CANBERRA BOYS AT COMMONWEALTH PARK IN THE MID TO LATE 70’s

CANBERRA BOYS AT COMMONWEALTH PARK IN THE MID TO LATE 70’S

by Dave Wheeler

     Sometime in the mid to late 70’s I was at Commonwealth Park, on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin, on a hot summer Sunday. I think the event was called, “Sunday in the Park.” I would have been in my mid twenties at the time. 
   At that time of my life I was probably living with my mate, Brownie, (The late Owen Brown), in a house we rented at 17 Massey Street, Evatt, although Brownie was not with me at the time of which I write.

   "Sunday in the Park" was quite a wholesome event and mainly for the benefit of families, as are the sorts of functions that are held at that park today. Yet on that Sunday afternoon I, an unattached, abnormal young misfit with two of my unattached mates of around the same age who were also by no means normal young men, attended one of those events. I suppose we had nothing better to do with ourselves, and we did have a good time. We enjoyed the band that was playing as well as the company of some pretty young girls we met while we were there.

  My mates who I went to the park with initially were the late Mario Gladwish, and Trevor Crook, but while there we ran into another bloke we knew who I will call Larry. Larry, who was about our age, was also by no means a normal young man. But, he was a nice bloke, and I can say he was a nice bloke even though I never got to know him well, as I'm a good judge of character. Larry was also an excellent musician. I once heard him play a mean wailing sax at the Dickson Pub, and his playing gave me much pleasure and happiness at the time. 

   Mario was also an excellent musician excelling on guitar and vocals. I first met Larry through Mario.
   Trevor Crook became a successful standup comedian and is still in the industry.
   I don’t know what became of Larry.
  I enjoy listening to the sax and other brass, particularly if it involves trad jazz, blues or traditional rock and roll, and Larry played the sort of music I love and he played it well.

  

  The video clip above is of the late Fats Domino and his orchestra doing “Jambalaya." If that sort of song is experienced  close to the brass the feeling of the sound resonating through one's body can be euphoric. It is the sort of feeling I remember experiencing when I heard Larry blow his sax at the Dickson Pub many years ago, as well as when I had the privilege of hearing Fats and his orchestra at the Canberra Theatre, which I also heard many years ago.

 

   Pictured above is the Dickson Pub, which was where I last saw Larry blowing his saxophone. Although I don’t like pubs or alcohol nowadays, I did not like seeing the place bulldozed. It had a unique structure and it was a part of the life of a lot of lads and lasses of the Berra during their youth. I have very good memories of listening to good jazz at the Dicko. I know one ex Canberra boy, a bloke who was no stranger to crime and violence, who burst into tears when he found out the Dicko had been demolished.

   Larry, a fellow misfit, joined us as we were listening to the band  playing at Commonwealth Park and he also joined in our conversation with the attractive young ladies. After the band stopped playing Larry asked the girls if they would like to come back to his place with us. The girls declined the invitation and told us they had something else to do, which was not surprising. Even though they appeared to enjoy our off humour and off topics of conversation they possessed the minds of simple middle class Berra girls, whereas although the 4 of us had bodies that had dwelt in the Berra for lengthy periods our minds were on an entirely different planet.

   Anyway, we decided to go back to Larry’s place minus the sheilas, and upon arrival I was to discover Larry was still living with his mum, who greeted us as we walked in. She was a very friendly lady in her 50’s who made us all a cup of tea and provided us with a plate of bickies. We sat together, minus Larry’s mum, at a large table, and began talking about the usual things blokes of that age and our type talk about; until Larry started talking about Scientology! 

  He went on and on! He told us that his mate had got him into Scientology and it had dramatically improved his life. He also told us that prior to finding Scientology he had felt unwell. The Scientologists told him to begin eating properly, exercising and abstaining from piss, tobacco and dope. This he did, and after a while, lo and behold, he started feeling a lot better. Some of the best scams in history have been based on half truths. Obviously Larry would have felt better once he began looking after himself, but he attributed it all to Scientology. He hadn't given much thought to cause and effect. 

   On and on he went, trying to convert us to Scientology, until his mum, an obviously very empathic lady, who had moved into the next room to give us some privacy, could take it no longer. She came out of the adjoining room, walked up to Larry and said,“Larry, give it a rest! Your mates didn’t come here to listen to that drivel!”
    Larry got the message and we got back to discussing the things lads of that age and our type discuss.

   Other than Larry feeling better because he was looking after his body, Scientology probably gave his life some sort of meaning and direction, even though its foundation is based on absolute bullshit. I’m not sure of the Scientologist’s ultimate goal, but I’m told it involves something like getting rid of “engrams” in order to achieve some sort of eternal enlightenment. I suppose Larry's pursuit of the Scientology goal gave him a path to follow and something positive to look forward to, even though the whole thing was ridiculous.
   Our species became religious because it gave meaning to people and possibly promoted tribal unity. It must have also aided our species' ability to survive and engage in gene replication, because if it didn't the propensity for religiosity would not exist.

    Religion which has in its foundations a belief in the supernatural and offers eternal life may suit some, but not so those of us who cannot help wanting to see hard evidence before we are willing to believe in anything. But, humanity has the full spectrum when it comes to religiosity, ranging from non-believers like me to those who are afflicted with religious mania.

    I’m not sure where on the religiosity spectrum Larry was placed, but I know it was enough to have got him heavily into Scientology. Still, I haven’t seen him for 40 plus years and I wonder if he became disillusioned, as some do, and got back into the legal and illegal drugs he had been using. For all I know at this moment he could be mumbling incoherently to himself in Ainslie Village, or he may have topped himself many years ago. I hope not, because, as I have said, he was a very nice bloke and I sincerely hope that somehow he continued to have meaning and direction in his life and continued to keep himself in good health. Musicians however, are not renown for having good mental health, particularly very talented muso’s like Larry. Everything seems to have its price.

     On that note I will go back further in time and introduce the main subject of this yarn, a bloke I knew named Bob, who, like me, also demanded proof before he was willing to believe in anything, particularly anything revolving around the supernatural. I worked with Bob as a builder’s labourer in late 1972 or thereabouts on a building site in Wattle Street, on the Lyneham side of the road. We were building a block of flats.

   I always made a habit of trying to break the monotony of mindless work by engaging my workmates in conversation that went beyond the mundane. And as Bob, a true-blue Anglo Celtic Aussie in his mid to late 30’s, had at least 15 years on me, I thought I may be able to pick up some useful knowledge from him even though he had very little formal education. Other than receiving direct verbal knowledge from others based on what they got right in their lives, I was aware that it's possible to learn by being aware of the mistakes others make, and Bob did not try and hide the fact that he had made plenty of mistakes during his life.
    To get my workmates talking non-shallow talk I would usually bring very basic philosophy into our conversations and ask them questions which got them thinking. I would also sometimes give them hypotheticals, and as a result of that approach they often spilt their guts to me. 
    Bob revealed to me a lot about himself. He told me that at one stage of his life he’d been a hopeless alcoholic and that his wife had left him for that reason. That event of course made him feel worse than normal, and it was not long after his wife left him he looked at his life and saw it as pointless. He thought there was no light at the end of the tunnel other than the proverbial oncoming train. 
  Had he inherited the religiosity gene/s and/or been indoctrinated into a religion, he may have been able to see some point in life by following a religion, but Bob was an agnostic and a realist.
    He told me that in a period of sobriety, albeit sobriety in which he felt at rock bottom, he walked to the top of Mount Ainslie, and in act of desperation got down on his knees and prayed, despite the fact that he was an agnostic. 
   Although of course my memory will not allow me to quote verbatim the words Bob told me he used in his prayer or what he said to me in the conversation I had with him after he told me of his experience, what follows describes the gist of his prayer and our conversation with absolute accuracy. It is as follows, beginning with what Bob told me he asked God in his prayer:

     “God, if you exist please give me a sign! Please given me some direction in life! I can’t take it any more; just give me some inspiration! Guide me onto the path I should be taking! Give me a reason to live God! Please!

  Bob told me that after the prayer he waited for something to happen. He said to me, “I waited and I waited and I waited.” 

   "What happened"? I asked Bob.

   Bob replied, “Fuck all! It was a waste of fuckin time and I felt like a fuckin idiot talking to the trees and the sky. Nobody was listening to me and nobody gave a fuck!”     

   I asked him, "How did you feel after that Bob?" 

   Bob replied, “Not the best. What do you expect?”

   I asked him, “Have you come to the conclusion that either there is no god or if there is a god he couldn’t give a rat’s arse about you and he has no intention of lending you a helping hand?" 

   Bob replied, “Yeah, it’s all bullshit. I still can’t see any point to life, but the fact that I realise it’s up to me to make the most of what life throws at me means I can’t blame anyone for any bad decisions I make other than me. 

   I asked him, “Bob, upon accepting that fact, did it make you more able to look after yourself than before you accepted that fact?

   Bob replied, “Yeah, I don't drink piss anymore and I eventually got onto another sheila who I’m living with.” 

   I asked him, “Are you happy Bob?"

   Bob replied, "As happy as I’ll ever be. You’ve just got to accept that life is about workin, growin old then dyin, and making the most of it all while we’re here. 

   I asked him, “Do you mean life's a combination of pain and pleasure and you’ve just got to accept the pain and savour the pleasure when it's available?

   Bob replied, “That’s exactly what I mean!” I was thinking of topping myself for a while when I realised just how pointless life is. But I could never do that to my parents or brothers. Had I had no parents or brothers I may have done it, but as that was out of the question I just had to accept that I had to live through it all, and I’m glad I didn’t top myself because even if life is pointless it’s not too bad.”

     I then asked, "So Bob, to sum it up for me do you think we should choose between suicide or accepting life’s pains and savouring its pleasures, and do you think that any other choice is irrational? And before you answer that, do you believe that if for whatever reason we decide to rule out topping ourselves, once we decide to stick around and in doing so accept life’s pains and savour its pleasures life is not too bad, even if it is pointless? 
Bob replied, "My fuckin oath!”
I then asked, When you say life is pointless could we instead say that the objective of life is to maximise pleasure and to minimise pain, and in pursuing that goal our objective should be to take into account the anticipated quantity and intensity of pleasure and pain which accompanies each of our options?
Bob replied, You’re confusing me you bastard, but I think I know where you’re coming from.
I then asked, “How do you know God didn’t give you that message by refusing to give you any sort of answer or sign Bob, meaning he was giving you direction by not giving you direction?”

