My Collection of 45s, Part One (of Three)

***

I have quite a few of my 45 rpm records from about 1955-60. A particular group of friends in high school got together once or twice a month for a "dance." One of us would invite a girl- or boy-friend and five or six other couples over to her or his house about 7 p.m. on a Friday or Saturday. The furniture would be moved back so that we could dance, and only a lamp or two would be turned on - near the 45 player, naturally - and we would all bring with us any records we especially wanted to be played.

I kept mine in a small, brown, fake-leather box (which might have cost $1.50 at the Winn's Five and Dime about eight blocks away from my home). I still have it... full. It holds - well, let's see - forty-five 45s. I hadn't realized that clever touch until just now.

And I have a lot more too.

1

My guiding principles in record-collecting in those days were to have only songs I really liked (not to please or impress someone else), to end up with a collection that was generally different from anyone else's, and to buy songs recorded by the original artists, rather than by one of the many who recorded "covers" of the most popular hits.

Still today, when I mention "Ain't That a Shame," for instance, my wife thinks I'm talking about Pat Boone! That would be like my thinking of Fats Domino when she mentioned "Love Letters in the Sand" or "Bernadine." I don't think I was prejudiced in those years against white performers, but it sort of seems that way looking back. I didn't ever buy "Hound Dog," for example, but if I had it would have been Big Mama Thorton's, not Elvis's.  I wouldn't have bought Peggy Lee's "Fever" (great though it is), but Little Willie John's.

Twenty years ago or more, I spent some time with my 45s, and I put in order in my little brown case what seemed to me at the time my favorites. They all hiss and some crackle a little, as they probably always did. Three or so are actually scratched, chipped, or even broken: "Peggy Sue" and "Ruby Baby" are examples. The records in the box have labels like Chess, Atlantic, ATCO, Decca, Coral, Mercury, Capitol, and Dot. Fats Domino is on Imperial, and Little Richard on Speciality. Some of the labels may have brought out only the one song I bought, labels like Friendly and Bell, for instance.

You may want to skip over this next part. Here's the whole list of records in the little box, in order of the best first:

Maybellene   by Chuck Berry

Only You   by The Platters

Ain’t It a Shame   by Fats Domino

Rock Around the Clock   by Bill Haley and His Comets

Heartbreak Hotel   by Elvis Presley

Blue Monday   by Fats Domino

Speedoo   by The Cadillacs

Short Shorts   by The Royal Teens

Seventeen   by Boyd Bennett

Little Darlin’   by The Gladiolas

All I Have to Do Is Dream   by The Eberle Brothers

Jim Dandy   by LaVern Baker

Don’t Be Angry   by The Crew-Cuts

Dream Boat   by The Drifters

My Blue Heaven   by Fats Domino

Don’t You Know I Love You   by Bobby Charles

Long Tall Sally   by Little Richard

Switchie Witchie Titchie   by The Midnighters

Burn That Candle   by Bill Haley and His Comets

Smokey Joe’s Café   by The Robins

Honky Tonk Song   by Webb Pierce

I Feel Good   by Shirley and Lee

The Girl Can’t Help It   by Little Richard

Whispering Bells   by The Dell-Vikings

Young Blood   by The Coasters

The Chicken and the Hawk   by Joe Turner

Sweet Little Sixteen   by Chuck Berry

Breathless   by Jerry Lee Lewis

I’m Walkin’   by Fats Domino

Ruby Baby   by The Drifters

Muskrat Ramble   by The McGuire Sisters

Thirty Days   by Chuck Berry

When My Dreamboat Comes Home   by Fats Domino

From the Bottom of My Heart   by The Clovers

Send Me Some Lovin’   by Little Richard

Chain Gang   by Bobby Scott

Fools Fall in Love   by The Drifters

Don’t You Know I Love You   by Fats Domino

Sixteen Tons   by “Tennessee” Ernie Ford

Why Do Fools Fall in Love   by Frankie Lymon

                                                         and The Teenagers

Train of Love   by Johnny Cash

Sh-Boom   by The Crew-Cuts

Peggy Sue   by Buddy Holly

The Green Door   by Artie Malvin

I’ll Never Stop Loving You   by Doris Day

                                     with the Percy Faith Orchestra

2

There are a couple of "slow tunes" in that group, of course, but that was not my main interest in that selection process some years back. But at the same time as I selected those for the box, I did make a separate stack of my favorite (or my other favorite) slow tunes. Not all, but more of them were by traditional singers... In other words, my parents would have recognized their names.

The labels were from the bigger companies too: RCA Victor, London, M-G-M, and Columbia, along with more of those big-name labels I mentioned in the first group: Mercury, Capitol, Decca, and so on. But there are a few other, smaller labels too even in this group, like "X" (the label included the quotation marks), Cadence, and Epic.

Frankly, I listen to the slow tunes more these days than those in the box. This stack seems especially terrific:

Cara Maria   by David Whitfield

                                   with the Orchestra of Montavani

Johnny Darling   by Sandy Stewart and the Excels

11^th Hour Melody   by Al Hibbler

The Great Pretender   by The Platters

It’s All in the Game   by Tommie Edwards

Hey Little Girl   by Gary Stiles

Darling, Je Vous Aime Beaucoup

                                                    by Nat “King” Cole

It’s Almost Tomorrow   by The Dream Weavers

Born to Be With You   by The Cordettes

Over the Mountains, Across the Seas   by Johnnie and Joe

How Important Can It Be?   by Joni James

                                               and the Ray Charles Singers

Oh, My Papa   by Eddie Fisher

                                with the Hugo Winterhalter Orchestra

The Miracle of Love   by Eileen Rogers

                                          with the Ray Conniff Orchestra

Band of Gold   by Don Cherry

                                 (also) with the Ray Conniff Orchestra

Eddie My Love  by The Fontane Sisters

                                      with the Billy Vaughan Orchestra

Don’t Stay Away Too Long   by Eddie Fisher

                              with the Hugo Winterhalter Orchestra

The Magic Touch   by The Platters

Love Me Tender   by Elvis Presley

Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing   by The Four Aces

                                                              featuring Al Alberts

Little Things Mean a Lot   by Kitty Kallen

Unchained Melody   by Roy Hamilton

                                       with the Don Masingill Orchestra

Hold My Hand   by Don Cornell

Moments to Remember   by The Four Lads

                                          with the Ray Ellis Orchestra

You’re the Apple of My Eye   by The Four Lovers

Smile   by Nat “King” Cole

                                  with the Nelson Riddle Orchestra.

Even the names of the orchestras here are familiar... and of course, for slow tunes, having an orchestra is important.

...And I still have quite a few 45 records to list in Part Two of this Reminiscence.  

***          

Reminiscence: Landmark Birthdays

***

1

On my 10th birthday, my parents gave me a puppy. 

That afternoon they mysteriously directed me to go out into the front yard.  An unfamiliar car drove up, and a stranger carrying a puppy - six months old or so, we learned later - came up across the yard smiling broadly... and handed me the puppy!

