Tone of Voice and My Friend Doug Bailey

Tybee Island, Ga. --- I am well aware that I have work to do. In fact, I can see it piled up on my desk here. It is the time of year when I have to pay attention to running the business, balancing the accounts, figuring out how I will make everything work despite slow payment from clients. So, I am well aware I should be working instead of writing but now and then I have to write for therapy.

A few things have spurred this writing spell –

1. My daughter’s best buddy – spott – has some serious health problems and like all of our best friends we agonize over the quality of their life and how we will deal with the loss. Those of you that know me know I don’t have a day pass that I don’t think about my ole buddy Stimpy and how much he meant to me – this despite the fact I have two great buddies with me right now – Max and Little Bit – it is just the romantic’s makeup – the “what if” part of our lives. What if our dogs could live as long as we did? What if our hearts weren’t broken so many times in our lives that pieces seem to never fully heal? What if we had just told those we love more often that we did love them before they passed? What if we could just get people to understand it is not what they say but how they say it? Those romantics reading this will understand.
2. I found in cleaning up some computer files today the eulogy I gave for a dear and close friend – “Donut Doug” – probably one of the closer male friends I have ever had. Four years ago this past Christmas Doug died in a truck wreck – I will share that eulogy with you at the end of this. What is important to know about Doug is that he understood me and what I dealt with probably more than most men. He was an only child. He understood the importance of language and especially tone of voice and how it could affect any situation because he too had been there and done that as they say.
3. Which brings me to one of the subjects of this blog – tone of voice. I grew up in a household where my Mother and Father would fight – loudly sometimes. Once they realized that I heard them and was greatly disturbed by their actions they went to using “tone of voice” to destroy one another and their arguments became staring and tonal contests. I learned quickly when my Mother used just a tone, never a loud voice, to correct me. Her tone alone could and did reduce me to a shivering heap of a child.

Maybe that is why I have spent almost 60-years of my life studying behavioral psychology and interpersonal communications – maybe I wanted to understand how just the tone of a person’s words can hurt more than anything that can be said or done.

Maybe that is why I don’t trust any politician whose language drips with the syrupy “trust me” and has the arrogant tone of a Senator Arlen Specter, who by the way should resign. If the way he treated Michelle Bachmann the other day is any indication of the way he treats women in general he is a disgrace to the Senate, politicians and to himself. Specter has been able to stay in the Senate and has been protected by both parties because of his inventiveness in coming of with the “Magic Bullet” theory in the JFK assassination. The public has grown weary of him and I predict he will be ousted with a massive vote against his inability to show integrity. Alas, I get away from what I wanted to write about.

Tone of voice

If the world wants to be a kinder and gentler place for us all I suggest people listen carefully to “how” they say what they say. They might just be surprised to find that their ineffective communications comes not from the information they are sharing rather it comes from the way they are sharing it.

Which brings me to Doug.

I miss Doug Bailey the most because he understood this very concept – Doug didn’t have to raise his voice or use force as a police officer to control a situation – he could with his tone of voice control most any situation while on or off duty. He understood that it is very easy to control a situation through words alone and how powerful those words can be when not used properly with the right tone.

Doug was unique among law enforcement and security folks. And what follows was my tribute to him as my friend ...

“Donut Doug”

Every now and then in your life you come across someone that you just know instantaneously is going to be a friend.

Someone who instinctively you realize shares similar values for God and Country, believes that most politicians are simply out to feather their own nests, and who likes dogs and guns.

So it was with Doug Bailey. Doug was a good ole East Tennessee born and reared fellow with a pleasant smile and a soft voice.

I actually met Doug in a snow storm one Christmas when he delivered his sister-in-law Marilyn King for me to pick up at a convenience market so we could share Christmas together.

Marilyn and I go back to our days at Murray State University and for some reason she is another of those friends I have never lost contact with over the last four decades.

Marilyn’s sister Carole married Doug and like she said she knew he was a good fellow when he didn’t run screaming from her house one night when her poodle Jasmine peed all over him --- Doug I am sure saw it much like I would --- he was being marked.

