Prof. Abian: BLOW UP THE MOON!!!

I got on the Net around 1994, and was fascinated by the Usenet Groups, especially sci.physics and sci.astro. One thing I noticed, though, were the humongus egos of the scientists who posted. But one poster was an elderly Professor of Mathematics at Iowa State University, Professor Alexander Abian.

Read about him here:
http://www.math.ucdavis.edu/~suh/abian/abian-homepage.html

He died several years ago, but during his lifetime he published 254 research papers and three books, and even had a mathematical theorem named after him. But he was also sort of a nutcake (in the eyes of sci.physics/astro posters) and was shouted down over and over by the other posters, with people begging other people not to answer his posts. I mean, he came up with ideas like blowing up the moon to prevent crime and altering Venus' orbit to rid the wold of desease -that sort of thing.

Read it here:
http://groups.google.com/groups?hl=en&q=Abian&Submit3=Search

At any rate, I decided I was going to play the part of a troll and suck some of these egoistic "scientists" into flaming me, and then when the troll had run it's course, announce it as a troll along with my intention of publishing the entire episode as an online book. Figured I could get some fun out of that.

I never got around to doing it because I got too busy with my IT work, but I did start composing the "Letters to Prof. Abian" I was going to post one at a time. I figured about 15 or 20 of them and the scientists' responses to them would generate all I needed for the "book", but I only got around to writing 6 of them completely, and the 7th is just comprised of notes to myself on the content of the next "letter". In any case, here they are together for the first time. You might find some interesting ideas in them.

-Pete
----------------------------------------------------


My Dear Prof. Abian-

I have followed your posts and the responses to your posts with avid
interest, as they reveal not so much the secrets of the universe but
the psychology of the scientists who respond to your posts and the
ideas they contain.

I watched first with amusement and then horrid fascination as what
seemed like well-reasoned responses and counter-responses deteriorated
into lurid, childish displays of tantrum and name-calling. Some of your
respondents have gone so far as to beg other people not to respond to
your posts in the hopes that without the encouragement of a response,
you would lose interest in participating in the Net and just go away.
It appeared to me, at least, to be desperate acts of men nearly driven
over the edge of sanity, reverting in frustration to a childhood demand
that their nightmares begone and not return...

And in some ways, you are, indeed, a nightmare to a logical man, and
to a scientist above all. But it is perhaps our nightmares that awaken
us, that make us pursue our good dreams with added vigor, and that goad
us into answering the *Why?* of things instead of just the *How?*, even
though pursuing the *How?* of things can fill one's life to overflowing
with intellectual satisfaction, also.

But I must take exception to many scientists' glib assertion that the
study of Science is only interested in the How, and the Why belongs to
Theology, for often what we *believe* is the foundation upon which we
practice the methods we use to reach an understanding of a phenomenon.

Scientists and researchers in the distant past of human civilization
were not ignorant fools. They were brilliant men, who created entire
new fields of study and methods to study them out of whole cloth. Men
like Pythagorus, who gave us the sciences of geometry, and music, yet
developed these wondrous ideas as a by-product of his pursuit of what?
Of Numerology!

I wonder how Pythagorus, the numerologist, or Coepernicus, Kepler and
Galileo, the astrologers, would be accepted by the scientific
community today? No doubt flamed on the Net... Can you imagine
messages posted all over the internet begging people not to talk to
Pythagorus, and ridiculing Galileo? I'm sorry to think, all too easily!

Mind you, Prof.Abian, I am not saying that you are the Coepernicus of
the 20th Century. I *am* saying that people should pursue their varied
interests, and if what you say holds no interest for them, then use the
Kill File...that's what it's for. The Internet is an open community of
ideas. Some ideas are trash, some are brilliant. But ideas are what
have created our civilization, and I say the more the better, for after
having winnowed the wheat from the chaff, our society and civilization
will be the richer for it!

I tried to call you at home the other day.You were not home, and the
telephone was answered by your answering machine. I heard classical
music in the background, and an elderly, refined gentleman with an
Eastern European, probably Baltic, accent. And I pictured you as a well
respected professor of the old school, with many years tenure, having
taught mathematics to possibly thousands of blockheaded, know-it-all
students over the years, some of which may yet contribute to our
overall standard of civilization due to the effort you extended to
teach them.

I could see you at home, sitting in a brocaded chair, tapping away on
a keyboard to put your message on the net. And I thought to myself:
Here is a man who was teaching math before the first electronic
calculator was invented, but willingly entered the modern world,
rather than having been dragged in kicking and screaming, and is
seeking comfort even in ideas of the future, instead of reading old
books before slipping off to sleep with a glass of brandy at night.

I could also visualize you, one evening while you were contemplating
whatever it is you contemplate late at night, having a revelation of
some sort; of having *seen* an answer to a long standing question. As
with so many revelations, however, as the moment passed you had no way
to explain what it was that was *revealed* to you. I've had many a
great notion myself, only to realize that they were orphaned, with no
anchor or direction, and I had no way to steer my way back to them in
order to explore them.

But, I believe that you found a way: if you could not fully explain
your visions yourself, you could share the results of your revelations
with other minds on the internet, in the hopes that someone could
pick up where you were lost, and explain them in an acceptable way.
Unfortunately, you ran into a wall of ridicule and childish anger,
instead of the interest you hoped would manifest.

Nonetheless, you have persisted, and I want to say that I admire your
courage in persisting in the face of the flamers, for it takes courage
to put your message out and recieve insult in return. I don't know for
sure, Prof. Abian, whether your theories will ever hold water or not.
But, in the interest of finding out, I would like to engage you in a
dialogue about them. I propose a public discussion based on the
assumption that they *are* right, to be held with good grace, humor
and respect. If your theories have any merit, perhaps that will come
to light. If not, we may finally lay them to rest. No matter what the
outcome, I believe that all of us will benefit. If you are willing to
engage in discourse with me, I will await your reply here.

With my warm regards,

-Pete Childress

------------------

Prof. Abian-

Let us assume, for the moment, that you are correct in your
surmise that space strives to remain magnetically neutral, and
that an object in motion does, indeed, encounter friction. Our
task at this point, then, would be to create a scenario of the
universe that would support that assumption.

Towards these ends, let us discuss a scenario that I will call
(with tongue firmly in cheek) The Childress Hypothesis. The
Childress Hypothesis begins with the assumption that the universe
is what it is, and if we don't completely understand what it is,
then the problem is not with our science or our mathematics, but
with our world view to which we apply our sciences and mathematics.
An example would be the new paradigm introduced by Kepler, which
superseded the Ptolemaic world view.

Ptolemy was indeed a genius for his times, and created algorithms
for an ephemeris that was reasonably accurate despite his assumption
that the earth was the center of the universe, and all planets and
stars revolved around the earth. It was a reasonable assumption for
his time, and supported by empirical observation: anyone could look
up at the sky and see the sun, the moon, the stars and the planets
revolving around the earth. There were some inaccuracies over time,
of course, when a planet would go retrograde and appear to reverse
its course in the sky. To solve this problem, Ptolemy improved his
algorithm to include epicycles, or cycles within his cycles. This
improved the accuracy of predicting planetary movements, but over time
observation showed more inaccuracies, perturbations in the epicycles.

The solution was to introduce more epicycles, and then epicycles
within epicycles, which helped things some, but did not solve the
fundamental problem. Before long, intelligent observers realized that
somewhere down the corridors of time, a completely accurate ephemeris
of planetary movements would eventually have an infinite number of
epicycles piled on top of the regular planetary cycles.

Kepler's solution was incredibly simple, if radical: All he did was
change the perspective from an earth-centered universe to a solar-
centered universe, and came up with a simple mathematical formula
that accurately predicted planetary movements well into the future.

