Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Six)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

The first night by Lake Erie was long and uncomfortable for T. C. Lincoln. Over the years spent in his mobile home at Evergreen Estates, the contrarian loner had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a converted camper. The Econoline van boasted a competent list of accessories for vacation jaunts and road adventures, but did not quite fit his needs as a disabled, senior citizen. Still, being liberated from the restrictive environment of his trailer community was a blessing. He had no neighborhood watch patrols to monitor his routine, or question his quirky habits. The natural environment into which he had entered offered seclusion and anonymity. Due to a lack of regular upkeep and attention, the three-acre plot of his estranged associate had become a woodland preserve, once again. Full of wildlife, and shrouded in mystery.

 

Janis Mays, his hippie companion, had landed at a skilled-care facility in Ashtabula, because of health complications. She survived a heart attack and three strokes, but could not gather the strength to resume her favored lifestyle by the water. That downgrade in ability stifled her independence, with the property and century home being left vacant and forgotten. Yet for him, it represented rescue and revival. Despite being expelled from his boxcar hovel, he could hide in comfort among the tall trees and thickets of brush.

 

The wandering drunk accepted his new role as a caretaker with much gratitude. But after only a few days at the abandoned site, he realized that sitting outside, with an adult beverage, was far less entertaining. Now, there was no parade of fellow residents in their rusty cars and trucks passing by, as he lingered in a fog of inebriation. No howling of stray animals, or the combative chatter of marital disputes in progress. No buzzing of power tools, no radios reverberating with rural forms of music, no bark of firearms being discharged for fun. He rested on a repurposed shipping crate, in silent repose. Listening to the gentle sounds of feral creatures who were drawn to the wild terrain.

 

Bourbon whiskey blurred his vision, and sapped his energy. He slouched on the makeshift seat, feeling groggy. His eyes shut slowly, in anticipation of unconsciousness. And then, a notification tone sounded from his hoodie pocket.

 

He had all but forgotten about his cellular device. But upon taking the plastic unit in hand, he saw a text message from Darby Stronelli, who had lived on his eastern flank.

 

“Hey buddy, where the hell did you go? Linn has been over here every day, snooping around to see if I know anything about what happened to your old ass after the trailer fire. But I didn’t tell him anything. And I didn’t! He’s been fighting with his wife constantly, I think she might have even moved out. Is that cray cray, or what?”

 

Lincoln felt a knot form in his stomach. He had little desire to revisit the drama of his former living space, and offered no response.

 

A long pause elapsed as he took a cold brew from his cooler. Finally, another message popped up on his phone screen.

 

“C’MON DICKHEAD, SAY SOMETHING! I JUST WANT TO KNOW THAT YOU’RE OKAY! THE PARK LADY CAME BY YESTERDAY, SHE WONDERED IF I HAD HEARD RUMORS THAT YOUR SHACK WAS BURNED DOWN ON PURPOSE. I DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT THAT, AND WOULDN’T TELL HER ANYWAY. I DON’T TRUST THAT BITCH!”

 

The reclusive hermit clutched at his belly. He had hoped to be distant enough for some measure of isolation from the outside world. Yet it seemed that his separation would be short-lived in duration. With his mood darkening, he turned off the wireless link. Another swig of liquor sent him tumbling from his improvised perch, to the ground.

 

Snoring in the grass, he slipped into a dream state. His erstwhile, Bohemian counterpart emerged from the shadows, to plead for cooperation with ensuring that her land and dwelling would be safe.

 

“Link, ya gotta keep yer eyes on my place! I’m stuck in this gawdamn ward until everything gets healed. These doctors are a pain in the butt! They treat me like a kid, like Granny did when I was growing up. I hate that shit! But they won’t let me go...”

 

In reality, he hadn’t heard from the rowdy female in more than a year. But her persona remained indelibly etched in his memory. They had been connected for fifteen years, at least.

 

Slobbering and sniffling while still lost in oblivion, he reached out to touch her face.

 

“You’re a friend I could never explain to anyone. Not pretty, or kind, or even fun to know. Generally, someone that always keeps me on my toes in any social situations. I sometimes think that it would be better if we never saw each other again. But here I am, back on your doorstep. We just can’t seem to stay away from each other. It’s like I need you, and you need me. How that happened, I will never know!”

