Pioneers

Is it the past I miss, or is it some dreamlike perception of the past that I feed on? This is a question I ask myself a bit now that I’m older. At the age of seventy I find myself staying up late, watching old shows on YouTube, shows from my era, or rather, from the era of my prime. 

The other night for instance I watched a made for television movie from the early 70s called “Hijack.” It starred David Jansen and Kennan Wynn and was pretty much a chase flick. It wasn’t “Duel”, but I liked it. Or rather, I liked the images and feelings it conjured up within me. For the era brought back memories of my life during that time.

The vehicles, the hairstyles, the worldviews, it was all very much of the past, a past I myself reveled in. How could I not have? I was on a hit show myself back in the 70s, albeit for only one episode and in brief flashes, at that. Still, if you look carefully at the specific episode in question, you can actually spot me standing near the stern shirtless. You can also see me underwater, though I’m armored up in scuba gear.

Indeed, the times have changed. Cousteau isn’t seen as the hero he was back then. Truth be told, I didn’t speak to him much during that filmed exploration. He was a legend. That red hat atop his head said it all. Now, though, he’s remembered, if he’s remembered, as a phony, a racist, and as someone who may have been as cold as the bottomless depths he explored (whether he was any of these things I can neither confirm nor deny). Even more than all that, however, he’s known as a philanderer, a cheat (a fact no one can argue against).

I only met his original wife, Simone, once or twice. She was an impressive person, though. Lissy and I were engaged at the time and she was completely won over by Simone’s acumen and ability. Sure enough, Lissy got irked upon learning of Cousteau’s secret family years later. She got even more irked when she found out Cousteau had granted the keys to the kingdom to his lover-turned-second wife, Francine, after his death.

“Disgusting,” she snapped. “What about his son…the one he had while he was married?”

I can’t lie. I was a bit put off by the whole thing, too. Here’s this famous, esteemed guy who whores around on his wife, then leaves his legacy in the hands of the woman he carried on a long time affair with. “Distasteful” was the word that came to mind and for years I used it frequently whenever I was asked about Cousteau in conversation.

That being said, I haven’t talked a whole lot about Cousteau in some time. The seasons change, after all, and people end up forgetting about even the most relevant of individuals. Besides, there was more to my life than a single expedition aboard the Calypso.

For instance, aside of my work at the university there was the exploration of submarine canyons, a full two years spent with the Foundation, a search for living stromatolites in the western Atlantic, underwater mapping off the California coast for the oil companies, and a variety of other adventures that have compiled what I like to think of as a blessed and full life.

Still, people forget. And that’s troublesome. It shouldn’t be troublesome, but it is. Everyone knows the wheel but no one knows who first created it, what that inventor’s name was or whether or not that particular pioneer was of good character. There was no such thing as television when the wheel was invented, after all, and no such thing as YouTube to keep an old man up all night.

Indeed I didn’t get to bed until after three a.m. one day last week. For, after years of successfully battling the temptation, I finally buckled and decided to once again watch that episode which I was somewhat a part of (one can only relate to old made for T.V. movies up to a certain point, after all). Needless to say, watching the episode again was a jarring experience. Then again, it’s always unsettling to see a far younger version of yourself behaving with the passion of youth.

Still, I was intrigued. I was able to catch a clear shot of my young face as I stood next to Jean Paul on board the Calypso. Then, after another quick flash of my profile as Dr. Bob gave instructions, the camera followed all of us as we entered the eighty two degree water in our shorts and yellow and black scuba suits.

I felt a shiver of excitement as we were shown going down to one hundred and twenty feet. I remembered how it was eerie down there, really eerie. Aside from the sharks, we were inundated with pieces of debris which fell down from the reef up above. What’s more, the arches of the caves looked almost manmade. I even remembered the thrill I felt when I suddenly realized the structures hadn’t always been under water, but that the ice age was responsible for their current condition (a discovery I was later to write about at length for the Foundation).

It was hard distinguishing myself from the other divers, but I was still engrossed as the camera followed us under endless hanging, phallic shaped reefs, our bubbles of exhaled carbon dioxide bright to the point of blinding. We were shown taking small samples, measuring stalactites, even exploring the lifeless bottom.

Before making our way back up to the boat, the camera captured us connecting an enormous piece of broken stalactite to a cable. Up and up we went with our treasure, the camera catching it all: the lines, we shadowy divers, the climbing ladder, the rippling waves upon the surface and light, high up above it all, shining down atop the Calypso and diving into the water itself, illuminating all that it encountered until the darkness finally became too strong to penetrate.

