

Copyright © 2015 by Joseph P. Badame

All rights reserved.

### "OUR PEACE CORPS ADVENTURE IN TUNISIA"

Our Experience of Middle East Life

Written by

Joseph P. Badame

Inspired by Phyliss C. Badame

Smashwords Edition

First Edition

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Book design

by Joseph P. Badame

### "Among the many loving things a man can do for his woman,

### his soul mate, his love, his bride are these four:

### To love her passionately and unconditionally;

### To inspire and rejoice in her happiness;

### To suffer with her by her side during her trials;

### To honor her by writing adoringly about her when she is gone

### God has gifted me the privilege to have done all four.

### I have accomplished all that is of any importance in my life.

### Lord, my work is complete.

### I am ready to join her when You call."

Joseph P. Badame

2015

Lovingly dedicated to Phyliss

A Master Teacher all her life

still teaching after she is gone

**OUR PEACE CORPS ADVENTURE IN TUNISIA**

This story is composed of modified and expanded excerpts from the book, "My Teacher, My Bride," a love story and memoir. The book recounts a true story of the love affair between me and a remarkable woman you never heard of but should have. It is the celebration of her life and her triumph over her many trials.

Infatuation with my eighth grade teacher turned to true love and years later that love blossomed into our marriage in Rome and our service in the Peace Corps.

This story details a special segment of our lives. Our experiences can serve as an insight into the nature of Peace Corps service for those who have a general interest and particularly for those who might contemplate a similar experience for themselves or someone they love.

It is hoped that more importantly, the story can give a frightening awareness into how the manipulation of our world by evil forces have caused us to distance ourselves and abandon the altruism that existed a lifetime ago as it manifested itself in this extraordinary gesture of generosity and kindness to the world. Rather than enhancing and building on that tradition we have recklessly allowed ourselves to forsake its legacy.

I remember as a young man during the "Cold War" between the United States and the former Soviet Union similar saber rattling and chest beating, and world-threatening posturing on the world stage. Yet, any time I witnessed an event or gathering between common Soviet people and American people there was always friendship, courtesy, respect, and realization that we were all just human beings with common goals trying to make our way through the trials of life.

The animosity that presented its public persona seemed to dissolve on the personal level when common folks were interacting face to face. This was not an aberration, but rather a common and repeated occurrence. It happed during sports competitions, cultural exchanges, humanitarian aid during disasters, and interactions of tourism and many other encounters including, especially in the service of the Peace Corps.

It seemed that competing governments and countries could not live in harmony but different cultures of peoples had no problem in doing so. The animosity and conflict at the national level has been going on so long that it appears to be now filtering down to the individual level.

Because of leaders who lack the concept of goodness and with their quest for power, peoples of one culture and society have been manipulated into an increasing mistrust, dislike, and even hatred for each other on a personal level. Add religious zealots to the mix and the hatred explodes into conflict, war, barbarism, terrorism, and depravity, all in the name of a higher being. We have lost our moral compass as human beings immersed in our own self importance, greed, and hatred.

As you read of our experiences and the interactions and relationships with the people of the Arab/Moslem country of Tunisia, think of the tensions and conflict that have been antagonized by a minority in the world today. It breaks my heart, and it is frightening what evil forces are among us to destroy civil societies, our allies and our relations with them.

Today's world is in almost irreparable turmoil. Western and Eastern cultures are separated by vast differences greater than I can remember in my lifetime. The conflicts are great and many seemingly insurmountable. But, beneath the roar of rhetoric and slogans and the death and destruction of machines of war are commonalities that far exceed the differences in both number and importance, if we could just seek them out.

In this story is a photograph of five absolutely adorable brothers we befriended and who befriended us. Anyone would be honored to have them as their own children – respectful, kind, honest, a delight to be in their presence. As you look carefully at the photograph, imagine there are forces among the Middle East that without hesitation take innocent lives such as these and brainwash them into believing that by strapping a bomb on their bodies and killing and maiming people they don't know and have caused no harm to them will get them to paradise. Is there anything you can think of that is more depraved. And yet, it is happening, and no one seems to care – I mean really care, not just rhetoric. It makes my heart bleed and my soul cry out.

Technology has changed the way the world works. And as with everything with such power, it can be used for good or evil. Man is at critical time when this tug of war is on a fine line and can go either way. It is a major force in this system of creating straw men to hate and organize the masses to hate those who are different from them. It sounds like a conspiracy and it is. Hatred feeds Power. Our "leaders" have capitalized on this dark side of humanity to advance their own ambitions for that power. They have no souls.

My late wife, Phyliss, and I are from another generation, another world, another time, possibly another planet. The following story is an excerpt from the book, "My Teacher, My Bride" that documents our lives together over five decades. Part of that life was spent in Tunisia, North Africa for two years in the service of our country and the country of Tunisia. Our service took place from 1968 to 1970 – a lifetime ago. America, in the name of mankind, had just landed on the Moon.

Our story began 56 years ago when I was a student in her eighth grade English class. After I graduated from ninth grade she mentored me through high school. When I left for college our friendship had grown from friendship to fondness to love. For the years of my college education Phyliss suppressed her strong love for me and insisted that the exclusivity of our relationship would harm me, due to my youth and our sixteen-year age difference.

She continually implored me to date and associate with ladies of my own generation and age. I vehemently rebelled at the idea, and refused to follow her advice to fraternize. I was adamant about this. It was the only time I ever defied her usually-wise counsel.

All throughout my college years, I earnestly beseeched her to marry me. My efforts always fell on deaf ears. She was genuinely flattered, and said so, but politely declined my persistent proposals. I never realized, until years later, how desperately she wanted to say, "Yes." She was so skilled at self-sacrifice and concealing her own desires, to protect me. As she had done so many times before, Phyliss ignored her own happiness to help others. My success in life and the care of her mother took priority over her own aspirations.

But she was right, as always, to decline my offers. How could we dovetail my pursuit of my education, her responsibilities at home, and marriage? I really had no right to ask her to marry me. I had no way of supporting her and her mother without completing my education and securing gainful employment. The details of our friendship, courtship and finally marriage are detailed in a number of other books listed at the end of this story.

It was early, 1968. I was nearing the completion of my second year of graduate school in Seattle at the University of Washington. Phyliss and I discussed my future after graduating, extensively. I told her of my deep interest in the Peace Corps that John Kennedy had started. I found the prospect exciting. I was anxious to put my seven years of college to practical use, and the thought of helping others at the same time strongly appealed to me.

My somewhat misguided, faith in the worthiness of mankind, my desire to help others less fortunate, the great human suffering I observed around the world, and my optimism were strong incentives to join the Peace Corps. In large part, I attribute these desires to observing Phyliss conduct her benevolent life for the benefit of others for the previous twelve years.

I was twenty-five, and there was the ever present concern of my being drafted and entering the Vietnam War. This was a concern that weighed heavily on Phyliss continually throughout my college career. She could get no relief from this possibility to ease her concern. I was the love of her life. She could not bear the thought of my being separated from her, suffering, and dying. She would have gone to Vietnam in my place, if she could have arranged it. It haunts me that I was so unaware of her immense suffering regarding this possibility.

I cannot say that the prospect of going to Vietnam did not enter my mind in my Peace Corps decision making. However, I did not believe it was a major consideration since, like graduate school, I believed Peace Corps service was not considered a substitute for the draft by the military. I would have been still eligible to be drafted. Including this prospect in my thinking did not seem to be useful or constructive. I could still do good in the world in the service of my country while waiting to be summoned by the government of that same country to do evil.

Other of my architect volunteer contemporaries must have believed this to be a substitute for the draft. The draft ended several months after we arrived in Tunisia. About a third of them submitted their resignations and returned to America. Their leaving was certainly a black eye for American altruism in the eyes of the host country. It was not a sterling moment for our country, and it was an action that was difficult for me to reconcile and accept.

I was training to go overseas to help others and learning along side my colleagues with the same desire, or so I thought. The realization that many were there for a deceptive and selfish purpose shook me deeply. What was even more disconcerting was the thought that I had not perceived that deception. I was disturbed by my naivety. Unfortunately, it would not be the last occurrence of that deficiency.

It was only years later that I managed to assuage myself when I realized that the Peace Corps with all its training and psychological testing did not realize the deception either. I didn't feel so bad, but it was an important life lesson about trust that I learned. I began to understand what a novice I was in this field especially after years of close association with a woman I deeply loved and whose word was her bond.

Phyliss encouraged my pursuit of the Peace Corps as she did all my endeavors. I later found that she was secretly reluctant to give me encouragement because it meant more painful separation from me. Each time I traveled further from her, her love increased proportionately, as did her anxiety. She never showed me this discomfort, only enthusiasm. Again, she skillfully concealed her distress, and I was not observant enough or perhaps not mature enough, to fully appreciate and lessen her deep internal sadness. I am dismayed that I did not detect her anguish. She hid it so well; or I was so blind, or maybe a little of both.

Peace Corps training camp - Summer 1968 – the H bar G Ranch, Estes Park Colorado

Architects, Planners, and Family Educators

Without being aware of Phyliss' consternation, I placed my application for Peace Corps service with my preferred country selections: (1) the Philippine Islands; (2) Nepal; (3) Tunisia. What was I thinking? I was selected for Tunisia because of my degrees in Architecture and Urban Planning. Both disciplines were needed for this in-country assignment. Unknown to me, my acceptance in the program devastated Phyliss. She suppressed her personal feelings and hid this from me, and supported my participation for fear that it would interfere with my decision and my pursuits.

I graduated from U of W and flew home to an unusually, emotional, and tearful reunion with Phyliss. I had to soon leave her again for Estes Park, Colorado for Peace Corps orientation, training, and French lessons. Another unusually tearful departure took place as she concealed the disappointment of our separation, again. I still wasn't getting it.

I was not picking up the subtle signs of her devastation that were staring me in the face. I am so sorry I did not see them. I was truly dense. I must have had some subconscious awareness, since I was never again to miss her signs of concern and love for me and her discomfort of our being apart. Maybe there was hope for me yet.

The training near Estes Park took place in a series of farm buildings and barns at the H bar G ranch. Accommodations were purposely spartan and austere. The group consisted of about thirty, mostly male architects, and about one hundred twenty mostly female "family planning specialists."

There was, shall we say, considerable "fraternizing" between the two groups. I had no interest in the "extreme friendships" that blossomed around me. I had the best friend in the world waiting for me at home as she so loyally did for the past seven years.

What I perceived then, as years of opportunity and adventure, I now view as wasted years in comparison to what I left behind. I guess some of that feeling is my profound grief surfacing. Now, that she is gone, every moment I was not with her invokes extreme sorrow and pain – the same sorrow and pain she must have felt then.

The training was mostly psychological, which dismayed me, and French lessons which dismayed my demanding, but excellent but sometimes brutal Tunisian teachers. It was not my finest hour. To "pull up the ranks" they formed a class of the three poorest French students of whom I was the poorest. I was number one at the top in high school. I was number one at the bottom in French. It was a classic "Reversal of Fortune." Move over, Claus von Bülow.

As an adjunct to our academic training, we hiked each weekend in groups through Rocky Mountain National Park, nearby, to develop our physical endurance. Each excursion acclimated us to a greater altitude until the final outing to "Long's Peak" at fourteen thousand six hundred feet. Even with the gradual acclamation, breathing was laborious. The trips were difficult, but the beauty was extraordinary. The exercises developed our stamina and camaraderie among the volunteers. These developed friendships were useful, since we were called on to work together in-country a number of times.

After two months of intense training, we prospective volunteers flew to New York, where we connected to another flight to Tunis, Tunisia. As I was leaving the country for two years, Phyliss was entering her most difficult time. It was the beginning of the adult evening school year, where she was now the director, embarking on a brilliant new program of her own design. Again, I had no idea.

In 1968, overseas communication was a near impossible endeavor. Additionally, all communication with Tunisia was primitive at best. It is hard to fully appreciate this from where we are today. Voice communication was costly and had to be arranged through an operator who spoke no English, days, and sometimes, weeks in advance. Quality was poor, and phone locations were rare. There were always disappointments and glitches. There were only two telephones in my town of six thousand residence, one at the post office and one in the municipal building where I worked.

An air mail letter took a week. Air parcels were prohibitively expensive and sea parcels regularly took three months. Dealing with customs at each end for personal travel and parcels was a nightmare of regulations, red tape, and corruption. There was no way of dealing with the rules, since there did not seem to be any.

When you left the country, you might as well have gone to the Moon. Ironically, men would go to the Moon later that year and have superior communications with Earth than we did with home.

Additionally, volunteers could not return home for the two-year duration of service. This was a major isolation and separation for Phyliss that I did not fully comprehend. Phyliss did and it secretly dismayed her terribly.

The intense activity and excitement further hid from me her ravaged emotions, yet she dispatched her overwhelming responsibilities, flawlessly, as always, while I was busy touring the world. I am so ashamed that I did not feel the full magnitude of her suffering until I wrote this page. How could I have been so self-absorbed and detached from the one I loved so deeply?

If this story gives you the impression I was dopey, I was.

**TUNISIA, THE PEACE CORPS WITHOUT PHYLISS**

In Tunisia, we volunteers embarked on another month of orientation, including travel in the desert, more training in French, and medical training to survive in a rudimentary medical system with uncommon, foreign diseases and ailments. By the end of the tour, most of us were quite ill from "unusual cuisine," unfriendly Tunisian intestinal critters, and the ravages of "Tunisian toilets."

