Profile of the Sociopath

Michael Munzer 

Found the following after Googling 'Sociopath" (http://www.mcafee.cc/Bin/sb.html). There is much more info on the lower part of the site.

I don't care who you vote for but I suggest you compare the candidate you support with this list. Of course, the one you oppose has all the symptoms.

This website summarizes some of the common features of descriptions of the behavior of sociopaths.

Glibness and Superficial Charm 

Manipulative and Conning 
They never recognize the rights of others and see their self-serving behaviors as permissible. They appear to be charming, yet are covertly hostile and domineering, seeing their victim as merely an instrument to be used. They may dominate and humiliate their victims. 

Grandiose Sense of Self 
Feels entitled to certain things as "their right." 

Pathological Lying 
Has no problem lying coolly and easily and it is almost impossible for them to be truthful on a consistent basis. Can create, and get caught up in, a complex belief about their own powers and abilities. Extremely convincing and even able to pass lie detector tests. 

Lack of Remorse, Shame or Guilt 
A deep seated rage, which is split off and repressed, is at their core. Does not see others around them as people, but only as targets and opportunities. Instead of friends, they have victims and accomplices who end up as victims. The end always justifies the means and they let nothing stand in their way. 

Shallow Emotions 
When they show what seems to be warmth, joy, love and compassion it is more feigned than experienced and serves an ulterior motive. Outraged by insignificant matters, yet remaining unmoved and cold by what would upset a normal person. Since they are not genuine, neither are their promises. 

Incapacity for Love 

Need for Stimulation 
Living on the edge. Verbal outbursts and physical punishments are normal. Promiscuity and gambling are common. 

Callousness/Lack of Empathy 
Unable to empathize with the pain of their victims, having only contempt for others' feelings of distress and readily taking advantage of them. 

Poor Behavioral Controls/Impulsive Nature 
Rage and abuse, alternating with small expressions of love and approval produce an addictive cycle for abuser and abused, as well as creating hopelessness in the victim. Believe they are all-powerful, all-knowing, entitled to every wish, no sense of personal boundaries, no concern for their impact on others. 

Early Behavior Problems/Juvenile Delinquency 
Usually has a history of behavioral and academic difficulties, yet "gets by" by conning others. Problems in making and keeping friends; aberrant behaviors such as cruelty to people or animals, stealing, etc. 

Irresponsibility/Unreliability 
Not concerned about wrecking others' lives and dreams. Oblivious or indifferent to the devastation they cause. Does not accept blame themselves, but blames others, even for acts they obviously committed. 

Promiscuous Sexual Behavior/Infidelity 
Promiscuity, child sexual abuse, rape and sexual acting out of all sorts. 

Lack of Realistic Life Plan/Parasitic Lifestyle 
Tends to move around a lot or makes all encompassing promises for the future, poor work ethic but exploits others effectively. 

Criminal or Entrepreneurial Versatility 
Changes their image as needed to avoid prosecution. Changes life story readily.

My vote goes to. . .

The primary campaign is over and the conventions are to come. But because the primary elections are so long, more than a year, I have come to a conclusion as to whom I am voting for.

To be up front about it, I have never voted for a Republican, though I feel that Eisenhower and Regan were good presidents. But Nixon and the Bushes? ‘Nuf said.

I’m not especially fond of Hillary, despite the fact that as a former New York resident, I voted for her as a senator. I think it’s her rather cold personality. But that is a cold efficiency as well. Her experience as a senator and secretary of state is impressive. I think that Republicans have overdramatized an honest mistake about the e-mails and Ben Gazi is something well beyond her control. But Hillary is like Teflon; scandals never seem to stick to her. Remember Whitewater?

Then there is The Donald. Assuming that he wins the nomination at the convention, he is simply a nightmare.

The businessman and reality star has appealed to what is the worst of America. He has picked out two minority groups, Mexicans and Muslims, as the reason for all our problems. It reminds me of Hitler and the Jews.

I don’t like Trump’s business decisions either. He has deliberately bankrupted his casinos several times, closing one of them. He has more than 200 lawsuits against him for not paying his bills. As I write this, the workers at one of his casinos are on strike. He has failed with many different businesses ranging from golf resorts, to wines and steaks. And Trump University is considered a complete fraud.

It seems that just about every day, he says something outrageous. Yet, despite his views, they appeal to many whites, especially the middle class. The fact is that the middle class has significantly disappeared for the first time in our lives. I am outraged by the way the one percent thrive. It’s not that I wish them harm, but I want good jobs.

