ANGRY MEN
Yesterday, Janette and I saw "12 Angry Men." the award winning 1957 movie, starring Henry Fonda, in which a sole dissenter in a jury of 12 white men slowly persuades the other eleven to "Reasonable Doubt," in a murder trial.
It is a powerful, memorable, well acted drama. The anger of the main objector to a "Not Guilty" plea is well placed by Lee Cobb. The lesson is that unresolved anger and hurt can totally tarnish the outlook of anyone, so slant his view that he destroys relationships and friendships.
The stark lesson for me is how much anger I have carried in my life, for many reasons. I have been aware for many years that I carry a mountain of anger. My children have told me of it. My wife is aware of it. It has been too obvious to others.
Yesterday also a cousin cam by and we supped together at Applebees in Winchester, sharing many growing up experiences. In sharing incidents from the past, I recalled several in which I was bullied by my father (I choose the word carefully), and again bullied by a religious superior according to monastic brothers present at the time told me years later.
I ran away from home twice when I was nine years old, only in the 4th grade. Once I got as far as Louisville by riding an L & N freight train, after talking a friend to go with me. Another time, the freight train went the other way and after ending up only in a switchyard, managed to catch a train back to Lebanon, Kentucky.
Growing up, I was surrounded by women and girls. Four sisters who were a Greek chorus of tattle-tales, a mother who was a nut about cleanliness and not affectionate, Catholic nuns at school who were convinced I was a bad egg, and an absentee father who never related to me, except in anger, punishment and bullying.
I do not remember any positive feelings toward any adult man until when I was 14 and worked part of the summer on Uncle Ed’s chicken farm and admired the farm foreman. My mother said I talked about him in my sleep.
I also admired from a distance, three uncles in Lebanon, Uncle Dick Nolan, Uncle Dict Hamilton, and Uncle Louis. Fortunately also, Father Alf Eicheldinger of St. Mary’s started my in a stamp collection in the early grades and shared stamps for my collection. These more distance kindnesses probably saved me from a life of total adolescent rebellion, but boarding school, which also included some bullying, probably was also an escape.
Several of my sisters have talked about my being mean. I do not remember instances, but they certainly do, enough to interrupt a birthday celebration on our mother’s 90th birthday with repeated accusations. I know I felt very lonely as a boy. I never felt loved by my father and cannot remember a single instance of his affection.
I remember brining home the highest school academic average one month from St. Joe Preparatory School in Bardstown, which was unusual for me. The story behind it was a supervised study hall in which we were subject to a surprise slap on the back of the heard with a geography book by the supervising XavIeran brother.
Dad was reading the paper when I came into the living room. "Guess who had the highest average in the school this past month?" I said proudly. :Well, you did," he said, going back to his paper. I was shocked and after a few moments, I asked, "Is that all you have to say?"
He put down his paper and replied in a tone which seemed annoyingly to me. "That is what I expect you to do." and resumed reading his paper. That incident seems typical of the way he related to me and there were other instances, too many.
Dealing with my anger as an adult has been one of my largest personal challenges. Strangely enough, it was not a problem for 16 years in the monastery. I guess the hard work of monastic reoutine and challenges of assignments given were sufficient sublimition. Other instances of betrayal of trust by religious authorities have reinforced a suspicion that religious authority, and perhaps any authority cannot be trusted. I have too many stories
I recommend the movie not only as a gripping drama and well told story, but as an example of projected anger by a man whose son he has not heard from for several years.
Paschal Baute. July 27, 2008
I may risk sharing this movie with my jail birds, "Paschal's rascals" tomorrow.
It is a powerful, memorable, well acted drama. The anger of the main objector to a "Not Guilty" plea is well placed by Lee Cobb. The lesson is that unresolved anger and hurt can totally tarnish the outlook of anyone, so slant his view that he destroys relationships and friendships.
The stark lesson for me is how much anger I have carried in my life, for many reasons. I have been aware for many years that I carry a mountain of anger. My children have told me of it. My wife is aware of it. It has been too obvious to others.
Yesterday also a cousin cam by and we supped together at Applebees in Winchester, sharing many growing up experiences. In sharing incidents from the past, I recalled several in which I was bullied by my father (I choose the word carefully), and again bullied by a religious superior according to monastic brothers present at the time told me years later.
I ran away from home twice when I was nine years old, only in the 4th grade. Once I got as far as Louisville by riding an L & N freight train, after talking a friend to go with me. Another time, the freight train went the other way and after ending up only in a switchyard, managed to catch a train back to Lebanon, Kentucky.
Growing up, I was surrounded by women and girls. Four sisters who were a Greek chorus of tattle-tales, a mother who was a nut about cleanliness and not affectionate, Catholic nuns at school who were convinced I was a bad egg, and an absentee father who never related to me, except in anger, punishment and bullying.
I do not remember any positive feelings toward any adult man until when I was 14 and worked part of the summer on Uncle Ed’s chicken farm and admired the farm foreman. My mother said I talked about him in my sleep.
I also admired from a distance, three uncles in Lebanon, Uncle Dick Nolan, Uncle Dict Hamilton, and Uncle Louis. Fortunately also, Father Alf Eicheldinger of St. Mary’s started my in a stamp collection in the early grades and shared stamps for my collection. These more distance kindnesses probably saved me from a life of total adolescent rebellion, but boarding school, which also included some bullying, probably was also an escape.
Several of my sisters have talked about my being mean. I do not remember instances, but they certainly do, enough to interrupt a birthday celebration on our mother’s 90th birthday with repeated accusations. I know I felt very lonely as a boy. I never felt loved by my father and cannot remember a single instance of his affection.
I remember brining home the highest school academic average one month from St. Joe Preparatory School in Bardstown, which was unusual for me. The story behind it was a supervised study hall in which we were subject to a surprise slap on the back of the heard with a geography book by the supervising XavIeran brother.
Dad was reading the paper when I came into the living room. "Guess who had the highest average in the school this past month?" I said proudly. :Well, you did," he said, going back to his paper. I was shocked and after a few moments, I asked, "Is that all you have to say?"
He put down his paper and replied in a tone which seemed annoyingly to me. "That is what I expect you to do." and resumed reading his paper. That incident seems typical of the way he related to me and there were other instances, too many.
Dealing with my anger as an adult has been one of my largest personal challenges. Strangely enough, it was not a problem for 16 years in the monastery. I guess the hard work of monastic reoutine and challenges of assignments given were sufficient sublimition. Other instances of betrayal of trust by religious authorities have reinforced a suspicion that religious authority, and perhaps any authority cannot be trusted. I have too many stories
I recommend the movie not only as a gripping drama and well told story, but as an example of projected anger by a man whose son he has not heard from for several years.
Paschal Baute. July 27, 2008
I may risk sharing this movie with my jail birds, "Paschal's rascals" tomorrow.
posted by Paschal Baute at 6:14 AM
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