There was no toilet paper. We got first "hand" experience about why you should never give a salutation by shaking with your left hand. Personal hygiene and clean water were long, lost memories. There was no bottled water, but I do remember a coke machine at one of the oases we visited in the middle of the desert! You can't beat American capitalism! The sodas were cold! Where did they get the electricity?

We were exhausted, and every orifice was filled with sand. The 100+F heat was overbearing at first. But, then the sirocco came and we found out what real heat was. The cars had no air conditioning, of course, but, the interior was "cooler" with the windows closed. Opening the windows was akin to opening the door to your oven. When it passed the next day, much of the outside of the car had been sandblasted. Many were ready to go home. I may have considered it, but I could not quit now after all those French lessons. Could I?

On our fourth day, we ascended an unusually steep incline for about three miles. As we approached the crest a Tunisian riding and camel appeared. He had two other camels carrying his belongings. The two got spooked broke loose and ran for miles down the hill they had just negotiated. The man was furious. We didn't stay around to find out how curious as we passed the two camels at the bottom of the incline. What a start to our service that was. What do they call us – the ugly Americans?

We finally returned to Tunis, leaving two destroyed Fiats, several useless cameras, much of our stomach contents, and thousands of smelly camels in the southern desert. Thank goodness for the Peugeot four hundreds. I was never impressed with French engineering of automobiles. But they got it right this time. They fared much better than the Fiats and got us "home." The reaction at the rental agency was interesting when we returned with only two of the four cars and the two we returned were basically destroyed. It was fun finishing the trip with six in each car with four seats. We got to know each other rather well. I guess that was good.

The trip was exciting, way beyond hot, informative, and very well-planned by the Peace Corps, despite being totally out of my comfort zone. It appears that was the idea. It was to be expected on such an adventure and was obviously a major part of the training to discourage those who were not committed. The object was to have volunteers quit during training rather than six months into their service.

We met for administrative issues, and to be given our individual assignments around the country. The Peace Corps doctor gave us a medical kit with a bunch of prescription medications, a lecture on how to use them, how to stay reasonably healthy on our own, and a warning never to go into a Tunisian swimming pool because of parasites and lack of chlorination.

This was an activity many had already engaged in during our tour - an admonition too late. At the time, it had not looked very inviting to me, thank goodness. I still remember being particularly impressed with the one gallon jar he showed us with a tape worm that once had a close "friendship" with a former volunteer.

Doctors, clinics, hospitals, or any kind of medical services were non-existent in the small towns throughout Tunisia. Help was usually days away. However, each town had a pharmacy of sorts and the pharmacists were remarkably knowledgeable, friendly, and familiar with the ailments and diseases that were prevalent in this unfamiliar environment. Their wise and affable advice saved many volunteers from unneeded suffering and ill health.

This was a tense time. A time when volunteers would be matched to manpower needs of the country. My assignment would determine the nature of my life for the next two years. We knew that many of the places we visited, regardless of their desirability or undesirability, would be someone's "home" for the duration of his service. Some places were very lonely, isolated, and forbidding places, indeed.

One assignment was to occupy an oasis, to study the water supply, another was to live in solitude in a full-sized facsimile of the Roman Coliseum at "El Djem" in the middle of the Tunisian desert and document the mostly unrecorded structure, for two years. Yet other assignments were in large cities such as Tunis, Carthage, and Sfax in various locations and disciplines. The range and demands of the assignments were quite varied.

I waited eagerly for the decisions with some trepidation, but also with a sense of anticipation and adventure. After all, that was part of the reason for being there in the first place.

The anticipated moment came for the assignments to be announced. My responsibility was to be the architect and planner of EzZahra, a small town of six thousand inhabitants, located about six kilometers south of Tunis, the capital. The Mayor of the town was also the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Tunisia, a fact that was not lost in the commission of an architect for this small town. My assignment piqued my curiosity, and it seemed it would be very interesting and challenging.

It was a commendable compromise between isolation and proximity to the large capital city of Tunis. Being located on the Mediterranean Sea was not a feature that did not go unnoticed. There was regular train service to Tunis and a train station in town. I was pleased. I certainly still had a degree of angst, but the introduction of the unknown back into my life was strangely familiar and was reminiscent of the uncertainty I experienced in my early childhood.

After the assignments were announced each volunteer was responsible for traveling to his location, meeting his Tunisian counterparts, and finding suitable housing. At this point, we were all on our own. For something that was so different and adventuresome I seem to have no memory of the experience of how I got to my town. Sometimes we don't realize how fortunate we are today having a smart phone with almost unlimited memory to document every part of our lives at no cost beyond the price of the device. Recording sounds, photos, and especially film was a major commitment and expensive undertaking.

I arrived in EzZahra, and it appeared quite accommodating compared to many of the places we visited on our tour. The town was a pleasant mixture of elements of European and Arabic features. It had a municipal building in which I was assigned an office.

I was the only formally trained professional in the office, but my Tunisian office cohorts were well-educated, extremely capable and diligent, knowledgeable, respectful, accommodating, and very friendly. In fact, we had an excellent professional relationship and with some, a close personal friendship ensued for my entire stay. The overworked cliché, "some of my best friends are Tunisians," was clearly true in my case.

My service was at the behest of the Mayor and would include the design and construction of several municipal buildings, design of new subdivisions for the expanding town, design of private villas for the "connected," and conversion of abandon structures, some dating from World War II, to useful purposes. It was quite a challenging itinerary for a novice architect and planner.

My horrible performance in French classes in Estes Park left me with almost no communications skills, short of body language, smiling, and head-nodding which would be perfected in Rome with Phyliss while getting our marriage license.

One more month of lessons under the, shall we say, delightful tutelage of a lovely young French lass by the pool and a short, one-month emersion on-site, remedied that nicely. "Necessity truly is the mother of invention." I finally understood what they were saying, and the Tunisians could understand me too, more or less! They were very kind and patient with me. It had been a bumpy ride, indeed.

The business language in Tunisia is French, (a former French colony until independence in 1956 when Habib Bourguiba came to power). The common language among the people is Arabic. In our little town there were a number of individuals who spoke Italian, German, and Bulgarian. We never met anyone who spoke English.

Phyliss and I would later have less success learning Arabic from a native Tunisian. He knew no English and little French and tried to teach us Arabic speaking German. Was that fun? Where did he learn German?

We thought we were learning gibberish and baby talk in Arabic from our landlord's adopted urchin, Hinda, until Phyliss noticed the engineers in her office speaking identically. That woke us up. Written Arabic was enjoyable. It is both an ancient language and an art form at the same time. Speaking Arabic? I still don't get it at all. Just writing from right to left is disconcerting enough. The Tunisians, however, seemed to appreciate that we were trying. We chose to stick with the French during our stay.

My work at the Municipality was productive, valuable, and rewarding. I was paid the equivalent of one hundred twenty dollars a month by the Peace Corps, a salary equivalent to a Tunisian of the same skill at the time.

I was able to find a "box" made of masonry inside and out with four rooms that the Tunisians called a "villa." This place was actually quite deluxe by Tunisian standards. It was located right across the street from a grocery store of sorts and a meat market.

Hinda and Joseph – 1968 - I think I still have that shirt

The meat market sold lamb at 7:00 a.m. until about 8:00 a.m. when the meat was exhausted. The "villa" had running water and a fifteen-amp circuit that worked most days. The water system in the entire town was made out of one hundred percent pure lead and leaked so badly it was turned off from 6:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., as was the electricity. There will be more about the lead piping and its devastating effects later. The rent was equal to forty dollars a month. There was no heat. There were no window screens, but few flying insects.

The "villa" had a real bathroom. It had an English flushing toilet, a real bathtub, and an instantaneous, propane water heater that worked occasionally when the water pressure was adequate. The kitchen contained a laundry sink and a two-burner propane camping stove. Counters and cabinets, what are they?

I had no idea where the sewage went and did not ask. I did know for sure that it left the apartment with dispatch and did not come back the entire time I was there. For that I was eternally grateful.

The bedroom had a rudimentary bed with a straw mattress - very uncomfortable; I thought I was back at the H bar G Ranch in Colorado. As loyal as I had been to Phyliss all those years in the States, in Tunisia I would not be sleeping alone. This would be a near impossible secret to conceal? How could I keep this terrible transgression from her? I decided that I didn't think she would complain too much, however. The bed bugs were there first, and they were evicted before she arrived.

Detail Map of Tunisia

Our little town of EzZahra is about where the number two is on the Gulf of Tunis

If you are ever bored and want to have some real fun, buy a double mattress in Tunis, haul it to the train station on your back, a half-mile away, ride it home on a crowded train, amid the stares of the local people and haul it home a mile at the other end. Now I realized why Peace Corps training included climbing Longs Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park. The Tunisians watched in amazement as I went through all that trouble to buy and transport something that had no use whatsoever. Most of them slept on the ground.

There actually was a refrigerator in the "villa," in the living room. Tunisians did not use refrigerators. Most did not even have electricity. It was put in the living room to impress others when they visited and foreign renters, but it was brand-new and it did work. This was a great find! I did move it into the "kitchen"; crazy American; the landlord moved it back to the living room, when Phyliss and I left.

The landlord and her aging, wonderful father, a real Tunisian gentleman, lived in a traditional courtyard house attached to the rear of the "villa." The most glorious part of the "villa" and of our stay in Tunisia was the occupant of the courtyard, the one and a half year-old girl that the landlord and her father "bought" from a prostitute in Tunis.

This tiny urchin was to give me and Phyliss when she arrived, her unconditional love and adoration for almost two glorious years. She was a sweetheart and was to warm our hearts every day with the gift of joy. One exception was the day she deposited an adult-sized "gift" from her pants onto the kitchen floor. It was only one of six hundred days; that's not bad for a little one. She had such a surprised look on her face. "Where on earth did that come from?" Actually, we did too.

**OUR MARRIAGE IN ROME**

At this place in our story Phyliss and I "eloped" and meeting in Rome, got married and returned to Tunisia to serve together. Our marriage in Rome is a story in of itself and is told in a separate short story apply entitled "Our Marriage in Saint Peter's Basilica." If you wish to know more about it, you can find it listed with the other books of my authorship at "Smashwords.com," also at no charge. The books are all detailed and described along with hyperlinks at the end of this story. Enjoy. But, now back to the Peace Corps - only now with Phyliss, by bride at my side.

**TUNISIA, THE PEACE CORPS WITH PHYLISS**

The day after we were married, we packed up, went to the airport just outside Rome and flew to Tunis. It was a wonderful flight with Phyliss sitting by my side. It seemed that there was no one else on the plane, well except the pilot. We can't forget him. I felt like I was sitting next to Phyliss with our legs touching in her car those many years before. Neither one of us would have dreamed we would be sitting here as husband and wife looking down on Rome.

When we landed in Tunisia, we took a cab to EzZahra and got out in front of the "villa." I was so proud of my accomplishment of arranging our married life in the Peace Corps. We were in an exotic country. I was assigned to a pleasant town on the Mediterranean Coast. The people were friendly. I had rented an acceptable accommodation with occasional running water and a real bathroom. The landlord and her father were wonderful, and Hinda was adorable. What more could two love birds want? Again, I had done very well. We were married. We were together. We were in love. We were in paradise. I was so anxious that Phyliss would be so pleased.

I opened the gate, and we walked to the front door. Phyliss started sobbing, "This is where we are going to live for the next two years?" She could hardly get the words out. There was never any anger in her voice with me, but she sounded deeply melancholy. We had been married for only one day and already I had messed up, big time. If there ever were a "men are from Mars, women are from Venus" moment, this was it! I felt like calling 911 but there was no 911. There wasn't even a phone! I put my arm around her, and we walked in.

We sat on the edge of the deluxe, new mattress, without any bedbugs, from Tunis. I consoled her as no one else could. She stopped crying, and we talked. Maybe I hadn't messed up? It seemed that the shock of where we were to live was not really the issue. She would live anywhere, as long as it was with me. The "villa" and her reaction to it were merely symptoms, not the underlying causes of her dismay.

The pouring out of her emotion was the culmination of a decade of suppressing her deep love for me. And now, our mutual love had been formally ordained by God, no more uncertainty, we belonged to each other, as one person, "for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, till death do us part." The majesty of this moment overwhelmed her, and then it overwhelmed me.

From that day forward, I made certain that she would never have to suppress her love for me nor worry that we were not to be by each other's side until our last minute. How prophetic that thought would become.

This day signaled my first realization that a transitional milestone of our love affair had been reached. The transition was to be a gradual change from her care of me, to our care of each other, and finally somewhat sadly . . . to my care of her. I had no idea how necessary this transition would be for her to bear her many trials that were to come, all too soon.

What more could a man ask for?

The realization that I would necessarily become her "rock" as she had been mine for so long made me sad, but, at the same time, it made my spirit soar.

Phyliss readily and quickly adapted to our new environment. She blossomed and savored our married life and grew to recognize that we were in paradise. Our creature comforts were being adequately met, the people were marvelous, and Hinda adored her as much as I did. The feeling of love for Phyliss was mutual for Hinda and me.

What more could a man ask for?

My favorite picture was taken at our doorstep.

