Motley Moose – Archive

CJ Campbell, who blogged as ulookarmless, passed away one year ago today. This is a reprint of the long tribute I posted at Daily Kos last October:

This community first came to know CJ Campbell – ulookarmless – in 2008. By then he was almost 64 years old, had lost an arm to cancer, and was suffering from aphasia, heart disease, epilepsy, and poverty. We followed his journey as he underwent chemotherapy, a heart attack, and more kinds of cancer. What many of you don’t know is that he wrote poetry and painted daily, cooked at a near-professional level, devoured newspapers from around the world, was a gifted musician, fathered five children by three wives on three continents, helped change the course of Australian politics in 1972, made and lost a couple of fortunes, had some astonishing adventures, never met a stranger, played golf, and – at the end of his life, with one arm, a pacemaker, the aftereffects of a stroke, and three kinds of cancer – coached soccer.

As CJ and I became friends, I asked him questions about his life. Here, in his own words, is his story.

Och, ma family is Scots. My father is Donald Cameron Campbell and our traditional family toast is “Here’s lookin’ up yer kilts and takin’ doon yer particulars.”

On my mother’s side, we are Scandinavian from waaaay back. Our original ancestor was a mercenary on the Second British fleet that brought convicts to Australia in 1792. As a result, we are rare 7th and 8th generation Australian-born natives with no convictions in our backgrounds. My mum Julia’s maiden name is Leth (Leith) and she claims she traces her heritage back to the vikings.

Now, somewhere along the line, my great-grandmother fell in love with an aboriginal stockman (cowboy), so, I am 1/16 Australian aborigine.

People often say to me, boy you have led a great life, and I say back, “No, I simply remember what has happened in my life”. When I get people to begin to dredge up the incidents that have made them who they are, they suddenly begin to see their own journey in a different light.

Every journey is different, every journey worthwhile.

My grandmother-in-law (in Hong Kong) was about 4’9″, had bound feet, weighed no more than 80 pounds and was an opium addict from the 1920’s. She lived into her late 90’s, died in 1975. Imagine the life she lived and the things she saw!!

I come from a working class background. My dad was a fitter and turner (a metal worker), he built the furniture in our house. My mom was very intelligent and was always frustrated by the lack of opportunity for women in Oz. Her dad was a well known artist and her mum, my nana, was a wonderful artists’ model with all that implies.

I am the oldest of my generation and the first in the family to graduate from University. I had a job with the Feds and was slated to go into the diplomatic corps, was a regular church goer, married my teenage girlfriend when we both turned 22, had two sons. But then, in one of my last year of classes, met the manager of research at J. Walter Thompson, an older guy who was earning his degree courtesy of the ad agency. He offered me a job, which in turn led to a VP position at Spectrum within 2 years at age 24.

CJ’s oldest friend (and new Kossack) Daigomi fills in here, giving some details on CJ’s successful effort to change the Australian government:

During Col’s tenure at Spectrum in Australia, they (the Spectrum team) developed the election campaign in 1972, “It’s Time”, which unseated a conservative coalition (Liberal Party and Country Party) government that had been in power for 23 years.

CJ’s poem about this period in his life:

A WISER MAN

Life was never difficult for a white male born after


The second conflict to end all great international arguments


And while we never had much money in our pockets


We never wanted for material possessions

Nor did we lack for love from family and friends


Father had a steady job, protected by the union


Mother owned a coffee house, espresso in the 60’s


Cheese and pineapple toast, berets, turtle necks.

Ferlinghetti read aloud to bongo drums


Me and Gordon and Rhonda played PPM tunes


My young brother Pete did Mick to a tee

Joined a group of radical left wing uni grads


In a market research group who worked for


The loyal opposition to the then government


In Oz. In the next twelve months we design,

Then run a successful campaign to try to elect

First Labour Party government in almost 20 years


On the simple premise that “It’s Time”


That’s correct, it was simply, time for a change.

Some would ask, “Time for what?”


Peter the Writer would always answer “It’s just time”


The question would hang forever in the air…

A wise man was old Peter


Who understood that voters


Would finish the sentence


With their own ending

He was right

Three years later


Time was up


It was, indeed


Time

© CJ Campbell March 2012

I joined a group of like minded researchers and opened the Hong Kong branch of Spectrum. My wife came to HK for 6 weeks, did not like it at all and one night, when I got home, there was a note advising me that she had taken the boys and gone back to Oz and her boyfriend. I was devastated. S, who I had hired to run the new office, eventually became my wife and after almost 10 years in HK we came to LA in 1978. S is the mother of my third son and only daughter, both born here in America.

