Dedication

In memory of my dear friend and navigator, James R. Young, Ph.D.

I met James Young, Ph.D. on October 18th, 1985. A little house on an island along the coast of Maine. A midnight ‘raid,’ in a quiet community, a shakedown for money under the guise of a ‘clandestine drug lab.’

In 85, I had heard of Dr. Young as the guy who did the testing for the wells and also breath alcohol levels.

He also did the environmental testing for the cities, and residences, drug testing, and crime scene testing for the State of Maine, DEA, FBI, and others. He had done well testing in the area of Hancock Maine and had found elevated levels of manganese as reported to me by the residents.

Jim had also done the alcohol analysis of my breath alcohol levels when I had been arrested for self-medicating with a bottle of tequila. My father’s drinking buddy had called the police and said that I had an automatic weapon. The city officers had greeted me at night in an Ellsworth parking lot with multiple shotguns to my head.

And now, an officer, a member of the Tri-County Organized Crime Task Force is introducing us like a storm of officers are shaking through boxes of books and paperwork.

“This is Dr Young. He’s the chemist for the state.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Young. I am sorry that we have to meet under such circumstances.” We shook hands, as the half dozen linebacker size State Troopers wearing guns and baton flashlights, tore through my books and papers looking for money. Continuing to yell, “Where’s the stuff! Where’s the money!”

Dr. Young grew up across the lake from where I lived with my grandparents every summer and into my teens in Maine, half a state away. A rolling hillside going up into mountains and red cliffs along 25 miles of lake. Beautiful country, where the white clouds float against deep blue mountain skies, we would sit and watch together years later.

We tried to communicate but it was a challenge. Sgt. Michael Pratt had slapped me up against the head with a stack of magazines and his buddy Hayden would take lead on the yelling into my ears, “where’s the money.” All the officers stopped in a flash as one of them slowly pulled out a declassified CIA manual.

Dr. Young calmly asked me, “Is there anything here that could harm the officers?” I told him, “no,” and they continued their frenzy tearing through the books, journal articles, my family’s medical records. They were tossing them in the air and onto the floor, along with the American flag that had draped my grandfather’s coffin.

I had spotted a library book that I had to return in a week, from the Biddeford Library. A great uncle, Lowell Innes, from Biddeford, had written a book, Pittsburgh Glass, 1797-1891: A History and Guide for Collectors. He donated large collections of glass to museums.

My parents didn’t want me to visit any more with him. He knew the secrets of the family.

Jim and his wife Diana, a wonderful artist of great esteem, who offers art therapy in the city of Bangor, resided years back, at Biddeford Pool. Where my grandfather was born and lived as a child. My roots in the state of Maine dating before the civil war. My ancestor, Samuel Leavitt, the first ‘unofficial’ sheriff in the state of Maine. I can only hope that he was a fair and honest man.

I am on the floor trying to pick up the book as the officers are kicking the things as they fall to the floor. Dr. Young had looked at the bottles of chemicals and saw that they were all sealed and there was no ‘laboratory.’ I stood up and went for a 5mg valium as I was shaking and ready to pass out. Dr. Young yelled to the officers, “get him downstairs. Now!”

A couple of years later, I contacted Dr. Young to sell my scant collection of glassware that the federal government had returned to me. He

began to explain things to me, that make so much sense years later.

We had a commonality that was interesting.

I patted the horse that was in a large fenced in area off of Ohio Street in Bangor, next to Dr. Young’s laboratory. I told Jim that I don’t ride horses, but liked critters. He did not ride horses either.

Jim’s father was an independent road builder/engineer that constructed roads for the state, blasting through the mountainsides of glacial rock that covered the great northeast. My father worked in defense, weapons. I didn’t like this sector to work in as ‘for every measure, there is a countermeasure,’ ‘the game.’ Peace and cooperative objectives make a better world, but I do like pyrotechnics.

