Thinking about Vince Foster’s suicide today.

Deputy White House counsel Vince Foster was found dead in Fort Marcy Park off the George Washington Parkway in Virginia, outside Washington, D.C., on July 20, 1993. His death was ruled a suicide by multiple official investigations, but remains a subject of conspiracy theories.

In the process of re-reading the Hillary Clinton Quarterly story about the former First Lady and her involvement with Madison Guaranty Savings and Loan, I came across the name of Vince Foster. Also, today, I read an excellent article published on the CNN web site, How to Save a Friend from the Brink. I hope to have more about the CNN article in the near future.

But as I read about things to do and not do to save a friend from committing suicide, I wondered about Hillary and how she must have felt — and might still feel — about the death of her former law partner and friend, Vince Foster. Often enough we read the reactions of friends of suicide victims and learn how they struggle with feelings of guilt for not doing enough and anger that the victim left them with such emptiness and mystery.

Soon after I learned of Foster’s suicide, I wrote in HCQ:

The tragic death of deputy White House counsel Vincent Foster is a reminder to all of us that public officials and just functionaries hired to get a job done. They are, first of all, people. They have the same fears, dreams, and needs as the rest of us. In the heat of political warfare, it is easy to forget the humanness of those who, for the most part, do their best to serve us.

Foster’s death is a warning, too, that what others do to us, we often do to ourselves. In the dichotomy of being and doing, we are not just what we do. There’s a danger — whether we’re running a business, raising a family, or working in the White House — of becoming so absorbed in doing things, we forget our own humanity. We forget to take care of ourselves, to nurture those emotional and spiritual needs that ultimately make us who we are.

One of the last things Foster wrote before he shot himself was this: “I was not meant for the job or the spotlight of public life in Washington. Here ruining people is considered sport.”

Not much has changed in almost 20 years, has it?

A Christmas miracle for six homeless men in Keene, New Hampshire.

A Christmas Miracle for Six Homeless Men in Keene, New Hampshire

Here’s a story by Rake Morgan about six homeless men in Keene, New Hampshire, who have found some unexpected friends.

‘Tis the season when corporations use charitable donations as an excuse for self-serving front page “grip n’ grins” in the local newspaper. Around Christmas my newspaper is bursting with photos of business owners handing over checks to local charities. If giving is its own reward, why is the public forced to pat these do-gooders on the back, page after page after page?

As for the rest of us — this writer included — Christmas is the season when we cleanse ourselves of our guilt for all we haven’t done to help the needy during the rest of the year. A few bucks dropped in a Salavation Army kettle usually does it for me.

Then there are the true miracle workers. People who aren’t looking for a pat on the back, a clean conscience, or good PR in the local press.

Such a person is Tim Robertson, a resident of Keene, New Hampshire, who is letting six homeless men live in a make-shift shack on his property.

About two months ago, the six men — mostly unemployed construction workers — built a shelter to provide protection from the harsh New Hampshire winter.  The 20-by-20 structure is made of plywood and insulated, and has hand-crank windows. It is wrapped in a black plastic.

According to the Union Leader –

The building’s front door leads into a sort of mudroom, with another door into the main living area. There the men have set up six mattresses, discarded but still good, from a nearby mattress store. They have two wood stoves, a grill which doubles as a hot plate, a television, a DVD player, even a cat named Dylan. The roof is made of tin, and the structure is tied to trees and held up from the inside with large tree limbs and wood.

Town bureaucrats called Robertson about the shelter.

“I’ve never told them they could live there and I’ve never told them they couldn’t,” he said. “I knew they were there, but I basically just ignored it.” Robertson said he did not tell the city to have the men removed and really has no problem with the men being there.

Eventually the town sent someone out to inspect the shack. The main issue is that it was built without a permit. The residents have since fixed most of the other violations.

One of the residents, Todd Maliska, 48, said that most of the furnishings have been donated.  The residents have even made arrangements for trash removal. They bag it up and give it to a man who disposes of it for them. They also have cleaned up some of the abandoned camp sites left in the area by homeless who lived there before.

The town of Keene has not yet decided what to do. For a tightwad place like New Hampshire, the reaction from local residents has been surprisingly generous. Some commented to the Union Leader that the town should leave the men alone.

One writer said: “The last time I checked, this was the United States of America. Home of the free and the brave. As long as the land owner doesn’t mind these men living there (which he stated he does not) then let them be. Let’s stop this rediculous nonsense about code violations. These men have nowhere else to go.”

“The city can do whatever they want,” said one of the homeless residents.  “Unless the man who owns the land wants to get us out, we’re not leaving.”

When the time comes, my dog wants to spend the afterlife with me.

It is a sad, difficult issue to think about, at least for me and my dog, Chance. The likelihood of my physical demise gets closer and closer. With another just ahead of me and my physical condition deteriorating, I need to think about “final wishes.”

The priority for me is Chance, who has been through so much with me and who counts on me for everything. Chance, too, is getting up there in years, although I think he is as smart and handsome as ever, the possibilities of adoption for an older dog, a “mutt” no less, is remote. More to the point, as much as Chance is the center of so much of my thinking, he turns to me for everything. I joke that I am just the “food guy,” but in truth when he is scared or worried or just wants company he comes to me. Even when other people are around, I am the one he counts on to protect and love him.

Chance is also the one that I turn to for love and kindness. He sleeps with me and sometimes when my demons are too frightening and the pills will not let me rest, I hold onto his paw and stroke his face until I fall asleep.

I also know that no one will care for me if I get seriously ill and take care of Chance, too. They will separate us — me in a hospital or SNF and Chance in a shelter waiting to die alone. I won’t let that happen.

As odd as this sounds Chance and I had this discussion one night, and in a clear voice he told me that if I died he would not want to be left behind. He wants to go with me. He does not want to have his life put in the hands of strangers who will not understand him, who might not revere his soul and heart as I do. He wants us to go quietly into that good night together.

Now I feel it is my duty, when the moment comes — and it could weeks, months, even longer — to have a plan for both of us. I want to die looking into his eyes and for him to see me looking at him with all the love and adoration that one creature can have for another.

I will figure it out. Of all the things I have fucked up in life, this will not be one of them.

– Frank

PS I am not allowing comments to this post. I know the killers and the hunters and the meat eaters are out there ready to slaughter with their hate another kind animal with more soul and heart than they will ever have. I also don’t want to hear from the do-gooders — the people who want to pretend we will all live forever and that none of this is necessary. They are living in a fantasy world. I am living in a real world with a real creature that I love and will care for until my very end.