Doug like many of us had had a practice marriage. So had Carole. So when the two of them settled in with Carole’s two dogs it was not without careful thought. I have never seen two more compatible and happy people wed.

I met Doug when Carole and Marilyn were making the final plans for their Mother’s funeral. I officiated and gave the eulogy for Mrs. Louella King. Doug was most kind in his comments about the eulogy, however, that is not what made us friends.

Following the funeral Marilyn, Carole and Doug had to do what all children must. They had to make arrangements to settle the Mrs. King’s estate. Now, many spouses especially good ole boys from the South might have shunned any responsibility for this. Not Doug.

Doug had been there every step of the way with the slow decline of Mrs. King supporting her, Carole and Marilyn. Never once did I ever hear him complain, grumble or question the proceedings. Many son-in laws would have become difficult to be around in those circumstances but not Doug.

Doug and I got along so famously I think because he and I were similar in many ways.

He was an only child of parents of humble origins. He liked to read most anything but especially for fun Dean Koontz and magazines about guns. He liked guns and shooting them and he believed an armed society was a polite society. He liked Coast-to-Coast radio late at night and thinking about the esoteric side of life. He liked people and watching them and getting to know them. He liked helping people especially those less fortunate. He liked to eat good steak and have a cold beer. He was conservative in his politics and believed there was a right and a wrong and that our country was worth fighting and dying for. He was patient, kind and considerate to those especially in need of attention. He was gentle and yet firm. He was the kind of guy that you could trust your back to and never doubt it was well protected. He was funny and witty. He was good to his wife and attentive to her. He believed in a God and that John Wayne, Elvis Presley and President Ronald Reagan were national heroes.

Doug Bailey was the kind of person that if I were looking for a friend I could not have found one better. Sadly though Doug four years ago this December parted this world.

Doug liked to drive fast. So do I although I confess at age 59 I have slowed down a lot. One rainy evening enroute to work he failed to negotiate a rains slicked curve on I-440 and Doug joined many of our heroes that had gone before.

This is what I spoke about when I delivered Doug Bailey’s eulogy. Perhaps some of these words will resonate with you this Christmas season and you will truly find love, peace and grace:

The great writer Somerset Maugham once wrote, that ‘The great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.’

Doug Bailey never ceased to love, of that I am sure. Everyone that came to know Doug knew him as a “Gentle Giant” of a man with a heart as big as they come. A heart that surely even in his final moments on this earth was filled with the love of life, family and friends.

Doug loved his Mom and Dad, his wife Carole, his sister in law Marilyn and each of his friends gathered here – he loved his job with an all consuming passion.

Now, how you say do I know this?

Well, when it comes to Carole let’s simply review the circumstances under which he won her heart --- 10 years ago this time of year --- in 1996 --- with one of the worst snowfalls the city had ever seen on the ground Carole and Doug were to have their first date --- Carole received a call from Doug -- she was certain that he would cancel after all – she lived in Madison – he in Laverne – they had really only talked a few times and she did live at the top of a very steep hill – yet as the time for the date approached with no relief in site for the weather when Doug called he simply confirmed the time he would pick her up – now Marilyn had felt so bad for her – fearing she would spend her birthday alone had sent her flowers – yet the day and time arrived and so did Doug – he was driving a new rented Jeep Cherokee geared to 4-wheel drive --- that was Doug --- dependable, responsible and true to his word – something that we would all learn that we could depend upon ---

Some of you will suggest that this was the sign of true love.

But this is the rest of the story --- shortly after this date one evening Carole invites Doug into her home to meet her beloved children --- two charming and cuddly poodles --- Jasmine and Black Jack – and when Doug gets seated and comfortable – Black Jack jumps up and proceeds too “mark his territory” on Doug’s pants – yes you heard me right --- now I am pretty sure we know how most men would have reacted --- most men certainly would have not reacted the way Doug did – but you see most men were not Doug – he later told everyone that he knew right then and there that the children were just christening their new Dad --- and as you know Carole -- he loved Jasmine and Black Jack just like they were his own children -

You can tell much about the character of a man by the way they treat animals and children and how they speak of their country, show respect for their flag and their work --- and how they speak of their wife and their mother-in-law ---