Let us assume that we, in our present stage of scientific discovery,
are analogous to Ptolemy's time, and that we are in desperate need
of a Kepler among us to change our world view. After all, every time
we think we have things simplified, an anomaly appears; it sometimes
seems that all we have to do in order to discover a new subatomic
particle is to imagine the particle, and lo! someone finds it. Is
this *epicyclic* thinking? You tell me.

So, my dear Professor, it has fallen upon our humble shoulders to
modestly fulfill the world's need for a modern Kepler. I trust that
upon receipt of the Nobel Prize for the Abian Theory of the Nature
of the Universe, you will mention The Childress Hypothesis in passing
so that I may bask in the reflected glory that your ideas are ordained
to attain.

The Childress Hypothesis is simple:

(1) Space is expanding.

That's all. Space is expanding. But the implications contained within
this simple concept are world-shaking, and may also prove your own
statements to be factual, and true, as we shall see when we continue
our conversation at a later time.

At this point, however, we will take time out for intelligent
commentary and contributions by others who may be following this
thread of conversation.

With warm regards,

-Pete

----------------------------------------

Prof. Abian-

We last ended our search for proof of your assertions that space
*must* maintain magnetic neutrality and that an object in motion
will encounter friction, with the single statement of The Childress
Hypothesis:

(1) Space is expanding.

However, before I expand that statement (pun not intended), we should
make reference to a First Cause, or the beginning of the universe. If
the universe did, indeed, begin with a Bang, and I have no argument
with that theory, should we not give a passing nod to the question of
just what it was that went Bang? If one accepts the premise that the
physical universe began with a Big Bang, then one must accept the
implication that before the Bang, whatever existed, if anything, was
non-physical. It follows, therefore, that the source of the physical
universe in which we find ourselves contemplating the nature of
existance, is the non-physical, for there was no physical universe
before its creation. Ancillary to this assumption, is that the
space/time continuum was also created by the Big Bang, for space
itself has measurable properties. As further discourse along these
lines will lead into a discussion of Theology, we will abandon it
here, but I mention it at this point because it will be referenced
later as The Childress Hypothesis unfolds.

It is generally accepted that the universe is expanding. But what do
we really mean? The explanation given to school children is that the
universe exploded into being billions of years ago, and that it is
still expanding, much like a balloon expands when you blow it up.
That is, the boundary of the balloon's skin is analogous to the edge
of the physical universe, and that if stars and galaxies were dots of
ink on, and inside, the balloon, you could see that they *must* be
growing further apart. And, of course, modern observation bears this
out: the universe is expanding, and stars and galaxies, in the
general scheme of things, are indeed growing further apart.

But, there is a hidden assumption here that the only thing expanding
is the distance between the stars and galaxies. What we seem to be
missing is that obviously *space* itself is expanding. That is, what
we call the very *fabric of space/time* is expanding, but at what
consequence?

Here, Prof. Abian, is where your assertion that objects in motion
will encounter friction may begin to find its proof, as will an
explanation for both the limitation and the constant speed of light.

Additionally, we will suggest the possibility that not all of the
background radiation attributed to the Big Bang is fossil radiation,
but newly radiated as a by-product of the expansion of space itself.

As an added bonus, we will also find a possible solution to the
apparent paradox recently uncovered by observations through the
Hubble telescope, that some regions of space appear to be younger
than some stars. We will find that this phenomenon is not a paradox
after all, but consistant with a new world view that will allow
science and mathematics to explore the nature of our universe and
discover that it is far more marvelous and wondrous than anything we
have yet imagined.

If we were to look at the space/time fabric as consisting of an
infinite number of points in space, we would do well to ask ourselves
what happens when space expands? One can envision several things: a
given point expands beyond a point, into 1, 2 or 3-dimensionality;
a new point pops into being, appearing spontaneously, created "on the
fly"; or a combination of the two, whereby an expanding point, in
order to conserve its "pointedness", so to speak, will at the point
of its attaining dimensionality, "snap back" and sub-divide itself
into two or more new points.

By "expansion into physical dimensionality", I mean to say that a
point, which had no dimension, may become a line, which does have a
dimension. I suspect that, in reality, an expanding point touches
upon many dimensions, or frames of reference, including our familiar
3-dimensional reality, before dividing itself back into two or more
points. To simplify the concept, if you stretch a point beyond the
boundries of "pointedness" it is no longer a point, but a dimension.
Now, let's examine these possibilities and the subsequent results to
see where they might lead.

If one were to stretch a point in one direction, it would become a
line for a instant in time before breaking into two or more points.
However, at that instant, the line would have *two* additional
qualities not shared by the point: a front end, and a back end. The
point, in other words, at the instant it became a line, would achieve
polarity. Since there is no free lunch in physics, it would be safe
to assume that the energy that went into stretching the point into a
line would manifest itself in some manner or other, most probably
converting itself into a different form of energy.

This energy could be static, in the form of a potential, or it could
be dynamic, in the form of a charge. If it were static, perhaps it
would manifest itself as a potential magnetic field, with the front
end having a negative potential, and the back end having a positive
potential. That is, a north and a south pole. For this one instant of
being a line, before it divided itself into points, it would seek a
state of equilibrium, or stability, among all of the other points
that were expanding or dividing in its immediate vicinity. However,
while in its unstable state, it would be wiggling its little magnetic
poles in all directions before coming into a state of equilibrium,
no matter how brief, before it divided into points again and
continued the cycle of expansion and multiplication.

Now, as you know, wiggling a magnetic field produces electro-magnetic
waves, or radiation. The radiation thus produced would, of neccessity
(because the "line" would be in the order of the smallest physical
dimension possible), have the shortest possible wave form and the
highest possible frequency. In fact, it might very much resemble the
background radiation thought to have been left over from the Big Bang.

If this is the case, then the recent Hubble observations can account
for both "new" space and "old" stars, without contradiction, for the
expansion of space itself is also the ongoing creation of space, and
the creation of space results in microwave radiation.

But, there's more: could these short-lived lines also be the means of
electro-magnetic wave propagation? Picture (simplistically), if you
will, points turning into lines everywhere around you (and in you,
but that's an expansion of the subject we will take up later, dealing
with the nature of matter itself). Although you may have an infinite
number of dimensionless points between Point A and Point B, there
will be a *finite* number of lines between Point A and Point B, for
a line has dimension. Each of these lines has a magnetic north and a
magnetic south, and are seeking equilibrium before snapping apart to
become two more magnetically neutral non-dimensional points.

If you wiggle a magnetic something at Point A, the equilibrium of the
lines will be disrupted, and they will start reversing their polarity
in sequence, each in reaction to the other, as they attempt to regain
equilibrium. That is, they "flip" over one at a time, like a line of
falling dominoes. In this manner, the original energy of the moving
magnetic field at Point A is transfered in all directions as a moving
wave front of electromagnetic energy, but in discreet units, one
little line at a time. The collective period of time for one line to
flip another line, and thus propagate an electromagnetic wave gives
rise to what we call the speed of light. It can't go any faster or
slower (in a vacuum, and unaffected by a gravity field) because one
line flips at a time, so there is a time lag no matter how imper-
ceptible, and for this reason, the speed of light is constant.

And because the energy is "digitized", or sent on it's way in packets
whose size is determined by length of the line that "flips" to pass on
its energy to another line, we recognize this energy as fundamentally
propagating as "quanta", or packets of energy.

As you may have noted, my dear Prof. Abian, the concepts contained
in the previous ramblings have, if proven correct, substantiated your
claim that space wants to remain magnetically neutral. In addition,
the "space" in such a scenario would obviously result in an exchange
of energy with any object passing through it, and thus your assertion
of "friction" affecting a moving object may be possibly substantiated,
as well.

We will next explore what happens in 2 and 3 dimensional space as it
expands, the nature of gravity and its relationship with the expanding
universe, and see if we can find any reason that time may have inertia.

