I just got an email from my daughter Sherry about a send off meeting for my Grandson Lucas who is on his way to Iraq very soon. The email contained a message that I must share about how the people of this nation are still great Americans. Even Five years into this war, that yes we all wish was not necessary, but we better pay attention too, as we are the envy of this world, and others do hate us and would love to see us fall. But this nation is still mainly a nation of Patriots that are willing to sacrafice life and limb to protect what has happened here this last 232 years. We all suffered through an era after the Viet Nam war in which anti Patriotism was allowed even encouraged at times to florish, in which returning veterans were spat upon and the uniform of this nations service was not respected. It was indeed a very shameful time for this nation. There are Patriot groups now in this nation that will never allow that to happen again and people who have tried have found huge resistance to ever allowing us to fall to these depths again. So below I want to share with you the email that touched my heart this day and moved me to this post....
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..........email from daughter.....
Just a quick email to give you an emergency number where we will be March 1 – 6. This is a change from our prior plans. One of my clients didn’t approve of an American Soldier staying at a Comfort Inn, so they made arrangements for us at this condo/resort in Hilton Head. We are packing up tonight and leaving at 4am tomorrow morning. Monica and Mandy will be driving down separately as they cannot leave until later on Friday. Please pray for safe travel and a restful and relaxing 4 day pass for Lucas. He called last night and he is excited about having some time off and hanging out with the family. We will be attending another departure ceremony at Ft. Stewart on Saturday morning and then Indiana National Guard is hosting a family day with food vendors, games, rides, etc. It will be enjoyable I am sure.
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What an encouragement that this can happen from unrelated freinds who feel they want to do their part maybe in this effort we are engaged in... I will try and thank them for sure.
Lucas Cole my grandson spent a year in Afganistan I think in 04 or 05, grandpa has forgotten. At that time he was a specialist in mine detection devices and worked on those things to keep them doing what they were designed to do...But now he has switched to an infantry unit and has been promoted to the rank of Sargeant... He will be doing night time patrols I am told and in charge of this patrol with a radio from the passenger seat of the lead vehicle. He will be OK but don't hesitate in joining me with a prayer now and then for my Hero Sgt. Lucas Cole US Army.....
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Right Makes Might
Seven score and eight years ago a good speaker was invited to New York to speak on anything he wanted to. Press coverage of his Illinois debates against Sen. Douglas had reached even New York. So the elete of the City decided they also wanted to see and hear the rail splitter. He delivered a well researched 90 minute speech on how the majority of our Founding Fathers had spoken out against slavery even though some of them had been slave owners themselves. His name was Abe Lincoln and although relatively unknown and no one recognizing nor welcoming him as he arrived by train. That night by what he had said, the powerful of New York realized they may have just heard from the next President of the United States. He had aroused the conscience of this nation. They kept him on the east coast giving speeches until his wife demanded he come back home to Illinois. A few months later his powerful words had swept him into the Presidency.
" Let us have faith that Right makes Might, and in that Faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it," Lincoln said in his speech at New York's Coopers Union. And as he was boarding the train in Springfield for DC after his election, he said, "I now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him I cannot succeed. With that assistance I cannot fail."
I think those who like to fantasize that this nation has not strong Godly roots will have stopped reading this by now. But to those of us who know better, I think these words of Lincoln apply here today to this nation. I think this election is the most important to the course of this nation for the last 148 years. Right still does make Might, and Without the assistance of that Divine Being who attended Washington and Lincoln we cannot succeed. With that assistance we cannot fail.
Weigh this election very carefully, vote your conscience, this long war on terror we can not escape, but with wise decisions, and with Faith in our Maker, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it. And with reassurance that with that Divine assistance we cannot and will not fail.
