Casual Choices Read online

  REVIEWS OF THE AUTHORS FICTIONAL WORKS:

  “Palpable Passions delivers a compelling story arc infused with historical fact that should appeal to readers…”

  Blue Ink Reviews

  The book…feels like a screenplay; its dialogue is abundant and punchy, its landscapes well defined, and its characters have significant bonds. Palpable Passions uses bright, earnest characters to show that a microcosm can be as complicated as the big picture.”

  Foreword Book Review

  “Corbett has created a captivating novel. The book title perfectly describes the fragile thread that spirals around each individual…to create an enthralling story that anyone will love to read.”

  U.S. Review of Books

  “This is…a fully rendered tale. Those interested in the complexity of relationships…will find some rewards here.”

  Blue Ink Reviews

  “…Tenuous Tendrils, by Tom Corbett, is a compelling journey from exile to redemption. Like its characters, the book is quite clever and features an abundance of humor. Many heavy scenes are punctuated by conversations about the futility of war and the humanitarian failings of government also feature omniscient narrative wit that keeps the text from being bogged down by sentiment and allows the character’s personalities to shine.”

  Clarion Review

  “Corbett obviously loves to tell stories. Tenuous Tendrils, by Tom Corbett, is a captivating read with engaging vignettes which paint a picture of a retired professor, his life, and the connections which bind everything together.”

  Pacific Review of Books

  CUSTOMER REVIEWS FOR TENUOUS TENDRILS AND PALPABLE PASSIONS :

  “I loved how the author told each family’s story back and forth chapter by chapter. The characters are so well-formed, and the accurate descriptions of life in Afghanistan really drew me in. Finished book in one day. I didn’t want to put it down.”

  “This is truly a great read that will leave you feeling empowered and determined to make a difference in your own way. HIGHLY RECOMMEND that everyone pick this up.”

  “It’s easy to understand why this book comes so highly recommended. Palpable Passions is a powerful book. I highly recommend it to anyone who loves literary fiction.”

  “A penetrating look into the human soul and the fragility of relationships.”

  “Tenuous Tendrils is a conversational and meditative look back on a man’s life. I really like the depth of detail that the author brought to these characters.”

  “This book was incredibly personal on so many levels. Overall, I found this to be an extremely touching and educational read.”

  “I personally loved this book. It was refreshing and thoughtful.”

  “The overall story is incredibly genuine, realistic to the time limits it covers and thoughtful. Each time I put down the book I found it moderately difficult since I wanted to know what would happen next.”

  “Excellent characterization and historical facts make this a compelling story as hope overcomes despair.”

  “Tom Corbett’s “Palpable Passions” is the perfect combination of fact and fiction as it educates its readers about current events in our world today.”

  “In the end, we learn that no matter what this world throws in our way, our passion is what drives us to live our lives to the fullest potential. This book fascinates me because of how the author uniquely ties everything together at the end.”

  “This is an utterly compelling narrative of two disparate families separated by culture and experiences who come together by circumstances and serendipity.”

  SELECTED PRAISE FOR THE AUTHOR’S NON-FICTION WORKS:

  “A wonderful first-person account of the ground-level of welfare reform in recent times. It was a momentous time for reform of the nation’s welfare system and Corbett was in the thick of it. He relates what happened with a wry, self-deprecating of humor, but there are serious lessons to be learned…”

  —Robert Moffitt, Ph.D.,

  Professor of Economics, Johns Hopkins U.

  “Tom Corbett exposes the reader to the raw reality of confronting our most difficult social issues in this engaging, compelling, yet itty book. He brings the doing of policy alive, going beyond the dry numbers to reveal the human side of the equation.”

  —Dennis Dresang, Ph.D.,

  Professor of Public Policy, U. of Wisconsin

  “…I found “Ouch. Now I Remember” to be a witty yet edifying read, riddled with some funny moments…with many of them making me laugh out loud. I enjoy his writing style, it was comforting yet candid, like listening to a respected relative recount their own life with unabashed honesty.”

