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Heirloom Emotions

In history, Media, Opinion, Senior Lifestyle, Uncategorized on June 15, 2024 at 8:55 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

It’s truly remarkable how we can develop such deep emotional bonds with family heirlooms. Whether it’s an antique jewelry box, a wax candle mold, or even a small piece of roof tile from a 19th-century courthouse, these objects hold a special place in our hearts as cherished remnants of days gone by.

I recently attended an event promoted as a kind of show-and-tell at the local historical society. Visitors were encouraged to bring an item that had some significance to them, the history of the community, or their family, and share the story behind each piece.

Upon my arrival, I was greeted by a sight that stirred a sense of nostalgia. The organizers had proudly arranged the evening’s offerings on tables at the front of the room. Soon, a representative of the organization initiated the event, and one by one, each presenter stepped forward, their faces beaming with pride as they shared the personal significance of their cherished items.

It was like watching a live edition of The Antiques Roadshow minus the frequent condescension of the hosts. You know, “I’m sorry, but this frog statue lamp with a clock in its belly isn’t worth squat.” I always hated that. Anyway, I doubt any of the artifacts would have been for sale. You’d likely have to pry each one out of its owner’s cold, dead hands.

Even more impressive than the reverence with which each person spoke about their property was the variety of items they brought. One man brought a wooden dynamite crate, which was once used to carry explosives for stump removal at his grandparents’ farm. Another showed off his own grade school pictures, some 65 years old.

Others exhibited familial artifacts ranging from a military bayonet to a small jewelry box, which we learned was the owner’s only connection with her great-grandmother. Though very plain to the eye, it was priceless and beautiful to her, and perspective is everything.

When it originated with the speaker, like the school photos, the speaker relayed a personal account of the object’s significance. If, on the other hand, the possession once belonged to a loved one or close friend, the connection is very different. Things left behind by those before us can be deeply meaningful. Heirlooms strengthen our memory of someone and remind us of the relationship.

You’re unlikely to forget a departed parent, spouse, or sibling. But seeing and touching something that belonged to them reaffirms that connection tactilely and creates an emotional response, good and bad.

As I absorbed each story, a profound realization dawned on me. The pride, honor, or reverence—whatever you may call it—was not about the possessions. It was about the people in the stories, whether they were related or not to the speaker. After all, what is human society without stories? Stories shared between family and tribal members are how we preserve our history. And physical remnants of that history, like these family heirlooms, make the stories more tangible, more real.

And it doesn’t have to be about people who have passed on. For those in the room who had attended the same school, the antique class photos had a more profound, more personal association. Someone who’d been a student at the same school as several of the audience, but a half-century earlier, bound two generations, brought together because someone shared a story about a picture.

Finally, there’s something to be said for legacy. I think we all want to be remembered. I sincerely hope to leave behind more than a half-used pencil and a broken typewriter. But if so, I also hope someone will come up with a compelling and meaningful story about them. I think the ancestors of those who shared family items would be very proud of their legacy.

My parents left behind a treasure trove of memories, from books and dolls to trucks and tractors. Among these, I hold dear my father’s wristwatch. He personally handed it to me, sharing the story of its origin. When I gaze upon it, I am transported back to that moment. It’s not about the watch itself, but the emotional bond it represents, the moments he spent with me that hold the true value.

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My “Piano Man” Days

In Dayton Ohio News, Entertainment, Music, Opinion, Uncategorized on June 7, 2024 at 8:10 am

Deer In Headlines II
By Gery Deer

“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday. The regular crowd shuffles in.” Those are the first lines of Billy Joel’s “Piano Man,” a song that always transports me back to my college days. To help pay for school, I was the pianist at a small Italian restaurant. Even in the 80s, it was old-fashioned, with one large room outlined by raised booths along the walls and a few floor tables in the middle. The decor was, what’s the word, beige. Yep, a lot of beige. Or was it brown? It’s tough to be sure because the lighting was pretty low.

Every Friday and Saturday evening, for about three hours, I performed all instrumentals on a small studio upright. I was like a live Muzak machine without the lyrics. I. Did. Not. Sing. Period. No one would have wanted to hear that. You might as well go outside and toss an alley cat into an upright trash can for that cacophony.

I had a repertoire of about 250 pieces, mostly pop and oldies, but I tossed in the occasional classical number just to show off. A quiet tinkling of “Fur Elise” goes particularly well with linguini, and the leg of lamb begged delivery of Bach’s “Sheep May Safely Graze.” I can’t read music, so everything was by ear. I memorized each song pretty much the first time it fell from my ear to my hands. Regulars would often bring a tape of some song they wanted me to play, and I’d learn it before their next visit.