As many of you have attested Doug always spoke with great fondness of Carole when at work and remarked of how fortunate he was --- he told many of us – since he had had two practice marriages – that the third time was certainly charmed --- and if you were ever around the two of them you could tell from the way they interacted and spoke to each other that they loved and cherished one another ---

Carole and Marilyn’s Mother – Miss Louell King was equally adored by Doug --- during her extended illness he was always available to assist and help in anyway to care and comfort her, Carole and Marilyn --- he and Miss Louell shared common interests --- a sweet tooth and movies --- and he thought so much of her in fact he even agreed to care for her sickly and aging poodle “Misty” after Miss Louell passed away --- as you know when Doug made a commitment he would always fulfill it /// a valuable lesson that I am sure was taught by his parents –-- now Misty was an aging old soul herself ---blind and incontinent one day Doug went to the garage to check on her and in frustration he kicked not Misty but her bedding --- later he would tell his own Mother --- Miss Shirley that he was certain that he had received a ghostly and swift kick in the butt that day –

Miss Louell surely watched over him then and I am certain greeted him with open and loving arms when he arrived the other night

Doug was one of those sensitive souls that knew just how much a Mother can mean to their daughters --- he was there for them with never a question asked or a complaint given during those days of illness --- it was in fact at Miss Louell’s funeral that I came to truly know Doug and began to cherish and love himself myself ---

Many of you may not know this but Doug has always had a healthy respect for law enforcement --- he began to show that respect early on in his life --- it seems that around age 16 or so that Mr. Bailey had bought and helped him soup up a 1972 Grand Prix (car shopping was something he and his Dad had in common) – Mr. Bailey said he found out only later that the car with its new carburetor would do about 130 – in fact it ran so good that one night as Doug was being chased by the Knoxville PD he felt badly enough about the fact they couldn’t catch him that he actually stopped and waited for them to catch up --- now after being detained and taken to the jail he pleaded with the officers not to arrest him because most assuredly his dad would not bail him out --- after a stern lecture he was released --- and so his love of law enforcement began

Speaking of cars and trucks --- We all know that Doug loved his cars and trucks almost or maybe even as much as he loved his guns and his wife – his favorite car / Mr. Bailey says growing up / was a 1969 Yellow 396 Chevelle --- but whatever car or truck it was – it was Doug’s way all the way – his vehicles were always immaculate, clean inside and out – he was always buying, selling or trading – it was part of his East Tennessee heritage and one that he exercised all his life

Doug was a big reader --- all of his life --- in fact, around the 4th grade or so it seems that his Mom received a call from the principal of his school wondering when Doug was returning --- knowing full well that she and Mr. Bailey thought he was in school she called his Dad and they crept home --- he would later say that he knew he was in big trouble when he heard the high heels on the stairs --- sure enough Doug had --- how do we say gotten bored with school and would slip back home each day after his parents left --- and there he was curled up in bed with his cat and a book

Yep. our friend Doug was a reader, a researcher, a purveyor of knowledge -- if you know Dean Koontz you knew Doug’s favorite author --- yet Doug read lots of stuff – he satisfied his curiosities by reading and researching --- want to know about Human Growth Hormones or the best work out routine --- Doug was your man --- want to know the best ammo for a Glock or how to clean it in the upper tray of your dishwasher --- look no further than Doug--- want to discuss the latest conspiracy theories on 911, UFOs or psychic phenomena – pull up a chair and talk to any depth you wish – in past days Doug might have been called a Renaissance man – frankly I always thought he was just one of the most inquisitive students of human nature that I have ever had the privilege too know

Doug Bailey could do anything – absolutely anything he set his mind to –-- think about it --- at age 46 he chucks his corporate job --– goes to the Academy and fortunately ends up at Vanderbilt University working eventually on the psy detail

When Doug set out to build his body strength, take off weight, shoot a perfect round at the range, or calm down a recalcitrant psych patient there were few that could match his tenacity

So today I want us to remember Doug Bailey in many different ways, the ways that so many of you shared with me the past two evenings --- so how shall we remember this friend, son, husband and officer?

