Author Archives: Peter Sanford Kahrmann

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About Peter Sanford Kahrmann

Writer, disability rights advocate, civil rights advocate.

Into the Arms of Fear

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Other than flying out to California to visit my mother Leona when she was dying of cancer, tomorrow will be my first time on public transportation since I was shot in the head in 1984. I was shot in New York City and early tomorrow I am taking a train to New York City. I am giving a speech there tomorrow. The chilly veil of fear has me thoroughly engulfed, but I am allowing it no decision making power.

Over the years I have learned that, with rare exceptions, the healthiest way to manage fear is to stride into it, not away from it. I particularly love the phrase, It’s okay to be afraid, don’t let it scare you. It is a phrase that underscores the notion that we have a relationship with all things and, in this case, with fear. Relationships can be healthy or unhealthy, including those we have with our emotional conditions. And so, tomorrow I board a train and travel to NYC. I never thought I’d be able to do this. But, as Nelson Mandela said, “It always seems impossible until its done.”

Lest you think I have not prepared, let me assure you I have. Today I drove to the train station so I could go inside and see it and familiarize myself with it. I picked up my tickets so the task of doing so in the morning would not sit in my mind and morph into an event that would be highly problematic and, well, scary. I scoped out the parking area and visualized myself walking from the parking area to the train. I saw a newsstand and a coffee counter and, to my delight, realized I could buy a New York Times and coffee there in the morning just like my Dad did when he worked in NYC. There is something comforting to me about the presence of newspaper stands and coffee counters

I will be getting up early and so have pulled my small coffee maker out of the cabinet and have it all set up so when I wake up I will push the button and speed the comforting aroma of coffee into my day.

I will, of course, bring a book and my journal along with a twig  from my father’s grave. While I am damned scared at the moment, I somehow know I am going to have a wonderful day tomorrow.

Breathe

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*
Breathe

I’m saving my life these days

You listening

I’m saving my life

Hope you’ll hear my moment

Hope you’ll hear my breath

*

Breathe

I am the anger sheathed

With no bullshit

The blistering wide open

It’s my concrete scrape

It’s my bent neck

*

Breathe

I am neck up blind

But for my child’s face

Shifting in the darkness

In this carved blood moment

The struggle wrenches full

*

Breathe

I am saving my life these days

In know that bullet

Cracked me open

I knew I was gone

I get it

Breathe

*

Joy

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Joy

That morning cheek to belly press

The coffee smile tossed gently over

The top of your reading glasses

I’ll tell you joy

*

Joy

When the chocolate covering

On that ice cream bar fractures

For the teeth just right

I’ll tell you joy

*

Joy

That walking through the door

Moment and your face is there

Pulling me warm home

I’ll tell you joy

*

Joy

Making the words carve

Me a new world on the soft

Side of a hill somewhere

I’ll tell you joy

             Just told you mine

*

In A Good Way

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*

We look for the meaning now

Lamenting the Styrofoam embrace of our coffee

And the young male teen walkin’ by talkin’

Tough like he knows strength

Someone saying I’d like to teach

The little shit a lesson

                       They mean that in a good way

*

In a hot vein moment we snarly jointly

At the Bosnia slaughter and I ask

What did we mean when we said never again

And minutes later coming home from

The day you point out a majestic tree and slow

The truck in awe never mind the tire screech behind us

                        I mean that in a good way

*

On the job we crank to high standards

Your shuffling pace spots the missed nick

The unfinished sweep the ugly table we moved

To paint a room muttering lit fuse quick

Before telling me my sanded walls look good

                        You mean that in a good way

*

Then our phone talk connection across

The landscape of our ripped childhoods

With minds and hearts bleeding

To the bump and grind of abuse

And our little boys met

And I’m damn glad they did

                        I mean that in a good way

*

No to Bloomberg – Yes to NYPD & First Responders

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I do not support New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg in his re-election bid. His understated style kept his arrogance out of the spotlight until he decided to overrule  the will of the people and dump term limits. Mr. Bloomberg thinks he is able to help NYC face its challenges better than anyone else. I don’t believe he believes that. I think he is addicted to power like many others. After all, he is one of many elected officials who fall foursquare under the observation Abraham Lincoln made when he said, “Most men can handle adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”

Bloomberg took the test and failed miserably.

Having said this, it seems the New York’s Police Benevolent Association, the largest of the NYPD’s unions, will endorse Bloomberg.  There is no human being on the face of the earth who respects the NYPD any more than I do, nor is there anyone who owes them more than I do. I owe them my life. It was Brooklyn’s 84th Precinct that responded with breathtaking speed when I was held up and shot in the head in 1984. One item in my bucket list is to save the life of a aw enforcement officer before my time is up.

So, let me say something to Mr. Bloomberg. If you win re-election, increase the NYPD’s starting pay. I know it was increased to $41,975 as of August 1 this year, but it should be much higher than that. While $41,975 may be nice pay in the rural areas of the state, it is disgracefully low for anyone trying to make ends meet in the pricey five boroughs. After all, Mr. Bloomberg, you and I and anyone paying close attention to your actions, know you are slowly but surely selling off the city to the wealthiest folks. The least you could do is make sure that the NYPD and, while you’re at it, the starting salaries of other first responders, are as high as any in the country. The starting base pay now for NYC firefighters is a $36,400, the starting pay for EMS professionals is $27,295, and the starting pay for paramedics is $37,346. There is no excuse for pay rates so low in NYC.

Raising all their starting pay should not be a problem for you. If you can overrule the will of the people for your own self-interest, perhaps you can do something for those who give their lives to save other peoples lives the pay they deserve. It’s the least you can do, Mr. Mayor. The most you can do, by the way, is resign.