Mom and Dad had appeared behind me by then, and Dad explained that the dog was my birthday present.

He was half-collie and half-chow, a pretty reddish brown color, with white feet, a white tip on his tail, and a white streak down the highest part of his nose.  We named him Sox because of his paws.  (Years later, I came to understand that when they were first married, my parents had owned a cat with white feet whom they called "Boots.")

It was 16 years later when I was in grad school in California that my five-year-old niece telephoned from the family home in Texas to tell me excitedly that poor old Sox had finally died.  She was excited because she and my parents had buried him in the backyard, apparently with appropriate pomp and circumstance.

2

I don't actually recall my 20th.  I was a sophomore in my Midwestern state university.

On my 21st birthday, though, it is impossible not to remember that I rented four cars.  Yes, four.  It was February of my junior year in Paris.  My JYA group had lunch together every weekday.  One day as the break between semesters approached - which happened to coincide with Mardi Gras - we were all discussing where we would go during the one-week break.  Several were concerned about the costs and inconvenience of relying on public transportation.  Three of the women and I were talking in particular about traveling together to Spain.  Someone else reported that in order to rent a car (at American Express) one had to be at least 21 years old.  No one in the group seemed to be 21 yet.

My own birthday was to come about a week before the vacation began, as I pointed out.  That settled it for my own travel group; we would rent a little car.  Fine.  Soon, one by one, various others who were hoping to travel in different directions came to me to request that I rent a car for them to use.  One group was headed to Germany, one to Italy, and one to Belgium and Holland.  The first who approached me was my friend "Frank," and I said I would if he would accompany me to the rental office at the American Express building and help me through the bureaucracy, which we anticipated to be complicated.

So, on the day itself when I turned 21 - as indicated in my passport - I rented the four cars.

Everything went fine.  No one had an accident.  All the cars returned on time in good shape. 

In my own case, only one unexpected event occurred.  I was to pick up our Spain-headed group's car in early afternoon the day before we were planning to leave.  I was very concerned about driving in the heavy, unpredictable Paris traffic.  My plan was to head to the mouth of the road to Madrid and park near a Metro stop.  All of us would take the Metro to that spot early the next morning so that we could be on our way directly and without my having to face much city traffic.

With that plan fully scoped out, I still had one serious concern: the address where each car was to be picked up was near the Arc de Triomphe.  Traffic around the circle at the arch was the most terrifying in the city, as far as I could tell.  Everyone drove fast, sometimes with five cars side by side.  And, oh, by the way, there were no lanes marked; you drove wherever there seemed to be room for you.  Counter-intuitively as well, the cars coming into the circle "had priority," as they said in France.  They had the right of way, and if they darted out in front of one of the cars speeding around the circle so there was an accident, it was presumed to be the fault of the driver of the circling car.

I knew all this because I often negotiated pedestrian crossings near the arch, since my JYA headquarters was only two blocks away.  The thought of trying to negotiate a car through all that chaos... well, I was determined to avoid that at any cost.

To that end, I studied my detailed Paris street map carefully.  I memorized the names of all the streets and just how they were related to each other.  I planned that I would drive out from the address where I was to pick up the car and turn right - in the opposite direction from the arch circle - even though that direction was nowhere near the straight line one might draw on the map from the rental address to the destination Metro stop.

I would proceed a certain number of blocks, crossing the Champs-Elysees several blocks south of the arch, go on quite a ways straight ahead to one particular intersection where I would turn north and, after an even longer stretch, I would arrive at the road to Madrid where I could turn left and proceed a couple of blocks to the rendezvous. 

Complicated, inefficient, but perfect!  I figured it would take 30 to 45 minutes.  (If I were just to head straight from the rental address to the highway by going through the arch circle, it might take 15 minutes...)

That afternoon, the paperwork at the car pick-up office was far more complicated than the original rental papers had been at American Express.  I couldn't help but get a little impatient, so when the man waiting on me started leading me to the auto itself up and down and around, all underground, I barely noticed that we had gone several buildings over.  I didn't know where we were, of course.

But we found the car, a Simca 1000.  It looked fine, small, yellow.  It started, so the monsieur who'd given me the keys pointed out what direction to take to exit the garage and said turn left when I reached the street outside.  It was sens unique, i.e. one way.  But since I didn't know what street it was, that didn't bother me... yet.

I drove where he had said and turned left.  One block and I had nowhere to go but into the Arc de Triomphe circle!

There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth, accelerate into the fast-moving traffic, and head two-thirds of the way around the circle, exiting onto the road to Madrid.  I more or less just said to myself that everyone else would just get out of my way.

They did, and ten minutes later, I was headed down into the Metro after having found a parking spot on the street right where I'd planned.

3

To many Americans, the 21st birthday is the big one.  For my generation the even bigger one was the 30th.  That was the time in history when everyone knew "Don't trust anyone over 30."  In other words, at one second past midnight on my birthday, I was going to move from being a cool young dude to being a reactionary, selfish and intolerant bastard.  We didn't look forward to our 30th birthdays in the '70s.

"A-----" and I had married by that time.  We were both working, avant les enfants, in our nation's capital, living in Bethesda.  We had some pretty good friends, whom we knew from my job: two other couples who with us had developed the custom of getting together one evening now and then to play board games or maybe charades, have some snacks and some wine or beer, and enjoy each other's witty and lively company for two or three hours.

I was the first to hit the big 3-0, and "A-----" invited the others to join us at our apartment that evening for my birthday party.  They came, and we had a good time.  I can't remember for sure, but that may have been the time that "A-----" and I had gone to Toys Are Us in search of a new game, and had come home with a toy roulette wheel and a lot of poker chips.  We had a lot of fun horsing around with that.  One couple gave me a book that I still have, with the inscription:  "To 'Derrick,' on his thirtieth year to heaven."

4

Frankly, I don't remember my 40th birthday at all.  I'm sure that the family had a little, appropriate celebration, the children being 5 and 3 years old.  There would have been cake and maybe ice cream, a nice card - perhaps home-made - and a suitable, modest present...  Nice, but unremarkable, I would imagine.

I do remember one thing: thinking, "At last I'm an adult."

5

Now, my 50th birthday - that was rather different.

For one thing, it was at work.  The workplace at that time was torn by controversy and strife.  Times were hard for us, and on top of it all, there was a heartfelt labor-management dispute.  On the Friday before my birthday, my assistant - a non-nonsense young woman ("P-----") - was waiting, grim-faced, in my office when I returned from a meeting across the hall.

"You gotta see this," she said.  When I asked what it was, she repeated: "No, first you should see it yourself."

The tension had been high enough that, besides sending nasty letters to the editor of the local newspaper, the employee hot-heads (a small minority) had taken to pasting hostile signs on light-poles and outside doors.  I was thinking that was the kind of thing I "had to see" at that point.