I think that the reason why so much of our manufacturing has departed to other nations is simply labor costs. We invented television, now even the Japanese have lost that base to Koreans and Chinese. On my street, most of the cars are from Japan. Our clothes are made in Asia and South America. I still remember hearing “Look for the union label” commercials on radio in my childhood. We’ve gotten rid of tungsten light bulbs and got fluorescent, and then LED bulbs from China. Furniture? Ask the people in the Carolinas about that. And the list goes on. Most of our appliances, except washing machines, are made in Asia. The washing machines are from Mexico, as are our car batteries. Railroad cars, once the province of Pullman, are mostly from Canada. And what drives me insane, Apple computers and other products are generally Asian made. And when I need tech support, it comes from India. About 15 years ago, I got a masters degree in educational computing. When teaching didn’t work out, I figured I could get a job in tech support. No way. Tech support is in India.

These are the jobs that enabled out middle class to prosper. And The Donald’s bluster about them isn’t going to get them back. What is going to get them back is the refusal of the American people to stop buying foreign products. That ain’t gonna happen…ever, just ask the Walton family. You know, the family that owns Wal-Mart. Nearly all the clothes and hard goods they sell are imports. When did you last go to Wal-Mart, not because you liked it. But the price was cheap. Alas, so is the merchandise.

Of course, I could vote for no one. But that doesn’t give me the right to complain. I am tempted to vote for the candidate of a “minor” party, whom I may agree with but has no chance to win. But that would be a waste. I like a lot about what the Libertarians say. I don’t really care a whit about what happens to Iraq, Syria or Afghanistan. I don’t want my tax dollars to be spent in areas where people oppose us – or the puppet governments we support. Has anyone learned lesson from Vietnam? Nope. Bush took us to Iraq and Afghanistan. Obama kept us there. I want to see that money spent on schools. I want socialized medicine because I’m fed up with paying insurance companies who, in turn, spend billions on their political agendas.

This is the first time in my nearly 70 years of being a member of the American population that I feel I must vote for a candidate I don’t like. There was a time when our Presidents were people to be admired. What happened to the Ikes, JFKs and LBJs? And even the losing candidates had honor: Stevenson, Humphrey, Goldwater, Dole and Gore. Politics was once something to aspire to. When I was a child, kids wanted to grow up to be cowboys, cops, astronauts and Presidents. Now, they want to program computer games.

Our current President has been the victim of more hate than any President in American History. Is it because he is a Democrat, or because of his race? All he has done was oversee an economic recovery and the death of bin Laden. He has improved health care, despite what those who oppose him say. And he has suffered through this abuse with grace and dignity. It used to be that the opposing party didn’t make it their business to paralyze the country because it didn’t like the president. When Clinton faced a Republican Congress, the business of the people still continued despite the rancor and even the bullshit impeachment attempt.

Republicans remind me of spoiled children these days. They are furious that they failed to get Former President Clinton impeached (over a blow job, no less), and so they want to destroy the woman who stood by him. But they are so full of rage that they have created a monster for their candidate.

The only way we will be able to have a functional government is if we have the same party control both houses of Congress and the executive office. The last time that happened was when Obamacare was passed, based on the Massachusetts plan formed by the eventual Republican Presidential nominee. Despite the massive opposition funded by billions of dollars we have paid to the insurance industry, there has been no dramatic change in health care. The insurance companies, once non-profits such as Blue Cross, are still turning obscene profits, mainly because Obamacare forced more people to get health insurance. America’s greatness was when the Democrats took power in the great depression; When the Democrats stopped illegal racism and created a “Great Society” in the 1960s which included vital things like food stamps, Head Start and Medicare, and these days, when Obamacare gave health care to millions more before the tea party rose and strangled the government in a deliberate attempt to seize power instead of working within the system.

I am currently reading a series of science fiction books where an industrialist has created terror in order to foster his control of the country.  In the plot, mankind is faced with two alternatives, a peaceful but totalitarian state; or a state determined by individuals. The central power of our life force has been damaged, and there is a potential for the universe to collapse if it is not repaired. Totalitarian equals a saving of the life force, because there will be no conflict, as well as no freedom. But you take your chances with self-determination and the possibility of saving the life force?

How close is this to Trump, or for that matter Hillary? I don’t know. So here’s whom I’m voting for – are you ready? I have an absentee ballot and as I look at it I’m going to pray about it. Then I’m going to flip a coin. Heads=Trump, tails=Hillary.

I am open to suggestions.

Jubilee

"And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family."


-- Leviticus 25:8-10, KJV

Yesterday, June 22, 2016 marked a day of jubilee for members of the Morristown High Class of 1966 as we celebrate 50 years since our original graduation. 

A few of us marked the occasion by joining with this year’s MHS graduates. We will be having our actual reunion in September. 

It was very different than our graduation day. Ours’ was held at the MHS football field with 80-plus degree temperatures creating sweating people under our caps and gowns. Many of the girls, and even a few guys, wore shorts underneath,. But for the most part, we wore school clothes – dress shirts and slacks for the guys and dresses or skirt-blouse combos for the girls.

Members of the MHS Class of 2016 enjoyed the comfort of an air conditioned hockey arena, while we suffered in 80º + temperatures in direct sunlight at our football field 50 years ago.

