That Other Way

Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., March 28, 2025

    I remember walking to school when I was in kindergarten. I lived on Millwood Road in Bethesda, Maryland. I walked from my house to Plainview Road, turned left and walked straight to Whittier Woods Elementary School. I frequently walked with my friend Mike Weaver, who lived two houses down from me on Millwood Road. I usually walked alone, both when going to school and when returning home.

    I guess it was not considered dangerous for a five-year-old boy to be walking a couple of blocks to and from elementary school in 1960. My mother was aware of the school schedule, and would only become concerned if I took too long getting back home. She also knew that someone from the school would call her if I did not show up on time.

    There was one time when I spent a little too much time walking home after school. It was a winter day, and it had snowed the day before. Using snow compacted into ice, one of the kids in my neighborhood had created a building in the gutter on one side of Plainview Road. While it was only about two feet tall, this was certainly no ordinary building. To this day, I have never seen anything quite like it. I believe the neighborhood kid’s name was Kevin Gartenauer, but I am not sure.

    It was not so very cold that winter day, and snow was melting, sending a fast-moving stream of water down along the gutter. When that stream encountered Kevin’s ice house, it took many detours – through his building. Within the sculpture, Kevin had constructed several passageways for the water, all leading to windows on the top floor, more than a foot above the gutter. I saw small streams of water jetting out from all sides of his building. Fascinated, I stood and watched the water show while Kevin explained his creation.

    I don’t know how long I stared at this kinetic artwork, dressed in my dorky snow suit and galoshes, but it was long enough to worry my mother. She gently scolded me when I arrived home, but she too was intrigued when I described Kevin’s water-powered ice house. What kind of kid thinks of building such a thing?

Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., January 8, 2025

I do not believe in miracles. I am thinking that a miracle is an event that is impossible or extremely unlikely, with an unprecedented cause and/or process.

At one time, static electricity sparks appeared to be miraculous. Not long ago, radio communication would have appeared to be miraculous. In both cases, a lack of knowledge determined the perception.

I believe our knowledge of the realm we inhabit is significantly limited. Events happen which we may not be able to explain, but I do not look upon such events as miracles. Instead, I think the limits of our existing knowledge and the limits of our powers of observation cause us to incorrectly interpret such events as somehow violating the laws of physics and logic. By their very definition, I do not think those laws are ever violated, but rather our knowledge of those laws and our ability to apply them correctly are incomplete.

Even if seemingly-miraculous events actually do align perfectly well with our existing knowledge, we can easily fail to recognize that alignment because of errors in observation, a failure to see the whole picture. Instead, we may think we see a miracle.

If apparent miracles are the order of the day, quantum physics is an excellent field of study. Even something as simple as a light-emitting-diode (LED) can seem quite miraculous until you study it carefully. Even then, the inner workings of atoms and their constituent particles is likely to appear miraculous for quite a long while to come.

We enjoy saying that atoms are made of electrons, protons and neutrons. We say there is an attractive force between electrons and protons, keeping the electrons happily orbiting. OK, so why is there an attractive force between them? Why don’t the electrons spiral into the protons, crash and get stuck to them? Why are the electrons so picky about which orbit radius they spend their time in? Why do permanent magnets attract each other with no apparent energy source, while electromagnets require electric power? Miraculous? Probably not. Just not understood – yet.

Do you wear eyeglasses with metal frames? Did you know there are voices in those metal frames? If I connect a radio receiver to them, would you think you were hearing a miracle? Fascinating, yes. Miraculous? Not exactly. And then there is consciousness, one of the so-called hard problems. If you should ever come to believe your knowledge and understanding of the universe is very close to complete, please try to explain consciousness. Your authentic success in that endeavor might well be a miracle.

Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., February 15, 2025

When I was still very young, starting when I was around 7 years old, my father began teaching me how to interact with the real world, mostly by introducing me to science and its practical applications. I was given toys, if you can accurately call them that, which challenged me to be creative. My father gave me chemistry equipment purchased from the local hardware store, “People’s Hardware”. That store was located between the barber shop where I got my haircuts and the Super Giant grocery store. My dad taking me to get a haircut often included a trip into the hardware store, where I was allowed to buy small jars of chemicals (including sulfur, phew), glass tubing and boiling flasks. As my dad educated me using The Little Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments (now banned), I was eventually allowed to buy an alcohol lamp and denatured alcohol fuel for it. 

