I must confess to a little measure of confusion lately as to the lines that are drawn separating sports and competition from the law.  In basketball, a player clearly elbows another in the face with malicious intent—he doesn’t get arrested, he gets suspended for 7 games.  Or a baseball player, in a blind rage, throws his helmet at an umpire—he doesn’t get arrested, he gets suspended for 4 games.  Or a football player who pays other players to hurt opposing players—he doesn’t get arrested, he gets suspended for a season.  Don’t get me started on hockey—the whole hockey fight thing is a completely different beast.

But why is it that when an act of violence takes place on the field, there is no legal prosecution?  Take the baseball player from earlier this week, Brett Lawrie of the Toronto Blue Jays.  He didn’t like the calls of the home plate umpire, so he took of his helmet, charged the umpire and wound up to throw the helmet at him, only to slam it into the ground at the last minute, with the result that the helmet bounced right up and hit the umpire in the hip.  If you watch the video, it is clear that in his rage he looked as if he would throw the helmet through the umpire, not straight into the ground.  What if you did that in your profession?

I think we can all agree that on the baseball field, the umpire is the judge and makes the rulings.  When I am in court, I sometimes don’t like the judge’s rulings—if I were to charge the bench, I guarantee you I would not only be pounced on by the bailiff, but I would also see some time in the greybar motel.  Yet my anger was manifested while within the confines of my profession, doesn’t that exempt me from prosecution like it does the professional athlete on the field?

In 1965, in a baseball game between the Giants and the Dodgers, Juan Marichal, batting for the Giants, got so upset at the Dodgers that he actually hit Dodger catcher John Roseboro in the head with his bat.  Marichal missed 8 games and was fined $1,750.00.  What do you think the punishment would have been if the incident had happened on the street instead of on the baseball field?  Assault with a deadly weapon?  Sounds like it could be a felony—more than 8 days in jail, right?

Leaving baseball, what about football and the bounty scandal that has been the big story of late?  If you aren’t up to date, apparently some football players were being paid cash “bonuses” if they not only made tackles, but hurt the other player so badly that he had to be taken out of the game.  Paying someone to hurt another person—sounds like what a hit man does.  As punishment, the coach who initiated the bounty program was suspended for a year as was one of the players.  But why not criminal prosecution?  It’s all fun and games, but what if someone truly got hurt?  What if a player’s career was prematurely ended because of a particularly vicious hit that was placed simply because payment was coming?  

We can attempt to justify the players’ actions by saying that they play a physically demanding and intense game, where aggression and exertion are expected and required.  We can contend that adrenaline and exhilaration is simply a recipe for explosion when triggered by anger.  But I get pretty intense in my work.  I deal in a high-stress world, why am I not given a free pass to detonate at a judge or an opposing attorney? 

The problem is that this is teaching the fans, and especially the young fans, a poor lesson; that it is ok to fly off the handle and even physically harm another person so long as it is within the lines of the field.  Sure, there will be punishment, but a few days off from work is nothing terribly significant.  In fact, I am sure some of would appreciate a few days off from work as a punishment.

And what of the people who the players work with and play for, what do they say?  Would you believe they encourage the behavior?  In responding to questions about the helmet-throwing incident, the Blue Jays general manager said that he would “never begrudge a player for being upset and being a competitor.”  No one is saying that the players are not allowed to get emotional and upset when things go bad, but is turning to violence ever appropriate?  Because of the high level of athletic ability, players are even more capable of seriously injuring another person.  The pitcher who can throw 96 miles per hour can end a batter’s career by a well-placed pitch to the face.  But if that happens, the pitcher barely gets a slap on the wrist and then can go back to making his millions. 

I apologize, but none of this makes any sense to me.  However consider this—the exemption from prosecution does not seem to be the case in all sports.  Remember the Tonya Harding/Nancy Kerrigan fiasco?  Harding was prosecuted and eventually pled guilty to conspiring to hinder prosecution of the attackers.  One would wonder, though, what would have happened if the attack had taken place on the ice during competition and not on the sidelines…

If I were to tell you that money changes people, I expect that you wouldn’t be terribly surprised.  Sure, we all would like to think that we are honorable and moral, but at some point, greed and desire take over, right?  We have all been placed in situations where a softening of our morals could result in financial gain for ourselves.  And yet, while I would like to think the best of people, sometimes I am reminded of just how immoral and classless some people can be. 