It was hot with many speeches droning on from people we didn’t know of or care about such as the school superintendent and board of education president. My late father said he was most impressed with Class President Dave Edwards as he noted the class had elected “four negroes” (this was 1966 after all) as our class officers. The fact was that race had little to do with it. We were just fed up with the “popular kids” not only running things, but also screwing up badly. In fact, the African-American population was only about 10 percent of our class. As we started our senior year, the class was broke and had to have several fund-raising events like dances, plays and bake sales. As it was, our senior prom tickets were higher than any previous class. We simply elected people we both respected and thought would do the job. 

The class of 66 is a group of people who lived different lives but shared a common history. We experienced the Cuban Missile Crisis and JFK death in Dallas while we were in school. We learned to type on a manual machine and evolved into the digital age. We were torn apart by Vietnam and classmate Bob Moore’s death and several others who were wounded, both physically and mentally. We were the first to widely experiment with drugs, pioneering an epidemic and seeing several of our classmates die from them. One was a star basketball player. Another starred in our Spring musical. It was such a waste of wonderful people. Musically, we discovered the Beatles and were part of Woodstock, either in person or spiritually. We emerged into Disco and universally hate rap. Time flew by until suddenly it stood still on Sept. 11, 2001 and we thank God that this endless war is one we don't really have to fight.

Classmates from Morristown High Class of 1966. We walked with the current graduating class exactly 50 years to the date from our graduation. Members included Nancy Cacchio Prestige, Robert Cutter, Wendy Fleming Toye, Marcia Heiiden, Kenneth Heiden, Edmund Johnson, Arnie Lazaro, Patricia Mariano Mercurio, Pamela Meslar Tromans, Frank Saccamona, Carol Schoder Zamrok, Diane Trullo Ciatto, myself and Audry Zudick, who coordinated the event on our behalf. Top, in an adjacent room, getting ready; bottom: At Tiff's, a restaurant in Morris Plains after the graduation.

And so, a few of us took a walk with the class of 2016, but in an enclosed arena usually used for ice-skating. The building was quite cool, a welcome difference. I suppose we all did a lot of face watching as the graduates received their diplomas, in the same maroon frame that we did. I saw people who were ready for the future and others who didn’t have a clue – just like us. 

All of us looked at each other when one last name was mentioned – Sapp. Michael Sapp of our class was well loved. The two of us spent our junior-year spring as track team managers. After issuing equipment, we would sit around solving the problems of the world. In the autumn of 1965, Michael, who was parking cars at the local hotel, took a sports car and smashed it into a tree, killing himself. We were shocked to discover he was married and a baby was on the way. The day of the funeral, we had previewed "Goodbye, My Fancy," our autumn class play, at an assembly. Many of us then skipped school to attend Mike's funeral. The play opened that night and at an after-play party, Edwards and I sat quietly in the dining room reminiscing about Mike and wondering 'why?'

I suppose each of us wondered if Mike's legacy somehow lived on. Michael probably could have been a grandfather, or even a great-grandfather of the new grad. I tried to find the young man to see if he was descended from our classmate, but was unable to do so in the mob following the ceremony. 

So much of our history has been lost. At the 45^th reunion, we had already lost more than 10 percent of our class, probably more since many of them are unaccounted for. I never liked the concept of class reunions because I despised the cliques in the school. I decided to go because there were some things I felt I needed to say to certain people. And I did. But what I enjoyed the most was that there were no more cliques. As I moved about greeting people, what drew us together was the common history we shared, not the need to cling to a small group. 

And yesterday was the same. I wasn’t close to the people who joined me, but I was comfortable with them. We had played baseball together. We had a woeful freshman team, which won the state championship in out senior year. Alas, I blew my knee as a freshman. I tried to play football and baseball but my leg couldn’t hold up to it. I spent four years on the swim team, but throughout my leg was constantly popping as I tried to kick. And so I became involved in drama and debate. In our junior year, we started a fencing club but the next year it became a varsity sport and I couldn’t do two sports in one season.

At the end of September, we will have an actual class reunion. It is to be the last event in a year of jubilee. Last month, Bonnie Brae, a farm for boys where I spent four years held its 100^th and I was honored to speak at the ceremonies. Of course, yesterday was the 50^thanniversary of our high school graduation. But I am also thrilled to be attending the 50^th year reunion of the Ridge High School class of 1966. 

Our class at Ridge was much smaller than the Morristown class – about 100 compared to 400. In many ways, I consider this a more important reunion. I was with them from 6^th to 9^th grades while I was at Bonnie Brae. These classmates formed strong bonds with me. We played sports (including being on the worst freshman football team in New Jersey history), were in clubs together and my first girlfriend was there too. Ironically, most of the people I was close to transferred to other schools. But because the class was so small, everyone who had been a member at one time was invited.