The Pharisee

 

It’s said the man is not as popular or powerful among his peers as those individuals named James and Peter are. He is, however, a citizen of Rome, born in the province of Cilicia. He is also Jewish, a Pharisee, no less, which means it should be a surprise to no one he’s become a member of an upstart Jewish sect. The problem, of course, lies within the fact this citizen of Rome, this Pharisee called Paul, now stands accused of evangelizing outside accepted law. That sort of development is problematic for Rome, if not outright dangerous.

What's more, although Paul’s sect is frankly less menacing than other sects within Judaism, much less the Empire as a whole, its adherents now appear determined to grow their numbers beyond what Rome would deem its natural boundaries. These particular Jews, it seems, wish to spread their teachings well past the area in and around Judea. Again, such things are problematic. Their original leader, a messianic Nazarene, was executed by order of the Empire. Rome raises an eyebrow when an execution is unable to stop a potentially disruptive movement. 

And so you, Porcius Festus, are left to deal with this Paul now that your predecessor, Antonius Felix, has been recalled to Rome. Becoming Judea’s procurator is not an enviable task to begin with. Resentment for the Empire is starting to rise above a slow burn among the Jews, plus Agrippa and the priests are at odds with one another. Now you have the matter of this Paul before you. Wiping some sweat off the back of your neck – and you thought Rome could be sweltering – you stare out the window out at the clear blue water of the Mediterranean.

A merchant vessel is struggling to sail out of the elaborate port Herod had built several years ago. The wind is pushing its vast, square shaped mast into an extraordinary curve. You turn back around to the sound of voices coming from somewhere nearby inside the palace. This Paul, you realize, is being led your way. You nervously fidget with the gold ring on your finger, then polish the amethyst it holds with your robe. The formality of the imminent hearing aside, your orders are simple – convince Paul to quietly go to Jerusalem in order to stand trial. Do not, under any circumstances, encourage him to appeal to Caesar himself, which is his right to do as a citizen of the Empire.

You take a deep, nervous breath, then glance once more out the window. The sailors down in the port beyond the palace are leaving the merchant vessel. They will try another day – when the wind is more favorable. The ship is no doubt filled with goods. The sailors know cargo can’t be kept here in Judea indefinitely. There are simply things that need to get to Rome. Such, you conclude, is the way of things.

When Modern America Begins To Look Like The America Of The Chaotic Past

Violence is generally a bad thing. Although it's acceptable at times - such as in the boxing ring, MMA octagon, or the battlefields of World War II, violence in general should be avoided. Sadly, it seems there ain't many people who feel that way these days. 

Is that true, though?

I've been working on my next novel, which culminates with the dawn of the American Revolutionary War, and the similarities I see between 1770s America and modern day America are frightening. There are also frightening similarities between today's America and the America that brought about Shay's Rebellion, which my first novel was set against the backdrop of. 

The first thing I've noticed is that each side in the cultural wars of then and now vilifies the other. In the leadup to the American Revolution, for instance, the British were considered arrogant, oppressive evildoers while the Americans were considered unruly, bloodthirsty and indecent. Sound familiar? The second thing I noticed is that each side in these scenarios tends to cover for it's own villains.

As an American author, I find I sympathize with the American cause when I study its Revolution. The truth, though, is that the more I research, the more I see some Americans, particularly the Sons of Liberty, could be cruel and gleefully violent. You can agree with a cause without agreeing with the psychotic behavior of radicals. That was true in the 1770s, it was true during the riots that rocked America last summer, and it's true today, immediately after an unprecedented assault on our nation's Capital.  

The third, and most frightening, thing I've noticed is that, in heated moments, people stop being reasonable, opting instead for oversimplified thinking. England's King George III, for instance, seems to have been a genuinely decent human being. Yet I've read he felt that, since he only wanted good for people, those who opposed him had to be bad. The kind of stubborn outlook - which argues we're on the side of good and therefore those who oppose us are villains - leads to some bad stuff. 

Sam Adams, to use another example, was a true patriot...but he wasn't into fairness, as he felt fairness would weaken the strength of his patriotic ideology. That kind of belief is dangerous. And nuts. If you read history, you'll see that once the American Revolutionary War began, Adams became less and less of a prominent voice, as cooler heads started to take the lead on the American side. 

Which leads to two more quick things:

First, and most importantly, modern America differs from America in the past in that we are nowhere NEAR the point right now where violence is morally excusable. 

Watching the assault on the Capital last week, I was truly stunned. No matter how bad people may have thought the situation was in America, how could they have possibly concluded such behavior was warranted? We've got to get it through our heads that killing, rioting, and any other source of collective violence is absolutely, positively indefensible in the America of January, 2021. 