    Bob thought I was taking the piss and continuing to try to confuse him and he laughed heartily. He then replied, “You’d think with all his powers he could do a bit better than that. The bastard!”

   After accepting he was not going to get any outside help from a deity and that he was not going to top himself and that life consists of growing old, dying and making the most of it in the process, it would seem that Bob had adopted much of the philosophy of an ancient Greek named Epicurus, even though it’s highly unlikely he had ever heard of him.

   To go into greater detail, Bob, either consciously and/or non-consciously, had, like Epicurus, come to the conclusion that the objective of life is to maximise pleasure and minimise pain, and that to do so one must accept unavoidable pain and savour  pleasures when available.

     And because he had given up piss it would seem that Bob, like Epicurus, believed that one should not pursue pleasure blindly in ways that result in certain intense pleasures bringing on more pain than they're worth. In other words, he became conscious of the fact that to increase pleasure is to avoid pain, and certain intense pleasures can ultimately result in suffering pain of such an intensity and/or duration than they are not worth having, as would be the case if one has sex with a beautiful woman who kindly passes on to you her HIV positive status. Although that is an obviously extreme example, we are surrounded by many other pleasures we can choose to enjoy which are simply not worth enjoying because of the pain they also deliver.

    It was for the latter reasons Epicurus advocated savouring simple pleasures and a simple lifestyle, a lifestyle devoid of rich food and alcohol. The word “epicure," came about because of an ignorance of what true Epicureanism entailed.

   To reiterate, by being aware of all this Bob was able to savour life’s pleasures and accept without mental turbulence life’s pains, which obviously means that when he rid himself of his dependance on alcohol he was better able to accept and savour his here and now, which means he was more mindful (in the present) than he had been, even though he was not a practitioner of mindfulness per se.

    We are now talking about the non-religious aspects of Buddhism. "How wondrous this, how mysterious! I carry fuel, I draw water.”

     Having said all this, Bob could not be described as a laughing Buddha. Like everyone he suffered pain and enjoyed varying degrees of pleasure, but on an overall basis he enjoyed his life and had ceased to have any desire to turn out his own lights.

    Okay, the reader will accuse me of putting words into Bob’s mouth he did not want to utter by my asking the leading questions I asked him, but based on what he told me in simple English, without any prompting from me, I’m convinced that he came to the same conclusions as many of the great philosophers and that my questions to him were there to assist him to express himself rather than to put words in his mouth. 

   Had Bob been more articulate he could have given lectures to the few people who would have listened to him, and in doing so saved them from an enormous amount of unnecessary pain and allowed them to enjoy far more pleasure than they would have otherwise enjoyed.

    On the same subject, I’ve said in other posts that in my youth I met many old WW1 and WW2 diggers who saw horrible sights and underwent horrific experiences. Some suffered for the remainder of their lives because of their wartime experiences, but others, rather than talk about what they experienced to counsellors or their families, (and in doing so get themselves upset by reliving their traumas), chose to live relatively enjoyable postwar lives, and they did so by way of a simple formula. 
     Other than not talk about what they experienced some were able, to a large degree, keep unasked for visions of what they experienced from flooding their conscious minds by simply keeping physically and mentally active. Try thinking negatives thoughts or reliving a past trauma if you are engaged in heavy physical exercise or work.
    I will place a caveat into this approach when it comes to dealing with trauma to the extent that a degree of rationality is required for it to be successful, and if a person is so traumatised and emotional he loses his rationality then obviously he will remain a slave to his emotions. All we can do is consciously strive for rationality, and if this is done one has a reasonable chance of keeping it most of the time.
    Of course nobody is able to dodge pain entirely, but by accepting unavoidable pain and being occupied one is more mindful than one would otherwise be, and by being mindful one is also better able to savour life’s simple pleasures. Some old diggers who took such an approach continued to enjoy the simple pleasures life offered them for the remainder of their lives.
    How Epicurean! How Buddhist! How Bob-like they were!

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A CANBERRA BOY RECOUNTS AN EVENT THAT OCCURRED WHILE HE WORKED AS THE ACT RSPCA INSPECTOR IN THE 80’s.

A CANBERRA BOY RECOUNTS AN EVENT THAT OCCURRED WHILE HE WORKED AS THE ACT RSPCA INSPECTOR IN THE 80’s 

by Dave Wheeler 

 
    I worked for the ACT RSPCA as Canberra’s only Inspector for 3 years, from early 1984 to early 1987 from memory. I've already written about one of my experiences during that time on this blog under the heading “The Flower Man,” which is on the following link.  http://acanberraboy.blogspot.com.au/2014_05_01_archive.html

   Not only was I the Inspector who had the job of policing the “ACT Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Ordinance,” which was almost useless legislation; even though with great effort I was able to get a few successful prosecutions, I was also the animal ambulance man who was required to rescue injured animals. Sometimes the latter task was satisfying, but when I had to deal with seriously injured animals and at times perform euthanasia on them it was not at all pleasant. 

   At other times I visited schools and other organisations to spread the word. I often had contact with the media and was interviewed several times by "Constable Kenny Koala.”      

    Thankfully the legislation we have today in the ACT for the prevention of cruelty to animals is far better than what I had to work with, although it is still inadequate. I would like to see it become draconian and the inspectors granted the same powers as their counterparts in NSW.

   I was also to a small degree a social worker, to the extent that although the RSPCA was all about animal welfare, quite often those who kept animals had great difficulty looking after themselves let alone their animals. And in order to look after the welfare of their animals we at times assisted the people who were supposed to be their keepers, usually by getting our full time vet to treat their animals free of charge, or by giving them practical assistance.

    Some of the latter had mental health problems and had acquired pets in an effort to gain the sort of companionship they needed. Some who did not necessarily have mental health problems had hit hard times and just needed a helping hand. 
   Others, the type I refer to as human garbage, treated animals as commodities to be used, abused and neglected. I was to find, sometime after I left the RSPCA and began work in an Admin position within the child protection section of the ACT Government, that many of the people I had come across while working for the RSPCA who had neglected and/or abused their animals were the same people my department dealt with, as they were also neglecting and/or abusing their kids.
    I have many stories revolving around the time I worked for the RSPCA, some of them not very pleasant. This is just one of the events that occurred while there which I remember vividly, as it tugged on my heartstrings. 

     We also had humorous events occur while I worked for the RSPCA. I can recall one particular incident which amused my workmate, John Carlton, although I didn’t laugh at the time as I was given a very good reason not to laugh. The event occurred when I went into a large cage we had which contained parrots that were too badly injured to be returned to the wild. I had gone in to change their water, thinking they may appreciate my efforts, but they did not. Within the cage was a galah and a cockatoo who worked as a team. The galah would go for your heels like a blue heeler and in doing so divert your attention, while the cockatoo would attempt to bite a part of your upper body while your head was turned.

    On the occasion of which I write the galah had my undivided attention as I looked down and tried to keep him from biting my Achilles' heel, which gave his cobber, the large white cockatoo, a chance to take a really hard bite into the end of my thumb. The cocky’s jaws, which are strong enough to crack open nuts, are enormously powerful. Natural selection has given them big curved beaks like the birds of prey, which enables their beaks to take that sort of muscular force without breaking.

    The pain I felt was instant and intense. As the blood flowed I thought he’d actually bitten off the end of my thumb, but fortunately he did not take off any bone. I’m sure he would have done so had he bitten the thumb of a small kid. I of course lost my thumbnail as it had been instantly shattered.

    But, at a later stage I was able to have a laugh at John’s expense, although at the time there was a definite absence of laughter coming from John.  

     We had a resident sheep. I think we called him Ernie. I can’t recall if he was a wether or a ram, but he was a big solid bloke. It had been decided that he had to be wormed, so John and I set about getting hold of him. We could not catch him in the open, so we herded him to behind a shed we had in our grounds. Directly behind the shed was a fence, which meant that Ernie was caught between the fence and the back of the shed. He was therefore enclosed in a passage about one metre in width going the length of the shed, with John and I standing at opposite ends of the passage, thereby trapping him and leaving him with nowhere to go. Or so we thought!

    John was aged about 43 at the time. He was a very fit and wiry sort of bloke and one of the best marathon runners for his age group in the Berra, but he was a smaller bloke than me. As a result when Ernie had to choose between trying to run over me to escape or run over John he chose John, and I'm very glad he did.

    Ernie charged at John and did not hold back. I’m not sure of the technique he used, but whatever it was it worked. He was able to escape from us by upending John and running through him as if he was not there. I can remember seeing John in a horizontal position, although he was horizontal and in the air, at about waist height.

   John then crashed to the ground and hit his head in the process, which caused him to lose consciousness. He had to take the rest of the day off and we did not bother trying to worm Ernie on that day. 

      To begin to describe how I assisted the human and dog subjects of this anecdote, the year was 1985 or thereabouts. I would have been aged 32 or 33 if it was 1985. 

    I was in the ACT RSPCA Inspector’s van, not far from the RSPCA shelter at Weston, when I received a call on my wireless from Barbara, one of my workmates. She told me she had received a call from a bloke somewhere near Weston, not far from the shelter, and he was very upset. 

    Barbara, who was older than me and who had worked for the RSPCA for quite a few years, once told me that an RSPCA inspector they employed in the 60’s or early 70’s had a German girlfriend who he had met in Germany. Apparently she left Germany to be with him but once she got over here the inspector decided he did not want a serious relationship with her. The German girl became so upset she topped herself in the pine forest which was over the road from the RSPCA’s Weston shelter. She supposedly used the inspector’s supply of Lethabarb, the drug that is used to euthanise animals. I've been told it is difficult to self-administer because it often produces unconsciousness before a person can get a lethal dose. Having not tried it on myself I can’t say.

    To paraphrase what Barbara told me on the wireless, the caller was an old age pensioner who was upset because his 17 year old kelpie was on the way out. He had not eaten or shat for 3 days and had just had a small anal prolapse. (I’m referring to the kelpie not eating or shitting and prolapsing; not the old age pensioner). I was told the caller had no money for a vet and was in need of our assistance. 

    At that stage we had our own full time vet, and as such I knew I could take care of the kelpie by bringing him back to our shelter if it was appropriate to do so.

    I drove to the caller's address after Barbara had given it to me and I was met by a bloke aged about 70. He introduced himself as Bill. 
   Before he opened his mouth I could tell he was the archetypal Australian bushman of his era, and a very tough bloke who had lived a very hard life. He was the sort of Australian that no longer exists, which is a shame. I was to find he was a natural gentleman and a very nice bloke.

