The Watershed Years

By Mark O. Decker

An Eagle Soars When I was young, a boy, in elementary and high school, I had broad wings; I flew like a hawk; High and graceful, gliding, riding all the thermals. I had domain over my territory. Then, came college, I was lost; A round peg in a square hole. Somehow, my wings were clipped; I mostly wandered, like Siddhartha, aimlessly For sixty months; I did not fly; I mostly crawled. Then, I met the love of my life, who told me I could fly; That she had watched me fly, and it was a beautiful sight. Ok, I thought, and I told her I was a sparrow; She told me “no, you are an eagle”. I told her, “Ok, let’s say I’m a robin”; “No”, she said, “you are an eagle.” “Ok, I said, I am a dove;” Again, she told me I flew like an eagle. I agreed, and said I was a hawk; She told me, “no, you are not a hawk; you are an eagle”. Ok, I told her I was an eagle; and, I told her I could fly again; She told me “eagles don’t fly, they soar; Now, soar”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781483499659

Mark O. Decker

The years 1973–1975 are included in Volume 2. These years were full of wide-ranging emotion, and these were very busy times. Mark married the love of his life, Molly McEwan, was working in the White House for Presidents Richard Nixon and Gerald R. Ford, and was still reeling from the tragedy of the Kent State University shootings, where the Ohio National Guard shot thirteen students—four of them were killed. Mark was a junior at Kent State when the shootings took place, and one of the four students killed, Sandy Scheuer, was a friend. He lost his father, Miles Burris “Bud” Decker, in January 1975, to cancer, at the early age of sixty-three. His dad included Mark in many of his activities, such as hunting, fishing, golfing, and wildcatting (oil well drilling). Vietnam was raging and an open wound that created enormous disagreement, personal and family friction between parents of the “greatest generation” who fought and won World War II and children who were college-age being sent to Vietnam. The Watergate debacle was an experience every day for all Americans, especially those who lived in Washington, DC, and most especially for those who worked in the White House for President Nixon. Mark also started law school while working full-time during this period, graduating in 1977 with a JD from George Mason University School of Law. Molly and Mark were there together as Watergate all unfolded. That was quite an experience for two young people in love. Molly spent several years working in the Senate during this period. First for the presidential campaign staff of Lloyd Bentsen (D-TX) and then for Senator Gaylord Nelson (D-WI) and then for the chairman of the Senate Committee on Small Business. Mark noted, “It was a different Washington then. Much more collegial, much less adversarial. A happy town, and both the White House and Congress were respected much more than today.”

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DECKER

Copyright © 2019 Mark O. Decker.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

The authors frequent use of the the word man" is intended to refer to both men and women/male and female.

It is not intended to connote gender preference. He admits he is a remnant from the days long since passed when use of that form of reference was not offensive or politically incorrect - or, incorrect in general."

ISBN: 978-1-4834-9966-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-9964-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-9965-9 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 03/20/2019

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Always We Want More

1-3-1984

To hear, in the winds,

The sounds of riches,

Is to begin wanting,

Aching for more wealth,

More riches.

But, then again,

What are riches to a man

Who has everything;

All, at least, that is important.

They, those temporal riches,

Are nothing; mean nothing; they add nothing.

Mere specs of sand

In the proverbial hourglass of time.

Only the fool abandons his real treasures,

Of family, health, hearth and home,

In pursuit of a shiny, glittering promise, an envy;

Especially, a promise not in harmony

With his, or her, nature.

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The Old Man Cracks Down

1-3-1984

Have I been saying

That winning isn’t everything;

Lipping philosophic crap.

Where was my head?

My son heard it and reminded me.

Winning is important, too; and,

I feel like I’ve been unsuccessful a lot;

I am tired of losing;

Losing gets old, and unlike wine,

Does not improve with age;

Does not improve one’s disposition,

Or one’s position in the climb up the ladder.

So, 1984, is full of resolutions

Few of which I will keep;

But, underlying them all is one that I will;

Is a return to winning; being victorious

With Teddy Roosevelt-like determination,

William Buckley-like intellect,

Mark Twain-like savvy;

Hey, 1984, I’m coming on like gangbusters;

The real resolution in 1984, is determination

The resolve to win, again.

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A Song

1-13-1984

Sitting, singing in my heart;

Life has been good to me, now;

Has been bad to me at times;

But, honestly, I mostly always deserved what I got;

I’ve gotten some of the worst, and a lot of the best.

The heavens have looked kindly

On this poor soul, who is not poor anymore.

I have all, everything, in life that has meaning;

Molly, and a family, that I love;

A job, that I like;

Friends, adventure in Washington, DC;

A pocket full of jingle, and happy memories.

