Category: Family

September 18-19, 2018. A Church and Back in the USA.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

It is 5 a.m. the morning of the 19th. For much of this trip this has been the default time for writing my “Thoughts”. Christine remains asleep a few feet from me while I am treated to the sight of night slowly yielding to day. I often go to sleep with no intention of writing, but I awake, sometimes long before 5, and find that my “Thoughts” have been composed somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious. I get up, pull out my iPad and begin to type. It works, but how?… it’s a mystery.

Yesterday, as we left Trois-Pistoles Quebec my eye was drawn to the steeple that commanded a view above the village. There is not much to see in Trois-Pistoles but Trip Adviser mentioned a Basque cultural center, a Basque cheese “Fromagerie”, a small micro-brewery, and the church. The micro-brewery was closed when we arrived late on the 17th as was the cultural center. We are watching our weight so no cheese. The church held the number one spot for recommended things to see and do in Trois-Pistoles.

As an aside, there is a lingering Basque influence in this area that predates the 16th Century arrival of Jacques Cartier. Basque whalers traveled seasonally to these waters in hunt for the leviathans.

As a second aside, “Trois-Pistoles” is the name of a remarkably strong and complex beer crafted by the Canadian brewer, Unibroue… but not in Trois-Pistoles. For you aficionados it is worth seeking out on the shelves of discerning liquor stores and taverns in the States.

Now, about that church. Église Notre-Dame-des-Neiges was completed in 1887. It is truly monumental, far out of scale for the small town in which it is situated. It appeared to be closed, but we checked the doors and found that one side-door was unlocked. In my youth churches were always unlocked as the needs of those seeking a place for prayer were not constrained to banking hours. Perhaps Trois-Pistoles lacks the usual small population of miscreants who, if given the opportunity, deface and steal from houses of worship. Perhaps we were the coincidental beneficiaries of someone’s inadvertent omission… but as a good man in Puerto Rico told us earlier this year, “In life there are no coincidences”.

Upon entering the church we were treated to the most spectacular old world interior of any church that we have seen in North America. The long rows of pews appeared each individually carved. They gleamed mirror-like with flawless varnished surfaces. The towering pillars were hand painted with a faux marble finish and supported the lofty ceiling vault and dome. Remarkable!

While the overall impression was breathtaking, I found my eye drawn to the details of the church… the statue of Christ crucified,

The ornate confessional booths,

The Baptismal Font that had no doubt greeted thousands into the “fold”, and the galleries and pipe organ,

The Alter and Canopy,

The spiral stairs to the lectern used in former days to deliver the Gospel and homily to the congregants,

And then there was the very curious small pew standing alone in the back of the church. My first impression was that it was reserved for sinners ostracized but not excommunicated for some spiritual failing. There was a sign written in French on the pew. With the aid of Google Translate we learned the truth:

This was the bench of the Vire-chien, or “dog-guard”. It was occupied by the Church Constable whose tasks consisted in maintaining order in the church, opening or closing the doors during events such as weddings and funerals, regulating the heat as needed, and preventing dogs from entering the church. Tradition held that dogs entering a church were the harbinger of misfortune in the village. The Vire-chien wore a tricorned hat with a gilded silver-colored ribbon. The hat matched his long frock coat, which was of black wool. The costume was abandoned in the twentieth century, but perhaps the position of Vire-chien remains to this day.

Finally, there were the ubiquitous votive candles, a standard feature in most Catholic churches. These were particularly beautiful and well executed under the sympathetic gaze of the Virgin Mary.

I like churches for what they say about the people of a community. My thoughts about organized religion have become “complicated” over the years and don’t warrant airing here. Nevertheless I was gifted as a child with traditions of contemplation that still resonate with me. One of those is the lighting of a candle. The solitary flame brings a somber focus to my thoughts. In the course of the last few months a number of friends have exited from this life. A few days ago I paid homage to a remarkable woman who died 25 years ago. I recall the memories of those dear to me, now long passed. My wife and I have the blessing of being together in good health, being companions in travel, friends and lovers in life. So much to put upon the shoulders of that single flame…

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. We crossed into the United States last night.

Paula Clouse, 9/4/1949-8/10/1993. Courage and Tragedy.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

I can’t say that all attorneys have cases that become a part of their life DNA, but I have had at least one such case. Recently a series of communications with Christina “Christy” reignited memories of events that centered upon her mother and family 25 years ago. The intervening years may have cast a haze upon my recollections but my emotions remain every bit as raw as they were a quarter of a century ago.