As we left the office, "P-----" suggested we go out through the big lounge upstairs, so that we might reach the site of the supposed outrage without being seen.  She stepped aside when we arrived at the door to the lounge.  I pushed the door open.

The place was packed with thirty or 40 colleagues, including some of the employees who reported to me.  They shouted gaily, "Surprise!"

Now, I don't like to be surprised.  Maybe especially for a party.  But this was an exception.  "A---" was there, with our two children, now 15 and 13.  I was presented with a big card everyone had signed, and two presents: a six-pack of my favorite imported beer and a Louisville Slugger with the signature of "Byron Derrick" on it.  I suppose the beer lasted a couple of weeks at our house, and the baseball bat was prominently displayed in my office until I retired at 66.

The company photographer was happily snapping away.  The expression on my face as I first opened the door was particularly rich.

6

By the time I turned 60, the children were on their own so that "A-----" and I were living by ourselves again.  My birthday was unremarkable, so far as I recall, as I expect all future ones to be. 

As far as age is concerned, I seem to have already passed all the landmarks... Or should I look forward to my 100th?

***

Wise Sayings 9 from Ron Lucius

***

"Me first" means "Us last."

……………………………………………………….................Ron Lucius


Show us a big-business executive,

     and show us a selfish, greedy bastard...

             but I repeat myself.

(Did I get it right, Mark?)

……………………………………………………… .................Ron Lucius


Safety second!

……………………………………………………… .................Ron Lucius


"Do for yourself what you need or want, and can do."

"Do for others what you'd want them to do for you."

One rule is silver, the other gold.  They are of more value joined than disconnected.

……………………………………………………… .................Ron Lucius

***

Dr. Baier's Dilemma [story]

***

1

The Manchester-Barnes is a teaching hospital in rural northern Kansas, but it does not focus on teaching doctors.  The M-B is one of the few hospitals in America focusing its educational efforts on teaching nurses.  It has one of the few accredited diploma nursing schools where high school graduates may start directly in nurse training and after three successful years take the state exams to become an RN.  In the first two years, the courses in traditional academic subjects (English, biology and chemistry, and others) are completed by special arrangement with a small four-year college a few miles away, where also, in night courses, one can complete the B. S. while working full time at the hospital as an R. N.  There are hopes and dreams of offering a Master's in Nursing at the Manchester-Barnes soon.

Most nursing students, whether right out of high school or older, are girls and young women.  So the nurses and doctors who make up the hospital's nurse education faculty are regularly reminded of the institution's strict ban on sexual contact between staff members and students.  Consensual or not, a sexual relation with a student at the M-B is a sure way to exit the scene. 

It was Vice President Farley ("Lee") Baier's responsibility to enforce this strict rule on nurse educators including the staff physicians involved.

2

"Dr. Baier?"  Farley's administrative assistant poked her head in the doorway one morning.  He figured someone was in the outer office with her, or she would have just said "Farley" or "Lee."  But that morning, it was instead "Dr. Baier?"

"Yes, Helen.  What's up?"

"President Anderson requests the pleasure of your company, if it's convenient."

"Ah ha," he said standing right up without even saving the report he'd just started on his laptop.  Both he and Helen understood that this special phrasing meant, "Get yourself over here right away!"  The back door to the President's office was just across the hall.  He knocked and walked straight in.

"Well, hi, Jeff," he said to the Financial VP who was standing across the desk from the President.  "Good morning, Ron," he said then, coming further in.  "Can I help?"

"Let's all sit down," Anderson said, "and be more comfortable."  All of this made the situation - whatever it was - seem serious... which indeed it turned out to be.

"Lee," said Anderson.  "Yesterday, I asked Jeff to look into an important matter that would usually have been your business."

Jeff nodded solemnly, looking only at the President.

"You see, it's about John Feikema..."

3

As Executive Vice President, Farley's duties could have been just about whatever President Anderson assigned to him.  His background was in personnel management, particularly in health-care-related organizations, so among other things at the M-B he supervised all the nurses and all the nurse education programs. 

Dr. Feikema - sometimes called "Dr. John" - was the head physician on staff in the Manchester-Barnes cardiac care division.  He actually enjoyed teaching classes and then mentoring students in the lower-level nursing care courses.  His lectures were considered interesting and not overly challenging, and he was well-known throughout the M-B.  Over the sixteen years Farley had been there, he and Dr. John had become friends.  Their wives were friends too, and the four of them socialized now and then.

There'd been a curious thing several years earlier.  Farley and the President had been meeting with a committee of doctors considering possible research projects, when a senior member of the staff expressed some vague reservations about Dr. Feikema.  Ron Anderson was a fairly new president at that time.  Neither Farley nor he had heard any concerns at all about Feikema.

But after a confusing exchange or two, another senior physician put it bluntly.  "The rumor was all over," he said, "when John first got here, that he was a ladies man, a flirt, who might have made some advances..."  There seemed to be some agreement around the table.

"Someone claimed to know that was why he'd left his practice out west," another put in.

"It was just a rumor," a third man said - in fact, all six of them were men - "and nothing ever came of it, but he was sometimes called Dr. Hands by some of the nurses.  Dr. Hands... Not that it's relevant to this meeting, but it's probably something you two might want to know.  Sorry!"

Farley had dealt with delicate questions before.  A few months after his arrival at the M-B, there'd been a question about a nurse's aide having an alcohol problem.  When he asked the Director of the Diploma School about it, he learned that his predecessor had had the custom of saying aggressively to anyone who made a formal complaint like that, "Would you be willing to testify in court about that?"

The director had commented, "Needless to say, there were fewer and fewer complaints of any kind."

But Farley had had a private conversation about the rumor with Nurse Molen herself, who had since graduated from the diploma program and was on staff.  She'd been very straightforward.  "I was afraid I might be developing a problem myself," she said.  "So I worked with a counselor, and I put it all behind me.  There's no problem now," she concluded.

That turned out to be true ever since, apparently, based on her evaluations, and on recommendations from co-workers, and Farley believed her.  After reminding Nurse Molen of the seriousness of such a problem, he thanked her for her frankness and sent her on her way.  He wrote a detailed report of the conversation for her confidential file, in case he should ever need it...

The point is, unlike his predecessor, Farley did want to know about real or rumored weaknesses or character flaws in his staff.  Maybe his blood pressure would go up for the time he was looking into a complaint or confronting someone about it, but he thought it was his duty and possibly an important one.

4

That later morning, President Anderson went on: "A part-time evening diploma student went to Jeff yesterday to say that after class one night, Dr. Feikema had had sex with her, and I asked him to get with our attorney downtown and deal with this."

"Ron thought it would be best for you, Lee - as a friend - not to be in charge," Jeff said.

Farley remained silent.  He didn't know what to think.

"I have your copy of Jeff's report here," Morrison went on.  "I'd like you to tell me this afternoon what your recommendation would be... Any questions?"

