Amusing Flotsam

At the 1994 annual awards dinner given by the American Association for Forensic Science, AAFS President Don Harper Mills astounded his audience in San Diego with the legal complications of a bizarre death. Here is the story.
“On 23 March 1994, the medical examiner viewed the body of Ronald Opus and concluded that he died from a shotgun wound of the head. The decedent had jumped from the top of a ten- story building intending to commit suicide (he left a note indicating his despondency). As he fell past the ninth floor, his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast through a window, which killed him instantly. Neither the shooter nor the decedent was aware that a safety net had been erected at the eighth floor level to protect some window washers and that Opus would not have been able to complete his suicide anyway because of this.”
”Ordinarily,” Dr. Mills continued, “a person who sets out to commit suicide ultimately succeeds, even though the mechanism might not be what he intended. That Opus was shot on the way to certain death nine stories below probably would not have changed his mode of death from suicide to homicide. But the fact that his suicidal intent would not have been successful caused the medical examiner to feel that he had homicide on his hands. “The room on the ninth floor whence the shotgun blast emanated was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. They were arguing and he was threatening her with the shotgun. He was so upset that, when he pulled the trigger, he completely missed his wife and the pellets went through the a window striking Opus.
“When one intends to kill subject A but kills subject B in the attempt, one is guilty of the murder of subject B. When confronted with this charge, the old man and his wife were both adamant that neither knew that the shotgun was loaded. The old man said it was his long-standing habit to threaten his wife with the unloaded shotgun. He had no intention to murder her – therefore, the killing of Opus appeared to be an accident. That is, the gun had been accidentally loaded.
“The continuing investigation turned up a witness who saw the old couple’s son loading the shotgun approximately six weeks prior to the fatal incident. It transpired that the old lady had cut off her son’s financial support and the son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that his father would shoot his mother. The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus.
There was an exquisite twist. “Further investigation revealed that the son [Ronald Opus] had become increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to engineer his mother’s murder. This led him to jump off the ten-story building on March 23, only to be killed by a shotgun blast through a ninth story window.
“The medical examiner closed the case as a suicide.”

I love this story but of course it is one of those internet bogus things.  The talk was indeed given at the  American Association for Forensic Science by AAFS President Don Harper Mills but he had made it up to illustrate the complexities that can occur in forensic law.  It is a sad affair that some of the most dominant things circulated on the internet and read so widely and shared so avidly are complete rubbish.  At times I feel guilty that I too am adding to the flotsam that circulates like plastic rubbish in the oceans.  But the story is a funny one and so, as you know it is untrue, perhaps no harm is done!

My Two Minds

Interesting article in this month’s edition of the New Scientist (May 2012).  Entitled “My Two Minds” it highlights the advantage of being bilingual.  Being able to speak two languages is of course a million miles away from learning two languages.  I must confess to spending seven useless years learning French at secondary school.  Since it was a compulsory subject, in those days, everyone, no matter their aptitude, was required to study it.  However, such was my dire ability; I was granted the only exception in a school of five hundred pupils.  Following some discussion among staff it was decided that my inability to understand anything in French threatened to unfairly humiliate the teaching staff in the end of term exam and I was granted an exemption.  I was relieved beyond measure as I have long suffered from what I call a blackboard memory.  I can keep only a certain amount of stuff in my head and once overloaded must remove existing material to make room for new items.  So when asked to memorise table, chair and light in French it seemed my brain carefully removed the few French verbs that may have crept slowly and painstakingly onto the board of my limited brain.  Strangely, with anything mathematical I was okay.  Perhaps mathematical and scientific formula could be squeezed onto my limited blackboard with greater density?  Who knows and who cares?  This article however, seems to indicate that I should.

It turns out that being bilingual leads to better brain development.  Studies have shown that bilinguals out perform monolinguals in 15 verbal and non-verbal tests.  This brain development begins early and bilingual babies (babies exposed to two languages from birth) show increased neural development.  It is as if being exposed to two languages at even this early stage invigorates learning in a fundamental way.  The bilingual brain has two languages competing for attention and as a result our brain appoints a Fat Controller within the brain to decide which word to use and inhibiting the same word in the other language.  This process is remarkably similar to those cultivated in commercial brain training programs.

