The case is closing today in the trial of Warren Jeffs, self proclaimed prophet of the Fundamentalist Latter-Day Saints* (FLDS). He is defending himself against charges of sexual assault of two of his child brides (one was 12, the other 15, with whom a child was conceived). Jeffs is, of course, arguing that his beliefs and practices are protected by the freedom of religion principle.
As Americans nothing makes us more uncomfortable than feeling that we may be trampling on another citizen's Constitutional rights. We are uncertain about the government's responsibility in a case like this. Should there be state/federal intervention or should Jeffs and his followers be left alone to practice what they believe is God's will?
I have studied the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints for many years and as many of you can attest, can discuss it ad nauseam. I won't go into the history of this group, other than to say prior to the reign of Rulon Jeffs, the defendant's father, the FLDS was ruled by a quorum of men who made decisions for the community. Under the senior Jeffs, and to a greater extent under his son, the FLDS become a theocracy guided by "the one man rule."
As leader and prophet of the FLDS, Warren Jeffs has sole authority over the members of the community. The cases brought against Jeffs have nothing to do with one having the right to practice freedom of religion and EVERYTHING to do with one man's obsession with power. Jeffs’ followers do not have the freedom to reject their leader’s direction because years of rigorous indoctrination taught that to disobey would mean forfeiting their salvation. Warren Jeffs' used threats of damnation as a means of enforcing his will.
Close examination of the case should alleviate the guilt of those of us who wish to allow our fellow Americans to practice their religious beliefs without outside interference. What Warren Jeffs did was not about religion or protecting his flock from eternal damnation. It was about one man who amassed sole control over a community and abused his power. He used his authority to force and coerce people into doing things they did not want to do.
In a traditional religious organization, one’s personal beliefs are influenced, but not mandated. For them, the only real choice permitted is one between salvation and damnation. For those people who say that they would never have remained in this environment-- or that they would have packed up their backs and left-- I would ask that they reflect deeper.
*The FLDS is a splinter group of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and is not affliiated with the mainstream Mormon Church.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
An Indelible Mark
As you know, if you know me at all, I am a huge fan of one Mr. Roger Dean Miller. You know Roger Miller. “Dang me, Dang me, they outta take a rope and hang me”? “My Uncle Use to Love Me but She Died. A chicken ain’t chicken ‘til it’s lickin’ good and fried.”?
To me, Roger Miller is a genius. A soul mate. An inspiration.
I keep one of his quotes, “I write like I talk,” on a sticky note above my computer. Somehow it reinforces my unrelenting insistence that I use only my "true voice" in my own artistic aspirations. And on my recent road trip from North Carolina to California, I kept my “King of the Road: The Genius of Roger Miller” boxset close at hand as well: in the floorboard of the front seat passenger side.
Monday, February 14th found me leaving my dear friend Karin in Shreveport, Louisiana; destination Oklahoma City. As I weaved through “ArkLaTex” as the locals call it, and drifted into Oklahoma, I reached down and pulled out Disc Two of the collection, which just so happens to boast “King of the Road” as the first track. As I drove along enjoying the song and the new scenery, something dawned on me. “Wasn’t Roger Miller from Oklahoma?” I posed this question to Barnabas, my fourteen year old tuxedo cat, who was sharing that same floorboard with my favorite cds.
Barnabas didn’t know for sure so at our next rest stop, I flipped through the pages of the insert of the boxset and the words ERICK, OKLAHOMA jumped out at me.
“I was raised in Erick, Oklahoma.”
This particular section began with a dialogue between Miller and celebrity news reporter Hedda Hopper, who responded by asking Roger, “What’s that near?” Miller’s reply? “It’s close to extinction.”
When I finished chuckling, I read on and was reminded that Miller was a small boy when he was uprooted from his birthplace of Fort Worth, Texas and went to live with his aunt and uncle in Erick, Oklahoma. I reflected again how ironic it was that I would get the hankering to listen to the old boy just as I entered his old stomping ground. But on second thought, I probably would have been reaching for it no matter where my locale. I did wonder, however if there was any landmark or tribute I could visit.
After I checked into an Oklahoma City Red Roof Inn that night, I unpacked my laptop and pulled up rogermiller.com. I found a link for the The Roger Miller Museum. I perused the site quickly and learned it was located just off of I-40 so I would pass right through!