   He took me into his house and introduced me to his 17 year old male kelpie, named Andy, who was laying still on a blanket, as he was incapable of moving. Andy did not seem to be distressed or in pain and his prolapse did not seem severe, so I engaged Bill in conversation about other matters to ensure he had my trust and that he knew I would be able to do the right thing by Andy in the best possible way.

    I always made a habit of asking older people questions, as they are usually great sources of knowledge and more than willing to hand it over, and knowledge is a precious thing when it comes to surviving and ensuring one has a good quality of life in this sewer. I also usually find what old people have to say very interesting.

   Bill told me he’d been a shearer and had also worked outside the sheds on sheep stations with the assistance of Andy and many other working dogs before him. He told me that Andy had been an excellent working dog when he was younger. 
    He also told me he knew that dogs are not meant to live to the age of 17 and that he should be grateful for having had him that long, although his voice started to break as he was telling me, so I changed the subject.

    As he told me he had shorn all over NSW, QLD and Victoria I asked him what he knew about ‘Flash Jack from Gundagai,”the bloke in the famous song.

    He seemed to brighten up a bit and he told me that “Flash Jack" was way before his time, but he’d met some old blokes when he was young who claimed they knew him. He said that “Flash Jack” had worked mainly in the sheds beyond Hay.

“Flash Jack from Gundagai” is being sung and played by the “Bushwhackers.”

      I also asked him if he knew, when he was younger, any old blokes who knew Jackie Howe, the famous champion shearer of the 1890’s who made famous the blue Jackie Howe singlet which so many Australian workers used right up until the high-vis gear was made compulsory. He again said that when he started shearing he knew several old blokes who had shorn with Jackie Howe, and they spoke very highly of him. He was their hero.

   Pictured above is the famous Jackie Howe, 1861-1920. To paraphrase “The Australian Dictionary of Biography,” he was an extraordinary physical specimen weighing 114 kgs with an enormous chest, biceps, thighs and hands. He could run 100 yards in 11 seconds. He was also a staunch unionist, and one of many unionists of previous generations who were partly responsible for the pay and conditions of today’s workers.

    I mentioned the 1891 shearers strike to Bill, knowing from other old shearers I’d spoken to that it is firmly embedded in their folklore, or at least the folklore of shearers Bill’s age and older. Bill, who was of course a union man, again said that when he was young, before the war, he had shorn with old blokes who were participants in that strike and they were held in high esteem for having done so.

    I wonder what Bill would think of the scabby Labor party of today which has kept in its policies a desire to retain the nastiest parts of Howard’s anti-worker IR legislation, such as needing permission to strike and prohibiting secondary boycotts.  

    We kept talking and he told me he’d never married or had kids, he’d fought in New Guinea on the Kokoda Track and that all he’d done after the war, right up until he’d got the old age pension, was shear and do farm work with his dogs. I could have talked to Bill all day. 

    Eventually the time came and I said to him, “Well Bill, what do you reckon? Andy’s had a good life, I think the time’s come.”

“You’re right,” he said, with a breaking voice.

    I then took out a form I carried which I had to get people to sign under such circumstances, which allowed me to take possession of their animal. As Bill signed the document, knowing he was saying goodbye forever to his closest mate, a mate who had given him unconditional love for 17 years, I could see his hand start to tremble. The tears flowed and he said to me, “Im sorry son, he's my best mate.” 

   Showing emotion in that way is not the done thing in the bush, as bushmen are meant to be too hard to be sentimental, but the depth of his feelings ensured his emotions could not be contained. 
   Although Bill was not dying himself, a part of him was, and I thought of the old Australian song, “ The dying stockman.”

The Dying Stockman, sung by Lionel Long

    What could I do for Bill except give him my sympathies as I gently took possession of his old mate? As I began carrying Andy out Bill did another thing Aussie bushmen are not supposed to do. He lent over and kissed Andy on his rugged old head. His breaking voice then said to me, “Thanks mate,” as he slowly closed his front door.

   I drove off and took poor old Andy back to the our shelter where he received from our vet, Steve, a gentle exit by way of a needle. He did not struggle. It was as if he knew his time had come.

   Pictured above is Bess, a working kelpie from “Noonbarra Kelpies.” They are a beautiful and tough breed but not suited for suburbia unless their owner is particularly active, as they have been selectively bred to have a biological need to work. The name kelpie came from Scotland and refers to a water spirit. It has been debated for years whether or not the dingo is a part of the kelpie makeup, but recently geneticists have determined that they do have a small amount of dingo ancestry. They were however, unable to say whether it was part of the breed’s foundation or introduced in relatively recent times.

  Pictured above is Faye, one of my workmates at the RSPCA, and me. The photo was taken at the RSPCA refuge about the same time I took possession of Andy, Bill’s old kelpie, which was probably in 1985 or 1986.

    During the next week I thought about Bill and the fact that compared to his generation most of my generation of Australians have had relatively soft lives. And I became more conscious of how grateful Australians should be for him and others of his generation who put their lives on the line to save us from a Jap invasion in WW2. Had they not stopped the Jap’s in New Guinea I would hate to think of the sort of existence I would be living today, although it's unlikely I would have been born under such circumstances. 

   I say that because although my dad never saw action during WW2 he was in the army for part of it and stationed in Australia in anticipation of a Jap invasion. And had the Jap’s achieved a successful invasion there’s a good chance he would have been killed, and as his death would have been prior to him meeting my mum obviously I would never have seen the light of day on that monumental occasion in 1952.

    WW2 was the only war Australia has been involved in which was morally and practically justifiable. Had the Jap’s taken over the most we could have hoped for would have been integration into their society and culture and as such to be living in massively overcrowded, noisy, polluted cities, continually bowing and singing the company song every morning. It would have been death without death’s quiet.

     I doubt however, the Jap’s would have accepted us as equals post invasion, and given their behaviour in China in the 30’s and during WW2, and given the way they treated our prisoners of war I believe it highly probable Australians would have been subjected to mass slaughter, and in the case of young Australian girls, mass rape. 

   I recently heard a so-called historian, Dr Mark Dapin, on a Radio National program, tell us that the belief that the Jap’s planned to invade Australia during the war is a myth. Absolute bullshit Dr Mark! Other than them printing Australian money for an intended eventual invasion the very fact that they invaded New Guinea and other islands north of us shows their intent. Why would they not invade us if possible given our mineral wealth and land area, particularly since they were in desperate need of energy sources? Obviously they did not have any detailed plans regarding how and when the invasion was going to occur, as they would have been biting off more than they could chew given that they had not conquered New Guinea or the islands, but their ultimate intention, if victorious, was obvious. Maybe Mark is married to a Jap and wants to make excuses for their behaviour. I don’t know.
      Back to the subject. After a week I called in at Bill's house as I wanted to see if he was okay. A bloke who was about the same age as I was at the time answered the door. He told me he was Bill’s nephew and that Bill had been housesitting for him and his family while they were on holidays. He also told me that Bill had moved off after they had returned and that he had intended going back to the bush. 

   His nephew was not concerned about Bill’s welfare. He said  to me something like,“He’s a tough old bastard who’s experienced death all his life and he knows how to handle it.” 

   He also said that Bill had plenty of mates in the bush as well as plenty of relo’s who he saw regularly. He went on to say that Bill also had a circuit of mates who he had served with during the war and that he often stayed with them.

   That gladdened my heart, and I immediately thought of some of the words in Banjo Patterson’s “Clancy of the Overflow” after imagining Bill returning to the bush and being greeted by his mates.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him

In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,

And at night the wond’rous glory of the everlasting stars.

   I then imagined Bill sitting on the bend of a river with a fire going, living like a pig in clover, as did the shearer described in the following old Australian folk song, “Four Little Johnny Cakes,” sung by Raymond Crooke. I like the song for the image it creates in my mind of a shearer sitting by the bank of a river with freshly cooked Johnny cakes, although I don’t like the parts of the song which describes how the shearer intended to procure his protein. 

 “Four Little Johnny Cakes” sung by Raymond Crooke.

By the banks of the Berembed Weir

FOOTNOTE

   After publishing the latter post I was reminded of the time while working for the ACT RSPCA I was asked by a caller to meet him in a large field in the middle of Mckellar, a field which is now covered with houses. The caller told me that in that field there was a dingo living on a rabbit burrow with her litter of pups within it, and that he was concerned she would not be left in peace, and that even if she was she would have problems surviving.

  When I arrived at McKellar I saw the said dingo covering with her curled body the rabbit burrow where her pups lived. I could see feathers strewn around her, presumably from birds she had stalked and killed for tucker.

   Her coat seemed longer than that of a pure dingo, so I doubt she was pure, although she was not far off it. I could see someone had tried to keep her in suburbia, as she was wearing a collar, although it was a collar devoid of any identification.

   It would seem that whoever owned her was to find that dingoes are very difficult to keep in suburbia, and they had either dumped her or had not bothered looking for her after she took off, although I suspect she had probably been dumped because had she had a home to go to she would have returned to raise her pups rather than attempt to survive in a field surrounded by suburbs. We also did a thorough search for an owner and came up with nobody reporting a missing dingo.

    I could see the caller was right about her situation being precarious, so I set about getting her and her pups back to our shelter in Weston.

    As she was curled over the entrance of the burrow protecting her progeny she showed some defensive aggression towards me as I approached her, so I took from my van my catching pole, a pole with a retractable loop I used to control aggressive dogs when they needed my assistance and were reluctant to let me take them in, or when I just wanted to remove them from their predicament should they have been trapped. Using the pole was not a pleasant job as the dogs hated the process, but sometimes you have to be a bit cruel to be kind.

    I was able to put the loop over the dingo’s head, and she very reluctantly came back to the van with me. After she was secured inside the van I returned to her burrow with my spade and collected her pups. I was able to pick up a couple of them from the entrance and dig out the rest without causing any fatalities or injuries. I collected, from memory, something like 7 pups.

   Once the dingo had her pups returned to her I could see she felt great relief as they snuggled up to her, even though she possessed the poker face of a dingo. Their faces are relatively expressionless compared to domestic canines.

    I then took her to the shelter and handed her over to our staff, who immediately took care of her, giving her and her pups a large cage and kennel immediately behind where our vet practised.

     It did not take long for her to get used to her new environment and I bonded with her very quickly. She had a beautiful nature and seemed to be very happy in her new environment, where her pups were looked after and where she had ready access to water and tucker.

    After a while she was allowed to roam around the grounds of our shelter, as we had high fences and we knew she would not be motivated to wander because she would not want to abandon her pups.