 

His unconventional partner cackled gleefully at this confession. It gave her a sense of empowerment.

 

“OF COURSE YOU NEED ME, BECAUSE I AM FREAKING AWESOME! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, BEFORE THAT GETS THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL?”

 

As he wallowed helplessly in the void, there was a nibble at crumbs in his gray beard. A raccoon had approached him from the property perimeter. This tickle awakened him abruptly, from the realm of imagination. He sat up and scratched his facial hair, to clear the debris.

 

“Hey! Don’t leave yet! It was good to see you again! It was really, really good!”

 

His face burned in the glare of a midday sun. Bird waste dripped from the side mirror of his Ford van. A breeze toyed with weeds and shrubs that surrounded the empty house.

 

For the first time, Lincoln realized that he was now completely alone. A condition that he once found appealing to consider. But presently, made him wonder about his own ability to thrive without being part of a greater continuum. He had become invisible, to others and to himself. A useless and hollow vessel, without any purpose in existing. Except as a component of a paradigm he could not comprehend, in mind or spirit.

 

The Lake Erie venue offered him a chance to catch his breath, and regroup. For the moment, that was enough. Anything more would have to wait for another day, and a hopeful petition for understanding, from a higher power.

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Stuck” (Part Five)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-26)

 

 

For many of the residents at Evergreen Estates, having T. C. Lincoln removed from their community was an event that passed without notice. A random happening that carried little importance. For those who habitually trekked up and down his street in the trailer community, it meant seeing an empty lot while passing on their way to work duties or other responsibilities. Though the sight of refuse and ashes heaped on that concrete slab did present a puzzling display, among the other manufactured homes that remained. Yet within a limited number of days, there was a visible change at the site. Inexplicably, a makeshift memorial appeared, with crosses, artificial flowers, and various graphic illustrations of the bearded misanthrope. Though placed anonymously on the ruins of his boxcar hovel, these remembrances seemed to suggest that at least a few of the inhabitants missed their unconventional cohort in some sense.

 

Apparently, a few must have believed that the drunken loner had perished in his humble dwelling. That falsehood persisted, despite being denied by property manager Dana Alvarez.

 

But for Linn Speck, the rotund organizer and failed association leader, having his opponent expelled from the park under any circumstances was worth celebrating. At first, he had invited fellow leaseholders and renters to gather in his side yard, by a pit made of cinder blocks, for an improvised campfire and drinking contest. Aimes Hefti, the militia chieftain, was eager to visit this party, along with members of his amateur brigade. Darby Stronelli, who always stayed on the fence in between factions and enemies, came over to swig cold brews and interact with those in attendance. But otherwise, only a small portion of the local population chose to participate.

 

Their cheering echoed in the flickering light, long after nightfall.

 

“NA NA NA NA! NA NA NA NA! LINK IS GONE! GOODBYE!”

 

This cheerful mood lasted until sunrise. By then, daylight settled on the mysterious tributes left at Lot 13. And the balding figure on their corner yawned from his narrow doorway, while enjoying fresh air, and a first cup of coffee. A necessary step taken to ease his hangover.

 

With irritation, he called out to his wife who was in the kitchen, making breakfast.

 

“Haki, come here! What the hell is that I see, up our lane? Somebody actually wanted to remember that booze hound who lost his shack? I don’t get it! Nobody liked that stupid old hermit! He was dirty and cranky, and always looking like a mess, out on his porch!”

 

His spouse had an apron tied over her pink nightgown. And her face had turned a ruddy shade of crimson. Yet she declined to confess any knowledge of the crude memorial.

 

“Well now, someone must have cared about that poor man, after all. I am impressed!”

 

Linn growled until his multiple chins tightened with rage.

 

“I call bullshit! He didn’t have a friend in this development! None of us ever wanted him here! I’m not hesitant to say that having that piece of trash gone is a real blessing! I hope we never see him again!”

 

His wife disagreed. But kept her protest quiet enough that it was barely audible.

 

“Say what you want, but he was a human being, like any of us. He deserved to live here in peace. Not to be run out like a frightened rat!”