Paula Clouse had been trapped in an incredibly abusive marriage to Larry Clouse for over 20 years. The handwriting had been on the wall from the start when only weeks into the marriage the much older Larry smashed his fist into her jaw for failing to respond quickly enough with the beer he demanded. Paula’s jaw was wired shut in order for the bones to heal.

Paula dropped out of high school to marry Larry. Notwithstanding Larry’s serial abuse, she got her GED, worked to support the family, raised their first child (Chris) who was born early in the marriage, and persevered to complete her college education at CMSU. Two other children were born of the marriage, Derek was four and Christy turned one when Paula received her degree. Paula secured and held a full time position of responsibility with the Bendix Corporation of Kansas City and was the family’s sole wage earner. Larry was unemployed throughout the marriage, his temperament being incompatible with steady employment.

Paula first sought my help in 1992. Son Chris was out of the home and Paula hoped that divorcing Larry might protect the two younger children from further exposure to the emotionally toxic environment. I filed Paula’s Petition for Dissolution of the marriage and initiated the process to have papers served on Larry. Unfortunately, with threats and promises he coerced her into dismissing the Petition. I reluctantly complied with Paula’s decision.

The following year Paula returned to my office, accompanied by her 11 year old daughter Christy. Earlier in the week there had been another episode of violence in the home. Larry had struck Paula down, causing her to crash through a glass coffee table. He then sought to snatch the car keys from her purse and deny her an escape. Little Christy beat him to the purse and as he threatened to strike her she said, “Go ahead and hit me. Tomorrow I’m going to tell my teachers and everyone at school what you did.” With Paula on the floor behind her, the defiant child succeeded in getting Larry to back down. Paula and Christy left. Derek chose to remain with his father. Paula explained that her daughter’s courage convinced her to leave Larry for good. There would be no going back.

I dropped everything that day and prepared a new Petition. I also prepared a motion for emergency protective orders. The documents were filed and served upon Larry along with a notice of the scheduled hearing on the motion for protective orders.

Larry appeared for the hearing along with his attorney and 15 year old son Derek. The matter convened before Judge Jane Pansing Brown and proceeded as a vigorously contested matter. Larry denied the allegations of abuse, but the bruises on Paula’s face and arms told a different story. He sought custody of both Derek and Christy, requesting that Paula be denied access to the children. At the conclusion of the lengthy hearing Paula was granted a protective order and custody of their daughter. Larry was granted supervised visitation with Christy and custody of Derek at the 15 year old’s request. Paula was granted visits with Derek, the first to occur that evening, August 10, 1993.

After the Judge issued her ruling from the bench I spoke with an emotionally drained Paula in a small adjoining conference room. She embraced me and then said that she would be satisfied even if the only thing she accomplished was to free her daughter from the violence. These were to be Paula’s last words ever spoken to me.

That evening Paula took Derek to the Metro North Theater to see “Robin Hood, Men in Tights”. Popcorn in hand, they had just taken their seats to watch the previews of coming attractions. Derek stood, faced his mom, and pulled a handgun from his jeans. He leveled the barrel at Paula and methodically fired six bullets into her. She died at the scene.

Derek was taken into custody. The police investigation resulted in murder charges filed against both Derek and Larry. I was called to testify in Larry’s trial. The evidence established that Larry provided Derek with the firearm and ammunition. He had taken Derek to a remote location to practice killing his mother. Larry placed a target and instructed the 15 year old to shoot and pretend that it was Paula. Larry also told Derek that there would be insurance money from Paula’s death that would make them rich. They would escape to Canada and live in comfort.

Both Larry and Derek were convicted of murder and received life sentences. Larry died of heart failure in prison on December 27, 2016. Derek remains in prison, two applications for parole having been denied. His next eligibility for parole occurs in November 2019.

Christy was placed with caring foster parents. I participated in her later adoption by those folks. Christy went on to college, my wife and I traveled to attend her wedding, and she is the loving mother of a darling little boy. We remain in touch with each other to this day.