    Being a twisted wretch I of course gave her the name “Azaria,” as it had not been that long since the Azaria Chamberlain incident at Uluru had occurred.

     Although she did have a beautiful nature, it should be remembered that although dingoes look like domestic dogs they are not domestic dogs, and they should not be expected to behave like domestic dogs at all times, and Azaria was no exception.

    One day while doing something near our chook shed I heard my workmate, Ema, yell out  with great volume and emotion,“AZARIA!” When I turned around I could see that Azaria, while she thought nobody was looking, had placed in her mouth our resident duck, which she would have liked to have shared with her pups. She dropped the duck immediately after she realised she had been sprung, and fortunately the duck was unharmed.

    I had been sceptical of Lindy Chamberlain’s story of a dingo at Uluru taking her baby until the duck incident, but after that I was able to see it from a different perspective. I was able to imagine our Azaria performing a similar act on an unguarded baby while nobody was watching. Meat is meat in the wild, and to a non-human animal in the wild humans are just another form of protein. 

    Actually, the history of our own species tells us that our ancestors would make a practice of using neighbouring tribes as a direct source of food. The convict, Alexander Pearce, felt that way when he took a break from his life at Macquarie Harbour and decided to go bushwalking with his mates, taking advantage of the fact that they were made of meat, and as such good tucker.

    As most Australians know, there are doubts to this day by some over what happened at Uluru regarding Azaria Chamberlain, even though Lindy Chamberlain has by way of a court of law been shown to have been not guilty of killing her child.

    Several years after the that event I did a JP course with a forensic scientist who worked for the AFP. I yarned to him during our lunch break, and asked him about the Chamberlain incident after he had told me he had been working in the NT during the time of the disappearance of baby Azaria.

     Even though he was not working on the Chamberlain case himself, some of his mates he worked alongside were, and he was able to discuss with them the intricacies of the case and examine whatever physical evidence they were able to acquire.

    I said to him, “What do you think? Did the dingo take the baby or was the baby murdered by Lindy Chamberlain?”

    His answer was something like, “The police stuffed it up from the start by not roping the place off immediately. And when they did send people down to forensically examine what was left of the evidence they were under-resourced and couldn’t do a thorough job. So the answer to your question is I simply don’t know.”

   Getting back to the subject, time marched on and Azaria’s pups grew rapidly. Unfortunately a couple died, and after unsuccessful attempts were made to find a home for Azaria (I could not take her as I already had two dogs who would not have accepted her) she also died from unknown causes. But, her 5 or so remaining pups lived on, and they all found homes.

   One female pup went to my mates Jan and Julie Aamodt. And as Jan had not met Azaria before her death and did not know her name, and as he, like me, has a twisted sense of humour, he also named the pup they chose Azaria. 

    “Azaria the younger” went on to live a charmed life, mainly on acreage at Murrumbateman. She lived to the ripe old age of 17, the same age as Bill’s kelpie.

    Another pup, a male, went to the daughter of our president at the time, Anne Yonge. I can’t recall Anne’s daughter’s first name but I do recall her calling her pup Bunyip. And because Bunyip was sired by a non-dingo he apparently did not have a dingo nature and was trainable and adapted readily to a domestic life.

   The same could not be said of “Azaria the younger,” because although she had a charmed life she had many dingo traits and was a handful at times for Jan and Julie. I would not recommend anyone try and keep any dog with substantial dingo genetics in suburbia.
  
   ANOTHER EVENT that occurred while I was at the RSPCA began as I had just walked out the door and was about to get into my van to go to a job. I was confronted by a pompous bloke in his sixties who had a large cardboard box which he told me contained 6 pigeons. He said he liked to feed native birds and did not want any pigeons getting in on the act so he trapped them and brought them to us, hoping we would euthanise them for him. As I am not a fan of speciesism I intended to politely give him a spray, telling him we were not in the pest extermination business. But, before I could open my mouth an older lady who had worked at the shelter for many years, who had heard what he said, burst through the door and took over. 
   I knew exactly how her mind worked and I knew exactly what was going to happen, which made me begin chuckling to myself. She grabbed the box of pigeons from the bloke, saying, “It’s okay, we’ll take care of the pigeons,” then disappeared into a backroom with them.
    I decided to delay my trip for a few minutes and went back inside to get more of a laugh. Sure enough my older workmate poked her head out from a rear door and said to me,“Is he gone yet?” I told her he was gone then followed her into our grounds to watch her open the cardboard box and liberate the pigeons. That made my day, as I knew that being pigeons they would probably beat the pompous native bird feeder back to his house and would be waiting there for more tucker.    
      There was more fun. The idiot came back another four times over the next fortnight with what were probably the same pigeons. And on each occasion we took them from him and gave them their freedom as soon as he drove off.

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A CANBERRA BOY EXPERIENCES TWO UNFORTUNATE EVENTS, ONE AFTER THE OTHER, IN ONE MORNING

A CANBERRA BOY EXPERIENCES TWO UNFORTUNATE EVENTS, ONE AFTER THE OTHER, IN ONE MORNING

by Dave Wheeler

   I hope I will not be seen as blowing my own trumpet or being falsely modest when I describe the two unfortunate events I came across on the morning of the 17/1/18, because although I did lend a hand my actions were by no means heroic. True heroes risk their lives to help others, whereas my actions on that day did not risk my life or limb at all, nor did the events involve a lot of work on my part. 
   Apart from my actions being far less praiseworthy than the actions of people who really risk their lives saving others, my actions are also far less praiseworthy than those who give many hours of their time working for charities without any financial reward. The latter are often ignored when civic awards are dispensed, whereas official awards are often bestowed upon those who hold high office and who do nothing more than what they are paid to do. 

    I am describing the events I came across to emphasise the fragility of our existences and how everything we take for granted can be taken from us in an instant.
    Although there will be people who know the people involved in the events I will mention I will not give out their names or describe where in Canberra the events occurred, as I wish to give those involved some privacy. 
    To begin to describe what occurred on the 17/1/18, the day started off well. I like to do a small amount of work occasionally to exercise my old brain and body, as does my surveyor cobber who is also a 1952 model and who also has no desire to work on a full time basis. 
   That morning we travelled from his place to the new Berra suburb of Moncrieff where we did about 2 hours of survey work on townhouses that are in the process of being built. We were working under ideal conditions. The sun was shining, it was not too hot, there was a gentle breeze blowing and I could also hear birdsong as there was no noisy machinery around us. I would not have been dead for quids!

    During our work an attractive young woman took some photos of what we were doing from outside the fence surrounding the building site. A sarcastic bloke working near us suggested she was perving on our partly decayed 1952 bodies. I thought that was very unkind. We all slowly decay until our biological machinery comes to a stop. We then decay far more rapidly.
   Apparently we were working on or near the townhouse the attractive young lady and her husband are having built, and she was photographing it through its various stages of construction. 
    On the way back to my mate's house I found myself thinking how nice it would have been to have had a working life that consisted of workdays that were as brief and as pleasant as we had experienced that morning. Of course we could have very short working days if our species was not so greedy and did not want more and more useless gadgets. Technology was supposed to allow machinery to do most of the work for us but we’re still waiting for the days of leisure. Bertrand Russell called for a 4 hour day in the 1930’s!
   I’m wandering away from the subject. The point I was going to make was that after having experienced an almost perfect early morning the later part of that morning was going to be decidedly unpleasant as a result of my witnessing the results of two unfortunate events, one after the other, with one event being far more serious than the other.    
     Where am I now? Yes, after I returned to my mate's place I got into my car to drive home and in doing so first drove to a T intersection and turned right into the main road that goes through his suburb.  Before I did so I gave way to a largish truck on my right.
    I then heard its tyres squeal, and after looking to the left saw it swerve to attempt to avoid colliding with a parked ACT Government ute which had its emergency lights flashing. It would seem the driver of the larger truck was distracted for a moment before he realised where he was going. 
    It was too late! The truck hit the right rear of the ute with an almighty force and continued on. I could see the ute’s rear end go into the air then come down during the process. Had the truck hit the ute square-on it would have been much more serious and I doubt an occupant of the ute would have been able to walk away from it.
     It has been suggested to me that the driver of the truck may have been looking at his mobile phone instead of focussing on driving his truck. I have no proof of that having happened but if I had to bet I would say that is what occurred.

    I immediately parked my car and ran towards the parked ute to see if anyone was in it, because even though it was not a direct hit I thought it probable an occupant would have suffered injuries given the force of the impact. The driver of the truck by that stage however, had parked his truck and beaten me to the ute and was talking to its driver, apologising to him for what he had just done. The ute driver seemed okay.

    I also spoke to the ute driver, a pleasant Melanesian bloke, and he told me his back and neck were sore, although he did not appear to be in severe pain. I gave him my name and contact details as a witness if he needed me, because sometimes when humans are exposed to physical trauma their bodies produce chemistry that prevents them from feeling the full effect of their injuries until several hours after they have occurred.

    Although I obviously felt sorry for the driver of the ute I also felt very sorry for the bloke who ran into it, as he was visibly upset about what had happened. I became aware that if I believed there was a god watching over us I would be saying to myself,“There but for the grace of God go I.” 
   We all have moments when we lose focus for a fraction of a second or longer. Most of the time nothing comes of it, but sometimes when something is in our way tragedy can occur. As I have said, had he hit the ute square-on it could have been fatal, and the truck driver, who like most people probably believes we have contra causal free will, would have had to have lived with what he had done for the rest of his life. 

Pictured above is the ACT Government ute that was hit while parked.

Pictured above is the truck that hit the previously shown ute.

THERE WAS A LOT MORE TO COME AFTER THAT! After I had removed the scattered glass caused by the accident off the road and left the scene I proceeded down the same road for what was probably less than a kilometre. I slowed because I could hear a loud crying and could see a young lady aged about 30 sitting in the gutter in the street attended by a couple who appeared to be in their mid 70’s. Although I was already in the process of stopping I was then waved down by the male part of the couple. He and his wife seemed to be somewhat traumatised and desperately wanting assistance. 

   After I parked my car off the road and went towards the young lady sitting in the gutter I expected to be confronted by an hysterical ice addict, and I was preparing for violence from some mad boyfriend who may have been in the background who had bashed her or who had been bashed by her. I have a history of coming across violence more often than I would like. 
    Although the young lady was not a druggie and she had no violent boyfriend in the background, in retrospect I wish I only had to deal with hysterical and violent ice addicts on that day, because I was confronted by something much worse. It was an horrific site! I could see that the poor young lady sitting in the gutter had had her leg run over at the ankle joint, causing the base of her shinbone to protrude right out into the air above her foot, and her foot to virtually hang off her leg, seemingly secured only by her skin. 