The other day I received a call from a potential client, a woman who believed that she was the beneficiary of a trust of which her half-brother was the trustee.  My client had never seen the trust but had been alerted to her potential claims by her half-brother’s wife.  But my client was not in LA and couldn’t meet with me, so she asked her half-brother’s wife to bring me a copy of the trust.

Well, the wife was certainly a piece of work.  It seems that my client’s claims might actually be legitimate and this was music to the ears of the half-brother’s wife… because she is expecting to receive some kind of finder’s fee from my client.  In effect, she is ratting out her husband of 12 years for failing to distribute assets from the trust to my client and now she thinks that she will share in my client’s payday.

What made the interaction with the wife more discomfiting was that she was bold and brazen about her interests, laughing and joking about it, and in one instance, in a teasing and “playful” manner, grabbing me around the shoulders and shaking me while she asked me how much she should ask for.  My concern grew serious, however, when she refused to turn over the trust documents to me, instead preferring to hand them to my client when she arrived in LA.  My antennae immediately went up; I couldn’t help but think that there was a strong chance that the trust documents might never get into my client’s hands.

At one point she said something completely out-of-line; not because of its racist twinge, but because of her complete ignorance of human character.  The wife, an African-American woman, said these exact words:  “You know how we people are when it comes to money.”  While I have always marveled at the idea that racism is acceptable when it is promulgated within its own race, her shortsightedness was striking and I had to immediately disabuse her of the notion that greed and avarice were restricted to one particular race of people. 

Money changes everybody, regardless of race, religion, creed or class.  Add to that jealousy and covetousness and you have a recipe for backstabbing and selfishness.  It certainly gives me cause for concern in all of my dealings.  Think of it this way- is it possible that there are rewards out there for you that you are unaware of because someone was too jealous to tell you about it?  Can you even imagine a situation like that?

What happened to us?  Look, I can honestly say that I generally like people- until given a reason not to.  I’ll give everyone the benefit of the doubt.  And yet situations arise in which I am reminded that perhaps my view of the world is clouded in naïveté. 

Maybe it’s just a function of my profession and the type of law I practice.  When you deal with families that have been destroyed in fights over money, you become a little cynical about people.  If they would stab their own brother in the back, what’s to stop them from stabbing me in the back or someone I love?

And don’t think that it has to involve large sums of money.  In my example from the other day, the wife was willing to stab her husband in the back for $10,000.00.  Sounds less like a shakedown and more like a hit, doesn’t it?

Is this a function of the economy; just a normal side effect of a recession/depression?  Or is this simply the way human nature has evolved over time?  Are we “every man for himself?”  How did it all go so wrong? 

Or am I the one who is wrong?  Maybe people generally are good and decent and it is just the one rotten apple that spoils the bunch.  I guess only time will tell on that one.  But I, for one, am not simply going to blindly trust that everyone has the same morals and principles that I do.  Fool me once, shame on me—fool me twice… well, you know the rest.

There are some words in the English language that just make me uncomfortable.  Catheter (for obvious reasons, of course); Socratic Method (just the thought of getting called on in school is enough to quicken the pulse); and surgical tubing (because of its direct link with needles and blood) are just a few.  Add to them this word—Dystopian.  Man, how that word makes me shudder with unease.

Authors and filmmakers have taken such pleasure over the years in envisioning a future in which the citizens are no longer in control, a future in which the government or some ruling body has taken away all semblance of freewill and independence and has reverted us back to a repressed society.  The people live in constant fear that missteps or, even worse, rebellion, will be quelled with surprising and extreme force, as a reminder to the rest of the people that conformity with the laws and restrictions is the only option.  Authors such as Aldous Huxley, George Orwell, and Margaret Atwood, among others, have solidified their place in literary history because of their dystopian creations.  Add to that list the latest craze, The Hunger Games, and you will see that society enjoys a good tale with a twisted view of the future.

