Proof of Life

By Jack R. Sparacino

Proof of Life takes a wide-angle view of a term that is usually limited to kidnapping cases involving potential ransom payments. The author uses that narrow definition as a launching point to explore many other ways in which we all know that we are indeed alive and experiencing life to its fullest.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639855360

Book preview

Preface

The monitor showed false hope as Sara squeezed, manually circulating the woman’s blood. A tingling came to her fingers, and in her ears she could hear a slight piercing tone. Nothing else mattered as she waited for the heart to respond. It was like squeezing a small balloon filled with warm water. Only this balloon was life.

—Karin Slaughter, Blindsighted

The phrase proof of life is typically used narrowly to reference evidence that a victim of kidnapping is still alive. This may facilitate ransom payments or further negotiations for the release of this victim or victims.

In this book, I’ll take a wider lens to the notion that there may be very good reason to reassure ourselves that there is life both around and within us. The essays represent my efforts over many years to expand the basic definition and very notion of proof of life. I am motivated by my profound belief that this search extends far before and after our own lives, however fulfilled or unfulfilled these may be. Indeed, we are all in this perpetual search as part of the basic human condition. While the subject is inherently serious, I have often found that humor may illuminate and even accelerate our journey.

Enjoy the ride.

This book is dedicated to my incredible wife Jane Hill Sparacino, who made me the luckiest man in the world for thirty seven years. You were always my proof of life. Thank you forever darling.

Billabong Babies: How I Fell in Love with Grebes

George Bailey’s life is wonderful, after all, not because he enjoys it—he experiences mostly travails and disappointments. It is wonderful because, despite his trials, he comes to see that particular, concrete things are good: coconuts and ice cream; dance and song; the love of a spouse.

—James Matthew Wilson, Finding the Sacred in the Delights of Christmas,

The Wall Street Journal, December 26, 2020

Rather like Jimmy Stewart’s classic portrayal of George Bailey in Frank Capra’s marvelous It’s a Wonderful Life, an absolute Hollywood gem from 1946, I have had a wonderful life—family, friends, loved ones, and opportunities as far as my eyes could see. I can’t help but feel especially fortunate during these almost unspeakably difficult COVID-ridden times.

I’ve lived in nine states—from New York and Pennsylvania to California to Wisconsin, Illinois and Ohio, to Connecticut, South Carolina, and Massachusetts—and there have always been birds of all types, including bald eagles, herons, and egrets. Apparently, until recently at least, I seem to have taken them for granted—like the air, seas, and heavens perhaps.

This all changed when I moved to a new apartment overlooking lovely Boston Harbor. At first, the constant foot traffic on the boardwalk, beautiful boats bobbing at their moorings, intoxicating restaurant smells, and Boston landmarks like the Prudential building across the water served as pleasant distractions. Eventually, I got past the lovely young women, luxury sailboats, fried calamari and grilled steak aromas, and started noticing the seabirds. Seagulls everywhere, of course, bumming around for food when they weren’t clamming. Handouts always welcome as they scavenge most efficiently. Don’t let your five-year-old sit on a bench by your side, waving her sandwich or french fry. One of them will swoop down and swipe it, then fly away squawking in victorious mockery.

Then I started noticing all the grebes, aka hell-divers.

The SB2C Helldiver, manufactured by Curtiss, was a Navy-dive bomber widely deployed to great effect during World War II. Primarily flown-off aircraft carriers in the Pacific against the Japanese. Its nicknames included Big-Tailed Beast, Two-Cee, and Son-of-a-Bitch 2nd Class. This rather ignominious latter tag referred to its sometimes difficult handling.

Grebes, according to Britannica, order Podicipediformes, are members of an order of foot-propelled diving birds encompassing a single family, Podicipedidae. There are about twenty species. They are famous for the striking courtship displays of some species and for the silky plumage of the underparts, once frequently used in millinery. They often swim in squadrons of up to a dozen or more, but I also see them performing solo. They paddle around the harbor, turning their heads constantly, before diving so suddenly they are gone in a blink. Nary a ripple. When in formation, the entire squadron may disappear simultaneously. My mind flips to the WWII channel.

Ahooga! Ahooga! Dive! Dive! And they are gone, often for what seems like an eternity. Where they will resurface is anyone’s guess. When they emerge with a fish in their beak, you’re in for a treat, right along with them. If it’s relatively small, they often rotate it to disappear headfirst in a second. With larger catches, such as menhaden here in Boston, they may wrestle with it for much longer before hoisting it into position and then ingesting it in one long swallow. You might think they’d pause after such a meal to let it settle into the hatch, but no. Often they go straight down again in pursuit of more prey.

These beauties weigh between six ounces to just over three pounds, depending on the species. They swim like Navy SEALs and dive much faster than our best submarines. Engineer Andrew Karam, author of Rig Ship for Ultra Quiet, writes that

In an emergency we could move considerably faster [than 15–30 minutes]. An emergency deep, for example, could get us to 150 feet in just a few minutes. And an emergency blow could take us to the surface in just a few minutes as well.

Grebes can dive to about 20 feet and stay underwater for some thirty seconds. Astoundingly, they often dive again and again after resurfacing for only a few seconds. And you’d better look far and wide to see the same bird back topside. In my experience, they may come up anywhere from 20 to 30 feet to, well, over 150. When fish are splashing on the surface, they converge on the potential feast. Frequently, no such action is visible to the naked human eye. Grebes are highly efficient though. They use bioluminescence, which NOAA defines simply as the production and emission of light by a living organism, to track the presence of fish in surface waters. Grebes typically do not dive unless prey is nearby.

Weather permitting, I love to walk my little dogs to the end of the boardwalk and search out these amazing hell-divers. We may spot only a lone specimen a hundred yards out or a dozen or more arrayed in five to six bird squadrons. They are simply lovely and fluid; their white-and-black markings striking. The females are especially beautiful and, like their human counterparts, they are frequently deadly.

Watch out, little birds, as you dive for fish and tickle my soul. Watch for food and look out for any enemies. My heart is with you, pretty creatures. You give me hope for a fair universe, for an enchanting God-given pageant. Your strength is my inspiration; your focus and dedication challenge me. God bless you, little birds; may your efforts prove fruitful.

Dive, dive, my beautiful babies.

Painting by Rejane Borginon

Freckle Face

Mary Kelly thought she had seen it all after living her entire seventy-eight years in South Boston. She holed up in a one-bedroom public housing apartment with