Frank F. Weber's Blog, page 24

Love, Jesus and Bert Faust

Brenda and I have been together since we were teens.  There’s a scene in Murder Book which I took from our past, as I feel stories become more alive when you use real experiences and reference real places.  Brenda and I were lying on my bed contemplating possibilities (as teens have more time to do) when something caught her eye.  First of all, I need to clarify that Bert Faust was a rather stoic and single German electrician  who worked in Pierz and often responded to questions with clipped phrases like “got to” when something needed to be fixed.  I use his name (and actual local and metro places) in the book because I feel doing so makes it all more real.  Plus, the story is no insult to Bert and I think he would have enjoyed it.  The breaker panel for the house I grew up in was in the middle of the wall in my bedroom, and Bert had a sticker with his name advertising his work on the bottom.  My mom decided to hang a picture of Jesus over the panel, but it didn’t quite cover it.  So Brenda looked up from the bed and asked, “Why does that picture of Jesus say Bert Faust underneath it?”
 
I smiled and said, “I’ve always thought very highly of Bert’s work.”  
 
The story reminds me of a quiet man I helped who lived in St. Cloud.  With his permission I am sharing his story.  He was a former veteran who struggled with some mental illness issues and paranoia.  He is also is one of the best examples of altruistic love I can think of.  He was involved in a relationship with a chemically dependent woman, with multiple failed treatment efforts.  She would disappear from his life for weeks at a time.  When she was sober, she’d come to his house and they’d have months of enjoying day-to-day life together, walking about the community, listening to free music and speakers…  But when she was using she wasn’t welcome.  There were no arguments about it.  It was the rule.  She always returned sheepish and apologetic and with no anger he would simply plan on enjoying their next moment together.  Instead of making himself miserable over it, he would simply say, “We were both damaged cars before we ran into each other, so it would be damn foolish to be mad when we don’t always function like we ought to.”
 
He has moments of cognitive slippage which produce some odd conversations such as:  
 
“My life is like leading a horse to water, but there’s no water.”
I had to ask, “Is there a horse?”
His response, “No.”
(Good analogy)
 
Another time I saw him on the street and asked, “Hey, how are you doing?”
He dropped his head and said, “Last night I tried to think of questions people might ask me today.  I had that one written down, but then crossed it out, so I don’t have an answer.”

I would have loved to see the questions he did have answers for.

And at times he has poignant clarity.  I asked him where his kindness and his ability to forgive others came from, and he told me this: 
 
“I’ve struggled with mental illness forever.  I only got in the Army because they needed bodies and the requirements weren’t as stringent as they are now.  But despite all the stupid things I’ve said and done, my mom has never been embarrassed to be with me.  Anytime there’s a get-together she’s proud of me and introducing me to friends like I’m the King of England.”

Love begets love.
 
Thanks for listening,
 
Frank Weber ​With my son Preston in Ireland in spring 2016. The bench I am is sitting on is titled, "Sleeping Jesus."

Sex Crimes, Messages & Prostitutes

There was a sting operation in St. Cloud where a number of prostitutes were busted working at a local hotel. The county prosecutor and community corrections supervisor were discussing what to do with the prostitutes. They decided to refer the women to me for psychological assessments to determine the types of guidance each would need in order to develop a healthy lifestyle. So, as I was going through my voicemail, I had the message, “Frank, would you be interested in seeing a prostitute?  Please call me back.”
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When I returned the corrections supervisor call I received her voicemail so I decided to have some fun with it. I left this message:  “I didn’t think it was that obvious. I think I’ll try to be nicer to my wife and see how that works out for me, but I appreciate your concern.”  You need to have a sense of humor to survive in this work--perhaps any work.

I was approached by a prostitute at age 16 when I was supposed to be at the state boys’ basketball tournament, but instead was walking around Minneapolis with friends. I declined for three reasons that still stand true:

It’s setting the bar very low for sexual intimacy.  I don’t want to be with someone outside the context of love.It’s like throwing a rock at a drowning girl.   The prostitutes are almost always struggling victims of past sex crimes. (In this case she was younger than me.)They don’t make a wet suit thick enough for it. (If you read Murder Book, you will see the main character, like me, is obsessive.)
That being said, I believe in grace and live by the words of an old Jerry Riopelle song, Hey Old Friend.

            Come and sit for a spell.
            You can cry and I won’t tell, what you’ve all been through.
            There’s a shadow on the ground.  The sun must still be there.
            No one’s lost who can’t be found, by someone somewhere.         
     
Thanks for listening,
Frank

Murder Book begins…

​When I started working as a forensic psychologist I had the opportunity to spend time with a retired  BCA investigator, Dick Polipnick.  He told of a murder in rural Minnesota, which was difficult to solve because investigators kept focusing on the most obvious suspect.  This story, combined with having dated a sixteen year old who disappeared after we broke up when I was seventeen, led to the creation of Murder Book.
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While we’re bombarded with a thousand different life changing sayings, they don’t tell you that you will make those decisions in some of the darkest and desolate areas during the darkest and most desolate moments of your life.   This picture, which serves as a reminder, was taken on a back road near Pierz on the way to Babbling Brook, where Murder Book begins.  I took this picture using the mirror on my car.  I particularly liked the way the telephone pole resembles a cross, delivering the desired message.