 

Upon finishing his hot beverage, the pudgy instigator decided to take a walk up their patchwork boulevard, for a closer look. But as he neared the flowers and portraits, a tingle of need resonated in his bladder. Feeling brave in the moment, he turned toward the heap of charred rubbish, and opened the fly of his pajama pants.

 

A golden stream splashed over the pile. Its uninhibited flow was heightened by a mood of victory. He took great joy in staining the concrete with his own, natural effluent.

 

“THAT’S ALL FOR YOU, LINK! YOU WERE ONE CRUSTY SON-OF-A-BITCH! BUT NOW, THAT NONSENCIAL CRAP IS DONE! DONE, DONE, DONE! YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO BOTHER US ANYMORE! YOU ARE OUTTA HERE FOR GOOD!”

 

Haki felt a surge of nausea in her stomach, while witnessing this miscreant act. She turned away, reflexively, while shielding her eyes. Regret made her double over, in pain. She whispered to herself while standing alone in the driveway.

 

“How did I ever marry a man like him? What was I thinking? I must have been out of my mind!”

 

A final, rebellious kick sent artifacts scattering across the vacant slab. Linn had no patience for anyone who would express fondness for the alcoholic bum. He had been validated by the speedy exit of his enemy, after seeing the singlewide trailer succumb to the overwhelming might of an arsonist’s intent. A message had been delivered, not just to one individual, but also to anyone else who might consider embracing those disgusting habits and traditions. Such people were not welcome in their rural village. Unity of philosophy and purpose had made them strong. Anything less would only put that resilient spirit into jeopardy.

 

As the portly individual returned to his residence on the corner, Maylene Jefka appeared on her front steps. The widowed matron was known by everyone at Evergreen Estates. And respected as a teacher at Sunday School on the township square.

 

She gazed tearfully at the remnants of their tribute to the contrarian outcast who was no longer a member of the group. Then, folded her hands in prayer.

 

“Lord, forgive that man for what he did in anger. Let him understand the error of his ways, and seek redemption. But most of all, look after our friend who used to live across the street. Comfort him as he searches for a new home, and a place to feel safe again. Be with him, as you are with all of your children. Do not let him feel alone. Amen!”

 

Near the shore of Lake Erie, Lincoln parked his custom van at an unoccupied parcel of land owned by Janis Mays, his erstwhile companion from a different era. The wooded acreage had been abandoned for an extended period, with no maintenance or upkeep. Amenities were non-existent. He would have no electricity, running water, or creature comforts. But the boxy vehicle would suffice to offer him a measure of security, until some better venue for living could be obtained.

 

For the first time in recent memory, he was a free man. Liberated, and unfettered by the opinions of others. That alone made every sacrifice he had endured worthwhile.

“Nobody, Revisited”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-26)

 

Unseen in the glare of a daylight glow

Invisible and unable to directly cast a shadow

I have no presence, no form to fill

This is the yield of a poison pill

Nobody is my name

I won’t cry out to receive a rest

It is better that I linger in the cold and emptiness

My place proscribed by a careless word

Dropping from the sky like a flightless bird

Nobody is my name

 

The appearance I carry is one of regret

Stained with transgressions I cannot forget

And though forgiveness is assured in the scrolls

I find myself failing in neighborhood polls

Nobody is my name

A tease and a twist, once seemed to play

But now I realize that those gifts caused delay

They held back a soul that was ready to soar

With a hand raised to halt what awaited in store

Nobody is my name

 

A kiss on the cheek signified my guilt

It marked me as one who had the wrong tilt

An incline toward opposites, bent in my bones

A curse that made the crowd leave me alone

Nobody is my name

I might have complained, with a voice gone unheard

But that useless pursuit would multiply, by a third

Laid out and laughing, I leap from the cliff

Into a canyon where the vanquished turn stiff

Nobody is my name

 

I saw it once in a western film reel

A moving picture, with midnight appeal

The tale of a cowboy, unknown to the rest

With a six-gun and badge, pinned on his vest

Nobody is my name

Trinity trailed a figure, willfully aloof

And scattered his bullets from the peak of a roof

Forgive me if that memory is not quite correct

It has been too long since the theater was wrecked

Nobody is my name

 