“Piano Man” Gery Deer, performing for a holiday event at Sinclair Community College in 1988.

Once in a while, I’d break out the occasional show tune. On slower nights, I’d rearrange some old TV show theme song into a long, drawn-out ballad. You should hear my dramatic rendition of “Gilligan’s Island” at half speed with Liberace-esque flourishes. People would ask if it was some rare piece by Rubinstein or Mozart. I’d reply, “Oh, no. It’s an original by Schwartz (Sherwood, that is – go look it up).

Playing in a restaurant isn’t all tickling the ivories and clever combinations of sets. It’s more about the people. Unlike a “piano bar” or dueling pianos show, restaurant performances are more atmosphere than anything else. Still, although I got paid for my hours on the bench, my livelihood really depended on tips.

Depending on the traffic, my available talent that evening, and the generosity of the customers, I could have a forty-dollar or four-hundred-dollar night. The latter required some people skills. I was unable to respond with more than a smile or nod when someone tipped me while I was playing. So, I’d take a break at my first opportunity and walk over to their table to thank them.

Here’s a secret about restaurant or bar piano players. We are always watching you. No, I didn’t care what you ordered. I never gave a thought to how stingy you were about tipping the waitstaff after spending a ridiculous amount on too many bottles of cheap wine. Nor did it matter to me that your date’s dress was so short your wife would certainly have disapproved.

No, I was studying my audience’s reaction. It was gratifying when people clearly enjoyed my work and that it added to their evening experience. If a table was paying particular attention to one kind of music, I’d adjust my set list accordingly. More often than not, a request or early tip came from one of those parties, generally the lady of the table. I think the guys were embarrassed to come up to me. I have no idea why.

During my three years there, I also learned a great deal about human behavior. Restaurants only provide a two-dimensional view of human interaction, but it’s alive with celebrations, sadness, gluttony, and togetherness.

I was very young then, so I also learned a lot about myself, particularly that I was more introverted than I’d ever realized. I’d like to think my music always improved someone’s day and that it still does. At least, I hope so.

If a street or restaurant musician ever makes your day just a little brighter, please take time to tell them so and drop a few bucks in their jar. You’ll make their day and yours, too.

CHECK OUT THE PODCAST FOR THIS EDITION.

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Social Microcosms

In Opinion, psychology, sociology, television on June 1, 2024 at 9:56 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Have you ever considered a microcosm? Chances are you haven’t, but we are exposed to them almost every day. Essentially, a microcosm is anything in miniature that represents something bigger. For our purposes, a microcosm is a small group or community whose characteristics represent a larger one.  

We see microcosms everywhere, and we’re usually unaware of them. Some are fictional, existing only in books, movies, television, and theatre. Others are happening around us, whether we’re integrated participants or outside observers. Let’s look at a couple of examples.

Consider the classic TV show “Gilligan’s Island,” which its creator, Sherwood Schwartz, referred to as a social microcosm. It featured seven characters, each representing a different socioeconomic position. Gilligan and the Skipper embodied the working class, while the Professor symbolized academia.

Mr. and Mrs. Howell (the millionaire and his wife) represented the elite, privileged upper crust. Mary Ann, a girl from the heartland, brought an earthy, grounded perspective, and Ginger, the movie star, added a touch of glamour.

Gilligan’s Island creator Sherwood Schwartz called the slapstick-laden sitcom of the 60s a “social microcosm” because of the socio-economic makeup of the characters.

Shipwrecked on an island in the middle of the Pacific, the writers put these people in absurdly improbable situations where each demonstrated their own inherent characteristics, however unrealistically. That’s where the comedy came from, and it worked.

Of course, to suspend the disbelief and immerse the viewer into the cartoon-like world, the show generally left out more realistic issues in such a situation. Problems like food, water, clothing, and shelter only arose when a comedic lack of some basic survival needs drove the story. But that’s TV. What about in real life? Where do microcosms exist day-to-day?

Recently, I found myself at a family birthday party in a local bowling alley. The guest of honor was turning 18, and a lively group of teenagers had gathered around the scoring console, ready for a game. As the afternoon progressed, the pitcher of soda ran dry, and the pizza had disappeared. Hunger pangs set in. (Kids eat a lot, wow!) With nothing else to do, I volunteered to make a snack bar run, setting the stage for an interesting observation of a real-life microcosm.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the place was packed. Nearly every lane was occupied. As I walked along the service area at the back wall, past the shoe rental and pro shop, I suddenly noticed how much real life was happening all around me, and it all registered in my mind with sounds.