So what is it about the word “dystopia” that is so distressing to me?  It’s that each of the dystopian societies created in film and literature have entirely plausible explanations for their establishment.  Ok, let’s discount the societies that were created by alien invasion or genetic mutations, I am not quite at the stage where I believe that either of those are entirely plausible.

No, I am talking about the societies that were created by robots, super-computers that began to think for themselves, a controlling few who rose from the ashes of an apocalyptic event… do you mean to tell me that none of these could possibly happen? 

I am just finishing a book that I probably should have read a long time ago, but luckily I was never assigned it in school.  (I say luckily because if I had been assigned it to read in school, I likely would have hated it.)  The book is “Fahrenheit 451” and it, as well, presents a futuristic view of a dystopian society.  What’s strange is that, while this book had been on my radar for many years, I had never felt a strong urge to read it.  But Friday morning, while sitting outside my court appearance, out of nowhere the book popped into my head and the urge to read it was so strong that I bought it for my Kindle from the parking lot. 

If you haven’t read it, “451” by Ray Bradbury is a view of the future in which books are illegal and entire homes are burned if books are found inside.  Frightening for a book lover like me, for sure, but even though the book was written in 1953, the explanation for the rise of the dystopian book-burning society is not terribly farfetched; in fact, we have seen some of it recently.

Television is becoming overwhelming with thousands of channels, reality shows and our devotion to characters as if they were members of our family.  When our favorite show goes off the air, don’t we grieve a bit, as if a favorite aunt has passed away? And while books seem to be as popular as ever, do you notice that they also seem to be getting shorter?  The days of the Great American Novel, of the thousand-page saga of James Clavell or Herman Wouk or James Michener are becoming extinct as we clamor for shorter works that are more easily digestible with more immediate conclusions- we have become a society that needs instant gratification, resolution within the one-hour show, and pictures and diagrams to remove the need for our own imagination.  Bradbury predicted this more than half a century ago…

I am not so naïve as to think that the extreme dystopian societies created in popular culture are “really” possible, but I cannot help but think that in some respect we are already headed in that direction.  Suppression of the arts is the first step to a repressed society and we as consumers of entertainment have allowed ourselves to be “dumbed-down.”  Ever heard the idea that a society can be judged by examining its lowest common denominator?  Well, look no further than the Kardashians and Jersey Shore to see how we rank…

In the stories, other than some apocalyptic event, these societies do no spring up overnight but gestate over what may be generations.  So while I am not so concerned for my own generation and the possibility of dystopia occurring while I am alive, the fear is that my children’s children might experience a society with far less freedoms than we enjoy today.  The true geniuses of the arts, like Dickens, Hitchcock, Scorsese, and Tolstoy will barely register in the psyche of society, instead having been replaced by “Jackass,” “16 and Pregnant,” and “Twilight.”  Hopefully by that time President Kim Kardashian and Vice President Snooki will have figured out a way to preserve all of our great works of art in museums as a reminder of what used to be.

As many of you know, I love magic.  No, I personally cannot do any magic.  My running joke is that my wife, Amy, does the magic in the family.  She makes my money disappear!  (crickets)  But, I do enjoy the art of the mysterious, prestidigitation, and all of the voodoo associated with Houdini and Blackstone and Doug Henning.

But my friends, the art of misdirection and transportation should be kept to the masters of the dark arts.  Lately I have seen more and more examples of other professionals engaging in the art of illusion.  Lawyers, accountants, insurance agents, financial advisors, they have all practiced sleight of hand on occasion.  With the economy the way it is, it is difficult to get a potential client to walk in the door.  And once they walk in, who wants to let them walk out without signing your retainer or engaging your services?  So these professionals tell them whatever they think the client wants to hear.  They make promises, they give guarantees, and then they salivate as the client writes the check.  But then what happens when it comes time to perform?