"Did you talk with John?" Farley asked Reese.  It turned out the attorney yesterday afternoon had interviewed the student and then Dr. Feikema in turn, and they had this morning signed statements confirming the summary of what they had said.

"Let me know if you want to see their statements," Reese said.  "They are summarized in my report."

Anderson said, "They both say that there was in fact sexual contact."  It turned out to be three times.  "He says it was consensual, and Jeff..."

"I believed him, and the attorney did," Reese put in.  "Not her."

"But really, in our policy, it doesn't matter..."

5

"Hey, John, come in.  Thanks for coming."  Farley was in the outer office, following up quietly on the senior docs' report of the womanizer rumors.  Farley had searched through Feikema's confidential personnel file since that meeting, trying unsuccessfully to sense any hint of reason for concern.  There was no smell of potential scandal he could detect, only evidence of Dr. John's enthusiasm, efficiency, careful management of department budgets.  His recommendations from the Oregon hospital where he'd worked previously were not particularly effusive, but they were all positive and not overly cautious, as far as he could tell.

When they were seated at the conference table, Farley turned away from chit-chat.   "I wanted to share with you a comment I heard about you the other day.  I don't know of any reason for concern - it was presented as an unconfirmed rumor - but I thought you'd want to know."

"Well," John hesitated, surprised.  "Thanks for filling me in, Lee ...I guess."

Farley summarized the conversation from the meeting three days earlier, pleasantly surprised when John did not press for any details aimed at finding out who had reported the rumor.  Which would have been a bad sign.  "I'm... Well, this kind of thing is disgusting, isn't it?" he said instead.  "But frankly, I'm not too surprised." 

When Farley waited to let him go on, the older man added: "When I was first starting here a dozen years ago, a few of the physicians in the department hadn't wanted the M-B to go outside and hire a division head."  And he elaborated for a sentence or two on professional jealousy.  He was upset, but well under control, not defensive.  "Is there anything you want me to do?" he asked finally.

"No," Farley said, "but I have to make sure you understand that as a teaching hospital, we have even more obligation than usual to make sure there is never anything sexual between staff and students..."

"Of course!" Dr. John inserted.

"...Whether consensual or not, whether just something creating the appearance of any sexual attraction or anything..."

"Right," John said.

"...Even suggestive or seductive comments or gestures..."

"It's a good policy," John said, "and as far as I know, we look squeaky clean on this, don't you think?  What can I do to make sure my reputation isn't questioned again?"

"Well, be real careful about what you say and do," Farley said, "keeping this ugly rumor in mind."  He wrapped up the conversation at that point, after all of about ten minutes, by explaining he now needed to say he would send Feikema a confidential memo simply summarizing their conversation that morning.  John showed no concern.

6

Farley had asked Helen to get the two statements Jeff Reese had offered him.  Not that he didn't already know what was in them after Reese's careful and thorough report, but on principle...  They had been as described in the report.

The details in both statements were the same.  There had been three sexual encounters, all of them in cars, all of them after the night class.  The first had been in the parking lot in his car, the second in her car parked on a few blocks away, another again in his car.  The student had gotten in willingly, and the sex act had been oral sex.  The student claimed that all three times John had physically forced her to do it.  It hadn't been a trade for a good grade in class, both agreed.

"Thanks for small favors, " Farley thought.

There was no doubt about what had to be done.  Farley wrote up a formal recommendation to President Anderson, with a copy to VP Reese.  He would take it across without waiting; Helen could take the copy in a sealed envelope to Jeff's secretary.

7

"Dr. Baier?" Helen looked in.  "Your appointment is here," swinging the door open as Farley crossed from his desk to greet the young man coming in.  He introduced himself, and the two men shook hands.  He gave his name and said his girlfriend - naming her - was a full-time student in the diploma program.  He said she'd said something to him that the man in charge should know.

By now they were seated at the conference table.  "She said one of your instructors - someone she calls 'Dr. John' - had made her feel uncomfortable, and it's all over among the students that he is dangerous.  'Don't be alone with him,' the more advanced students tell the newer ones."

This was several years after Farley had heard the first rumor.

"Dr. Feikema is a respected veteran staff member of our cardiac staff," Farley said, "but this is a real concern to me.  I appreciate your bringing it to my attention."  Then he went on: "What did he do to your girlfriend?"

"She didn't want me to come, by the way, and she wasn't really upset... Just feeling a little 'oogy,' you know what I mean?"  Farley nodded.  "She told me he said she should always wear tight sweaters, like the pink one she had on that day.  And he had a kind of grin on his face.

"Was there anyone else around?"

"Oh, yes.  It was before class, but most of the other students were already sitting there.  Two or three of them told her after class that he'd said things to them too, at one time or another."  Farley nodded again, making another note.  "And earlier in the semester, one of the other girls made a really good class presentation... and he hugged her!  Right there in front of the class.  She told my girlfriend it creeped her out."

After a moment, he went on:  "Another student, she said, worked in Dr. John's office briefly, and she said he often touched her... like on the shoulder, or patting her head when passing by her chair at the table.  Once he was telling her something and came up behind her and began to massage her shoulders.  All that made her uncomfortable."

"What did she do?" was Farley's question.

"I don't know," the young man said.

Farley was concerned, but a little frustrated too.  He said he needed to talk with the "girlfriend" herself.  "Oh no," the young man said.  "She didn't want me to come, and she wouldn't come herself."

Farley told him it wasn't unusual for a student, or a nurse either for that matter, to be concerned about retaliation.  But he would not let that happen.  "We can work it out so that Dr. Feikema doesn't get any sense who came forward... And the others too.  If there are others who have been made to feel uncomfortable, I need to hear the details myself, from them, or I won't be able to warn him convincingly.  See?"

The "boyfriend" hadn't thought of that.  He said he'd try to get one or more of them to come in.  "That would help a lot, " Farley said, "but I'll be thinking about what I can do in the meantime.  The sooner, the better, okay?"

8

"You're sure we have to let him go, Lee?"  President Anderson asked that afternoon, pointing out that Feikema was in his sixties and had been at the hospital for almost twenty years.  Farley's recommendation was on the desk in front of him.

"He was warned," Farley said quietly.  "Twice.  If our policy means anything, we don't have much choice."  And then added: "...I'm sorry to say."

"Clear it with the lawyer," said the President.  "Assuming he doesn't tell us to hold on, set it up with the three of us... Feikema, not the attorney."

9

"John," Farley had begun following up on the 'boyfriend's' complaint, speaking in a confidential tone.  "You'll remember that a couple of years ago I brought to your attention some rumors that had apparently circulated around the M-B about you."  Dr. John nodded.  "You asked me," Farley continued, "if there was anything in particular you could do."

"Yes?" John asked.

"Well, I've heard second-hand some details of behavior that made some of your students or colleagues feel uncomfortable."

"Lee!  I don't fool around with other women.  You know my wife.  You know my children!"

Farley raised a finger, "No, wait.  Nobody's making any allegations.  I'm just warning you that certain gestures and comments may make some women feel uncomfortable.  I want to tell you what I've heard.  Okay?  So you can do your best to avoid repeats..."

