It’s hard to do an about me page. I’m an extremely self-focused and forever analyzing my every move. I’m seriously humble most of the time and appear somewhat prone to drift into the ozone. To make much sense out of anything I do would be useless. I’ve been going over memories like crazy for this task I’m undertaking and I’m so grateful to still be alive right at this moment my fingers are hitting the keyboard keys and I’m totally alive. So let me tell you a bit about things that come up about my past in the time I’m giving this part to take. I know there will be thousands of things I recall during this part of my voyage. They will likely show in the blog.
I’m Hugh Wallace Hultman and actually was a junior. Do you lose the status of being a junior if the senior dies? That’s probably the biggest deal that ever happened to me. I was seven and I saw the airplane he was flying in crash into the ground less than a football field away. That changed everything. I had to discover I was all alone now, so I began again.
I went through the society’s required steps being a good little cog. Right On, Power to The People, Jerry Rubin at the convention, Martin Luther King shot to death, Kennedys shot to death, children being bombed with Napalm, then we took to the streets and strongly influenced the end of the Vietnam War. Kent State was my freshman year in Madison Wisconsin. I was horribly angry at the US for doing the Vietnam thing. I got a Mickey Mouse watch only the face was Spiro Agnew! Hendrix, the Dead, Pink fucking Floyd! Everyone thought that MaMa Cass choked on a sandwich. I was friends with the Director of Education for the Wisconsin Republican Party, and he got me onto the back stage at a Nixon rally and I shook his dead fish hand. Yes I was a John Birch Society, YAF, William F Buckley guy. Young Republicans yes of course.
Something happened. Night after night for years there was news about Vietnam. Oh yes in 2nd or 5th grade and in between we watched safety films about how to crawl under your deck
kwhen the windows blew out from a nuclear bomb. I thought the Cuban Missile Crisis was it. Somebody sold me a 1958 great big Buick for $50. In the ashtray was marijuana seeds and a little shake. I smoked it. I had already been drinking for while (8th grade) and smoking cigarettes. Soon the senseless killing of people. The big shot Nixon who I had shaken hands with was a crook. My friends were going to get killed. I lost faith in our country and in society. I became a true believer in the counterculture and lived a Hippie.
During this transition I had read a book titled “Narcissus and Goldmund” by Herman Hesse. I was mixed up thinking I had to decide what to do for the rest of my life. Live in the city or the woods. go to the grocery store or hunt and gather. Buy in the society’s laws or look for more freedom. I read that book, quit college and hitch hiked through the south with blond hair to my elbows, patches on my jeans and I was beginning my life of following my impulses. Whatever I wanted to do or go I went. Some of the descriptions of the adventures will be in the blog as I remember them and I’ m still creating incredible times.
Picture this, I’m walking down the shoulder of this highway bin Alabama. A pickup truck with guns on a back window rack drives slowly by me and they wolf whistle. Confederate flag decals all over. My first and most stupid reaction was to give them the three finger “bird”. They kept going but off in the corner of the street was an older black man. He came up to me and said, “if you don’t get out of Birmingham now you have trouble. So take these railroad tracks and they go to the freeway outside the city. Get going.”. Did the Universe send me a teacher? I nade it to Mardi Gras in New Orleans which is blofn stuff. An entire pile of adventures. I still feel the excited tingling in my stomach standing in the middle of Bourbon Street surrounded by thousands of strangers. There are porches above most of the buildings on the street and there are people with fishing poles dangling money down to girls that take off their tops and flash their breasts. Policemen on horses. People peeing on the walls. empty plastic cups and cigarette butts on the ground deep. People buying drinks, passing joints, prostitutes, and in the wall above the door into the bar are holes with a woman swinging her bare legs inside the building and then out the holes. There are guys by the doors of the bars opening them for you to look in at the strippers and then he closes the door and says the price to get in. It’s a vision of basic animalistic behavior of drunk and wild people. It seems to be induced especially by big group functions.
It may seem masochistic to look back at one’s life and gain insight into the profound discovery of virtue through ethics. The belief and ability to see and feel the value of ethical thinking and function take years for some of us to realize and incorporate it every moment. That’s the way it seems to be because to even think about happiness and it’s cause wasn’t on the agenda.
It’s so much easier and less stress when you tell the truth all the time. No room for embellishments just plain exact reality. You don’t have to worry about keeping your story straight!
What else? I have two beautiful daughters with grandchildren angels. I won’t say too much here about them except that they were and are the best gifts of this life. I’ll say the lessons and teachers I met during all the children’s formative years was the most intense phase of my life.
I’m advance degree in psychology and have a gift of a photographic memory, relatives that lived to be very old if they didn’t drink themselves to death. I’m ambidextrous and fair in sports. I’m rather small 5’7” and not very muscular. I’m fit through and can keep up with anyone at a work hard competition.
Highly experienced in administering support programs for individuals with mental health and addiction issues, I bring over nineteen years of dedicated service in creating supportive and structured environments that facilitate recovery and reintegration into daily life. My background includes managing diverse and complex cases, implementing strict guidelines to maintain a therapeutic setting, and leading effective group meetings. I worked with people's primary facilities and therapists to create safe environments for return to a functional happy life
One day during a group I put on forabout 30 people, (By the way I’ll mention this now. In all of my experiences with groups of people I find twelve participants to be the magic number. At 12 people the group begins to run itself. It’s the best member number I’ve found).
Earlier than my white collar work I was a construction guy, Electrician in my step-father’s company. I fought it all the way, but he forced me to learn so much. I can figure out or fix anything. I owned and worked on 55 and 57 Chevy’s.
I sold all kinds of things. Goats, cars, websites, guiding in the BWCAW, private pilot single engine land, Subsidized housing Certified Occupancy Specialist, companion for local Hospice, a Life Scout, can survive with nothing, great lover, and antisocial.
I worked for Babcock and Wilcox steel mill, drove 18 wheelers in all 48 for a few years, sold men’s suits, newspaper business, washed dished at a restaurant, detailed cars, built computers in conjunction with being field agents for Dell, HP, Compaq, and others. Built most of the websites for the outfitters in the Ely. MN area of the Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness. Around forty.
I had always been an art fan and I did stained glass as a hobby. During my administration of A New Life Eating Disorder group facility, I saw something fantastic. Top census was 30. I had a group of twenty-five people participate in a fundamental Art Therapy workshop. The instructor was fantastic and as the group went on I could see some hope, some enthusiasm return to the eyes of my participants. It happened when we all realized that no one else on the planet could draw that same image as each individual at the table could. The place lit up and everyone was smiling and complimenting each other’s drawings. Of course, they were horrible, but each line was drawn by the most important person. They were important to the drawing that just came out of them because they created it. That one group broke through layers of shells we hid under. And we and our painting were beautiful. I still have the sheet of paper everyone drew on.
That event inspired me to switch my focus from cognitive behavioral therapy only to add importantly and significantly the healing power of art to the life process. Not just for people that reach out for help but everyone. Everyone is an artist!
That’s enough about me lets go to the point of this venture. What are ethics, where do they come from, and why are they important enough to spend my time convincing us they are gold?