The relation among Hinda, her adoptive mother, and adoptive grandfather and me was truly special from the very first day I arrived in Tunisia. But, when I returned with Phyliss as my wife, everything changed. The bond among the three of them and Phyliss was remarkable indeed. There immediately developed a sense of love and family that lasted our entire stay and beyond. It was a wonderful beginning to our marriage. One day we were joined in a holy place and the next day we already were an amorous family with an adorable child. How many can say that? What more could a man ask for? This was truly to be paradise.

I settled back into my responsibilities at the Municipality and was kindly welcomed back as a married man. There was sincere interest in meeting my new bride. This interest was to be satisfied during many social invitations from my co-workers and friends in town as word spread about my return with a new wife. It was an "event."

I have no idea what they were discussing – gestures and all

I think Hinda made her point.

Phyliss fully enjoyed and savored the remarkable change from responsibilities at home, and the frantic arrangements to leave, marry, and establish a new life. She relaxed. Leisurely life without challenges and useful accomplishment, however, was not in her nature.

Her contact with me during my working hours, by necessity, was little. Since we had mounting expenses at home, and my salary was based on Tunisian standards, she searched and found employment in Tunis as a secretary and translator for the "Direction Générale des Ponts et Chaussées." This was the department of bridges and roads, the equivalent of our Federal Department of Transportation in the United States.

Phyliss' boss and his wife enjoying Hinda's school party –

she wanted to sit on Phyliss' lap

The office was about a half hour ride on the train from EzZahra. I rode Phyliss to the train station on the handlebars of our bike each morning until we got "busted" by the local police. After, Phyliss got her exercise walking the four blocks to the station. She did not mind, the weather was always beautiful, and it was safe everywhere, back then.

We were relaxing with two dear friends. There were no distractions, just simple human interaction. The positive reaction to Phyliss was immediate. They loved her as I did.

Phyliss cuts a birthday cake she made for our friends. Phyliss was always baking for everyone. Yummy

She found her work rewarding, and she enjoyed working with the engineers. The men in the office were true professionals. They were industrious, courteous, and kind gentlemen. Phyliss and I developed a lasting friendship with the office chief and his wife.

The Tunisian government sent him to the United States for his education. When he decided to stay there, they sent two secret service agents to "persuade" him otherwise and "escort" him home. He and his future wife were so lucky they brought him back. When he returned, he met and married a truly charming and gracious woman from Norway. We became the best of friends and enjoyed many social encounters and a few trips around the country.

There was more wonderful camaraderie.

Madame Zakia and Hinda are in the courtyard after Hinda's "bath."

A bath for the tiny one from Madam Zakia was more like a "friendly and loving assault on dirt," if there is such a thing. Oh, my.

As we settled down in our respective jobs, we established a routine life in our new home. That routine continued a deepening, rewarding, and affectionate relation with our landlord, her father and Hinda. This bond formed the centerpiece of our stay in Tunisia and enriched our lives immensely during and after our service.

During our stay in Tunisia, Phyliss and I conducted ourselves as model representatives of our beloved country. We saw ourselves as ambassadors, representing our wonderful country and the good people of America. We encouraged friendly social contact outside our formal duties. Our relations with the people of Tunisian were extensive.

As the only Americans in our town and the only contact most Tunisians had with Americans, we welcomed an interest in us and always responded positively to the shower of social invitations we received for dinners, Ramadan celebrations, birthdays, weddings, camping trips, and just informal and impromptu, evening discussions. Our social calendar was packed with events, and we loved it.

One of my most vivid memories in Tunisia with my love was the overwhelmingly significant role that she played in executing our duties and benefiting the people with whom we came in contact - especially the young girls and women.

What do I mean? I was in-country at my job for about three months alone. The wonderful manager of our Peace Corps group granted us permission to marry after service began. Phyliss returned with me to Tunisia from Rome after our union.

I had the rare opportunity to witness the reaction of people in a foreign land to me alone and then to me with Phyliss by my side. When I arrived, I was received cordially and was readily socially accepted in friendship and kindness. Well, I was a man in a man's world who had come there to help them, that did not surprise me, but I was pleased.

It was a glorious camping trip with friends.

Enter Phyliss. Phyliss was immediately a "star." When we were in a social setting, I felt like John Kennedy accompanying Jackie Kennedy. I cannot compare my skills to Jack Kennedy, but Phyliss could give Jackie some competition. What an extraordinary ambassador she would be during our stay.

These are our five favorite brothers. Their smiles tell it all – kind, respectful, loving, generous, and filled with friendship and joy.

What evil forces are there in this world among our leaders that would cause wonderful children just like these from the Middle Eastern countries and generous and caring Americans from our country to become fierce enemies in only a few decades? The thought defies all that is good in humanity. I can only hope that the people responsible for this travesty will burn in Hell. Please pray for the good people of Tunisia and of our country as well that we will all be spared the horror that is upon us.

We were in a country where women were not formally educated even to elementary level and never left the house without being completely covered by a sefsari. Here was Phyliss, an attractive, master's degree educated, engaging, and accomplished career woman and wife, in western dress, able to speak English, Spanish, Italian, and French. Moreover, she was being treated as an equal by her adoring husband. The other men followed suit.

The overwhelmingly positive reaction to her was universal not only from the Tunisian women and children but also the Tunisian men. If that were not enough, she almost always arrived with a beautiful cake she had freshly baked. She could cook too! I was just there to make sure she arrived and returned home safely.

The transformation of acceptance and approval between "Joseph" and "Phyliss and Joseph" was truly remarkable and eye-opening.

These experiences in a foreign land only increased my love for her and made me realize what I already knew: that I could not live without her and I told her so. I was so fortunate and thankful I married her. But now, for the first time, as I write this chapter, I had an epiphany about Phyliss' presence in Tunisia with me. It occurred to me that her major accomplishment was not her engaging manner and her diplomacy.

Certainly, they were marvelous, and left a lasting impression and friendship with everyone with whom she came in contact. But, as always with Phyliss the educator, it was not that simple. There was more undetected teaching to come from dear Phyliss, much more.

Her real accomplishment again was not educating just by lesson, but also by example.

Every Tunisian girl and young woman, who met her, saw in her and her husband, a shining example of who they could be and how their future husband could treat them. Every Tunisian wife, who met her, saw in her, hope of who she could be and how her husband could treat her, and who her daughter could be and how her future husband could treat her. Every Tunisian husband who met her saw in her the potential of who his wife and daughters could be.

This was Phyliss' true accomplishment in Tunisia. She did it all right in front of all of us without anyone suspecting that they were being taught a most important lesson of life.

The lesson: Women and children must be given equality of opportunity and should be treated with respect as equals to men. She taught an incontrovertible truth that violated the norm of that foreign society at that time. I fear that norm has reached greater prominence today. She taught the lesson again by example and role model without causing anxiety, dismay, animosity, or conflict.

When the lesson was taught, everyone still had a smile on his or her face. She did it with such grace and so effortlessly. This was the hallmark of the master teacher that was Phyliss. The country did not matter: America or Tunisia. The language did not matter: English, Spanish, Italian, or French. The age did not matter: young or old. The gender did not matter: male or female. Her appeal, impact and influence were substantial, undeniable and universal.

How devoted and skilled was she? How fortunate they would be.

We both volunteered, one day a week, to serve at a local, government-sponsored "day-care" for emotionally challenged children. It was Phyliss and I who were to be the challenged. Our service was done generally through one-on-one contact with children for an eight-hour day.

The building serving as a "school" was located directly facing the beach. One day, the "director" suggested we take our two children out to play in the sand as a change from being inside. It seemed like and excellent suggestion. After all, what did we know, this was volunteer work, and we had little training in this discipline. We readily complied.

Phyliss cared for one of the hyperactive children, a very strong fourteen-year-old girl who was large for her age. I cared for a six-year-old boy, also very active and not prone to follow direction. In fact, neither was known for being able to communicate and respond effectively. We discussed our plan and decided to concentrate individually on our respective child, but maintain awareness of each other, just in case. We further agreed that we would maintain a "safe" distance from the water, since the beach was not that wide and the water presented a potential danger to the children and us.

We were out a short time, and I was distracted by the little boy for only a minute. I looked up, to see the girl dragging Phyliss to the water. Neither could swim. By the time I reached them, they were in hip-deep water. We managed all to get to the water line and back to the little boy who had remarkably continued to play with the sand. We returned to the "school" exhausted, cold, soaked, and covered with sand. We did not try that again.

Remarkably, by chance that day, we did find a sole activity on which the dear little boy could "focus." We returned him to the beach often - two-on-one, without the not-so-little girl. Somehow the sand proved to be a therapy for him, where every other activity had failed. Several small victories were achieved that day where victories were rare. We had found an activity that opened the world, just a bit, for the little boy, and we all were able to leave that day with our lives and our shaken self-confidence.

It looks like they are playing.

But, it was Phyliss' way of "integrating" our little bought baby into accepted society.

She was truly a master. Hinda is holding her left hand. The children, of course, were unaware of her crafty agenda. This 'mingling of classes" in their society was never done but was entirely accepted with Phyliss at the helm.

Little rich girl, little poor girl, together

Phyliss always pushed the social envelope

After several weeks, the" little" girl stopped attending the school. We never saw her again. Our thoughts were with her often after she disappeared. Such a tortured, lonely, and sad spirit she was to apparently live without being able to give or receive love. Her heartbreaking circumstance reinforced our belief of how fortunate we both were to have each other to love.

When we got home that day, we were both spent. We discussed the happenings of the day. The experiences at the school, our other responsibilities, finances, and Phyliss' age were major determinants in our deciding not to have any children. Throughout the years, I think we both had vacillating thoughts about whether we had made the right choice. What a mother she would have been. She was destined never to be a mother who mothered everyone.

Hinda and Sabrina playing with balloons

It was my turn to play "social engineer."

Phyliss' natural affinity to be a mother was illustrated profoundly in her relationship with Hinda. Her motherly instincts and her passion to help the downtrodden made the two of them a perfect match. Hinda's start in life as a female in a man's world and the daughter of a prostitute in a Moslem country put her about as low as one could go on the social ladder. She wasn't even on the ladder.

Hinda's first salvation was the generosity and compassion of her adoptive mother and grandfather. No one wanted the poor little girl. God was kind to her a second time by sending Phyliss to her and her adoptive mother and grandfather in their hour of need.

Phyliss and Hinda fell in love with each other as quickly as we did with each other. Their love affair may have been even more intense than ours. I was not the least bit jealous. I think it could have been called a love triangle, in today's terminology with a much different connotation. It was a "triangle" of which I was honored to be member.

Phyliss immediately saw the need and just as quickly met it. She made it her passion to take this little waif, a reject of society, with no status or future and provide her with the opportunities of the most fortunate in their society. She did it as she did everything, professionally, quietly, and without ostentation.

Being the only Americans in our town, we became social magnets and uncharacteristically, we relished the position. After all we were not there to enjoy ourselves, although enjoy ourselves we did. We were there to represent our country in the best possible manner.

As such, we attracted many of the Tunisians of stature in town. One such family owned a cabinet assembly shop in town and was quite well off. He and his wife had a little girl that was, shall we say not pleasant to be around but with social status. Phyliss picked up immediately the value in establishing a friendship between Hinda and Sabrina. This was a friendship that would have never taken place in a society with such a social hierarchy.

Hinda is enjoying her birthday party with the children of the neighborhood

By associating the two girls, Phyliss pulled Hinda, Zakia, and her father out of their rejected status and into the mainstream of the society of the town. After all, they were friends with the Americans, and now with the Tunisian elite. The created friendship between the two girls grew into a real friendship and eventually thrust Hinda into a position of being sought as a friend by other parents and children. By the time our service was complete and we had to leave, our little one was well on her way to leading a life of enhanced opportunity and happiness. Another mission accomplished by the love of Phyliss. She had done it again.

Mutual adoration

The Tunisia people in EzZahra and around the country were, without exception, friendly, welcoming, respectful, and sincere. I would say that some of our best friends of our lives were Tunisians. We missed them dearly when we left. The feeling was certainly mutual, and we had many tearful goodbyes.

We had nothing but wonderful memories of our first two years of our married life. It seemed like Heaven, being with the woman I loved every day and surrounded by a beautiful country, and beautiful people. I was so pleased she had agreed to marry me and join me in Tunisia.

Apart, what a different, lonely, and much less rewarding and productive experience it would have been for me and likewise for her back home. Again Mr. Palumbo's, a teaching contemporary of Phyliss,' observation was prophetic so many years prior. Once more, it was proven how much better we were together than apart. It certainly would have been a less rewarding experience for the Tunisians we touched, as well.

A friendly game of checkers on a family picnic in the countryside is a fond memory as Phyliss, Madam Paul and her niece plan a devious move against the men. The poor guys didn't have a chance. I warned the guys, but they knew better.

When we started, it seemed that the obvious goal of our service was to improve the lives of the people we served by contributing to the upgrading their institutions and their infrastructure. This was done by providing skilled individuals in disciplines that receiving countries did not have and were not able to produce. We volunteers were then tasked to simultaneously establish the framework for the Tunisians to produce their own, locally-educated professionals to take over our task, effectively putting the Peace Corps endeavor out of business, shall we say. That we certainly did with vigor and enthusiasm.

Four years later, the University of Tunis with us volunteer teachers and the curriculum we developed, produced the first graduating class of native Tunisian architects. In an additional six years, the Peace Corps architectural program was terminated because there were sufficient locally-educated Tunisians coming out of the University to fill the country's needs.