"Yes," Dr. Feikema smiled ruefully, "yes, of course.  Go ahead."

"Well, once you apparently hugged a student who had made a good presentation in class..."  Farley mentioned each incident the 'boyfriend' had told him about.  That young man had called a day or so after their one meeting to say he couldn't convince anyone to come in and talk with Farley directly.  So Farley and John discussed each of the three incidents a moment or two without much detail.  John was again not defensive, but he was frustrated:

"But none of that means anything!" he said finally.  "That's the way I am.  I'm demonstrative.  I tell people they look nice, when they do.  I pat people's shoulders, in a show of friendship.  I hug people in congratulating them... to say 'Good job!'" he added.

"People are very sensitive about these things," Farley advised, "these days... Will you restrain yourself, keep all this in mind?  It might get serious."

"You know, Lee?  I appreciate your telling me this stuff.  Yes, I'll try not to do those things... or other things like them."

A moment later at the door, Feikema looked back at Farley.  His face was a little flushed:  "I'll just have to keep my hands in my pockets," he said.

"Couldn't hurt."

10

"Good luck, John," Farley said, shaking his friend's hand.  "We'll be in touch by phone in January."  John turned silently and walked away, without making eye contact with the President's assistant in the outer office.

That was how the meeting among Ron Anderson, Farley, and John Feikema had ended.  Farley had known it had to be done, so it hadn't been terribly stressful for him... But it had been sufficiently horrible.

The three of them had taken seats in the President's conversation area, John on the couch, Ron in his big leather wing chair, and Farley on a wooden chair he'd brought over from in front of the desk.  This was the President's show, and he began right away.  "It's a bad situation, John," he said, Feikema nodding and looking down at his hands.  "We're in a pickle," Ron went on, then waited.

"I'm sorry," John said softly without looking up.  He took a deep breath.

Farley thought maybe he should say something, but President Morrison continued.  "We at the M-B are entrusted by the families and sometimes the spouses of our nursing students with their daughters and wives.  We have to keep them safe, or seeming and feeling safe, and part of that obligation is our strictly enforced policy prohibiting sexual contact with any student."

"You even told me once you agreed with the policy," Farley did finally speak.  John nodded.

Then he looked up at the President:  "Do you want me to resign?" he said, his voice a little hoarse.

The President still made no eye contact with Farley, gazing for a few seconds into Dr. John's eyes.  "It breaks my heart to say it, John, but you have to go.  Resigning is the best way for you."

"My mother," John glanced at Farley and then back to Ron: "In Arizona.  She's very sick, could die anytime."  He again glanced to Farley: "I could take an emergency leave and go to be with her."

"Oh!" said Farley.  The President seemed to respond positively, so he said, "That would be plausible, but..."

John went on again.  "I could retire after the New Year."

"We would continue to pay your salary until the end of June," the President said.  That was what he and Farley had decided that morning in talking with the hospital's lawyer.

"So, you would take an immediate, emergency leave," Farley said, "and in early January - about a month from now - you would write me a letter saying you want to retire, effective at the end of June..."  He looked closely at the older man.  "But you can't come back to the M-B in the meantime, John."

"Can I be the one to tell my staff?"

So, they worked it all out.  President Anderson wound the meeting up quickly, standing and extending his hand.

11

The memo from the Personnel Office to staff the next morning read as follows:

Dr. John Feikema of the cardiac care unit and the nurse education program has taken an emergency leave of absence, effective immediately, to go to be with his aging and ailing mother who appears to be nearing death.  Any questions should be addressed to Dr. Farley Baier's office.

*

On January 16, the follow-up memo read:

Dr. John Feikema, now on family medical leave until the end of June, has announced his intention to retire at that time.  He has been with the Manchester-Barnes Hospital and Health Center since 1980.

*

The heart of Farley's last letter to Dr. Feikema, of the same date, said:

We do not expect to see you at the Hospital again, John, except to collect all your personal belongings from your office, which you are to have done by the end of the month.  Please co-ordinate your visit for that purpose through my office.  You will also need to meet with members of the Personnel Office to work out details of your retirement benefits.

It ended:  Best wishes.

12



"Lee!" Helen whispered sharply, hustling in, closing the office door firmly behind her, and crossing to him at the desk.  It was now late January.  "Mrs. Feikema is here, Lee."

"Sharon?" Farley murmured.

"She's in a bad way," Helen said.  "I tried to do my thing, calm her down, hugged her too.  Didn't change anything."

Farley was beginning to stand up.

"I know you're not supposed to, Lee," she went on, "but you really have to see her."

Farley told her to go get Sharon, John Feikema's wife.

While John was slender and a little shorter than Farley himself, Mrs. Feikema had a robust figure, an attractive face, and matched Farley's height.  She'd started to talk even before they could sit at the conference table or Helen could get the door closed behind herself.

"John won't talk to me," Sharon cried out, on the verge of tears.  "He sits there eating what I cook for him, looking down at his plate.  He doesn't respond to questions.  Then he goes back down to his office in the basement.  I'm going crazy, Lee!"

"You know, Sharon..." Farley started to say.

"I've come to you.  You've got to help me.  What's happened?  What - is - going - on?!"

"You mean - " Farley started again.

"I mean, I know he went to Tucson to see his dying mother, who is not dead yet by the way.  And I know he's not coming in to work and nobody calls him at home anymore.  But, Lee, he won't tell me!  What's happened?"

Farley knew the hospital attorney would have a stroke if he ever heard about it, but he was going to tell her.  "Sharon," he said...

"John had oral sex with a non-traditional nursing student, three times, in the Fall semester.  She complained, apparently planning to get some money from suing the hospital.  John admitted it happened, saying she'd been the aggressor, which apparently is true."  He paused.  Sharon's eyes were closed.  Maybe she wasn't surprised?

"The complaint was six weeks ago or so," he added and paused again.

"John knew he would get fired for this, Sharon.  So he did the right thing: he resigned.  His regular salary will continue through June, and then he'll be on retirement."

Sharon opened her eyes and looked for something in Farley's face, but did not speak herself.

"Are you going to be all right, Sharon?"

She stood up, taking a deep breath and kind of squaring her shoulders.

"I think you need to get some help, Sharon," Farley said as he slowly stood too, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.  "I could call up to Counseling.  They'd talk with you if I asked..."

She shook her head.  "No.  No, thank you.  If I need you, I'll let you know..." turning to go.  She hadn't even set her purse down, clasping it to her chest.  She opened the office door herself and went on through.

She didn't call back.

When Helen came in after Sharon had left, Farley said to her:  "No one can know she was here, you know."

"Right," Helen murmured.  "Are you okay, Lee?  I feel so bad for her!"

"I do too," he said.  "And as for me, well, I'll feel better soon..."