  —Pacific Book Review

  “…throughout the memoir, Corbett’s prose remains engaging, consistently mixing insight with the familiar jokes that one would from a close friend. A thoughtful memoir about life and politics told in a (n}…endearing style.”

  —Kirkus Review

  “…the emergence of Corbett’s humanistic world view…gives Ouch, Now I Remember intellectual gravitas. Corbett imparts an enormous amount of wisdom and humanity.”

  —Clarion Review

  “If you truly want to understand how public policy works, read this book. Corbett’s descriptions about how laws and programs are developed gives readers a real take away—genuine insight into the discipline of public policy.”

  —Mary Fairchild, Senior Fellow

  National Conference of State Legislatures

  “Corbett’s stories from the front lines of policymaking, like all quiet on the western front or the things they carried, provide great insight into the way the world actually works, not what the generals or policy planners think is happening.”

  —Matt Stagner, Ph.D. Policy FellowMathematica Policy Research, Inc.

  “Tom Corbett’s The Boat Captain’s Conundrum is a winning performance.”

  —Forward Clarion Book Review

  “Corbett takes a topic often shrouded in numbers and dense writing and turns it into an intellectual, yet conversational memoir.”

  —U.S. Review of Books

  “Corbett’s reflections, woven together with great insight and humor, transforms public policy from a class that is boring and mundane to a career that can be engaging and germane

  —Karen Bogenschneider Ph.D., U. of Wisconsin

  “Tom Corbett’s The Boat Captain’s Conundrum is a winning performance.”

  —Forward Clarion Book Review

  “Corbett takes a topic often shrouded in numbers and dense writing and turns it into an intellectual, yet conversational memoir.”

  —U.S. Review of Books

  I enjoy his writing style, it was comfortable yet candid, like listening to a respected relative recount their own life with unabashed honesty.”

  —Pacific Book Review

  “Corbett imparts an enormous amount of wisdom and humanity.”

  —Clarion Review

  OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

  Ordinary Obsessions (Papertown Press, 2019)

  Confessions of an Accidental Scholar (Hancock Press, 2018)

  Confessions of a Wayward Academic (Hancock Press, 2018)

  Confessions of a Clueless Rebel (Hancock Press, 2018)

  Palpable Passions (Papertown Press, 2017)

  Return to the Other Side of the World with Mary Jo Clark, Michael Simmonds, Katherine Sohn, and Hayward Turrentine (Strategic Press, 2013)

  The Other Side of the World with Mary Jo Cark, Michael Simonds, and Hayward Turrentine (Strategic Press, 2011)

  Evidence-Based Policymaking with Karen Bogenschneider (Taylor and Francis Publishing, 2010)

  Policy into Action with Mary Clare Lennon (Urban Institute Press, 2003)

  DEDICATION

  When my
father passed away in 1987, I went through his effects. I found a newspaper article on him from the 1930s. It was about the high school basketball team on which he played. When asked what he wanted to do as an adult, his dream was to become a journalist. Of course, as a poor Irish kid whose own father had been institutionalized with a mental disorder, college was out of the question. He did factory and janitorial work in the real world. But he was a wonderful storyteller with a quintessential Irish wit. I was fortunate enough to go to college, it was easier back in the 1960s, which I enjoyed so much that I pretty much remained within the bosom of the academy for the remainder of my adult life, with only a couple of brief lapses. I majored in psychology at the undergraduate level since it was the strongest department at Clark University, my undergraduate institution. I had no idea at all what I wanted to do in life other than pursue a vocational path that did not demand heavy lifting or any real work.

