How Star Wars changed my life (SHTF!)

[wax]

My kids simply have no reference.
They can simply not comprehend.

I was one of the few 8 year old kids in America who did not see Star Wars in the theater!
Even though I wrote it, directed it, edited it... I never saw it in the theaters and didn't see it until after the Empire took it's revenge years later!

Confused yet?

You should be.

[wax]

Don't worry, I will explain.
I just want you to think about it for a moment.

What was Star Wars and how can a movie... more importantly denial of access to a simple movie, change your life?

[Southern_Gent]

What was Star Wars and how can a movie... more importantly denial of access to a simple movie, change your life?


You come out several dollars ahead by not buying a ticket? Not to mention the money saved by avoiding the snack bar.

[torenghout]

good does not alway triumph, there is not always someone to back you up, you may not have the strenth to grow at the critical time.

[wax]

Toreng- good does not alway triumph

Wax- Great guess.
But the change I speak of had nothing to do with the content of Star Wars, the storyline, or anything concerning the film itself.

Next?

How can a movie... more importantly denial of access to a simple movie, change your life?
Revisit hint: (Even though I wrote it, directed it, edited it... )

[ArmySGT.]

belongs in humor,,,,,,,,,

[torenghout]

I was denied many toys/experiances as a child, I belive you are talking about imagination.

[wax]

Toreng- I beli(e)ve you are talking about imagination.

Wax- Now we are getting somewhere folks!
Imagination as it relates to survival.
Desire, need, and the mechanism that drove me to seek out answers that I did not have.

I don't have time at this very moment, but we have a winner so I will expound (you can't stop me!) later.

[wax]

Those who have already read my other posts know what is coming; a long rambling, often disjointed… well… I promise only that it won’t be any longer for you to read than it takes for me to write it (my left hand is currently disabled).

As I said my children have no understanding, they simply have no point of reference. I fear that they are missing something very important.

But first of all, in order to understand, one must place Star Wars in context with my life at the time. I started 1977 in prison because my father was in prison. I was placed by Blue Earth County, MN in a “foster home” in a rural location outside the little town of Pemberton. I don’t know how I really feel about that.

I won’t say the name of the family who ran “the home” for a number of reasons. First of all they were basically good people, they had good intent. He was an X-member of the Minnesota House of Reps who had retired from a political life to run his farm. They were Catholic… which had an impact eventually. I am convinced that they both firmly believed they were doing the right thing.

Yet that often leads to problems doesn’t it?
Was it a “slave camp”?
No… not really, but it was a work camp and… not an environment designed to handle unruly young men who had real social problems forced upon them by parents. We were housed, not given a home, but again I don’t really know how I feel about that. I would need to know an actual alternative I guess.

We slept in large rooms with triple bunk beds, we ate in shifts. We were granted privilege only by providence but that is a simple fact of life that can not be negated of course. Some kids had visits; some kids like me did not of course.
The kids who had parents who could… and would visit of course got new clothes and store bought hair cuts. There are rules in our society after all and “need” can be a funny thing when analyzed with what will be noticed and what will not.
The weekends of course were predictably the worst. There was work to be done and far fewer to do it.

Now having “bitched” about that, I must say that, hard work is a great thing for an eight year old male. I hated it of course, but when I think back now on my life those five am mornings taking the cows out to pasture have nostalgia for me. The times I actually collapsed from heat exhaustion while bailing hay would not be missed as a memory.

In the time I was there two of my fellow inmates died. One was originally labeled an accident but I later learned (truth or not) that it led to an investigation that caused some scandal. The other death was simply a “plain old” suicide… supposedly a fact of life among such unwanted and previously abused children. I think I can argue quite convincingly that he was murdered by peers and basic neglect concerning supervision… but that isn’t what we are discussing here. I’ll save it for another day (was that an audible sigh of relief I heard?)

[wax]

One lasting impact that my time there made on me was my unconscious hatred of “noodles”. My wife is a first generation Hungarian and she punishes me whenever we disagree by making goulash for a meal! Don’t tell her I told you but she is a kind-hearted woman and always makes up for the affront the next day knowing that I didn’t eat the night before. Yes, I married her for a reason! Running a work camp requires a routine, and over the course of time that routine places pressure on those forced to suffer from it.

