Thomas G. Corrigan

I'm Tom Corrigan, born on Wednesday, February 22, 1933, and according to folklore, 'a child of woe.' That struck me aa an awful burden to put on a child, but I never did anything about it. Mother Goose had spoken, and that was that! That was my biggest problem growing up - growing up. Part of growing up is allowing yourself to fledge, to ask questions, allow doubts to linger for a while before casting them out because some adults might consider you an ingrate for daring to question what's been handed to you - free of charge.

I dared explore the Mother Goose definition of Wednesday's child. I rummaged around in etymology books, trying to find the roots of the word 'woe going back as far as I could. Turns out that woe has less to do with being a natural-born sad-sack than it does with having a shared empathy for the feelings of others. That's a good thing. I believe I've been doing that, in some small degree or another for almost eighty-nine years now. it feels good. It also has a nice ring to it. My parents, Hazel and Tom, raised me in a Roman Catholic household that wore its religious observance about as comfortably as one might wear an old, favorite sweatshirt or bathrobe. There were house rules to be obeyed and that was about it. I did my share of 'naughty' and 'dopey' things but was getting by rather smoothly until I transferred, mid-year in the fourth grade, from public school into a parochial school. I didn't handle my transition from old sweatshirts and bathrobes into the concept of eternity as payback for 'naughty' and 'stupid' or inconsiderate behavior.

I did eventually grow up - almost - I'm still working on it. I graduated from St. John's Prep high school in Brooklyn and St, John's College, with a major in English. Immediately upon graduation, I volunteered for the draft and served in the army from 1954-1956. I was a Morse Code trained radio operator, then instructor. Subsequently I was tapped to be a broadcaster for the balance of my hitch. Back in civilian life, I taught for eleven years after which I went into government work in the administration of government-funded education and training programs . I also returned to broadcasting for five years on public radio on Long Island before retiring to Florida.

Writing has always played a part in my work history, Reports, summaries, strategy papers, white papers, program digests, d grant proposals, and speeches. Jo and others in my life urged me to write, just for the sake of writing. I dabbled, actually submitting one poem that earned me a check for fifty dollars. I daydreamed that, technically, the check made me a 'professional poet,' of sorts. I tossed most of my scribbled efforts into our piano bench.

After Jo died, in 2014, I needed a whole lot of 'keeping busy,' writing, hanging around Bed, Bath & Beyond to learn a thing or two about housekeeping, and jogging to keep the blood flowing . I joined a number of writers' groups here in Palm Beach County. "Ritual," a serial-murder novel with a bit of a twist, introduces the very human side of a demonized serial killer. "Facets," the sequel, examines the conflict between diametrically opposed forces, each with its own concept of what is 'precious, with humanity trapped in the middle. "WTF," my next effort, became a labor of love. It's a memoir. You may ask. 'Where does a nobody get off writing a memoir?' I firmly believe that Everyone IS SOMEBODY, simply by being human and surviving in this world, where our very existence is slowly taking a back seat to a man-made virtual reality without physical restrictions, and slowly taking on a frightening 'immortality' of its own.

"Labyrinth," my fourth book, completes the trilogy begun with "Ritual" and "Facets,' and tries to illustrate, in human terms, how interconnected we are, across generations, geography and circumstance ... the intimacy withing 'six' or more 'degrees of separation.'

My current project is an attempt to arm ourselves with the last arsenal at our disposal: WORDS, the bullets of an informed public. wearied by political vandalism and nasty children at play in the hall of Congress. Etymology is a genealogy of sorts, a family tree of word origins, roots and intended meanings. I dive into the slimy world of word burglars, kidnapping magnificent that capture humanity at its best, and poisoning their roots into seeds of hate and destruction. My working title is "Of Sticks and Stones."

My books have been well received and generously reviewed by readers who have taken the time to write reviews. I am grateful to them all, along with others who have personally commented to me but who have not taken the time to express their views in writing. My pleasure and reward come from the research, the writing and the honest conviction that i am sharing something worthy of the effort. I have to admit I'm a lousy promoter, a worse salesman and a bit too old to be a nimble hustler. I have often sent published copies to friends at full price despite being warned by writer friends that I might have been shooting myself in the foot by doing so. Word was that only purchasers could write critiques. I never considered the gifting of a book to be a bribe in order to get good reviews. I still feel that way. I'm not about to change now. I don't lose any sleep over it, but I do hope that something may catch on, one fine day,

I see our humanity an in a protracted decline over the past seventy-eight years, subtle at first, then gradually accelerating through the eighties. Subtlety can be difficult to wrap one's head around when it occurs on a massive scale and is observed from an enormous a massive perspective accompanied by invisible physical forces and elements that we take for granted, as if they weren't there at all. The earth rotates on its axis once every twenty-four hours, approximately. We're spinning across 25,000 miles of earth;s diameter in twenty-four hours. That's 1,041.7 miles per hour. Figure skaters don't spin that fast and we're amazed how they can maintain a sense of balance after all that rotation. All that spinning and I don't have a hair out of place. Wow! Are we that insignificant? Yep! But that's not necessarily t a bad thing. Think of those anonymous physical forces that kick in while we're gyrating.

I see our steepest decline beginning somewhere between the bursting tech bubble in the year 2000 and 9-11 in 2001. There were forces at work that had nothing to do with the science of the solar system, gravity or the physics of bodies in motion.on a universal scale. The only 'science' was political science, 'poly sci' - not really science at all. The real science was computer science, pure science only up to the point where it becomes conflated with economics and investment strategies and the high tech of fiber optics. After 2006, we were off to the races, and badly hobbled, limping out of the starting gate,

We are slowly being relegated to the role of solitary buyers in a thriving marketplace for whatever our advancing robotic masters are producing for our eager consumption. Some expensive items, promoted as essential to our survival, are delivered like ticking bombs with verbalized warnings of side effects, usually accompanied by music. We are learning to dance to the themes of our own mortality. I am smiling as I write this because I am not morbid by nature. Nor am I disdainful of human beings. Hell, I am one. I am smiling because I hope we can pull ourselves out of this suicidal nosedive we're in. I hope we have the wherewithal to wake up. We'll need all the self-respect and aplomb to construct rules of law and self-respect to let the robots of any order of artificial intelligence in their proper places as servants, not masters.

I invite anyone who reads this to come along for the ride. I'm sharing, not preaching; and I sincerely hope it's not too late for us, human, to grab the reins again and subject ourselves to a bit of self-discipline and personal accountability in the process.