Let us remember Doug as a man of great conviction --- he agonized over his change in career yet he found his great passion in life and he made it come true --- I admire and respect him greatly for that --- and all of us are benefactors of his pursuit of excellence

Let us remember him as truly a Gentle Giant of a Man yet one who could and would turn on his assertiveness and aggressiveness only when all other avenues had been exhausted ---

Doug was a philosopher and often came out with pithy sayings, "An armed society he would say is a polite society"

Let us remember Doug as one whom we would trust our back to under any circumstance because we knew it was covered by the best

Let us remember him as a fellow traveler on this road of humanity that along with Miss Louell had a sweet tooth and always preferred to choose his own goodies - in fact he often signed his emails to me always self deprecatingly --- Donut Doug

Let us remember Doug as a man that was brought up right with the best of southern values, beliefs and principles --- he was taught by his parents to show and give respect and in return he earned it - he understood and practiced integrity

Let us remember him as humble man with great insight and wisdom for his age that set about with his good nature, humor and intelligence to make things easier for the rest of us and that would today hope that we come closer together as friends and colleagues as the result of his life well lived by example

Let us remember Doug as the officer that by humanizing a situation could sweet talk and then waltz a recalcitrant little old lady into the back of a squad car for transport

Let us remember him as one who wore his “Thunderware” with great pride (and for those of you who don't know what “Thundewear” is see me after the services) and that could buy, sell, trade and talk guns as long as you were interested

Let us remember Doug as an officer that could find humor in most anything and share it at just the right time and in the right tone to make life better for all of us even if it was just for a minute

Let us remember this Gentle Giant of a man as one who was proud to be a called SWAG --- a SWAG --- “A Social Worker with a Gun” – a kind, caring and compassionate soul that would often size up a situation with a homeless person and many times in the end give him his last $5

Let us remember Doug as a friend who understood what was truly real and what was transitory in our world – a self-deprecating and self—effacing person who effectively directed attention to others to help them grow themselves into better people

And let us not forget Doug Bailey was a man of opinions based on strong principles and values --- a conservative fellow -- some might say to the right of Attila the Hun --- I would say simply a man of deeply held convictions bore from a life of experience

Doug knew there was good and bad in this world – that there was right and wrong --- and that the highest calling was the protect and serve

Let us remember him as a soft-spoken, gentle hearted fellow that always knew what to say and when to say it and that always gave wonderful loving hugs to his friends and family.

I miss you Doug Bailey I truly do.

Until next time,

Dr. Darryl

"Tank"

From Tranquilla 2 - The Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley --- The following story according to snopes.com is not "true" and yet I quite suspect that many men and women who have deployed have faced similar situations and feelings. This is just a reminder of how much we do truly owe those who would defend our country at a time of war. My friend Lynn Beckman and Stephanie Farhie both sent the story to me on the same day. Lynn in her note to me says ...

"I imagine these circumstances really happened, some time, some where. If you have ever been so blessed to be on the receiving end of the unconditional love of an animal, have your tissues handy, because this is..... A really great dog story! ~Lynn Beckman" I agree.

They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news. he shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant. They must've thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys (almost all of which were brand new tennis balls), his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.

For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls - he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff..... that I'd get him new things once he settled in.... but it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to.

I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name - sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth of fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever. When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.

This just wasn't going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it; I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cellphone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "damn dog probably hid it on me."

Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter. I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home. But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I'll give you a treat." Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction - maybe "glared" is more accurate - and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down. With his back to me.

Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number.

But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too. "Okay, Reggie," I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice.".........

To Whoever Gets My Dog: Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter. He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time... it's like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong... which is why I have to go to try to make it right.

So let me tell you about my Lab, in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn't done it yet. Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really - don't do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.

Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones - "sit," "stay," "come," "heel." He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out right or left. "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down - I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business.

I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car - I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.

Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you....

His name's not Reggie.

I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it; of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything's fine. But if someone else is reading it, well... well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It'll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems.

His real name is Tank.

Because that is what I drive.

Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter... in the "event"... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he'd do it personally. And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.

Well, this letter is getting to downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog. I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. But still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family.

And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.

That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things... and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that's enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,

Paul Mallory

_____________________________________

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory; everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

"Hey, Tank," I said quietly.

The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.

"C'mere, boy."

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months.

"Tank," I whispered.

His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.

"It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me." Tank reached up and licked my cheek. "So whaddaya say we play some ball?" His ears perked again. "Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?" Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room.

And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

Through the Years - A Love Story

Tranquilla 2 - From the Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley -

A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea. Honore de Balzac

In 1989 after Hurricane Hugo devastated our vacation to Pawley's Island, S.C., upon a recommendation from a friend we went to Tybee Island, Ga.

Tybee Island was very different in those days; it was still very much the "quirky" Key West of Georgia. Although much of that "quirkiness" is hidden behind the scenes now, much of that allure still exists for those of us who fit in.

We had the pleasure and honor of meeting and being befriended by Ann and Jim Knipe, a Pennsylvania transplant couple who have become my adopted parents.

This is their love story and it is a slice of my story about my love of this island, my friends, my wife and my dogs and all our friends that still hang out there.

It is rare in life when we can take the time to stop and reflect and share life and this is a small attempt on my part to do just that.

Below are photos from Ann and Jim's 50th anniversary, they have since celebrated their 60th (and when time permits I will load those photos as well). The photos are set to Kenny Rogers "Through the Years."

I hope you enjoy watching it as much as I enjoyed putting it together.

Love, peace and grace, Dr. Darryl

Home Is Where The Heart Is

From the “Love Shack” at Tybee Island, Georgia --- In visiting with our friend Sue by phone here at the island a while ago, it dawned on me as to the answer to the question: “What is it about Tybee Island that makes you like it so much?”

As I was telling Sue, for some reason I have never really felt like I had a “home” where I could be “just me” and not worry about what someone else would think. All my life I was expected to be the best at whatever I did, was to keep my head under the radar, and stay afloat.

I have always felt I was under intense scrutiny because of the various very public positions I held in government and the corporate world.

Living under the microscope can and does make you at least think you might be paranoid now and then. Every move you make can and often is criticized. This can and often does make you feel “unloved” and unappreciated for who you are.

No don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that my parents didn’t love me. My Dad certainly had problems showing that but my Mom – well, there was never a doubt about the fact she loved her son.

I strived to become independent quickly in my life to “escape” the scrutiny of my parents and my community and at 19 years old was married and settled into a routine of work and school at Murray State University.

Independence is a hard thing to wrestle with I have found in these past 59-years. All people whether we like it or not are at the best interdependent on each other for love, work, interaction, and conversation. Yet, no one could say that I have not strived to be independent.

I recall in a relationship that was very meaningful to me a young woman saying, “I will never depend on anyone but myself.” Although that would be the same attitude I have harbored all these years in my personal and professional life honed by “Leland’s Laws” 1) Trust no one 2) Assume nothing 3) Triple check everything – the reality is that as humans we need each other.

That brings me back to Tybee Island and the dog park.

Who would have thought that I, of all people, would have become a “dog park addict” and a "Tybee-ite” so quickly; well, perhaps the reality is that it wasn’t that quick – we have after all been coming here regularly 20 years now – but to admit that my life has been enriched by the various characters I have met here – many of whom have become dear friends – is quite the admission for an old curmudgeon like me.

My grandfather, whom I have idolized and probably romanticized more than he would care for, always said that you could judge a man’s (or woman’s) character by how they treated dogs, children and their elders. He would be proud of many of the men and women I have met and brought into my circle of friends through the dog park. Needless to say, not all but the vast majority of the folks that visit there meet or exceed the criteria of Papaw’s character test. And so it was today that Sue and I shared our reasons for loving this island and its many characters.

I am finally at “home” here in my life even if it is just inhabiting two bedrooms, one bath college-like apartment with two dogs and the wife.

It has been a very long time since I felt secure with my situation and myself, there are many reasons for that and yet I finally feel I have arrived.