I recall spending a few evenings with my dad working on chemistry experiments at the large office desk in the basement of our Maryland house. I clearly recall watching him dismantle large carbon-zinc ignition batteries to get the zinc and the carbon rods out of them. Amazingly, he had brought home some hydrochloric acid, which we poured into an empty glass soda bottle along with strips of zinc. We attached a balloon to the top of the soda bottle and watched it fill up with hydrogen gas as the acid reacted with the zinc. Eventually, he tied the balloon closed and let it go. I watched as it floated up and bounced against the ceiling.

    My education in electronics began while following my father around the house as he worked on electrical wiring. I asked him how a flashlight worked, and he took the time to build a small project board for me, which I described in a previous story. There was also a model train platform created on a ping-pong table. I remember spending a lot of time wiring the trains and accessories using solid aluminum (arggh) wire with red insulation. I had trouble mastering the fine art of stripping the wire without nicking it or breaking it, so I would go looking for Dad and bring him a pocket knife and the wire. He was always patient and stripped the wire for me, showing me how to do it each time.

    When I was a little older, my father bought a home study course in electronics that was published by RCA Institutes – not for himself, but for eight-year-old me. Without being overbearing, he was insistent that I take the course lessons seriously and that I make steady progress. The RCA course included project kits, and together we built a multi-meter and an oscilloscope. Dad also bought Heathkit amateur radio kits, which we assembled together. During the week of 20-hour days when I was feverishly assembling the theatrical lighting control system for my high school, Dad worked right beside me to get the steel rack cabinet ready.

    My father was clearly accustomed to being self-sufficient. I watched him make a rotating storage system out of wooden slats and baby food jars, used to store nuts, bolts, washers and nails. He bought a radial-arm saw and made a pen for our dogs, complete with a heater made from two tin cans and a 60-Watt light bulb. When our washing machine had finally seen better days, he removed the timer-switch from it and gave it to me (I still have it). He removed the large AC induction motor and made a custom power saw that could cut rocks, as he had become fascinated with lapidary art. When he realized the limits of our television antenna, he bought an electric antenna rotor and installed it himself. Now we could watch more channels with a clear picture, rotating the antenna to point directly at any chosen TV station’s transmitting tower.

    My father was thrifty. I remember a large electric typewriter that he brought home because it had been discarded. He told me it was broken and to leave it alone. One day, when he was away at work, I took that typewriter apart and discovered that the tab key and tab stops mechanism were not working. After studying the problem for several minutes, ten-year-old me decided to risk punishment. I removed the plastic end cap from the steel carriage roller dowel. Using a scrap of two-by-four wood and a sledge hammer, I smacked the end of the carriage roller dowel until the tab mechanism appeared to be properly aligned. I put the typewriter back together. When my father got home, I confessed my disobedience. He was upset, but then he tested the typewriter. He didn’t say much after that. No punishment. I could tell he was secretly glad I had taken the initiative, even if it could have easily ended in a disaster. For many years, I used that typewriter for my homework assignments. I still do not know how to use the proper fingering for the keyboard.

    One Christmas, some of the kids in our Maryland neighborhood decided to steal bulbs from our light strings on the bushes in front of our house. We found broken light bulbs out in the street. Dad electrified the light strings with AC voltage passed through a low-wattage light bulb so that if someone touched the strings, they would get a painful (but harmless) shock, and we would get a warning that light bulb theft and destruction was imminent.

    This approach to pest control harked back to a time when we lived in Arlington, Virginia. A squirrel had decided to store walnuts and other snacks in the attic of the house, entering through a vent grating at one side of the roof. Dad strategically placed live AC wires connected to a series-wired light bulb amongst the squirrel’s stash. As a five year old kid, I just happened to be outside, and lucky enough to see the high-voltage transformation of a normal tree squirrel into a not-so-proficient flying squirrel, as it rocketed out of the attic vent grating and sailed through the air and into the branches of a tree, falling through a few before finally getting a grip. Mr. The Squirrel abandoned his stash. Many years later, Dad once again used AC high voltage and a series-wired light bulb to interact with nature. This time, he wanted to go fishing. You need bait to go fishing. So the AC hot-wire was connected to a light bulb, and the other side of the bulb to a metal stake hammered into the ground in our backyard. The resident earthworms were clearly disquieted by the resultant tingling sensation, and they virtually flew out of the soil, by the dozens. Amazing.