A silent reflection on the silver screen

A magnified mess, contorted in a dream

That imagery does not match my literal intent

It leaves me with a taste of whiskey and torment

Nobody is my name

No matter the plan, I still fall upon rocks

A hole in my heart and a tumble of blocks

Treading over eggshells, with no compromise to make

Sad to believe that my birth was a mistake

Nobody is my name

 

A sobering truth, discovered on a dare

That the man without a home remains unaware

No country to claim when standing in court

No citizen status to stamp on a passport

Nobody is my name

Caught between sides of a narrow route to escape

Where weakness confirms that the hour is too late

And a hunger for redemption ends badly for all

A scribble of chalk on the jailhouse wall

Nobody is my name

 

The tomb may be empty for a savior on the rise

But there is no such brilliance for one with closed eyes

I meet the final moment with a flicker of flame

This candle is snuffed out by a dribble of rain

Nobody is my name

Should you by chance, remember my fall

If pray for a benediction, to celebrate that call

An echo still bouncing among ears in the fold

A story of things not often retold

Nobody is my name

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Four)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-26)

 

 

With his singlewide trailer in flames, T. C. Lincoln was suddenly homeless and bankrupt. Everything of value that he had possessed had now been converted to a blazing heap of rubble and ash. Only his repurposed, work van remained, to offer some sort of shelter. Yet this calamity represented more than simply a loss of worldly possessions. It confronted him with a sense of being expelled from the junkyard oasis as an undesirable element. A stain on the landscape that needed to be bleached and burned out of existence. For a moment, he stood trembling in the yard, with both disability canes offering support. But after a moment to regain balance, he realized that now, no inhibitions were left to block him from seeking vengeance against his adversary on the corner. As a resident forcefully removed from the continuum, he had the genuine liberty to act aggressively, and without any fear of recriminations.

 

The shadows of night would shield him in this new quest for justice.

 

With some difficulty, he stumbled down the rustic boulevard, to the lot where Linn Speck made his home. The vintage relic was painted in coats of hardware-store hues, bought on sale. It had the crude appearance of an internet meme depicting hardship and destitution. But served well enough to house the rotund instigator, and his spouse, along with a domesticated, feral feline, a tank of goldfish, and a caged parakeet.

 

Signage from the 2024 presidential campaign still hung in the front windows. In the driveway, a foreign sedan loafed on bald tires and bad springs. Its muffler hung low, under the automotive carriage.

 

Lincoln had procured his only weapon from a bedroom closet, while escaping the conflagration. It was an Ithaca Gun, Model 37. A family heirloom, handed down from his grandfather. As he approached the residence of his nemesis, a wild lust for retribution took hold. He was confident and sure of himself as a clandestine presence, hidden in the shadows. It would take only a single blast from his firearm to scatter siding, and alert the occupants of his bold intentions. Then, with a mighty swing of walking sticks, and persistence in his cause, he could even the score.

 

A light glowed in shades of yellow, from over the kitchen table. Both inhabitants of the longbox hovel were standing on opposite sides of their square furnishing. He took aim with his antique shotgun, and prepared to begin the raid that was about to transpire. Yet before triggering his revenge, a howl of female vocalization stalled this push to be dominant.

 

Haki had both hands clenched, and stomped her feet on the linoleum in a desperate cadence.

 

“YOU REALLY BURNED DOWN THAT POOR OLD MAN’S HOUSE! YOU DID IT, REALLY? REALLY? REALLY?”

 

Linn was flustered by this tone of dissent. He did not appreciate being rudely questioned by his marriage partner.

 

“Yes I did! That old drunk had it coming! Nobody likes him being on our street. He’s dirty, shaggy, and ugly! Not our kind of people in any way! Believe me, they’ll be calling me a hero for getting him off this property! Say what you will, but I did everyone in this park a favor by striking those matches!”

 

The middle-aged woman did not agree with her husband. Instead, she shuddered and coughed.

 

“He sits there by himself every day, drinking his booze. Does that really bother you so much? I mean, he never goes anywhere. He never gets any visitors. He doesn’t make trouble for anybody. What’s the big deal with just leaving him alone?”

 

Linn protested until his jowls had turned red. Sweat dribbled from his sunken chin.