Prior to attending Bonnie Brae, I was forced to be a vagabond. I went to six different schools in four years. I was always the ‘new’ kid and friendships rarely held. And I entered Morristown in the middle of my freshman year, once again the new kid. By then, just as at Ridge, friendships and cliques were firmly formed and I wasn’t really able to form more than a couple of lasting friendships. 

So I am involved in four days of jubilee. I have been looking forward to these days ever since my wife and I separated and then divorced five years ago. Those who know me understand that I have been on a quest to understand these school years and how they have affected me. And so in the final months of this quest, I am forced to conclude it. I will, of course, write my book – more of a life history than a book and probably to be read by only my children and grandchild. I also am in the process of printing my photo book. It will contain 30 pages of landscapes I have photographed in my travels.

But after that? 

I find myself in a relationship with, of all people, my senior prom date. I want to deepen this relationship. But what else will I do? I suppose it is part of the adventure we call life. And while this summer is a season dedicated to the past, it will soon be time to be back in the present. Yet one thing is different. I will do it with close friends, both past and present.

Causalities of War

I’m having a hard time putting my thoughts into words. Memorial Day weekend was physically tough as we ended up with three 90-degree days with incredible humidity. There were also violent thunderstorms to deal with. Much of this time was spent outdoors in the heat watching Emily’s granddaughter play in a softball tournament. And while I wanted to publish this on Memorial Day, I was overcome by sleep and now it is several days later. At the same time, much of what concerns this entry was helped by correspondence with my cousin, Rita, who is older than me and can remember much of what I want to write about.

On Memorial Day, my son John blogged a beautiful column about the causalities of war, focusing on his grandfather, the father (Tony) of his mother Rosemary, who never got over what happened to him in a horrendous battle in the North Africa during the Second World War. I know how that battle severely affected his relationship with his family and thus his mother’s relationship with our sons and me. Please read it at: http://munzermusings.blogspot.com/2016/05/memorial-day.html

But that is only half of how war has affected my children, so I am going to write about the other half. The characters include: James Alford (my grandfather on my mother’s side), Margaret Alford (James wife, better known as “Maggie.”) a second Margaret Alford (my mother, better known as Peggy and the youngest daughter of James and Maggie), Mary Alford (my mother’s oldest sister), Nellie Alford (my mother’s older sister), Rita (my cousin, daughter of Nellie) Tony (my late father-in-law who was wounded in Africa during World War II), Rosemary (Tony’s daughter and my former wife for more than 30 years) and John Munzer, my son who wrote the blog that inspired this.

On Memorial Day, I made a trip into Jersey City to visit Grandfather James’ grave. It was just the second time I visited the grave. Peggy never spoke of the grave. I couldn’t get her to tell me where it is. She once said, “they’re dead. It doesn’t matter. Who cares?”

The Jersey City gravesite, 2016, where James, Mary and Maggie are buried. I placed the flag there because the cemetery did not have him listed as a veteran.

What I did know of my grandfather was he was one of those young men who was placed in an untenable situation. He died in France during the First World War. Each war is usually very different. James’ war was called “trench warfare.” Armies dug in to defend themselves and for more than a year the front never differed by more than a mile. In the meantime, many new weapons such as aircraft and tanks bombed and shelled the trenches. Men were forced to take up their rifles and charge into unobstructed machine gun fire. It was wholesale slaughter. France lost 90 percent of its male generation. It was useless and impossible to stop the deadlock. And this all started because a crazed terrorist killed a minor member of the Austrian nobility.

Ironically, it was the second war James was involved with. My cousin Rita tells me he was also a member of Teddy Roosevelt’s “Rough Riders” of the Spanish- American war of 1898. But the two battles that group was involved in were one-day events with few casualties on the American side. And they were a cavalry unit, unlike James second turn as an infantryman.

Grandpa "Jim," James Alford, who served with the Rough Riders during the Spanish-American war and died in France about a month before World War I ended.

He died on Oct. 14, 1918 in France. It involved the last German offensive of the war, which ended five weeks later on November 18. Ironically, on that same day a British gas shell exploding in Belgium temporarily blinded Hitler.

As I said, this was my second visit to the grave. The first time, was in 2011 after I uncovered papers about its location long after my mother’s 1984 death. At that time, I discovered my mother had a sister, Mary, whom she never spoke of.

While I suppose that James’ death would be an incredible shock to his family, I discovered Monday that about 40 days after that, Mary, died. Peggy was probably around 6 when this happened. Mary was 12.

How could anyone cope with such a situation? These became hard times for the Alford family. According to Cousin Rita:

“My mother (Nellie) said Mary never complained about being sick. They talked a lot apparently. Your own mother (Peggy) would have been very young at this point and possibly didn't remember much of Mary. Another thing my Mom said often is that Mary always smiled. When she died, my mother, still a child herself couldn't believe it. She believed that, even though Mary spent most of her life in bed, she always seemed happy (and therefore healthy in the mind of my mother, another child). She told me she was shattered by her sister's death but she tried not to let on because her mother was suffering and she wanted to help. Thinking back, I realize how much like my mother that was.