A potential client called me to inquire if I could help her pursue her former attorney.  Seems that the attorney promised that he could arrange a loan modification for her mortgage, and in return the client paid him $1,000.00.  As the process wore on, the attorney kept the client informed that the loan modification was progressing nicely, nothing to worry about; until the client received a lawsuit for unlawful detainer from someone who purchased the property at the foreclosure sale.  Turns out the attorney took the money, made promises, lied along the way, and then couldn’t deliver, and more importantly he wouldn’t break the news to the client.

We as audience members suspend our disbelief, allowing ourselves to be deceived by the prospect of the supernatural.  But our clients are not audience members and we are not conjurers to the willingly misled.  Our clients don’t want to be duped into believing that everything will be alright; they want someone who will be honest with them and play it straight with them.

An Admission:  As a young attorney trying to make a name and bring in business, someone would call and I would promise them the world.  I had the best intentions because I was that confident in my skills (immature as they were).  But I found that I was doing my clients a disservice.  Sure they want the best representation around, but they also want someone they can trust and a long-term relationship is more likely if I am up-front with them from the outset.  It is easier to prepare a client for bad news then it is to try to explain away a poor result that you knew was coming.

So I have changed my tactic.  I am honest, sometimes brutally so, with a client’s chances for success.  If I think that a judge is going to rule against us, I tell the client.  I don’t downplay the risks involved and then act shocked when things don’t go our way.  I think that my client appreciates it and is more likely to trust me and return to me for further assistance. 

So a challenge for this week (and maybe further into the future).  Be honest, brutally so if necessary.  Your client will appreciate it if you let them know that there is no way they are getting a refund on their return or their portfolio won’t grow 90% by next Thursday.  And if they don’t appreciate it, do you even want them as a client?

My favorite television show of all time is “Scrubs” because of its perfect blend of humor and sensitivity.  Each of the characters was multi-dimensional, silly and childish one minute, serious and dedicated to their patients the next.  But one of the characters who appeared to be truly unsympathetic was the chief of medicine, Dr. Kelso.  Ornery and infuriating, irritating and just plain mean, he was the typical bureaucratic administrator, the part of the medical profession we want to ignore, the part that has to treat the practice of medicine as a business, not founded in altruism but economics.  And yet every day that I leave the office, I think of Dr. Kelso.

There was an episode in the 5^th season of the show, episode 4 I think, in which the main character, J.D. (played by Zach Braff) tries to find something redeeming about Dr. Kelso in order to properly introduce him at an awards banquet.  What he sees, though, incenses him.  He notices that every day when Dr. Kelso leaves the hospital, as soon as his foot hits the pavement outside, he puts on a beaming smile and practically skips to his car.  J.D. cannot figure it out and in fact confronts Dr. Kelso about this, accusing him of not caring, of being insensitive, and of being heartless.  This is especially vexing to J.D. because Dr. Kelso had just turned away a patient of J.D.’s who didn’t have insurance.

But it is Dr. Kelso’s explanation for his good humor that sticks with me every day I leave the office.  He explains to J.D. that if he were to take the stress and tension of his job and the hospital with him everyday, he wouldn’t be able to survive.  He would go crazy, looking for an outlet and a way to relieve the anxiety that the hospital causes.  So he has made himself the deal that he would leave the hospital inside its doors and as soon as he leaves for the day, he forgets about it until he comes back in the morning.

I have often said that being an attorney is what I do, not who I am.  While I am at the office or in court or in meetings, the job is my focus; it is my only concern and I dedicate all of my energies and concentration to doing the absolute best I can for my clients.  But once I leave the office and set foot on the steps outside its doors, I stop looking at myself as an attorney and leave the stress and tension within the office walls. 

The problem is that we all have the potential for internalizing our client’s problems and matters and making them our own; stressing about work while in the car, at the gym, while playing with our kids, and interacting with our spouses.  Keeping our stress inside and allowing the grind of work to pervade our every waking moment is not only unhealthy, it is relationship-crushing.  We all admit that we are not ourselves when we are under pressure.  We snap at people, we are anxious and on edge, and we feel as if no one in the world understands the pressure we are under.

Do you really want to interact with someone who is always like that?

