My Carved Lava Haumea, Hawaiian Fertility Goddess

Dior "Idol" Stilletos

It has brought to my attention that perhaps I was disparaging local culture in my depiction of the Dior “Idol” shoe with carved lava Fertility Goddess.

Oh No, nothing could be further than the truth. I do have  a treasured carved lava Fertility Goddess of my very own, and could have had a lot more, but further on that later.

My Goddess was made at a time when starchy Poi was more a mealtime choice than the currently popular fruit salad plate.  My Haumea is a bit more corpulent. 

Hawaiian lava is quite hard and brittle making it difficult to cut and carve without breaking. I learned this watching a young group of native Hawaiians carving the stone, called “fountain rock” at the Polynesian Cultural center on Oahu.  I found these dedicated young men worked long hours for low pay keeping the tourists supplied with this unique island token.  They would finish their long days with hands so tired and sore they were barely able to hold a soft banana. 

"Mano Kana", center

Being a creature of empathy I offered to message their aching hands as a cross cultural inroad, and often met with willing affirmation. I would accompany these carvers home to their modest dwellings.  It turned out that holding a banana wasn’t the only need of these virile young men.  The production quotas and demanding “Luna’s”  (Hawaiian for boss)  caused a great deal of built up tension and anxiety in which  lending my helping hands could also be of use .  Needless to say my healing and focused message made for a lot of gratitude, thankfulness for healing release.  Their loud and joyous cries were noticed, word got around, and, in my island visits I became very popular for requests of my ministrations. 

Now perhaps The Fertility Goddess didn’t have any direct affect on me, but I can confidently say it did on many of her idol creators.  Who knows, my “hand intensive” help could have even had a minor affect on island overpopulation. Of course in a very small way.  But it was not for any lack of zeal that I undertook my mission in earnest, so much so that on many occasions , my helpful visits were so well received that I not only got great joyous cries of thanks but many, many offers of a treasured gift of their craft. Not being one to take food out of a young mouth I turned all these Fertility Goddess” statue offers graciously down.

Haumea

That is all except for one.  Mano Kana (namesake of “The passionate long roped God”) was such a gift to Hawaiian manhood that I gave much more of myself than usual. He was more than grateful on many occasions in my island visits over the years.  Many times his hands were so sore and useless I had to spend extended time with him.  Often, this time with him ended with his being so relaxed he would fall asleep as I watched his beatific smile.  He was exceedingly grateful and offered me a sample of his carving. That one time I accepted, more as a remembrance of times shared .

Some say it was a wonderful thing I did eliciting Hawaiian love and cultural understanding.  Perhaps, after all, there is something to the Lava Fertility Goddess.

LONO

Haumea, honey, you may have facilitated a lot of love and attention from me .  Oh course, in my case, perhaps I should more thankful to “Lono,”  Haumea’s male equivalent .

In Ten Lines

A face

caught half

in shadow

and light…

Only partial story told

or enigma of beguiling mystery?

Hidden flaws or furtive flirtation,

half full or half empty?

The mystery is a book

 written here in ten lines.

- Jerry Wendt 2016

Ribs For Dinner

Ribs for Dinner  

Case makes the best ribs.

We just sat down to eat
at our stationhouse,
67^th and Jeffrey-
when we got a still call, 2-11.
Three story tenement on Englewood,
probably a bed smoker.
So it’s gear ourselves up and ride the pumper engine down,
hose up to a hydrant, and lil Joey got three lines going out on full
with aspirated stream nozzles to drench and quench.
Fire broke on the 3^rd floor of the 16 unit frame,
14 units occupied; 13 out, accounted for and safe.
Chief wants a crew to go in for a looksee at 2^nd floor rear to
scope anyone trapped in that last apartment.
So Max, Jim Johnny and I suited up heavy duty, put on smoke masks
and went in.
Even without the fire heat it’s 92 outside
and with those suits felt like over 120
We found the unit and it’s empty so we tracked back out
until a portion of the roof by the stairway collapsed between
Jim and Johnny, separating Max and Jim from us and blocking their exitway
We’re out.  Big-time worry about the guys inside.
We did hear the last tenants have been located. They made it out O.K.
Now it’s just our own and it seems forever with no news.
We were still working the pumper hoses when we hear on the talkie,
Max and Jim got out the rear.
Wow; relief . . . until we also heard a
sniper, probably a neighborhood banger,
shot Jimmy .
Caught him in the spine.
The second paramedic squad reported  he’s outbound to Holy Cross.
That’s pretty much the fire story.
It took 4 more hours in that heat to get it put out
and social services was there helping find
shelter for the residents.
Back at the stationhouse we got word Jimmy is critical but O.K.
He will walk but not be back for a long time.
Case reheated the ribs for our wee hour’s dinner.
They didn’t taste as good as they usually do.  

                                             -Jerry Wendt 2016

Christmas Skates

Christmas Skates

I wanted skates for Christmas.                                  

