Tag Archives: Mary Baumer

JimBaumerMe Featured in Bangor Daily News (Dec. 28)

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JimBaumerMe, above the fold (Bangor Daily News, 12/28)

BIDDEFORD, Maine — All things considered, it’s been a decent year for Jim Baumer. The artist wrote a few dozen songs, put out his first EP and networked his way to 45 gigs at pubs and other stages across New England.

But it wasn’t that long ago that Baumer, a writer, didn’t play music at all. Although he’d always wanted to, it wasn’t until his son’s death that he began to devote time to it.

Mark Baumer was a writer and climate activist who died in January 2017 at age 33. He was struck by a car and killed in Florida while walking across the U.S. to raise awareness about climate change, and to raise funds for a friend’s environmental organization. He was reportedly wearing a high-visibility vest at the time he was struck and walking against traffic in accordance with safety guidelines. His death was a national story.

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Wisdom Out the Window

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Back in 1985, I’d recently walked away from fundamentalist religion. I’d been a student at a school run by a Baptist megalomaniac named, Jack Hyles. I’ve written many posts about Hyles across the footprint of my blogging that dates back to 1993. Of course, in 2020, blogging is as anachronism, just as outdated as a rotary dial phone. Doesn’t mean it’s bad—it’s just not the way the ignorant masses roll these days, especially the impressionable kids.

I was just an impressionable kid myself back in the mid-1980s when Ray-Bans were all the rage. But, I had determined to dry the wetness behind my own two ears. I figured broadening my understanding was the way to go. Moving beyond mere Bible verses and jeremiads offered in daily chapel services at Hyles-Anderson College seemed like a step in a new direction.

Mark was two-years-old and Mary was working the breakfast shift at the local Wendy’s. I was working the afternoon shift keeping the prisoners at Westville Correctional Center healthy and medicated (I was a medical assistant employed by the Indiana Department of Corrections).

With my morning free save for childcare, I decided to take my three semesters of credit at the University of Maine and see if I could ramp up my hopes of success in higher ed. Purdue University had a satellite campus about 20 miles away from where we were living and just up the road from the prison where I was working in Westville. Not sure why at the time, but I enrolled in Philosophy 101. It was probably a morning time slot thing.

Thinking college was the way to go (Purdue satellite)

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Complicated, but Simple

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Mark was killed two days prior to the day that serves as my birth day. In 2017, feeling celebratory 48 hours after receiving the gut punch of knowing your only son was gone was impossible.

The following year, I realized I didn’t give two shits about anyone knowing it was my birthday. My better half talked about celebrating halfway through the year. Being born in January means that the day signified with cake and ice cream (or your own special guilty pleasure) is usually cold and foreboding. But any day with cake can become a great day.

I haven’t had much cake over the last three years. The summer party never appeared—the idea was a good one, it just lacked a trigger for execution—namely me giving it the green light. Again, losing Mark made celebrating another year of life seem like an exercise in futility and the kind of self-indulgence that grief and loss robs you of.

Mark loved bell hooks’ writing. I was also a fan. Shortly after Mark’s death, I bought her book All About Love: New Visions, at Gulf of Maine Books in Brunswick. Continue reading →

The Holidays are Here

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I’m no longer sure who visits this space. Since almost everyone uses social media for communication and I’d prefer not to, it’s been months since all but a tiny contingent of people have remained connected.

It’s December. For some of us, it’s not a time of holiday cheer, or happy memories from Christmases past. For families who’ve lost a child, or currently going through their first holiday season without a loved one, it’s a painful time, one infused with memories that more often than not elicit sadness.

For Mary and me, this is the first year we’ve decorated a tree since Mark was killed. He was a Christmas baby, born on December 19. This will be the third birthday of his we have to endure without our son.

Christmas in the saloon.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be filled with joy and happiness (I probably never have been), but at least this year, the dial on the sadness meter has dropped a few notches: still sad, just not “wrecked with grief.” I guess that’s an improvement when you’ve set the bar very low.