Sure, there are going to be those sleepless nights worrying about the hearing the next morning, how the judge will rule, what the jury will decide, did I remember to send that email or maybe there is one more change to make to the agreement, but they don’t have to be all-consuming.  They don’t have to define who we are.  It’s the people who carry their hearts and inflated blood pressures on their sleeves that concern me because they are ticking time bombs just waiting to explode.  I just don’t want to be there when the fuse reaches its end. 

The other side of it, though, the human side, is my everlasting dread of missing something exceptional.  Clients will come and go.  Sure, we hope to positively impact their lives and provide them with service and satisfaction, but we don’t face them every day; our friends and family are a different story.  If we take our work home with us every day, eventually our friends and family won’t be there waiting for us.  One of my biggest fears is diving into work so forcefully and unconditionally that I come out of my fog 30 years later and find out that the best years of my life were spent staring at the walls of my office and worrying about clients and not my wife and kids.  It’s not the life I want to lead.

So every day when I hit the sidewalk outside of my office, I think of Dr. Kelso and I smile and, with a lighter step, get in my car and look forward to an evening with my family, stress-free.  It isn’t every night that I get to accomplish that goal, but I truly do my best.  Otherwise, I won’t be Rob the husband and father of two wonderful girls, but will be Rob the attorney… does he have a family or are his files his family?

I think that society is out of touch with our children and tries to protect them at the wrong times and ignores them the rest of the time.  The current case in point is the new film “Bully” which has caused consternation around Hollywood with respect to the MPAA’s rating system.  If you are unfamiliar with the dispute, “Bully” is a documentary about bullying in schools across America and was given a rating of “R” by the MPAA because of the language. 

It seems that virtually overnight the subject of bullying in schools has become epidemic, in part because of the myriad outlets in which bullies can ply their wares.  It used to be just on the schoolyard, demanding lunch money, calling names and intimidating the weak or timid.  Now, with accessibility to the Internet, it seems like bullying goes on 24/7 and in response society is screaming for an end.  Public service announcements, after-school specials, school assemblies and now Hollywood, all are trying to eradicate bullies and allow kids to be comfortable with who they are so they not go to school in fear.

“Bully” is not a dramatization starring Brad Pitt or Jonah Hill but is real kids with real problems and real fears.  It is insight into the world of bullies that society would otherwise not have, especially when our children are unwilling to discuss these issues with parents and teachers.  Not only is it beneficial for adults to learn about the world of bullying, the students themselves need to know that when they are being bullied, they are not alone; that there are other kids just like them, all across the country, who are suffering the same torment and terror.

Except the MPAA has decided that those kids who probably need to see the movie more than anyone else will not be able to because the language is inappropriate for children under 17.

The MPAA is kidding itself if it thinks that our children don’t know the language in that movie already.  I knew it in third grade.  The lines of decency in society are blurring more and more every day—if it isn’t “swear” words it is sexual innuendo.  It used to be that the words “bitch” and “ass” and “damn” were taboo on television and radio—now we hear them in primetime and drive time.  But I think we will all agree that there are times when the language is appropriate and other times when it is gratuitous. 

With the rating of “R,” the MPAA has demonstrated that they are more concerned with protecting immature ears from language they already no doubt hear instead of taking a stance on a subject that needs to be addressed.  Our kids need to see what other kids are going through.  The 14 year old who is being tormented because he is gay needs to know that he is not alone, that kids all across the country are being treated the same way.  The very people who could benefit from this film are being excluded from its viewing audience.  Why?  To protect them? 

You want to end an epidemic, it sometimes requires bold statements and a dramatic stance.  What, just because the movie uses the “F” word it automatically gets an “R” rating?  What about the movies that get “PG-13” ratings but are rife with killing, murder, sex, and adult themes?  Is that protecting our children?

Members of the MPAA, you have got it all wrong and you are truly making yourselves look antiquated and out of touch.  The world has changed.  Our children are smarter, are more in-tune with what is going on in society, and are far less “innocent” then you think they are.  But they still have problems with self-esteem and self-image.  A movie that brings these to the forefront in a documentary, not a dramatization starring the beautiful people who we don’t believe are being persecuted, can provide so much more value than keeping bad language from them. 