Sunday was “meat” day. Happy young men were returning from real families and the supper table had to be… well… presentable.
Monday was “semi-meat” day. Whatever was made Sunday night would appear between thick slices of bread.
Tuesday was “maybe day”. It was more or less a toss up depending upon what meat was made Sunday night. It could be very good, sort of a stuffing loaf.
Wednesday was “cut off” day, and the name was very fitting. About one third of the kids had real parents who provided them with real money for real food. The rest of us got goulash.
Thursday was “rehash day”. If you were happy Wednesday well Thursday wasn’t too bad.
The real trouble started on Friday… “terminal day”. You either didn’t have to eat it because you had someone who “loved you enough to stay out of prison” or you got what you got. More noodles and less… just plain less! There weren’t many of you left then, most driving away with smiles on faces and things to look forward to.
Saturday… oh Saturday! You can only add so much water before broth becomes something entirely different. Well in truth it eventually becomes water with a hint of something else. If you were good (very good) you could steal some sort of bullion cube from the pantry but it wasn’t easy and you had to accept the consequences because you would eventually be caught. Grab yourself a cup of water and boil in some noodles, drop in one cube and stir. You can live on it… but do it every Saturday for a year and get back to me!

Anyway, that was my life in 1977 at the age of eight. It could have been better but I know from experience that it could have been much worse. And if you think that my “wardens” had an easy job in handling me you would be surprisingly mistaken. I didn’t know they were trying to help me. It is true they could have made it more “clear” but then I could have looked harder for the clues. Placing someone with my “training” among other kids my own age was not a great idea.

I became the tyrant I would normally despise. I understand why but it doesn’t release my guilt concerning it completely. In the end it was largely self defense. In an environment in which resources are up for grabs the resourceful grab them. It was largely a problem of oversight… any kid in my world would answer to me as well as “the man” because I had nothing to lose right… right?

It turns out I did have at least something to lose.

[wax]

On January 17 - Gary Gilmore was executed in Utah by a firing squad of five men. There was supposed to be one man without a shell in the chamber but there were five holes in the shirt he wore when it was over. The state of Utah, apparently, wasn’t playing games. Why would I remember that date, the event, and some punk criminal I didn’t know? Simple really, it was the first execution in a re-initiation of execution in the United States. I didn’t know who Gilmore was, but I knew for a fact that he didn’t hold a candle to my father. It was an important event in my life.

Snow fell in Miami, Florida for the only time in its history that winter. I was open to prophecy then much more than I am now.

We were allowed to watch TV on specific days for specific events. Roots was just such an event according to our keepers but it sort of backfired on them. Being liberal they wanted us to of course absorb the “horror” of America’s treatment of the “negro” but I was simply confused. Three hundred black people standing around while two white guys whipped “Kunta” and forced him to change his name. To me it was quite clear. First of all… I’ll call myself “Nancy” if you like before I take a beating, we all must make choices concerning what is important I guess! But mostly I could not understand why the white guys were not beaten to death, raped and eaten… in whatever order! It took me years to understand the mechanisms used to control the slaves. Maybe it was there and I simply couldn’t see it.

In late spring sometime (before school let out) a group of Muslims took over 3 buildings in Washington, DC, killing 1 person and taking more than 130 hostages. Idiots across the nation would claim 24 years later that they were simply shocked that the Muslims hated us. Yes… who could see such a thing coming?

What were we talking about here? Oh yes… Star Wars!
It happened right before school let out for the summer. One day nothing, the next insanity! It was crazy really, it was quite simply insane!
Every person I knew had to ask if I had seen it. And while I hadn’t yet become emotionally involved it was clearly “the thing to do”.

Throughout June every “inmate” went to see it except me. Most went with parents but eventually our “wardens” broke down under pressure and took everyone to see it. Everyone but me of course; as I pointed out you will eventually be caught and I did have something to lose after all! It was an important lesson which I will never forget: Never let the “guards” know what you covet! Never… ever… give away a mechanism to hurt you!