The Peace Corps formal goal was a total success. We had made ourselves unnecessary, we were out of business and unemployed and the people of Tunisia were on the road to real independence. We gave them fish and began teaching them how to fish at the same time. Once we finished teaching them how to fish, we were no longer needed. How wonderful it felt to give an entire society the tools they needed to become self-reliant. It was great for them and great for us. We quietly left the country with no awards, no formal recognition, no fan fare, and no announcement to the world what good we had done. The cost to the American taxpayers was negligible, but the benefit and the good will were immeasurable. Now, why can't our government's foreign aid program get that?

We were "gently persuaded" into donning traditional Tunisian vestments for this photo.

It was amazing, what we were asked to do for our country. I actually look Tunisian.

John Kennedy, a democrat, yes, but a conservative as well, comprehended that principle decades ago. Did you ever notice? Democrats don't really quote him much any more, curious? He gave us our modern world with the manned space program. In my opinion, this endeavor and the Peace Corps returned more benefits to our country and the world, than all other programs combined, before or after. Our present leadership has destroyed this advancement along with our spirit, our fiber, and our country. How does the phrase go? "We are dead and don't know it." We and our children will not see such miracles again in our lifetimes, or maybe ever. How terribly we have regressed.

Leaving this earth, my dear, was so sad for me, but so timely for you. Your wisdom was always unequaled. I am just so sad I could not accompany you. Maybe soon, I will.

We found that Peace Corps volunteers could extend their service for an additional year if they wished. Phyliss and I were thrilled at the chance to spend another year enjoying each other and our work in Tunisia. Unfortunately, they had a very strange rule that made it near impossible for us to stay.

The one-year extended service had to be in another country of their choice. This would require more training, another language to learn, and another orientation. To go through all that preparation for just nine or ten months of service, just didn't make sense to us. Besides, I don't think I could have dealt with learning another language.

Frankly, Phyliss' responsibilities, which were now our responsibilities, were summoning us to return. We withdrew our request. We would have to go "home" after all. In retrospect, knowing that those two years may have been the happiest of our lives, certainly the happiest I had ever seen my love, I should have tried so much harder to stay with our friends for another year. The lesson: in life, fight for what you know is right. The chance may never return. Ours did not.

As our service came to a close, we had the depressing task of packing. It was amazing how much we had accumulated in two years. It was as if we thought we were going to stay forever. We had wished we could have. Maybe we felt, that if we established ourselves well enough, we would have to stay. Our strategy did not work.

The day before we left, Phyliss and I took the train to Tunis to bid farewell to the engineers she had worked with during our stay. I got to know them well, but I had not visited them in their office setting while in our service.

During the goodbyes with all the office personnel, I sensed for the first time, the magnitude of the friendship and respect they had for Phyliss, and it was inescapably mutual. Every member of the staff was, without exception, truly touched by her and so sad to lose her. It was an emotion that I did not fully appreciate at the time until I would be forced to encounter it myself so devastatingly many years later.

The next day we made a tour of our town to bid farewell to all the wonderful people and co-workers we had met in our two years. Most were mutually sad and tearful good byes. Many were dear friends that we would, most likely, never see again. It was an emotional day for us both and apparently equally for them as well. Realizing that their attachment to us was so strong lessened the sadness for us.

Phyliss captured a priceless moment.

We did not tell her to pose like that.

The last persons we left were Hinda, her mother and grandfather. She was a little older than three now, a big girl, but we could tell she did not fully understand that we were saying goodbye for the last time, at least initially. The unusually long and tight hugs, the tears, our unsteady voices, and our body language that revealed our reluctance to part, certainly did not go unnoticed by this unusually observant child. She sensed something was different – "bad" different, not "good" different.

I opened the car door for Phyliss, she got in; I closed the door, and went around and got into the tiny cab. We settled ourselves, verified our destination, and the driver pulled away ever so slowly. He, like our little girl knew well, we didn't really want to leave. It was a physically cloudy and damp day and an emotionally foreboding day, as the cab began accelerating away from our life of the past two years.

We looked out of the rear window and saw Hinda crying as she began to understand this was not a normal parting. She looked up at Zakia as if hoping she would give some sign that this was not what she thought it was. No such assurance came.

As she turned again to look at the receding cab, I will never forget her forlorned expression of "Why are they leaving without me?" Her already tiny body grew smaller and smaller in the back window. The entire tragedy took only a moment, but I remember every second and every image. It was heartbreaking to watch as we turned the corner and she disappeared. When we would return many years later it was pure joy. But, it was with the realization that the little girl we left behind, in fact, had disappeared and existed only in our fond memories.

We evidently arrived at the Tunis airport, did what you usually do at an airport, boarded our plane and took off for New York. I say "evidently" since as vivid as the image of leaving Hinda was, the next hours were equally indistinct. I don't remember a moment.

As we gained altitude, and we broke though the clouds, Tunis disappeared as if in a dream. "Had we really spent the last two years of our lives in that fairy land below us?" Indeed, we had, and it was heaven. The irony of the reversal was not lost on us. Heaven was supposed to be up here above the clouds, but for two years it was down there below the clouds.

We were sad during the trip back to the U.S., and for many years after. We talked about her and our other friends we left behind for the rest of our lives. And, even now, 45 years later, I am writing about their lasting and positive influence on us.

Peace Corps and Peace Corps-like service is not for everyone. However, the experience of volunteering your skills and time and of traveling to a foreign land to help strangers is a worthy endeavor to consider, especially new graduates or a newly-married couple. There are few things in life as rewarding as freely giving yourself to other human beings, with no other motive except to improve their lives, and asking not one thing of them in return.

When making a decision for possible service, keep in mind that the world is a much different place than it was in 1968. Helping others is admirable but not at the risk of being in a horrible situation or being in the middle of an international incident. Carry out your deliberation carefully and wisely. How sad to think that the good we did may never have happened for fear of circumstances. War and disruption not only directly harms the world but the collateral damage of preventing progress and good from happening is equally harmful but never considered.

Nevertheless, the experience can enrich those first amorous years of marriage with a common bond and purpose. The sacrifices you make for the people you serve, will form the foundation for the sacrifices you must make for each other to achieve a lasting and loving marriage. You might want to give it a try. You just might meet some little urchin like Hinda to love and have her love you.

Our Return to Paradise

Forty-one years after that first wonderful flight with my darling, we were flying home on our last flight in each other's company, and, I regret, her last flight ever. We were returning from one of our most wonderful experiences of our lives together. The flight was our return to New York from a Mediterranean cruise that started and ended in Barcelona.

We wanted to return to Tunisia for the longest time, but we never could seem to make it happen. One day we became aware of a cruise that sailed out of Barcelona, Spain and stopped a day in the port of La Goulette, Tunisia and also boasted a day in the port of Civitavecchia (Rome).

This excursion was too tempting to ignore. We could make a pilgrimage to the chapel where we married in St. Peter's Basilica and visit Hinda in Tunisia both on the same glorious trip. A pure bonus would be visiting Palermo where my grandparents were born, Monte Carlo, Monaco during the Grande Prix race, and Marseille, France. That would be so wonderful. The opportunity and the rare confluence of having the time, the resources, the health, and the means to accomplish this marvelous excursion were not wasted on us.

This was a chance of a lifetime to accomplish more than we imagined we could. Indeed, five years later, circumstances would make such an ambitious trip impossible regardless of opportunity. Beyond our imagination, Phyliss would have a massive stroke, making such a physically demanding venture impossible.

The moral: never ever let an opportunity pass you by to gift your spouse with a treasured experience. You may never get a second chance. Somehow, I realized that this was such a moment in time, once lost, would not be able to be retrieved. How fortunate that we did not let it pass.

We seized the opportunity almost as if we knew what the future would hold. None of us knows how much time the Lord will give us. We should use it, and use it wisely.

We flew to Barcelona, where we boarded the Holland America ship, the "Maasdam" and set sail for La Goulette, Tunisia. It was May 2000: the weather was beautiful, the Mediterranean was beautiful, my wife was beautiful, my life was beautiful, and our destinations were beautiful.

And now, we were to return to the two places of the birth of our married life together thirty-two years before, Tunisia and then Rome. It was exciting. I was a fortunate man, a most fortunate man. We were to relive some of the most precious moments of our lives, like a couple of school kids.

When we returned from the Peace Corps to America in 1970, we continued communicating with Hinda's adoptive grandfather for about eight years; then we seemed to lose contact. So, we did not know what to expect or if we could find her, if she would remember us, or even if she were still alive. We dreaded that thought. After all, she was only about three and a half years old when we left. Thirty years had passed. I was not very hopeful, but, Phyliss always so much more optimistic than I, had no doubt we would find her.

After a most enjoyable day at sea, we arrived at the port of La Goulette, our first stop, with great anticipation. The moment the ship cleared customs, Phyliss and I "leaped" off (well, we didn't actually leap. We were too old for that, but you know) the ship with the prospect of returning to our "hometown" of EzZahra and seeing Hinda. A seeming infinite line of tiny taxi cabs lined the dock. They were like ants eagerly waiting to absorb the flood of tourists flowing off the ship.

We selected one, with a rather huge Tunisian man, with an equally huge mustache, leaning on an unusually small "car" with his arms folded, and I asked if he could take us to EzZahra. His name was Mustapha. He looked like he could carry us to EzZahra, without the cab!

He seemed somewhat bewildered that I could speak French and he seemed to be thinking, "Why would a couple of tourists from a cruise ship, here for only a day, speaking French with a decidedly American accent, want to go to EzZahra?" Tunis and the Roman history of Carthage were the attractions in this country. No tourists went to EzZahra.

When I told him the address, Four Rue Djilani Marchant, he exclaimed, "this is Mohammad's address, I served in the military with him. Certainly, I can take you there." We had an instant bond. I smiled, but, who on Earth was Mohammad?

I feared Hinda did not live there anymore. Had we come all this way for nothing? My heart sank, and then rejoiced. The driver said his friend Mohammad had married a woman named "Hinda." Mohammad was Hinda's husband. We were feeling wonderful already.

But, how would this monster of a man get into that little taxi and still have room for Phyliss and me? We all made it into the cab, just barely. I think it was a Fiat six hundred, the same little "frog-like," deathtrap of a car that took us all through Italy, Switzerland, and Austria. Everything about this trip was becoming a flashback in our history.

It was about a twenty-five minute drive to EzZahra. The capital city of Tunis had become so much more crowded since we left, but still very recognizable. One thing was not so recognizable: the disappearance of the amiable atmosphere. It was more hurried and not as "friendly" as I had remembered it.

Police were everywhere with side arms and automatic weapons, and the relation between citizens and the police was not cordial. When we were living there, people had a fearful respect for the police and they did not, nor had to, carry weapons. That was not so now.

Our driver had some choice words for a traffic cop at an intersection, words which the cop returned. I was pleased that the light quickly turned green. The exchange between them looked like it could have continued and not ended well for us. Phyliss and I were both reasonably healthy then, but it was still a long walk to EzZahra and neither of us had a desire to be on the evening news.

During the drive, Phyliss and I were able to get some information from the cab driver. Hinda still lived in the same house across from the market and was married to Mohammad, a light truck driver.

The little Frog: "ribbit"

They had three boys. Her adoptive grandfather had died quite a while ago. I guess that's why we lost touch. Hinda quit school as a young teen to take care of Madame Zakia, who died of cancer shortly afterward. She had been a good daughter and put the care of her mother above her own ambitions, just like Phyliss had done.

EzZahra was so much more built up than I remembered it, but it was still the same town: there were the streets where I rode Phyliss on the handlebars of our bike before we got "busted" by the police.

There was the train station, municipal building, and the public shower building project I managed. Now, the subdivisions I had designed, that were just streets in the sand, were completely filled with houses and families. The insidious lead pipes were still there buried beneath us, beneath Hinda's house, beneath all the houses. The wonderful, the good, and the bad had not changed.

We arrived. It looked, oh, so familiar, as if we had never left. In many ways, I think, we both desperately wished we never had. The driver left us so he could visit others in town and said he would return in a couple of hours to say hello to his friends and take us back to Tunis. It had been thirty years, and now all we had was a few hours. It was so little time. It just didn't seem fair.

Hinda had built another addition onto the "villa," evidently to collect more rent. She was so smart as a child, and now evidently, as an adult. Our little girl had apparently become a real estate mogul.

By now, the expectation was becoming overwhelming for us both.

Phyliss and I were apprehensive as we opened the same gate and we walked up the very same walk as we did when we first arrived as newlyweds from Rome thirty-two years prior. Here were two events of anticipation for the same two people in the same place, only so many years later.

This time, there was not only the excitement of reuniting with Hinda, but also of the memories of the little girl in paradise we so reluctantly left behind, we, most assuredly thought, never to see again. The place was deathly still. There was no movement and no sound. It did not even appear that anyone still lived there. Could our taxi driver have been mistaken that Hinda still lived here. We were definitely at the right place, but would anyone be here?

If she were here, I thought, "Would she remember us or even recognize us?" She was only three when we left. Phyliss' face was deformed now from her years of health trials. "If she did recognize us, would she care?" "Would she receive us with indifference and a shrug?" "Would she have animosity toward us for leaving her and receive us with anger?" There was that terrible lost look on her face as we drove away that was still burned into my memory. "Would that terrible sight also be her memory of us?" "Would she even be home?" It was only a few moments but complete and total torment.