 

“He never goes to church with us, up on the hilltop. He won’t come to township meetings. He doesn’t get involved in things like the residential association, except to raise doubts about my legitimacy as a de facto leader of that group. And his political way of thinking is not what we believe. Everybody gets along here, because we all are on the same page. He’s an outsider, and we don’t need outsiders! We don’t need anyone to stir the pot! What we need is good, clean, loyal leaseholders who’ll help make this park a better place! Not a cranky hermit who would be better off living in a gawdamn barn somewhere!”

 

Haki sighed heavily, before taking a seat at their table.

 

“I can’t listen to you any longer! Do you understand how disgusting it was to set his trailer on fire? He’s a human being, like you or me...”

 

Her significant other stiffened with resentment. He did not agree on any level.

 

“HE IS NOT LIKE YOU OR ME! THAT GUY IS A PIECE OF DOG CRAP! I WOULDN’T THINK TWICE ABOUT WIPING HIM OFF THE HEEL OF MY SHOE! HE’S A MENACE AND A LOSER! HIS FAMILY NEVER COMES OVER TO SEE HIM, WHAT DOES THAT TELL YOU? HE HAS TO GET DRUNK BY HIMSELF, EVERY DAY! WHAT A LIFE HE MUST LEAD! WHAT A HORRIBLE, EMPTY, EXCUSE FOR A LIFE!”

 

Lincoln stood outside, listening intently. The loud conversation made his stomach churn with a bout of nausea. Yet it softened his resolve to seek satisfaction. His anger faded as the dispute continued to echo, loudly.

 

Haki wiped away tears, while repeating her objection to the wanton act of vandalism.

 

“Honey, I haven’t been happy with our relationship in a long time. Maybe it took something like this to give me enough courage to admit that to your face. But this is really the last straw. I don’t want to be married to someone who would burn an innocent man’s home to the ground! That makes me sick inside! And it has me wondering if I made the right decision wearing this ring on my finger...”

 

Linn sputtered as his wife removed her marital jewelry in a fit of remorse.

 

“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS, MRS. SPECK! I AM THE BEST HUSBAND YOU OR ANY OTHER WOMAN COULD HAVE! YOU’LL REGRET LEAVING IF THAT IS WHAT YOU’VE GOT IN MIND! TRUST ME, I KNOW WHAT I AM SAYING! WALK OUT OF HERE, AND YOU WILL BE SORRY! I GUARANTEE IT! ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT!”

 

Lingering in the darkness, their displaced neighbor bowed his head. Tonight, he would be sleeping in a motel somewhere, or perhaps, in his customized van. That shift in habits would represent his first taste of liberty in many years. Something that, until now, had only been a construct of fantasy.

 

Leaving Evergreen Estates behind was not difficult, in the end. He carried no regrets, when turning onto Pine Trail Road, and heading west, toward the junction with a northern route to Lake Erie.

 

A new chapter of his personal story was about to be written. And he could not wait to read what it entailed.

 

 

“Testimony”

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-26)

 

If I testified about being unconvinced

By the prettiest poetry of a foreign prince

And instead asked if one might seek a different path

Would that cause you to laugh?

If I confessed that a ritual left me cold

When many were chosen to enter the fold

While I sat alone, and wondered aloud

Separate and apart from that reverent crowd

It is my chosen condition

A familiar sort of disposition

And I testify

 

If I spoke in a tone of disbelief

When you championed the cause of a beggar and thief

And took instead an opposite view

To find a better thing to do

Might that dissension put me out

Like a pawn at the gates, lingering in doubt

If so, I accept what must be done

I have never been a favorite son

It is my chosen condition

A familiar sort of disposition

And I testify

 

If names are cast like sticks and stones

And I crouch in a corner with aching bones

Will it make me seem less of a man

An outlier and target who chose to stand

On a hill at the edge of a natural preserve

Where leaders shepherd the obedient herd

And the few who run in a different direction

Are left to find their own protection

It is my chosen condition

A familiar sort of disposition

And I testify

 

If I spit in the wind and receive a rebuke

Would you counsel that my error brought a moment of truth?