The old idea of sticks and stones may break my bones… times have changed.  Words may actually have far more lasting affects than sticks and stones.  Broken bones will heal, but words that cut could lead to lifelong misery.  Our children need to know that they are not alone, that bullying has to be a dying institution.  How do you get rid of bullies?  Expose them.  What better way to do that then to give kids the power to stand up for themselves, to feel comfortable that they are not alone.

MPAA, do the right thing.  Change your position on this.  You truly are cutting off your nose to spite your face…  You think you are the protectors of what is decent- right now, you are its biggest offender.

I used to go to a lot of rock concerts, and when I say a lot, I mean a lot.  As in, one year I went to probably somewhere between 40 and 50; shows of all sizes, from the large arenas to the small clubs and everything in between.  I saw popular acts and no-names, veterans of stage and one-hit wonders, some you may have heard of and some you will never heard of again.  I would say that I spent a lot of my mid-20s in clubs, standing on the outskirts of mosh pits, avoiding the sweaty-dudes as they came flying around the floor, and waking up with head aches borne of too much head banging.  And amongst my favorite genres of music was the punk rock scene, bands such as Goldfinger, Social Distortion, Rocket From the Crypt, The Suicide Machines and, of course, Green Day.

So the chance to see the new Green Day musical “American Idiot” was something I would not pass up.  For not only do I love rock music and concerts, I also love musical theater and the chance to see a blend of the two was not to be missed.  So after having seen the show this weekend, I came away with a stark realization—I was pretty darn oblivious to what was going on around me.

First, let me say that I really enjoyed the show; the music was loud and jumping and raucous and perfect and the stage direction was frenetic and wild and hyper.  But it certainly took me awhile to get into the show because my initial reaction was not positive.  In fact, it was downright negative.

Without giving away too much of the story, the show takes place in the early 21^st century and revolves around 3 friends in their late teens who have an attitude of rebellion against the establishment, the government, their parents and a society that is trying to force them to conform.  They take up arms against the establishment and the show follows them as they take three different paths to self-realization, all three of which are fraught with challenge, turmoil and despair, and finally some form of redemption. 

My difficulty, though, is that even though I am a huge fan of the music and certainly spent enough time in the mosh pit standing next to people like the characters in the show, these people were not me and I could not relate to them.  I was never a shiftless lay-about; I always had good relationships with my parents and teachers, and there was never any doubt about who I was or where I was going.  A few minutes in to the show and I wanted to know what happened to the unseen “fourth” friend, the one who studied hard in school, went to a good college, and became a productive member of society.  But even though I loved the music and spent so many hours in clubs and concert halls, the story of the characters in the show was not my story and I found it difficult to relate to them.

But then two things occurred to me as the show progressed.  First, despite my strong love of music, I am for the most part an oblivious listener.  I don’t pay any attention to the words (despite knowing them all and signing along at the top of my lungs) and some of these bands truly have something important to say.  The second thing I learned is that the characters in the musical were caricatures for the kids I saw at the shows, the ones I silently snickered about, joking that mom had to pick them up after the curtain came down.  While I had it all under control and was usually the oldest one at the show, the rest of the kids understood the songs better because the songs spoke directly to them.  Punk rock was born from a need to reject political idealism and the flower-power mindset of the hippies, choosing instead a nihilistic and self-imposed alienation from the establishment.  The characters in the show fit that bill—I didn’t and never will.

So when I finally came to the realization that the story really wasn’t my story, but the story of the other kids at the concerts, the show became more enjoyable to me.  I finally was able to see what everyone around me at the concerts was going through, the angst and need for rebellion, the freedom they found from music that spoke to them and for them; a sense of belonging in a world in which they didn’t fit.

But the artists that I listened to 15 years ago are no longer punk rock kids but are parents themselves.  While many of them were products of broken homes and a society that ordered them to conform or fall behind, hopefully they learned from their own experiences and will be there for their children the way their parents may not have been for them.  And hopefully there is then redemption in the punk rock lifestyle portrayed in the musical and in the music of that scene—it is a conviction that the punk “rawkers” won’t let their children go through the challenges and struggles that they went through. 