***

Reminiscence: Getting Settled in Grenoble, 1970

***

So there we were, A----- and I, married less than a week, there in our new home a quarter of the way up Mt. Moucherotte, above Grenoble, France.  It was early October 1970.

1

Everyone seems to find it interesting to discuss "Where were you when ... ?"  In my generation the events discussed have traditionally been when JFK was killed (or RFK or MLK...), when Lyndon Johnson announced he wasn't going to run for re-election, when the Democratic Party Convention met in Chicago in 1968, and when Neil Armstrong in 1969 made his giant leap for mankind.  All but the NASA news was bad, but the tipping point for me was the election of Richard Nixon, November 5, 1968.

I'd met Eugene McCarthy, along with Cesar Chavez, out in California that spring as the Viet Nam unrest was coming to a boil.  I helped campaign for McCarthy, although until his assassination I was a little distracted by admiration of Robert Kennedy.  Until Hubert Humphrey had parroted LBJ for so long as his Vice President, I'd always liked  him too; but of course, as the Convention neared, he was tainted for me as for so many others by his defense of the status quo.

During the Chicago uprising, I began to think maybe this was not the America where I wanted to live anymore.  Despite my vote for the disappointing Humphrey, the night Nixon was elected sealed the deal.  

I'd taken my little portable TV to a friend's house that election night.  One or two other friends had brought their little TVs as well, so that we could follow coverage by several different networks as the party progressed.  I didn't usually drink much, but that night as the electoral picture darkened, I got plastered.  I don't know how I got home, frankly, but in the morning my car was in its usual place in the parking lot and my TV was beside my bed, still on, tuned to the best news channel in northern California (though the news was still bad).

By then, I'd decided that as soon as I finished up my graduate work - which would probably be in July or August of that year (1969) - I was going to emigrate, probably for good, to France.   I'd had a fine experience my Junior Year in Paris in 1962-63, so I thought I could feel more "at home" in that country than in what my native country had become.

2

But then, on the ship to Europe in September, I met A-----.  Leaving the U.S. for good didn't seem so certain or so attractive after that.  By the time we married a year later, back in her home state, I would for sure be coming back to the U. S. at the end of that year with her in Grenoble.

When we had met, I was on my way to a job I'd been lucky enough to find in Lyon, south of Paris halfway on the road to Marseilles on the banks of the beautiful Rhone River.  That job was for only a year, and I hadn't lined up anything back in the States to come home to, so in mid-June I was again lucky to find the next year's job in Grenoble.  A----- knew that was where we would be heading if she married me.  Maybe it even seemed like it would be fun.

Even when I knew it might be just for myself, or for the two of us, I knew in late June that I had to find a place to live in Grenoble in 1970-71.  The run of good luck continued when I learned that Mme. D-----, who lived in a flat downtown, liked to rent out her summer house through the colder months of the year to visiting Americans; it was in Seyssins, a small village up on the Alp where the 1968 Olympic Ski Jump had been in another village much higher up called St. Nizier.

I - or we - would need a car.

But I flew out of Nice to A-----'s home state, met her family and some friends, and asked A----- to marry me; we went down to Texas to meet my family; returned north to plan the wedding and to get married on October 3.

After a three-day honeymoon, we climbed on a plane to Grenoble.

3

The trip was long.  We had to change planes three times.  The last leg was bumpy and hot, and we arrived in Grenoble in the middle of the day - after having little sleep for most of two days.  We got into a hotel pretty efficiently, but awoke - starving hungry - about 2 a.m. ...   We had to find food, but there was no one to tell us where we could. Then too we were lucky; after only about 20 minutes in random wanderings, we found a little neighborhood restaurant across the street from the local newspaper offices.

I hadn't thought to worry about changing planes, adjusting to the changing time zones, getting sleep, or finding food in the middle of the first night in Grenoble.  But all that luckily turned out well enough after all.  On the other hand, I had been a little concerned first about getting into our house for the nine months ahead and especially about the peculiar French complexities of buying a car.

First, A-----'s and my visit with Mme. D----- went very well, and she gave us our house key.  Then we set out to look for a car.  I didn't know even where to begin.  We found a taxi, and I just asked the driver where we - of modest means - should go to look for a car.  He took us to a Simca dealer.

4

We arrived at the dealership around 1 p.m., I think it was.  I thought it might take all the rest of that day and at least the whole of the following day to get through all of the red tape.  But not a bit of it!  Right there on the floor was a four-door, stick-shift sedan that we could afford.  That would be fine.  The purchase went smoothly too.  And the salesman had assumed it was his responsibility to walk us through the insurance and registration complexities.  He sent us off in a taxi to an insurer whom he knew; that and the registration went off without a hitch, and by 5 p.m. we drove away in our own car!  Wow, my getting happily married had improved the whole world, even French bureaucracy!

5

So, with surprisingly little trouble, there we were in Mme. D-----'s chalet, having had no trouble finding it in the little village up on the side of a mountain and having a key that worked.  The electricity was on, the telephone was hooked up, the gas stove - strange as it was - worked, the heat seemed to be fine... We could settle right in.

The house was set into the side of the mountain, with a steep road coming straight up from the highway from town that seemed far below.  If you drove beyond the house on your left and turned left, you could turn around and park outside our little gate.  If you kept going on that little street, you could zigzag back down the mountainside, winding slowly - and less steeply - down to the highway.  Oh, the house was called and its address was "Les Fenouilleres," the fennels.  We didn't see any fennel bushes, but there was a lovely string of raspberry bushes along one side of the house.

The second floor was not open to us.  Mme. D----- had explained that she kept her summer clothes and things in the bedrooms up there.  We still had plenty of room for us at that time: the kitchen just inside the door from the road on the high side of the steep hill where we were perched, the large formal dining room with its heavy dark furniture beyond it; the bedroom beyond a little half-bath on the right of the kitchen as one entered the kitchen from the little road on the high side, and beyond the bed and bathrooms - next to the dining room - was a little den looking out into the sky behind the little house toward the impressive "Chaine de Belledonne" (the Bella Donna mountain range).

The garage was beneath the den and bedroom.  Access to it was from a little unpaved alleyway off the steep road up.  You could turn left there and immediately right to mount our steeply paved driveway into the garage.  From there, you could enter the basement and go up the stairs to the kitchen.  There was nothing distinctive about the garage.  In the dank, dark, spider-webby basement there was one, distinctive feature: the "Salle de Bains," the bathroom - with no toilet but the one place in the house where you could bathe.

The bathtub itself was tall.  You had to climb inside by using steps.  It was narrow and deep.  You couldn't lie down, far from it; you had to sit with your knees at least level with your waist.  But the water was deliciously hot, and you could fill the tub up to your armpits.  I got in the habit of taking with me for my leisurely bath several copies of The Sporting News (to which I had subscribed while back in the States), where I would pore over all that week's box scores...

6

But I hadn't been entirely mistaken about the complexities of moving into a foreign country.  It was weather that ultimately brought this home, first an episode with fog  and then... snow!

