Just Plain Bill

The MRI “Symphony”

I recently underwent an MRI scan in the hopes of accurately diagnosing the cause of a persistent pain in my neck. (Not that “I’m” a pain in the neck – at least not that I know of – but one doesn’t always know, does one?)

Having undergone an MRI scan 23 years ago, I knew what to expect, and although I found that nothing much had changed in nearly a quarter of a century, there was one noticeable difference.

I became intrigued with the pitch in the quite loud sound made by electricity and releasing coils in the machine. (To be more specific, Ron Schenone, writing in Lockergnome, provides the following description: “Electricity passing through the metal coils creates a magnetic field that sends out magnetic waves. These waves then measure the tissue in our bodies and produce an image.”)

Being aware of how the MRI machine worked, my focus shifted to identifying the pitch the grinding noise was making – the “note” on our 12-tone scale. I know some people have perfect pitch – being able to correctly identify the note that’s being played – but unfortunately I don’t. Some music teachers have told me that I have relative pitch though, labeling the note a fifth away from the correct note. (Enough with the technical music talk.)

Upon hearing a single pitch during the majority of my 20-minute stay in the MRI tube, I surmised the following: the continuous beat reminded me of the accompaniment to Turkey in the Straw, but was spot on to the Processional by Josh Garrels.

Ta-Da! Although I’d survived another MRI thanks to my relative pitch, I was still quite relieved when all the “music” stopped and I knew the helpful image was ready for my physician to diagnose the cause of my pain in my neck.  

Just Plain Bill

Cross walker or Jaywalker?

Just the other day, when I found myself dodging cars while crossing the street, I realized that for as long as I can remember, I usually jaywalk instead of using the crosswalk.

I can’t remember if at one point in my life, I made a conscious decision to jaywalk – which is against the law in many cities – because I was in such a hurry to get somewhere. My wife doesn’t do it, my children don’t do it, and as far as I know, my grandchildren don’t do it as well.

Thinking back to my youth, I don’t believe either of my parents or my sister did it either. I wonder what triggered this lasting act of lawlessness?

In the grand scope of things, I don’t believe this misbehavior even registers on the meter of sins of commission or omission. And, maybe a little more troubling, I don’t know if there will be a reason to stop.

Maybe the time will come when I misjudge the speed of the oncoming cars. Or maybe I’ll receive an expensive citation – the fine is $75 in one city where I’ve lived. Will I then modify my behavior from rebellious jaywalker to conforming cross walker? It’s hard to say with certainty, but I’m inclined to answer “probably not.” Like other habits I’ve developed, this seems to be done unconsciously. It may be so ingrained in my 76-year old personality by now, or that I just cherish saving time, but I accept that I may well be destined to live out my remaining years as a defiant jaywalker.  

Just Plain Bill

“One of our plane’s 2 propellers

is not turning!”

On occasion, when the weather pattern includes rain in Oakland, California, the airplanes planning to land in San Francisco start their decent right over the place where I live.  One day last week, I watched the planes flying low - and I was reminded of an incident from a day over 50 years ago.

I was flying back to Camp Pendleton Marine base from Pt. Magoo, near Santa Barbara, following a parade with my 1^st Marine Corps Division band. We were passengers in a Navy R4Q, also known as a “flying boxcar” – named for its bulbous shape primarily designed to carry military equipment. As was customary, a few of the band members were sleeping, a few were playing cards, and the rest were talking about how we’d had to use our weekend on duty and were missing some time off.

There was the usual amount of complaining going as Corporal Sanchez looked out the window of our plane, then said “One of our plane’s 2 propellers is not turning!”

All of a sudden the card game and all complaining stopped. We became glued to the windows as we watched the plane struggle to gain enough elevation to clear the mountains on our way down south towards Camp Pendleton. We’d flown enough to know these planes were not designed to fly on one engine and here we were, starting to climb over the mountain range north of Santa Barbara on our way to our landing field about 100 miles away. 

After Corporal Sanchez’ remark, the only sound to be heard was that single engine. It seemed to me the chatter of the passengers turned instantly into the sound of a collective breath being held. The complete absence of any noise by that group of grumbling passengers is one of those examples when silence really can be deafening.

Thanks to the skill of our pilots – and just a little bit of luck – our flying boxcar had gained just enough elevation at the time the engine quit to allow our plane to make a long, slow glide on that single engine into the closest military air field.

We were all overjoyed of course, but the tenor of our conversation changed because we all knew that only moments earlier, our lives had been in real danger. After that, everyone seemed a little kinder, more patient, and more supportive of each other on the trips that followed. Together, we had experienced a very scary event that could have been our last and final memory. 

Just Plain Bill

The Slow Passing of a Dear Friend

The Long Goodbye is a 1953 novel by Raymond Chandler. “Long Goodbye” is also a phrase that Nancy Reagan used in describing the onset of Alzheimer’s disease that her husband, President Ronald Reagan, eventually succumbed to.

I’m experiencing my own “long goodbye” to a dear friend, a man of my own age, “PJ” a/k/a my “Bunk”. While sharing time in Iwakuni, Japan while on duty in the U.S. Marine Corps in 1958, we also shared an up/down bunk. We’ve been close ever since, even though we’ve lived on opposite coasts of the country.

PJ has lived a robust, energized and creative professional life, serving as professor of choral music at the University of Delaware and as director of the Delaware Singers, a professional choral group. He helped raise a beautiful daughter, Anne, who also happens to be my Bunk’s physician and mom to his three beloved grandchildren.

My wife and I surprised Bunk for his 70^th birthday. We flew to Delaware and amused him with several pictures of his Marine-Corps self during our time together in Japan. We also brought along music we both enjoyed, from the late 50s. We were blessed with being born at a time when our mandatory military service came when our country was not at war.

So here we are in 2014. Bunk was diagnosed with premature dementia about two years ago and his condition has deteriorated steadily over that time. I visited him about 18 months ago and we made daily visits to Dunkin’ Donuts, reminiscing over the exciting times we shared in Japan. When I returned about three months ago, it was evident his short term remembrances were erratic, but his long term memory was still there. I was so very grateful.

I primarily stay in touch with Bunk through Anne, as he’s not been able to answer or return phone calls. I pledge to continue to send my friend boxes of Harry and David pears, which he really enjoys.

I just wish there was more I could do.

Although Bunk’s condition reminds me of my own mortality, it’s caused me to stop and count my blessings of relatively good health and memory. I am grateful to have both so that I can continue on with a passion… a purpose in life that Bunk and I shared – teaching.