Until recently I never fully appreciated the impact that I had as an attorney on the life of that courageous 11 year old girl. Here is what she wrote to me shortly after the 25th anniversary of her mother’s death:

“Pete, as my mom would say about you, “he is a good man.” You truly are. In a time when things she confided in you were the types of things you’d only read about in a murder mystery novel or see in the movies, you believed her. You gave her a voice that she would’ve never had without you. Although she died, her legacy lives on and with it are stories of a silly attorney, full of jokes for a little girl, one who stared in a play (which btw the little girl went on to do theater), one with a PHOTOCOPY MACHINE, who let her photocopy her hand for the very first time! But also a stern attorney who put that little girl in her place a time, ok or maybe two. A hard nosed attorney who fought tooth and nail for that Mom and little girl. And a man that stayed present long after his client was gone, watching out for that little girl, through trials and court proceedings and even by showing up on her wedding day. A man that still today keeps in contact with that little girl. A man that really did hold both of their hands and changed their lives forever. You are always instrumental in this story. You, Pete, are a good man…a great man!”

Paula’s wish, expressed in her last words to me, was granted.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. There were other victims of the fallout from Larry’s abuse. Chief among them were Paula’s parents who were good people tortured by what they saw their daughter endure and helpless to intervene. May they also Rest In Peace.

September 7, 2018. The Bell Curve of Life.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

In the course of our travels we have often witnessed various forms of risk taking behaviors. Stunts on motorcycles rocketing down the road, aggressive driving in other forms, and folks dangling their feet over the edges of cliffs are just a few examples. Most of these risk takers are under 40 years old. Folks in my age group (post-60) tend to be a bit more cautious and circumspect of their mortality.

In the last 3 months 7 of my friends and professional colleagues have died. 5 from illness, one the victim of a tragic accident, and this last week one the victim of suicide.

It was not so many years ago that encountering death among friends and acquaintances was rare. These days I am becoming increasingly aware that the odds in the lottery of life are slowly shifting against me and in favor of “the house”. My Mother recently remarked that Christine and I are blessed to have so many friends both near and far (we agree!). In the same breath she sadly noted that all of her long time friends are “gone”. Two weeks ago we celebrated both my father-in-law’s 100th birthday and our newest grandchild’s first birthday. One of the few things that those bookends of life share in common is that while they are both loved, they have few friendships. Little Lennon is too young to have yet made friends in this life, while Bill has outlived most of his. Lennon and Bill are at opposite ends of the Bell Cure of Life and Death. In our 60’s, Christine and I are approaching the peak of the curve. At age 84 statistics say that a flip of the coin has the same odds as whether we will be alive or not.

None of this is morbid or depressing to me. It is reality and much of the reason that I so passionately pursue travel. A judge once remarked to me that “Lawyers don’t retire… they just die at their desks.” There is some truth to that, although I know a few who are the exceptions and I long ago determined to be among those who would retire.

To you who are closer to my age I offer, don’t put off until tomorrow the things that you may find you are then unable to do. To you who are much younger I pray you will see your careers as a means to an end and not an end in itself. Have Fun, Do Good (as in both your best, and what is right), and Be Safe for the sake of those who love you. And finally to the few of you who silently despair of life each day, please share your secret with someone and be open to help.

San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge is a suicide magnet. In 2013 there were 46 who jumped to their death… in the preceding years it is estimated that over 1,600 have jumped with a 98% certainty that they would not survive. I read of a study where the author interviewed a number of those few who did survive. The thought that they uniformly held in common is that at the moment they let go of the bridge they regretted the decision.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. My friend Mark ended his life this last week. He was a brilliant scientist, a gifted athlete, and an incredibly caring and generous man. I count myself among the many who wonder why and wish that I could have intervened.

August 29, 2018. Port Crescent Michigan. Far Flung Friends

Posted on by Pete Schloss

We are again spending the night on the shores of Lake Huron, this time in Michigan’s Port Crescent State Park.

It is hard to beat the view of waves breaking a matter of feet out the front door of our trailer, accentuated by the gentle sound of the surf. The cool off-shore breeze guarantees a good nights sleep in this dark sky park. Fingers are crossed for a cloudless evening.

Port Crescent recalls the memory of the thriving logging community that once occupied this spot in the mid to late 19th Century. The shores were believed to hold an inexhaustible supply of timber. As with most things ecological, the capacity of humans to exhaust the inexhaustible was gravely underestimated. The decades long accumulation of “slash” (discarded remnants of logging and milling operations) on Michigan’s “Thumb” Peninsula were a recipe for disaster.