I can remember an example of this vividly in my own home.  At a large gathering of Greek and English friends my youngest son discovered a large tick had bitten him on the stomach and while its head was buried deep in his juicy flesh its derriere was happily wriggling in relish in plain sight.  In outraged anguish he howled his distress first in English with loads of expletives.  Then, a few seconds later, he repeated his howl in fluent Greek with an even richer stream of obscenities and curses.  Most would have settled for one or the other but being bilingual he obviously felt duty bound to explode fully in both.  The Fat Controller must have been on a tea break.

The ability to curse in Greek is an art form.  I remember passing a Greek kicking his broken motorbike and hearing him curse with growing volume, his bike, his boss, his wife, the Virgin Mary, Jesus and finally God.  It seemed that not until he had insulted the full house could his anger be fully spent.  The New Scientist article seemed to bear out cultural differences such as this.  Indeed, it appears that bilingual people act differently depending on what language they speak.  They seem to have two mental channels one for each language, like two different minds.  For example Japanese-English bilinguals when asked to complete a set of unfinished sentences in two separate sessions – first in one and then in the other language demonstrated very different endings depending on the language.  Given the sentence

“Real friends should …..” In Japanese was followed by

“… help each other out”

Whereas in English this became

“…be very frank”

It would appear that each language brings to mind the culture and experience it has sprung from.  Once, I over heard my eldest son on the phone to a Greek friend and remonstrated that his use of the F___ word seemed totally uncalled for.  Not a bit, he informed me, if you spoke Greek properly, you have to curse!  But expletives aside, the article finished by indicating those who are bilingual seem to suffer less from dementia and Alzheimer’s.  Even when occupation and education factors were taken into account!  It is difficult to learn a new language in latter life but apparently the benefits of doing so add considerably to our cognitive systems even at this late stage.  “Learn a language at any age to remain mentally stimulated. That’s a source of cognitive reserve” – exhorts the article.

Speaking as someone who learned French for seven years and failed to speak it, then lived in Greece for almost a decade and failed again, I have a huge Brechers Brook mental hurdle about languages.  An image of a limited blackboard appears closer to the truth than I care to admit.  By not managing to speak those languages, perhaps, I have served to further reduce the area of brain space/blackboard available to me upstairs.  The conclusion appears to be, don’t do as I did, do as I say, learn a language, any language for your brain’s sake.

The Path

I asked my son to make an inspiring video that I could use in a course I was teaching for women returning to science and engineering.  All of these women had stopped working in their fields to bring up children, look after parents, move abroad or because of serious health issues.  The course was designed to get them back into employment.  It was inspiring to have such wonderful groups of women all over the UK trying to get their career back.  When one got a job interview the word was spread via online conferences and momentum build up with others taking the plunge as well.  Towards the end of the course several got job offers and we all felt their triumph and shared their success.  In these days of economic trials things are even harder.  So here is the video for anyone who is interested.  At times it is tricky to read but I like it!

My favourite Song

Some songs just stick with you.  This one I have played and played until the entire family want to throw up on the floor if they hear it again.  Strangely, I just cannot hear it enough.  It was the same with Cold Play’s Viva La Vida, I have to wait until no one is around before playing it.  One of my neighbours on our rough estate, a huge monster with tattoos and a string vest used to sit in his garden with a cigarette hanging from his lips and play Goria Gaynor’s  “I will survive” again and again.   Such an unexpected choice but I could understand, some pieces feel as if they are written for just you.   My favourite so far is the Avett Brother’s Murder in the City.  I don’t like their other stuff but this one piece touches me every time I play it.  Do listen to each word because it is the words that make you sit up and like it – lines like

 “Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name”

Fostering Communities

Today my eighty five year old friend Jean was triggered by memories of school years ago.  Describing her classroom experiences brought the past into the present.  

Hickory Stick Days

“School days – golden learn by rule days.  Reading, writing and arithmetic to the time of a hickory stick.