It is the realization perhaps that security, comfort and the love of friends is an organic process that as it changes either matures and grows more comfortable and meaningful or left to its own design without our effort withers and dies.

Strange as it may seem, I always thought I was “born” into the wrong family.

Perhaps this feeling has fostered in my life the need to “build my own families” with my own “brothers and sisters and fathers and mothers” of my choice. As Kay recently pointed out to me, perhaps I am more comfortable and at ease with my “extended family” than my few remaining members of my birth family.

It has been over the years the many “Dads” and “Moms” and the many “brothers and sisters” that I have adopted and that even to this day I am in touch with – that have comforted me in my times of need, encouraged me in my times of despair, and loved me when I had trouble loving myself.

It is here on Tybee Island that my “adopted parents” – Jim and Ann – also “parents” of Shadow – comfort me, shelter me, inspire me and provide unconditional acceptance and love.

And so it is here at this island that friends (and their “children”) like Sue (Ace’s Mom), Glenn (Marley’s Papaw), Miss Vivian (Sister’s Mom), Miss Nancy (Rocky’s Mom), Tim and Allison (parents to Lucy), Kim (Cole’s Mom), Chris (Roxie's Dad) and our dear friends and landlords Vince and Junie (Tobe’s parents) reach out to us and welcome us back. It feels like I am coming home finally.

It is said that people long to be at home and that your home is whatever place you long to be.

“Home is where the heart is.”

And that my dear friends would be Tybee for me.

Love, peace and grace,

Dr. Darryl

Farrah Fawcett Dies at Age 62

From Whitemarsh, Md. ---- My world is a little sadder today with the passing of Farrah Fawcett.

She was a generational icon for many of us in the 1970s and her life was like the soap opera that hopefully would one day lead to happiness for her and all of us.

I unabashedly admit I was a Farrah fan and her hair style, well it went on to be just one of the many things that made the 70s so memorable to me.

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.

Dr. D

Wonderings Amongst the Swamps of Tybee

From Tybee Island, Ga. --- We are finally "back home" again on the island.

As I cross the Bull River bridge there is something in the air that reminds me that this is where I need to be right now in my life. It is a place where I "ground" myself and find contentment even in those days of stress. It is the haven for my soul and my place to come and reflect and reconnect with people who started out as strangers only to become dear friends. It is a place to rejuvenate the heart and help it mend from the many breaks it has had in its life.

Crossing that bridge in the afternoon with the sun sinking behind you as you look East to the Atlantic and see the expanse of colors and shades of intensities between light and dark you realize that for some of us this is a special place.

There also is a smell to the island. I think it is that combination of salt spray and decay, paper mills and diesel fuel, and detritus from the swamps and low country. It permeates the nose as you meander across the causeway. It is always there. Intensities of the smell only vary depending on the direction of the wind.

It is at this island that now and then in life you get the opportunity to meet folks that end up becoming not just friends but dear friends.

Tim and Allison over on the adjacent Wilmington Island are on that list. This past weekend they were kind enough to host a "welcome back to the island" BBQ for us and some of our "dog park" friends.

Now, as most of you know I have written about Tim before in these pages - we share a common phobia related to monkeys - Allison, Tim's wife and most undoubtedly "better half," is a home office employee for Lockheed Martin and one of the most fantastic chefs I have had the privilege of knowing.

They also are the proud parents of a blonde Lab - Lucy, who like all our "kids" finds that way of creeping into your heart and grabbing hold not to let go any time soon.

I have found that you can often go through life and not take the time to sit and visit with strangers who may become friends and that is what this island provides me the time to do when I am here.

Kay and I are more than glad that we have had the opportunity to break bread, sip wine and jaw the bone with these two fine people that we count as dear friends because all too often we don't take that time.

"Happiness is time spent with a friend and looking forward to sharing time with them again," Lee Wilkinson said and I couldn't say it any better.

Love, peace and grace, Dr. Darryl

On Being Friends - Vivian - My Dancing Queen

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley --- Have you ever met someone and just knew from the outset they would be a friend?

Such was the case with our dear friend Vivian Ortiz at Tybee Island, Ga., our home away from home and a friend that we met a few years ago at the dog park.