We went to sacrament meetings on Sunday evenings together, just my father and me. Sometimes, when I became bored, I would kneel on the floor and use the church bench seat as a desk, next to where Dad was attentively sitting. He had a self-winding mechanical wrist watch that I took apart and re-assembled during several such sacrament meetings.

A few times, my dad taught the Sunday School class that I attended. I was always amazed by the clarity and logic he brought to the lessons. If not for those Sunday School classes, I don’t know if I would have ever realized how truly brilliant he was.

Dad did some very practical things not typical of a high-powered successful attorney. He gave me a Kodak Brownie camera when I was too young to care for it properly. I think I dropped the camera at least three times, shattering its black bakelite case. Dad explained that to be repaired properly, the camera must not leak light. He carefully mixed black graphite powder with epoxy glue. He fitted the shattered pieces together with his light-proof adhesive, and the camera worked once again, inspiring my lifelong interest in photography that has been passed down to my children. I remember Dad changing the brake shoes on our blue 1965 Buick station wagon. I sat on the floor of the garage and watched him do the work himself, indistinguishable from an experienced mechanic. I remember him setting heavy wooden fence posts and putting up the fence on his land in Estes Park, Colorado. I remember working with him to put in the plumbing and the air ducts in our house there. Dad always told me that it was important to know how to do many things yourself, to know the whys as well as the hows, and to do everything to the best of your ability. I am very thankful that I had him as my father. Thanks to him and the educational experiences he generously provided for me, I have had a life worth remembering. 

Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., December 31, 2024

According to my father, Ronald Earl Madsen, Sr., I frequently followed him around when he repaired or modified the electrical system in our house, even though I was only around seven years old at the time.

I eventually brought a flashlight to him and asked him how it worked. Rather than give me a simple, most likely useless answer and quickly dismiss me, my dad built a small electrical project board using a sheet of plywood and a sheet of Masonite pegboard, attached at right-angles to each other.

The project board included an electric bell, salvaged from some sort of do-it-yourself home fire alarm kit. A rusty electric motor was also present, most likely rescued from an automobile junkyard. The rusty 4-blade fan that went with that motor was not attached to it at first, but it was stored somewhere in the house. A couple of years later, attaching the fan made the motor far more fun and far more likely to injure a careless finger.

Two substantial knife switches were attached to the plywood, with their heavy white porcelain bases, black insulated handles and thick copper contactors in plain view. There’s nothing quite like a knife switch to make the concept of a switch instantly apparent to a curious child. One of the knife switches could only be closed or open, thus merely on or off. The second switch was fantastic, providing two switches mechanically linked together, with three possible positions for the moving contactors. I later learned the technical designations for the contactor configurations: Single-Pole-Single-Throw for the on/off switch and Double-Pole-Double-Throw for the more amazing one.

A miniature light socket was attached to the pegboard, with a miniature light bulb threaded into it. As with the other components, it was easy to see how its electrical connections were made.

For electrical power, my project board had two options: a lantern battery or the AC transformer for my American Flyer electric train. The transformer was most interesting, because it had a red pointer dial on top, allowing the output voltage to be adjusted. Bells could ring softly or loud, motors could spin slowly or fast and little light bulbs could glow dimly or bright.

Using some annoyingly fragile and thin aluminum bell wire with red insulation, Dad taught me the basic concept of an electric circuit. He also taught me to fear the dreaded short-circuit, which could damage my train transformer and possibly set the house on fire. It wasn’t until a few years later that I finally learned why it was called bell wire. A few years later, I also got to see what happens when you accidentally short out your American Flyer train transformer and fill the basement with strange-smelling smoke.

I played with that project board at least until I was twelve, with a bell ringing, a motor spinning, a bulb lighting up. I learned far more than just how a flashlight worked. I’m very glad my father went a little overboard in answering my simple question.