The Press during the days of the civil war, liked after a year or so, to refer to it as, "Mr Lincoln's War". People tire of war quickly and wish it were not happening, wish it not necessary to be happening. But sometimes as is now, war is necessary. And we must be about doing our duty as we understand it. I doubt if jobs and healthcare were on the front burner in those days, nor should they be now. If we loose this war those issues will really not matter at all. They dogged President Lincoln about his war until the fall of 1863 when he went to Gettysburg and spoke but a few words at a cemetery dedication. But in those words he gave them all something to think about besides themselves.
These clouds of terror, which have circled our world will not leave with appeasement. There will be no draft of our young people, as this nation is blessed with young men and women who appreciate that which this nation is about. The appeasers who would appease the terrorist just have it all wrong. They would have us join the captivity crowd who appeased Germany and Japan in the second world war. But they would wish it to succeed, until the doors of defeat are slamed in our face.
Lincoln challenged us then and I believe still in 2008, to be about the great task remaining before us. "That from these honored dead, we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave their lives. And that this nation under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people and for the people, shall not perish from this earth.
" Let us have faith that Right makes Might, and in that Faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it," Lincoln said in his speech at New York's Coopers Union. And as he was boarding the train in Springfield for DC after his election, he said, "I now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him I cannot succeed. With that assistance I cannot fail."
I think those who like to fantasize that this nation has not strong Godly roots will have stopped reading this by now. But to those of us who know better, I think these words of Lincoln apply here today to this nation. I think this election is the most important to the course of this nation for the last 148 years. Right still does make Might, and Without the assistance of that Divine Being who attended Washington and Lincoln we cannot succeed. With that assistance we cannot fail.
Weigh this election very carefully, vote your conscience, this long war on terror we can not escape, but with wise decisions, and with Faith in our Maker, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it. And with reassurance that with that Divine assistance we cannot and will not fail.
The Press during the days of the civil war, liked after a year or so, to refer to it as, "Mr Lincoln's War". People tire of war quickly and wish it were not happening, wish it not necessary to be happening. But sometimes as is now, war is necessary. And we must be about doing our duty as we understand it. I doubt if jobs and healthcare were on the front burner in those days, nor should they be now. If we loose this war those issues will really not matter at all. They dogged President Lincoln about his war until the fall of 1863 when he went to Gettysburg and spoke but a few words at a cemetery dedication. But in those words he gave them all something to think about besides themselves.
These clouds of terror, which have circled our world will not leave with appeasement. There will be no draft of our young people, as this nation is blessed with young men and women who appreciate that which this nation is about. The appeasers who would appease the terrorist just have it all wrong. They would have us join the captivity crowd who appeased Germany and Japan in the second world war. But they would wish it to succeed, until the doors of defeat are slamed in our face.
Lincoln challenged us then and I believe still in 2008, to be about the great task remaining before us. "That from these honored dead, we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave their lives. And that this nation under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people and for the people, shall not perish from this earth.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Grandpa's Log Cabin
When I was a young lad of about 5 or 6 about 1943 I used to have a set of Lincoln Logs and I had enough logs and roof slats to build a small log cabin. On Sunday about once per month during the summer months my Grandparents Charles and Anna who lived on 18th St. a couple blocks from St Lawrence Church would drive their Model T Ford out to the farm for Sunday Dinner.
After Dinner Grandpa would sit in a rocker and visit with my father Lawrence. One Sunday I got out my logs, got on the floor in front of him and built the log house and he then told me a story about how his father or grandfather lived in a log house very much like the one I built from my Lincoln Log Set. It was a good story as I remember and so each month I would again build the house and hear the story. Don’t really remember how it all went except he just told how tough life was living in a log cabin with no bathroom or running water. And of course no electricity so they just had oil lamps and candles. The cooking was done on a wood stove and the fireplace which also kept them warm in winter. It was not long after that, grandpa got to old to drive out to the country so I guess the story stopped before I got it memorized. I do remember also that when it came time for them to leave before dark usually about 4 or 5 in the afternoon that we would get them into the old Model T and then push them down the hill and the car would start and down the dusty road they would drive back to Lafayette.