I wanted this so much to be a pleasant and life changing reunion for Phyliss. She loved that little girl, as did I. I was certain this trip would be great for Phyliss, but now that we were here, I was getting cold feet and having misgivings. Why had I not planned better? I felt like an astronaut, ready to launch for the Moon and wanting to stop the countdown. But, like the Moon launch countdown, it was too late to worry about that now.

We knocked, a little timidly, at first. All the windows were shuttered and closed. But, this was not unusual. During the day the Tunisians closed up the house to keep the midday heat out.

There was no sound or movement inside, not even the bark of a dog. We looked at each other with trepidation. No one was home. We had come all this way only to visit an empty house, or had we? We knocked again, this time a little more aggressively and a little longer. There was some sign of life within! Someone was turning the latch on the other side of the door, once, then twice. Finally, the latch released. The door quickly swung open.

A Tunisian woman answered the door with the biggest and most astonished, radiant smile. Without the least hesitation, she gave Phyliss such a hug; she lost her balance and almost fell. She yelled out, "Madame, Phyliss" (Felisse) and started to cry. We all cried. Then came, "Monsieur, Joseph" (Jos eff). It became my turn to be assaulted with hugs. It was such joy to almost fall off the steps. It was Hinda, she was home and she remembered us. Did she ever remember us? We had fretted for nothing. But how did she remember us? This meeting was so far beyond what I had hoped it would be.

Hinda pulled us both into the foyer and firmly closed the door like we were bags of diamonds or precious metals for fear that someone would notice and steal us before she could get us inside.

I guess we were precious, as was she. Oh, so precious.

There was a long bureau in the dimly-lit foyer.

Only a feeble glow was escaping from the transom above the door.

As our eyes adjusted from the brightness of the Tunisian sun, we could see that the bureau was covered with a beautifully hand-embroidered cloth, typical in Tunisia for something of substantial importance. But, what were all those objects on the bureau?

And, then Phyliss and I came to an astonishing and heartwarming realization . . .

There were rows of carefully framed and arranged photographs, maybe ten or more, most of them displaying the two of us with Hinda, her mom, and her grandfather. There were even framed, preserved letters from us. We were speechless and overwhelmed.

And, we had been apprehensive that she would recognize us or remember us?

How silly we were. But, still we had the question, how was this possible?

It seemed that we had no impact on her life whatsoever.

We had been her life.

Hinda and husband Mohammad – May 2000

We had made this trip of four thousand three hundred thirty miles as a surprise for Hinda with no prior arrangements, notifications or assurances of success. We arrived on her doorstep, unannounced, and it was as if that little girl had been standing in that foyer waiting for us for all those years. This had to be the most emotional five minutes of our lives. Had Phyliss and I had that enormous an impact on her life?

One of our purposes in serving in the Peace Corps was to be ambassadors for our beloved America. I believe we did an admirable job of that. But, this was too much to believe. We had not improved her life. We had become her life and that of her mother and grandfather. And, in our conversations, we found we had become the life of a number of other families. It seems we had become legendary and Hinda was the center of the legend. Hinda was the little girl who was befriended by the Americans so many years ago. She had risen from a discarded little waif that nobody wanted to a respected and sought after member of the community. We really had no idea.

Phyliss and Hinda pose in the window. The Tunisians placed children on the sill between the shutters and the bars so they could clean the house unhampered.

We could never get ourselves to do that.

This same response from Phyliss came to mind six years later, after her stroke when her former students began sending her letters of what an impact she had made on their lives. Phyliss' response always was, "I had no idea." Her humility had not allowed her to comprehend how important she had become and how much of a positive and lasting impact she had on their young minds.

I wanted this trip to be so special for Phyliss. But, I never in my wildest imagination could have expected this. This time, I had no idea.

It was a gift from God for the three of us. For once, Phyliss was receiving a reward equal to what she had given, quite possibly, in excess of what she had given. Yes, I think it was greater than she had given.

In retrospect, it may have been the best gift she had ever received – an unexpected gift, a gift of no financial value, humbly given with love from the heart from a cherished friend from a lifetime ago and a world away. It was a rare and touching moment that may only occur once in a lifetime, maybe never in a lifetime.

Our visit was remarkable. Every minute was filled with joy, surprise, and, yes, some sadness. We lived more intensely those few hours than we had at any time in our lives.

Hinda began by telling us of her first priority in life. It was regarding the devastation and sadness of losing her beloved grandfather and mother. All this love, emanated for her adoptive guardians from this "bought" little girl, who had been born of a prostitute, and summarily rejected by society. We felt so blessed for our short time with her. We could only imagine the joy that Madame Zakia and Papa Habibi had during their decades with this marvelous and loving human being.

It is frightening sometimes what our so-called civilized cultures decide to discard as useless. But, it is heartwarming how our Lord motivates individuals among us to save the rejected and reverse the harm and hurt.

In this case Hinda was sent Madame Zakia, Papa Habibi, and Madame "Feyles" all to come to her rescue and level the field of life for her after such an ignominious and inauspicious beginning.

During our visit, it was apparent her mastery of French was not polished, as if this is a subject of which I have particular expertise. But, this was obviously a manifestation of terminating her education prematurely to care for her mother and grandfather.

Apparently the education system was not yet equal for girls. When we left, this tiny gem was substantively fluent in Arabic, French, and English. Her intelligence was such that she could have been anything in life she wanted to be, but her choices had been limited by her culture, her circumstances, and voluntarily by her.

Hinda chose to care for her parents, love her husband, and shower her three boys with love and devotion. Her needs were placed secondarily to these prime concerns. She had become Phyliss during her short exposure to her. Phyliss' goodness had become infectious and there was no cure for her once exposed. Oh she did give me an overdose.

This is Hinda's youngest son offering us his kitten as a gift as we left. I don't think the captain of the "Maasdam" would have appreciated the gift on board.

We reluctantly had to turn him down.

If there is such a thing of an overdose of goodness, Hinda and I got it. The long-term consequence of this malady was we had become hopelessly good people.

Our visit continued with our introduction to her "boys" They were gentlemen, all, except the "little" one, about five years old. He was just really adorable and cute. I am not sure I remember how we got to leave without a kitten to take home. It wasn't easy, but Phyliss did it with skill and kindness. The two older boys were kind, accomplished, and respectful of their mother and to us. Her husband came home a little while later and was as kind as they. What was amazing each knew all about us, everything. It seemed our presence was there even if we were not.

The mystery of how Hinda knew of and recognized us immediately was revealed. She told us how her mother and grandfather talked of us all the time in such an adoring manner. The discussion and the photographs made us a constant and real part of Hinda's family as if we had never left. Hinda's love and respect for us was then passed on to her husband and boys. We had become deeply loved members of a family we never knew we had. It is hard to imagine how many more family members will know us over the years. We thank you Madame Zakia and Papa Habibi. What a shame we could not have thanked them in person. They will be dearly missed.

It was a sad moment indeed when the cab driver returned and met with his friends, our friends, for a few minutes.

The time with Hinda and her family, our family, had come to an end.

We repeated the sad ritual we had performed so many years prior. As we looked out the window of the cab, the family of five, our family, became smaller and smaller. The entire vision took only a moment, but I remember every second and every image. It was heartbreaking to watch as we turned the corner and they disappeared. That day we had every intention of returning once again, but the Lord had other plans. Five years later Phyliss had a massive stroke that ended our ability to make such a voyage. I never had the heart to let Hinda know.

When we left EzZahra at the end of our Peace Corps service, Phyliss and I lamented not being able to take Hinda back to America with us. We briefly thought of the opportunities and happiness we could have given Hinda back home that she could have never gotten as a young girl in Tunisian society. Oh, how foolish and arrogant we would have been to believe we could have matched the love and joy she received by being the mother and wife of this lovely family. In reality, our lamentation had been for naught.

I could not help but wonder where Hinda would put all the new photos that were generated during our visit and how her sons would tell their children about the two friends who had come from America, seven thousand three hundred ninety-eight kilometers by plane, ship and taxi just to say how much they loved them and then disappeared as quickly and unexpectedly as they arrived only to become legends for the next generation as they had for Hinda and her mother and grandfather.

Except for our love for each other, we had never received such intense and unconditional love like that before, or for that matter, since. As I ponder that day now, fourteen years later, a more accurate description of what we received was adoration. We certainly never were, nor deserved to be legends. Well, I believe that title could easily be bestowed upon Phyliss, unquestionably, not just for the service she gave in Tunisia, but for that which she gave throughout her life.

We exchanged our final thoughts and, surprisingly, our departure was devoid of tears and sorrow. We all seemed to realize that something wonderful had happened that day and it was not an event of sadness, but of indescribable happiness.

And, it was with only with joyfulness in our hearts that we parted.

Mustapha drove us back to La Goulette, with ample time to board the ship. As we drove through Tunis, he suggested a quick visit to the souk before we departed since we had time. We were delighted. Our experience in the souk is described below in the section entitled, "A lesson of life, learned in the "Souk"."

We thanked Mustapha for making our excursion to see Hinda and her family and returning us to visit Ziad and his son. We could have not dreamed of a more wonderful day in one of our most favorite places with our most favorite people. It became a once-in-a-lifetime experience that we would never again be able to repeat and one that we would never be able to forget.

We boarded the ship and had a lovely dinner in a specialty restaurant as we watched Tunisia fade into the evening.

As we slept that night, our able crew sailed us to Palermo, Sicily, the birth place of my ancestors. We arrived in port the next morning. I have not a single memory of the stop. How ironic it was, a visit we would never forget followed by a visit we would never remember.

A LESSON OF LIFE LEARNED IN "THE SOUK"

A "souk" or "souq," is a marketplace found mostly in North African, Muslim countries such as Tunisia, Morocco, and Libya among others. It functions sometimes inside, sometimes outside, but quite often in some of each. It is a place for local artisans and vendors to display and sell goods to both natives and tourists.

This is one example of the riches of their craftsmanship.

The craftsmanship, quality, design, and beauty of the fabricated goods offered are extraordinary.

Equally, extraordinary and fascinating are the means and skill of display of even the most common and mundane wares.

The advertising agencies of the western world should take note. The display and presentation become as much a part of the visual and merchandising experience as the goods themselves.

All of this is accomplished so effortlessly by seemingly untrained individuals, even children, who would not even be considered to enter the hallowed halls of a design or marketing school in our "modern" world.

You will never find a price tag or sign indicating price in the "souk." Locals know and pay a fair price for a product, tourists are on their own.

The skill of negotiation is king, or in the case of this story, queen. Everything is for sale and everything has a price. Everything is possible. If a vendor doesn't have what you want, he will not hesitate to custom-make it, modify it, or run to a competitor to get it. It is difficult for one to leave unsatisfied. The customer is paramount in closing the deal.

The whole way of merchandising seems foreign to our way of vending goods in America where everything has a bar code and an unchangeable price tag. The entire "shopping" experience is like a drama, a game, a contest, a challenge of wits, sometimes even a skirmish. Usually, the tourist doesn't have a chance on the vendor's turf.

The riches were in abundance everywhere.

You might think, the woman I love, and married, always the lady, and one to always follow and apply the rules, a champion of organization, order and sophistication would wither in this environment. She relished it. Phyliss was born to negotiate in the souk.

As in Italy and, for that matter, everywhere she went, the Tunisian vendors were to find themselves outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outsmarted, all the time in good humor and good-natured camaraderie.

All of this took place in a man's world where women were covered with sefsaris in public and had no rights.

Why should this experience even warrant a chapter in a book of a love affair between Phyliss and me?

It is because the simple act of Phyliss' buying a copper plate in the "souk" embodied the sum total of why she was so remarkable in the experience of life and her dealings with others.

The particulars of the purchase displayed a side of Phyliss that no one who knew her had really ever seen. Yet, the principles she displayed in this simple exercise, illustrate her unique accomplishments in all her dealings throughout her life with other human beings.

Whether Phyliss was negotiating with a street vendor in Tunisia for some copper plates or negotiating with the presidents of RCA and Campbell Soup for hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep the Adult Evening School open twenty-four hours a day without burdening the tax payers, her performance was the same – expert, professional, courteous, effective, and perpetually successful.

I thought this was a book about Phyliss and Joseph and that you two were an order of magnitude better together than apart? What's the deal?

Did you ever hear of "a straight man," and no, it has nothing to do with being "gay" or not being "gay?" Almost every successful entertainment team had one - Gracie Allen and George Burns, Abbott and Costello, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. There were many. We were not they, but we did all right.

Phyliss' reconnaissance mission at another shop is being quietly watched.

The center of attention, the guy that garnered all the attention (Phyliss) and made the act (the sale in this case) work, was always accompanied by a "straight man" (Joseph). The "straight man" always played the role of the less dynamic of the two, who stabilized and moderated the "over-the-top actions" of the partner who was the main character.

Phyliss and I never did this consciously, but this is the way it usually worked out.

At the "souk," we entered a shop, truly interested in purchasing something (in this case, a large, hand-decorated, copper plate) to take back to America with us as a remembrance of our time in this remarkable country.

The vendor swooped in to engage these unsuspecting tourists. "This will be a profitable sale and one is a woman, how smart could she be?" That probably was the thinking.

Phyliss always took the lead, after all the vendor was a guy, and she was very attractive. My God, I married her. Well, I guess I married her for more than her attractiveness. She was very shapely, too. I am just kidding. I loved her. I stayed married to her, I still love her, and as far as I am concerned, I am still married to her. It's as simple as that.