When I first realized what I was listening to, I literally froze for a moment. A woman nearly collided with me as she hurried along, balancing a pizza, drinks, and bowling shoes. I was so surprised by how I felt at the moment that I was compelled to step out of the foot traffic, close my eyes, and just listen.

Amidst the chaos, I focused on individual sounds. I heard the familiar thud as bowling balls dropped onto the hardwood floors and the dull rumble as each raced down the lane. Finally, the unmistakable crash of the pins as the ball hit them or the disheartening clunk if it dropped into the gutter.

Above pin resets, hand dryers, and clanking ball returns were the sounds of people living life. This was the microcosm of the moment—celebrations, first dates, families, young, old, and everyone in between.

I opened my eyes, looked around, and tried to put sight with sound. More birthday parties, a small child, with a ramp and dad’s help, making her first attempt to roll the ball. Neither she nor her parents will ever forget that day. A couple of lanes down, several older women chatted and crocheted between frames. One of the women working on a large afghan appeared to be winning.

I was standing among people from many different walks and stages of life. They all had one purpose, albeit the motivations were different. Everyone was there to enjoy the game, be with family and friends, and create lasting memories.

Eventually, I had to complete my mission and get the food back to our group before the teenagers ate their own shoes. But I can still hear those sounds and remember all the life that was being lived on that one normal day at the bowling alley.

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Gossip Column

In Local News, Opinion, psychology, sociology, Uncategorized on May 18, 2024 at 9:02 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Gossip. It’s an insidious phenomenon that always hurts people. Usually, gossip is inaccurate and degrades even more as it travels from person to person. Gossip is a destructive game of telephone that usually ends in the victim’s humiliation.

Gossip begins with someone sharing something confidential, saying, “Hey, just between you and me…” and so on. But it’s doubtful the information will remain a secret. The story inevitably spreads like air escaping a leaky tire.

Although there is debate about whether gossip is predominantly negative, nothing good comes from it. One study even suggests that gossipers tend to have a “darker” personality, uncaring about the social consequences of their behavior. Another offers the theory that we’re motivated by a need to bond with others in our social circles, keep ourselves entertained, vent emotions, and establish social status.

Low self-esteem seems to be a common theme among gossipers. They validate themselves by spreading news of others’ misfortunes and by sharing negative stories about people, reinforcing their imaginary superiority. 

All that sounds great academically. But, personally, I think people are just mean sometimes. They want to feel superior, so they start rumors and gossip to gain an upper hand—even if it’s all in imaginary. Ignorance probably plays a role, too. Those who spread gossip often believe the person at the story’s heart will never find out, so no harm done, right? Wrong. Trust me, they always find out.

In the past, gossip proliferated over the backyard fence or around the water cooler at work. However, with the advent of social media, gossip has taken on a new level, broadcasting misinformation to countless recipients at the speed of light. Clickbait is a perfect example of modern gossip-mongering, complete with a compelling story, video, and photos.

At this point, it’s probably important to clarify how I distinguish between gossip and rumor. Official definitions explain gossip as the spread of information that’s essentially true but likely unkind or hurtful. A rumor, on the other hand, is false information passed around without confirmation or conscience. However, I’m not convinced this distinction is always evident in practice. In my opinion, there’s very little difference between gossip and rumor, regardless of what old Mr. Webster says.

Regardless of your definition, one of the most important things to remember is how gossip affects the victim and how that affects the gossiper. In this context, the word “victim” refers to the person who is the subject or target of gossip. Since most of that information is false or intended to harm someone, that person is indisputably a victim. Although spreading gossip is not criminal, when those actions cause harm, there should be more severe consequences.

Victims of gossip can suffer devastating and long-lasting effects. I remember when I was in fifth grade, one of the bullies in my class made up a story about me that spread through our rural school like a bad case of Chicken Pox.

It was a painfully frustrating time for me. I already had to deal with being a 10-year-old adjusting to a strange new school. Simultaneously, however, I had to get good grades and spend every other waking minute defending myself against ridiculous lies.

Sometimes, gossip severely damages someone’s reputation or their livelihood. In such cases, it could be considered slander, and the harmed person may have a right to pursue legal action. The person who started the false information may be liable and must pay financial or other restitution.

