It’s 2012 already – Part 8

This post is eighth in a series by Edward W. Pritchard.  To read more of his writings please visit: 
It’s 2012 already – part 8
Copyright © 2010 Edward W. Pritchard


My exposure to Armageddon began long before my walk in the mountains of northern Georgia, heading southeast towards the Georgia Sea islands. On the last day of 2011, I received a prequel of the terror that the deadly Armageddon winds would bring to America.

Like most older people who live alone, I seldom venture out at night, preferring the comfort of my modest home. However on December 31, 2011 I sauntered through downtown Akron, Ohio for a First Night celebration, to hear a local band pay tribute to blues singer Big Joe Turner. I planned on being home by 10:30, then listening to some more blues music over a beer or two, before retiring to bed by midnight.

Well-satisfied as I left the blues concert about ten PM, a sub-zero snowy wind met me, providing limited visibility as I sought my car.  Small groups of young people milled around unnaturally in the frigid gloom, staring at me and several older couples walking toward the parking decks. Normally this would be of little concern to me.  For several years I have been unconcerned with what happens to myself, and I have little fear of ruffians or muggers.

That day, however, something sinister was occurring.  The winds seemed preternaturally cold, strangly ominous, as if a threat were germinating among the crowds of young people milling about. As I walked, I noticed that the young were beginning to follow the older adults as they headed home, showering belligerent behavior toward any elderly who appeared weak or vulnerable, or were alone. Several older people were being pushed and jousted about for no apparent reason by groups of seven to ten young men and women.  

Finally an old couple pleaded with me for help. They were being followed and a crowd was beginning to circle them. I, however, was being left alone.  For though I looked every day of my sixty years,  with an age-lined face, inanimate eyes, and thinning hair hidden under an arctic hat, I can truthfully report that I have a thug-like appearance. To the crowds, especially when seen from the back, I was not someone they would normally dare to confront.

The elderly man walked poorly, moving more side to side than forward, and his wife was stooped from the waist from back problems, staring intently at the ground as she walked. Just before they stopped to beg my help, I saw the wife kiss her husband and presumably exchange a short proclamation of love. I decided to help the old couple, out of habit, for old times, to honor feelings now gone.  

The six young people following us were (I later decided) a small mob, under the influence of the madness of crowds. In an instant they completely encircled us, like a wolf pack. But though they outnumbered us, they seemed cautious, perhaps hesitant to strike.

Surmising that they were assessing our strength, I shouted tauntingly, aggressively moving toward the lone woman in the group.  “Why are you stalking us?” I demanded.
The young woman of about eighteen looked straight at me with hate and said, “Because there won’t be enough.”
“Enough of what,” I hissed at her, as I leaned toward one of the larger men in the group.
“Of everything” said two or three of her mob simultaneously.

As quickly as the mob circled us they moved away, vanishing into the gloom. I escorted the old couple to their car and returned to my home. 

I slept that night with a tire iron near my pillow, dreaming of proper techniques to strike with my makeshift weapon. Use the wedged pointed end, or risk a cut to the hand and swing the weapon without mercy? Such dreams have preserved me through the Armageddon of 2012.

In over two hundred northern cities and towns celebrating First Night,  December 31, 2011, more than four thousand elderly were accosted by mobs, including ninety-eight deaths among these frail victims, primarily due to falls or heart problems. (There was little punching or striking, or other outright violence.)  Of course later, throughout 2012, a few thousands injuries or deaths would be insignificant of mention. I am just referring now to mob violence against the feeble elderly, not to terminations caused by nature and the winds described earlier.

At that time, as the first day in 2012 dawned, the mob violence was blamed on economic concerns, such as the housing crisis in America, or rich vs. poor issues concerning jobs. Looking back, however, I believe the violence at first night was an early indicator of changes occurring in urban America, part of the same divinely-directed efforts to cull the herds of humans, starting with the weak and elderly.

I mention the two older people and the effort I took to intervene on their behalf less than one year ago, before I explain my failure, despite my efforts, to protect my two new friends at the horse farm in northern Georgia (see Part 9). It provides an illustration of how the value of a human life has changed due to Armageddon, 2012.

Looking back on that first night December 31, 2011 I am now convinced that the divine first unleashed the forces of destruction against humanity at 10:15 PM, December 31, 2011. It’s been less than a year since I helped those two old people, that loving couple. I, the preserver. They, the weak, protected previously from the forces of nature by civilization. I fear for people like them and I doubt my ability to trek on helping people like that old couple. Please don’t tread on me, I fear what we will become.

Here is something I wrote previously, sub-titled Fears
Sunday, September 12, 2010

When they came 
for Frantz Kafka

when they came my neighbors stout iron cyclone fence didn’t stop them
when they came two flights of stairs didn’t slow them
when they came a dead bolt lock and and solid oak door didn’t deter them
when they came uncle’s Smith and Wesson didn’t faze them
when they came my wife’s pleadings didn’t help me
when they took me my arguments didn’t interest them

when i looked through the cyclone fence up two flights of stairs through the broken-down oak door at my sobbing wife, her tears didn’t comfort me as they took me away
end part 8 – the prequel
Next :  At the Horse Farm
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About Cynthia J. Koelker, MD

CYNTHIA J KOELKER , MD is a board-certified family physician with over twenty years of clinical experience. A member of American Mensa, Dr. Koelker holds degrees in biology, humanities, medicine, and music from M.I.T., Case Western Reserve University School of Medicine, and the University of Akron. She served in the National Health Service Corps to finance her medical education.
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2 Responses to It’s 2012 already – Part 8

  1. RangerRick says:

    I have just retired after more than 40 years in the military, fire/medical service, law enforcement, Red Cross, Emergency Management, and other volunteer services that go in when emergencies occur, except for the military time all the other services were right here in America.

    As far back as 1969, when things go wrong, the unprepard believe it is YOUR fault that this has happened to them and their families. I have worked floods, major fires, hurricanes, tornadoes, etc.

    When the light switch does not turn on the light, the water does not run, and people have no heat or a place to call home . . . it is YOUR fault. When I turned 21, and this was breaking all the rules, I carried a weapon and 6 extra clips. Toward the end of my being a volunteer, I broke the rules again, I staged my vehicle close to the area I was working, I had body armor, weapons used overseas, medication, food, water, and a way to purify water.

    All I am saying is I have been there and done that and sold the tee shirts. If you are in the wrong place at the wrong time, you have no hope, as it is YOUR fault these people are in trouble.

    Good luck out there, RangerRick.

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