Jim touched off some of his father’s explosives in grade school. His father never raised his voice, and told him, “if you are going to play with explosives, you need to know how to handle them so you don’t get killed.”

Myself, molested by some creeps as a child, with two other kids exploded 6 of their stolen cars. No one batted an eye. The problem was handled.

Jim got his Ph.D. in chemistry at the University of New Hampshire. I had popped a lock on an empty dorm room years back and learned organic chemistry in the libraries there.

We both liked critters and got along with critters better than most people. Neither of us hunted. Both had been taught, don’t kill anything that you are not going to eat. He had 6 sisters, I didn’t hang out with guys till I was 8. Jim was a professor of chemistry at a women’s university in Istanbul. I went to an all women’s college in Nashua. Women teach me a lot as I don’t understand matters of the heart/people’s intentions. Women keep me calm, balance my sleep cycles.

Jim memorized Shakespeare. I was fortunate to have the ladies at the college help me with homework.

Dr. Young was also a professor of chemistry at St Francis in Biddeford. In Bangor, he had a Newfoundland Rescue and helped find dogs medical care, therapy, and homes where they would be cared for and treated with love. He also donated time to the Bangor Humane Society. I cared for any wounded critters in my neighborhood as a child, and my parents after my mother were harmed in 1985, and my father’s repeated cancers and surgeries.

He was part of a team of scientists sent by the United States to help the Russians to upgrade their forensic laboratories. Someday we all work together to help one another.

We would rarely talk about the terrorist home invasion as it upset me so. But we would share notes. Jim along with others had told me that the officers had been using illegal phone taps for some time. It was widely known by the courts as to when an attorney would ask in court, where the information came from, the officers could not answer, many cases were thrown out.

The AG’s office knew of the officers indiscretions as well, including Nicholas Gess the prosecutor, but concealed these activities, when I brought it up that the officers were lying under a guise of ‘good intentions.’ I was disabled as a result of this, and my father’s cancer would metastasize and kill him as a result.

I mentioned to Jim about what the officers had done that they didn’t know, nor would they care, that will now cost lives for generations across many states, with birth defects, disability, and disease. Something that can’t be ‘fixed,’ like the AG’s Office did protect dirty officers. Jim would tell me. Otto, there is nothing that you can do. So we would talk about more pleasant things.

Jim and I would go see the cows at the University of Orono together. I always loved cows, big dreamy eyes, so peaceful. In NH, I would go sit with the cows with a friend as we are all tribe.

Dr. Young was surrounded by drugs as he did testing. I was surrounded by controlled substances as that was the norm in which I lived, my pharmaco-family in the city was covered in prescription controlled substances. Both of us were against drug abuse, misuse, and ‘recreational,’ use. We both enjoyed hiking and outdoor activities.

He wore the same shirts and pants, the same style, cut, different colors with some of them. Which is the way I dress, except 100% cotton. Practical, don’t waste time with fluff.

The family farm in Concord Maine was over 200 acres, but they only farmed a few of the acreage as this is wilderness. Some winters, there were only potatoes to eat. He described having a large bin, just chucked full of potatoes, and by the time there were fresh vegetables, it was almost empty as this was the only food to eat.

Jim donated hundreds of acres for future generations to be able to hike, walk and camp in the Concord area of Maine.

A brilliant mind, a playful kind spirit. A sense of fairness and balance. Jim was a powerful force that touched everyone he encountered with kindness and wisdom. He tested every sample one by one, by hand. No automatic machines, even “a 1% rate of error is not acceptable. It is a person’s life,” he would tell me.

My friend had wonderful stories about his life and Maine. I am blessed to have spent time with him. We would walk the trails through the Maine forests that I had done in my childhood and teens. And we would share stories, talked chemistry and fairness.

It’s the experiences that we share, cause we only have the moment. And the memories glow in our hearts with a magic of their own…

I miss my dear friend and navigator, we will meet again.