  In truth, though, my personal secret and unexpressed dream as a young urchin was to be a writer, which is reasonably close to journalism. As a small kid in the immediate post–World War II era, I was raised in a relatively poor and tough working-class neighborhood. My friends wanted to be cowboys or athletes or maybe astronauts. I, on the other hand, wanted to write great works of literature or at least something others might want to read. I did not share this dream with the other kids, it would have led to much derision and perhaps a whipping or two. Later, in the Peace Corps, while surviving two years in rural India, I wrote a novel. Several women, including a lovely Peace Corps secretary in the New Delhi main office, volunteered to type it up. I must have been a charmer in those days, a personal attribute long lost. I think my first effort was quite good, but it remained stuffed in drawers under a pile of underwear while I went about the adult tasks of making a living as an academic and policy wonk, pursuits I enjoyed immensely. Eventually, this masterpiece was lost, perhaps discarded with soiled boxer shorts. My academic and policy career, however, helped me achieve one fond childhood goal…my work involved no heavy lifting whatsoever. Some dreams do come true.

  My closely-held secret ambition of being an author remained buried but never died; our early quests never do. While an undergraduate, I recall running into my English literature professor at the lunch counter one day. I confessed my secret dream to him, something I rarely revealed for fear of the laughter that was bound to follow. He was kind enough not to laugh out loud, though I think he did roll his eyes a bit. He then asked me if I could tell a good story. I didn’t know at the time so stood mute. According to him, that was the one and only key to the kingdom. I have since written tons of papers, book chapters, and a few academic books and memoirs. But can I write a good story? I believe it is time to find out. We will see. If I fail, however, I’m now way too old to care if people laugh.

  In the pages that follow, I give you Casual Choices. It is written in honor of my dad, who bequeathed to me the precious gift of Celtic blarney. I would have preferred a legacy of great wealth and treasure but there you have it.

  These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from service of their country, but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, Your purpose in life harder the conflict the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods.

  —Thomas Paine, The American Crisis, December 23, 1776

  We would rather be ruined than changed

  We would rather die in our dread

  Than climb the cross of the moment

  And let our illusions die.

  —W. H. Auden

  Your purpose in life is to find your purpose and give your whole heart and soul to it.

  —Buddha

  CASUAL CHOICES

  Copyright © 2019 by Tom Corbett. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law. Every effort has been made to ensure that credits accurately comply with information supplied. We apologize for any inaccuracies that may have occurred and will resolve inaccurate or missing information in a subsequent reprinting of the book.

  Published in the United States of America

  ISBN hardback: 9781948000406

  ISBN paperback: 9781948000390

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1; Day 1: Day Break

  Chapter 2; Day 1: Morning

  Chapter 3; Day 2

  Chapter 4; Day 3 Morning

  Chapter 5; Day 3

  Chapter 6; Day 3 Evening

  Chapter 7; Day 4 Morning

  Chapter 8; Day 4

  Chapter 9; Day 4 Evening

  Chapter 10; Day 5 Morning

  Chapter 11; Day 5 Evening

  Chapter 12; Day 6 Morning

  Chapter 13; Day 6

  Chapter 14; Day 7 Early Morning

  Chapter 15; Day 7

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  PROLOGUE

  A young man drove slowly through darkened, empty streets on a raw November morning. The icy rain finally had ceased, but the going remained slow. The temperature, he could tell, was falling, an inconvenient cold front had arrived presaging worse things to come. Would it snow? That would make it even tougher. Perhaps he should wait for a more propitious moment. After all, what was so important about today. Would not tomorrow do, or next week? Then he laughed at himself. So typical.

  He peered ahead. A faint hint of light suggested itself on the eastern horizon, or were those merely the lights of the next town? He needed a moment to think, just to make sure. Did he want to do this? Touching the break, the car barely slowed as it slid seamlessly over the slick surface before stopping abruptly when it bumped against the curb. He felt claustrophobic, strangled by indecision. He opened his window to bitter air that slapped him with abrasive indifference, an assault he barely noticed. Rather, it felt rather liberating, he concluded somewhere beyond his formal thoughts. There he sat, focusing within, detached from all surrounding him.