    I did not want to move her off the road to put her in the shade and into the recovery position, which is the usual procedure for most injuries, as it would have obviously involved moving and thus bending what remained of her ankle joint. And other than her already being in terrible agony I did not want to increase the level of pain she was suffering nor did I want to do anything that would increase the chances of her having to have her foot amputated or of severing an artery. All I could do was shade her with my body and try and take the weight off her semi-detached foot by putting the joint of my arm behind her knee and pulling it upwards. The old bloke who was in the car that had run over her was by that stage giving her water.

    Given the agony she was in I admired the young lady for the control she had over herself, with her priority being the welfare of her two girls, who seemed to be aged around 4 and 7. They were on the nearby nature strip being looked after by the older lady who had been in the car that had run over their mum’s leg.

   The girls were obviously very upset, and when I heard the younger one cry out loud and say she didn’t want Mummy to die it pulled at my heartstrings to say the least. I tried to reassure her that Mummy would be okay, but I was supporting Mummy’s leg at the time, and as the little girl could see what had happened to her mum's foot I do not know how convincing I was.

    I may be wrong on the details in regard to what occurred as I did not witness the accident and it was of no interest to me at the time. It would seem however, that one of her girls had run out in front of the car and Mum had gone out to save her from being run over by pulling her out of the way. It would seem that the little girl was lightly hit by the car and uninjured, but Mum had had her leg run over in the process of saving her.

   The ambulance was rung, as was her husband and the police. I also tried to ring the young lady’s mum, although she was not answering. I left a message, and after her mum rang back I was able to put her onto her badly injured daughter.

    For a few minutes the car that had run over the young lady was parked in the middle of the left side of the road beside her, which meant that no car could get past due to there being a concrete median strip in the middle of the road. Meanwhile, I tried to continue to support her leg and stop approaching cars before they reached us so I could indicate to them that they should either go over the median strip to get around us or reverse their way out. I was also trying to keep the flies away from the blood that was coming from where the young lady’s bone was protruding. 
    Luckily I was wearing my high vis shirt, which was required at the building site we had been on. I had no wish to become another statistic.

    One terrible piece of womanhood who was trying to proceed down the street yelled out to me, “Can’t you get them to move their car?” I thought to myself, “Some poor bastard has to come home to that!” I did not want the car moved at that stage. I was glad it was there to protect us from being hit by the approaching cars. 

    After we had some more assistance to stop the approaching traffic I got the older bloke to move his car from the road, and I proceeded to assist in signalling to oncoming cars to stop and then very slowly proceed around the injured young lady as I simultaneously continued to apply upward force to behind her knee to take the pressure off her almost severed foot. 

  I don’t want to condemn the ACT Ambulance service or its paramedics in any way as they do an excellent job, but they seemed to take forever to arrive! I rang the ambulance service again to let them know how serious the injury was, just in case they misunderstood the initial call and did not realise what had occurred and had thus given a less serious case higher priority. The lady I spoke to at the ambulance service however, assured me they were fully aware of the seriousness of the injury and that the ambulance was on the way with its siren going.
    I reiterate, I am not having a go at the Ambo service, but I will say that there must be a shortage of ambulances and paramedics for them to have taken as long as they did to come. They were obviously on some other emergency or were a long way away, and if there are insufficient numbers of paramedics and ambulances then obviously someone is going to have to wait. They can only do what they can do.
   I began thinking about how the ACT Government spends our taxes on such things as trams we don’t need and other things that are non-vital, and at times useless. For example, although I agree with the concept of gay marriage it’s not up to our local government to celebrate it by spending our tax money on rainbow signs on buses and roundabouts. Amongst other things I would rather they put the money towards hiring more paramedics, buying more ambulances and installing air conditioning in schools to stop kids sweltering during our summers. (As kids don’t vote most governments could not give a rat’s arse about their welfare). 
    And why did they create a $300,000.00 pa job for Brendan Smyth, who is our “Commissioner for international engagement,”  when the ACT economy exports next to nothing? Other than the fact that virtually nobody is worth $300,000.00 pa, that money could have easily covered the costs of another two paramedics and another ambulance. 
    I worked for the ACT government for several years and I was to find many of the high level bureaucrats were a waste of space, oxygen and tax money. What some of them were and still are paid could pay for several paramedics, and paramedics actually work for a living and do a job that is an absolute necessity.
   The Lib’s were probably worse when they were in office. I remember them selling profit-making government assets and government-owned buildings and trying to reduce the pay and conditions of the lower level ACT public servants while they continued to reward useless toadying higher level fat-cats.
    The coppers arrived before the ambulance, and one pleasant young copper did a tag team with me and relieved me from my job of propping up the young lady’s leg. I was able to support her opposing shoulder after that as she had been forced to sit herself up on her elbow due to where she was and the nature of her injury. 
   When the paramedics eventually came they did an excellent job of attending to her. I saw them inject her with a powerful drug to relieve her pain and send her into unconsciousness, which must have been a great relief for her. 

Pictured above are the paramedics and coppers attending to the badly injured young lady after she had been anaesthetised.

     As I have indicated, I admire the young lady for how she handled her situation. Most people would be hysterical under such circumstances, but she was mainly concerned with her kids and was able to turn her mind off her extreme pain when she needed to answer the questions the paramedics and coppers asked her. And she did so in a very clear and articulate manner while her foot hung off her leg. 

   Although I did not need the reminder, we are all flesh and blood and very vulnerable. I was not fully conscious of that in my youth, and when I think of how my mates and I as 17 year olds would ride motorbikes and drive old cars at very high speed we were very lucky we did not cause deaths or serious injury to innocent people and/or ourselves. Most of us should not have been allowed out without a keeper. 
    The coppers also did a very professional job while they were there, and two of them were thoughtful enough to ask me at different times if I thought I might need counselling after the event. Little did they know that if a counsellor tried to counsel me the counsellor would need counselling after the experience.  
    If anyone knows the poor young lady could you please let me know if they were able to save her foot?
UPDATE 19/1/18
  I was very pleased to get a phone call from the young lady tonight. She told me that they had saved her foot and that she was home with her husband and kids. She got my phone number from her mum’s phone from when I rang her mum at the time of the accident.
  

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“A CANBERRA BOY EXPERIENCES ALTERED STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS AT THE CIVIC YMCA AND IN DOING SO MAKES AN ARSE OF HIMSELF TWICE IN ONE DAY”

A CANBERRA BOY EXPERIENCES ALTERED STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS AT THE CIVIC YMCA AND IN DOING SO MAKES AN ARSE OF HIMSELF TWICE IN ONE DAY
By Dave Wheeler

    As I’ve reminded the reader in previous posts, within Australian culture, or for that matter virtually any culture, you’re not supposed to talk about yourself too much, and if you do it's best to do so by way of putting yourself down. I have definitely done the latter in this essay/anecdote/rave, as it shows up some real flaws in my makeup, or at the very least the makeup I possessed as a young man, even though what was and was not me at the time is debatable. And if what I just said makes no sense to you it may as we progress.

   It's also difficult to not talk about yourself if your personal experiences are intertwined with how you see things, particularly if you’re putting forward philosophical reasoning when the reasoning revolves around one’s personal experiences, which is what I will attempt to do. Actually, personal philosophies are created by combining acquired knowledge with personal experiences. 

   Putting that aside, some who read this essay may get a laugh at my expense, but it is mainly for the benefit of those who are interested in how the brain and mind may work and/or who are philosophically-inclined. 
    So, be warned; if you have no interest in philosophy or how the mind and brain works, or if you have a small attention span, I advise you to read a different anecdote or essay within this blog by simply scrolling down or hitting the “Home" button and making a choice. You could also close your computer and go on a shopping spree in Captains Flat.
   I would also like to say that if you are not familiar with aggressive Rationalist philosophy and have not made yourself consciously aware of the implications of our bodies (which of course includes our brains) being a part of the material universe, and as such subject to the forces of the universe that act upon them, much of what I have to say you may regard as insane. It may even seem insane to those who subscribe to religions that require followers to believe in the supernatural. 
     What I have to say relates to certain events I experienced within the walls of the since demolished YMCA in Civic, even though I rarely visited the place when it existed. 
    The first event at the Civic YMCA that involved my having an altered state-of-consciousness I regard as a fascinating but negative experience. I didn’t make an arse of myself on that occasion but I was very confused during and after the event as it seemed to defy logic.  
    My memory tells me the event may have occurred in 1971, but it probably occurred in or around mid 1970. On the night it occurred I had been at the Canberra Rex with my mates when one of them, a lad named Terry Gates, asked me if I could take him to the YMCA in Civic where his girlfriend was playing basketball so we could give her a lift home. Terry did not own a car. 

    I didn't know the girl very well, but I remember her as an attractive girl a couple of years younger than me, and my faded memory also tells me her name was Megan and that she went to Lyneham High. But, I’ve received a lot of blows to my 1952 vintage head, and because I was a forceps baby for all I know her name may have been Sheila, Cheryl or Beryl and she may have been a hairdresser from Queanbeyan.  
Update-January 2020. I recently found out my memory is correct and her name was and still is Megan and she did go to Lyneham High. I was told this by a good mate of hers who is a good mate of mine. They still stay in contact with each other. It’s easy to worry about dementia planting false memories in your brain as you age.  

   The Civic YMCA, which has since been bulldozed, was located at the corner of London Circuit and Constitution Avenue Civc, as shown above, where the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade building now stands. Imagine the CO2 that was produced when the current buildings were erected. 

   The above is a photo of the said Civic YMCA, which was taken in the 60’s. Thanks to Anne Cameron for finding it for me.
     Anyway, I agreed to give her a lift home, and when we arrived at the YMCA I told Terry I would wait in the car while he went in to get her. But, after going inside for a very short period of time Terry returned to me in a state of absolute fear and horror, as if he’d just seen a ghost. He said to me, "It’s packed with sheilas in there! There are no blokes in there at all! I can’t go in there by myself! You’ve got to come in with me!” 

    I said to myself, “What’s his problem? Surely he can handle a bunch of girls?”Yet Terry was usually a very gutsy sort of lad, and he had never showed any signs of shyness or fear when it came to girls. His reaction was completely and utterly out of character. 