In future sessions, with your approval, we will discuss how expanding
space relates to, and indeed, may actually be essential to, magnetic
fields surrounding objects, and proofs that may be found from simple
and inexpensive experiments to determine whether this part of The
Childress Hypothesis is correct. In an educational aside, we will
also discuss why ice may be seen as magnetized water, and other
interesting notions. All in all, the Abian Theory on the Nature of
the Universe may turn out to be very interesting, indeed!

But first, we should pause for additional comment.

-Pete

------------------------------------------------------------------------

My Dear Prof. Abian-

When last I posted to you, I promised to explore expanding 2 and 3
dimensional space, and to see if there could be found a relationship
that would affirm your assertion that time has inertia.

Supposing that the *space/time fabric* itself of the universe is
expanding, and I am to first to admit that it just a notion, and not
a claim, then that expansion will not be from merely a point into a
line, as in the examples I used before, but also as a plane of 2
dimensions *and* a volume of 3 dimensions...or perhaps even more.

The expanding *space/time fabric* in fact, is analagous to a boiling
cauldron; a froth occuring at every concievable point in space, as
the very continuum of space itself boils into existance. When seen in
this way, the universe may very well have been born in a Big Bang,
but it has continued as a steady state creation of space, fed by the
initial energy of the Bang.

Or, rather, the Big Bang is still happening, and the turbulence of
this "explosion" is the expansion of the universe. Furthermore, as
I discussed before, it is this turbulence that is detected as the
background radiation attributed to the Big Bang, and that is respon-
sible for the limitation and constant speed of light, and for the
phenomenon of magnetic fields (which will be discussed in my next
post to you).

In yet another post, I will explain how the expansion of the universe
is responsible for gravity; or rather, how gravity is actually a man-
ifestation of the inertial acceleration inherent in the expansion of
physical space.

Now then, as *space* expands from a dimensionless point into a 3
(or more) dimensional volume, it may or may not pass through 1,2 and
3 dimensional stages. That is, it may not first become a line, then a
plane, before it bursts forth into three dimensions. But then, again,
perhaps it does. That is for mathematicians and physicists to
determine. Our discussion here will assume that it does, for even if
it doesn't, that will not invalidate our conceptual argument.

So, as the *space/time fabric* expands from a dimensionless point
it (may or may not) pass into planar, or 2-dimensional existance. At
this point, it would have 4 new properties, as compared to the 2
properties of linear dimensions. If 2 of the properties from the
linear dimension, i.e., magnetic polarities, were carried over to the
planar dimension, we might expect to find that the other two new
properties, in a relationship of right angles to magnetism, would
also be polar in nature, but this time as electrical potential rather
than magnetic potential.

If this were the case, then we could expect to find that magnetism
and electricity have a relationship defined, in some way, by a 90
degree angle to each other. And we do, in real life, as electricity
generates a magnetic field at right angles to the direction of the
flow, and moving a magnetic field in the vicinity of a conductor
results, again, in the flow of electrons along the conductor at a 90
degree angle to the magnetic field.

But here, again, we have to ask "what is it, exactly, that is flowing
along the conductor?", and again, the answer appears to be -at least
according to The Childress Hypothesis- expanding space. Let me
explain this further: If expanding space, from one set of dimensions,
results in a magnetic polarity, then with the addition of another
dimension of expanding space, you will have electric polarity, and
just as a point of space expanding into a line will result in a
brief, unstable magnetic domain seeking equilibrium, a line of space
expanding into a plane will result in both a brief, unstable magnetic
domain seeking equilibrium, *and*, at an angle of 90 degrees, a brief
electrical potential seeking to remain balanced, or neutral.

The *electric* implication here , is that an electron, per se,
does not exist as an actual particle, but as an exchange of energy
potential; that is, the electric domain (one polarity) "flips" to
pass on a quanta of energy much in the same way a magnetic domain
"flips" to pass on a quanta of energy. The further implication, if
this perspective is correct, is that the source of the energy is
identical, only the manifestation is different. One is percieved
as a traveling electrical wave, or an *electron*, while the other
is percieved as a traveling magnetic wave, or a *photon*, and
neither can travel faster or slower than the speed of light, for in
each case the *medium* is, literally, the *message*!

It is the energy of the the Big Bang itself, the literal expansion
of the universe that is the source of both magnetic and electrical
energy. It tickles me to no end to imagine that it took a universe
exploding into being to allow me to nuke my cold coffee in a micro-
wave oven... Surely, if there is an intelligent mind behind the
creation of the worlds, it has one dandy sense of humor!

But now we consider space expanding into 3 or more dimensions, and
our discourse takes a more esoteric turn. A point expanding into a
line is rather simple; the only dimension a line can have is either
zero or 180 degrees. None other is possible, because a finite line
has only a front end and a back end; it can extend forward or
backward, but not to any other angle. A plane, in theory can extend
in just about any angle along the plane, but in terms of magnetic and
electrical phenomenon, we see it as extending only in two directions:
at an angle of 90 degrees.

A 3 dimensional space, on the other hand, can take shape in just about
any form from a sphere to a decadehedron (more...), and angles can
extend from the center to just about any point, and from any point to
any other point. It all depends on where you want to start, and what
frame of reference you prefer. If we use the "90 degree choice", then
our sphere/cube/other_shape will have essentially 3 - 90 degree angles
intersecting in the middle. If we assign one set to magnetism, and the
other to electricity, to what will we assign the third?

Let's call it a "time domain", just to get everyone upset. The
polarity of a time domain would be, obviously, a future and a past,
and the result of flipping a time domain would be the "now", or the
flow of time, much as flipping a magnetic domain results in the flow
of magnetism, and an electrical domain the flow of electricity. And,
again, just as with electricity and magnetism, the flow of time would
be steady. That is, the flow of time is a constant just as is the
speed of light and magnetism. And, to be sure, the source of time is
the same as the source of magnetism and electricity: expanding space.

This does not mean that time cannot be *percieved* as relative, for
after all it has a direct mathematical relationship with the speed of
electromagnetic propagation. But, in the same way light, which has a
constant speed, can be *percieved* as "slowing down" or "speeding up"
in terms of red shift, so too does time have it's own "red shift",
though not in the electromagnetic spectrum. The "red shift"
equivalent for time occurs in a spectrum of gravity. And with this
outrageous statement, we will again pause for contributing comment.

When we again return to our conversation, Prof. Abian, we will
discuss the notion that the expansion of the universe, the source of
all energy manifestations of which we are aware, is percieved by us
as gravity. That is, the expansion of the universe, the inertial
acceleration of the *space/time fabric*, is, itself, gravity. And it
will be here where we will explore your assertions that time has
inertia, and is fed by matter in order to move forward. We will, in
fact, discover that, according to The Childress Hypothesis, Time,
Gravity, Electricity, Magnetism, Matter and Energy are equivalent;
that is, they are different manifestations of the same energy, and
the source of that energy is the expansion of space itself!

With my warm regards,

-Pete

--------------------------------------
Prof. Abian-

I promised, a couple of posts ago, to explain how expanding space is
essential to the magnetic fields surrounding objects such as magnets.
Indeed, the expanding *space/time fabric* is not only essential to a
magnetic field, it *is* the field itself! Let me explain further:

Essentially, expanding space, for an instant in time, has the property
of polarity. That is, it has a north pole and a south pole. The points
of expanding space both within and (more importantly, from our point of
view), without the magnet, having polarity, seek to align themselves
with the magnetic domains within the magnetized material in an attempt
to gain equilibrium. It is this constant alignment of the newly
emerging "lines" that give us "lines of magnetic influence" that act
on other objects across seeming empty space.

In other words, magnetic lines of force do not actually emanate from
a magnetized object, but are the concentrated, or focussed, magnetic
alignment of expanding space. Magnetic forces, by themselves, contrary
to what we believe, do *not* act over large distances, but are confined
to the extremely short distance between one adjacent expanding point
and another. That is, this "e-unit", or expanding point, exerts its
force only upon an adjacent e-unit, which in turn exerts its force upon
another adjacent e-unit, which in turn exerts its force upon yet another
e-unit, and so forth.