I could not expect to hear a different take

If making such an egregious, erroneous mistake

Yet somewhere along the way, I forgot that creed

And it left me hobbled with a sense of need

To be better and brave in the face of a loss

To remember the wages of an unlucky coin toss

It is my chosen condition

A familiar sort of disposition

And I testify

 

The hands of a timepiece sweep around in a circle

To track the progression of life lived to the full

But in this sad instance, I could not remain

On that spot where I stood, when out of the rain

So I find myself facing an embarrassing trick

A ruse that is run, devastatingly quick

With a sheen of red blossoming, upon my face

And the knowledge that a checkered flag signifies my disgrace

It is my chosen condition

A familiar sort of disposition

And I testify

 

The years have grown many, as I counted them all

A roster revived by a soul, held in thrall

I remember the time when this curse did not bend

The will of my heart into a tangle of loose ends

The trail laid before me shows things coming to pass

But all that I see is a reflection in the glass

That view may be madly murky to behold

As I am straining to see through the keyhole

But It is my chosen condition

A familiar sort of disposition

And I testify

 

Mermaid & Walrus Revisited – “Basic Human Decency – Is It Lost?”

  

c. 2026 Cheryl Keller, Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-26)

 

Mermaid Says:

 

Whatever happened to just being a decent human being?  I was in the middle of my early Saturday morning…coffee, cinnamon raisin toast, and a little phone scrolling.  I do try to limit my screen time for obvious health reasons, both physical and mental given our current political environment.  I think emotional health is critical and “doom scrolling” just leads you down a rabbit hole that before you know it, hours have gone by and your mental state has quickly deteriorated from having a great day to I am going to die tomorrow and the world is imploding.

 

I need to say one thing before I continue this writing; that this article is not about the details of the incident that transpired, it is about the responses of the parties involved.  I also need to say that it concerns a lawsuit that was filed and that it goes hand in hand with the words "allegedly" and “innocent until proven guilty”, etc.  Lastly, I do not typically write about triggering content, or such content that is this heavy, but this story has hit a nerve; not just from a woman’s perspective, but also a mother’s, and definitely from a mother of boys.

 

This particular morning, I happened across a video post discussing an incident at Cornell University.  It concerns a lawsuit that was recently filed by a young woman who was intoxicated and went to a male friend’s room, was convinced to do drugs, and then when she passed out, was raped.  Not only raped by her “friend”, but he then posted in his fraternity group chat about her being “available for sex” and multiple additional young men answered the post, showed up and raped her as well…for hours.  Not one of these young men, nor the other young men who the post went out to in the entire fraternity seemed to think this was wrong.  No one came to help her, called to report, responded with any human decency to say this is not right, nothing.  To add insult to injury, as I kept watching, Cornell’s response was to expel two of them and have the other five write an essay.  Yes, you read that correctly, write an essay.

 

Someone’s daughter was assaulted by multiple people, and no one was arrested, and the trusted institution involved felt that an essay was an appropriate response.  I am sitting here in disbelief.  As a mother…and one of two boys…I am just at a loss for words.  If it is one thing I taught my boys, it is respect for women, and not just women, but people in general.  Respect, compassion, love, common human decency - how to treat another human being.  How can anyone think that this behavior is acceptable, that this behavior does not require a more devastating consequence than a mere essay?  Have we as a society devalued women that much?  I just don’t understand, and it strikes that nerve, that anger that fuels this writing.

 

I have written many articles where I have touched on human interaction and just being a decent human being; treating others well, but this one hits me as a woman much harder.  I get tired of hearing when a woman is assaulted, questions that surround what she was wearing or what position she put herself in -  the where or the time of night.  I rarely hear that the assault should never happen, period.  That if consent is not given, clearly, you cannot take it, you cannot act on it.  Where is the repercussion for these young men who decided on their own accord to take what was not rightfully theirs to take?  Where is the moral compass that steps in and says “this is not right”?  How and when did they lose the ability to look at another human being and treat them with basic human decency, kindness?

 

What happened to this young woman should never have happened.  Those young men should be held accountable for exactly what transpired - rape.  Expulsion, writing essays, not enough; subsequent criminal charges need to be brought and punishment through the court system swift.  As for Cornell University - private, Ivy League - you are not above being held responsible.  Not only should your assets take a hit, but your reputation as well.  Safety for your students needs to be a priority and not swept under the rug with a hand smack such as doling out paper and a pen for an essay.

