Stacy Horn

In my book Damnation Island I have a quote from a paper titled, “The Social Waste of a Great City,” by Louis L. Seaman. I’ve been meaning to research Louis Seaman to learn more about him. He seems like such a decent man. What he wrote about the criminal justice system in the 19th century is equally true today.

This is what kills me about the inequality and how unfair it is: We have always known. Here’s the section where Seaman appears in my book:

In 1886, Louis L. Seaman, the former Chief of Staff of Blackwell’s Island hospitals, called the affiliation between crime and poverty a “diabolic Malaprop,” insisting that “The relation between crime and poverty is no more essential than between crime and wealth.” Where were the standing armies of police to monitor the crimes of the elite? Worse, the poor were not corrected on Blackwell’s Island; they were destroyed. “No man or woman who is ‘sent up’ to these colonies ever returns to the city scot-free,” Seaman railed. “There is a lien, visible or hidden, upon his or her present or future, which too often proves stronger than the best purposes and fairest opportunities of social rehabilitation.”

But the system is designed, financed, shored up, and defended from reform by the very criminals who benefit from it. This is why Elizabeth Warren must become president. She understands this better than any other candidate and understands the system enough to begin to untangle the web that protects the wealthy at the expense of the poor and middle class.

The non-famous ones. I have a nice view of the Empire State Building and One World Trade, but I’ve posted lots of shots of those. These aren’t the prettiest. Just the ones that caught my eye this afternoon. First up, a Jenga-style building. Not my favorite. Look at all the construction around it though.

Next, whats-his-face’s building. Jesus. What is his name?? Nope, not coming. Because I’m OLD. Had to google it. Julian Schnabel. Who is also old. Sorry, Julian. It is what it is.

I mean, they’re okay, but … eh. Also not my favorites, but I do like the lines they make.

I noticed there a number of buildings with structures that look like belfries in my neighborhood. What are they really used for? I want a belfry. And bats. Ever since one came into my apartment I’ve been love with bats. I watch videos of them on YouTube all the time. They are the sweetest things. “Where’s Stacy?” “Up in the belfry with her bats.”

I woke in the middle of the night, as per usual, and I ended up watching the Woodstock documentary on American Experience. It was a great documentary, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I will pay for this today at work.

I’ll never forgive myself for not going. I was only 13 years old and my mother wouldn’t let me go, but I’d already started ignoring my parent’s restrictions by that point, why did I listen to them then??

The most charming part of the documentary was Max Yasgar, the owner of the farm where the festival took place. I’ve been googling him this morning. His neighbors never forgave him apparently, and people point out that he did it because he thought it would be good for business.

So what if he did? As a person who runs a business I understand how important it becomes to do what you can to keep your business alive. As long as you’re not doing something that hurts people in order to accomplish that, fine.

In the early 1980’s I was a volunteer at the Gay Men’s Health Crisis. This was at the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. At our training session, they went around the room and each person had to give a selfish reason for why they were volunteering. If we didn’t have a selfish reason why we were doing this, the trainer explained, we would burn out too quickly. It was okay to be here for both altruistic and selfish reasons, he insisted. They didn’t cancel each other out.

(As an example, I posted that story for two reasons. One, in defense of Max Yasgur, and two, because I’m proud of my volunteer efforts and I guess I am showing off!)

It’s clear Max Yasgur was moved by the festival and the attendees, and had other non-selfish reasons for letting the organizers use his farm. You can listen to him address the crowd here. The sound quality is not great, but it gets better when Max speaks. He was a conservative republican, but he was also a man of integrity. I’ve been googling him, and I was sad to learn he only lived for a few more years after the festival. His son wrote a book that I want to get a hold of, Max B. Yasgur: The Woodstock Festival’s Famous Farmer. But I can only find two copies in libraries outside New York. I’ll have to see if I can get a copy via interlibrary loan.

The boys, hanging out as I google.

I’m not the only one who loves to watch the turtles in Central Park.

Turtles coming in for the kill. (Food?)

Every once in a while I fall in love with a patient at the ASPCA’s hospital where I work. This time it was a tiny kitten named Iggy. He came right to me whenever I visited him and climbed up to my face to look me in the eyes. Then he’d go to sleep in my hands. Yeah, you got me little one. His medical situation was dire however, and so I told everyone who would listen that I would foster him and do whatever it took.

But when radiographs were taken, his doctor explained to me that there was nothing to be done. They thought it was possibly megaesophagus, which I could have worked with him to treat, but there was a constriction of the esophagus just before the stomach, and food was never reaching his stomach. In the radiograph you could see it all piled up before the constriction, maybe an inch away from his stomach. I almost started sobbing right then and there, because as I’d carried Iggy out of the xray room we passed a plate of food and he cried out for it, twisting his body around trying desperately to reach it. Poor little Iggy was starving to death.

The only things to try to help him couldn’t be done at the ASPCA, and I don’t have the money to pay to have them done elsewhere. The decision was made to euthanize him. The necropsy revealed a persistent right aortic arch which was causing the constriction. I wouldn’t have been able to pay for the cardiac surgery to repair that either. It’s breaking my heart. I wanted to save him, but I couldn’t afford to save him. I’m mostly okay with my modest income, but not right now. It was just a matter of money, and he had to die.

The people I work with are so kind. Yessenia, one of my co-workers, called to tell me when they were going to put him down, because I wanted to be there. But I couldn’t get there in time. I wasn’t the only one who loved him so I knew he would not be alone (and he wasn’t). One of the doctors, Dr. Florence Lee, made me paw prints. And now I’m sobbing.

I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you Iggy. I’ll never forget you.