I got so excited you would have thought I was actually going to meet the great man himself.
My eyes darted over the general visitors information.
"Open: Wed.- Sat. 10:00 am to 5:00 pm & Sundays 1-5 pm.
For special appointments or tour group arrangements call
the Museum: 580-526-3833 or Glenda West: 580-526-3332"
Wait. Wednesday through Saturday!
“Oh crap,” I yelled at the monitor of my lap top.
I fished my cell phone out of my purse and dialed the museum’s number. I got a prerecorded message. Yep, they were closed all right. I noticed that there was another number listed, but it appeared to be someone’s personal number and again, if you know me at all, I absolutely HATE to call people. Something to do with my daggum crazy upbringing, I guess. I always worry that I'm gonna be bothering whoever it is that I'm calling. But come on now, this was my beloved Roger Miller and chances are, I’d most likely never be in these parts again.
I’ll sleep on it, I told myself.
By Tuesday morning, I had decided that I must visit the museum or I’d regret it. Nevermind that the mansion at Graceland had been closed when I had attempted to visit there the previous Tuesday. Ditto for the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. I was going to make every effort in this case.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and dialed the number listed for Glenda West. A voice on the line, which I hoped was not being terribly inconvenienced by my audacity, asked who was calling before passing me over.
“Hi, Mizzz West” (I always stumble over the Mrs/Ms/Miss predicament). “I know the museum is closed today but I was calling to see…well to see if you would advise someone…well…I am a huge Roger Miller fan. Do you think it would be worth my time to extend my stay in Oklahoma by an extra day? So I could visit the museum, I mean.”
Mrs. West asked where I was traveling from and I told her about my relocation to the West Coast. Without hesitation she said, “Let me see if I can find someone from the board to go over and open the museum up for you. We really like to try to accommodate folks when we can.”
Wow! I am so glad I got up the nerve to call. “That would be amazing. It would mean more than you can possibly imagine. But, of course, I don’t want to trouble anyone.”
She assured me that it was no trouble. Within the half hour she had called me back. A Board of Trustee member named Gayla Dunlap would meet me at the museum at noon.
Some People Bad, Some People Good
“Some people bad.
Some people good.
Too bad the bad can’t be like the good.”- from Lou’s Got The Flu
There’s no question that the fine folks of Erick, Oklahoma are Good (yes, the capital G is intentional). At least the two folks that I encountered: Glenda West and Gayla Dunlap.
When I arrived at the corner of Roger Miller Boulevard (old Route 66) and Shebb Wooley Avenue, I surveyed the small town’s downtown area. Mrs. Dunlap was just arriving. She let me into the museum and basically gave me free reign to roam around as I pleased. I overheard her talking on the phone and learned it was her birthday: further evidence of her generosity.
Before leaving I asked her to tell me about the origins of the museum and how she herself got involved with the project. She explained that Mary Miller, Roger’s widow, had contacted the town council a few years ago about opening up a tribute in Erick. It turned out that Mrs. Dunlap was the mayor of the town at that time so naturally she would be involved with any town projects.
That night as I settled into the Best Western in Santa Rosa, New Mexico, I went back and revisited the museum’s web site. I clicked on the “Overview” tab.
“The objective of the ROGER MILLER MUSEUM is to collect, preserve, and exhibit memorabilia and artifacts celebrating the life and accomplishments of Roger Miller. The museum, including its exhibits, publications and website center, is available to the general public to promote good will, cultural tourism and music appreciation, not only in the City of Erick and State of Oklahoma, but also across the United States and abroad.”
Roger Miller is quoted as having said, “ I want my music to leave an indelible mark.” There is no question that he has. But what of those who continue to share his legacy with others?
They too left an indelible mark. On me and countless others.
Many thanks to Glenda West and Gayla Dunlap, and of course to Mary Miller for her generosity in sharing her memories with all of us who love and celebrate the indelible mark left by Roger Dean Miller.
To me, Roger Miller is a genius. A soul mate. An inspiration.
I keep one of his quotes, “I write like I talk,” on a sticky note above my computer. Somehow it reinforces my unrelenting insistence that I use only my "true voice" in my own artistic aspirations. And on my recent road trip from North Carolina to California, I kept my “King of the Road: The Genius of Roger Miller” boxset close at hand as well: in the floorboard of the front seat passenger side.