I had a job, of course, although I could do much of my work at home; pretty soon A----- was coming with me down to work.  There was a little American library nearby, and A----- quickly struck up a friendship with the head librarian, as well as with one of the other patrons.  One foggy morning I accidentally left the fog lights on when we arrived in the morning, so when it came time to go home in mid-afternoon, the battery was dead.

I didn't know what to do, but A----- went right to her librarian friend for advice.  Mme. V------ happened to be nearby too.  She volunteered to drop us at the nearest service station about a mile away.  So far, so good.  But no, the service station people did not drive to dead cars and give them a jump, especially so near closing time.  That was apparently how it was done in France in those days.  I was welcome to bring the dead battery to them, and they could charge it right up.  I believe they even were kind enough to loan me a screwdriver.

A----- and I trudged together through what was now a constant cold drizzle back to the Simca sedan, me worrying all the way if we could get the damned battery out without electrocuting ourselves in the meantime.  By the time we had it out, it was growing dark.  The service station was about to close!  The battery was pretty darn heavy too.  I hoisted it onto my shoulder as we hurried back.

But they were able to recharge the battery in jig time, and I was able to haul it all the way back and even hook it up again.  Crisis overcome!  (And at least I never left the headlights on again.)

7

As for the snow...

We knew, of course, living on an Alp after all, that there would be snow to contend with.  That would have been true down in the city of Grenoble itself, site of the 1968 Olympics.  So we knew that at home we would need a snow shovel.  At least we knew that once we discovered that the only tools in the garage were for gardening.  At least there was a rake.

We set out to find a snow shovel soon after arriving at Les Fenouilleres, first casting about for a good-sized hardware store, which we eventually found.  I asked if they had a snow shovel.  There was some confusion, maybe because at first I hadn't known how to say "pel de neige" (shovel for snow), but then the man said Yes they had one, seeming to believe this was an exotic request.  He brought us a little camp shovel that as a Boy Scout I might have used to dig a little rain trench around the outside of my tent.  It folded up.  He must have thought I wanted something for digging out my car from a deep drift.  When I said we needed something larger, he said they couldn't help us.

I could tell now this enterprise was going to be tricky, but when we got home I got out Mme. D-----'s phonebook and started calling the hardware stores one at a time.  A----- and I knew exactly what we wanted, of course:  a metal handle on a wooden pole, with a curved aluminum blade at the other end.  From our first sally into that first shop, I now knew to call this a pel de neige... When greeted with a long pause on the phone, I usually jumped in to explain that I would need to clean the snow off the driveway to my garage.  The usual answer was No, they didn't carry those, maybe when the snow season actually started...  We weren't not feeling comfortable doing that.

Fortunately someone at work told me (or maybe it was Mme. D----- herself) that it would be wise for us who lived on a mountain to have chains for our rear tires, and we were able to find those with a minimum of trouble.  And I did have to use them often later on, clipping them on for the steep climb up or to go down from the main town highway and taking them off (for down) or putting them on (for up) at the foot of the hill.  I got reasonably adept at that, even in my good suit.

One evening coming home, I found it snowing harder and harder as I zigzagged up the back way to our house and decided not even to try to get up into the garage.  I parked on the street by our little gate.  Next morning, sure enough, the car was buried under about a foot of snow.  It was bitter cold too.  But using just my hands and feet, I managed to unearth the Simca and clear a pathway into the street ... before realizing that the car wouldn't start.

Well, there was this steep road going downhill just a few feet away.  If only A----- and I could get the Simca around the corner, I could pop the clutch on the way down and the car was sure to start.  A----- gamely bundled up and came out with me, and the two of us got the car headed out in the right direction.  I got inside to guide it and realized that the mailman had presented himself as a volunteer to push with A-----.  It worked like a charm, and I was right on time for work.

8

But the snow shovel saga continued.  When I got back home after that first snow, I parked again on the street and went down to the basement from inside.  There were several pieces of lumber.  I used one board to just push the snow down the driveway all the way to the other side of the little alley below.  So I could make it then to the garage... having used the end of a board instead of a shovel.

After ten calls or so, someone at one of the stores said brightly, Yes! they had a pel de neige!  I couldn't believe it.  "For removing snow?" I asked skeptically. Yes! "From my driveway?" Yes!  We headed down into the city to search for this magical shop.

It turned out to be big, brightly lit, and modern, even if it had been hard to find on a windy little back street.  What a relief.

Yes! you called about the pel de neige! said the young man inside, evidently the fellow I had spoken to on the telephone.  He scurried out back into the storage area.  After a few minutes, he came back with an iron coal shovel!  Even empty, I could barely lift this monstrous thing, let alone with a load of snow inside its ample scoop.

We did make a purchase in that store, though.  I bought a hammer and a few nails.  When we got home again, I nailed a small board across the top of the longer board, in a T shape.  That turned out to be my snow shovel for the whole season.

***

The Abortion Debate: The Unalienable Right to Life and to Liberty [essay]

***

1

Most so-called "social conservative" ambitions are anti-libertarian, seeking to limit or eliminate individual freedom in order to impose behaviors most extreme Christian conservatives approve and prohibit behaviors they abhor.  The majority of Americans continue to reject such restrictions on individual liberty and remain loyal to the most basic rights valued by the founders of the United States.

The standard principle has been and continues to be that an adult individual should have the liberty to do whatever he or she wants, unless doing so would harm someone else.  No one would claim that an individual should have the right to murder his or her enemy, but individual liberty - we seem to agree - should be abridged or eliminated only if the behavior desired would harm another person.

The abortion question is more complex than most issues raised by the social conservatives.  It is also a highly emotional issue that has generated more passion than rational discourse.  For these reasons, we should be especially motivated to bring to bear on the abortion issue some cool reason, based on fundamental American values.

2

Near the end of life, we agree, the individual has the right to refuse extraordinary efforts to prolong her or his life.  Others have no right to prohibit the individual from making such a choice since it would harm no one else.  For example, if an 80-year-old man learns he has colon cancer, he is free to tell his doctors not to operate and not to start chemo- or radiation therapy, but merely to keep him as comfortable as possible as the cancer kills him.

We agree, that is, that society does not have the right to intervene in such a personal choice and to dictate that a life - even an undesired, tortured, intolerable life - should be prolonged.  Only the individual himself or herself can make such a free choice, even if some or even most of us were to think the right thing to do from a moral perspective would be to continue the suffering.

Now, if that same man were facing colon cancer while also suffering a significant level of senile dementia, he would have already lost the freedom to make a responsible choice about his own health.  His liberty would have been significantly lessened, not by others but by "nature" or " chance" or even "God."  So, we also agree that if before losing the capacity to make responsible choices, this poor man had given his daughter the right (the responsibility, the freedom) to make health decisions on his behalf, then she - not he and not society - would have the right to say that her father should not have surgery, chemotherapy, or radiation; and it would be wrong for others to try to intervene, even if they disagree with her decision on religious or any other grounds.  The action chosen could be considered "harming" the Dad, but since he had freely opted for his daughter to make such choices for him, it would be wrong for others to limit or eliminate her freedom to do so.

