Doc Warren

I had a cool thing happen the other day. Someone came up to me and asked me how I felt to be pushing 80; I looked at him with a confused look on my face before he added "you just posted your 79th blog for ACA". He’s a clever one to be sure and proof that at least one person reads my blog, or at least looks at the number of blogs I have written. Hey, I am not too proud and will take what I can get. :O)

The other day I saw that there was a post on one of my former favorite facebook pages: (https://www.facebook.com/Silvergunrock?ref=ts&fref=ts) it appeared that a once up and coming band that had hit the local scene hard and amassed a great following quickly only to self implode, was making a comeback almost a year and a half after the infamous posting from the band that read “The artists formally known as SILVERGUN” that had marked the last post from the band until the recently announced concert. Silvergun, the band from Bristol Ct (there are many bands of that same name around the country) started out as a high school group of friends that would jam afterschool doing covers of some of their favorite bands. They had many different sounds those first months but once they selected a name, their sound seemed to coalesce. Covers turned to sets and sets started to include original works, original sounds. They no longer were a bunch of kids jamming; they were a “real” band.

Many months ago a badly abused, malnourished abandoned puppy wondered into an autobody repair business. She was dirty, starving and had large open and infected wounds on her face. Some of the wounds could have been cigarette burns, some could have been the result of her being fed to fight dogs, a barbaric tradition of those who make money from torturing, maiming and killing dogs for “sport,” others were from causes unknown. She was dirty, confused, neglected and scared. She had little trust and would growl and bark if you approached her. Her eyes were filled with sadness but also despite her treatment, they were filled with love. They discovered that she was deaf, there is no way to know if this was the excuse that her previous owners used to excuse their treatment of her or not.

Part two - Danny’s secrets lasted for many years. He raped his children, the neighborhood and church children and others that he caught in his web. His secrets were safe, his ability to abuse unfettered until the day when one child was unable to function any longer and seeing no escape from the abuse sought refuge in the idea that death would free him of the world of depravity at the hands of this monster. Searching the cabinets of his home he found drain cleaner and proceeded to drink all that he could. He lay down and waited for the world to end. By some miracle he was found before it was too late; rushed to the hospital he was saved although he suffered from permanent damage. Questioning at the hospital revealed that one of his kin, and older man named Danny had repeatedly abused his for years. Danny was brought in for questioning and later arrested.

I spent the first part of my childhood in the projects. I mean, as projects go it was pretty nice. There were no large apartment complexes; this was Bristol Connecticut after all so we had duplexes and I even had a little “fort” outback that in reality was a Mountain Laurel with a rock that was kind of chair shaped, or so it felt to a 2 or 3 year old. There also was an oak tree growing through the middle, it was right in front of my “chair” so I pretended it was a TV set and imagined all the cartoons that it played. I had some great times in my little fort. At one time I must have had at least 3 or 4 friends “watching cartoons” in there with me.