Mountain Views News          Saturday, December 7, 2013

5

AROUND SAN GABRIEL VALLEY

Mountain Views-News Saturday, December 7, 2013 


THINKING ABOUT MY PARENTS

 By Christoper Nyerges

[Nyerges is the author of many books, including “Self-Sufficient Home,” 
“Enter the Forest,” and “How to Survive Anywhere.” A listing of his classes 
and books is available at www.ChristopherNyerges.com, and from the 
School of Self-reliance, Box 41834, Eagle Rock, CA 90041]

“What’s Going On?” 

News and Views from Joan Schmidt


DEPUTY MARCH’S MEMORIAL DESTROYED

But He Will Never Be Forgotten

 This past Friday morning I went on Facebook and noticed a post that 
Deputy Dave March’s Memorial had been destroyed early Thursday morning. 
Apparently a female driver traveling east on Live Oak Avenue fell asleep at 
the wheel, and her car drifted to the side of the road into Dave’s Memorial, 
destroying it. (Fortunately, she and her passenger are okay.)

 It was extremely 
upsetting to me 
and tears came. It 
doesn’t seem that 
eleven years have 
passed since that 
fateful day. I was 
in my classroom 
teaching, but there 
seemed to be 
more sirens that 
usual. We were 
put on lockdown, 
so I called Temple 
Station and learned 
the awful news. 
Deputy Dave 
March, our Area 
57 Deputy, was 
gunned down by 
coward, Armando 
Garcia, whom Dave 
had stopped for a 
traffic violation. Soon after, Garcia fled to Mexico and it was a terrible situation for Dave’s wife Teri, 
his parents and his sister Erin. Eventually Garcia was extradited from Mexico, tried, convicted and 
now is in prison. But that doesn’t bring Dave back.

 Dave’s shooting had occurred in the City of Irwindale, just one-half block from our county area. 
That is why the Irwindale Police, with help from a few local businesses, put up the Memorial. (At 
Temple Sheriff’s Station, there is another beautiful Memorial to Dave from his fellow workers there.) 
It’s been eleven years, but no one has forgotten him. After I heard about the Memorial being destroyed 
I drove to the site. The Memorial is gone, but there is a floral arrangement shaped like a flag, two 
potted plants, several candles and a rosary.

 After Dave died, within two days, the site had rows of flowers, plants and a few posters in between. 
Arcadia, Monrovia, Azusa and Glendora Police Departments all left poignant messages on poster 
boards. It was a beautiful tribute. I hope somehow that the Memorial will be able to be restored. A few 
days after I originally wrote this, Sgt. Burt Brink from the Sheriff’s Department said the monument 
will be replaced. I also spoke to Sgt. Tom Levesque from Arcadia PD last night at the Arcadia Council 
Meeting and he said ALL the local agencies would help with funding if necessary. There is a special 
camaraderie among local law enforcement. 

 I think about my 
parents when the 
year-end holiday 
season rolls around, 
often thinking of 
the life lessons they 
attempted to impart to me. Yes, at the time, 
I resisted most of those efforts because, as a 
typically ignorant, arrogant, know-it-all teen, it 
was my “duty” to resist those efforts to “control 
me.” Only decades later did I begin to realize the 
value of what they wanted me to comprehend. 

 Of course, my parents had no desire to 
“control” me; they wanted me to gain the ability 
to control myself. And controlling myself meant 
not so much what I should do, but rather what I 
should not do.

 My father would often tell me to always keep 
my word. “A man is only as good as his word,” 
he’d tell me, and my brothers and I would scoff 
at him. Little did we realize at the time how 
profound of a practical lesson that was. 

 My mother took great pains to attempt to 
instill in us that there are consequences to our 
actions. Nothing really complicated, no Eastern 
words like “karma.” Just simple. Be home at this 
time or get the stick!

 We learned the value of money and work. Our 
family was large with a modest income. If I or 
any of my brothers asked our parents if we could 
have something, the response was predictable: 
“Sure, now go out and earn the money so you 
can buy it.” We learned that this was the natural 
order of things. So we all learned creative ways 
to earn money for what we needed or wanted, 
or we learned to make the things we wanted, 
or we simply learned that we could do without. 
Yes, and we learned to fix things that broke 
rather than immediately throw the item away, as 
today’s throw-away society encourages us to do.

 We were a family of mostly boys – my one 
sister left home at the earliest age to attend a 
live-in nursing school. We learned to cook, wash 
dishes, vacuum, sew, polish our shoes, mow the 
lawn, paint the rooms, fixed the screens. We 
were naturally expected to do these things, as 
both our parents worked. If we neglected to do a 
chore, my mother would say, “Do you think I’m 
your maid?” 

 It continues to amaze me when I learn about 
friends whose children not only do no work, but 
actually refuse to do any housework. One such 
“child” demands everything of his parents and 
one parent confided in me that she is afraid of 
her son. The child – an older teen actually – 
does no work, uses drugs, and has the audacity 
to use the “F” word at his parents. Boy, have 
things changed!

 There is absolutely no way I would have ever 
gotten away with calling either of my parents a 
name. It would be incomprehensible, because I 
knew there would be certain punishment and it 
would never be forgotten. 

 Once when I stole something from a neighbor, 
I was marched over to the neighbor to apologize, 
return the money, and forced to do some tasks 
for the month. Of course, there was never a 
second incident of stealing.

 My mother’s use of a stick – and other tactics 
– helped to modify our behavior so that at an 
early age we no longer even thought about any 
criminal activities. I was no saint, and am not a 
saint today. But I realized that – despite tactics 
that are today frowned upon - my parents’ efforts 
did eventually have the desired effect. What was 
that desired effect? The desired effect was that 
I would not have to suffer all the wasted time 
and dollars that the criminal life costs, and that 
I could learn to experience personal fulfillment 
through self-control. 

 My mother was also a nurse, so each of us 
gained a sense of doing what it took to let the 
body heal itself with certain foods and water 
and bedrest, and only taking pills and going to 
the doctor when absolutely necessary.

 This is only the tip of the iceberg. Now that 
both my parents have been gone about 10 years, 
I find that holidays are not the same without 
them. And when I recall the practical life’s 
lessons that they worked frustratingly hard to 
impart into me, I realized today that my parents 
are very much still with me.