Phyliss outlined generally what we were planning to purchase. The vendor presented some copper plates and Phyliss began with the questions, in French, or sometimes in Italian, of course. Command of local languages, especially by women with men vendors, always seems to impress, and surprise.

"These are all made in Tunisia, correct?" "Certainly, they were, Madame" "Why is this one heavier than the other two?" "They are different thicknesses." "These are all made of copper, correct?" "Of course, they are." "These are solid copper; they are not plated, are they?" "No, they are all solid copper, Madame." "Who made these and decorated them?" "I am the owner, and master craftsman." "Yes, but, who made them?" "I made them all." "They weren't made by someone else and you are just selling them?" "No, they were not made by someone else." "I am the artist."

"You seem nervous, are you nervous?" "No, I am not nervous; you are just asking so many questions." "Tourists don't usually ask all these questions." "We are going to give these as gifts to our friends in America, and we want to give them the best." "We want to show them the best Tunisian workmanship." "You can assure your American friends we sell only the best workmanship, Madame."

"The price you gave us is for one. If we buy two will you give us a better price?" "Yes, I will."

"If you made them, then who is that little boy at the table behind you working on similar dishes?" "Oh, that's my son; I am training him to carry on the trade." "But, he didn't make these, right?" "Correct."

"Why are these so expensive; they all have scratches, and this one has a big nick?" "Oh, we will polish them before you take them. Whatever pleases you is our wish. You will be happy." "Do you have a card we can give our friends?" "Can you ship these to America?" "Can we buy more when we get home?"

Well, you get the idea. Phyliss had the unique manner to ask all these questions in a very calm, unthreatening manner, displaying a sense of almost uninformed sophistication, if there is such a thing. It seemed that the more questions she asked rather than create annoyance, it increased respect. This was no dummy he was talking to.

Each question she asked raised the prospect of possible future business. The exchange was always cordial, friendly, even jovial, and always with a combination smile with cautious disbelief to keep him honest. I can't explain how she did it. It was very disarming. She did it so naturally and so easily.

Many times she would inquire about one thing, go on to another, and then return to the original line of questioning. It kept everyone on his toes.

The vendor always knew this was not your normal woman, or normal tourist for that matter. As the time passed, it seemed he purposely tried to give honest answers for fear of being caught in a falsehood by Phyliss' probing questions. After a while, he was volunteering information without a question to answer. He was trying to prove himself to be a master, to show his expertise, to a not-yet-convinced purchaser.

I immediately recognized the encounter as similar to being in the classroom with Phyliss and how the students wanted desperately to show her how diligently they studied and how well they knew the lesson. Each wanted to show her he was the master of the subject. Just as the vendor wanted to show her he was the best craftsman – that he was making the best copper dish and selling it for the best price.

I myself remember a favorite phrase of mine to Phyliss in her classroom was, "Ask me anything, Toots." Somehow she let me call her "Toots." Strangely, it had not the least bit of disrespect, only quiet humor. But, the point is the students desperately wanted to prove that they had mastered the assignment, just as the vendor wanted to impress her that his wares were the best.

It was a masterful technique and she applied it with success to every endeavor with the greatest of ease and the most effective results.

My role as the "straight man" was easy to play. I just acted natural. I was less inquisitive, more believing and appreciative of what the vendor was saying. After all, I could make some of the items in the shop myself and knew the difficulty and time involved.

The more I used my approving head nod to what he was saying, the harder he tried to please, a still doubting, Phyliss of his expertise and sincerity.

For Phyliss, this was not just a cute exercise to make the vendor sweat, although he did. That was not her intent, nor her purpose. She would never "toy" with someone for enjoyment, as some people I have met.

The entire time, she was adding to her library of knowledge, a subject of which she had very little expertise. She was making him teach her while she was testing him. It was very much like being in the classroom with a subject that she had very little expertise.

By the time she was done, she knew the difference among the three plates, what was a poor plate, a good plate, and an excellent plate. She could tell his best workmanship from his worst. All that was left was verification by doing similar analyses with other vendors, and price comparisons.

This is how she was able to teach subjects that were foreign to her and enter a hospital and, in minutes, differentiate incompetence from excellence, and the truth from a falsehood without any knowledge of the workings of the facility.

It was brilliant, and it was all Phyliss. It was incredible to behold her mastery of the situation whether it was in the souk, in the classroom, in a hospital, in a meeting, at adult school, or at home. It was her understanding and command of human behavior and interaction that was her magic. The subject was unimportant.

I would always seem willing to make the deal; she was always skeptical and wanted to "look around" at other shops. This did two things, it made him lower his price, upgrade to a better plate, or "throw in" a "freebie" or enticement. Sometimes, it was no deal. We walked away; he followed us down the path offering more "stuff." She held her ground, and said we would return. Now, he understood the value of being honest with her. When we said we would return, we did. Whether we made a deal or not, we always returned and thanked him for his time. He respected us for that.

The second shop presented a different Phyliss. She asked many of the same questions, but now used her previously gained knowledge to question the vendors' claims, many times catching misstatements or untruths. Each new shop or experience, added to her knowledge until she was quite well informed about the fabrication, origins, workmanship and prices of Tunisian copper plates.

All the information, unknowingly, had been offered by the vendors themselves and then it was carefully evaluated and cataloged by Phyliss.

We purchased his best plate at a fair price for us and for him. We turned down the extras he had offered, but requested that he include the nightmare of having it shipped home. Thankfully, he agreed, and genuinely appreciated our trust that he would execute the shipment.

The technique of negotiating hard for a better deal, cheaper price, additional items or benefits developed the awe, esteem and admiration of Phyliss' ability. More importantly, refusing the extras after the deal was consummated to the level of a truly equitable purchase for both of us engendered a respect for her and our countrymen in the vendor. Quite possibly, the vendors had never experienced that in their careers and never would again. Underlying her actions was her admirable sense of fairness and a respect for the hard work of the craftsman. The fairness and the acknowledgment of his labor and talent by Phyliss left the vendors in awe.

We had equitably enriched a hard-working, local artist, had made a trusted friend, and allowed him to part with a positive understanding of Americans. After all, that was a major part of our being in Tunisia.

At the end, we conferred privately; I added my input and my observations. We made our informed decision. She always spent the most time and effort at the most knowledgeable vendor and the one who seem to be the most honest. In this case, it was the first vendor.

On several occasions, before we left Tunisia, we returned to the shop to purchase other items from the same vendor, who was now a trusted friend. He had respect for Phyliss' honesty, professionalism and accomplishment. And, she was a woman in a man's world. I think he liked me too.

I guess it was my beard and the head nodding that won him over.

The copper plate from our return visit

The whole episode with the vendor in the "souk" was like two very talented and professional teams playing a hard won game. At the end, no matter who won, they both had respect for each other and were still friends.

When we returned to Tunisia in year two thousand, thirty years later, after we visited Hinda, our cab driver, Mustapha, took us back to the very same shop, where we bought another smaller copper plate from Ziad, who, in fact, turned out to be a long-standing friend of the cab driver. It seemed he knew everyone we knew. God must have placed him on that dock that day we visited.

Ziad, the very friend of ours from our Peace Corps service was still there in the same shop. He would not accept any payment for it, and instead insisted that we accept it as a gift from him, and yes, from his son, still sitting at the same table behind him, now a man, decorating another plate. Only, this time, he referred to his son as the master craftsman and the fabricator of the gift. How marvelous was that? We, no I, (I keep forgetting, I am alone, now) still have both copper plates prominently displayed in the china closet.

A note:

In political foreign affairs, our current administration presents the reality of incompetence, dishonesty, deception and weakness. The result is we Americans are treated like buffoons and idiots that we have become on the world stage. This has not been by accident or incompetence. This has been purposeful to conceal a diabolical anti-American agenda. Yes, it has. Please believe this. Stop scratching your head and asking why did our federal government do that? The sad answer is, because he wanted to \- That was the insidious intent.

We have lost all respect from around the world. Foreign individuals as well as countries and their leaders have disdain for weakness and lack of character of the formerly great United States of America. Our allies that we abandoned despise us, and our enemies that we aid laugh at us.

All of the good will and trust we worked so diligently to establish between our two countries for almost two years of our service was wasted and reversed in the blink of an eye and the foolish choices of two elections. For that matter, much of the good that the thousands of Peace Corps volunteers, patriotic diplomats, and brave military did over the past five decades may have been lost forever.

Shame on us, we made these scoundrels our representatives and now we are the fools of the world. Our allies, as well as our enemies, and yes, we, are just beginning to realize what a world without America will be like. None of us will be pleased with the monster we have created. You haven't seen anything yet.

I am so sorry, my dear. And the two of us tried so hard.

Phyliss' actions and character, whether they were in or out of the classroom, in a hospital, in a CEO's office, at home, or, yes, even in a "souk" in Tunisia, engendered trust, respect, and camaraderie. It is quite hard to comprehend how she could do so much good and teach such an important lesson, by just purchasing a copper plate.
Whatever place she graced, she was always the shining star and all who knew her were the beneficiaries of the brilliance of her life-giving light.

Her light is now extinguished,

but the afterglow remains for us who are fortunate enough to bask in it.

We cannot forget her.

I hope that does not happen.

I am doing my best that it does not.

Hinda and Phyliss basking in each others love

I don't ever remember observing two souls bond so effortlessly from the moment they met.

It was a remarkable vision to behold.

If governments and evil leaders could just get out of the way, we humans on a personal level can advance the causes of good for mankind. We can work it out together without them, or should I say in spite of them.

Time can be so cruel.

I miss them both with all my heart

What a wonderful world it would be . . .

If everything was not just about me

If we only had the vision to see

If we could just let it all be

If daily bread for thee was shared by three

If we could genuinely be free

If in this world there was only glee

If compelled we were never seen to flee

If we could all engage in repartee

What world of wonder it would be . . .

If for a moment we could spend on one knee

If for each enterprise we created a grand prix

If there were so much more we than just me

If each dire appeal did not oblige a plea

If did not every good deed require a fee

If our affairs marshaled honesty

If a child imperfect ascended a priceless pedigree

If true love transcended disability

If honor was not returned with mendacity

What a wonder the world would be . . .

If every request was responded with, "Mais oui"

If calls for help were returned with, "Oh, si, si"

If impossibility was confronted with yes, siree!

If faith replaced shameless hypocrisy

If piety supplanted spurious religiosity

If each transgression were met forgivingly

If matrimony could eclipse jealousy

If He became more important than thee

If she honored he, and he honored she

What a wonderful world it would be

Joseph P. Badame

2015

A note from the author

The events on which this account is based are true, with some excerpts from the book, "My Teacher, My Bride," written about my life-long love affair with "Phyliss." I hope you found some usefulness and wisdom in this short story of "Our Peace Corps Adventure in Tunisia," Our Experience of Middle East Life.

If this short book appeals to you, I encourage you to seek out the entire book. It depicts a great deal of happiness but also some sadness. But I believe it contains some lessons that will enrich your life. Please give it a try.

Most fondly,

Joseph P. Badame

Contact Information

Email: jpbadame@verizon.net

She looks like she is smiling for the camera.

But, she is actually in love with the cameraman.

Phyliss

The one who made my life in this world worthwhile

my love and my inspiration, may she rest in peace with our Lord.

### Books Published by Joseph P. Badame

### So many books, too little time

Thank you for your interest in this book. Below is a full list of the e-Book Library authored by Joseph Badame. My goal has been, and continues to be, to present enjoyable yet serious reading among the literary static of today while highlighting important life lessons originating from the wisdom of my late wife, Phyliss.

"My Teacher, My Bride" is a full book that may be a reading challenge in today's frenzied life. It is a long read in today's world of "sound bites" and instant gratification. It is a true story of two inseparable lovers, full of humor, life lessons and unfortunately some sadness. But above all, it is a cornucopia of insights of the courage of a most unusual woman.

The other works are short stories that are expansions of concepts in the main book. Several stories are on other subjects relevant to today's world and one is an allegory / commentary on contemporary life in America.

The works are all free and available at https://www.smashwords.com They are also available at all the major retailers and formatted for various e-book reading devices such as Amazon's," Kindle;" Barnes and Noble's," Nook;" Apple's "I-phone" and "I-pad;" as well as laptops, and personal computers. Some retailers such as Amazon charge a minimum of $0.99 for a download. The e-books can be given a "library" status on "Smashwords" for more permanent storage. When I revise the books occasionally, the old edition and the new addition are available to those who downloaded the earlier version.

If you ever considered authoring or publishing a work yourself, please investigate the services offered by "Smashwords." They are great people providing great services for free. Today, there is no reason why anyone wanting to publish their literary work cannot. In most cases once you have your properly formatted manuscript in "Microsoft Word," a title page in" jpg" format, and a short and long description of your masterpiece, publication is usually less than an hour away – sometimes minutes away – globally! Literally, (no pun intended) "What are you waiting for!" Why merely read, when you can read and write. Consult my short story, "My One Grand Regret" for a little inspiration. If I cannot inspire you, give Walt Whitman a try. If he can't inspire you, stick to reading. It's OK. That's just fine.