I took it quite well really, my fellow inmates tried to use it against me but they soon learned that while I had been punished they could be as well!
But there was a very real problem with Star Wars; it just wouldn’t go away!
At that time (and even today) the average movie stayed in the theaters for what… a month? Star Wars was there for the entire summer! And it was everywhere.

[wax]

Something called an Apple II computers went on sale, but while the news reported it they also had to ask people, “How many times have you seen Star Wars?” After all Cronkite had his hand on the pulse of the entire world and he knew what was going to be important! A “fad” like home computers would soon pass but Star Wars? No, not by a long shot!

James Earl Ray escaped from prison for a couple of days, and that was when I first formed my plan. If he could do it so could my father. I had a real need by then!

My father answered me from prison one time in his life. I could not visit him there and he would not write… I can’t really explain it but it was some sort of nobility on his part; I would never see him in chains, in a cage. But he got a message (through the placebo) and it was clear: he was scheduled to get out “by fall” and I would see Star Wars!

Of course fall came and school started again. Misery followed at a rapid pace. Every bus ride, every lunch hour, every break… Star Wars! My “bitch” of a teacher couldn’t even keep her mouth shut about it while giving simple instruction! “What would Luke Skywalker say about this?” Yea… real funny! I of course was convinced she knew my problem, in fact everyone did, it was self-evident you see.

Some punk named David Berkowitz was arrested, after over a year of murders in New York City. Shortly after that Elvis died. I grasped at every event in the hopes that my situation would get better, that people would just drop the whole thing and allow me to forget about it.

But over time it simply became an obsession. I absolutely needed to know, well, everything!
I started collecting everything Star Wars. I clipped out every image and every snippet of information. I started to create the film I never saw. I got unbelievably close, I really did. But once that “Rubicon” was crossed there was no going back.

And then the day came, the last show! My wish had been granted and the entire subject had become stale for others. But you see it was too late. And that was when my life truly changed forever! No one could take me to the movie, it was over, and it was done. For the rest of my life I would be condemned to… well… condemned. My father had failed me, and when he did get out of prison I was less… just less.

He picked me up on a cold Friday night, it was snowing. He handed me a package wrapped with newspaper instead of gift wrap. I hate to admit to myself much less you that I momentarily looked down on him. You can hold him in whatever way you wish, but a son should never look down on his father. It is not a natural thing to do.

I’m sure by now you have guessed what was in the package.
George Lucas had written a book, “Star Wars Episode IV, A New Beginning”.

[wax]

Did I take a long time in getting here? Sure I did, but it is important for the reader to understand how a simple book could have the impact Star Wars did on me. I suddenly knew more than the punks on the bus could ever pretend to know about Star Wars! I knew why and how Luke only got 2,000 credits for his landspeeder. And I wielded my newly found power with a vengeance that can not be described in normal terms, the force was with me!

And I discovered a power in that force that only avid readers discover: I could edit text for my own use. If I didn’t like the way something was written I could change it in my own mind. Unlike my peers I hadn’t just seen the Star Wars universe… I was the Star Wars universe!

And I couldn’t really stop! I spent my entire ninth year with my nose in some book or another. In my world the Count of Monte Cristo took a vengeance his creator never dreamed of. And he never ate noodles!
I didn’t notice the changes that were taking place, time simply passed as it always does except I was busy… I had things to do.
I had dragons to kill and maidens to save and empires to form which might be lost but of course I would never lose mine… oh no no… if I had to I could change everything, or nothing, it all depended upon need.

Two things happened to bring my attention to just how much reading had changed me.
I had learned my “lessons” concerning new places and new faces from men who spent a great deal of time in prison. We don’t make “friends” we make associates and those who fear ourselves and our associates! Examples must be made and they must be public so that they have impact.
I suddenly realized when I moved to Lake Crystal, MN that I no longer needed to limit myself to violence. It was manual labor at best.
Violence had its uses but it could be reserved to assist others and one would be rewarded for not being a physical bully. I had passed over from being a physical bully, but I could destroy virtually any classmate publicly with nothing more than verbal sparring!
That high school jock that used to require great risk could be literally destroyed by a few questions. And the real bullies were even easier. They were supported by known mechanisms and removing one leg of that support would leave them in quiet desperation.