Figure skates.
He wouldn’t hear of it.
I got hockey skates.
I loved skating,
the warming shed,
and the laughter-
even the sounds of the ice.
So I went.
But still today
watching figure skating on television,
I always remember
how I hated those damn black and brown hockey skates.

-Jerry Wendt 2009

Nine Eleven

Acrid smoke fills my lungs;                                   

it tastes of kerosene.

My computer has no power

and the phones are without signal or jammed.

Lord, lead me home.

I consider my options,

I think of family to prevent panic.

Up is fire and darkness,

down is 55 levels; no stairs or elevators.

Lord, lead me home

All around I feel the heat consume.

Through the shattered window

I can lean out to see confusion below;

Firemen coming,  people fleeing.

Lord, lead me home

I think of dying burned alive

and futility of any rescue.

My  choices have dwindled,

my destiny confronts.

Lord, lead me home

I Remember

I Remember

- photo by James Gavin on Fire Island,  June 2016

Following high school graduation,

my  classmate Bob Behling

took his movie star looks

to a modeling job in Greece

where a swarthy pickup from an Athens gay bar

mugged and knifed him to death.

I remember.

From an open shower in our basement apartment

naked  roommate Joe baited me

until I admitted that, yes, I “liked it.”

He launched into a rage

deriding and beating me with his fists.

He was suspended and I left school forever.

I remember.

Left as a living scarecrow

tied to a fence in Laramie Wyoming

Matthew Shepard died at the

hands of torture and beating

by two gay pretenders whose hatred

turned robbery into murdering rage

I remember

So many memorials

left us to deal with an ignorance

telling us it was all divine justice,

this horrid ugly deathly AIDS left

kindred survivors sad , alone, and shamed

as community turned its back and shunned us.

I remember

My dear friend Frank DiCecco was a college professor

who built a harpsichord, grew prize orchids

and who , in a sterile call from a Chicago precinct Captain,

I learned was bludgeoned to death with a ball peen hammer

by a tenant who simply  did not like

his “Alternative Lifestyle.”

I remember.

Now I have 49 more hapless fallen

added to my list of memories,

soullessly murdered in Orlando

losing pulse to a psychopath

who could not deal with

his own sexuality.

You can bury all the bodies,

but not the memory .

-Jerry Wendt 2016

Those Ropes

Going to young friend Jair’s graduation being held tonight in the Fieldhouse of my Alma Mater, Crystal Lake Central High School, reminds me of the last time I was in that facility 54 years ago. As senior men, we were told we had to pass a physical proficiency test in order to graduate.  Back then we took any word from faculty as truth, so there I stood in that fieldhouse, a trembling shell.  Physical anything was not a skill. It was avoidance therapy for me.  Thin as I was, I had no core strength.

First up was a run twice around the fieldhouse.  It was supposed to be timed, but I took so much time they just marked me “passed.”  Then I got yelled at for trying to maximize some rest time at the water fountain.  Darn.

OK then, next was pushups: Twenty , no rest . My pal Powers McGuire had pissed me off using the excuse he had a bad heart.  The teacher- I still remember his name, Roy Nystrom- told him to do them anyway. “Muley,” Powers’ nickname, did two and collapsed in a fake heart attack.  He got passed  but now I had no excuse as he had already taken my planned one.  I did my twenty and it was more than once I got yelled at again for resting my stomach on the floor. But I did do them. (sort of- the floor under my stomach was polished very clean) Finally. Passed.

Now, the dreaded ropes.  They hung ominous and large from the ceiling.  I  really  had nothing against the ropes themselves as they provided me great pleasure watching the gymnast muscles flex as they pulled themselves up as we gym wimps played volleyball. But now it was my turn to climb. Oh Geez. I grasped the rope.  I pulled, wishing the rope would detach from its ceiling mooring.  Nothing,  the rope stayed and so did my feet- on the ground.  Nystrom bellowed “Pull, Wendt, Pull: get yourself up there. Wrap your legs around the rope and anchor your ankles. Use them to push.”  Hah. I wrapped my legs around, the rope swayed and down I fell on my bum.  “ Get back up there, Wendt, I want to see some effort,” the coach yelled.

I sweated. That was showing effort, right?  Evidently, not enough.  I knew it wasn’t going to happen so I just stood there holding that rope, wishing maybe there would be a fire, a tornado; something .  I was not going to cry, dammit.

Nystrom yelled at me, “ If you don’t climb, you will NOT graduate,”   Yikes, that motivated me to speak in terror, “ You mean I’ll have to try to do this again next year? ”

Unknowlingly, it was the perfect thing to say.  The light went on in  Nystrom’s brain ; wheels furiously turned.  “Repeat? Him- in my class, again?”

“Wendt, you pass, now get out of here.. . Next !”

There must be a Jesus I thought as I exited that facility, not even stopping at the water fountain.  In June, at graduation, I could not stop glimpsing across the court to the conditioning area and those ropes.  I wonder if they still hang there. I’ll be looking yet again tonight.