Maggie loved Mary so much and talked of her throughout her life. She never really told me anything about her (at least not that I remember). Just that she was such a joy to her.”

Let’s take this a step further. Here you have a widow who is also in shock. Record keeping was haphazard and it took some time for Maggie to get survivor’s benefits. She was employed as a housekeeper.

According to Rita, “Maggie didn't begin to get her benefits for some time afterward. She took on a job as a kind of caretaker for an apartment where she and her daughters lived (possibly free or low cost, I don't know or remember). My mother (Nellie) who was about 11 or 12 piled her hair on top of her head to look older and got a job as a telephone operator to help out. Maggie told me Mom would come home from work and scrub the apartment floors so that she (Maggie) didn't have to. But according to my mother, it was Maggie who mostly did the scrubbing and everything else. She did sewing, and other odd jobs, among them handling some cooking for Jewish neighbors on days they were forbidden to do any work, and she nursed the sick. Only once, when Mom said it was a matter of putting food on the table for her two daughters, did she accept money for that. Even later in life, Maggie was one friends and neighbors called on to care for the sick. She couldn’t support two girls on that kind of money.”

And my mother, so young, became “Baby Peggy,” a Vaudeville act. Now I don’t know how a child so young could think of going into Vaudeville. So it must have been Maggie’s idea. It surely must have been another way of getting vital money in such a bad time. Now little Irish girls singing and dancing on stage was a staple of Vaudeville shows. Perhaps the most famous family of that era was the Four Cohan’s, with daughter Josie doing the singing and dancing. Her brother was the famous George M. Cohan, whose life was portrayed in “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Also famous in that era were Eddie Foy and his seven children.

"Baby Peggy," one of many cute Irish girls of that name who performed by singing and dancing in the Vaudeville era. It is likely she performed only in Jersey City, never making it to the New York Stage. In her older years, she sometimes got drunk and performed her songs and dances when she thought no one was watching, then cry herself to sleep.

But my mother “Baby Peggy,” wasn’t the only little Irish act of that name. A Google search reveals several of them and it is unlikely that my mother ever made it across the Hudson River to the New York stage.

But I have to speculate that the backstage environment had to influence Peggy. Vaudeville featured a variety of acts from singers to strippers -- some of whom weren’t exactly ideal companions for a child. From my own experiences in amateur theater, I know that the intensity of the stage brings about and breaks apart relationships. And I now wonder how much my mother experienced it? Rita says Peggy was always supervised, but how much did she pick up? She was a very intelligent woman. Is it possible that being forced into Vaudeville further traumatized this little girl?

Why do I say this? Because my mother’s life was filled with rage long before I was born, I wonder if being forced into Vaudeville, and hating it, combined with the twin deaths formed that rage?

As I look into history, my mother was part of something called “The Lost Generation,” who came of age during that war and its aftermath. The term was popularized by Hemingway who used it in a novel called “The Sun Also Rises.” This was a generation who matured during the 1920s, often called the “roaring twenties.” That decade was one of incredible change. Emerging from the shock of war, the era was one of technological achievement. By now, everyone had electric power and inventions like refrigerators changed the economic situation. There was great growth and prosperity.

And into that era came my Peggy, a “flapper,” a young woman who was intent on enjoying herself and flouting conventional standards of behavior. She smoked to excess (which killed her eventually). She drank way beyond excess (which destroyed her family relationships). And the sexual mores of the time were revolutionary. And Peggy lived in the center of it, New York City, with its many speakeasies (nightclubs serving illegal alcohol – it was prohibition). To her, I suppose, it was a wild and wonderful time, filled with excitement.

And then suddenly the stock market crashed in 1929. And Peggy somehow survived the Great Depression, hanging on to a job as a legal secretary at a large law firm. And that was followed by another world war. After Peggy died, I discovered that she had been married and divorced to a man named Walter Cannon during that war era. An unsuccessful songwriter, according to Rita, he was mostly supported by Peggy. But it was wartime. Is it possible she couldn’t handle the thought of another loss so she made a pre-emptive strike in divorcing him?

 

Peggy's life (clockwise): Left, with grandson John circa 1980: With husband John, circa 1946; With me and my dog Pupcorn, circa 1953; The flapper, circa 1920s; "Baby peggy," circa 1919; With Judge Harold Price, her boss from the 1960s through 1980s; and in adult one-piece baby pajamas, circa 1977.

Much of this is speculation. But it makes sense to me that I should inherit the trauma.

By the time she entered her 50s, Peggy was severely alcoholic. As a teenager, I sometimes watched her drunkenly singing “Baby Peggy” songs while dancing; and then crying herself to sleep. She frequently battled with Nellie’s family. I am not sure why. Rita speculates that it was because of the stability of that family. I am very aware of the contrast between my cousins and myself. All three of them had generally stable lives without much drama. The brothers were long-term employees while I bounced from job to job (though that was also the nature of the businesses I was in).