    So, I reluctantly got out of my car and began walking with Terry through the main entrance of the YMCA. I felt a bit smug at the time, thinking to myself that if I had a girlfriend I had to pick up from the YMCA I would not need a mate to walk into the place with me.
    It was however, a very different story when I was actually inside the Civic YMCA, even though I was in the company of another bloke. I felt a sort of fear I had never felt in my life. For some reason unbeknown to me the fear I felt was so strong I had an immediate urge to race outside. 

     I don’t think I felt fear that was of the same intensity I would feel if I was shoved into a cage with a Kodiak bear, but it would not have been that far off it. The difference however, was that if I was in a cage with a Kodiak bear I would know why I felt fear, as it would be totally warranted. Conversely, when I was within the walls of the Civic YMCA on that night, surrounded by laughing and boisterous teenage girls who were too busy playing basketball or conducting activities related to playing basketball to notice our presence, along with a sprinkling of middle-aged women who were organising the games, I had no idea why I was feeling any fear at all. 
     After taking a few more steps inside it was all too much. I could have gone on and endured it if it was a life and death situation, but if you’re suffering an intense form of pain of any sort you need a very good reason to not make it stop, and the obligation I had to support Terry by accompanying him was outweighed by the desire I had to get out of the place. 
   Poor Terry walked on by himself not knowing I had slipped out without telling him. I don’t know if the fear he felt was as intense as mine, but later on he told me that when he turned and saw I wasn’t there he was panic-stricken and didn’t know what to do with himself. That caused me a lot of amusement.

     What fascinates me is the question of why the situation gave me such fear. I was not trying to make a line for any of the girls, so my ego was not in any danger. There is no way it could be compared to the fear young men feel when they are about to ask a girl out, not knowing whether or not they'll get a knock-back. And why did Terry react in a similar way to me when it was so out of character for him? I had never before suffered from any form of anxiety, paranoia or had any sort of panic attack, nor have I since the event occurred. And I had been in very similar situations before the event I described occurred and I have been in similar situations after the event. It was only on that one occasion I felt such inexplicable fear. 

    So, was the state-of-mind I experienced at the YMCA on that one occasion simply the one and only time in my life I suffered a form of mental illness or was there more to it? 
     I told the story to a workmate several years ago, a lady whose name I cannot recall as I only worked with her briefly. I do however, remember her being a bit new-age and a committed feminist. She told me that Terry and I were probably subjected to a sort of girl-power women can produce when in large groups to protect themselves from males. She said it was by no means an unusual occurrence. 
    To augment what she was saying she reminded me of the fact that trees can communicate with surrounding trees chemically to protect themselves against predatory herbivores or other things that are a threat to them, and she is correct about the trees as the process has been observed by many reputable scientists. See the following link.
 http://www.abc.net.au/science/articles/2015/05/20/4236600.htm
    In regard to how the girls may have put up an anti-male shield she came up with two theories. She thought the girls may have created a magnetic field which produced fear in the male brain or they may have produced a collective smell that males could perceive non-consciously, and that the smell may have caused the male brain to feel fear without it being consciously aware of why it felt fear.
    It all sounded and still sounds too far-fetched for me and I’m very sceptical, because other than our having been no threat to the girls and there being zero evidence to support the smell or magnetic field theories, there is a simpler theory. To explain, although I don’t know the extent of Terry’s fear, I see the fear I suffered as more likely to have been created by my undeveloped teenage brain without any external catalyst of the kind my workmate described, even though I was not conscious of why I felt such fear and it was the only time in my life I have felt that sort of fear under those sorts of circumstances.
     I will however, place a caveat in my criticism of her theories by saying that although highly unlikely, and totally lacking in supporting scientific evidence, the magnetic field and smell theories are not theories that involve the transgression of the laws of physics. Therefore those theories and others like them are possibilities, albeit remote possibilities. 
    And, if we are to discuss human behaviour in general, when it comes to processes of a quantum nature occurring, such as entanglement, and how we may be affected by, or utilise those processes, our ignorance on the subject is unlimited. 

    The car in the above photo, which is my FC Holden station wagon, was the car I was driving when I picked the young lady up from the YMCA in Civic. The late Bluey Cowan is sitting on the bonnet and I am standing on the roof wearing a full leather coat that was worn by my grandad in the trenches during WW1. I don’t know where the photo was taken.
    The next two events I am about to describe that occurred in the Civic YMCA resulted in my making an arse of myself twice in one day. What occurred has all sorts of implications of a philosophical nature, particularly in relation to moral responsibility, since I am discussing free will. 

    Before continuing I will say that I have previously said on this blog on several occasions that our having contra causal free will is an illusion, and I have qualified what I have said with argument and a reference to the following link, which takes the reader to a very well-written and hard-hitting essay on the matter, even though there is nothing in the said essay that is new. I will not however, go there very much for the purpose of this essay, as I will be discussing free will, or our lack of free will, in relation to when our bodies move, by way of reflex, without our consciously “directing,” for want of a better word, them to move.

http://www.naturalism.org/philosophy/free-will/free-will-skepticism

   The year in which I made an arse of myself twice in one day at the same Civic YMCA was 1977 or 1978. During that period I was obsessed with Rationalist philosophy, which had also got me into philosophical Scepticism in its various forms as formulated by several ancient Greeks. And to give my brain relief from philosophy I had a slightly milder obsession with martial arts. I really enjoyed its practice and I enjoyed searching for the ultimate style, although I was aware that the word style was an inappropriate concept if one is looking for what works best. I have always been into Eclecticism.
     My pursuit of the best form of martial arts was not based on any desire I had to become the world’s best martial artist; it was the process I enjoyed, particularly since the choice of techniques and counters for varying situations are virtually endless, and working out the feasibility of choices based on the physics of the processes gave my brain great mental workouts and much ongoing pleasure.
     To give further background on why I made an arse of myself at the Civic YMCA in 1977 or 1978 I will go back to 1976. 

    I had entered a martial arts tournament in that year at the Turner PCYC, as did my mate, Tony Quinn. The tournament was open to anyone and the rules allowed full contact to any part of one’s opponent’s body other than the head and balls. And any part of one’s own body could be used as the attacking weapon, as in fists, elbows, feet and knees. One could also however, score points by striking with any part of one’s body towards one’s opponent’s head, as long as the technique was pulled and no contact was made.

Above is an ad for the tournament I referred to in the previous paragraph.

    I did not do well in the tournament because my timing was slightly out and I made very light contact when kicking towards the head of a bloke I fought. I was quite rightly disqualified. My opponent, who went on to win, did not suffer any damage as I had pulled my kick, and I apologised to him after the event. 
    Tony Quinn did a lot better. He had three fights in his weight division, which had a large number of competitors, and he won all of them convincingly. But despite that fact, when the finalists were announced he was not one of them. 
     The late Bruce Vincent, who was the Berra’s best heavyweight boxer of his era, also entered the tournament, and like Tony and me he did so as an individual and not as a member of one of the established clubs. He lost on points in one bout and was disqualified in another. I believe, however, that if his fights had have been judged fairly he would have won both of them. In my opinion he was robbed! The organisers seemed to resent outsiders doing well, although in my case my disqualification was entirely warranted. 
   When Tony approached the bloke who seemed to be the main organiser, a highly ranked instructor from Wollongong named Mehemet, (I’m not sure of the spelling of his name. He was an Anglo Celt despite his name sounding like it came from the Middle East. Maybe his name was Menhemmet, a British name), he was told he would not advance to the finals and that he would share an equal third place despite the fact that he had not lost a fight. Tony was given no explanation. 
    Although at the time I was conscious of the fact that Mehemet did not have contra causal free will I was frustrated at how the forces of the universe had acted upon his body, causing it to treat Tony unfairly, and it pissed me off. 
   Accepting reality by way of understanding and becoming consciously aware of the fact that we cannot control the forces of the universe that act upon our bodies, and therefore, to state the obvious, nor can those who own bodies that do us wrong control the forces that act upon their bodies, does not always result in the negative emotions that arise because of the actions of others and ourselves not existing. Emotions are real in that they are caused by real chemistry even if there are sometimes no rational reasons as to why the chemistry is activated. 
    Sometimes however, when one’s emotions take over and one forgets that contra causal free will does not exist then one calms-down and suddenly remembers that it cannot exist, an immediate reduction or elimination of anger and frustration can occur. The ability to utilise that knowledge varies from person-to-person, and it also depends on how long one has been consciously aware of our being at the mercy of the forces of the universe that act upon our bodies. Usually, the longer one is aware of that fact the closer that fact gets to becoming fully embedded into one’s conscious mind. 
    Intense stressors can also of course beget intense emotions, which can make it more difficult to be aware that one has no control of the forces within the universe that act upon one’s body.
   Although I was consciously aware of our not having contra causal free will before I hit my teens, that fact took many years to become fully embedded into my conscious mind.

     Should you have just become conscious of our not having contra causal free will I suggest you read the essay I have referred to on the previously shown link everyday at least twice a day. Once the fact becomes fully embedded into your brain and mind it will improve your quality of life to the extent that you will become more accepting of reality and as such better able to spend more of your time savouring the present rather than creating anger and regret by dwelling on the unwise and/or immoral actions of others and yourself. 

    The above poster advertises the 1976 tournament I have referred to at the Turner PCYC in which Tony Quinn was unfairly treated.
       Let’s now return to the Civic YMCA in 1977 or 1978. It was a year or two after the tournament at the Turner PCYC and I had entered into another tournament that was to be held at the said Civic YMCA. It had similar rules to the tournament at the Turner PCYC in that it allowed full contact to the body other than the balls, although it differed to the extent that it also allowed full contact to one’s opponent’s head, but with any part of the legs or feet only. This of course meant contact to one’s opponent’s head by way of striking with fists or elbows was forbidden.
  The tournament was open to all local clubs, be they kung fu, karate, kickboxing, etc. 
    In my search for the ultimate martial arts style I had practised several styles of martial arts and saw at the time some merit in Wing Chun, which I practised at the time to increase my overall knowledge and experience. I have since eclectically discarded most of what the WC style espouses, although it does contain a few good concepts. 

    Anyway, our Wing Chun club decided to enter the tournament at the Civic YMCA, so I was happy to be a part of it. 