So then I was running a major research firm in LA when I met L. I was still young, still thinking below the shoulders in matters related to sex. I left S for a woman ten years younger. L had a daughter, who I now consider mine.

We moved to SF where I was working with a group researching market potential for energy efficient appliances.

Since my fourth son was born, his first 8 years coincided with the destruction of the Silicon Valley boom and I saw job after job disappear until cancer struck in 2004.

S, who has every reason to give me a hard time, married a good friend of mine from HK. She and he have both been solid as rocks.

My two younger brothers both live in Tasmania, I am in constant touch with them.

In my life I have:

-been the lead singer of a Peter Paul and Mary clone group in Oz

-lived with a tribe in the Oz desert for 4 months

-taken Polaroid pics of almost 200,000 tractors in SE Asia for

Caterpillar Tractor

-driven the length of Java from east to west

-spent a week with my wife on a deserted tropical island

-eaten Civet cat, harvest birds, snake, kangaroo tail, goanna,

witchetty grub, chocolate ants, fish heads and more

-abandoned the plane via the escape chute on the runway at Kai Tak Airport

-landed “dead stick” in a lettuce field in the Imperial Valley, Ca

holding on to the waist of my camera man as he kept the camera -going

outside the window of the Cessna

-developed the “bring to market” plan and helped sell the prototypes

to Maytag and Toshiba for the world’s first microwave clothes dryer in

1999. The product is slated to come to market by 2015 it takes almost

twenty years for technology testing!

-wrote the original “bring to market” document for compact fluorescent

lamps in 1991 which predicted a 2004 “take off” year. I was wrong by

one year!

-been the lead singer of The Gang Bang, a HK rock group in the 70’s

consisting of one Caucasian singer, a 5’1″ Chinese lead guitarist, a

6′ Chinese rhythm guitarist, a 5’5″ 220lb Chinese bass player and a

tall skinny Chinese/Portuguese drummer who was stoned 105% of the

time. We had a permanent gig with Bacardi Rum on the Ferries where

they threw parties in HK Harbour

-conducted several million dollars worth of surveys for Reynolds

Tobacco and Coca-Cola in the 70’s as they turned their attention to

Asian markets

-sat in a room with Reagan’s advisors before his election when one of

them looked at him and said “You know Ron, when you made movies, we

always knew you were acting. Now you’re a politician, we’re not so

sure.”

-at last count have been to 42 States

-I love to meet and learn about other people’s journeys

CJ’s struggles since becoming ill in 2004 have been well-documented. One of his earliest diaries should be required reading for Gov. Romney:

Every day I check my SSA account hoping to find that I qualify for extra help with medications, or that California will once again pay my Part D premiums, or that my Medicaid copayment of $760 a month has been waived so I can afford much needed dental work. To no avail.

Every day I check to see if I have an appointment with one or more of the following: Blood test, CT Scan, Oncologist #1 (for Nerve sheath cancer), Oncologist #2 (for mouth cancer), Cardiologist #1 for Chemo induced heart problems, Cardiologist #2 to check my implanted defibrillator, Neurologist for Chemo induced strokes and seizures, Dermatologist for Chemo induced rashes and skin pain, Primary care doctor for monthly check up, ENT specialist to check mouth cancer, Radiation tech to check my progress after 4 months of radiation on my neck, tongue and mouth. Cool, only have three appointments next week.

Every day I get dunning calls and letters from collection agencies, sometimes polite, mostly insulting “pay the bill or no doctors in this town will see you.” I usually offer to send them the other arm (cancer took the left arm 5 years ago).

Every day I sit at my computer and try to budget a way for $1461 a month to pay for rent+utilities ($1050), health care premiums, meds, payment of past bills ($240), food for myself and my son ($200), transportation, public, can’t drive ($50). So I don’t eat out, don’t go to movies. My older kids help make up the shortfall every month. Bless them.

Every day I am thankful for great doctors, nurses, techs. My children who help bridge the money gap. And my ex-wife who, with her husband, have become stalwart allies and good friends.

Every day I start on a new diary but run out of energy. Today is different. I am determined to share my story. Health care is not “broken”, rather it has been coopted by greedy people who think it’s OK to profit on others’ pain. The leeches who run the system should go through one week of my life. Wonder how long they would last?

In 2010 CJ became a member of the KosAbility board and, eventually, moderator of the Wednesday diaries. He found and nurtured new writers, encouraged all who wrote and commented even as his own health continued to decline, and played an integral role in making the series so important that it is a featured group on the Daily Kos masthead. One of his last poems was written for the KosAbility community.