We can’t control what others say about us, to whom, when, or how. At a time when misinformation and fake news are the norm, all we can do is abstain from its distribution. Think about it. Would you want someone gossiping about you, your business, coworkers, or your family?. Finally, remember that the best gossip is the kind you keep to yourself. And, if you hear gossip or the rumor mill is churning out something about someone close to you, do what you can to help put an end to it. I’ll close with a quote from the great Hee Haw Honeys song: “We’re not ones to go around repeating gossip. So, you’d better be sure to listen close the first time.”

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Gone With The Wind

In Opinion, Technology, Uncategorized, weather on May 10, 2024 at 4:21 pm

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

I hate thunderstorms. Some people find them relaxing, even romantic. Not me. Storms like that wind me into a sort of controlled anxiety. Growing up in the shadow of the 1974 Xenia Tornado, a thunderstorm always set me on alert, scanning the skies like Chicken Little, certain something terrible would swoop down and obliterate my world.

When I was a little kid, I put together an emergency kit and hid it under the basement stairway. It had a thermos of water, dehydrated ice cream (that gross, Neapolitan NASA museum stuff), a flashlight, matches, candles, and cans of soup. I know it seems silly now, but give me a break. I was like ten, and I thought I was being prepared.

I was always taught that knowledge was my best defense against fear. Over time, I educated myself about the meteorology surrounding tornados and the storms that spawned them. As I got older, the fear dissipated, eventually replaced by scientific understanding and respect. I wasn’t scared anymore. I even went on a couple of storm chases. But one rainy spring day, that newly minted resolve would be tested up close.

It was the spring of 1988, and I was a commuting college student. One afternoon, I’d just arrived home after class, and my parents were making a bedding delivery in the truck. I popped in a video and settled in with some takeout before starting my homework.

The weather had been threatening since mid-morning, and the afternoon brought even darker skies. Our house sat in the center of 25 acres, back a long lane, so it was very quiet there. I was sitting next to the open window in my bedroom, engaged in my movie when a massive clap of thunder and lightning nearly knocked me out of my chair. The power went out.

I went downstairs and out the back door to look at the sky. An ominous wall of clouds was closing in from the southwest. I hurried around the house and behind our barn, where I could see the livestock. Usually, when a storm approached, the cattle meandered down the hillside into the valley behind our house. That’s just where they were. Smart creatures.

Back at the house, I paused on the front porch step as the wind kicked up. Another bone-rattling clap of thunder boomed, and brilliant lightning illuminated the dark sky. That’s when I saw it. Rainwater ran into my eyes as I stood there motionless in the downpour. A small tornado spun down out of the sky like a crooked finger reaching for the ground.

It touched down, moved along the edge of our hayfield, and whipped up dirt, grass, and other debris as it intensified. Moving parallel to my position, the funnel picked up speed, crashed into one of my dad’s grain trucks, and shattered its old wooden sideboards into kindling.

I probably should have run to the basement, but I couldn’t move. Unconsciously, I fought my basic instinct and didn’t move. I wanted to see it. I needed to see it. I never imagined I would be so close and never felt threatened. It was oddly quiet. There was no freight train sound, as most people usually report; it was probably too small.

My ears popped as it passed, however. The funnel continued another quarter-mile, still moving along the field. It was as if a hidden puppeteer controlled it. The thing slipped across the road, narrowly missed a house, and blew apart a small horse barn. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, dissolved into the air. All was quiet.

I’m not sure how smart it was to stand there. I knew the tornado, however small, was dangerously unpredictable and could have changed course and come right at me. But sometimes, we just must face our fears and meet them head-on. I was never again afraid.

Since that day back on the farm, I’ve been close to at least three other tornadoes. I still do my best to be prepared. When shopping for my first house, I had only one deal-breaking requirement—a basement. I also have a little more in my emergency kit these days than a can of Campbell’s.

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Have A Nice Trip

In Local News, Opinion, Travel, Uncategorized on May 3, 2024 at 9:26 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Spring has finally settled over the Ohio Valley, and summer will be here before you know it. I’ve already heard people talking about summer travel and vacation plans. I don’t really travel much anymore. When I was a kid, though, we always had a camping trailer or motor home, so early in my life, we took a road trip every summer. 

I remember visiting historic places like Gettysburg, Washington D.C., and Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Once, when I was about four years old, we went to South Dakota and explored the Black Hills in a blue 1959 Cadillac, pulling a bulky travel trailer behind. I even met Fred Flintstone at the “Bedrock City” campground, where we stayed in Custer. I will always remember that. I guess they always wanted me to learn something about America wherever we went but keep it fun.