 

Walrus Responds:

 

I must begin by saying that I have a personal connection with Cornell University. I was privileged to enjoy an apprenticeship at Channel 13 in Ithaca, New York from 1979-1980, where I had the opportunity to study television broadcasting and production in a hands-on environment. I still have friends in the area, and one of them works in a limited capacity for the Cornell Daily Sun newspaper, which has reported on this story. A tragic failure of order and discipline allegedly transpiring in 2024.

 

With that having been said, I will confess that my writing partner has addressed this issue in compassionate and logical terms. All I can do is echo her sentiments, and endorse them completely. It is astounding to me that in our world of modernity, such disgusting incidents still occur. And it is particularly troubling to see such conduct being precipitated in an environment of higher education, such as Cornell. There is no justification for what happened on any level. Indeed, it speaks to the dark nature of humanity in general, even among the people of an advanced and privileged society such as our own.

 

I will refrain from tangential references to politics and sociology which could be made here, even though they may be merited. As a nation, we sometimes seem to gloss over the importance of stifling these harmful behaviors, and punishing the perpetrators, in favor of convenient rationalizations about ‘one side versus the other.’

 

We have allowed certain notable and powerful individuals to avoid scrutiny, over issues like human trafficking, sexual harassment, rape, public prevarication, financial improprieties, and outright corruption. Each bout of ignorance, whether great or small, has an effect on the rest of us, I believe. There ought not to be excuses accepted for any of these sins. But we know from our own history that in times of partisan rancor and tribalism, these sad truths may come to pass. It is a trail of evidence we leave behind us like footprints in the mud or snow.

 

We ought to do better. We need to do better. We must do better.

 

But until we cross that threshold from antiquity and inequality, to a realm of permanently elevated standards, it seems that we remain stuck in that doom loop. Literally scrolling and scrolling in a search for nothingness.

 

I pray that somehow, that sobering reality will change.

 

From the Cornell Daily Sun: https://www.cornellsun.com/article/2026/09/tccsuykuvb4z 

Trailer Park Vignettes: “Stuck” (Part Three)

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-26)

 

 

T. C. Lincoln had reached a tipping point in his challenging existence at Evergreen Estates. He was distant from everyone in the park, and also from the few members of his family that lived in nearby communities. But as the year moved into its final quarter, he realized that this separation now also encompassed portions of his own personality and life experience. Who and what he had been before landing at the junkyard oasis no longer mattered in real terms. His reasons for living had been jettisoned. What remained was simply a husk of flesh, crumbling slowly like the façade of a vacant building. He meant little to anyone, anywhere, and now was irrelevant even to himself.

 

Begging God for final termination would be justified, he thought, yet pointless. Because it seemed likely that no one would notice his absence. He had already departed in mind and spirit, long ago. Only the condemned temple of his body refused to accept that reality. Beer and bourbon kept him artificially alive. That persistent flow of alcohol had become his lifeblood. His fuel to go forward. His medicine and comforter, when all else had failed.

 

In the tradition of Frankenstein’s monster, he had found a methodology to cheat the grave.

 

Each day in the rural trailer village was substantially equal to the next. A plodding stumble through mounds of rubbish, ruin, and chaos, with no purpose in mind except to survive until the sunset arrived with its blessing of darkness and anonymity.

 

During a Thursday evening liquor binge, he collapsed on the floor of his living room, with the front door standing carelessly ajar. A full jug of bourbon had obliterated his senses. Both disability canes were cast aside as he fell. Pillows scattered from the furnishing at his side. He slobbered and snored while tossing from one hip to the other, on his threadbare carpet. Around midnight, the moon overhead streaked his spot with shades of pale white, and gray. A rhythmic thud of heavy footsteps wandered up his access ramp, outside. The threshold of his entryway creaked lightly. And then a hint of smoke drifted into the crowded space.

 

Lincoln did not react to this change in atmosphere immediately. He was deep in an alcoholic coma, still oblivious to his surroundings. But as the foul odors entered his lungs, he began to cough reflexively. His chest heaved, needing to breathe freely. The interior temperature increased dramatically, as an arsonist’s blaze swept through the trailer. Finally, across the street, a hooded figure crouched in the shadows.

