris Barefoot), and I regularly check obits in the News-Miner. It seems to me that a proper obituary is really a short biography, yet most, written by relatives while still in shock, tend not to reflect who that person was except in a statistical sense. They are more often representative of the positive emotions felt toward the deceased by a person who cared enough to write about them. And, alas, they are often schmaltzy and dull.

People are rarely dull (although quite a few are not what we'd call sparkling conversationalists), and a whole life's worth of experience needs more than sappy sentimentality to sum it properly. When I go, I want my warts discussed as well as my sterling qualities. Enough of not speaking ill of the dead: I want people to know who I really was, not what grieving people could bear to write. It doesn't seem right to so shortchange an entire life that way.

But of course, obituaries aren't written for the dead, they're written to inform the public of someone's death.

The other consideration when I write an obituary is that, to write an appropriate biography, it's important that I actually know what I'm writing about. Therefore, I've only written about people I actually knew. In Hans Klint's case, I knew him very well, but almost twenty years ago (although he occasionally called out of the blue). So this obituary will really be about what I knew of him then, a few stories that are representative of my experience of him. So it will be limited in its own way.

A memorable man

Well, I found out a few minutes ago that an old lover of mine, Hans Klint, died recently. I don't know the details yet, but he was influential in my life. Crazy as a bedbug, talented and charismatic and really wonderful, but not too strong on the usual social skill set that is required of Responsible Citizenry. Still, a good poster man for why insanity is not all bad.

I've downed a shot of Smirnoff vodka in his memory. I'll probably have to do some blues and/or jazz singing for him, too. He could sing "My Funny Valentine" like nobody's business. Used to sing at The Roof here in Fairbanks. Got thrown out of a few Two Street bars, too. He worked at the Blue Marlin (as did I) for a few years, and we would sing in some kick-ass jam sessions after hours down there. But he went off and grabbed the till and headed south on an airplane (until Chicago, where the pilot decided he wasn't the best thing for the passengers' wellbeing), and our relationship fell from together.

I don't recommend living with bipolar manic/depressive types, but it IS interesting, and does provide good broadening experiences that help cultivate both compassion and unwillingness to put up with nonsense--basically because, in my case, it helped me figure out what nonsense looked like.

Damn damn damn.

Road kill

This week's Carnival of the Green has a story on it by Jacobito about a personal experience with a hit-and-run driver who (probably) killed a bicyclist right next to him. Jacobito muses on the daily sacrifices to the almighty automobile that we make:

We seem to think secular society gave up sacrifice years ago, or that sacrifice only occurs by soldiers in war to consecrate the nation. I don't know though. More people die in car accidents than all our wars combined.

Who are the real victims of sacrifice? Who is really consecrating the nation, making it sacred? Or are we consecrating something else? What? Cars? Transportation? Speed? Oil? Technology? Individuality? What is the meaning that all these bodies, like the one I saw last night, give and to whom or what do they give it? Its easy to say thats its meaningless death. I don't think so though. The consistency, normalcy, complacency, and universality of such deaths in the USA are too blatant to ignore. If the highway is our national graveyard, the cars the tombstones, the police and ambulances the priests, then what is the prayer that ties it all together?

I've been bicycling quite a bit this summer, to and from work about 5 or so miles each way. The road is littered with corpses: hares, birds, squirrels, voles, wasps, bumblebees, butterflies, dragonflies...our roads are paved with deaths, most of which we don't notice. There are the deaths from impact, the deaths from air pollution, the deaths from oil spills, the deaths from cancers caused by chemicals made from oil, the deaths from wars over oil.

We drive Death to his appointed rounds, enablers and apprentices, all of us. Switching to ethanol, or electric, or hybrid, won't relieve us of this. Driving less, or more slowly, will. Yet, the car has given human beings an incredibly valuable freedom, and this is why all those bloody, flattened corpses are ignored. The ability to leave one's little hamlet and go somewhere else without taking all day to get to the next little village, or a week to get to the next city, is a driving force in our vibrant modern cultures. The ability to move, to go, to explore is now available to the mass of people, not just the wealthy or crazy few.

Still, cars are expensive, in more ways than one. Bicycles give a similar freedom, although not as fast; so do scooters and motorcycles and small cars. These all cause a lot less damage then do the big cars Americans seem to love so much.

Small is beautiful!

A bad week

Chris Barefoot, Ester village resident who wrote about the 2004 tsunami and Koh Phra Tong, Thailand, in a letter and later in an article for the Republic, died a couple of days ago, very suddenly. Chris was a good man, and had been planning to go back to the island of Koh Pra Tong for the winter to help them create a community-controlled tourist industry. He had quit his job at the University of Alaska, found a housesitter, and was going to leave in a few weeks.

He's going to be missed.