No matter how much you travel, even if the same destinations call you back again and again, there is always that one trip that holds the most significance in your memory. It could be because of a special occasion or the first time visiting a place that became a lifelong favorite. Whatever the reason, that one memorable trip can stick with you. The one that comes to my mind most often was in the summer of 1989. I had just graduated from college. I was 22, and though I didn’t know it then, it would be the last trip our entire family would take together.

Two campers and a motorhome carried the lot of us to Kentucky: my parents, my brother and sister, their spouses, and four grandkids. We were headed to the state park named after the song by Stephen Foster, “My Old Kentucky Home.” The park is nestled amongst the rolling hills of Bardstown, known as the “Bourbon Capital of the World” because of its many distilleries.

This is a photo from the Kentucky trip mentioned in this piece. In the foreground, GERY’s four nieces. In Back, his parents and sister-in-law.

Why Bardstown? Well, the history is remarkable, and the area is quite scenic, but that was only part of it. The truth is, Mom loved musicals. She took every opportunity to watch them on TV or go to a nearby dinner theatre to see live productions of shows like Oklahoma or Annie Get Your Gun. We would get all dressed up, pile everyone into one of Dad’s classic limousines (yep, you read that right), and immerse ourselves in musical dinner theatre. It wasn’t Broadway. In fact, sometimes it was terrible. Mom loved it, and I kind of did too. 

As it happened, my mother learned about a long-running outdoor musical that performed in Bardstown during the summer. “The Stephen Foster Story” showcased the songwriter’s life and work with an ensemble cast and set much of the action at his cousin’s Bardstown home, Federal Hill. That’s all it took. What seemed like moments later, the Deer crew was packed up and caravanning to Kentucky. However, at least one of us was, let’s just say, not as excited to go.

I’d just been unceremoniously dismissed from a long-term relationship and an emotional wreck. I spent most of my summer free time holed up in my bedroom, dumping my feelings into my old typewriter and blasting movie scores on my stereo.

Although I didn’t want to go, I will forever be grateful that Mom convinced me otherwise. I wrote, explored the historical sites of The Bluegrass State, healed, and got to know my family again after several years head-down in my schoolbooks. I may have grown up a little too.

It’s funny; the things I remember most about that trip are, in this order, my brother wearing Western boots on a skateboard, my nieces getting along nearly the whole time, and how happy my mother seemed to be because we were all in one place for a change.   We can never recreate experiences like that. They’re once in a lifetime. But at least I have that one precious experience safely tucked away in my memory. Whenever I need a reminder of what my family once was, I go back there with them in my mind. I close my eyes and I can hear the music and see Mom’s smile again. I guess, in a way, it was my Old Kentucky Home too.

This was a lovely comment about this story sent after it was published in print. Thank you!

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The Carriage Returns

In Business, Local News, News Media, Opinion, Technology on April 20, 2024 at 1:22 pm

Deer In Headlines II
By Gery Deer

You may not believe it, but I’m writing this week’s edition of “Deer In Headlines” on an antique manual typewriter. Remember the typewriter? The truth is, I just bought this machine a few days ago at TB Writers Plus, a startup typewriter shop in Dayton, Ohio.

(Check out the Bonus Video and the Deer In Headlines Podcast episode that accompanies this piece!)

I have three manuals, but this is a sleek 1945 Smith-Corona Clipper, matte black, with a textured chassis and gold-lettered, enameled keys. It sounds like I’m describing a classic car, doesn’t it? That’s exactly how some people see it.

Your next question is obvious, and I’ve heard it a dozen times already – why? I’m a technically savvy person with a significant digital presence. So why would I sit down to write on an old typewriter? That’s a great question. I’ll try to answer as we go. Let me first say I’m not alone.

Over the last twenty years or so, interest in typewriters has been on the rise. That sharp, rhythmic clickety-clack has charmed a whole new generation of writers, collectors, and nostalgics. It’s commonly known that actor, author, and director Tom Hanks is a long-time typewriter collector. Whole communities of typewriter enthusiasts share photos and samples from their beloved machines online and in person.

Many attend type-ins, where people gather at typewriter shops, homes, libraries, or anywhere else to, well, type. I often refer to them as cruise-ins for typewriter enthusiasts. There’s even an activity called type-casting, where you create something on a typewriter, scan it as an image, and post it online. (Learn more about the so-called “Typewriter Insurgency” here.)