THE NEW HORATIOS AT THE BRIDGE

 (For A.E. Houseman)

An outnumbered band of ill-equipped veterans

 Volunteer for duty on this fate deciding day

 Where nurse and priest and blogger stand

 Shoulder-locked in confident array

A quilter and her sister over there

 Stand arrayed beside a kilted Scot

 Mother/fighter for disabled rights. Care

 They for those less able to go not

Where help is needed most. Look see

 The bear arms locked with the math savant

 Himself learning disabled. Many others to be

 Mentioned in this army of care for human want

This bridge will hold, as with Horatio, until

 Every soul is safe and help is an open offer

 We can do no less, for if we don’t fulfill

 Our duty to our fellows, what more does life proffer?

© CJ Campbell September 2012

CJ wrote at least one poem every day. The ones about pain and disability are haunting:

LIFE’S A BIT LIKE THAT

Wake up in the morning

To a sink of dirty dishes

Have some eggs for breakfast

Despite your doctor’s wishes

Sitting drinking coffee

Absorbing all the dirt

In the local coffee shop

In yesterday’s t-shirt

Lunch at one a sandwich

Or some soup out of a can

Then nap all afternoon

Or do puzzles til the man

You’ve looked forward to comes on

At five to catch you up

With the news outside your walls

He really fills your cup

With the foolishness of those

Who want to lead us all

Or they that they know best

(I wouldn’t have the gall)

Then dinner all alone

While watching the TV

Basketball or hockey

It’s all the same to me

Exhausted by the meds

By 9 or so in bed

Solving several sudoku

Buzzing in his head

Sleep in fits and starts

Phantom pain still there

After almost 4 years on

Very hard to bear

Wake up in the morning

To a sink of dirty dishes

Have some eggs for breakfast

Despite your doctor’s wishes

PHANTOM

Last night the Phantom struck again

It struck in my left arm

And though the arm’s no longer there

The Phantom does great harm

The wrist is very painful

Fingers curl up in a ball

This non-existent menace

Won’t let me sleep at all

The best solution I have found

An imaginary cane

To whack the Phantom ’til he stops

Then whack him once again

The problem with this whacking

Is really plain to see

When I’m beating on the Phantom

I’m also whacking me

I wake up all exhausted

My stump is black and blue

I’m mentally lethargic

The Phantom ne’er says “Boo”

PAIN

The pain in my non-existent arm never stops

The phantom pain of loss

It wakes me in the middle of the night

Makes me turn and toss

Pain in the side of my head endures

Since stroke knocked me down

A constant buzzing in my brain

My face a permanent frown

The pain in my chest is complicated

From heart or cancer I can’t tell

It stops me after 10 minutes

Feeling this way is hell

The physical pain as bad as it is

Is not the worst in fact

The pain of being rejected

Has the most impact

SURREADREALS

Lately I’ve been dreaming nonsense

Don’t know what it means

I think it must be the drugs

I’m seeing frightful scenes

Sometimes I wake to grab my arm

But it’s no longer there

Amputated years ago

I just reach for air

At other times I hear the words

Of some new country song

In a language I don’t understand

And a melody that’s wrong

Nevertheless I carry on

There’s nothing else to do

I’ll never give it up

Tell me what would you do?

DYING SLOWLY

How long do I have

When will it take me

How will I go out

When will I not see

Anymore more with these

Brown and blurry eyes

As my body shuts itself

Down in brief surprise

Or will I just collapse

In excruciating pain

As the medics make

My heart beat once again

Perhaps I’ll simply fall

Asleep and never wake

With a satisfied smile

That would be a break

LUCKY I GUESS

All my life has been

A struggle between

A body full of disease

And a brain full of ideas

Epilepsy took my teenage years

Made me a drooling fool

Then Cocsackie got me

In the heart muscle

To lay me low for almost

Two years

Destroying my thriving business

In Hong Kong

So

Came to Los Angeles

To struggle with narcolepsy

And second divorce

In Oakland

A blood clot in my leg

Slowed me for a while

Then 4 years ago today

A stroke took me to hospital

Where cancer was discovered

Amputation of left arm

Several seizures from chemo

Cardiac arrest on operating table

Now have implanted defibrillator

And heart incident about

Every 2 months

Just

Lucky

I guess

CANCER RETURNS

Cancer came back

An unbidden attendant

At the family reunion

That crazy distant relative

Who always manages to say precisely

The wrong thing

At

The wrong time

In May, 2011, CJ formed the group Indigo Kalliope, a political poetry group. A random sampling of some of my favorites (some have not been published before) gives these gems:

THE MOMENT THEY SPEAK

7/20/2010

Who are those blanched, smooth

Well dressed middled-aged

Over-fed self-satisfied

Holier-than-thou politicians

Who now complain that

Government is broken?