But then, Peggy battled with everyone, especially her mother. But she told me often how horrible her mother Maggie’s death from cancer was. A few years before I was born, Maggie joined James and Mary at that grave in Jersey City. Perhaps that additional trauma was why she refused to let me know the locale of the grave. In my entire life, she never visited the grave, though sometimes on Memorial Day she would say to never forget that my grandfather was a hero in World War I.

Shortly before she left our family around 1954, she posed for this photo which included my dog and Cousin Luke (Red) on right. I'm in the middle and on the left is Bruce, a friend.

Much of this is speculation. But it makes sense to me that I should inherit the trauma.

And so, war has, without doubt ,impacted both Rosemary’s and my lives in many ways -- and our own children have been influenced by these wars that never ended in our families. Our marriage was filled with conflict and we sought counseling. One of the counselors said there was nothing wrong with either of us. We were simply survivors of our parent’s traumas and quite courageous. And make no mistake; Tony caused a lot of hell for Rosemary. I once bought her a Ginsu knife for Christmas and she wouldn’t go near it. She said it was memories of her father waving a kitchen knife at her and babbling his “I killed Germans with by bare hands” routine when she was a child.

And so, I must conclude, that in many ways war has also impacted my children, even after three generations. I find it ironic that, after living with the stress of my mother’s trauma and the stress of the my marriage to Rosemary, that after being diagnosed with depression for decades, then bipolar, my shrink finally figured out I was suffering from PTSD.

It isn’t just the causalities of war to think about on Memorial Day, but also the descendants – casualties in our own way.

Time Passages

Well I'm not the kind to live in the past

The years run too short and the days too fast

The things that you lean on, are the things that don't last

Well it's just now and then, my line gets cast into these

Time passages

There's something back there that you left behind.

Time passages

Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

-  Al Stewart, Time Passages

On Saturday, May 21, 2016, my line certainly was cast into some passages. A little background is necessary. Bonnie Brae Farm for Boys is celebrating its 100^th anniversary today, and much to my amazement, I was asked to be a speaker.

I was greatly honored. Bonnie Brae is a place where I found safety and sanity between 1959 and 1963. The draft of the speech will follow, but I wanted to share some of the moments today.

Judge Harry Osborne in 1916 started a haven for us troubled boys. The judge questioned the effectiveness of locking up teen boys instead of providing a place where they could overcome their issues and be productive members of society.

Two of the men I played football with in those days were there, and others joined us as we spoke of a time long ago and far away. In that time, the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, we were perceived to be the dregs of society. But you know what? We all have college degrees and several of us have master’s degrees. A few of us became ministers.he Instead of being burdens, we are successful men making a contribution to our community.

Myself (left), Gary Minion (center) and George Tate. We played football for the Bonnie Brae football team and later at Ridge High. George is in the school's hall of fame. We each grew up a few years apart. Back in 1959, Gary was at least six inches taller than me, and I was a couple inches taller than George. But as we all had growth spurts and this is the result.

We are proud of our heritage, no longer ashamed of being different. As a younger alumnus who spoke said, ”I’m awesome!”

Some random thoughts along the way  -- I was asked by one of the residents who were parking cars if I was an “illumini”? I had to explain that illumini are authors of original ideas that create value; while alumni are people who attended a school.I didn't try to go through the difference between alumni and alumnus 

The dining room we ate in has been converted into a theater, but most of the men who were there in my era still called in the dining hall.

This is a rendering of the proposed new 18-room cottage, We slept four to a dorm room while the new cottage will have individual rooms.

Today, it featured a display of a proposed 18-room dorm. I lived in cottages with four bedrooms with four boys each. These boys will each have their own room.

The alumnus who gave the invocation is the pastor of a Mennonite church located next to the gym where I work out. I’ve been looking for a church where I’m comfortable in. He invited me to join them tomorrow. Perhaps I will.

Because I was a speaker, I was considered an “honored guest.” I thought how in 1959 I considered myself a 10-year-old juvenile delinquent.

When I wrote the words I shared, I considered it to be a speech. Many people congratulated me on my “testimony,” a word that is often used in church when people share what God has done in their lives. I suppose it was.

I thoroughly enjoyed the drum corps that Bonnie Brae has in place these days. Did you know they represented New Jersey in President Obama’s inaugural parade?

The Bonnie Brae Drum Corps has marched in President Obama's inauguration, the only band from New Jersey in the parade.

Bonnie Brae was originally a working farm. It sold off its farmland after I left, but many shared the memories of the farm. When I was introduced by the grandson of the founder, he had just spoken of the chickens we raised. As I stepped up to the microphone I said “and cleaning their coops wasn’t very much fun” to much laughter.

We had a buffet, with much variety. In addition to hot dogs and burgers were sausage and peppers, chicken and many salads. It was easy for a diabetic like myself to find plenty of food, not to mention diet cola.