One can hope that at least the anti-establishment will have a strong foundation and support system in their family.  Lord knows our world needs more parents like that, who allow their kids to choose their own path, but with their help and support and love.  Even though I wasn’t truly part of the punk rock scene from the standpoint of being its prototypical representative, I still loved the music…

I have always had the belief that, if absolutely necessary, I could do anything, that self-preservation was my strongest attribute.  I just always have had that sense that when push came to shove, I would be able to do it.  Physically, mentally, emotionally, put me to the test and if my life, if my safety, was in the balance, I would succeed.  But over the weekend I came to realize that this belief, while fairly intense, has never really been tested.  Yet there are people amongst us, who we pass on the street every day, who have not only been tested in ways that we may never be able to comprehend, but who have actually risen to the occasion and killed it—literally.

I started a book a few days ago about the Vietnam War that has been widely hailed because of its realism and grit, a book that drops the reader right into the jungle with a company of Marines, directly into the “heart of darkness.”  Although a fictionalized account of a tour of duty in the “bush,” it was written by someone actually there, drawing from his personal experiences to illustrate the horrors of that war against Communism.  The leaches, the tigers, the jungle itself trying to seek out ways to kill the soldiers, separate and apart from the enemy with their ambushes and booby-traps, offer a test of wills the likes of which I could never fathom.

In one particular scene in the book the Marines have been walking for days, their food all consumed, their hands and feet all blistered and oozing of pus, each of them suffering from digestive problems, and yet still they walk, walk, walk, for no reason that they can understand.  Six days, then seven days they walk, without food, fighting the terrain, the jungle, the elements, exhaustion… at some point the thought of death had to have been preferable to continuing to walk with no apparent end in sight.  The days dragging endlessly on, each day potentially the last.  And yet the drive to continue on, to persevere, to not let the jungle, the enemy, or their own leadership beat them kept them going to make it back home.  Self-preservation can drive people to super-human heights, making merely mortal people into heroes.

Yesterday I participated in the Susan G. Komen walk for breast cancer, just me and 15,000 other people trying to eradicate this horrible disease.  Amongst those 15,000 participants were the survivors, those who fought their cancer and kicked its ass.  You want to talk about the fight of your life, the body trying to kill itself, a cure unproven, treatments successful for some and useless for others…?  Can anyone really be tested more than that?

But missing amongst the 15,000 walking yesterday were those who didn’t succeed, who didn’t beat their disease.  The people whose images and names were relegated to posters, T-shirts, and signs, the people in whose memory their families continue to walk and fight, so that others don’t have to go through what their loved ones did.  It wasn’t because they didn’t have the killer instinct; it wasn’t because they gave up or didn’t have that extra amount of self-preservation.  There are some battles that simply cannot be won no matter the effort, the drive, or the determination.  Which is perhaps the most frightening aspect of life…

As I think about how much I value my life and how hard I would fight to sustain it, I realize that not only have I never been tested, but that I have no concept of how difficult that fight can actually be.  When I think about pushing my body and my mind to its limits in an effort of self-preservation, it’s with the idea that success is a given, that I cannot fail.  Yet sometimes, no matter the effort or willpower, it may not be enough.

So what to do with that realization?  Is that reason enough to not fight?  The idea that no matter how hard you fight, how deeply you need, want, desire to succeed, that the forces against you may be so great that you cannot win?  That the disease inside of you has a different agenda than defeat, that a stray bullet may catch you after the cease-fire, or that you may simply slip off a mountainside when humping to the next landing zone?  Do you simply chuck it and take what life has to give you?

NO!  No, you don’t.  You look to the ones who did win; you walk with the survivors, you see their smiles, you celebrate the veterans and you salute their sacrifice.  You look to them as the examples, the paragons of dignity and you say that you can do it too, that you can fight the good fight and you can win…  That heroes do exist and they walk amongst us, mere mortals who have accomplished something remarkable.

And that is all that anyone can ask of themselves.  That is all that I would ask of myself.  I hope to never be in that type of situation, but if I were, why wouldn’t I give it all I’ve got? 

