Name Tags

Hi Louis,

This past week or so saw a tragedy in the community. Seems as though an elderly, well-known ex-president of the old Wisconsin Gas and Electric Company in a fit of depression took a hammer and struck his wife on the head. He then proceeded to strike himself on the head. She was unconscious for five or six hours and when regaining consciousness she called 911. The response was immediate, she was treated for her head injury and the saga continued.

I had met this individual on a number of occasions. He and his wife were weekly customers at the Golf club for Friday fish. He was a dour old guy, unsmiling, and always stood in the background. His wife was happy and outgoing, he was sad and retiring. She spoke he grunted, she smiled he always was in a shadow. I attempted to speak with him on a number of Introductions; even with my memory loss I recalled his name, Charley, and would seek him out from the periphery of the crowd. I was uneasy with his response. He didn't tell me to go to hell, but he didn't embrace our introduction (s). He was an old, aloof, unsmiling guy who had been a successful CEO. Now he was a landowner in the Town of Erin.

The announcement of the tragic action and near homicide was by an article of accusation in the MJS Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. In the article, he was accused of attempted homicide by a hammer. The article was in juxtaposition with an article about the multiple murders of Milwaukee. It was treated the same, the facts were stated, the jury was about to be called, for all intents and purposes. At coffee, the discussion was of the old man who hit his wife with a hammer" and only after a few questions was doubt cast as to "what truly happened".

He was judged guilty on the basis of the news release.

In reality, he was entered into the court system and immediately sent to the Mental Hospital for evaluation. There he remains.I quietly began to reconstruct the past few years of his life and have come to the conclusion that he was and is a victim of aging. From what I gathered, he was Mr. Chardonnay, an elderly gentleman who was mean to the servers at the Mine Shaft, never generous or smiling, but always asking for a glass of Chardonnay. He was recognized. He was also recognized at the jewelry store as a pleasant, but the cautious purchaser of brooches and so forth for his wife's birthday and had been a customer for a number of years, always enjoying shopping for her gift. He had been a talkative customer, an after-work Chardonnay drinker at the Alpine Retreat in the Town of Erin. He had been pleasant, noncomplaining, affable, and sober. At the Friday fish nights, he had stood quietly and was dour. In retrospect, he had become more dour, recently.

About fifteen years ago he had moved to a farmette in the Town of Erin, bought ten acres, and built a picturesque home in the woods. There he had aged, slowly without significant illness of any disability. But he had aged and during the past six months had worried. He worried about the future, as only "olders" worry. He worried where he and "the wife" would spend the remainder, he worried how he could sell in a down market, and when he should sell, and who would sell, and all those goodies of anxiety. And he stood, each Friday night further from the activity and talking. He was introduced over and over by his wife, he never smiled and recognized the introduction, never spoke first, grunted a lot, and was mean to the servers at the Mineshaft.

And then he was identified as a potential wife killer. The story was intermingled with the stories of gun violence and concealed carry; of rape and incest, of pillage and bombing. He was tried in the high court of Monday morning publication and found guilty of attempted murder. But at the "coffee table" of peer justice, he was found guilty of aging and early dementia. He was found guilty of lack of judgment, depression, and early dementia. But the end was the same. Six months with a name tag at the mental hospital, not mean Mr. chardonnay but meek, confused Charley.

And so it goes on the shores of the Rubicon.

I will write of better things next time.

Jim