There was a game area set up for visiting children. I watched one boy, somewhere around 9 years old, try over and over to sink a foul shot as the current residents kept giving him the ball while coaching and encouraging him. The venue was the same as an ice rink/basketball court where some of the older boys did the same for me more than 50 years ago.

I lived at Bonnie Brae at a time when the ice rink/outdoor basketball court was installed. In the foreground is the dedication plaque.  the venue was used for a children's game area Saturday.

Unlike in my time, Bonnie Brae boys do not go to public school. Their school is self-contained and has many activates such as an ultra-modern video studio.

I did not realize it, but there is an alumni association that I will be joining. We already started talking about re-working their website.

When I submitted my speech, it ran about 15 minutes. I had to cut it to five and while it made sense, I’ve decided to print the entire speech. There’s too much in it to ignore.

* * *

Good Afternoon, I am very honored to be asked to share with you today.

My name is Michael Munzer and I was a resident from August 1959 to January 1963.

Bonnie Brae’s structure was very different then. We were a working farm. And many of us were involved in the agricultural part of Bonnie Brae.

Behind Osborne Cottage, the only surviving building of four Tudor-style cottages we lived in, was a chicken coop where I helped feed the chickens and gathered their eggs for the dining hall.

Osborne cottage is the last of the oreginal Tudor cottages we lived in.

Boys mowed down hay, and harvested corn. We sheared sheep, took care of pigs, fed and sometimes milked the cattle that gave us our milk. Some boys even slaughtered the animals that were served in the dining hall -- and somehow coped with the nastiest flock of geese who made it their mission to attack in numbers every time one of us would get too close. One of my greatest thrills was being allowed to ride a tractor for the first time with an older boy as we cleared a cornfield.

Between what was once the administration building and the swimming pool were cherry and apple trees. The apples were turned into a wonderful homemade cider. But we frequently climbed the trees to grab some fruit. If we were caught, we were fined.

The area between the administration building and the pool once contained an orchard. Alas, only one tree remains. 

At a talent show Pee Wee Clark and a couple of others did a quick skit. Pee Wee was caught picking an apple by Coach Macomb Billows.

“That’s going to cost you a quarter,” the coach said. Pee Wee’s response: “What? I can get them cheaper in the store.“

Life on the farm was far from ideal. We came here as troubled boys. It was well before Bonnie Brae’s current mission of working as a special education school. My story is fairly rough, but typical for those days.

You have to understand that in the era when I arrived, our society was very conformist and nuclear families was the norm. Single parent families were made to feel like outcasts.

Four years before my arrival, my alcoholic, drama queen mother staggered out of the house one afternoon saying, “Tell your father I’m leaving him.”

Unfortunately, she came back to take me with her. In four years, I lived in 11 different apartments, a transient hotel, plus several summer sleep away camps. And I attended six different school systems. By the time I arrived at Bonnie Brae, I had been in the juvenile system since the age of 10. I was definitely nuts and terrified of this strange new place.

But let me tell you the most important moment of my life. It occurred on the second or third day I was here. They had a football team for middle schoolers. Well, I liked to play football with my friends so I checked it out. They started off by having us run a couple of laps around the athletic field. Running laps certainly wasn’t fun and I told the coaches it wasn’t for me.

But a week later, I decided I needed to be a part of something. Most of the boys went to public school then. And I was confined to the small in-house school. I simply wasn’t ready to handle public school again but I needed to have friends.

I approached the coach and asked for another chance. And I got it. No one had ever done that before. I got bumped around quite a bit by boys who were a few years older and larger than me, but I stuck it out.

Photo of me after football practice taken by my aunt. Note the "old school" jersey made out of heavy wool. In the background on the left is a chicken coop i worked in.

I only got into one play that season. The other team, Manville I think, was punting. Coach put me in and told me to block the punt. I was so psyched up that I blasted past the lineman and the punter had a wild look on his face, as I was about to hit him even before he started to kick. He ran away from me, right into the arms of my teammates. The next year, I was a starter.

The game, the discipline of learning plays and techniques and relying on my teammates started me on a more balanced path. By the time I was a freshman at Ridge High, I even made the jayvee squad for a few games, though, with only 13 players, we probably had the worst freshman team in the history of New Jersey.

Football gave me a chance to be part of something greater than myself.  And it happened because Bonnie Brae gave a very troubled kid a second chance. 

And there was more than sports. There was consistency. When living with my mother before Bonnie Brae, I was cooking for myself because I never knew when my mom would get home – at the age of 10. Here, we got three great meals every day. And at each meal, Mr. Persico, the director, kept us well informed of goings on at the farm. To this day, I still use the grace we said at every meal:

For our homes, our Lord’s blessings, our lives, our health, 

our food, our father we thank thee, Amen. 

Best of all were the houseparents. I started with Mom and Pop Wolfinger. Like most of the houseparents, they were imported from the coal country of Pennsylvania. They taught us traditional values, and enforced them. At first. I regarded them as my jailers, but over time I was treated with kindness and, most of all, consistency.