“I’m not a coward, I’ve just never been tested.  I’d like to think that if I was I would pass.”

I have been having a dilemma with respect to one of the “heroes” of fiction I have been reading about lately.  As you know, amongst my top 10 books last year was a book by Lee Child involving the character Jack Reacher.  Reacher has appeared in 17 novels and I am slowly making my way through them based upon the suggestion of a good friend of mine.  I am 9 novels into the series, just past halfway, and while I am enjoying them immensely, I am struggling with Reacher as the hero.

The allure of a character like Reacher is his nomadic lifestyle; a former Military Policeman who left the army on good terms and has since then basically walked the earth a la “Kung Fu,” helping those in need and using his mind and military training to save the day.  I think that we all would love to be able to travel from place to place with a toothbrush and some money, buying clothes for a few days and disposing of them when time to buy new, helping damsels in distress, finding trouble when we aren’t looking for it, but having the confidence to know that the good guys will win because we are involved. 

And with all of that, there is a humanity to Reacher that is appealing, his focus on justice, his fight for the little guy, his sensitivity to the helpless.  All of these are commendable attributes that make him a hero to root for, to passionately follow down every foxhole; the kind of guy you would want right in front of you when walking into a dark alley.

The reason I read is pure escapism, the power to be anyplace and anyone.  The chance to vicariously live through the bulletproof specimen of a 6’5” super-man takes me out of my 5’9” body and transports me to the level of the invincible.  Reacher is not only a hero with brawn and power, but he is an intellect who uses his mind just as much as his fists.  He is proof that you must use your mind to think through the problem or else your fists will fail you.  One might call him a Sherlock Holmes for 21^st century, if Holmes had been 250 pounds and was a master marksman from 1000 yards away.  And as you know, I am huge fan of Master Holmes…

But unlike Holmes, who always caught the bad guy and turned him over to Inspector Lestrade, Reacher deviates from Holmes sometimes in a brutal and hard to swallow way:  Reacher is not above practicing vigilante justice.  While I am sure all of us would love to exact our own form of retribution without concern for laws, would any of us actually do so if we had the freedom?

In one of the novels, Reacher infiltrates a potential criminal family, going undercover as a henchman to get to the bottom of a criminal enterprise.  When he learns the truth, and the bad guys learn the truth about him, the action takes off with a shootout at the bad guy’s mansion and many attempts on Reacher’s life.  Yet Reacher manages to escape and notifies the law that the cavalry can storm the mansion.  But just when you think he is going to ride off into the sunset as always… he goes back to the mansion and takes matters into his own hands, killing the bad guy in cold blood and then vanishing.

For some reason, this just doesn’t sit well with me.  Call me old fashioned, say I am a purist for law and order (even though I have no delusions that it always works), but taking the law into his own hands and acting as judge, jury and executioner is upsetting to me.  I have read many books and certainly those in which the hero ends up killing the bad guy; but in so many of those situations it feels to the reader as if the hero was justified in doing so—the killing was part of a large scale effort, some “heat of passion” or “self defense” scenario.

But with Reacher that is not always the case.  In another book, after Reacher has solved the mystery and the bad guys have been dealt with, Reacher discovers an accomplice to the crime and summarily disposes of him in the kitchen of his own home (even though the bad guy was an officer in the military).

Look, I’m not saying that I am not going to continue to read the novels, far from it.  The stories are intriguing, the mysteries are multi-layered and Reacher is certainly a character who men want to be and women want to be with.  But I feel a loss of innocence when Reacher has to resort to his own brand of justice to get just that.

HA!  Would you believe that I just figured out why this bothers me so much?  I am not kidding, while writing this I just had the epiphany as to why Reacher’s vigilante actions sometimes bother me:  it is the feeling that only through vigilante acts can justice truly be accomplished.  That’s what rankles me about it!  As an attorney, and maybe even as a human being with what I would like to think are strong morals, it bothers me because I do not believe that justice may only be accomplished by taking matters into your own hands.  Call me a boy scout, but I still believe that the police get the right man, that justice will prevail, and that good will win out over bad.

Whew, glad to finally have that mystery solved… Now on to the next Reacher!