As each magnetic domain seeks to align itself with the next, some
energy is dissipated in random motion, as it seeks a state of
equilibrium. Because of this dissipation of energy, the magnetic field
does not continue out to infinity, but decreases by the square of the
distance, and thus is a magnetic field limited to the vicinity of the
magnetic object.

But how can we prove this? It should be simple. If a magnetized object
is moving through space, and its lines of force are integral to the
object, then the magnetic field should stay perfectly aligned with the
object. On the other hand, however, if expanding space is the actual
magnetic field, then a magnetic object moving at high speeds through
the space that is expanding will leave a "trail" of magnetism in its
wake. That is, the object and the magnetic field that surrounds it will
not be perfectly aligned, but offset to some degree. That means that
planets, too, will leave a magnetic vortex behind them; that their
magnetic field will extend further behind them than in front of them.
This also implies that magnetic fields and magnetism itself cease to
exist at the speed of light, except for a slight magnetic turbulence
in its wake.

A second experiment could be implemented using super-cooled
superconductors in the presence of a stable magnetic field. If the
superconductor and magnet are in a perfectly relative stable position
with each other, that is, neither one are moving, then one would think
that no electricity would flow along the conductor. However, if there
is an electric current flowing in the conductor, even if the conductor
and the magnet are not in relative motion, then *something* is in
motion, and that something could be expanding space erupting both in
and around both conductor and magnet.

A practical use, if this experiment holds true, would be to take a
thin filament of room temperature superconductor (when/if developed)
and configure it around a permanent magnet to create an inexhaustable
source of electric current -a permanent "battery", as it were. (Would
someone include my name on the patent, please? I need the money, too.)

A third experiment would show, if this scenario is correct, that a
stable magnetic field is not at rest, but in a state of constant
fluctuation, however slight, and this could be due to the constant
emergence of new space seeking magnetic equilibrium.

I also promised, as an interesting aside, to show how ice can be
thought of as magnetized water. Water is an amazing substance, to
say the least. There are some 18 (?) different molecular config-
urations of water, with H2O being the most common. A simple molecule
of H2O consists of two hydrogen atoms bonded to one atom of oxygen.
The Hydrogen atoms have an overall negative charge, while the Oxygen
atom has an overall positive charge.

When the atoms of Hydrogen bond to the atom of Oxygen, they tend to
do so at an angle of about 105 degrees relative to each other, which
essentially gives the H2O molecule polarity -makes it a little magnet
that would like to align with each other and the predominate magnetic
field. As the temperature of water drops, and Brownian motion slows
down, these molecules tend to align themselves with each other and
the predominate magnetic field. The freezing point occurs when
Brownian motion is slow enough that the molecules snap into alignment
with one another, and crystalize. This is also why adding sodium or
other chemicals to water may lower the freezing point: the resulting
compounds disturb the magnetic alignment of the water molecules, and
extend the Brownian motion, keeping the water in liquid state.

Because pure water molecules are aligned magnetically, by the way,
the resulting ice tends to fracture along the lines of magnetic
force, expanding in volume about 10%, and thus ice floats. Good
thing, too, or our oceans might well be eternal blocks of ice
extending to the ocean floor, otherwise.

At any rate, it is for this reason that ice may be seen as
"magnetized water". An interesting experiment would be to subject
liquid water cooled to below the freezing point to an agitated or
moving magnetic field, and see if it is possible to super cool water
and keep it in liquid form by this manner. If it is possible to
prevent water from becoming ice this way, I wonder just how cold you
could make the water? Further, if this experiment were successful, I
wonder what practical use it might have? Could frozen water pipes
become a thing of the past? Does someone want to patent a process and
share the royalties with me ?

In my next post to you, Prof. Abian, I will suggest new units of
measure in your honor, as well as demonstrate how an expanding sphere
of space may account for the transmission of all the basic forces
known to physics, as well as define all of the varied "particles" that
have proliferated over the years. In other words, Prof. Abian, The
Childress Hypothesis -"Space expands"- provides a single framework
within which disparate concepts of astrophysics may find a common
ground. Until then, my dear sir, "Non carborundum illegitimii"...

Yours faithfully,

-Pete

----------------------------------------

Prof. Abian-

In earlier posts I discussed expanding space as if it were expanding
through phases of point/line/plane/volume, and I assigned relational
values to the volume view-point of Time/Space, Magnetism/Electricity,
and Mass/Energy. I deliberately chose this course because it is easy
to understand, and served as an introduction to the nature of an
expanding *space/time continuum*.

Let me now approach it from a different direction. Let us this time
assume that space expands from a point into 3 or more dimensions,
without passing through a phase shift. That is, a point in space
expands into a volume of space. Since a point is dimensionless,
and there are an infinite number of points in any given measurement
of dimension, the expansion phase is both short lived and the volume
is small.

In fact, the period of expansion from point to dimension is so short,
that it would be safe to assign that period of time as the *shortest*
period of time that is possible.

In your honor, Prof. Abian, I am going to call this tiniest possible
slice of time a "T-Abian". As a mathematician, perhaps, -once we
figure out just how tiny this time-slice is- you can calculate how
many t-abians constitute a nano-second.

Similarly, since the threshold volume of an expanding point -that is,
the threshold where an expanding point is no longer considered a
point, but a volume- is so microcosmically small, we will consider
this the smallest possible measurement of volume, and call it a
"V-Abian". The diameter of this tiny volume, of course, would be a
"D-Abian", its radius we would then call an "R-Abian", and its
circumference a "C-Abian".

We should keep in mind, though, that the volume size is uncertain,
for it is moving, that is, expanding, so depending on where you
measure the volume -where it starts, or where it ceases to be- the
abian units will differ. Therefore, we should subcategorize abian
units with a "+" or "-" to indicate largest and smallest possible
values.

For all we know, Prof. Abian, perhaps this e-unit continues to expand
forever as a ripple in the space/time continuum, or perhaps its "wave"
effect is cancelled out by adjacent expanding points... Or, perhaps
colliding "wave fronts" of expanding space constitute the mechanisms
of energy transference... Which of these possibilities do you think
is the more likely scenario? Since this is just a hypothesis, and not
a theory that must be proved, it's plenty flexible and we can adjust
it any direction that makes sense.

At any rate, since we have already suggested that both photons and
electrons can be no larger than the medium of which they are a part,
that is, the "e-units" we discussed before, then we can say that an
electron is one v-abian in size, and one d-abian in length, and that
the time it takes for one electron or one photon to traverse its own
diameter can be reasonably assumed to be one t-abian.

From these measurements, we can then deduce the rate of expansion of
the *space/time fabric* and factor that measurement into observations
of receding galaxies in order to get a better idea of the true age of
the universe.

There are some who would argue that although an electron may have
energy and mass, it does not have a dimension, for it is only a point
in real terms. I would argue, then, that a point is a mathematical
concept, and I doubt that mathematical concepts, alone, will make the
phosphors of my video terminal glow, unless they can somehow burst
into a dimensional world -in which case they take on the character-
istics of dimension, whether as line, plane or volume, or as an object
or energy field. It therefore follows that an electron has dimension
in the physical world, and that its size and period can be measured
in terms of the appropriate abians.

That aside, let us continue with our assumption that a point expands
directly into 3 dimensional reality. Here, we should also assume that
its shape is generally a sphere, -we can call it an "e-unit"- and that
it is expanding equally in all directions -in *empty* space, that is.

We'll discuss the other possibilites when we take up the nature of
matter as seen from the perspective of The Childress Hypothesis, for
if the space/time continuum is expanding, then matter as well as empty
space is expanding, and it is here that we will consider the nature of
matter itself, and the gravity that is associated with matter.