Such wonderful friendships I believe have something to do with mystical connection, as if maybe you have known them before, or the level of trust and rapport is so solid at the outset you just know they are your friend.

Vivian is the “mother” to “Sister,” one of Max and Little Bit’s buddies at the dog park. Her previous best buddies, Jackson and Max, transitioned a couple of years ago. We got to meet them. I even got to photograph them and many of you have seen their photos on my personal web site www.ldarrylarmstrong.com

Dog lovers know other dog lovers --- and that maybe part of the fascination that develops close friendships but not always.

I have come to believe that we bring people into our lives that we need and that need us. People that share common values, histories, happiness and heartbreak. Although we may not share common politics, religions or food tastes – then again we may. However, there is no doubt in my mind that Vivian is one of those dear souls that I have reconnected with from sometime in the past. I am grateful for that.

More so I am grateful to know such a talented artist --- she is a dancer. Not just any dancer, rather a committed, talented and dedicated dancer.

Now for those of you that know me I don’t dance well at all. Perhaps, I at one time fantasized about being John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever but that was truly a fantasy. My wife can attest to the reality of my inability to lead probably because I have always been following ;-)

When Vivian told me of her love of dance I had no idea until I had the privilege of seeing for myself on the two following You Tubes.

I told Vivian that I truly wanted her to dance at my Memorial service to set the stage for the celebration of a life and the understanding that we go through this one only once.

Graceful, exciting, sensual and joyful --- that would describe our friend Vivian as she expresses herself through her marvelous talent. Enjoy.

Love, peace and grace, Dr. D

"Dancing Queen"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qc5m9BVEv9k&feature=related

From the Broadway Hit - "Chicago"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ7cG0u0yyE

We Will Miss You Coach G

Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley --- When I was in the 7th grade at Caldwell County Junior High School in Princeton, Ken., now some 45 years ago a short, squat extremely Italian-looking fellow and his lovely wife showed up to begin what was to be a love affair with Princeton and high school athletics.

I won't bother you with all the athletic parts of the story of Coach Al Girodano, "Coach G" as he was fondly called by those who played for him, or not, because there are others who can do a much better job of that.

Nope, I want to share with you though a short story about a young man, maybe around 14 at the time, whose father was not at home and who looked high and low for father figures. Coach G, along with Principal Bill Brown, Teacher Riley Dennington, Editor Gid S. Pool, and Printmaster Lowell Hobby were a few of those "fathers" that "adopted" me when I needed it the most.

I never played any sports for Coach G. I was never a sports hero. I was not even very good at whatever sport I tried except maybe racquetball where I did now and then perform pretty well.

I was the classic "nerd" before being a "nerd" was cool.

I was the sports photographer for the local newspaper, the score-keeper for the Little and Lassie league teams. I was the "fringe" guy always on the edge of all the sports but never one to be coached by Coach G.

But there is one thing that even to this day some 45-years later I remember about Coach G that makes me smile and comforts me.

One day when I was at the ballpark all alone and feeling pretty down, bouncing a ball off the wall and catching it, Coach G came by and he asked me if I would like to drive his tractor and cut some grass.

What 14-year old that craved male attention from such a prestigious fellow as Coach G wouldn't?

I never knew if Coach G knew it or not but that day I felt like one of his "boys."

Coach G. helped me that day to feel needed and wanted. And to this day I have always been grateful for that. To him it was probably nothing much at all, and most likely he never even remembered it.

Not me. When I heard of his passing the other day as I was enroute to the airport to a long-standing business commitment I was greatly saddened because I had never told him how much that seemingly insignificant act of kindess meant to me.

I had seen the Coach at our high school class reunion in 2008. Now and then I saw his wife or daughters Jill and Joni here or there.

But I was always in awe of "The Coach" and never went out of my way to speak only when spoken to. But Coach G was as important to me as any young man or woman he ever coached in any sport.

That hot summer day in 1964 he gave me hope and purpose even if it was nothing more than "helping" him to mow the grass.

Strange the little "seemingly insignificant" things we remember about people isn't it?