As a Gen Xer who hit high school during the 1980s, modern office tech was still coming of age. We barely had reliable copy machines. Most schools and businesses had a mix of PCs and typewriters (mostly electric), so I learned both almost simultaneously. I’m comfortable with either.

In the background, Gery’s 1964 Royal Safari. (Photo by Hue12 Studios, Dayton, OH)

I bought my first manual typewriter while I was in college, mostly for its portability. A good bit of my earliest writing was done on that machine. It was—or rather is—a 1964 Royal Safari, light blue with off-white keys and accents. It still sounds like I’m describing a ‘57 Chevy. And yes, I still have it.

Aside from nostalgia and mechanical admiration, I think digital overstimulation may have contributed to some people’s leaving the computer behind. I can relate. I’m so immersed in the continuous urgency of the digital environment that I just want—no, need—the quiet of the old ways.

I know the typewriter can be noisy, but I wasn’t referring to “quiet” in that sense. When those keys snap against the paper, I am fully engaged and undistracted from my writing. The slower pace allows me to choose my words more carefully, and there are no pop-ups, email messages, or social media nonsense. It’s kind of freeing.

I’ve also heard some people turn to the typewriter out of paranoia. Privacy has become a real concern in the digital world, and viruses can’t infiltrate typewriters, nor can your printed pages be hacked. You’re most definitely off-grid. But there’s a price to pay for that: time.

You will probably still have to transfer whatever you type into a digital file. Since my column is delivered to the publisher electronically, what you’re reading now was scanned and cleaned up in digital form before being emailed to my editor. All told, it probably added an extra two hours to my process. Plus, I can’t type as fast on a manual as I can on a laptop – yet. That said, I highly recommend hand-strengthening exercises.

There is also something to be said for durability and workmanship. These machines were built to last. This old Clipper, made at the end of World War II, was clearly well-cared for and properly serviced by its last seller. It still works beautifully. How many laptops make it even five years, let alone 80? None.

Unfortunately, however, unless some manufacturer starts cranking out new parts or whole typewriters, once the remaining machines are used up, they’re gone. That really will be the end of an era. No backspace, no return. Just silence.

Until then, you’ll find this reporter parked behind my Safari or the old Clipper, banging out the next great works by Yours Truly.

(See the gallery for photos of the typewriters mentioned in this piece and more.)

Gery Deer’s 1964 Royal SafariPhoto (c)2024
GLD Communications
Gery’s 1945 Smith-Corona Clipper Photo (c)2024
GLD Communications
Photo (c)2024
GLD Communications
Gery at his desk, typing Deer In Headlines “The Carriage Returns.”
The actual typed pages of this column.
Gery’s 1938 Smith-Corona Sterling. A copy of Richard Polt’s “The Typewriter Revolution” and a card featuring his Typewriter Manifesto are on the desk!
August 2024 – Gery’s most recent find, a 1955 Royal De Luxe purchased from an antique mall in Logan, OH.
Another “beauty” shot of the Safari on the bench at TB Writers Plus after her refit.

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No job is bulletproof, not even mine.

In Economy, finances, Media, National News, Opinion, Technology, Uncategorized on April 20, 2024 at 12:02 pm


Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Have you ever been afraid for your job? I laugh when people think I can’t lose my job since I work for myself. As a writer, even working under my public relations agency, I’m often called “self-employed.” The immediate assumption is that no one can fire you.

There’s a lot of nonsense to unpack there. First, and possibly most important, there’s no such thing as self-employed. Unless you have a magical chest of gold or cash that continuously refills itself, you’re working for somebody who’s paying you. Being independently employed (my preferred terminology) means you’ve traded one boss for many (customers).

Second, working on your own means constantly beating the bushes, knocking on doors, and continuously selling yourself to generate a pipeline of work. My father and brother created multiple, simultaneous jobs for themselves because they never wanted to be out of work—and they never were.

My family seemed to always have multiple income streams—cattle, trucking, engine work, welding, anything that brought a buck. However small the amount of revenue, it added up. Mom and Dad ran the farm and our trucking business, and I always knew my family worked hard for what we had. No two days were alike. Dad might be out on one of our trucks or auctioning cattle one day. The next, he and my brother might be rebuilding a tractor engine and welding a broken hay rake—all before dinner.