The last thing I think worth touching upon is that today, just like during the American Revolution, leaders have flaws. I've brought up George III and Samuel Adams, but I also feel compelled to bring up George Washington, as well. For Washington was truly a great man...but he also believed some of his fellow human beings were his personal property. It's hard to excuse that kind of thinking from any person of any era. The point? That those who feel certain elected officials are going to become messianic figures are sadly mistaken.

Introducing "Lexington"

And we think America is divided now.

Back in 1775 - which really wasn't that long ago when we look at the big picture - shots were fired in a relatively obscure community near Boston, shots that would literally change the course of history. For colonists in America were turning on their leader, the King of England, essentially in order to decide for themselves how they should lead their lives. Needless to say, the fighting in Lexington that day would ring in the bloody American Revolutionary War, which would last eight years and cost untold thousands of lives. In the end, however, America would end up being a free nation no longer burdened by European imperialism.

Still, things are rarely as black and white as they first appear to be. This is particularly true in the case of major historic events, and the American Revolutionary War was no exception. For many, a great many, colonists wanted to remain under British rule. And, in truth, it must be noted that the English government was far from a bloodthirsty authority, at least as far as the colonies were concerned. What's more, many of those in the Boston area who protested British governance before the fighting started did so in unfair, and at times remarkably cruel ways.

Perhaps that's why I've chosen such a tumultuous backdrop for my next novel, Lexington. I'm fascinated not only by historic events, but by the often complex and motivational issues that lead to those events. The fighting in Lexington can be traced back, as all such shocking moments can, to individuals. And the actions of individuals can be traced back to a variety of familial, psychological, and biographical factors. 

Thomas Crawford and William Prentiss will be the main characters in Lexington. Having gone from friends to enemies, they will find themselves on opposite sides of a conflict that is about to erupt into violence. Each of these Boston natives will have his reasons for his actions, and perhaps not all of them will be honorable. Such is the stuff of life. They will, however, be decent enough souls, men with families who are navigating through an exceedingly dangerous time. 

One thing I can promise, however, is that their story will not be predictable. The reader knows what will ultimately happen in the town of Lexington, but won't know how each man will or won't be involved in the events of that morning. In other words, don't expect a final "battlefield confrontation." Don't expect cardboard characters, either. Thomas and William are strong men trying to do right by their families...and by their equally strong wives, who may or may not disagree with their decisions.

They say there was a "shot heard round the world" that morning in Lexington. There were, however, many factors, personal as well as social and political, that led to that simple, explosive moment. 

With all that being said, it takes a good amount of time to pen a novel worth publishing, and I'm just far enough along on Lexington to comfortably announce its presence. I'll be sure make regular posts throughout the creative process, however, in order to keep everyone abreast on the book's progress. In the meantime, be sure to pick up one of my published novels by clicking on the links below.

Happy New Year!

Click here for American Socialite: https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Click here for The Regulator: https://www.amazon.com/Regulator-Sean-Crose/dp/1097223299/ref=pd_bxgy_img_2/140-4411494-9635762?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=1097223299&pd_rd_r=234b5c5e-df6b-4357-9403-cced39f1877e&pd_rd_w=v1OKn&pd_rd_wg=lOHdE&pf_rd_p=f325d01c-4658-4593-be83-3e12ca663f0e&pf_rd_r=JSCZ9HBJE0AYKG2BFKP7&psc=1&refRID=JSCZ9HBJE0AYKG2BFKP7

Heading Towards Christmas - Some Thoughts On Jesus

                                                         

And so we're at the time of year where many celebrate the birth of Jesus. Fewer and fewer of us believe in the divinity of Christ around here these days. Those of us who do are a shrinking and unfashionable demographic. Still, I think there's some things about Jesus worth considering. You don't have to believe Jesus is God in order to give the matter some thought, either. This a documented historical figure we're talking about, after all.

At any rate, it's occurred to me that if Jesus were walking the earth today, he would rub a lot of people the wrong way, just like he did during his own lifetime. Back then, Jesus offended those in power. Today he would offend occupants of social media. For Jesus told people to love their neighbors as they love themselves. And that just doesn't wash here in the 21st century. 

For we in the here and now are into hating our neighbors. What's more, we like hating our neighbors. We think it's good to hate our neighbors. We're proud of hating our neighbors. We're convinced our neighbors engage in fear mongering, hatred, and oppression. We want these people cancelled - if not as thoroughly as Jesus was, then as thoroughly and conveniently as possible (we're really into convenience these days). So no, we have no interest in that love your neighbor thing Jesus was all about. 

We also don't like that whole forgiveness business Jesus taught, either. As far as we're concerned, our neighbors don't deserve forgiveness. What's more, we deserve to enjoy their comeuppance. The more degrading and thorough the comeuppance, the better. To us, it's only fair. Jesus just wasn't into that way of thinking, so frankly we're not all that into Jesus.  