My log cabin almost went up in smoke one Sunday but we saved it just in time. Having heard how the candles made the light and how you could see them through the window of the cabin I got permission to put a small candle inside the cabin so Grandpa could see the light from the candle through the window. It looked pretty cool and Grandpa said, yeal that is just the way it was and then we all went to eat dinner and left the light on in the cabin. Pretty soon someone smelled the smoke and we got in there just in time to save my cabin from going up in smoke and maybe the entire house we lived in. From then on I had one side of my roof boards were green and the other side was blackened by the candle fire. So I would always put the green side up and then would sometimes turn them over and remind folks of the near disaster of the log cabin.
When I was older about 12 and this would be about 1950 some of my playmates and myself built a small cabin in the woods west of our home close to Mr. Moyers Pond. It was about 10 feet by 10 feet and about 4 feet tall walls and then we not being carpenters and no help from adults who would know about how to do the roof, we just laid logs flat on the walls and then piled brush and leaves about 4 feet thick on top for a roof. It worked pretty good even in rainy weather. We had to crawl into it as the door was only about 3 feet tall and you could not stand up in it but it was built pretty well and gave us a great sense of accomplishment to have cut the trees, notched them and put it all together all by ourselves. It lasted for maybe 5 or 6 years and was probably home to quite a few animals etc. I did cut my left leg pretty good with my small axe while building the cabin. I missed the tree and put a nice gash in my shin which I still carry the scar to this day. I remember it scared me some and I made it to the house OK and my Mom patched me up with a nice large bandage and advised me to take a day or two off from the big project.
One good lesson learned from the play cabin of age 5 was that I did not use candles in the cabin of age 12. Well that’s about it from the fragile memory banks of Grandpa Jack for awhile, we don’t want to cause a overload or power surge so am signing off for now. But be warned am working on a story about Abe Lincoln for tomorrow....Cabins and Abe kind of like salt and pepper....
After Dinner Grandpa would sit in a rocker and visit with my father Lawrence. One Sunday I got out my logs, got on the floor in front of him and built the log house and he then told me a story about how his father or grandfather lived in a log house very much like the one I built from my Lincoln Log Set. It was a good story as I remember and so each month I would again build the house and hear the story. Don’t really remember how it all went except he just told how tough life was living in a log cabin with no bathroom or running water. And of course no electricity so they just had oil lamps and candles. The cooking was done on a wood stove and the fireplace which also kept them warm in winter. It was not long after that, grandpa got to old to drive out to the country so I guess the story stopped before I got it memorized. I do remember also that when it came time for them to leave before dark usually about 4 or 5 in the afternoon that we would get them into the old Model T and then push them down the hill and the car would start and down the dusty road they would drive back to Lafayette.
My log cabin almost went up in smoke one Sunday but we saved it just in time. Having heard how the candles made the light and how you could see them through the window of the cabin I got permission to put a small candle inside the cabin so Grandpa could see the light from the candle through the window. It looked pretty cool and Grandpa said, yeal that is just the way it was and then we all went to eat dinner and left the light on in the cabin. Pretty soon someone smelled the smoke and we got in there just in time to save my cabin from going up in smoke and maybe the entire house we lived in. From then on I had one side of my roof boards were green and the other side was blackened by the candle fire. So I would always put the green side up and then would sometimes turn them over and remind folks of the near disaster of the log cabin.
When I was older about 12 and this would be about 1950 some of my playmates and myself built a small cabin in the woods west of our home close to Mr. Moyers Pond. It was about 10 feet by 10 feet and about 4 feet tall walls and then we not being carpenters and no help from adults who would know about how to do the roof, we just laid logs flat on the walls and then piled brush and leaves about 4 feet thick on top for a roof. It worked pretty good even in rainy weather. We had to crawl into it as the door was only about 3 feet tall and you could not stand up in it but it was built pretty well and gave us a great sense of accomplishment to have cut the trees, notched them and put it all together all by ourselves. It lasted for maybe 5 or 6 years and was probably home to quite a few animals etc. I did cut my left leg pretty good with my small axe while building the cabin. I missed the tree and put a nice gash in my shin which I still carry the scar to this day. I remember it scared me some and I made it to the house OK and my Mom patched me up with a nice large bandage and advised me to take a day or two off from the big project.