Today, I concluded a difficult class at USM. This was the first one of my history classes I’ve taken that I didn’t enjoy. In fact, I really didn’t care for the professor or anything about the class. First, it was an online class. Being that in 2019, universities are moving away from bricks and mortar and face-to-face meetings, I guess I need to adjust. Continue reading →

Back in God’s Country

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A week ago today, Mary and I were heading north on I-65, back to places where our young family began our life together. This is about as close as one gets to having what could be called a “time machine” or sorts.

Traveling back in time, via I-65.

A week later, news is still filtering forth from the Hoosier State, fallout from the newly-minted documentary, Barefoot: The Mark Baumer Story. We got to hear a welcome voice yesterday afternoon. It was Julie Sokolow, the filmmaker. She’s remained behind after we flew back and her cohorts headed back to Pittsburgh. The festival actually has continued for another week. We were thrilled to hear that her efforts at telling Mark’s story were rewarded. The film landed the Heartland International Film Festival’s Best Premier Documentary Feature. As Mark’s parents, this elicited more emotion—but this time it was something more joyful and made us less sad. We’re thrilled for Julie and the film’s team that worked so hard in capturing Mark as elegantly as they have.

Barefoot wins award at Heartland Film.

I think Sundays will forever be a day that I remember as one that once centered on God and church, especially back in the days we first pulled up in our rented U-Haul in front of the Bible school I would be attending. Last Sunday, we drove onto the grounds of Hyles-Anderson College, where every day was focused on those two elements, at least in a theoretical and experiential manner for a 22-year-old who’d felt “called to leave everything behind save for his pregnant wife and a few belongings. Continue reading →

A Journey That Never Ends

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Grief is primarily a solitary slog. If you and your partner end up being thrust into the position of having to share in the journey, then there are times when your parallel paths join and then, depart again.

Briefly, there are times when others come alongside: We both experienced this in the days and weeks following Mark’s death. But then, people go back to wherever they were before the tragedy occurred.

In a nation where our empathy deficit is just one of a host of maladies, this inability of other people to understand at first is maddening, then it becomes the source of anger (or sadness), then eventually you simply stop caring. You are left alone to live in a place you never considered before—but there you are—a ghost among the living.

This weekend, in addition to being pleased with the documentary that was made about Mark, we got to spend time with people who reminded us both of Mark. They were a lot like who he was, believing that our better angels might win out. The filmmaker, Julie Sokolow, is a force to be reckoned with. It would have been enough for Mary and me to have a wonderful film. But, to see Julie in her element, bringing her “A game” to the Heartland International Film Festival, on message in interviews, was a thing to behold. She’s also so easy to be around and we’ve come to consider her a friend in addition to the woman who gets to tell Mark’s story in documentary form. Having spent so much time with Mark and his memories she’s forged a unique connection with his parents.

Barefoot: The Mark Baumer Story (poster by Jim Rugg)

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Roots and Community

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I’ve been fascinated by the concept of community for a long time.

Communitarianism, sometimes called “community,” is a concept I’ve been captivated with and have read widely about for the past 25 years. I even got to play in the “laboratory” and forge elements of this concept in various places around the state of Maine. I think the germ for me was first planted by Wendell Berry’s writing on the subject.

When I was directly engaged in community-building and nonprofit work during the first decade of this century, Berry’s foundational values: place (it matters), community, good work, and simple pleasures resonated with the side of me that tended towards seeing what was ideal, if not always practical. The best part of the time I spent engaged in what I found to be “good work” however, was that it taught me that people working together could produce positive results that benefited many and rippled outward long after I was no longer around doing that work.

My son embodied these values. He saw the good in people. Mark also had the capacity and the drive to move beyond mere words and playing around the fringes of social justice. He actually took action.

Friday, as youth around the world came together in a global chain of voices and actions around protesting climate change, I was reminded of the ultimate sacrifice that Mark made for what he believed in. His death profoundly altered my life and the life of his mom in ways that we’ll never be able to step away from. Loss is forever. Continue reading →

Southbound

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Moving is a lot of work. Transitioning stuff 50 miles might not seem like much, but it is.