I then discovered the power of non-fiction.
A thug might run the street but in the classroom there are rules, and those who make the rules often become thugs.
Teachers and instructors are just as human as anyone else. It is a tough job, made tougher over time.

(1) Some excel at it; they rejuvenate with every opportunity and enter the classroom with high hopes!
(2) Most become stagnate, they slowly lose optimism and sink into a deep malaise in the hopes that somehow, someday, they will be reminded of just how important they are.
(3) But a surprisingly high number become… angry.
They become a dictator and in their anger begin to abuse a power they do not really grasp; they declare themselves of import while denying everything they possibly could do that was important.

[wax]

Without knowing it I had trained myself to take control of them all. I became the “one ring”! It surprised me every year how different the result could be depending on what sort of teacher I was addressing.

The first group was few and far between but they were there. They were overjoyed to see a student who was informed on a subject and interested. But they were also quick to enlist me by pulling me aside and asking that I not capitalize on classroom time. I was happy to “perform” and get others to join in the discussion. And it was thrilling in a way because I grew to understand that manipulation is not always a “bad” thing. To this day I love to hear a 19 year old state what he or she believes and be able to explain why they believe it. It doesn’t have to be “right” but the simple fact that it can be stated is a rare thing!

The second group had a rude awakening. You see I had learned the fact that “education” does not always require a publicly financed teacher. Perhaps a better way of saying it would be “teaching requires that something be taught”.
I usually gave them one chance, “No… the Civil War was not fought on the issue of slavery but was based on the issue of States rights and limitation of Federal control.”
Most would snap to attention, and then things could swing either way. I am happy to say that the vast majority gladly met the call to arms and the sleeper was awakened. But a few slipped into the third group and grew to regret it.

The third group, while small, suffered miserably!
Some of them learned from the experience but most simply either faded away or went out with a big bang.
Only two gave me a “run for my money”, the rest didn’t stand a chance.
Part of the problem of course is that they simply did not understand, I was “bred” to win… and unlike them I had absolutely nothing to lose!
I approached the hour or so they had like Genghis Kahn.
I would swarm them with potential errors (some simply constructed for affect) before the bell even rang. And because they had not yet ceded my tools were wide open, the ends justified the means, and as I said they didn’t really stand a chance.
You see the problem for them was that the class was automatically on my side.
Like Alexander I had an audience designed to boo and applaud on queue.
“How could you claim that the Bosnians “caused” WWI? When Robert Leckie in The Wars of America clearly states that it was preordained by existing geopolitical constraints! Poor little Becky’s father is a first generation Hungarian and she almost got beat for such lies last night!”
Of course the Becky in question had no idea what I was talking about, couldn’t even remember we discussed a “Bosnian” and couldn’t give a description of what such a thing was if she had remembered, but her faced turned red and she placed her head down on her desk just as I knew she would.
And of course the instructor in question had never really come out and claimed such a thing but then… he was a known prick.
He had no choice now but to correct a claim he had not made… an angry parent may or may not be involved.
And of course I sometimes arranged for a parent to be involved. “Oh… your last name ends with stein… a Jew huh; you wouldn’t believe what our instructor said last week!”

[wax]

It was quite simply enjoyable at times.
Yes I was a little tyrant, but the system wasn’t designed for me to have any control at all.
And because it was public, there was no way that I could lose.
I will say that I didn’t need mechanisms like those above very often, because the fact is that there really are two sides to every coin.

It turned out that an angry instructor was apt to make the largest “mistakes” concerning instruction. Facts are facts, and I was one of the few pupils who regularly demanded that not only I but the instructor as well “go to the office”.
When I did this I could prove that what was being taught was patently false.
And I would push just far enough to make my point (on three occasions I spoke in front of a school board).

Why?
You may by this point be demanding why?
And what in the Hell does this all have to do with how Star Wars changed your life (besides reading a few books) and what in the “holy Hanna” does it have to do with survival ?!