While each set of houseparents in the four cottages I lived in had different styles, they were all fair. And they lived with us. They had an apartment right in our cottage. And they took care of things like laundry and other needs, just like regular parents.

 After nearly a year studying at Bonnie Brae’s small in-house school, I was allowed into the Bernards Township school system, where I prospered athletically, academically, socially, and intellectually. More importantly, I was with the same group of students for four grades and I developed friendships with people I am still in contact with today, thanks to social networking.

There was so much more I loved about Bonnie Brae. In the summer, there were weekly trips to various shore destinations. I loved the Steel Pier in Atlantic City where we saw Brenda Lee and Bobby Rydell entertain. Those were top acts in that time. And, does anyone remember Palisades Park.

Bonnie Brae also gave me leadership opportunities. To my knowledge, I was the only boy to ever reach the star scout rank. I was made senior patrol leader and was deeply involved in planning camping trips with the scoutmasters. And then I shared those skills with other scouts.

I also served on the Cottage Council representing Osborne. I was in 8^th grade then. I convinced the council to let the 8^th graders attend the dances in our library. But then I couldn’t get a date. I was rejected by three different girls, all of whom I had crushes on. Now simply crushed, I spoke with Mr. Persico about it. He suggested I ask a friend instead of a “girl.” And so I asked Valerie. One would think she was rather plain in school. But dressed up and made up, she was an extraordinary beauty. All the guys were jealous. Shortly after leaving Bonnie Brae, I invited her to a teenage nightclub in Morristown. On the way home, we shared our first kiss. And then several more. I’ll never forget those delicious moments of innocence. Thank you Mr. P!

I entered Bonnie Brae pretty much crazy. I left as someone who could be successful. And I needed the skills Bonnie Brae gave me. My mother soon returned to drinking and drama. I worked a lot of jobs in high school, mostly lifeguarding at the local Y, and doing other things like ushering at the movie theater and delivering chicken delight when I got a license. I worked most evenings simply to avoid the insanity. But by then, Bonnie Brae had given me the support and skills to deal with it. Many employers have commented on my strong work ethic and drive to succeed. I learned those things here.

I finished high school. Entered junior college and found my true calling in writing. I started as a part-time reporter for the Morris County Daily Record. After serving in the Army—which was fairly easy for me since I was used to regimentation – I wrote for newspapers in Morris County for many years. When my wife became pregnant, I began writing for corporations, such as Canon, about photography. I also worked for the inventor of the MRI scanner, providing advertising, sales and technical support.

While writing was my passion, I was in an auto accident and developed carpal tunnel syndrome. Unable to type for several years, and inspired by teachers at Bonnie Brae and Ridge High, I went back to college at the age of 43, getting both a bachelor and masters degree -- the first in my family to do so. And I had a second career as a teacher, including stints working with incarcerated students. I was fairly popular because I understood what they were going through. I gave them the fairness, respect and consistency I had when I was here.

When I retired about six years ago, I was living on Long Island. I decided to revisit my past. There is a huge difference between truth and perception and the first day out I returned to Bonnie Brae to meet with your outgoing director, Bill Powers. Bill graciously gave me several hours, talking about my time here and going with me on a tour.

It was wonderful to see the same things as well as the changes. Towards Metcalf cottage, there is a small field where we played baseball every day after school. I showed him where home plate was, and the tree we used for first base.

Cars were parked on a small field that we played baseball on after school just about every day. Unless, of course, it was snowing.

But I was in for an even greater blessing that day. As we talked, I mentioned how we had to say “Bonnie Brae” to the public school cafeteria cashier to get our free lunch. I told him how I felt so different from the other kids. Bernards Township is a very affluent community and we were the only ones who got free lunches. Bill told me that I was indeed different. But, my reaction to my circumstances was perfectly normal. It opened my eyes about a period where the shadow of an outcast was always behind me. And it gave me a feeling of peace I haven’t had in years. And so, nearly 50 years after leaving Bonnie Brae, this wonderful place is still helping me.

I’d also like to say a few words to those who are considering becoming donors. At the beginning of our time today, I mentioned I was, at the age of 10, already in the juvenile system. I grew into a productive member of society and in my retirement years I have travelled all over the country volunteering at state and national parks – giving back. It is also something I learned here.

And so, instead of being a career criminal due to spend many years in jail -- if I survived, I am honored to share my story with you. If you look at the anniversary logo, it says Bonnie Brae has served 10,000 boys and 10,000 families. And that’s also 10,000 people who were given the second chance that saved me and so many other boys. Donating to Bonnie Brae is simply a way to make all our lives better.

Thank you for allowing me to share and may God bless you as much as He blessed me by leading me to Bonnie Brae.

Signs of the times: The top sign was taken in 2010, but was also the same sign that's there in the early 1960s when I was there. Below is the new sign to celebrate 100 years of service.