I am pursuing that elusive rainbow;

I know it will shine, when I get there.

Sending out a big ‘ol Woodsfield howdy to folks;

To this world I love, and the people in it;

I’ll expect to see you all in heaven;

Our problems are feeble excuses for failure; and

We are going to win a few from this day forward.

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Nostalgia

1-17-1984

There are times when I want to go back to the shady lanes and quiet streets,

Where I grew up and grew out;

Where the farm ponds and hard-working folk, with family, meet frequently.

Woodsfield is a place where your neighbors are teachers, janitors, doctors, car

Salesmen, insurance agents, judges and factory workers;

I miss, and love, the people there – that is my homesickness;

But, all relationships change with time;

My favorite coach is no more and hasn’t been for quite a while;

Educators, Bob and Nedra LaCroix, warm, country-rich people, are gone.

Just memories of a warm, faith-rich father; an ornery, free and fun-loving mother;

Hills and dales, rick fields, farms and streams, beauty abounding in a desolate area;

A yearning deep, deep, inside that makes me feel small and irrelevant

Compared to some of the great people I have known, great places I have seen;

It’s more than a yearning – it’s a vacuum, an empty, un-fillable space

No matter how much love, and kindness, or blessings I shovel into it.

How do you replace the Bullock’s, Capel Matz, Homer, Jahoody, Dale McConnell,

Wayne Harper, Jim Helbling, Mike Mercer, Coach Burton, Choc, Belle-of-the-Ball,

Ping-pong, little league baseball and championship basketball?

I was not very political, but loved popularity contests;

All this flood of thought from looking at the picture of Woodsfield

Taken from an airplane.

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The Artist’s Surge

1-24-1984

Is it an artist that feels a surge of life;

A surge, that overwhelms,

Runs the full range of emotion and experience;

An awareness, so powerful that one must stop,

Dead in one’s tracks, to take stock of the situation.

As a writer, I put words to it;

The artist grabs it, nourishes it with thought;

With presence of mind.

The artist strokes the surge

To give it shape and meaning,

Glorify and clarify, its possessive nature;

Turn it inside-out; outside-inward,

Depending on the intent and medium the artist uses.

I believe the deist, in us all, aligns us with nature,

Just as the catholic, in us all, aligns with God.

The melding of the two is the art of religion.

Art is a joy, discovered, and

It’s cultivation, the artists gift.

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The Coaster Ride

2-6-1984

Life is a roller coaster ride;

Climbing, slowly, to the peak;

Then, dropping like a stone,

Zooming around a bend;

At last, a breath, a straight stretch to glide

Before the climb back up to the crest,

A rapid fall back down;

Then, the final smooth coast to a stop.

Feelings of exhilaration, excitement, fear;

An emptiness in your gut, your stomach,

Like when someone close, is not near.

Today, is like a coaster ride;

I’m up, I’m down;

Around, inside, sideways, outside.

Molly and Susan are heading west;

Mark and I will not be with them.

So, I’m crouching down, and feeling low;

But, also excited that the sooner they go

The faster they return to our embraces;

The speedier you are back, with all your graces.

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The Pain of Parting

2-6-1984

The pain of parting is immense;

It is intense.

I feel hapless, hopeless and dense;

Thick, inside, like having over-eaten a huge meal;

Pulled-down, dragged-out, drawn;

This is real, this sense of longing to be where you both are.

I’m singing that sad old tune, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes;

I feel down, outcast, bereft, alive, but

With flu-like symptoms.

It is because, this morning, you left;

There is something in the air, that permeates the whole affair.

It’s like the blues after a successful board meeting;

Two days in Church, my first confession;

The winter’s paucity.

I’m not exactly sure what it is right now;

All I know is that it hurts, and it’s deep;

It’s with me when I sleep.

This day is like the day at Kent,

From class-to-class I went; in the pouring, cold rain; and,

In between, I had to stop at every dorm that had a pot;

The flu had a grip on me;

The whole scene held me down.

Yesterday, I was up, today, I’ve got a frown.

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The Turning Point

2-24-1984

The turning point is here; it came.

I look at all life’s gifts, treasures, and pleasures;

I have them all, and they are nice; but,

All pale in comparison to Molly, Mark and Susan;

So rich am I, yet I feel poor, and ragged, and used;

Like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

My head spoke to me about this whole thing just now;

It told me this was simply false, some peculiar martyrdom.

I have been feeling sorry for myself,

Moping, pouting and sulking;

I throw myself into a tizzy

Because my expectations are unreal.

I pre-judge people’s thoughts and actions;

Slightly paranoid, perhaps, but mostly the truth is,

I have a deep sense of longing to be