Thursday, July 12, 2012
Give A Man A Leg Up
I do not know Joel, of the blog Joel’s Gulch (previously titled The Ultimate Answer to Kings—Is A Belly Laugh), personally, but I admire him tremendously for his efforts to remove himself, completely, from the auspices of the state. Joel is a man unafraid of earning his keep, whether it be shoveling horseshit, stuccoing a house, or whatever odd job which will pay him cash, and he does it all with the inconvenience of a prosthetic leg.
Joel has a problem, and it is not just that his prosthetic leg is old, causing him pain, and pooling blood as he goes about earning his keep. It is Joel’s admirable principles which are weighing most heavily on his soul.
Yesterday I went out and finished my raking project, took four hours including emptying the trailer, and I thought I was gonna die. I wasn’t even carrying heavy things, I was just moving back and forth on broken ground and I ended up with blood in my socket. That’s not good.
I’m thinking of doing something bad. By my standards, very bad – in fact, a violation of a dearly-held personal belief. I’m thinking of asking the state for something.
See, nothing short of a new prosthesis is going to fix this. Yeah, I know about memory foam. My socket is stuffed with the shit. It’s not helping. I’ve got sores on my stump that never heal, and they’re not even the problem. When I spend a lot of time moving around I feel like somebody’s chewing my stump with pliers. It can take days to recover from a few miles worth of walking.
My mercenary, self-justifying side tells me it’s not my fault the cost of these damned things has skyrocketed so. My first prosthesis cost $500. Now forty years later they’re up into five figures. I live on $30 a week. I could raise five hundred dollars for a good cause if I ate nothing but rice for a while, and I’d willingly do that to maintain self-sufficiency. I’d never live long enough to raise $10,000.
I dearly want to help this man, but I do not PayPal, or have other means to collect funds for Joel. Who, of those of you who read these pages, can help, can give this man a leg up? Not simply for sympathy’s sake, but empathy for Joel’s principles.
To Joel, do you have trustworthy individual who funds could be mailed to? I’m in for 250 bucks right now! Can anyone else help?
Joel discusses his predicament in a post titled I’m thinking of doing something bad…
Claire Wolfe posts some additional thoughts.
My Nation of Islam Friend
Seventeen years ago, my built in 1929 house was in need of painting. I was not interested in accomplishing this task myself, so I went in search of a painter. I cannot quite recall how I was introduced to the man who ended up painting my house, but he was more than just a painter. His name was S____, and he was one hard working individual. When I met with S to discuss what needed to be done to properly prepare my house for fresh paint, he informed me that unless the myriad of layers of old paint were removed from the house, he could not guarantee that the fresh paint applied would have staying power.
S ended up blowtorching, hose at the ready, all the layers of old paint from my cedar shingle sided home over a two month period, then applying primer, and two final coats. Except for couple of spots on my house, that paint job still looks quite fresh.
Due to S’s diligence in painting my house, he received a number of other painting jobs in my neighborhood, so I would see him from time to time and we would chat. Then, for a couple of years, I lost track of S, until one day, while driving in the inner city, I saw him hawking Nation of Islam papers on a street corner. I pulled over and said hello. S greeted me like an old friend, and avowed he needed to stop by my house to inspect the integrity of his work, which he did, and not just this one time. After this reconnection, I’d see S once or twice a year. He’d just show up in my driveway to check his work and chat for a bit, and I would still occasionally see him hawking those Nation of Islam papers on inner city street corners.
Anyway, last night, while the Lovely Melis and I sat on the front porch, who should drive up but S, who we once again had lost track of for a couple of years. I was pleased to see him, and stepped off my porch to shake his hand and embrace him. S apologized to me that it had been some time since he had stopped by to inspect his handiwork, and asked if he could do a walk around. Naturally I agreed, and walked with him around the house pointing to areas where I knew I had peeling paint problems, which were not due to any lack of attention to detail on S’s part when he had painted the house.
As we stood in my backyard talking, after completing the walkaround, I said to S, “So, S, you’re quite evidently a member of the Nation of Islam, what do you think of some of things Louis Farrakhan says about Jews, Whites, and America?” S’s response to me was quite what I expected. S said, “I don’t care what you are, Black, White, Red, Jew, I’m gonna look at you as an individual, and if you’re treating me like an individual, if you’re treating me right, I’m gonna treat you right. I’m S, not the Nation of Islam.”