    I had two fights during that tournament. I was to find that my first opponent was the previously mentioned instructor from Wollongong, Mr Mehemet. I was still a bit pissed off at the fact that the forces of the universe that acted upon the brain and mind of Mehemet did not allow Tony to advance to the finals in the tournament at the Turner PCYC, despite my realising that contra causal free will does not exist and that Mehemet had, in-effect, no real say in any “decision” he may have made about Tony. 
   I was also however, aware that the chemistry that creates emotions is real, even if we are not consciously aware of why they are created. 
    I therefore became aware that my feelings towards the situation resulted in my possessing a very aggressive state-of-mind at the time, and I was aware that the aggression would be utilised when I fought Mehemet. I did not however, have any desire to transgress the rules when I fought the man.
    When it came to the actual fight it did not last long. Mehemet put his head down and I “instinctively,” or by way of a “reflex" action, for want of better words, gave him an uppercut which caused him to lose consciousness and fall to the ground for a few seconds. 
    Now, even if we, for the sake of argument, assume we do have contra causal free will, whether I “chose” to give him an uppercut at the time can be a matter of philosophical debate. I say that because at the time I struck him it felt like someone else gave him the uppercut. I am saying that I did not consciously “choose,” again for want of a better word, to make contact with his head. My striking him in the head was a reflex action.

    If you insist on believing we have contra causal free will surely you do not believe that that goes beyond conscious “decisions” and also applies to “reflex” actions, such as occurs when one blinks when one suddenly becomes aware of something heading towards one’s eyes?  
    Nonetheless, I felt as weak as piss, as the rules specifically stated that there was to be no contact to the head in regard to striking with fists or elbows, and he was playing by the rules and I was not. Had the tournament allowed full contact to the head for all I know he may have knocked me unconscious. 
   I was again quite rightly disqualified, and I felt worse after the event when Mehemet placed the medal he had won around my neck, particularly since I was aware that I was due for at least one more fight that day and I became conscious of the fact that my amygdala/s may take over again. 

    But, at that moment I felt like crawling under a rock until I gathered my thoughts and again became consciously aware of contra causal free will not existing, and that other than that when I gave him the uppercut it was not even a conscious “choice,” for want of a better word. It was an action that occurred by way of a non-conscious reflex. Still, it did not make me feel great about what had happened and I wished it had not occurred.

    So, I reiterate, for the purpose of this essay let's pretend contra causal free will does exist and that we can do what we consciously “choose” to do, because I am now writing about how by way of a reflex action I “lost control” of my will to the extent that I did not consciously choose to give the man an uppercut.
    If you still dismiss what I have to say about reflex actions I will first ask you to think of the times when, out of the corner of your eye, you have seen a stray football heading in your direction. Without consciously choosing to do so, within an instant you would have raised your arm protectively and/or ducked in order to avoid getting a whack to the head. You would not have consciously decided to take evasive or protective action; it would have been an instant action in which you reacted “instinctively” (again, for want of a better word) and non-consciously (by way of reflex) to the threat. 

    Think of the times you may have, while driving, out of the corner of your eye noticed a car coming through an intersection you had not noticed until the last minute. You may have, without consciously choosing to do so, moved your leg to apply the brakes and/or moved your hands and arms in order to swerve to avoid a collision. 

    To be less dramatic, if someone flicks a towel towards your eyes you will blink without consciously choosing to blink. The decision to blink will in-effect be taken out of your control. 

    Neuroscientists tell us that such evasive and/or protective actions in emergency situations, which involve our having no conscious control over them, occur as a result of the work of one or both of our amygdalas. The amygdalas are two small almond shaped parts of the brain. Apparently the information we perceive with our senses goes via our amygdala or amygdalas prior to it going to our frontal cortexes in order for conscious decisions to be made.

    In situations where a threat to our bodies is not an issue the amygdala/s is/are not activated and the information can go straight through to the frontal cortex so we can consciously act upon it. The amygdala/s somehow have the ability to take over when there is an immediate threat to the physical wellbeing of our bodies that requires an instant response.
   It needs to happen under such circumstances. In emergencies when instant action is required to protect ourselves we don’t have time to consciously decide what to do with our bodies. If decisions in such situations were made consciously we would be run over by the next car we had not seen that was heading our way and almost upon us.

    It’s quite clear that our amygdala/s and/or another part/s of our brains can take over in defensive situations, which can include blinking and more, but can our amygdala/s also take over from our conscious minds (us) by it or them choosing to defend our bodies by way of it/them ordering our bodies to commit acts of violence upon someone or something that is threatening us? 
    We all know that sometimes the best form of defence is attack. And if our amygdala/s can make some of us commit acts of offensive violence for the purpose of defence, foe how long can it/they take over?

    I’m not talking about when a boxer loses his temper and gives his game-plan away by his emotions clouding his judgement and him consciously choosing to attack his opponent wildly and angrily with poor technique instead of going about his fight in a cool and methodical way. That is not a reflex action. When that occurs a conscious but foolish “decision” has been made as a result of the boxer’s thought processes being sabotaged by heightened emotions (anger). When a boxer “loses his temper” he is sure to lose against an opponent who is equal or even one who is, to a degree, inferior.
    When however the amygdala/s take/s over and performs an act with the body without a conscious decision having been made, the conscious mind is emptied of thought and as such entirely focussed in the here-and-now, which ensures the body and mind work in perfect harmony, and as such with perfect coordination, to ensure the body is moved instantly in a manner that maximises the chances of it avoiding being damaged. The process may involve raising a defensive arm, ducking or running away. It may also however, at least for some people, involve perpetrating an act of physical violence for the purpose of defence. 
     Good mind-body awareness and subsequent good coordination and technique does not  occur when a boxer loses his temper. 
   Nor of course does it always occur if someone is consciously trying to execute a physical movement that requires good coordination when the body is not being threatened. When the body is not in danger and the amygdala/s is/are not activated, emptying one’s mind in order to acquire perfect mind-body harmony and coordination is not so easy.
     It seems obvious to me my amygdala/s took over when I gave Mehemet an uppercut, and that it/they took over because of it/them deducing my body was in danger and that my conscious mind could not be trusted to do the job.

    I of course cannot prove that my giving the bloke an uppercut was not a conscious choice, and I will be accused of rationalising in order for me to not take responsibility for my actions. But, I know for a fact that the reflex action of my body at that time was entirely involuntary. 
    I was not in the same situation I had been in on many occasions when sparring lightly with mates where there was no threat to my safety and I had total faith in my mates to the extent that I was sure they would not punch me with full force in the head. 
    Although Mehemet may have also had no intention of violating the rules at the time, I did not know that. And I had had plenty of negative experiences when sparring with people I did not know who betrayed my trust and made excessive contact to my head when there had been an understanding that we were not to make excessive contact. My amygdala/s at the time I fought Mehemet were also probably aware of those facts, and it would seem that it/they were not prepared to allow me to continue to fight within the rules.
    I’m absolutely sure there are many people who have been locked up for their lifetimes, or executed, because of the actions of their amygdala/s or whatever part of their brains took over from their conscious selves. Although that would be hard to prove in most circumstances.

     I recently read of a father in the USA who as a reflex action shot his teenage daughter, who, as a joke, had hidden when her dad was coming home then jumped out in front of him to scare him. The shooting would have been a result of Dad’s amygdala/s taking over, and Dad, who feared there was a real burglar in the house, having ready access to his pistol operating by way of reflex through his amygdala/s. That sort of thing has happened with guns innumerable times.

   In the times of bows and arrows, spears, and spears and woomeras, which take time to load and shoot, or to throw, accidental killings would be far less likely to occur, as the amygdala/s usually don’t take over for very long. 
    I could however, see how a war club could be swung in the direction of the wrong person by way of the club-carrier’s reflex reaction to situations that were similar to that of the dad who shot his daughter. I say that because on several occasions I (or my amygdala/s) took reflex swings at my mate, Brownie, when I lived with him for a couple of years. He would take great delight in jumping out in front of me to scare me when he had the opportunity, particularly if I came home late in the night, as he knew how I would react. He however, always anticipated my reactions and kept out of range. Had I had my finger on the trigger of a pistol prior to him scaring me it may have ended in tragedy.
    In attempting to explain how, when the mind is emptied, we acquire perfect harmony between the mind and body, think of the times when your mind has been empty and you have taken out your key and inserted it into a lock. When your mind was emptied and as such devoid of conscious thought you would have found the key went straight into the lock without you having to slow down your hand and consciously line up the key with the hole. If you try to consciously place a key in a hole you will find you have to slow right down to do so, and some people may have to move the key around the hole before it’s properly lined-up.
    BUT WAIT; THERE’S MORE!

   There was more bad behaviour on my part on that day at the  Civic YMCA, and I will now describe it and its implications. 

   My next fight was with a black belt from the Berra who was a practitioner of Zen Do Kai. I never knew him, but rightly or wrongly someone told me his name was Adrian. I’ll call him Adrian anyway. He seemed to be around my age. (I mean my age at the time. He was not in his 70’s. I would have been around the age of 25 at the time).

     Well, one thing can lead to another, and prior to the fight, by way of his body language and him mouthing the word “cunt” at me, we both knew there would be no rules when the fight was on. He probably felt the way he did because he had seen how my body had transgressed the rules when fighting Mehemet. He would not have realised that my amygdala/s was/were in control at the time, and he would have thought that it was me (my conscious self) who had consciously and deliberately transgressed the rules. He would have therefore thought I was not a very nice bloke and that I was also going to transgress the rules when I fought him. 