  It seemed just yesterday they sat around a student apartment, the kind with a poster of Che Guevara staring down at him, arguing the same points they had done so for week after week, month after month. Those assembled focused on war, racism, social injustice, poverty, and mostly for the need for a revolutionary moment. These were the universal calls in an age where utopian dreams seemed palpable and real change inevitable. Hope survived among them against the inexorable erosion that inevitably emerged out of daily experiences that dashed the plebian dreams of more ordinary men and women. So far, the Gods were kind in that they had not permitted this tiny collection of idealists to peer too far into the future nor to be swept into some abyss by their own hubris and zeal.

  A wiry young man named Morris, a natural leader among them whose permanently intense visage was framed by a crown of frizzy brown hair, broke through the banter with a focus that, as always, commanded attention. “Do you know what I heard from a guy who worked for Senator Morse?”

  “Of course not, we’re not fucking clairvoyant.” The insult was issued by an equally thin, yet striking young woman with long, dark hair, sharp facial features, and ferocious eyes.

  “Always the sweet words, Carla, no wonder all the guys are lined up to propose marriage,” the frizzy-haired one responded. “He told me about a conversation that Johnson had with Senators Fulbright and Russell about the escalation in Nam. Apparently, Johnson admitted that he knew that sending more American boys was a mistake, and I mean a huge mistake, but he feared that the Republicans would have his balls if he didn’t. There you go, thousands of Americans and probably hundreds of thousands of Asians will perish because the toughest guy in Washington does not have the balls
to say no. What’s wrong with this country? Doesn’t anyone have the guts to stand up for what is so obvious to anyone who does not have shit-for-brains? Kennedy never would have allowed this to happen, but they took him out before he could set things right.”

  A young man known as Josh, who sat on the opposite side of the circle, watched his friend closely. They were unlike each other in many ways. The speaker was aesthetic and intense, invariably coiled and ready to explode with ideas and energy. He had a brittle intelligence out of which a cornucopia of ideas flowed with abandon. He could paint Picassos or Rembrandts with the medium of words, not colors. His eyes bore into you when you came into his view, usually rendering the object of his attention mute.

  In contrast, Josh was tall, well built, and handsome with those dark Irish good looks that many women found seductive, if not irresistible. He had a pair of pale blue eyes that further enhanced his prospects with the distaff side. He also was more thoughtful and considered ideas and causes with greater care. What really attracted others to him was an easy manner and lopsided smile. People were comfortable around him; they found both his demeanor reassuring and his words soothing. Even when he attacked another’s arguments, it typically was with disarming charm and irresistible wit. Yet, something bubbled deep within, capable of eruption with the proper motivation.

  He spoke up in his calm voice. “Why are you surprised, Mo? We all know the Democrats are paralyzed on the Commie question. They haven’t recovered from McCarthy yet. Hell, if one puts an ism on the end of any word, the good American people will crap in their pants. We probably should change our national motto from in ‘God we trust’ to ‘in fear we cower.’ Piece of advice to all of you. Invest in a toilet paper company like I did. In six months, I should have enough for my yacht.” The crowd snickered at his words, less the meaning than the easy manner of expression. They always tended to smile no matter what he said.

  “Fine, leave ’em laughing like always. Sometimes, though, you’ve got to suck it up and do the right thing. Jokes won’t do the job. You simply need to do the right thing, even when no one else sees it or understands. During the worst moments of the Cuban missile crisis, every member of the Joint Chiefs argued for invasion, some for a pre-emptive nuclear strike. Every goddamn one of them wanted to escalate. How Kafkaesque is that? They virtually called Kennedy a traitor for holding out. That fat pig who headed the air force was the worst—he barely could contain his vitriol toward Kennedy. These so-called adults running the country would have reduced our world to a cinder in an instant. And they think they are the adults. Now, that’s a laugh. They’re adults only chronologically. In truth, they are kids playing war in a sandbox, but we’re the collateral damage. Kennedy didn’t give in, though, and just may have saved mankind for what that’s worth. I’m so tired of talking. It is time to do something. We have become the real adults in the room, the ones who see things as they really are, without illusions. It is time to strap on a pair.”