It is quite simple really.

At the very heart of survival… at the most basic function… is the ability to adapt.
My father could not adapt, he had his strengths but he also had observable weaknesses.
My brother Rodney had a natural IQ that was at least equal to mine, yet he died on the side of a dirt road with three police bullets in his back on Christmas Eve.
He was intelligent but he lacked knowledge and failed to adapt.
Knowledge is a funny thing because it really can’t be measured. It can be defined but only by limitation (Computer, theological, legal, numerical, knowledge can only be measured if it is limited in some way).
Star Wars caused me to start absorbing.
I have been a sponge since.

My sons can read but they allow others to create.
I have hope in my seven year old but then I had high hopes in the other two at exactly the same age.
There seems to be a pattern there.
Perhaps the time has come to deny everything and lock him in a room with Dumas.

[Ponyman]

Wax... your ability to adapt and survive astounds me! Congratulations on making a difference in this world full of people waiting for others to make a difference!

Ponyman

[torenghout]

I believe need breeds ability, one of my friends is quite capable but his kids are not, he was always there to do whatever needed done, so his kids never got a chance to fail/succeed.

[Mac_Muz]

Being denied has taken you far grasshopper. I am older than you and not so creative now, but there may have been a day when I was. But then I forget as that was the 60's which no one can recall, unless you were there, but being there and thinking you had been is like trying to prove you exisit, or did.

Unlike you I was left with one of the dead beats at an early age, and so fought like hell was on fire with some that always seemed strange to me, but I didn't fight for myself, but my brother who was much smaller at my then age of 6 or maybe 7.

My mother dated the only man I ever liked, and at the time of his death, *while I had been trying to get him to just breath, he passed over the line we all do, one day, and the next thing I knew the cops had me on charges for murder at age 14.

I find your tale long, but interesting enough to read every page, word for word no less. Thank you. Mac

[wax]

Mac- I find your tale long, but interesting enough to read every page...

Wax- Hmmm... and yet that was just one short segment in a much longer tale.

We are all a sum of our parts and yet a bit more.
Funny thing happened to me the other day...
An associate thanked me for finally writing that book of my life, I of course was shocked, I have never written a book.

He informed me that by typing in the correct requests on Google one could construct a fairly good sized books from the posts I have left here and on a number of other web sites............................................. ...............

Short of conspiracy theories that scared me a bit!

Yet it is true, and perhaps important enough to mention here.

We have each become a sound-bite... a shadow in some sense.
My own sound-bite strikes a cord with many people but the ones I am truly interested in are the ones who haven't posted yet.

[Mac_Muz]

Wax, It sure can be interesting when you type in what ever it is that brings you back full circle, I was some what shocked myself, but then learned to use it.

You will please excuse my typing and typos' please?? I am dyslexic, and only self taught. Also I have a new to me keyboard which isn't the ergo I was somewhat better aquainted with.

Not that you have complained.

With in hours I have only seen you for my first time, this night, so I know what all I may have read can't be the total tale..

Probably you have come from a survival to where ever it is you are now in life, but have far and away exceeded what anyone on the outside at say your age 9 would have guessed.

I haven't fared so well, but have been in near to like crisis as a child, and find the recovery remarkable.

I wouldn't relish an argument with you today or any day in the past either. I can tell I would loose and rather to fast for my liking.

On the other hand I would still like some chat and to know what you think of odd things as they come up, as they do here.

In my life there are things that just might be my SHTF. So at this time I have no idea how long I will have on line access. Maybe a another week and then maybe not after that for a long time if ever.

I wish I had more time as I have some questions I can't ask of your opinion this soon, so won't.

I was the victim of a crime, and the LAW is yet making me another victim of that crime. It is odd how you can be a victim and remain so by law for a very long time.

There is something odd there too, as I now have immunity and can't be arrested for any past acts which there are none, but still I could at this point and not be bothered. Ain't that weird?

I don't know if you would find that odd one bit, but I sure do.

I have no intent to find out just what, and how much I could wave this document in the air and walk from any crime, but this is my first ever get out of jail card for free, and I have no idea how far I could take it!