On A More Personal Note

I've always enjoyed music. From as far back as I can recall, there was music in my life. I was raised in a family where music was a part of our daily routine. The family piano may have been the catalyst which fueled the passion in my siblings, and myself, and helped to embed a lifelong appreciation for any harmonious collection of notes and lyrics.

I vividly remember many of my childhood years  —from the mid 60s to the early 70s— stumbling through song after song on my trumpet. The venue most commonly was my father's television repair shop, and it usually included my background accompaniment; a state-of-the-art high fidelity stereo record player, a Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass album, and of course, my father.

Dad enjoyed my feeble attempt at mimicking Mr. Alpert, and there is little doubt in my mind that I felt as though I was the next best thing to him. But that was then, and as time marches on, all good things come to an end. I sold my trumpet the year that I graduated from high school.

My interest in this writing is more about pleasing myself, than the reader. Selfish, but so it is. I seem to have a strong and necessary desire to put my thoughts on paper. Music, although always an important part of my life, has now evolved into something more. As quickly as an uncontrollable disease can take over and consume a human body, music, without warning, has perforated my human shell, and like a fiery molten lava, traveled through my internal passageways, arriving neatly into every single cell —and in tune.

It wasn't until August of 2011 that I was reunited with that simple piece of brass plumbing, commonly referred to as a trumpet. Interestingly enough, I still had a passion for that particular brass instrument —although not my personal horn from the 70s.

Enough said about trumpets, brass and the 70s. Let's talk about how this music thing, this disease I have acquired, has affected my inner self.

I'll make a simple statement that may explain what I feel today, regarding my involvement in the music and entertainment business. Taking the chance that this may seem strange to you, I'll relate this new found career to my past career of 30 years; law enforcement.

Here is my simple statement —To fully understand something, you have to live it.

Although retired from the badge for seven years, there is still a love for the police profession along with a protective instinct that manifests itself within the deepest corridor of my prefrontal cortex. Simply stated, if you are of the type who tends to ridicule, second guess, dis or badmouth the police, you are not a friend of mine. Ask any of those whom have posted negative police comments on any of my social networking forums and you'll find that they were once friends of mine. Key words "were once", relatives included. Consider also, my wife's profession as a kindergarten teacher. Often is the time that she hears of how "fun" her job must be, totally discounting the fact that she spends hundreds of hours with a small tribe of five year old "cute" children. Cute children that she has the responsibility of teaching to read, write, solve math problems, prepare for passing mandated state testing, teach basic computer skills, ad infinitum. Kindergarten isn't what it once was folks. It's oh so easy to do a job, when you don't have that job.  Back to music.

Until I started playing and performing, I was simply a spectator. I had a love for music and as Patti (Mrs. Xavier) frequently states, when talking about my music, "he always had (has) music playing of one genre or another." But again, I was only a spectator. I didn't realize what music truly was about. Certainly over the years, I had songs I liked, artists I liked and those that didn't interest me. But now, I look and listen with a keen ear. An ear I have always had, but the skills of which, I hadn't honed. Until now.

Spending a typical day for me includes not only playing and practicing my brass contraption of a musical instrument, but also listening intently and analyzing song after song. Listening to a variety of artists, song writers and singers, and often times mimicking their voice —or trying desperately to mimic— by way of my horn. As a young boy may dissect any small creature, I dissect each song, often times note by note.  My horn is my voice.

I have learned to love music in a totally different way than ever before. I listen intently with these same two ears, but in a different manner, and for different reasons. I analyze songs, piece by piece. So much work, and so much effort has been put forth by so many singers and musicians that at times it just seems unbelievable to me. All of this studying, practicing and effort on my part has enabled me to view the world of music on a different level, a different playing field. I know instantly, when listening to a song now, if it would make for a good instrumental (horn) song for me. I usually can tell the difficulty level of that song long before attempting to make it my own.

I'm thrilled, as you the reader have probably surmised, at my newest of ambitions. The world of music consumes me...always. Nary a moment goes by when I am not feeling a song deep in my soul or in that prefrontal cortex I mentioned previously.

Should I have pursued a career in music back in the 70s rather than that as a uniformed officer? My answer is, "probably not." I enjoyed a really good career and totally enjoyed my accomplishments over that span of years serving and protecting. The money and benefits made for a comfortable living too. Today, I enjoy reflecting on those times now and then, in between songs that I perform for those willing to listen to me.

~Safe Living~

-The Chief

 http://bornagainbrass.com/

Old Dogs and Children...

I've always liked kids. Some people are dog people and there are cat people too. I've never really been a fan of pets, although recently I have learned to enjoy the company of an older dog. Probably because we have a lot in common, and it has to do with aging and arthritis. We mostly connect in that way, because we understand each other.

This story is really more about children, and not about animals though. It's about the enjoyment that I get from teaching and being around people. Children are especially fun to teach. Many times during my career, I felt that I had missed my calling. I realized --sometime back in the 80s-- that I really enjoyed being a training instructor, even though there was a time during my early police career that the thought of addressing a group of trainees seemed to transform me into a trembling bundle of nerves.