Over the years, I adopted the same philosophy, but I wasn’t always independently employed. Once upon a time, I worked for “the man,” and the woman, and the corporate overlords, and whatever else they’re called. From engineering technician and mechanical designer to database developer and coder, I did the 8-to-5 grind for many years before going out on my own.

Writers in every industry are rapidly becoming an endangered species due to Artificial Intelligence.

Since much of what I did in the corporate arena was high-tech, the advanced skills required evolved rapidly. I constantly studied the latest technologies to avoid obsolescence. I’ve always been fascinated by computers, but keeping up with advances in computer technology during the 1990s was exhausting.

If that wasn’t enough to worry about, no matter my job, I always felt like something would ruin it. Someone would take it away from me or decide I wasn’t qualified, and that’d be that. I really did know what I was doing. But I suffered from terrible imposter syndrome. Then, one day, that was enough. I walked away.

Life as an independent professional can be tough, especially if you’re used to a steady paycheck and punching out at 5. At least no one ever gets fired, right? Wrong.

There’s a quote from the TV show “Mad Men” that goes, “The day you sign a client is the day you start losing them.” It means that every customer will eventually leave you—your fault, their fault, nobody’s fault. It’s just part of the process. So, when that happens, you are effectively fired. Depending on how many customers you have, that’s how many times you will be fired.

Despite the romanticization, self-employment is hard work and a bit like riding a bike. If you stop pedaling, you fall. You must exceed customer expectations the first time, or those firings I mentioned start sooner. Is that more secure than a corporate job? In many ways, yes. Let me explain.

If I am a “free agent,” I can play in whatever league I want. However, I only get to set some of the rules. I usually have to work within the guidelines of my profession or the client’s needs. One thing is sure, however. If I do my best, treat people with respect, and give them good value for their money, the work will continue.

That doesn’t mean I don’t worry about my job. I do, but for very different reasons. One is automation. Artificial intelligence, or AI, threatens the livelihood of writers in every industry, and what it generates is, at best, inadequate.

Another concern is that my skills will be devalued by a market flooded with amateurs and dabblers. These people produce inferior work, disparaging the profession and limiting potential business for the pros.

Ultimately, no one’s job is bulletproof—not even mine. Always demonstrate your best work. That will show your value, and you’ll stay employed – somewhere. In the meantime, try to remember that there’s always another job.

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Not just a cat.

In Children and Family, Local News, Opinion, Uncategorized on April 12, 2024 at 7:22 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Nearly ten years ago, my chubby tabby cat named Bray was diagnosed with untreatable liver and kidney disease. He was 15 years old and had been in good health, but the level of pain and suffering he was going through was worsening. Knowing what was ahead, I was beside myself with grief.

On the farm, I learned not to get attached to animals because they weren’t there long. While we had livestock, we also had many barn cats, several different dogs throughout the years, and even a few ducks and peacocks. Of course, I had my favorites as I grew up, and some of the dogs and cats were friendlier and more social than others.

But this was different. Bray (a name cobbled together from the words “baby” and “gray”) was my buddy who saw me through some pretty rough times. He was my first indoor pet and had my attached garage as his condo – complete with climbing shelves and a loft.

Since I’ve worked at home for much of my career, Bray would be right there. He would wander in and settle on the recliner I used to keep in the converted bedroom I used as an office. Of course, he couldn’t be bothered with things like conference calls or answering the phone. After all, like other felines, he didn’t have an owner. He had staff – me. And that was fine.

Bray was always a little overweight. Born at my family’s farm, he was kind of a runt but quickly prospered once I brought him home. He no longer had to compete with six siblings. In fact, he just kept getting bigger. At his peak, he was about 18 pounds and, despite his size, all energy.

This is Bray doing one of his favorite things – 2008

He would chase me around the middle section of my house which circled through the hallways, living room, and kitchen. To this day, a strand of elastic string is tied to one of my closet doors with a plastic ball attached. It has a bell inside, and Bray spent what seemed like hours batting it around and holding onto it while gnawing on the elastic.

I used to laugh hard when he’d suddenly let go of the ball, and the elastic would snap back and knock the bell against the door. It was like someone went up behind him and said, “boo.” He’d take off running through the house, his claws struggling for traction as he ran across the slick kitchen floor.

But then Bray started losing weight. He wasn’t eating and was spending time hiding under the bed. For such a social animal, that was unusual behavior for him and sometimes a telltale sign that a cat is sick. We went to the vet, and sadly, his illness had come on pretty rapidly. Little could be done, and what was possible would be painful and expensive. Money was tight then, but regardless, at his age and stage of illness, a full recovery wasn’t likely.