Why, the same Republicans

Who took a monkey wrench

And threw it headlong into

The workings of the machine

Under the guise of repairing

Faulty departments so that

Private enterprise (read “my buddies”)

Could drain the nation of its wealth

BENIGHTED NATION, BENIGHTED PEOPLE

8/20/2010

Measured by material assets

A nation of brick and stone and metal

Piled high and locked behind

Bars of gold and silver

Owned by a wealthy few

Who keep it all for themselves

In case a rainy day

Spoils their unattended parade

Meanwhile the flock obeys the law

Goes off to work for table scraps

And sofa sized paintings

Of our savior never questioning

The reason for throwing their sons

And daughters in the way of deadly

Weapons from competing billionaires

With a different fashion sense

THE LOUD CRUDE HAIRLESS ANIMALS

The loud crude hairless animals are at it once again

They simply do not understand their role in the grand

Scheme of life on this planet, let alone this planet’s

Pivotal nature in the universal plan for life. We stand

To lose so much if these talking apes continue to

Burn and waste precious resources in their silly quest

To control their fate. A fate beyond the grasp of any

Being living now or yet to be. This species thinks it best

To kill in the name of peace; to consume in the name

Of preservation; to speak and listen simultaneously

A trick no other species ever learned, therefore

No need to speak, to communicate spontaneously

By this action, on this day, the council now decrees

Flood them out, take the oceans up another 10 degrees

© CJ Campbell July 2011

OLD ACTOR FORGETS LINES

In a moment of senility


An actor known for roles


Best described as edgy


Violent, tough, no nonsense


Independent free thinker

Became, in full view of America,


A doddering, senile, caricature


Of the failed right wing past


Cause of war, poverty, racial hatred


Class warfare and true social unrest

Vituperative, insulting language


Directed in frothy streams at an empty


And innocent chair to the delight of


Cretinous brain-dead hooting white


Alligator brained feces slinging monsters

Such was the climax of the annual


Convention of the Flat Earth Society


Held in a violent summer storm this week


Where the intellectual elite of the right


Made plans for the violent overthrow of

Reason in all its manifestations

Fortunately for the rational world


And intelligent life everywhere


Human, or otherwise, on this blue ball


The armies of “faith before facts” have lost


All their dictionaries, resulting in

Calls to “go ahead punk make my day!”

And as he walked off stage


Did one see a hint of remorse


In that aged head for the scurrilous


Attack on a good man in the name


Of publicity for a new movie?


Pandering to the lizard brain


In the bubbles/spittle/froth


And alcoholic stupor of the


Broken tooth crowd beside


The polyester jump suiters


And the full Clevelands


With their overweight wives


As they pack the muu-muus


And matching shirts away


For another year

© CJ Campbell August 2012

And then there are the personal poems. Like the one he wrote for us when he received his beloved community quilt:

there are no words to describe

the truth of my feelings

i could say i am overwhelmed

it would not be strong enough

mere thank yous

do not come close

hugs from a one armed man

only reach halfway

at best

so

let me

leave it at this

nothing will ever replace

what all of you have given unasked

to so many in need

to be chosen as a receiver of your special love

is itself a miracle

a miraculous miracle

Upon receiving the news of exmearden’s death:

I wish there was something to say

Something profound

To ease the pain

Only know that

We are all diminished by the loss

Of one so wise

Compassionate

Funny

Dedicated

A friend to every worthy cause

She will be missed

By those who long time knew her

And those only met yesterday

Tears are falling

My Christmas present from CJ in 2010:

TO A LOVER NEVER MET

A Sonnet

As real as any I grew up beside

Or sat with each morning on the train

Heading sleepy to my career

In lieu of life. Nor can I explain

How I know she is as lovely

As the most adored movie star

Although invisible to me

Her radiance outshines by far

The gods of antiquity. I love

Her soul, no need to see

Or stand beside. It reaches out

Enfolds, entrances me

Did we know each other in days past?

Will the dream come true at last?

June, 2012, when I expressed worry about his declining health:

my love

the brain still functions

at a high level

the heart (the immortal one)

is as strong as ever

so I don’t worry much

about the pump

the gears

brakes and wheels

they have no bearing

on the essential nature

of our being

nor on the nature

of all of us

nor of love

I love you

forever

CJ

CJ did not “go gentle into that good night”. He was coaching soccer this fall; his final email, dated less than two weeks before his death, gave me the perfect ending to his story:

I will miss today’s diary due to a Soccer party at a player’s house. My team finally played the way they were coached this week and won 8-1!

See you next time…