In the 1980’s, I provided an electronics tutorial program at The Utah Children’s Museum. The young students I hosted got to build project boards, with plywood and Masonite pegboard sheets I had pre-cut to size. Theirs were not quite as amazing as the one my Dad invented for me.

Copyright (C) Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., August 25, 2023

As pointed out in a book about perception, the brain is a pattern-discernment / pattern-matching device. Rather than objectively processing the full minute details of sensory information, cues are selectively extracted from sensory input and used to engage an internal mental model. That mental model fills in details that may have been overlooked or subconsciously ignored when taking in sensory data. Thus, the content of the mental model has priority over what might be called objective reality. This economized approach to information processing is almost certainly applied to communication between people, causing every message to be mostly interpreted rather than clearly understood. This is part of the context-of-reception problem. I do not hear what you mean, but instead I hear filled-in details that are in my memory, my mental model. The sentences you say to me do not convey absolute objective truth, but merely convey a series of cues that my brain uses to access specific content within my own mind. The easy mistake: believing that the mixture of external extracted cues and internal mental-model information is Truth, accurate and objective.

Which path leads to Truth? Declaration, or discovery? Accusation, or discernment? 

Declaration: “You said this, and it means that…” Discovery: “Please help me understand what you mean.”

Declaration: “I know what happened.” Discovery: “Please help me understand what happened.”

Discovery: “I want to understand.”

Declaration: “I want to over-stand.” I want my interpretations to stand above reality, above objective Truth. I do not wish to learn. I want to declare, to subjugate reality, to shape it, distort it, bend it so it conforms to my desire and conceit. “Do not bother me with Science and History. I am very busy with my declarations.”

This site is intended to clarify the cause-and-effect connections between beliefs and results.

Do you have a way of looking at the world that you believe is uncommon? Has your perspective brought you success and happiness? Have you learned things, good or bad, that have changed your beliefs?

I think choices in life are based upon beliefs. Your choices determine what happens to you. Of course, there are exceptions to this – bad things happen to good people, and bad people sometimes have good things come to them. But I think that, for the most part, the things that happen to a person are caused by their beliefs. It is important to check your beliefs from time to time, making sure they make sense. If you are having bad things happen to you, start looking more closely at what you believe.  Make new friends, and learn new ways of looking at the world. Listen! Find new information. If other people have what you wish to have, find out what they believe. Study what they have done. Do not hope, and do not wish. Begin thinking. Start working, doing the things that other good people have done to get the things you want in your life.

May logic garnish your thoughts unceasingly….

Copyright (C) Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., October 3, 2010 – All Rights Reserved

When I was 15, I owned a single-channel audio amplifier that had been made in 1956 by Electronic Instrument Company (EICO). My father and I bought the used amplifier from a stereo shop. I used it to listen to music on a home-made system. The amplifier included a high-voltage power supply that drove the final-stage vacuum tubes.

One afternoon, I decided I would try to correct an internal feedback problem in the amplifier. I unplugged the AC power cord, and cautiously removed the base plate from the five-sided box chassis, exposing the hand-wired electronics within.

I had been warned by my father and by numerous authors that there were dangerously high voltages that could still be present in the circuitry of the amplifier, even after pulling the AC plug. Electrical energy could easily be retained in the capacitors used to create the DC power supply for the vacuum tubes.

“I know all about this,” I thought. I methodically went through the circuits and shorted out all the high voltages with a wire. I made sure that each attempt to short out a supply voltage resulted in a blue spark and a loud snap sound. After a few seconds, I knew I had eliminated the threat posed by the invisible stored energy. I was sure it was safe to proceed.

I found myself sitting on the concrete floor, legs outstretched, with my back pressed hard against the front of a dented furnace. I ached all over, as if I had suddenly played football in the rain for a week straight. The brown, wheeled desk chair I had been sitting on was now upside down in the center of the room. I could smell a strong, unhappy odor of burnt skin. That was me. I had been burned. I had been electrically shocked. The amplifier’s most dangerous power supply capacitor had sent a brief but very large electric current into one of my hands and out the other, visiting important, invisible things, such as my heart, along the way.

One moment, I was at my work bench. The next conscious instant, I was at the opposite side of the room. I sat there on the floor, marveling at my new perspective, contemplating the burning smell, not remembering my evident flight across the room, realizing that I could be dead. What if I were found by my parents in such condition? Very slowly, I stood up.