    I don’t blame him, as he had no way of knowing that I did not consciously choose to give Mehemet an uppercut. Adrian was probably a nice bloke outside of the environment we were in. I would have felt the same way as him had I been in his situation, and as I knew what he thought I of course also went into the fight with the objective of not fighting within the rules. And it was all because of my amygdala/s.
MY SECOND PERSONALITY, PERSONALITY 2, INTERRUPTS ME.
  Come on Wheeler, you’re rationalising! “It wasn’t me it was my amygdala/s!” Please! What a pathetic excuse! You chose to give Mehemet an uppercut. Just admit it. Adrian, when mouthing an expletive at you described you accurately.
MY RESPONSE TO PERSONALITY 2
   How would you know what I chose to do or not do 2? It’s okay for you to just sit inside my/our brain and criticise, but as I’ve told you before, I’m the one who makes the decisions for both of us, when I am capable of doing so and if I was not consciously aware of giving the bloke an uppercut that is my reality. Next thing you’ll do is tell me the blinking reflex is a result of my making a conscious choice to blink when something suddenly heads in my direction. You’re very brave sitting inside me knowing you’re protected. If I had a chance I’d kick you in your/our arse so hard your/our nose would bleed.
MY SECOND PERSONALITY, PERSONALITY 2, RESPONDS.
   You’re gutless Wheeler! You’re threatening me because you know I can’t hurt you. And even if you didn’t consciously choose to hit Mehemet in the head, the order came from your brain, and unless you’re a Dualist you would realise that your brain is part of you.
If you were to claim your body by way of your amygdala/s assaulted someone in the street without you consciously ordering it to do so, do you think a magistrate would understand if it went to court?
MY RESPONSE TO PERSONALITY 2
  First of all 2, in regard to Dualism, nobody knows how or why we’re conscious. You know that. And I know there is no proof of there being a ghost in the biological machine, even if it is possible by way of some unknown laws of physics or some unseeable force coming from another dimension. But, if consciousness did arise from inanimate flesh and chemistry it means something was created from nothing. And how can something be created from nothing?
And if consciousness did arise from inanimate matter in a way that is beyond our understanding, a different form of Dualism does exist, because consciousness is something that stands apart from the physical world even if it is created by it. I suppose it depends on how you want to use the English language.
So, when you refer to me as me, should you define my consciousness as me, I am not responsible for giving Mehemet an uppercut because I did not consciously choose to give Mehemet an uppercut.
But, if you define “me” as all the atoms I am made of and leave the question of consciousness and the decisions made by my amygdala/s out of it, as well as the fact that we do not have contra causal free will, then yes, I, as in the atoms that make up my body,  was responsible for giving the man an uppercut, even if I did not consciously choose to do so, because the parts of my brain that caused the uppercut to occur are a part of my body. Although having said that, we are continually replacing our atoms, and the ones that formed me back in the 70’s are not the same atoms I possess today. 
As to attempting to explain to magistrates that we don’t have contra causal free will or that our amygdala/s were responsible for an act of violence, I would not fancy my chances. Although many are highly intelligent in some respects, the overwhelming majority of them are so conservative and inflexible their minds could only be described euphemistically as non-philosophical. I think however, more accurate terms would be primitive and simple.
If magistrates were truly conscious of our not having contra causal free will very few could carry out their duties, as they would be conscious of the fact that they needed to lock up dangerous people who were not responsible for their actions.
MY SECOND PERSONALITY, PERSONALITY 2, RESPONDS.
   You have a point there Wheeler.
I HAVE A RECONCILIATION WITH MY SECOND PERSONALITY   
   My left and right hands have just shaken with each other and I gave myself a lengthy hug and a pat with alternate hands on my left and right shoulders.
     Anyway, the fight with Adrian began by my standing still and him approaching me and trying to kick me in the balls. He made some contact but it had no effect because he missed his target. The fight was stopped temporarily and I was given a point because of him aiming his kick towards my cods. 
    Prior to the tournament I had been arguing for some time with another martial artist about the efficacy of defensive martial arts. He believed in the defensive approach not only for moral reasons; he believed that waiting for someone to attack gave one a practical advantage over an attacking opponent.
   In other words, for what he saw as moral as well as practical reasons, he was of the belief that one should not retreat from or approach a person who is threatening, and one should only attack as a form of defence once the person who is threatening has approached you and actually begun his attack.
   I could see the moral benefit of the approach, and it is the backbone of many pacifist styles. I could also however, see it was a dangerous tactic.   
    But, I foolishly decided to use the semi-pacifist tactic anyway, because the only way such opposing theories can be truly tested is by way of practical experiment with both of them against worthy opponents.  I thought it however, highly unlikely I would get a worthy opponent, which was probably why I was willing to experiment. It was on my part an arrogant and stupid way of thinking. 

    To demonstrate the theory behind why the passive approach is dangerous, if you open your hand and get someone to drop a pencil through it after you have counted to three you will be able to catch it, because you will know when it’s coming. If however, you open your hand and allow someone to drop the pencil at an unspecified time you will find it impossible to catch, because, obviously, you will not know when it’s coming. 
    The lesson from this exercise is that if you think you’re going to be attacked you should attack first or walk away, or at least stay out of range of your opponent so he does not have the advantage of getting in the first blow by way of the element of surprise, as demonstrated by the pencil-dropping exercise. 
    The only positive in taking the passive stance in the street is that you will not be charged for assault, because it would have been your opponent who made the first move. And, you can retain the moral high ground. I reiterate however, it gives a potential assailant a huge advantage, as it makes one very vulnerable to a king hit, (coward’s punch), if you are standing within striking range of the said potential assailant. 
     When the fight began again my arrogance had gone and I did not wait passively to be attacked. I instead attacked Adrian, and he retreated out of the marked square as I attacked him, which resulted in the fight starting again. I don’t know if I was awarded points because he had backed out of the area, but I probably was. 

   I found having the fight stopped very frustrating as I had been in full attack mode and was really enjoying myself, but knowing I had to get back into that state-of-mind again after the fight was stopped felt very unpleasant. 

   I am not saying that Adrian, by backing out of the area, was demonstrating that I was getting the better of him, because had we been fighting in a boxing ring or an octagon or a field he may have been able to retreat and come back at an angle and get the better of me. Expecting participants to confine a fight to within marked lines on a floor is ridiculous. 

    When the fight began again Adrian again retreated out of the area, but this time my amygdala/s cut in and took control of my body by making it continue the attack outside the specified area. It was again, as if someone else was controlling my body. I had gone in for the kill and had gone back to a euphoric but primitive state-of-mind that was very useful in another era but mainly anachronistic in this one.
   It resulted in my being physically restrained by the officials and others. I then observed myself giving Adrian the fingers before my conscious mind regained control of itself.

   My amygdala/s and I always give two fingers, as shown above in the photo of my hand and fingers giving the fingers to Tony Abbott’s image on the  22/11/17. (As I was behind my hand and facing Abbott’s image I am not giving the reader the peace sign). 
    I am giving Abbott’s image the fingers even though he had no say in what he became and as such is not truly responsible for what he is. My amygdala/s and I dislike the single middle finger Americans use, which has become very popular in Australia. What has happened to our culture? 
   Although the photo is of the hand and fingers I possess today it differs to the hand and fingers I possessed in the 70’s when I gave Adrian the fingers, and not only because they appear to have been ravaged by time. The hands and fingers I now possess are not the same hands and fingers I possessed in the 70’s because the atoms that formed them have been replaced several times between then and now. Also, in the photo above I have a bandaid on my ring finger. I did not have a bandaid on that finger when I gave the fingers to Adrian at the Civic YMCA in the 70’s. 

   Adrian’s corner then made a threat of some sort to me, and I offered to take him on outside; an offer he declined.

  Because I had needed restraint and because I had given my opponent the fingers I was immediately disqualified, which was fair enough. 

    Had I truly lost control when I continued to attack Adrian after I was told by the ref to cease the attack? Yes and no. 

    I had definitely lost control to the extent that my amygdala/s had taken over the use of my body for an extended period as they do to a far smaller amount of time when someone ducks to avoid a wayward ball, but I had not lost control in the same way someone loses control of oneself when one has highly activated emotions which result in decisions being made which are not in one's best overall interests.  
   I was not the only member of our club who made an arse of himself on that day, although I was the worst offender. When the organisers of that tournament organised another one our club was not invited.
   After that tournament I returned to my bedsitter in O’Connor, read and wrote some philosophy, and continued on with the life of a single, unattached and abnormal young man on his quest for devising a rationally-based philosophy on life. That I eventually achieved.
     Time moves on, and as previously explained, between when the tournament occurred in the 70’s and now most if not all of the atoms that made up my body have been replaced several times. 

    And, as a result of the forces of the universe that now act upon the atoms my current body is made of, my testosterone level is probably much lower than it was in the 70’s. 
    I also possess today far more empathy than I had when I was a young man, again because of how the forces of the universe have acted upon my body. 
    As a result of these happenings, and despite the fact that I have a very low opinion of our species, I now find the idea of inflicting damaging physical violence on others, other than when one is defending oneself or others, abhorrent. It makes me wonder how parents and the schoolteachers of my day could have dispensed corporal punishment so easily. 
   The whole system ran on the threat of physical violence and it continues to do so in one way or the other. And it is by no means just a male problem despite it not being fashionable to acknowledge the existence of female violence.
   Actually, I never liked seeing others suffer, but when I was younger I had a very different outlook when it came to two evenly-matched adults choosing to fight each other. Nowadays, although I enjoy watching the techniques employed in MMA, I do not like it when the fights do not end in submissions, which often means they end with one of the contestants suffering a pounding to the head. I find it particularly disturbing when the ref lets it go on for an unnecessarily long period to satisfy the blood lust of the crowd. That however, is to be expected within the form of capitalism we choose to live under. 
      Although many people watch MMA to enjoy the technique many watch it because their brains deliver to them a cheap sadistic thrill when they see a fighter getting bashed. And they are prepared to pay for that chemical hit.  
    The more primitive part of my brain makes me aware that I would in one respect enjoy participating in MMA if I had my youth return to me, but if I am ever able to drink from the fountain of youth and retain the brain I currently possess I would not box or practise MMA on a full contact basis, as my primitive drives are outweighed by the sense of empathy I have acquired over my lifetime as well as my desire to protect my own brain cells. 
   I'm saying I find the thought of deliberately trying to bash someone’s brain disturbing, even if one is up against an evenly matched and willing opponent who has the same objective. I would however, continue to practise the striking arts in a non-competitive way with mates, because the process gives me joy. I would also grapple recreationally and possibly competitively, as the objective when grappling is not to damage one’s opponent. 
    That does not mean I would like to see MMA banned. In the system we live under some frustrated young men feel a need to participate in that sort of thing, particularly if they can earn a living from it and have been suffering as a result of being unemployed and living under an impoverishing dole or undertaking work they find pathalogically boring. Our species did not evolve to live in this sewer, and some people are better adapted to it psychologically than others.  
   Today’s Australian ruling class has emulated the Romans, who were able to keep the masses quiet and vulnerable to exploitation by providing them with the basics and bloody entertainment by way of the Colosseum (bread and circuses). Today’s “circuses” are in the form of professional sport, preferably of the type where the spectator is aware that the participants may suffer serious injury or death or may fight with each other, or that violence may erupt between supporters of opposing individuals or teams as occurs in many soccer games.
    (When watching major games today we are inundated with advertisements that attempt to encourage viewers to participate in wholesome activities like gambling, drinking piss and eating junk food. Yet the club board members, who mostly have the morality of tiger snakes, for the sake of their PR insist their athletes behave like choirboys in their private lives).  
    A link that follows will take you to another far less philosophical and more amusing anecdote that revolves around another martial arts event that occurred in the Berra in the early 70’s. It is entitled “Give me back my butterfly swords.” It also goes into the history of the martial arts within the ACT. 
   The photo that follows the link will give you a hint of what it’s about.
http://acanberraboy.blogspot.com.au/2014_08_01_archive.html
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