As you know, a single sphere will fit snugly inside of 12 more
spheres, resulting in 12 points of contact. If we see each of these
"contact" points as poles traversing the center of the sphere, then
we can picture 6 axes. Each axis corresponds to the "line" metaphor
we used earlier in our conversation, and each axis will have one
other axis bisecting it at a 90 degree angle. Since each axis is only
30 degrees of arc away from its adjoining neighbors, it stands to
reason that every third neighbor will be 90 degrees away, so we will
come up some three sets of angles bisected 90 degrees by other axes.

Picture, if you will, one set corresponding to electromagnetic
energy, one set to another pairing of forces, and the third set to
yet a different pairing of forces. Therefore, this expanding point
that becomes a sphere of space, can transmit any of six different
forces, whatever they may be, depending on the direction of its spin.

Here, I want to say, if it was not made clear earlier, that none of
this is to be taken literally, but as a perspective or viewpoint.
The space/time continuum may not have any properties of its own, yet
the universe may appear to operate as if it does. In other words, The
Childress Hypothesis should be considered a model, not the thing in
and of itself.

If the spin of the e-unit is in one direction, an electromagnetic
wave (photon) is transmitted; if the spin is 90 degrees away, then an
electric charge (electron) is transmitted. Likewise, other perceived
basic particles or energies are transmitted if the spin is in a
different direction.

There seem to be so many different particles in physics today, there
could even be the possibility that a given particle could be trans-
mitted at an angle of say, 37 degrees relative to a basic particle,
in which case it may share certain qualities of two or more particles
associated with any given set or sets.

This view of particle nature allows for an almost unlimited number of
particles within a single, coherent world view. But, is it "true"? The
simple answer is, damned if I know. Or, maybe.

At any rate, Prof. Abian, my next post to you will consider The
Childress Hypothesis and the nature of gravity and matter, with
suggestions for experiments to confirm or disprove the hypothesis.

Until then, keep asking "Why?".

With all my best,

-Pete

------------------------------------------------------

NOTE: These are just my notes for the next post.

There are at least 3 axes:
Time/Space
Magnetism/Electicity
Mass/Energy

If you move along the time axis, space is changed.
If you move along the space axis, time is changed.
If you move along the magnetic axis, electricity is changed.
If you move along the electric axis, magnetism is changed.
If you move along the mass axis, energy is changed.
If you move along the energy axis, mass is changed.

Magnetism can be converted into electricity, and vice versa.
Mass can be converted into energy, and vice versa.
Space can be converted into time, and vice versa.

To whatever degree Mass is related to Space, Energy is related to
Time. Etc.....

Magnetism can be converted into electricity and still retain a
magnetic field.
Mass can be converted into energy and still retain a gravity field.
Space can be converted into time and still retain a spacial
field...(?)
Or Time can be converted into Space and still retain a temporal
field...(?)

Why Children Laugh & Angels Fly

Copyright 1994 by Peter Childress


There came into the Earth, one gloomy and dreary day, an imaginary Angel of serious mien and heavy heart. She was sad, for when she had discovered that she was an Angel, she had also discovered that she couldn't fly, and so she had to walk. Naturally, one can only walk if there is something to walk upon, so our imaginary Angel slid down a rather pale and raspy rainbow and landed on the Earth, where there is plenty of solid stuff to walk around on.

The poor angel wanted very much to fly, but because she couldn't, she felt very gloomy and sorry for herself. So she walked. She walked up hills and down hills, and around curves in the road. She walked through fields and forests, and swamps and plains and deserts. The longer she walked, the gloomier she got, until she felt very sorry for herself, indeed. But the Angel was determined, so she kept on walking, through sunshine and fog, through rain and snow, and through the ever deepening gloom of her own imaginary mind, until all at once she saw a city in the distance. And there, above The City, she saw some pigeons flying carefree over the towers and gabled roofs.

"Flying things!” she exclaimed to herself. "Those are flying things. Maybe they can teach me how to fly, too!", and she hurried towards the far-off city as fast as her tired and aching feet could carry her, her eyes never leaving those wonderful flying things.

Upon coming to the gates of The City, she dusted herself off and preened the feathers of her rainbow-colored wings, for although she might not have the best attitude in Heaven or Earth, she was, after all, an Angel, and Angels are known for their well-bred manners and personal grooming.

After satisfying herself that she looked presentable, she walked through The City's gates, into a hustle and bustle of hurried and harried city dwellers, each of whom were leaning forward, as if against a great wind, and walking as fast as they could.

Thus it was, that the first thing she discovered about city dwellers was that if you aren't any of their busy-ness, they don't even notice that you exist. And, of course, as everyone knows, Angels that can't fly, like beggars and poor people, are none of anyone's busy-ness, so no one saw her at all.

"Oh, excuse me!” she said, as someone bumped her elbow, but the man was in a great hurry and didn't even appear to notice her presence. "Pardon me!” she said, as someone else jostled her shoulder and continued on, ignoring her completely. "Sorry!” she said, as men and women scurried about, knocking her wings and stepping on her already sore feet. "Excuse me, sir! Pardon me, ma'am!” she said, as people, quite oblivious to her, kept bumping into her despite her agile efforts to dodge the steady stream of humanity rushing all around her.

Finally, between a zig and a zag, she slipped and landed with an unceremonious bump on the sidewalk, red-faced, feathers bedraggled, and on the verge of tears.

"Oh, damn!” she cried in frustration and anger, at which utterance (quite unbecoming and Angel) there was a loud PINNNG! and an iridescent feather popped out of one of her wings to land on the sidewalk beside her. That was the last straw, and she burst into tears of frustration, feeling even sorrier for herself than ever.

"Excuse me, ma'am," inquired a small voice near her ear, "is this your feather?" The Angel looked up, surprised that anyone in The City could see her, much less care to speak. Before her was a sad-faced little boy, not much more than five years old.

"Is this your feather?” he repeated patiently. "W-why, yes, it is,", said the Angel, sniffing a little, as the boy held out the multi-hued feather in a grimy little hand. "I lost it when I said a four-letter word.” she continued rather sheepishly, more than a little embarrassed.

"It's a good thing you didn't say the F-Word!” said the little boy conspiratorially, with a self-conscious emphasis on the last three syllables, "Or you might have made your wings bald. You're an imaginary Angel, aren't you?” He was now staring at her with eyes wide in awe.

"Yes, I guess I am, sort of," replied the Angel, a little flustered at the child's directness, "that is, I am an Angel, but I don't really think I'm any more imaginary than anyone else." Then regaining some of her composure, the Angel asked "How is it that you can see me when no one else can?"

"That's easy," replied the urchin, "I'm an imaginary playmate. At least, that's what my friends tell me their parents tell them when they tell them not to play with me any more. But then when I tell them to tell them that I imagine them as easily as they imagine me, and that they could imagine anyone as easily as they imagine themselves, doesn't that prove that we're all imaginary anyway, and so what if we are as long as we're all having fun?"

Somewhere among all those "tells" and "thems" the Angel got lost, but not wanting to admit her confusion or disappoint the only person who had acknowledged her presence so far, she mumbled a lame "Imagine that!", and picked herself up to stand in the protection of a nearby doorway.

Then, remembering why she had come into The City in the first place, she asked her imaginary little friend what those funny flying things were, and where she could find them.

"Oh, those are called 'pigeons'," replied the boy, "and there's a bunch of them in the park on top of the hill. My imaginary friends like to chase them around, now that they can't play with me any more." With this admission the sad-faced little boy's face became even sadder, but brightened when the Angel asked if he would take her to the park so she could see the pigeons for herself.

So off they went, down crooked streets and dark alleyways, over fences and through back yards, until all of a sudden they found themselves on top of a large hill, at the entrance to one of The City's many parks.