All my good intentions and attempts at caution did not win me any special treatment from Mother Nature’s physics department. Instead, Mother Nature ordered her physics department to send me a remarkably powerful and extremely memorable message. Here are the words I believe She said to me:

“You were sure. But you were wrong. There was something you overlooked before you took that step; something hidden, unobserved, misunderstood – a 450-volt-something.  My laws are unchanging, and for justice, and to be fair to everyone, I cannot make any exceptions. A few more microseconds, a few more milliamperes, and your heart would be ruined – you would be on your way back home to your Creator. But not today. Learn, study, and remember. Please.”

As a teenager, I believed that Mother Nature had a few other departments, including one for morality. The facts of my own life and the lives of other people seem to line up with this notion. I have seen the greatest things accomplished through deep understanding of principles not visible to the eye, yet very clear to the disciplined mind and soul. I have observed burns and painful shocks of a non-electrical nature. Some have brought me to tears, over and over.

My father gave me many things to explore when I was young. They were very real, and they were very powerful. Some were dangerous. All of them helped me find freedom and success as nothing else could. In a fool’s instant, one nearly killed me. Dad said, “You can make any choice you want, but first, know and consider the consequences.” Thanks, Dad, for all the real and true things you taught me. I know what love is.

“Each to his own way, I’ll go mine.
Best of luck in what you find.
But for your own sake, remember times
we used to know.” – Ian Anderson

“Live now. Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again.” – Captain Jean-Luc Picard

My hands were busy through the day,
I didn’t have much time to play
The little games you asked me to,
I didn’t have much time for you.

I’d wash your clothes; I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book
And ask me, please, to share your fun,
I’d say, “A little later, son.”

I’d tuck you in all safe at night,
And hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door,
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.

For life is short, and years rush past,
A little boy grows up so fast,
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There are no children’s games to play,
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear,
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now lie still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I might go back and do,
The little things you asked me to.

******************************

“I’ve been waiting every morning,
Just to help you find your way.” – America

Copyright (C) Ronald E. Madsen, Jr., October 2, 2010 – All Rights Reserved

When she was about 5 years old, my daughter and I went to Sears one evening. We spent most of our time in the tools and equipment section of the store. I noticed that she seemed very interested in all the different kinds of tools – pliers, wrenches, multi-purpose drivers. After answering her questions and looking at several different Craftsman tool kits with her, we decided to buy a rather large set – for her.

When she got home, she and her brother, age 7, opened the packing box and put all the plastic bags of bright, shiny sockets, handles and drivers on the living room floor. They noticed that the black carrying case had numbers molded into it, showing the different sizes for the parts of the set. It was like a puzzle for them, and they worked together assembling it, reading the markings on the different pieces and placing them carefully into the proper locations in the carrying case, until each one was in its rightful place.

They made a puzzle that had a purpose far beyond the fun they had while building it. My little daughter and her brother learned to work together. They learned about math, fractions and sorting. It was fun, and they laughed and smiled as they worked. And when they had completed the work, my daughter studied for a moment, and then snapped some of the parts together to make a socket wrench, and other parts to make a Phillips screwdriver. She smiled. She talked about the set, and all the things she thought she could do with her new toys.

In the days that followed, her older brothers came to her and asked to borrow the set so they could fix their bikes and other toys. She helped them get the right wrench handles, extender bars and sockets to do the repairs. Upon completion, she made sure that all the tools were carefully dis-assembled, and that the parts were returned to their correct spaces in the carrying case. She was proud of her toys, and she was happy to know special things about them, and to be helpful.

She was happy to be learning. She understood that her toys were not useless, made of cheap plastic, intended to last only during childhood. Her shining, metal toys could be used to fix real things. They were heavy, and they were strong. They could be used to build what she wanted. Her toys were real, and they might very well last a lifetime. They just might help teach her how to be free.

Today, years later, the little girl has become a wise, thoughtful and caring young woman. She enjoys science fiction, old and new. She excels at math and physics. She studies the writings of C. S. Lewis. Most evenings, we talk about all these topics, along with love, freedom and un-caused first causes.

Freedom is found along roads of discipline and precision…