Monday, February 14th found me leaving my dear friend Karin in Shreveport, Louisiana; destination Oklahoma City. As I weaved through “ArkLaTex” as the locals call it, and drifted into Oklahoma, I reached down and pulled out Disc Two of the collection, which just so happens to boast “King of the Road” as the first track. As I drove along enjoying the song and the new scenery, something dawned on me. “Wasn’t Roger Miller from Oklahoma?” I posed this question to Barnabas, my fourteen year old tuxedo cat, who was sharing that same floorboard with my favorite cds.
Barnabas didn’t know for sure so at our next rest stop, I flipped through the pages of the insert of the boxset and the words ERICK, OKLAHOMA jumped out at me.
“I was raised in Erick, Oklahoma.”
This particular section began with a dialogue between Miller and celebrity news reporter Hedda Hopper, who responded by asking Roger, “What’s that near?” Miller’s reply? “It’s close to extinction.”
When I finished chuckling, I read on and was reminded that Miller was a small boy when he was uprooted from his birthplace of Fort Worth, Texas and went to live with his aunt and uncle in Erick, Oklahoma. I reflected again how ironic it was that I would get the hankering to listen to the old boy just as I entered his old stomping ground. But on second thought, I probably would have been reaching for it no matter where my locale. I did wonder, however if there was any landmark or tribute I could visit.
After I checked into an Oklahoma City Red Roof Inn that night, I unpacked my laptop and pulled up rogermiller.com. I found a link for the The Roger Miller Museum. I perused the site quickly and learned it was located just off of I-40 so I would pass right through!
I got so excited you would have thought I was actually going to meet the great man himself.
My eyes darted over the general visitors information.
"Open: Wed.- Sat. 10:00 am to 5:00 pm & Sundays 1-5 pm.
For special appointments or tour group arrangements call
the Museum: 580-526-3833 or Glenda West: 580-526-3332"
Wait. Wednesday through Saturday!
“Oh crap,” I yelled at the monitor of my lap top.
I fished my cell phone out of my purse and dialed the museum’s number. I got a prerecorded message. Yep, they were closed all right. I noticed that there was another number listed, but it appeared to be someone’s personal number and again, if you know me at all, I absolutely HATE to call people. Something to do with my daggum crazy upbringing, I guess. I always worry that I'm gonna be bothering whoever it is that I'm calling. But come on now, this was my beloved Roger Miller and chances are, I’d most likely never be in these parts again.
I’ll sleep on it, I told myself.
By Tuesday morning, I had decided that I must visit the museum or I’d regret it. Nevermind that the mansion at Graceland had been closed when I had attempted to visit there the previous Tuesday. Ditto for the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. I was going to make every effort in this case.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and dialed the number listed for Glenda West. A voice on the line, which I hoped was not being terribly inconvenienced by my audacity, asked who was calling before passing me over.
“Hi, Mizzz West” (I always stumble over the Mrs/Ms/Miss predicament). “I know the museum is closed today but I was calling to see…well to see if you would advise someone…well…I am a huge Roger Miller fan. Do you think it would be worth my time to extend my stay in Oklahoma by an extra day? So I could visit the museum, I mean.”
Mrs. West asked where I was traveling from and I told her about my relocation to the West Coast. Without hesitation she said, “Let me see if I can find someone from the board to go over and open the museum up for you. We really like to try to accommodate folks when we can.”
Wow! I am so glad I got up the nerve to call. “That would be amazing. It would mean more than you can possibly imagine. But, of course, I don’t want to trouble anyone.”
She assured me that it was no trouble. Within the half hour she had called me back. A Board of Trustee member named Gayla Dunlap would meet me at the museum at noon.
Some People Bad, Some People Good
“Some people bad.
Some people good.
Too bad the bad can’t be like the good.”- from Lou’s Got The Flu
There’s no question that the fine folks of Erick, Oklahoma are Good (yes, the capital G is intentional). At least the two folks that I encountered: Glenda West and Gayla Dunlap.
When I arrived at the corner of Roger Miller Boulevard (old Route 66) and Shebb Wooley Avenue, I surveyed the small town’s downtown area. Mrs. Dunlap was just arriving. She let me into the museum and basically gave me free reign to roam around as I pleased. I overheard her talking on the phone and learned it was her birthday: further evidence of her generosity.