" **Come, said my Soul"**

"Come, said my Soul,

Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)

That should I after death invisibly return,

Or, long, long hence, in other spheres,

There to some group of mates the chants resuming,

(Tallying Earth's soil, trees, winds, tumultuous waves,)

Ever with pleas's smile I may keep on,

Ever and ever yet the verses owning – as, first, I here and now,

Signing for Soul and Body set to them my name,"

1819 – 1892

Here are "our" works – a gift from Phyliss and me to you and those you love.

Please enjoy and "pass it on."

(Well, don't literally "pass it on," that wouldn't be nice;

let your friends and loved ones download their own copy!)

### . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Book One

### "My Teacher, My Bride"

A memoir and love story

(formerly "I Married My Teacher")

First published October 9, 2014 - 216,990 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free ISBN: 9781311111302

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/483616>

This is a true story of an endearing, lifelong love affair, born in a most unexpected and unconventional manner and place. It is the story of a most remarkable woman. You never heard of her, but maybe you should have. It is not a love story filled only with the happiness of Camelot, but the celebration of her remarkable life and spirit and the many trials of her time on Earth. Don't miss this opportunity to get to know her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Book Two

### "Hugs and Kisses"

A bittersweet vignette of love and lost opportunity - a monumental lesson learned about life's priorities

First published November 3, 2014 - 6160 words, - Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN: 9781311491374

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/490293>

Life is filled with those things of great importance and those things of little or no importance. Many times it takes a lifetime to tell the difference. This short tale can help you avoid wasting your lifetime to discover what is truly important.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Book Three

### "The Last Day of School – The First Day of Us"

First Published: November 7, 2014 - 8390 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311159243

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491303>

Joseph was a young boy who had "Miss Crudo" as his teacher for the eight and ninth grades. Their association turned from student and teacher to friendship and then, well you will have to read the story to see where the friendship goes from there.

For many students, especially prior to high school, their teachers can be major figures, even role models in influencing their lives. Occasionally, the fondness for the teacher becomes so intense that they develop a "crush" or infatuation with the teacher. Such was the case with Joseph and his English teacher "Miss Crudo." The two years in her classes seemed to just fly by for this starry-eyed youngster, as the inevitable last day of school arrived. This short story describes those two years and the anguish of the arrival of that final day. The story finishes by suggesting that maybe that was not the final day of their association after all.

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Book Four

### "Our First Kiss – Our Last Kiss"

First Published: November 8, 2014 - 7960 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311404534

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491493>

A chance series of events brings two souls together as a teacher and a student with a sixteen year age difference. Friendship turns to love and they eventually marry for forty-five years. The endearing short story describes their joyful first kiss and their sorrowful last kiss.

Phyliss Crudo and Joseph Badame spent the early parts of their separate lives moving around Southern New Jersey. Eventually, he at fourteen, and she at thirty, find themselves in the same classroom as student and teacher for two years. There was an immediate rapport between the two. After he graduated from her school, she became his mentor through a successful high school career. Their friendship developed into love and they eventually married eleven years after they met. Their marriage lasted for forty-five years. The story tells of the growth of their love and describes their first kiss and their last kiss at the end of their lives together.

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Book Five

### "My One Grand Regret"

First Published: November 8, 2014 - 7910 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN – 9781311817099

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491620>

At a funeral family is mourning the loss of their departed. Usually the mourning is for regret, not the loss. The loss will fade but the regret will not because the finality of death is such that the regret can never be reconciled. This short story may help avoid those regrets when the time comes into your life. Only a fool learns from his own mistakes. Don't be a fool, learn from mine.

The loss of a dearly loved spouse is never easy to endure, especially after a life-long marriage. The grieving can be overwhelming and never ending. It is not something that anyone wants to contemplate but we feel that we have some idea of the nature of the suffering. We do not. I did not. No matter how deep and loving the marriage was, the finality of death will consume any comfort that we may have that we will have no regrets when the awful time comes. There will be regrets. Foremost among the regrets will be that which was said that should not have been said and that which was not said that should have been said. This short story reveals an approach to a marital relation that can help to prevent those regrets from occurring.

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Book Six

### "Our Marriage in Saint Peter's Basilica"

First Published: November 10, 2014 – 10,230 words – Adult Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311025418

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/491930>

A teacher and former student were in love for years. She was his senior by sixteen years. Over the years, they denied themselves marriage because of their ages and their circumstances. As they embarked on a fairy tale union, neither seemed to matter. It is an endearing and true adventure of the devotion and determination of two people in love.

True love can be found almost anywhere, sometimes nowhere. Most search for it diligently and persistently, many times all their lives without success. But sometimes it falls unexpectedly from Heaven. Such was the case for Phyliss and Joseph in their eighth grade classroom. No, the love was not as classmates, but as Phyliss the teacher and Joseph the student. Their association turned to true love, but marriage seemed illusive because of their ages and their circumstances . . . until they found themselves four thousand miles apart, she in New Jersey, he in Tunisia, in the Peace Corps.

The separation and the denied union were no longer bearable for them, and they embarked on a fairy-tale marriage and a "two-year long" honeymoon in paradise. The honeymoon was followed by forty three years of love, happiness, and sadly, sorrow. It is an unusual and endearing, true adventure of how the devotion and determination of two people in love can overcome the trials of life.

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Book Seven

### "The Cookie and the Dandelions"

First Published: November 11, 2014 – 8,650 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311510983

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/492395>

Joseph was a young boy who had "Miss Crudo" as his teacher for the eight and ninth grades. Their association turned from student and teacher to friendship and then the friendship became more than friendship. This is a continuation of "The Last Day of School."

For many students, especially prior to high school, their teachers can be major figures, even role models in influencing their lives. Occasionally, the fondness for the teacher becomes so intense that they develop a "crush" or infatuation with the teacher. Such was the case with Joseph and his English teacher "Miss Crudo." The two years in her classes seemed to just fly by for this starry-eyed youngster. This short story picks up after Joseph graduates from Miss Crudo's class and their friendship becomes more serious.

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Book Eight

### "Claustrophobia, Get Professional Help, Joe"

First Published: November 12, 2014 – 8,590 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN – 9781311054678

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/492626

This short story exposes some of the difficulties in relying on our health care system for the correction of psychological disorders, in this case claustrophobia and its related anxiety and panic. It does so by relating one person's unsuccessful journey to find a treatment.

The pursuit of a remedy for a physical injury or disability is usually straight forward. The injury is a visible and quantifiable thing that many times suggests its own solution. Psychological disorders present a more difficult problem. The manifestation of the disorder is invisible, usually within the patient's brain. As such, it is much more difficult to diagnose and treat and much harder for the patient to contend with.

At the time one needs a clear mind to function and make decisions, the affliction itself interferes with that process. My anxiety and panic were such instances triggered by a bout of claustrophobia. This story does not propose solutions, but by recounting my unsuccessful attempts at seeking treatment, it is hoped that the medical professions can improve the dispensing of care for this debilitating disorder. Furthermore, it might give some insight to others similarly afflicted on how to contend with their own disability.

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Book Nine

### "Our Moment – Falling in Love Again"

First Published: November 15, 2014 – 7,760 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN – 9781310883231

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/493421>

You lovers all have special moments in your love life, but you usually don't think about what "the" most special moment was. In fact, each of you may have a different moment. I gave it a great deal of thought. I would like to share what that moment was for me. It might just encourage you to rethink what your moment was.

In our fast-paced world, we have a tendency to move on to the "next big thing" in our lives before we are even able to digest the "last big thing." As a result, life becomes a massive blur of events that seems to pass us by. As we get older and our lives become about the present with only the past to contemplate and not much of a future left, it is natural to begin thinking about what the most significant moment in our lives was. Now that my wife is gone that is exactly what I found myself thinking about. What was our most significant moment? I was surprised what I concluded. You may be too.

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Book Ten

### "Life's Little Book for a Happy Marriage"

First Published: November 20, 2014 – 28,313 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311562463

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/494964

There are many books that give advice about how to have a fruitful marriage. But, this is one of the only ones I know that comes with a money back guarantee. Follow these simple guide lines and if your marriage is not happy, you can get every penny you paid returned, no questions asked. Oh, that's right, it's free. Sorry.

I have had a life-long love affair with my wife Phyliss. She is gone now, but during that time some truths became apparent that resulted in our happiness. Some establish a mind set, some generated a set of rules, some led to a useful exercise, a few revealed some cautions, and all generated a life of happiness and joy. It worked for us. Will it work for you? I really don't know. Only you can tell that if you dare try. What do you have to loose? Nothing at all.

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Book Eleven

### "Daddy, Mommy! Are you awake? Are you awake, yet?!"

First Published: November 26, 2014 – 9,650 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311847751

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/496667>

This allegory is based on two children who live near each other in a rural setting. Halfway between their two houses is a huge oak tree planted several hundred years before by one of their ancestors. The tree becomes a centerpiece of their lives and the foundation of a deep friendship. Their bucolic world of camaraderie is destroyed when greed invades their private world and tragedy ensues.

A huge oak tree planted at the birth of our nation grows in the middle of two small farms. The farm houses are home to a four-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl. The children's attraction to the tree becomes the centerpiece of their lives and the foundation of a deep friendship. Their bucolic world is destroyed when a plot to destroy the tree for its valuable wood is hatched by the evil mayor of the town. The plan is executed with the aid of the parents resulting in a series of tragedies for the little town. The mayor goes on to become the governor as the town is left to mourn its losses. The allegory ends with an admonition to anyone who loves their children and cares about their future.

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Book Twelve

### "My Dear was, Oh, so Much Sweeter than Sugar – The Orgy of Sweets"

First Published: November 29, 2014 – 9,970 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781310974441

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/497530>

This short story is a continuation of my life-long love affair with Phyliss, my late wife. In this tale I tell of her devotion to me in managing my affliction with diabetes so I didn't have to. It was a remarkable self-sacrificing act of devotedness and affection rarely seen in or out of marriage. The story is true and inspiring.

At about mid-life, I discovered I had diabetes. I was ill prepared to deal with it. My adoring wife Phyliss, despite her own substantial health problems, commandeered the attack on the disease with military dispatch. The short story of how this came about is tender, loving, and heart warming. This act of love was only one of many expressions of devotion to my well-being. This is a short excerpt from the book "I Married My Teacher" which chronicles, in detail, her love and devotion to me as well as her own trials and battles with poor health. Read about her. It will enrich your life as she enriched mine.

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Book Thirteen

### "No Thanks!"

Judy's Story – Not an Unusual Tale

First Published: December 8, 2014 – 6,970 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311160379

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/500128>

Every parent and guardian should read this tale of the growth of ungratefulness shown by many of our younger generation - thanklessness that appears despite copious kindness that was shown to them over the years. It suggests that sinister forces outside the family promulgate this disturbing behavior. More disturbing yet is the realization that the origin of the conduct may be of our own doing.

The former generations of self-sacrificing and benevolent Americans are dying and dying with them is American greatness and generosity. That greatness is being replaced by the entitlement mentality of much of our younger generation of today. The mentality is now approaching an epidemic and threatens the foundations on which our country was based. The sad tale of this decay is told in this short story of Judy who was compelled to become a single mother of two small children by tragedy.

The true tale recounts how her sacrifice and kindness by welcoming into her home a needy child as one of her own was returned with indifference and callousness. It is a story that is repeated in homes across the country between parents and their own offspring. The sad narrative illustrates how the path of our nation is leading to self-interest rather than concern for those around us.

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Book Fourteen

### "The Gifts"

The story of Emmy's Kindness

Published: December 18, 2014 – 8,130 words – Non-Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN - 9781311168047

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/503067>

Gifting to a very large degree today, has become mundane, mechanical, and commercialized. Philanthropy by giving objects and things has become the norm. This short story takes us back to a time when gifts were deeds. Return to those times by rethinking your idea of rewarding someone you care about with a blessing that will not be forgotten rather than an article that will. Follow this unusual journey that may take you to a better place in life.

Life is often filled with joy and happiness, but equally it can be filled with tragedy. When tragedy does strike, even the most accomplished, talented, and independent individuals among us may have difficulty coping. They often need all the support they can get. Just as often, the sustenance is just not there either by circumstance or by the neglect of others. Occasionally, a helping hand appears almost by magic from very unlikely sources and places. This short story relates how a chance meeting of an old man with a very ill wife finds that assistance in a most unlikely place, from a most unlikely donor.

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Book Fifteen

" **I Give Up - You Win - A Glimpse into the Character of Man "**

First Published: December 30, 2014 - 8,400 words – Adult - Nonfiction \- ISBN: 9781310462252

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/505985

I have written twenty-five books and short stories over the past six months. I believe all have been informative and they were free. I received two reviews from 4,500 downloads. This short story attempts to understand the phenomenon and solicit feedback from the readership to help improve my writing prowess. No improvement can take place with constructive comments from the readersl

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Book Sixteen

### "Intimacy and Disability"

Published: January 6, 2015 – 8,130 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310229398

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508482

A search of books being published will disclose an abundance of works depicting fantasy intimacy, sex if you will, of all types. The public apparently shows great interest in these titles and they sell quite well or else there would not be such a plethora of these works. Yet despite this bounty of fictional books on sex and intimacy there are few about real intimacy other than text books. Furthermore, works that attempt to cover the subject of intimacy as it relates to disability seem to be almost non-existent. I must agree that it is not an easy topic to discuss. But, for something so important and prevalent today, the scarcity is most baffling and troubling.