The last time we made a major move, we sold a house we’d been in for 26 years. We found a place we thought would be a good placeholder until we figured out whether we wanted to own another home.

Then, less than two months later, the floor of our lives opened-up: Mark was killed.

Living in Brunswick was tarnished. It became a place where we experienced the horror of losing our son. I guess the house by the cove was as good a place as any to grieve and deal with our loss.

Brunswick is a nice community. Mary always loved their farmers’ market. Curtis Memorial is a terrific library. I enjoyed downtown, visits to Wild Oats, and walking around town with my friend, Paul.

I also found living outside of town lonely and isolating—not as much as Durham, but Brunswick never felt like home for me.

In 2015, I stumbled upon what was beginning to ripple in downtown Biddeford. I ended up pitching a story and ultimately writing one about city’s mills and their redevelopment for the Boston Globe. I was proud of my work.

When we began actively looking to buy a house, Portland was too expensive. There were also things about Portland that I’ve never loved. We broadened our geographic horizons and began in earnest to look in Westbrook, then Saco, and eventually, Biddeford. Westbrook did nothing for either of us. Saco is a nice community, but we found a place we both liked in Biddeford.

Biddeford’s downtown has really blossomed. Some have taken to calling it, “the Biddessance.” I like that. Continue reading →

Racing in the Streets

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A rainy spring it’s been. Everyone knows the adage that “April showers bring May flowers.” But weeks of rain and little or no sun drags down one’s spirit, no matter how hopeful your view of the future remains.

Early last week, Mary and I began counting down the days. We were anticipating yet another trip south related to our son’s death. We watched local weather and even Boston-area weather (via NECN) to determine—would it rain on Sunday?

It rained and the day was cold and raw. Nearly 50 people—all members of Team Every Mile Yeah—turned out for the Providence Rhode Races. They ran and some walked. Our group was arrayed in green t-shirts that Mary arranged to have produced for the event.

Mary and cape prior to the start of the Providence Rhode Race 5K.

Green shirt drying out from the rain

Family drove down from Maine. Friends from the earliest days of Mary’s life rode buses and trains to Providence. Ironmen from Minnesota who had let Mark into their world of localized competition came from Boston, New York City, Washington, DC, and San Antonio to run in Mark’s memory and support our efforts to hold an event that also connected with the foundation we began: The Mark Baumer Sustainability Fund.

As I was walking a sort of rear guard action during the 5K walk that our small family contingent made together, I was flooded with memories of Mark and me in the place he’d adopted as his home. Not only did he find his niche in the city, Providence welcomed him and adopted him, too. One thing the two of us never got to do was walk down the middle of Memorial Boulevard, sans traffic.

These streets were made for walking.

Mary and I spent Saturday with a special group of people who joined us first at Mark’s garden in front of the John D. Rockefeller Jr. Library at Brown. That’s where the Eastern Redbud was planted in Mark’s memory during the fall of 2017. There’s also a plaque commemorating his life. The group then walked, drove, or Ubered to Federal Hill and dinner at Trattoria Zooma. Somehow, they managed to accommodate our crowd just like they told Mary that they would.

Most of Team Every Mile Yeah (Mark’s Garden-Brown University)

Marching for Mark (heading to Trattoria Zooma)

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Ghost in the City

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Back from another rock and roll-oriented trip to Boston. This was the third trip in less than a month. Monday night, I saw Teenage Fanclub, one of a handful of mid-90s post-punk bands still making meaningful music.

Live Teenage Fanclub (Paradise Rock Club/Boston)

The show was at the Paradise, near BU. I looked for something relatively affordable and ended up at a Residence Inn by Marriott, not much further away than a strong Dwight Evans’ right field howitzer to the plate from historic Fenway Park. My seventh floor room offered views of one of MLB’s oldest and revered diamonds, as well as the iconic Citgo sign. It was a mile walk to see the show and I could hop on the Green Line back, afterwards. Continue reading →