I have done my share of training seminars and in-service lessons over the years. Looking back now, I think that the most enjoyable times that I had, involved training young people. Bicycle safety classes with young scouting groups bring back many fond memories.

I was recently asked by a local Kindergarten teacher to be the Mystery Reader at her school.  Once I agreed, she cleverly upped the ante, and made arrangements for my reading to extend into all four Kindergarten classes. The book chosen for me to read --A Day in the Life of a Police Officer-- somehow seemed to fit.  Patti was the teacher, who so cleverly planned this in-service session, that would involve  77 young and very inquisitive minds, and a man passionate about his life and recent past career.

Upon arriving at the elementary school main office, I was greeted by two young faces that provided a giggly escort --through a maze of hallways to the classroom where I would enter and make my acquaintance-- to a roomful of five year olds bubbling with energy and excitement.  Shy? Not this group! "Chief, you look younger in your picture", was just one of many comments I heard, referring to a photo of me on the teacher's desk, neatly propped where perhaps an apple should be.

Sitting in front of a group of very well behaved students, I shared the author's story along with bits and pieces of my own story of a lifestyle from days gone by. I'm sure that the fun and enthusiasm I had, while addressing my classroom of intrigued learners, was readily noticeable. Once the story ended, I opened the session to questions and comments, and there were many.

"Do policeman ride cheetahs? Why do police cars make that funny loud sound? Did you ever get hurt when you were a policeman? Did you bleed?" Question after thought provoking question. Responding to questions asked by such young and innocent minds takes a lot of extra thought. The innocence of the young is one thing that I truly enjoy.  Kindergarten teachers have a great job.

This in-service training did have a purposeful goal, or as I would refer to in a lesson plan, an objective. The objective of this session was to help the students learn and remember their home street addresses and the importance of knowing that information. My visit with the class also helped to show this classroom of young  --learning about life-- students, that police officers are ordinary everyday moms and dads who have chosen a profession that serves the community.

After the reading and question portion of my visit, I spent some time with the class to observe their projects, which included an invitation to sit on the floor and check out a hotel constructed of building blocks, admire some art work, and view a computer work station. The visit ended all too soon, but only after I assisted in retrieving a toy phone that mysteriously ended up in a ceiling light fixture.

Kids are fun, often funny and generally possess a certain innocence that tends to slip away much too soon.

Among the many other interests that I have, I enjoy addressing groups of people and sharing my thoughts and life's experiences. Now I'm learning to share my life with my new friend "Buddy" --you know, the previously mentioned aging pooch-- who is also a good listener and knows his address too!


~Safe Riding~

-The Chief

The Meet

The offer to attend a high school track meet was inviting. Considering that I hadn't been to a high school sports event in ten or more years had a certain appeal to me that I openly welcomed.

Asking that I accompany her, Patti had decided to attend the meet even though the weather was somewhat cold and rainy, which is typical for early Spring in New Jersey. The track event was being held several school districts away and her daughter Carly --a Senior and member of the team-- would be competing in several field events.

My first observation once there, was that the event was much larger than those that I had been involved in during my coaching years. There seemed to be more schools, more competitors and a larger spectator crowd. The coffee we purchased upon arrival, although it didn't deserve that label, served a much more important role which involved the transferring of heat from the cup to my already chilled to the bone fingers. A dollar well spent.

After a couple of introductions to a few of Patti's friends, I found my own small section of earth to plant my feet on, where I could observe the Shot Put, Javelin and Discus throwers, and slowly chill the rest of my normally warm Florida body.

As I stand and observe, I feel the coldness gradually working its way through my body, soul and mind -

"This is one part of the job that I really don't care for", I thought to myself as I looked around at all of the other officers. "There must be fifty departments represented here. This scene seems somehow all too familiar to me", the thoughts continued.

As the officers lined up, one row and then another, there was an ever present sense of sadness, although this was coupled with a feeling of camaraderie.  As much as I truly enjoy my profession, I am aware on a daily basis, of just how disposable I am. Now, once again as I watch as a fellow officer is laid to rest, I am reminded of this fact.

My fingers and toes are so cold that they hurt. They haven't reached the point of no feeling yet, they just hurt. The late afternoon chill in the air is different than the chill that runs down my spine as the Marksmen fire their rifles in a final tribute to an officer who paid the ultimate price. But still, I stand at attention like all of the other men and women in blue. Standing at attention as the bagpipers play. Standing at attention as the rifles crack the silence. Standing at attention as the Minister speaks, and finally, as the casket is lowered below our playing field where mankind lives, where track team members compete, and where Police Officers strive daily to survive.

"Chief, get the camera ready, Carly's going to throw", Patti says, which brings me back from a time and lifestyle of years gone by. "Are you okay?" she asks, noticing my far away gaze.  "Fine", is my reply --as I stand there still numb from the coldness lurking throughout my body.

Leaving the meet --as warmth and feelings begin their journey back into my extremities-- I sense a familiar calm as I thank an officer who has just stopped traffic for us to cross the street.

"Let's stop for a good cup of coffee on the way home", I offer.


~Safe Riding~

-The Chief