3

This daughter's legally established freedom to choose her aging father's medical treatment has a parallel near the beginning of life.  If an otherwise healthy one-year-old were severely injured in an automobile accident and could survive only after prolonged, extraordinary medical procedures and if the youngster were unlikely to be able to function independently at any future time, then we agree that the unfortunate child's parents would have the responsibility (the right, the freedom) to decide whether extraordinary medical measures would be continued or the child would be allowed to die naturally.  This is not a matter for legal intervention, or for a public vote; it is a private matter between the parents and their child's doctors.  We seem to agree on this principle just as we do about the end-of-life decision-making.

Incidentally, if the child had been born illegitimately and the biological father had never had any role in the birth or care of the child, then it would also be reasonably clear that the mother alone would have to make the life-or-death decision.  She could consult anyone she wished, but she would decide whether or not her child was to be allowed to die.  This would be her responsibility and her right.

We should acknowledge, however, that a public responsibility is felt for the safety of children in general.  Doctors, school teachers, counsellors, day care workers, and others are often formally required to report signs of possible child abuse, the suspected abusers often being the parents themselves.  In such instances, we think the parents cannot be trusted to make appropriate free choices for their own children.  And we seem to agree that public intervention is warranted in cases of such child abuse.  So, couldn't one reasonably claim that public intervention in a single mother's decision to "let nature take its course," not undertaking extraordinary medical procedures in order to preserve life, is also warranted?

Since intervention in the relation between a parent and her or their child is recognized as a violation of what we usually consider an inalienable right, the liberty to make choices for those for whom we are responsible, unusual safeguards are imposed.  Signs of child abuse must be documentable, repeated, or severe; once reported, a complex process of investigation is begun, and even in a case of abuse it is only after a high level of proof is achieved that the parents' decision regarding the child is contravened.  Such questioning of the person's judgment who is responsible for the well-being of another is recognized as a momentous, extraordinary, and rare event.

4

"Social conservatives" might believe that the mother with a severely injured child would be sinning against God's law if she were to allow the child to die without taking advantage of all possible medical procedures, but while they may have the right to say so, they may not intervene between her and her child's doctors as this decision is being made.

Such conservatives do wish to intervene in some personal decisions.  They clearly think for example that if two men want to marry each other, or two women, they should not be free to do so.  Such an action is so contrary to their religious beliefs that they would have our very legal system prevent it from happening.  They would prevent the two gays or two lesbians from freely choosing to marry, even though doing so would harm no one.  But to intervene would violate the unalienable right to liberty that has been one of the principal cornerstones of our culture. 

"Social conservatives" would do it anyway, if they could.

5

Some of these extremists would go so far as to prohibit the sale of birth control devices to minors and to support the refusal of a pharmacist to sell birth control devices to anyone.  Prevention of conception, however, does not harm anyone, and so in America one has an unalienable right to freely choose to take measures to prevent impregnation.  An individual or even a highly vocal group may believe that to protect oneself from unwanted pregnancy is a sin against divine law, but it remains the individual's own choice whether or not to do so.  (The child who might have been conceived if a woman and man had engaged in unprotected sex obviously does not exist and cannot be said to "have been harmed" by the free choice to use birth control.)

Social conservatives generally also want to prevent an impregnated woman from freely deciding to end her pregnancy by having an abortion.  They might even want to claim that such a prohibition is not a violation of the woman's unalienable right to liberty because in the case of an abortion there is a "child" who does exist who would be harmed by the abortion.

Because this claim could be made (rationally), it is worth our considering whether or not it has any more merit than the desired prohibition of same-sex marriage or of birth control (either of which has little or no merit).

6

Until late in a pregnancy, a fertilized egg or a foetus inside the mother's womb is not only incapable of making a choice for itself.  It is not even capable of surviving without the mother's choice to nurture it inside herself.  It is not reasonable to claim that such an organism is an existing person; thus, it is not reasonable to maintain that it would be criminal for the mother to freely choose to end the pregnancy at such an early stage of gestation.

At some point during the pregnancy, however, the foetus will have developed enough that, if  born, even prematurely, extraordinary "neo-natal" medical devices and procedures could be employed in attempting to save the new-born's life.  At such a late stage of gestation, in other words, it becomes somewhat more reasonable to think of the new-born as "an existing child."  If for some reason such an infant should actually be born prematurely, surely it is the parents' responsibility to decide if such extraordinary procedures should be undertaken or if the underdeveloped new-born should be made as comfortable as possible as nature takes its own course.  This situation would be essentially the same as the decision about the seriously injured one-year-old discussed above and is comparable to the daughter's deciding her father's treatment when he is so near the end of life that she has been given the responsibility of making this momentous decision for him.

In fact, at such a late stage of her pregnancy, for the mother to decide to continue nurturing the foetus inside her is really the same decision; i.e. the choice as to whether the means needed to create a living person will be provided (or continued).  This would be the mother's free choice, it would seem, just as it would be primarily her choice as to whether or not to use extraordinary neo-natal procedures to extend the tenuous life of an underdeveloped new-born.

7

Here is an outline of the argument presented here:

1. An adult individual in America has the inalienable right to the liberty to do whatever he or she wants, unless doing so would harm someone else.
2. Near the end of life, for example, the individual has the right to refuse extraordinary efforts to prolong her or his life, and if she or he has delegated the authority to another in case of his or her own incapacity, the designee is free to do so.  This is not considered "harm" to the aging individual.
3. If an infant can survive an injury or disease only after prolonged, extraordinary medical procedures with little hope of ever achieving true health, then the child's parents may choose whether the child will be allowed to die naturally.
4. If some individuals' choices are contrary to another's values, the second person (or group) does not have the right to prevent the first person from doing what she or he wants unless it harms another.
5. Questioning the judgment of a person who is responsible for the well-being of another is recognized as an extraordinary and very rare event.
6. A mother's choosing to terminate an early pregnancy cannot be considered "harm to another" any more than preventing pregnancy either by use of birth control pills or devices or by abstention from sex can be so considered.
7. The parents of a child born so prematurely that the chances of what they consider "normal life" are small  have the freedom, the right, to tell doctors to withhold extraordinary, neo-natal procedures.  This is parallel to the end-of-life decision of an older person's designee.
8. A mother's choosing to end a pregnancy even late in the gestation period, when medical authorities are doubtful of the foetus's capacity to survive on its own without extraordinary measures, is also the same, isn't it?

The truth or relevance of any of these statements may be questioned, and the logical relations among the statements may also be challenged.  But to make emotional pronouncements about one's religious beliefs would not be convincing or relevant.  And, furthermore, the most complex social issues - including all those relating to our inalienable rights as American citizens - are the most important for us to discuss logically, exercising the very coolest and soundest reason of which we are capable.

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