There, among trees and grass and statues, was a flock of pigeons being chased by a pack of glum-faced children. The children were glum-faced because they could no more laugh than the Angel could fly. The imaginary little urchin said the children couldn't laugh because their parents never laughed, being so caught up in the busy-ness of The City, and the Angel, shuddering in remembrance of the crowds downtown, could find no fault in that speculation.

While the Angel was standing in one corner of the park taking all this in, the little imaginary playmate went running to join his former friends, the Angel's lost feather still clutched in his hand.

The Angel stared at the pigeons in flight, trying to understand how they could fly and swoop through the air with such natural ease until, with a long and heavy sigh, she looked around for a place to sit down, for her feet were very sore by now.

In the middle of the park there was a fountain surrounded by several benches. Seated on one of the benches was a smiling old man who was watching the Angel with amused and unabashed curiosity. The Angel wondered why the old man could see her, when no one else in The City could, except, of course, for the imaginary little urchin, who was now running around tickling the glum-faced children with his Angel feather, trying to get their attention. There was a distant squeal of laughter, as he apparently succeeded in tickling one of the kids who were chasing the pigeons around the park.

"Well," thought the Angel, gloomier than ever that she couldn't figure out why pigeons, much less Angels, fly, "at least someone is having fun. I may as well sit by that strange old man since he can see me and nobody else seems to care. Besides," she thought, "he looks like he's been here a long time, so maybe he can tell me why pigeons fly." So she walked over to the center of the park where the old man was still sitting and smiling at the Angel.

"Well, halloo!” said the old man as the Angel approached, "And how are we this fine and beautiful day?"

"H-hello," stammered the Angel, hesitating for a moment. "May I sit down here with you for a while? I've been walking for a long time."

"I should say you have!” said the old man, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. Then, with an airy gesture of his hand, as if he were conducting a symphony orchestra, he said "My name is G.K. Chesterton, and I'm a long dead poet. Although I must admit that I feel livelier in my death than I ever did in my life, and now sometimes wonder if what we call life is merely a long process of dying, or if death may actually be a higher form of life. But please forgive my rambling on. Have a seat, and we'll talk about the philosophical questions of the age, such as why poets are never understood, and how many Angels can dance on the head of a pin."

"Thank you, sir.” said the Angel, and she sat down wearily.

"So," said the poet, "you're an Angel." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Why, yes, I Am.", said the Angel. There was another squeal of laughter from one of the children as the imaginary urchin struck again. "And you're a poet."

G.K Chesterton merely smiled and nodded, not saying anything further in reply. There was a long silence while the Angel rubbed her sore feet, wondering if she would ever learn how to fly.

"If you're really a poet," said the Angel after a while, "then why don't you tell me something poetic?"

G.K. was amused by this, and thinking for but a moment, said "Very well, I will!"

"I will po' you a cup of tea
if you will et a cookie with me,
and then before you even know it
in the first two lines you'll
find a po'-et."

"Pretty bad," frowned the Angel.

"Pretty sad," nodded the poet, and he burst into a fit of giggles.

"Okay," G.K said to the Angel, "when I was alive, I was really a novelist, but I always wanted to be a poet. Tell me something: why are poets are so little understood?"

"I'm not sure I know first hand," replied the Angel, "but maybe I can ask my imaginary creator."

"Your imaginary creator?” asked G.K., "You mean God?"

"No," said the Angel, "not exactly, although sometimes I think he thinks he is. I mean the poor -but honest- writer that put me into this mess in the first place, Peter Whozit".

"Oh.", said G.K., slightly perplexed at her offbeat brand of metaphysics.

And with that, the Angel closed her eyes in meditation. After opening her eyes a few minutes later, the Angel said "Okay, Uncle Petey says its like this:"

"Every poet's constant curse,
as all his readers can see,
is that he locks his message in a verse
and throws away the key."

"Hhmph!" humphed G.K., "No wonder he's poor (but honest!), writing stuff like that."

"If you think that's bad," chortled the Angel, "you should see the mushy love poems he writes to his girlfriend."

PINNNG! went another feather, PING! PING! PING! PING! PING! Pretty soon the Angel was sitting in a pile of rainbow-colored feathers examining the bald patches beginning to appear on her wings, and deciding that she would not make any more smart remarks about an imaginary creator with such a lousy sense of humor.

Both poet and Angel then sat a while in silence, watching a fat pigeon waddle across the sidewalk and fly away in the nick of time to avoid being ambushed by another glum-faced child. In the distance there was more laughter, as the imaginary playmate scored again.

"So, baldy," said the poet, turning again to the Angel, "why is it you're walking around on Earth, instead of flying around in Heaven and playing your harp, or whatever it is you guys do up there?"

The Angel shot the poet a dirty look, thinking a rude thought, and PING! went another feather. "Oh, damn!” exclaimed the Angel -PING! went a feather- "Damn, damn, damn!" -PING! PING! PING! as more feathers flew everywhere. The Angel gritted her teeth and sat very still on the bench, not daring to say anything aloud, but silently fuming. PINNNG! went another feather, until with a little sob, the Angel slumped on the bench, feeling thoroughly depressed and almost in tears again.

There was yet another long silence while the Angel frowned, and the poet smiled, and the glum-faced children chased the pigeons that flew around the park.

"I don't know." sighed the Angel.

"What?” said the poet.

"I said," said the Angel, dejectedly, "I don't know why I can't fly. That's why I'm here, because I can't fly and so I have to walk, and there's nothing to walk on in Heaven, so I came to Earth, where there's plenty of stuff to walk around on."

"You mean," said the poet, gleeful incredulity on his face, "that you really don't know why Angels fly?"

"Yes," said the Angel, "I mean, no, I don't know why Angels fly."

"Is that all that's wrong?” said G.K., and he laughed uproariously, slapping his thigh. "Why, I told everyone years ago why Angels fly. I thought everybody knew by now!", and he laughed some more.

The Angel was stunned! At last, her prayers were about to be answered. But before she could reply, the little imaginary playmate came running up to her with a wide grin on his face, out of breath.

"Can I please have some more feathers for my friends?” he asked, his formerly sad face now wreathed in joy. "I've been tickling some of my playmates with the feather you lost downtown, and now they're playing with me again, and we all want some more Angel feathers so all of us can go and tickle the other kids, and..." He broke off abruptly, his mouth forming a surprised "O", eyes wide and full of concern.

"Oh, gee!” he exclaimed, staring at the bald patches on the Angel's wings and the pile of feathers surrounding her. Then, in a whisper full of love and concern, he asked "Did you get caught saying The F-Word?”

The Angel looked at the little imaginary urchin, and then at the poet, who was giggling to himself again. She turned back to the imaginary child, her heart overflowing with love for his innocent concern, and her mind bubbling over with happiness at the thought of finally learning how to fly.

Tears of joy came into her eyes, and without a word she gathered up the iridescent, shimmering feathers lying about her, and with both hands gently presented them to the child, kissing him lovingly on his forehead.

"No," she said, "I didn't say The F-Word, and you had better not say it either! Here. Take these feathers and give them to your friends with my love."

The imaginary little kid took the feathers from her in his two little fists, and with a whoop of delight, went running off to join his playmates. The Angel beamed, sent a blessing to follow him, and then turned back to the poet, who had been waiting patiently during the entire exchange.

"Tell me!” exclaimed the Angel, her eyes now bright and wings quivering with anticipation, "Please tell me why Angels fly!"

"Well," winked the poet, obviously enjoying himself immensely, "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly."

The Angel just stared at him for a moment. "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly?” she whispered to herself, "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly." Comprehension dawned across her face like the sun coming up over the sea, and she smiled, hesitantly at first, then wider and broader as the full impact of the poet's words sank in.

"Angels fly because they take themselves lightly.” she said out loud. "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly!” she shouted to the children, but the children ignored her because they were busy running and laughing and chasing each other with Angel feathers.