 

Linn Speck, the neighborhood antagonist and failed association leader, cheered as he watched the prefabricated singlewide openly burst into flames.

 

“THERE YOU GO, OLD MAN! YOU WANTED TO STEAL MY WIFE? WELL, I WANTED SOMETHING TOO. I WANTED TO WATCH YOUR SORRY ASS BURN TO A CRISP IN THAT SHITTY SHACK! GO TO HELL, YOU PIECE OF CRAP! GO STRAIGHT TO HELL, WHERE YOU BELONG! YOU DON’T DESERVE MERCY OR GRACE FROM THE ALMIGHTY!”

 

It did not take long for this clandestine conflagration to consume the boxcar dwelling. But even with the roof collapsing, and timbers disintegrating into columns of ash, the boozing iconoclast was slow to respond. He rolled on the dirty carpet, unable to balance himself. After falling on his belly, he crawled toward the open doorway, in a desperate bid to escape.

 

His opponent who lived on the corner had already fled. The night cloaked his retreat effectively. Yet with the fire now out of control, things around the perimeter of Lot 13 were oddly bright for such a late hour. That fluctuating glow enabled the shaggy loner to find a path through the cascading debris. He spun off of the deck outside, landed in his overgrown yard, and huddled there as remnants of the abode disappeared. Only the framework of that structure stood intact. All else had surrendered to the white-hot energy of destruction.

 

Linn met his spouse in their driveway. She was dressed in a floral robe and fuzzy slippers.

 

“Honey, what did you do to that poor drunk up the street? What in the world did you do?”

 

Her significant other laughed gleefully. His flabby jowls jiggled in the flickering, chaotic light.

 

“I HANDLED MY BUSINESS! THAT’S WHAT I DID! HE WON’T BE COMING AROUND TO CHASE YOUR SHAPELY BUTT ANYMORE, I GUARANTEE IT! THAT UGLY NONSENSE IS OVER! OUR WEDDING VOWS WILL REMAIN IN EFFECT!”

 

Haki pulled the long garment tighter around her shoulders. She shuddered in the cold.

 

“You set his trailer on fire? Are you crazy? They’ll be snooping around here to figure out what happened. Everyone in this park knows how much you hate that pitiful guy!”

 

The rotund instigator chortled and clapped his hands.

 

“AND EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU’VE TRIED TO MAKE PEACE WITH HIM, MORE THAN ONCE. BUT HE DOESN’T WANT PEACE BETWEEN US, HE WANTS A PIECE OF YOU! AND HE WON’T GET IT NOW! THAT ORNERY BASTARD HAS MET HIS MATCH! I AM MORE OF A MAN THAN HE’LL EVER BE! HE CAN KEEP HIS DISTANCE! OTHERWISE, I’LL BUST HIM IN THE TEETH!”

 

The middle-aged female rolled her eyes, and shrugged.

 

“Honey, this isn’t a pissing contest! That man needs a place to live just like we do. Now he will be homeless! Don’t you think that is a shame? He’s a human being and matters in the eyes of God...”

 

Linn sputtered until drool ebbed from his mouth.

 

“I CALL BULLSHIT! GOD WOULDN’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH A WHITE-TRASH LOSER LIKE THAT! HE’S DISGUSTING AND VILE! DON’T FEEL SORRY FOR HIM, NOBODY ELSE DOES! NOBODY AT ALL! NONE OF US EVER WANTED HIM TO BE HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE! HE ISN’T ONE OF OUR KIND!”

 

Haki went silent while watching the flames turn to black smoke and finality. The dastardly deed had been done. Now, it would simply be a matter of cleaning up the mess. In the aftermath, few other residents would care that their number had been reduced by one.

 

“Did he make it out of that burning shell? Do you know or care? Do you even want to know?”

 

Her husband shrugged, and stood with his gaze directed toward the ground. He yawned impulsively, and then turned toward their porch.

 

“I’m going to bed. You can join me if you wish. Be a good Christian wife, and follow me inside! Otherwise, you’re no better than that bum with the bourbon bottle! It’s your time to choose, Mrs. Speck! Make your decision carefully!”