I must have been so naughty at school

I often remember being canned

The headmaster took us for English

And he marked the books

If you had a “see me” on the page

You knew you were going to be canned

Not with something as light as a hickory stick

The cane he used was as thick as your thumb

And you often had to hold out both hands together!”

A piece by Jean today

This triggered in another friend, memory of a widowed grandmother with ten children and her struggles to bring all these kids up in a small house with no running water, no indoor toilet and no electricity or gas.  As the conversation ran on we were appalled at how hard life was in those days.  How death stalked everyone’s life and how fragile each life was.  Without those heroes that put in decades of hard work and service so many youngsters or aged relatives would never have survived.  The fact that they did it without social services or benefits seems remarkable. 

Then, as we shared memories, everyone was struck by how actually these poor homes were not isolated places but shared spaces where grandparents, neighbours, cousins and  friends came and went.  This fabric of community life suddenly seemed so rich and fertile and full of social interaction.  This new generation has all the benefits and handouts but no such rich safety net around them.  Instead, they inhabit a zone rich in materialism but poor in every other way.  We were all shocked how quickly we found ourselves moving from thinking how hard it was for people in those days to pondering how lonely ,isolated and vulnerable this generation is in comparison.  In a world weary for want of a pattern of life to which to aspire, perhaps we need to relearn forgotten skills in fostering relationships and communities. 

Using Your Head

I once picked up a four year old Daniel from primary school in Rhodes, Greece to find he had a huge red mark on his face where the teacher had smacked him.  This smack had been administered during the break a good hour before.  I was angry and tried with my limited Greek to complain.  The teacher sailed past me into the staffroom, ignoring my requests for information about what happened.  The rest of the parents gathered round and told me what had happened, gleaned from their kids. 

Apparently, the class had been let out to play in the school yard unsupervised and became too noisy.   This teacher had left her own class and gone out and smacked the first child she encountered, this happened to be my son.  The parents told me this teacher was notorious for smacking children and complaining would just make things worse for Daniel.  I tried to sleep on it and cool down but tossed restless with the injustice of it.  If only I could speak this wretched language at least I could defend my son in some way.  But my Greek was limited, very limited. 

The next day I went to the staffroom and asked to speak to the teacher responsible.  She came out into the corridor as regal and proud as ever and in Greek asked me what I wanted and told me to be quick.  I tried to tell her but the words would not come smoothly and she grew impatient and went to sail past me as before.  Infuriated I stepped in front of her and prepared to give her a head butt if she so much as tried to push past me again.  Eyeball to eyeball we glared at each other and she suddenly started saying how sorry she was and how it would never happen again.  She came over the next day at school assembly and apologised to Daniel in person in front of the other parents.  Who were all bewildered at the change and wondered who I knew in the educational system to make such a turnabout.  But I had discovered the universal language of head butting cuts across all cultural boundaries.

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Getting cold and getting old

It is so cold I am sitting with a hot water bottle on my lap as I type.  There are several facets to growing older and one for me is the coldness of my extremities.   My hands and feet are like cold Icelandic fish and refuse to warm up.  A friend and I were discussing this aging business and there are some beauties.  Please feel free to add your own.

One was the definition of getting older – various insights/comments were shared

1.     Sitting on the toilet you discover a watermelon seed in the folds of your stomach.  The worrying thing is you cannot remember when you last ate a watermelon.

2.     You suddenly find the need to sit when putting on socks

3.     You suddenly find the need to pee when laughing at jokes

4.     All medical personnel appear to have barely finished primary school to you

5.     People in authority ask you weird questions like who is the present prime minster

6.     You think people in authority are really weird and not necessarily on your side

7.     When people ask you how you are – you really want to tell them the dire truth, including all the aches, pains and worries

8.     As you get older you don’t smell yourself, you don’t see the hair growing out of every orifice, wrinkly skin feels just as smooth as usual and you don’t hear your own farts.

9.     You learn to never take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night

10.       An "all-nighter" means not getting up to pee!

11.       You and your teeth don't sleep together anymore

12.       Your mind not only wanders. Sometimes it leaves completely

13.       Getting a little action means I don't need fibre today

14.    Getting lucky means you find your car in the car parkhe