The Angel, herself, was laughing now, no longer gloomy and serious as she was when she had first come to Earth, and as her new-found joy filled her with light-hearted expectation, she found herself gently floating over the park bench, the poet still watching her and smiling.

"Hey, baldy," called out the poet as she rose above the park and the trees and the running, laughing children, "you forgot to tell me. Just how many Angels CAN dance on the head of a pin?"

The Angel called back to him, her voice echoing the joy of the children, now no longer glum-faced, and she said "As many as want to, G.K. As many as want to!" And with that, she flew away into the light of the waning day.

The poet chuckled softly to himself, and shaking his head in amusement as he arose from the bench, he slowly ambled off into The City's crooked streets and bright alleyways, while the laughing children chased fat pigeons in the park.

The Boy Who Honored His Parents

Copyright 1978 by Peter Childress

A young man came unto his Master's house to escape from his ill-tempered father who, being a liar and a bully, beat him mercilessly without just cause.

"Grandfather," said the boy, after paying his respects to the old man, "I am confused, and come to you for counsel. The Scriptures command me to honor my father and my mother, yet they are but thieves and drunkards, and mistreat me so that I hold them in contempt. Am I committing a sin in the eyes of God, that I hold them not in respect?"

The Master contemplated the words of the boy, and knew them to be sincere, and true, for they carried the weight of a burdened heart. So he closed his eyes that he might be alone with God, for he knew the words that issued from his mouth would deeply affect the life of the young man before him,and he asked for wisdom from God that he might not lead the boy astray.

After a time, the old man opened his eyes and gazed at the boy, saying: "My son, the Scriptures are guidelines given to man, not for the purpose of limiting him in his life,but to uplift him in Spirit, and so bring the Peace of God into the earth. That the Commandment to honor thy father and mother has brought confusion to your mind and heart, rather than peace, shows only your misunderstanding of the Law. For the Commandment is not to worship your parents despite their flaws, but to live your life in such a manner that it brings honor upon them whether or not they have brought honor upon themselves."

The young man heard the words of the old and his heart was lightened. And so he left his Master's house to enter the world with understanding, bringing honor in his life not only to his parents, but even unto his own children.

And thus was the world brought closer to the Peace of God.

The Merchant and the Farmer

Copyright 1978 by Peter Childress

A merchant, in his time of plenty, was approached by a farmer, in
his time of need, who asked for assistance that he might dig a
well with which to water his fields. The merchant, rejoicing in
his abundance, thought not of his neighbor's need, but sent him
away, for he feared the farmer might drain him of his wealth.

After a season, the merchant, though abundant with riches of gold
and fine silks, went to his larder that he might eat and found it
bare. For in his rejoicing he had partaken of all his food. So he
sent a servant to the farmer, instructing him to purchase food
for the merchant's household.

But the servant returned empty handed, and said: "The farmer is
not in his field, for he could not hire laborers to dig a well
with which to water his seed, and so his crops have withered."

Perceiving he must now go hungry, the merchant became distraught
and lifted his face to the heavens. "What good are my gold and
my silks," he cried to the Lord in despair, "if I have not food
to sustain the body that enjoys them?"

And a Voice replied to him: "It is not through a lack of food
that you are now suffering, but through a lack of love for your
neighbor, the farmer. For if you had shared your abundance with
him in the season of his need, even now you would be rejoicing in
his abundance and yours. Be not deceived by appearances in the
world, for this is the Law: The abundance of one is the abundance
of all, lest the poverty of one become the poverty of all. For in
fear and greed did you plant the seeds of hunger, and in the
passing of the season you now gather what you did sow!"

And the merchant, lamenting of the pain of his hunger and in
regret of his greed, passed out of the earth wiser than he had
entered it.




Post Script to "The Commo Man"

A few years ago Zeb told me that after I was medivac'd, one of the guys came over with an M-60 machine gun and completely destroyed the old man's head with automatic fire so they couldn't tell how old he was. I was sick to my stomach at the thought, even more thoroughly disgusted than I was when the Bummer killed him. And I keep thinking about the little Vietnamese kid...

-Uncle Petey

The Commo Man

Copyright 1985 by Peter Childress

I never did know his name, not then, not now, but I knew I was entering one of those magical experiences pregnant with personal meaning. He was short and chubby, a moon-faced Asian about my age, hunched over his drink, drunk, gripped by an un-nameable misery that had spread its tentacles to the marrow of his bone.

I sat down on the barstool to his right and ordered a beer. He turned to me briefly, red-rimmed eyes wet with grief, and said "What do you know about guilt?" I looked at his face; tears were beginning to run down his cheeks, leaving glistening trails mapping the full extent of his sadness. He turned back to his drink, something pale and poisonous in a shot glass.

What did I know about guilt? Not a helluva lot. Guilt was the province of Catholics and Jews, mother's milk and stock-in-trade for born-again preachers, nothing I could ever feel. I won't allow it. Not me. Never. I build my walls firmly, every emotional brick in place, held fast by the best intellectual mortar my rationalizing mind can make.

He turned to me again, this round-headed, red-eyed stranger, his cheeks wet with shining misery, and a wall began to crumble. Images flooded my mind, 16-year-old pictures of blood, pus and tears in Paradise.

The morning was young and warm and comfortable in its adolesence, humming with insects and shimmering with a light that seemed to originate in the atmosphere itself. The ground was green, different shades of emerald that bespoke of peace and life and the timeless order of growing things. Another day in Paradise. Except for the throbbing in my hand. I looked down at my hand and wiped some more pus off of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Another piece of shrapnel popped out. "Just like popping a pimple," I thought to myself, looking around at the other pimply faces surrounding me. The Sniper was sitting on a dike fiddling with his weapon, his sallow, pasty face showing white through the grime. The Bummer -our platoon sergeant- was resting on the edge of the rice paddy, soaking up the sun.

We were standing down, waiting for Dustoff to pick me up. I was being medevac'd because two weeks earlier Doctor Pepper couldn't get all the shrapnel out my hand that I'd picked when my LP was ambushed, and now it was infected and swollen like a rubber glove filled with water from a faucet.

All of us were pretty pooped; we'd been chasing an NVA battalion with a communications company attached for a couple of weeks with little success. We'd been getting ambushed at night pretty regularly, had been in a couple of running firefights and had lost a few men. I'll never forget Doc's face the morning he buried Pederson's leg. It was just a bloody stump in a boot, and nobody wanted to touch it, so Doc went over, picked it up and buried it in a hole. When I looked at Doc's face I saw something grim and horrible, as if it were his own leg he had buried. And I knew that in a sense it was, because Doc cared about his men and took every casualty as a personal affront.

But that beautiful morning while we were waiting for Dustoff some of the guys were laughing: we'd been joking for a week about "The Commo Man". We'd been finding bits and pieces of communications gear -a length of wire, a handset, some batteries - but the jokes were grim ones under the silliness, about what we were going to do to "The Commo Man" when we finally found him. We were all tired and bone-weary; dirty, scared, pissed off and frustrated from our losses and lack of rest, so this temporary respite from humping the paddies was a welcome one.

It all began innocently enough. I was sitting in the shade of a palm tree when an old man dressed in white pajamas and wearing a long, white, scraggly beard suddenly appeared on the trail. He looked like Father Time himself, somewhere between 70 and 90 years old. At his side was a young kid about 5 years old, his grandson probably. He didn't seem startled to see us, but instead put his hands together in the traditional Buddhist greeting and motioned for our permission to pass along the trail.

I looked at him, and then at the Bummer. Sarge glanced at the old man and the kid, and said "Go ahead and let him through." I motioned to the old guy and told him he could pass. His face broke into big smile and after a profusion of head-bobbing and bowing he took the kid's hand in his own and, still smiling, began to walk through our lines and down the path. It was a touching scene; my own grandfather and I had walked for miles through his citrus groves in Florida, an old man and a 5-year-old kid, hand-in-hand, walking in the early morning sunshine. Even though my hand throbbed, I felt a sense of peace at the memory.