It's not like we're exactly happy in the here and now, though. Truth be told, we're completely miserable. Maybe, just maybe, it's possible someone who walked the earth thousands of years before the age of Google might have actually made some valid points. 

Merry Christmas. 

Ozymandias In The Basement Flat

 

If you were able to step back and look at it all objectively now, you might realize that your great enemy was the belief that there are rules to be followed in life. That simple idea was something you could never abide by, after all – not in the military, not in your relationships, not even while backing up the Isleys. Your abhorrence of rules, of structure, had, frankly, been your greatest asset in many ways. Now, though, as you’re suffocating to death, it’s proven to be your greatest enemy.

No one on earth can intake nearly two grams of a barbiturate in as short an amount of time as you just did. Combine that with a day’s worth of wine and cannabis and it’s no surprise that you’re lying in the bed of a basement flat right now drowning in your own vomit. People are going to wonder what were you thinking when you kept popping those pills, anyway. They were Vesparax, right? People are going to say you were suicidal, that those lawsuits – or even Monika - drove you to do it.

You know better, though. You know it’s your own sense of specialness that has led you to where you are right now. People who have suffered as you have are somehow gifted, you’ve always thought, with a differentness that magically makes the boundaries everyday individuals must adhere to null and void. Hence your personal biography.

Remember how you told that interviewer you didn’t practice so much as try to attain new heights? You admitted such a set of priorities led to mistakes in your playing, but you also knew full well they took you’re playing in unique directions. Indeed, you did some amazing things.

And you couldn’t even read music. Astonishing, really.

You won’t be creating anything new now, though. Those days are officially over. By the time Monika calls for help it will be too late. Maybe you’ll die after the paramedics get you to St. Mary Abbott’s. Or maybe you’ll be dead before the paramedics even arrive. Harsh as it may seem, none of it matters. For your life’s work has already started its journey towards that place where the lone and level sands stretch far away.

How the mighty once looked upon that work and despaired, though! Punching Paul after your house was broken into. Smashing Carmen in the face with that bottle during a drunken rage. Busting up the Opalen during that fight.  How everyone had to tame their impulses in the face of such actions. The work was your Berlin wall. You were impenetrable.

Yet now those actions, or rather the behavior which led to them, will be as much a part of your legacy as your talent will be. The humility you showed during that interview will, on the other hand, be largely forgotten. This is unfortunate, of course, though there’s no changing things at this point.

For yours is a story of appetites. Shoes. Clothes. Women. Booze. Drugs. Music. You have been a vacuum, a vacuum which has now exploded upon consuming too much. Little will be remembered of the child whose mother had left him. Little will be remembered of that driving seriousness.  Such things will remain hidden treasures, passed over by travelers through your antique land.

Thanksgiving And "American Socialite"

Poor Betsy Bonaparte doesn't have it easy. That's as true in my novel, American Socialite as it is in the historical record. Abandoned by a lout of a husband, she's literally left stranded far from home in Europe. Betsy expresses anger and resentment throughout American Socialite and, in a sense, she has good reason to. She's been promised a life that she's ultimately not allowed to live. Such things are hard on the psyche - very hard.

Yet Betsy's biggest problem in American Socialite is her insatiable set of expectations. Rather than accepting her situation at some point and simply being thankful for the life she has - and it's a luxurious life, indeed - Betsy instead chooses to pine for what cannot be. It ends up being an exhaustive waste of time. As frustrating as her situation is, one wishes Betsy could simply make the best of it. 

Her son, Bo, however, doesn't end up having Betsy's expectations. He's happy with what he has. Even when  a "greater" life than the one he leads is dangled before him, Bo doesn't get overly excited. In truth, he'd rather not live a "greater" life at all. He prefers the life of a successful American businessman to that of a member of royalty . Although he's not perfect, Bo certainly has a more balanced outlook than his mother.

None of this is to suggest Betsy is a villain. To the contrast, the woman is unquestionably a victim. As we head into Thanksgiving, though, it's good to note the importance of focusing on what we have, rather than what we don't. That's a lesson Betsy could learn, but so could the rest of us. We all get overwhelmed by our expectations, after all. Betsy certainly isn't the only one guilty of that shortcoming.

*To pick up a copy of American Socialite, simply click on the link below.

https://www.amazon.com/American-Socialite-Sean-Crose/dp/B08C8RW7N4/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=GSZ5q&pf_rd_p=07442e57-5bbc-4b36-bdb2-92a549250cee&pf_rd_r=52D1NRN2XHTVZF59CEHF&pd_rd_r=5196d49b-9598-4479-85fb-fd9607e91925&pd_rd_wg=7eCzd&ref_=pd_gw_ci_mcx_mr_hp_d