Quite a Story...

  In 1986, Dan Harrison (pictured here) was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University

On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Dan approached it very carefully.

He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant’s foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Dan worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot.

The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Dan stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away.

Dan never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Dan was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Dan and his son Dan Jr. were standing.

The large bull elephant stared at Dan, lifted its front foot off the ground, and then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man. Remembering the encounter in 1986, Dan couldn’t help wondering if this was the same elephant.

Dan summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Dan’s legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn’t the same elephant...

One Little Victory

Most people, in the course of their lives, achieve very few great victories in their lives. Most of us must be content with the small successes in life to make it worth living. After all, I'd rather have a lot of small victories along the way instead of sitting around, waiting for that one big victory. I recently had one little victory that I'd like to share, which will hopefully encourage you to do something and risk failure rather than playing it safe and doing nothing.

On my commute to work, I take a short cut, turning off Rosedale at 12th Avenue. This saves me a considerable amount of headache waiting on lights, primarily the one at 8th and Rosedale. Recent work on the streets, hopefully with the harried commuter in mind, widened Rosedale one lane on each side. It also put a turning lane and a light at the intersection of 12th and Rosedale.

They installed a "protected left turn only" light/sign at the intersection which would allow you to turn only when the green arrow was on. This is not a bad situation if it is coupled with some type of lane sensor which lets the light know when someone is waiting to turn. If this light had such a sensor, it didn't work properly. I often found myself sitting at the light, watching traffic build up behind me until it spilled out into the thru traffic. The light was unusually long, irritating me further when I waited and no oncoming traffic was to be seen. Cars would often go through the light, make a U-turn, and come back to 12th rather than wait for the light to change in their favor. Mostly it was just frustrating.

Noticing that the intersection at 9th Avenue, one block further, had a "Yield on Green" sign in the left turn lane, I wondered why the intersection at 12th didn't have the same. I would often say to myself, 'Someone needs to do something about this.' I said this often, but did nothing until...

One day, fed up, I got online and found where I could send a message concerning a repair or problem to the Traffic/Public Works Department. I formulated my well-reasoned argument, stating that it was a traffic impediment and a hazard when left-turn traffic backed up out of the turning lane into the thru-traffic. It was very convincing, I must say, but I realized that it was a city bureaucracy I was dealing with, mired in inefficiency and politics. After a few weeks, I gave up on ever hearing from anyone about this matter. Then I got this message.

Nothing happened for probably a month or so; I can't remember exactly when I got the call. Then Friday, when I was on the way into work I noticed it. The sign had been changed.

I was excited to see it. First, that my commute would be simplified somewhat, my old route being restored. Second, I was glad to see that my efforts had borne some fruit.

I'm not sure if it was my call only, or if there was a series of calls, mine being one of many. Whatever the catalyst, the results were the same.

You're saying to yourself now, "Hey, how can I make a difference in my community like you did?"  First, be polite. Second, make sure  you have a good argument, one that shows benefit to more than yourself. Third, throw yourself on the mercy of (insert authority figure here).

It was a great experience. Not world changing, unless my world counts, but uplifting none the less.

Sunday

"He is not here; for He is risen, as He said."

Saturday

Friday

The Surreal Life

I often have people say to me, in reference to my job, "I don't know how you do it.".   Other questions usually follow. "Is it scary...weird...gross...sad?"

Sad? No, at least not for me. Who could survive more than a week on the job if it were sad all the time. Granted, there are moments of sadness, usually when genuine tragedy strikes. More often it's not really tragic but just one of those things in life. Most people deal with inevitabilities such as death rather well. There are exceptions. Aren't there always?

A thinking person cannot work in my field for as long as I have without experiencing some surreal moments. I wish I could share the dirty details, but that wouldn't be very ethical. I'm sorry about that. I, were I in your shoes, would want the down-and-dirty details. Suffice to say that I've seen the human body in many different post-mortem conditions, some normal and peaceful-looking, others showing the results of violence or mayhem. I've seen every part of the human body cast about like broken auto parts.

At first, it was weird. When the newness had worn off a bit, I found myself looking at my surroundings and saying to myself, 'Hey, these people are all dead.' There were initial cautions, as if they were dangerous or could, at any moment, jump up and go out for a cup of coffee. Over time, I've settled into a detached mode, generally indifferent to my surroundings. It is, finally, just a job.

I'm often compelled to perpetuate the myths associated with the field. If someone asks me, "You ever have one sit up on you?", I say, "Sure. All the time." I will then walk away or change the subject so as to possibly leave a cloud of doubt and uncertainty hanging in the air.

The surreal moments come when the job exceeds its normal boundaries. It doesn't have to deviate very far--just enough to open a window into the weirdness that is inherent in the work itself. For instance, when you're handling a severed limb or are rinsing brains off of your gloves, it can catch up with you, this weirdness. This weirdness creates a diversion that, strangely enough, we can find entertaining. We're not finding delight in another's suffering or death, but in the job itself, which incidentally involves another's suffering or death. If you have a problem with that, deal with it.

This is how we, the weirdos, do what we do. We're normal people in abnormal circumstances. Someone has to do the dirty work, and that someone is us.

On Profanity.

I grew up with profanity. I come from a rustic environment, rough and tumble, full of hard characters. Their speech reflected their coarseness. It's hard to exist in that environment for 20 years or more and not have it rub off on you a bit. I'm not excusing it. I still know better, but in a weak moment I still might succumb to a smattering of Potty Mouth.

Profanity communicates weakness and/or ignorance.  Your weakness is a weakness of character, an inability or unwillingness to submit yourself to common laws of decency. Your ignorance may be simple: you don't know any better or weren't taught any better. It may be a more complex ignorance: you don't know how to communicate in any way where profanity is unnecessary or irrelevant.

Profanity may also communicate a coarser, baser nature that's coming out in you. You know it's wrong, taboo or verboten, but you choose to use it anyway. Perhaps you're trying to be cool. Perhaps you're trying to show others that the rules don't apply to you. Maybe it's simply rebellion, which, the last time I read a dictionary, was an act of defiance aimed at an authority or established convention. In this case, it seems to be aimed at both: authority and convention.

The funny thing is that people seem to be trying to communicate toughness when they get Potty Mouth. Unfortunately, they generally miss the mark.