Because of this phenomenon, millions of couples are left to fend for themselves in dealing with this most disrupting problem. You might assume that the issue is thoroughly covered in the institutional rehabilitation of the person afflicted with the disability. Therefore, books covering the subject are not necessary. In reality, the subject is ignored. It is as if it doesn't exist. This preoccupation and interest with intimacy and sex that is everywhere when we are able-bodied seem to suddenly disappear when a person becomes disabled. I find this most disheartening.

At least in the case of my dear wife, the subject was not breeched at all in the course of the rehabilitation routine after her stroke. As a result, we novices had to attempt to figure it out ourselves among life-threatening circumstances. Were we successful? My dear, a master teacher, would probably give me a C+ grade – not good enough for the love of my life. But, my hope in writing this account is that it will instigate some interest on the part of professionals and serve as a caution to those in like circumstances. It is a short, easy read with a touch of "wisdom" to mix in with some of the fantasy for a change – and it's free.

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Book Seventeen

### "The Death of the Love of My Life"

Published: January 8, 2015 – 10,394 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310183751

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508998>

The death of a loved one is never easy. It is particularly difficult when it comes at the end of a fifty-six year long love affair filled with affection and hardship as well. Regardless of how inevitable, it is never expected. Through a heartbreaking rendition of the passing of his wife the author hopes to instill the necessity for every couple to live every moment as if it will be the last.

This short story is an excerpt from the full book, "My Teacher, My Bride," formerly titled "I Married my Teacher." The story describes the last two days of a fifty-six year "affaire de coeur," and the finality of the last hours spent with the person we care about more than ourselves. It is hoped that this rendition along with the full book will encourage couples to savor and enrich their precious time together since none of us knows how long that time will be. By doing so, lovers can assure themselves that they will not have any regrets when the time of parting is upon them.

The title, "The Death of the Love of My Life," depicts an end to a boundless love affair. The book cover was meant to challenge that depiction. It illustrates the Nebula, "30 Doratus, the Tarantula Nebula" which is 170,000 light years away from our planet.

The Nebula is a nursery giving birth to billions of new stars, countless planets, and almost certainly the creation of new life. This marvel takes place among aging and dying stars that fuel the creation of their offspring. It is hoped that the symbolism can invoke the inspirational thought that while our loved ones have left this sublunary Earth, they now reside in a much more glorious place. The sadness summoned by death is overshadowed by the end of suffering, a glorious life after death, and an anticipated sublime reunion.

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Book Eighteen

### "Our Peace Corps Adventure in Tunisia"

Published: March 20, 2015 – 22,100 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311067128

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/529297>

This story of an American Peace Corps couple in Tunisia provides a window into the not-so-distant past of how individuals of dissimilar groups were able to live in friendship, harmony, and even love. It is hoped that it will awaken us to how far we have wandered from the goodness of that time and question how our leaders have allowed or even caused the hatred and conflict among our cultures.

The world is in enormous conflict today in just about every area of human interaction. Countries, religions, races, social and economic classes, ethnic groups, organizations, and companies are all either in active dissension or at a level of extreme tension ready to explode.

Violence is everywhere. This is nothing new. Even the level of hatred among groups, countries and individuals is not unique from the past. What is new is the level of mobility and the destructive power each group possesses to destroy the other. Sometimes this power is even in the hands of an individual. Maybe this tale of friendship and love from the past can help us realize how far we have regressed and possibly encourage us to elect leaders that can return us to civility.

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### Book Nineteen

### "A Message from Heaven"

When Tomorrow Starts without Me

Published: March 24, 2015 – 7,990 words – Adult - Non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310685255

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/530292>

Over a year ago, I knew my dear husband would be suffering today. I just did not realize how much. I wrote this letter to ease his pain. It might ease yours, as well.

When someone dies they leave behind a great deal of pain for their loved ones. Some of those loved ones go to extraordinary measures to contact those who have left to ease their sorrow. These efforts always fail in the hands of charlatans. I did not want my husband to go through that torment. So, I have written him directly to ease his pain. It might just ease your pain or that of someone you know.

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Book Twenty

### "Screams!"

Published: April 12, 2015 – 7,850 words – non-Adult - fiction – free; ISBN 9781310790669

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/535064>

Everyone enjoys a little scary fiction. This short story is not all that scary, but presents a little humor and wisdom as well - three for the price of one. Oh, that's right it's free. Well, read it anyway. You have nothing to lose but 15 minutes.

Fiction is an escape, entertainment. But, there is nothing wrong with reading fiction and learning a little, is there? You know "go to school because you want to, not because you have to." Try this story. It should scare you a little, teach you a little, make you smile a little, maybe surprise you a little, and hopefully make you think a little about a subject that needs more than a little thinking. That was my intent anyway.

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Book Twenty-one

### "The Power of Writing and Never Letting Go"

Published: April 16, 2015 – 10,610 words – Adult –non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310157073

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/536094>

Losing a loved one is always difficult. Recovering from the loss is even more difficult, sometimes impossible. Many times, calling on every resource is required to be successful. It might be necessary to create your own method for healing. This is one unusual technique that was quite effective for me. It might be useful to others.

Since my wife left me, writing about her has been my salvation, but there were limits to its beneficial powers. I searched for other ways to expand the effectiveness of the writing. This short book describes some unconventional and non- traditional ways to use writing in the grieving and healing process. It was and continues to be valuable in my road to recovery.

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Book Twenty-two

### "Cruising with a Disabled Love One"

Published: April 25, 2015 – 10,870 words – Non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310198038

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538418>

A Cruise can be a wonderful therapy for a spouse who becomes disabled, especially from a stroke. It can have many healing powers and be of great assistance to recovery. But, let's not rush into it. Read this story before you embark on this adventure. Use it as a guide to inform and to determine if it is right for you and your spouse.

My wife had a debilitating stroke and required a wheelchair for mobility among other disabilities. As part of her therapy, we went on three cruises. They each had their own benefits, their challenges, and their drawbacks. Along the way, I was able to learn many things that may be useful to others considering the same for their loved one. Our experiences my help you plan your trip or even decide if it is something that will be beneficial or even possible.

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Book Twenty-three

### "The Man of No"

The agony of caring for a loved one

Published: April 26, 2015 – 10,012 words – Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310302602

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538582>

Caring for a loved one with a long term illness at home is a physical, financial, and emotional challenge of the highest order. It is deadly and it can kill you both. It may be the biggest test of your lives. But, nothing equals the realization that some things cannot be fixed. You eventually become the "The Man of No."

When something cannot be fixed and in fact gets worse and there is no solution, being truthful makes you the "Man of No" - the bearer of bad news, the bearer of the worse news. You can delay, you can fib, you can omit, you can dance around the issues, but eventually you must tell the truth. You delay as long as you can to spare your love the agony. But, during that time you must deny your spouse the truth when "deny" was never a word in your vocabulary all your lives together. It is a heartbreaking thing from which you never recover.

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Book Twenty-four

### "Janet Devlin"

One Classy Lassie

Published: May 2, 2015 – 10,190 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310431067

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/539981>

In 2011, a young lady abruptly and unexpectedly came on to the world music scene after appearing on a well-known talent discovery television program which had been airing for a number of years. The young lady was Miss Janet Maureen Aoife Ne Devlin.

Just another pop singer? Not quite.

All the accounts of Miss Devlin on the show were naturally about her music and her unusually lovely voice. At first she got rave reviews from the judges, the live audience, and the television viewers. She fell out of favor with the judges and reached fifth in the competition. She went home to her little hamlet of Gortin, Ireland – end of story? – not so fast. Four years later Miss Devlin is back on the scene with her first recording album. But the story is not her rise in music; it is about her tenacity and character. You may want to consider her as your child's role model. You decide.

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Book Twenty-five

### "The Last Mothers' Day"

Published: May 3, 2015 – 6,830 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311324832

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/540098>

Mothers' Day is a good thing. Mothers should be honored. But, this should be the last Mothers' Day.

Anyone who has a Mother should read this very short essay. But, wait, we all have Mother's don't we. Silly me! Well, then, every one should read this – It will take only a minute, I promise.

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Book Twenty-six

### "The Way We Were"

Published: May 24, 2015 – 14,340 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311116789

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545363>

Raising children with values of responsibility, respect, compassion, and industry is a goal of most parents. Finding the right tools and examples to achieve this goal is not entirely easy today. This seemingly difficult task may be able to be accomplished by recounting and applying the lessons of relatively simple events in three summers of a young boy's life.

Conscientious parents are always searching for ways to teach lessons to their children that will be useful throughout their lives and in the rearing of their own children. This account of a young boy's adventures for three summers from the 1950's spent with caring relatives reveals important lessons from seemingly mundane situations that cannot be learned from a book or a classroom. A return to the principles of this simpler time may be just what a modern family needs to insure that their children advance into adulthood with a foundation of timeless and proven character-building traits.

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Book Twenty-seven

### "Home Alone with Phyliss"

Published: May 25, 2015 – 12,060 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310294389

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545660>

It seems most ironic that something I had desperately wished for from a very early age, aggressively pursued for a decade, and finally achieved, had now become a source of anxiety, fear, and angst - being at home alone with Phyliss. It did not seem possible.

The mere suggestion, a few months before, that this dread would be credible, appeared to be a preposterous supposition. Yet, here it was, a reality. I was paralyzed with fear.

I had fought so hard these past months to pry her from the grips of her certain demise. I had rejoiced at my achievement and success. I had saved my dear wife. I had won one of the biggest and most important battles of my life to remove her from danger and make her safe. This was an enormous effort and an unqualified victory.

This was the woman I loved. I had proven my love so many times before as she had done for me as well, but not like this time. If this accomplishment were such an achievement, why was I not filled with pride, joy, and elation?

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Book Twenty-eight

### "Home Alone with Phyliss"

Published: May 26, 2015 – 11,830 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311039101

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/545908>

The quality of a family's social interactions with friends can be positively or negatively affected by a tragedy. What seems to determine the negative or positive course of the change is whether the social relationship was established before or after the misfortune occurred.

Generally speaking, pleasant social interactions that were already established, even long standing ones, suffer when tragedy strikes. Those social relationships that were established after the tragedy strikes tend to be positive and more intense. This work illustrates this strange phenomenon and gives some advice on how to prepare for a potential family health crisis. Every family should take a little time to read and prepare. No family group is immune from a health calamity.

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Book Twenty-nine

### "The Magic of a Master Teacher"

Published: August 15, 2015 – 15,610 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310000690

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/569466>

This is the tale of the career of one master teacher whose excellence and dedication caused each of her students to perform to the best of his or her abilities and become stellar members of our society. How sad it would be to let the significance of her life be lost to future generations. The recounting of her story is an attempt to not allow that to happen.

Teachers lay the foundations of society. They shape the character of the next generation of citizens and therefore determine the quality and success of that society. Poor, mediocre, or unmotivated teachers will produce a society that will eventually crumble and fail. Good teachers will produce a society that will survive but not excel. Master teachers will produce a society that will flourish and benefit mankind for generations.

This true tale tells of one such master teacher from the past who is sadly no longer with us. The challenge is will we let her excellence die with her, or will we learn and follow her example and pass that learning on to the next generations. No less than the future of our country depends on our answer and our actions. To reply with anything less than an affirmative response will doom our future to mediocrity and certain failure.

As you learn about "Miss Crudo," ask yourself if our current educational system has continued her example of distinction or if it has regressed. If we fail to react to our decline we will relegate our children and their children to lives that will be so much less than they could be. They deserve better. We must decide

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Book Thirty

### "Washing the Dishes"

Published: September 19, 2015 – 2,440 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311810021

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/578705>

This vignette is a short tale with a quite strange title. It is a story for married folks. It is particularly meant for couples busily racing through life doing "important stuff" and missing the paradise that marriage can be. What can an activity as repulsive and mundane as washing dishes possibly have to do with love and happiness? Read it and see – 10 minutes and no money.

What do vacations to exotic places, beautiful and sumptuous surroundings, exciting venues, exhilarating activities, new and interesting people, appointments meant for royalty, and washing the dishes all have in common? Obviously, they are all prerequisites for an invigorating and enviable marriage experience. But, wait a minute. Washing the dishes? What if someone told you that none of the mentioned items is a perquisite for a wonderful marriage, **except** washing the dishes? You would tell them that they lost their minds. Ten minutes from now you might change your mind instead of losing it. Look for yourself.

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Book Thirty-one

### "Tiny Rain Drops"

Published: October 27, 2015 – 11,790 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781311812742

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/588538>

We race everywhere with our heads buried in our cell phones. What is in these monsters that is so important? Real people might as well be the wallpaper. This short story is an attempt to return us to the joys of interacting with real people through everyday happenings, especially with those we claim to love the most. Give it a try, while they are still here, you might like it.

This is a story of how a day filled with mundane and common events can be transformed into a memorable series of events using only "loving human interaction." I know those three words are a bit heavy, but it's not really that complicated. It only takes fifteen minutes to understand.

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Book Thirty-two

### "The Nightmare and the Chubby Cups"

Published: November 11, 2015 – 2,120 words – non-Adult – non-fiction – free; ISBN 9781310791253

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/588538>

It is fascinating how dreams intertwine themselves with our conscious lives. This is one such case where it is difficult to tell where they each begin and end. Give it a try. It will only take a few minutes of your time, but I am so sorry, it won't help you go to sleep. You will have to read something else for that. This tale is just for tea lovers. Sorry, you "Starbucks" fans.

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