Sometimes, he liked watching movies on Gery’s computer. (2006)

As much as we anthropomorphize them, animals can’t reason as we do, so Bray would have just been in pain with no understanding of what was happening to him. That seemed cruel – to both of us. So, I had to let him go.

I was with both my parents as they left this life. I’ve had to put down cattle that were sick or injured. I even sat with my childhood pony’s head on my lap as he took his last breath after 25 years of companionship. But, with all of that, I’ve had nothing cut me so deeply as having to be the one to decide my little cat was going to die.

My reasoning tells me it was for the best. Even after a decade, I wonder if I did the right thing. Eventually, we have to accept that we chose compassion for the animals we cared for because they depended on us. They’re family and some of the choices we must make on their behalf are easy, others are devastating. As for Bray, I’ll never forget him, and I know there’s someone out there reading this and saying, “It was just a cat.” Maybe to you, but I know better.

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Uniquely Portable Magic

In Books, Education, Entertainment, Opinion, Print Media, Technology, Uncategorized on April 7, 2024 at 9:47 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

“Books are uniquely portable magic.”—Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft.

I’ve often quoted classic books in this column for several reasons. For one thing, those brilliant writers of old had wisdom that still eludes me, and I need to borrow it occasionally. 

I also enjoy the opportunity to share my love of books with those of you who are kind enough to give me your attention for a few minutes each week. My hope is that, in addition to my humble observations, I can share some words from those scribes who were (or are) far wiser and more eloquent than me. 

Of course, I don’t just cite the classics. I toss in something fun and modern here and there as well. You may not realize it, but I’ve shared some words from the likes of Douglas Adams, George R.R. Martin, J.K. Rowling, and more. 

I wasn’t a voracious reader when I was young, but that changed as I grew up. In high school, I became interested in Charles Dickens. Later, it was the stories of Mark Twain. From “The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge” to “Lord of the Flies,” one book led to another. It’s interesting how that happens. Once you’re hooked…

That said, here are my questions of the day: Have books become obsolete in the shadow of the internet and social media? As some try to ban classics like Huckleberry Finn and To Kill A Mockingbird, what has become of literature’s social significance? What does the future hold for the classics and all the unwritten works yet to come? I don’t have the column inches to answer these questions, so here are my brief thoughts. 

In my humble opinion, Stephen King had it right. Books are magical. They transport us to faraway lands, introduce us to people around the globe, and inspire imagination and dreams. But books are far more than mere escapism from our daily grind into the worlds of Harry Potter and Captain Nemo. 

Books are the arks of our history. They help us learn from the past, hold a mirror to the present, and prepare for the future. Every published page offers a tiny glimpse into who we are as a species—warts and all. When you read a book, you have no choice but to learn something. Ignorance is replaced with knowledge and understanding, and then a funny thing happens—people get along better. Books provide the knowledge that breaks down all the barriers that separate us.

Booksellers are struggling, however. In many American communities, there might be a Starbucks or a parking lot where the neighborhood bookstore once stood. Instead of the pages of some great new novel, many people seem far more interested in scrolling through social media.

Although I prefer the printed page for most of my reading, my appreciation for books is more about content than construction. I typically read two or three books simultaneously, each in a different medium—audio, digital, or print. 

A book is a book. Unless you can convince me that words read aloud are less meaningful than those read by eye, listening to an audiobook still counts as reading. You should read however you feel comfortable.

Concerning book bans, I won’t get into the obviously paranoid politics involved. If you don’t like a book, don’t read it. But the concept of book banning should horrify us because it casts a long shadow backlit by terrors of the past. 

Some writers spend decades crafting the perfect book, hoping it will positively impact the reader. No matter your age, the genre, or the medium, reading a book will improve critical thinking and creativity and release dopamine, the brain’s “happy” chemical. 

If you haven’t done so for a while, it’s time to get some of that happiness for yourself or give it to someone else. A book is one of the most meaningful gifts you can give. Libraries and bookstores offer a fun, affordable family experience you will remember forever.

Thankfully, books, even printed ones, aren’t going away anytime soon. But if they were ever to disappear, so would our society, our humanity, and, eventually, the record of our very existence. 

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More Information:

Your local library is a great, free resource for the whole family to explore the unlimited world of books!

If you want to learn more about the book industry, the future of printed books and bookstores, check out these documentary films: The Booksellers. And Hello, Bookstore.