That's when the trouble started. The Sniper, that dough-faced kid from Youngstown, Ohio, said "Hey, Bummer! That looks like The Commo Man!" Everyone laughed at first. Then the Sniper piped up again: "Hey, Bummer! You gonna let The Commo Man get away?" I started to get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Other guys were joining in the refrain: "Hey! That's The Commo Man! The Commo Man, The Commo Man, The Commo Man!" They were chanting in unison now. "Come on, Sarge," the Sniper said again, "You gonna let The Commo Man get away?", flashing the Bummer an evil leer. The Bummer lazily got to his feet and walked a few yards out into the rice paddy. By now the old man and the kid had disappeared from my view around a bend in the path.

I knew what the Sarge was going to do, but I didn't say anything. I just watched, as if in a dream, unconnected from the world around me, paralyzed, impotent. I could have stopped it. The Bummer and I were close. All I had to do was say "Bummer, don't do it." Just four little words, and the spell would have been broken. Instead, I said nothing, and watched as Sarge put his rifle to his shoulder, took aim and fired.

The shot was loud in the peaceful morning air. It echoed into the distance, a sound of finality carrying its message of death. There was a silence in the still air for about 15 seconds. No one said anything. The quiet was complete.

I was already running down the path when I heard the wail. It was a solitary cry of anguish, long, drawn out, ululating, as if someone's soul were being rent in two. Suddenly I was there, at the scene of my silent crime, standing over a little boy and a bloody bundle of white rags lying on the ground. The kid was staring at me, open-mouthed, snotty-nosed, tears coursing down his face leaving tracks on his dirty cheeks, looking in my eyes and asking but one question: "Why?". We stood there what seemed an eternity, the skinny American soldier and the little Vietnamese kid, looking at each other, both knowing The Question, neither knowing the answer.

One of the new guys came over while we were standing there and took a photo of the scene with his 35mm camera. I knew the picture he took would fade with age, become old and torn and yellowed, forgotten in a scrapbook, stored in an attic and thrown out with the rest of the litter one young and warm and comfortable morning like this one. But the picture I took would never fade unless I built a wall around it. A sturdy wall. A strong wall. A great wall to hide a great crime.

I looked around for the Bummer, but he had already walked back to the edge of the paddy. I looked at The Sniper. He was watching me with an ugly grin; satisfaction glinted in his eyes. I wanted to wipe that leer off his face with a burst from my M-16, for it was he who had instigated this murder, this treachery, this sin, and he was pleased with himself.

I heard the whump-whump-whump of a chopper in the distance and knew it was mine. I looked back at the kid, at his dust-and-tear -stained face, still asking me The Question without accusation. I looked down at my throbbing hand, pus oozing onto my fingers, leaving a trail in the grime like the kid's tears, and I turned to collect my gear under the palm tree. I thought to myself that I could have stopped this murder. But could I have stopped all of the murders I had seen in the last 9 months? Could anyone?

Dustoff was about to land. I picked up my gear and walked through the marking smoke to the paddy, angry with myself in my misery and guilt. As the chopper was lifting off I looked over the scene below me: men in dull green resting on bright green, a speck of red and white in the dust, a smaller speck kneeling by the red and white speck, and I knew I would never go back to the field. The wind from the chopper's pounding rotors felt cool on my face. I looked down at my still throbbing hand and wiped off the accumulating pus.

"What do you know about guilt?" he asked again. I was back in 1983, at Tiki Bob's, on the corner of Taylor and Post in San Francisco, my still cold beer in front of me. I looked at the voice, the round, Oriental face streaked with tears, and I said "I know." I was crying, too. He stared at me for a moment. He knew, then, that I knew. I put my arm around him and we sat there together for a long time, he crying into his shot glass of pale poison, me crying in my beer, sharing a misery that overflowed the walls men build.

What the Dead Girl Taught Me...

Copyright 2005 by Peter Childress

I sat in the sand on the beach, with her head in my lap while Angels’ tears caressed us in the form of a small drizzle from the evening’s dark sky. I held my poncho liner over her face to protect her from the rain while some of the guys were making jokes about us and laughing in the dark. She was warm and looked peaceful; her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping. She was a year or two older than me, and just a year ago I would have counted my blessings to have this beautiful young girl in my arms. But there were no blessings for any of us in this dark night, and what should have been Angels’ tears soon proved to be just the Devil pissing on both of us.

I had awakened near dawn of the morning curled up under a bush. Looking around me I saw crude booby traps spread around the area, rusted ten-penny nails twisted together to form four barbed spikes, each of them hoping for the touch of human flesh to satisfy the anger and hatred of their makers. I put one in my rucksack as a souvenir of Viet Nam.

For reasons known only to our eager commanders, our company left LZ Playboy in the middle of a moonless night to grope our way down the mountain and onto the plain leading to the South China Sea. If we were planning to surprise our enemy, it was a total success. They were no doubt surprised to hear us cursing the dark and the clanking, clanging cacophony of our gear as we took turns tripping and falling down in the dark. One platoon was so utterly lost that they spent the night on the other side of the mountain, joining up with us late in the morning after the rest of the company trudged into an old French villa on the northern lip of the half moon bay.

Bin Dinh province was somewhere north of Quinon and had a population of some 500,000 people we were told, and it seemed that about 450,000 of them were VC or Communist sympathizers dedicated to killing us. We were told that the South Vietnamese general in charge of the province north of us had a deal with the Communists: If they didn’t fuck with him, he wouldn’t fuck with them, so they had a safe base from which to fuck with us, instead. I don’t know if it was true or not, but fuck with us they did. Several times a day while we were on LZ Playboy, a nearly spent .30 caliber round would whistle overhead, fired by a sniper with a vintage WWII carbine the VC had salvaged from somewhere.

But this evening, the night after we came down the mountain, it had started to drizzle. The guys were nervous, and someone saw a figure running out of a house and shot at it. It was the girl whose head was now resting in my lap. She was shot in the leg, not that big of a deal, we thought, so we were waiting for Dust Off to come pick her up. I looked down at her again, ignoring the guys who were making wisecracks about us when she gave a little sigh and died.

She died of shock from the bullet wound in her leg, in the dark, in the rain, in my lap, in the beginning of the monsoon season of 1967, on the shore of the South China Sea. One moment she was breathing softly, a living being, a beautiful girl, and in the next moment she was dead, her body as heavy and empty as a lump of meat. It was one of the most profound and changing experiences of my life, because I literally –literally!- felt her soul leave her body and go somewhere else.

I can’t explain or describe it in words that would make any sense to the intellectual mind, except to say that on that cold and miserable and dangerous rainy night in 1967, something profound and wondrous and holy happened, something that will happen to every person born to the earth. I don’t believe that Jesus or Allah or God will welcome us to heaven and willing virgins. But I do know –not just believe, but know!- that whatever essence defines us in this life will continue in some form or another in the afterlife. And for that I am deeply grateful to that innocent victim of war, that young Asian woman, who taught me a secret of life by dying in my arms so many years ago.

War, Bittersweet War...

It seems to me that there was hardly a time in my life when our country was not at war with someone or another, and the war in Iraq is only the latest of a long string of bloody conflicts we have found ourselves in. My own experience was in Viet Nam as a member of D-2/8, First Air Cav, (RECON) in 1966-1967. I wrote a story about one of my experiences there and it's found a home in a number of universities and private sites on the web.

If you'd like to read it, go to http://www.ourweb.com/guard and scroll down to the bottom of the page where you'll find a link to "The Commoman". An alternative is to google "Pete Childress OR Peter Childress" and choose the link you want to follow. Comments on this story are welcome, and I plan to publish other true stories here, including "What the Dead Girl Taught Me".

-Uncle Petey