A major forest fire in 1871 was a “treetop fire” that burned the tree crowns but largely left the remaining trees to die as they stood. Another fire was sparked in 1881 and became one of the worst conflagrations in US history. The tinder dry conditions, high winds, and the abundant fuel in the forests resulted in a flash fire that consumed over a million acres of the Peninsula’s towns and forests in the first 24 hours! This was to be known as the Great Thumb Fire. Few area residents were spared as the fire consumed oxygen, asphyxiating some, literally boiling others to death in the rivers, wells, and lakes where they sought refuge, and ending the lives of hundreds. Most of those who survived were left homeless by the onslaught. It was essentially the end of the town of Port Crescent. Here at the Park stands the base of a 120 foot tall smokestack, a legacy of one of the sawmills and the sole remnant of the town.

Switching gears… Today we stopped for breakfast at a local diner. In the men’s room was a sign that struck me as funny enough to warrent a picture.

Further along I found the message of the sign resonating with me and bringing me to contemplate the concept of “friendship”.

The friendships that we enjoy in our places of work and our communities are familiar to all of us. Those friendships are certainly valued, but easily taken for granted.

In our journeys we have become acquainted with hundreds of travelers (and Camino Pilgrims). Those friendships are built upon the foundations of our common undertakings. Those friendships are known from the start to have only a brief opportunity to flourish and to be enjoyed. Appreciation of the comradeship is left for one’s memory as there are no guarantees that paths will ever cross again.

Flowers on the arctic Tundra have a very limited time within which to fulfill their life cycle. They compress an entire season into a few weeks. Far flung friendships flourish (say that fast 10 times!!) in much the same way, igniting and maturing in the shortest of times… and then suffering a parting with no promise of renewal.

We are grateful for each of these encounters. We are fortunate that there are occasions that our life path again intersects with that of far flung friends. An encounter at a dump station in Texas with a reunion in Alaska… An shared campfire in Alaska followed by a chance encounter in Madrid Spain… Friendships forged on the Camino that continue to flourish in Kansas City or are renewed in Colorado, Canada, the Netherlands… Friendships sparked by email or Facebook communications that are later treasured in person in Wales, California, New Hampshire, or upstate New York…

We do not take these friendships for granted. Whenever the prospect for renewal occurs it is cause for celebration whether it is a friend from school days, or a visitor from New Zealand. Each is a blessing and an affirmation that life is good.

Peace Everyone. Pete

August 27, 2018. Tawas Michigan. Solo Camping Is Rarely Solitary.

Posted on by Pete Schloss

The majority of our time “on the road” is spent together. However as I have previously observed, Christine and I have “travel libidos” that are slightly out of sync. She is often ready to return home a week or two before me and I am usually ready to leave home a week or two sooner than her. To address this I typically take a couple of short (7-10 day) solo outings each year. Such was the case a few weeks ago when I spent a week at Stockton Lake in Missouri.

Solo camping has its virtues. I find that I am more aware of my thoughts, I tend to be more focused on relaxing, and my appreciation for Christine becomes heightened. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.

Solo camping rarely turns out to be solitary camping. While at Stockton Lake I was visited by a camper Kathleen, and a sailboater, Craig. Each of those encounters was memorable. I detailed those meetings in my posts which were published at that time. However, I neglected to include another of those camping friendships.

Another Casita pulled into the campground. Casita owners often seek one another out, so it was not unexpected that the owner would wander my way to say “Hi”. It was a bit unusual that he and his wife would invite me to dinner. It was totally unexpected that dinner would include sautéed squid on a stick, huge sautéed prawns on a stick, and a large Pacific Ocean fish that was roughly the size and shape of a 14” cast iron skillet.

David and his wife Badeth spend 4 months of the year at their home in Missouri and the remaining 8 months of each year at their beautiful beach home in the Philippines. David was born and raised in the States and Badeth is a native of the islands. They were joined at camp by her sister Josephine and nephew Ian. David could not have known of my love of squid, shrimp, and eating “the unknown”. The women presented a feast and I was the beneficiary. The women also cooked a large inviting steak… it seems that in spite of his extensive time spent in the Philippines, David is not particularly fond of squid, shrimp, or eating “the unknown”.

This wonderful family also included me in their breakfast plans for the following morning. Their hospitality and friendship were extraordinary, but perhaps understandable as they explained the welcoming nature of the Philippine people and the fact that David was retired from over 40 years of being the talented handyman, construction coordinator, chauffeur, mechanic… and all around “Swiss Army” assistant to a convent of nuns! Even when camping solo one meets the nicest and most interesting people.

Peace Everyone! Pete