However, let us never forget that sometimes it is not what we say or do to or for others but how we make them feel that ultimately counts.

Kay and I send our warmest thoughts and prayers to Mrs. G and Jill and Joni. We do know the heartache that comes with losing loved ones. Yet ...

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." --- Kahlil Gibran

Love, peace and grace, Dr. D

Photo from the Times-Leader, Princeton, Ky

"Why Do I Shave My Head?"

1976

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley --- Someone usually asks me about this time of the year: “Why do you shave your head?” "Are you taking chemo?" "Or, geez you are going bald aren't you?"

Well, the explanation as to why this time of the year I have a bald head is sort of simple and then again not.

A few years ago when I was diagnosed with cancer my dear-sainted Mother was still living. She had suffered through the passing of my Dad who initially had had colon, then lung, and then brain cancer. She had seen him go through the horrible radiation and chemo treatments and he had, of course, lost his hair. My Dad always had a fine mane of hair and it was one of those traits that my Mother did indeed like about him. My Mother even tried to get my hair to groom like my Dad’s when I was little --- I can remember her putting a silk stocking on my hair after she would wash it and comb it to try and make it lay in the manner she wanted it to lay.

My Father’s Mother when she died in her 90s still had natural jet-black hair, a trait that my Dad had inherited and my Mother liked. So, hair you see was important to my Mom and I suspect even more so because she always had a hard time with her hair and fixing it just right.

Well, after seeing my Mother suffer through all the treatments with my Dad and the consequences of those treatments including losing his hair, I told Kay at that time that if I ever had to have such treatments I would never want my Mother to overtly know that. If you have not figured this out we were big on secrets in my family.

So, the first time I shaved my head was really to deceive my Mother in anticipation that I might have to have chemo or radiation treatments. I was fortunate in that I didn’t have to have either. I simply told her that I had some friends going through chemo and radiation and I was shaving my head to empathize with their plight, which also was partly true as well as I did have a friend who needed such encouragement.

However, I have always let my hair grow out somewhat in the winter time even when I went to Tybee this past year. Yet, when summer comes along and we start talking about Relay for Life and I see my fellow survivors some of whom are going through the bald ordeal I figure the least I can do is shave my head and show my empathy for them.

At one time I was very vain about my hair. Hell, I was pretty vain period. Caryle Simon was probably thinking of me when she wrote "You Are So Vain." I was not only vain, I was also conceited, egotistical, terribly young and immature, very stupid about lots of things, and very confused about life and relationships.

And also like many of us I thought I was invincible. I was wrong on all those points.

Well, I have worked on the vanity piece I suppose and I try and work daily on all the other faults --- some of which I still need help on but I take it one day at a time.

The good news is I grew up and learned a lot in the past 30 years of living and seeing life, people suffering and all the heartaches that go with it.

Shaving my head makes me stop and think about a lot of those past days, the many mistakes and all the regrets and shaving my head has become a Zen sort of thing in that it makes me slow down and take the time to do it right --- one of the few things in my life that maybe I do get right.

And so, now you know. That is the rest of the story of the old bald head.

Love, peace and grace and goodnight Mrs. Calabash wherever you are ...

Dr. Darryl

2009 Space Day in Riverside, Ca.

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley ---

Often we are asked, "What is it about your work that gives you the most satisfaction?" and I suppose the easiest way to explain this is to share this short video clip with you --- I call it "The Faces of Space Day in Riverside, Ca." --- this was the 12th year for this educational outreach activity and probably the best organized and attended of them all.

All the credit goes to Kay for her organizational skills and to the volunteers who make these kids lives better by sharing their time, their love and their passion for their work.

We extend our thanks to everyone. Enjoy the Muvee:

THANKS to you all

To my best friend ever - Mr. Stimper - I miss you every day ole man!

From Tranquilla II on the Back of Eddy Creek on Lake Barkley --- Many of you have stood by me in the happy and sad times, the lighter and darker times, and through the good and the bad and even ugly times. For that I thank you. And I encourage you to watch this video that says it all so well.

Stand By Me

Love, peace and grace, Dr. D