Before leaving I asked her to tell me about the origins of the museum and how she herself got involved with the project. She explained that Mary Miller, Roger’s widow, had contacted the town council a few years ago about opening up a tribute in Erick. It turned out that Mrs. Dunlap was the mayor of the town at that time so naturally she would be involved with any town projects.
That night as I settled into the Best Western in Santa Rosa, New Mexico, I went back and revisited the museum’s web site. I clicked on the “Overview” tab.
“The objective of the ROGER MILLER MUSEUM is to collect, preserve, and exhibit memorabilia and artifacts celebrating the life and accomplishments of Roger Miller. The museum, including its exhibits, publications and website center, is available to the general public to promote good will, cultural tourism and music appreciation, not only in the City of Erick and State of Oklahoma, but also across the United States and abroad.”
Roger Miller is quoted as having said, “ I want my music to leave an indelible mark.” There is no question that he has. But what of those who continue to share his legacy with others?
They too left an indelible mark. On me and countless others.
Many thanks to Glenda West and Gayla Dunlap, and of course to Mary Miller for her generosity in sharing her memories with all of us who love and celebrate the indelible mark left by Roger Dean Miller.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Meeting Randall Flagg
So as you may know, I am in California visiting my friend Sherry. The other night I went to a play with her to celebrate her mama’s birthday. It was at this small theater in Santa Barbara called Alhecama Theatre. We were attending a production of The Mystery of Irma Vep, which turned out to be quite a strange production indeed. But that’s another story…
As I said, this theater was really small. It sat maybe 200 people, if that. There was only one stall in the ladies bathroom so as you can imagine it was a popular spot before, after, and during intermission. Before the curtain was scheduled to rise, I was sitting on a Church pew-like bench outside of the restroom. While I was waiting on my friend to finish her business so we could find our seats, I looked up and noticed a handsome man flipping through a publication he'd picked up from a nearby table. He appeared to also be waiting on someone in the ladies room. The man looked quite familiar to me and while I’m embarrassed to admit it, I found myself staring intently at him.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted out in my strong South Carolina twang, “Hey, I’m sure you get this all the time…but you look just like the guy that played the captain on Law and Order Criminal Intent.”
“Really?” He said as he stared at me with the same rude intensity I imagine I was imparting on him. But then he smiled as I rambled on.
“Jamey Sheridan. That’s the actor. He also played Randall Flagg in The Stand.”
I looked at him again and with one eyebrow raised he said, “ironic, isn’t it?”
Then he smiled outright as I turned beet red.
“Well,” I said, “if I were a less adoring fan, I might ask you for an autograph.”
I am not even sure what the hell my words meant, but he said, “Then I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t.”
By then his wife had joined him (whom I realized I had chatted up earlier in the bathroom line) and he told me it was nice to meet me and they walked off.
Later I wished I’d done my” folks round here call me Mother Abigail” impression of Ruby Dee. But it was probably for the best that I didn't.
As I said, this theater was really small. It sat maybe 200 people, if that. There was only one stall in the ladies bathroom so as you can imagine it was a popular spot before, after, and during intermission. Before the curtain was scheduled to rise, I was sitting on a Church pew-like bench outside of the restroom. While I was waiting on my friend to finish her business so we could find our seats, I looked up and noticed a handsome man flipping through a publication he'd picked up from a nearby table. He appeared to also be waiting on someone in the ladies room. The man looked quite familiar to me and while I’m embarrassed to admit it, I found myself staring intently at him.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted out in my strong South Carolina twang, “Hey, I’m sure you get this all the time…but you look just like the guy that played the captain on Law and Order Criminal Intent.”
“Really?” He said as he stared at me with the same rude intensity I imagine I was imparting on him. But then he smiled as I rambled on.
“Jamey Sheridan. That’s the actor. He also played Randall Flagg in The Stand.”
I looked at him again and with one eyebrow raised he said, “ironic, isn’t it?”
Then he smiled outright as I turned beet red.
“Well,” I said, “if I were a less adoring fan, I might ask you for an autograph.”
I am not even sure what the hell my words meant, but he said, “Then I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t.”
By then his wife had joined him (whom I realized I had chatted up earlier in the bathroom line) and he told me it was nice to meet me and they walked off.
Later I wished I’d done my” folks round here call me Mother Abigail” impression of Ruby Dee. But it was probably for the best that I didn't.
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