One good lesson learned from the play cabin of age 5 was that I did not use candles in the cabin of age 12. Well that’s about it from the fragile memory banks of Grandpa Jack for awhile, we don’t want to cause a overload or power surge so am signing off for now. But be warned am working on a story about Abe Lincoln for tomorrow....Cabins and Abe kind of like salt and pepper....
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Bulldogs...Ugly, Persistant and Big Hearts
Never owned one, but Bull Dogs have been a part of my life for 62 years. As dogs go I prefer Cavalier King Charles dogs the best. I used to be totally into Poodles and they are really nice and loving also, and don't shed...My sweetie came with Poodles and I learned to love those dogs a lot and still do...But of late Cavalier King Charles dogs have moved up on my list of good dogs....They shed a tad, but they also shed love when they become attached to you....Great lap dogs...and the best part they seldom bark....
But back to those ugly bulldogs, well I was not at Dayton School too many years and I learned that we were bulldogs. It was who and what we were about. And as we got into the higher grades, well these bulldogs were everywhere, Sports jackets, class sweaters, note pads, logo's on the walls...We were the Bulldogs, the Dayton Bulldogs..
Symbols like that are good, they inspire you, they give you a sense of belonging, a fraturity, a brother and sisterhood...And after all those years my school meets each May on a Saturday night and we are Bulldogs once again...So logo's, symbols, whatever are truly good. As were we just kids that went to Dayton would be one thing, but Bulldogs that just says it all...We were and will always be the Bulldogs....
My brothers and sisters before me were bulldogs. My younger foxy sister was a Bulldog Queen of Hearts and was a full fledged Bulldog cheerleader to the inth degree...She took this job serious as she is still a cheer leader in many ways especially when the Colts or IU are playing anything even down to tiddly winks...I think she puts on her bulldog cheering sweeter, pops herself a big bowl of corn and does not miss a play...Her basketball star left her last fall but she is doing well a true Bulldog to the end....Peg will never quit....And not to slight my slightly older better looking brother Joe, well when he wore the gold and black dog uniform, they won the County Tourney and dam near bumped off the Broncho's in the Sectional....
Then Dayton became just a primary school, but still all my kids were and still are Bulldogs, maybe not as serious as 12 year BullDogs but never the less once they were Bull dogs....maybe still are...
Now I have two grand daughters that are guess what "Bulldogs", yes but the logo has been changed, and maybe for the better.. It is now a younger freindlier looking bulldog...he has tennis shoes on that are colorful and he looks like he maybe would just like to lick your face instead of bite you...
As soon as I graduated I joined the Marines as did a lot of my classmates.. Soon after arriving in San Diego Boot camp I noticed tough looking drill instructors with sleaves rooled up and big bull dogs tatoed on their upper arms...Had they went to Dayton? I hoped so, that would make us "friends". Not so lucky, we were so far from being friends, I never even ask...But soon learned the logo of the Marine Corps is you guessed it, a huge mean looking no nonsense "Bulldog"...They even take it more serious than Dayton did, they have real Bulldogs present on the leash at ever major Marine Ceremonial event. We were taught quickly that once you are a Marine this never ends, you are a Marine till you get your discharge, not from the Marine Corps, but from life...Like my sister Peg it never stops...So I am a double Bull Dog and I guess I like that, ugly, mean or now younger and friendlier BullDoggin is where it's at.....The catch phrase for the Marines is "No better friend for our Allies, but no worse nightmare for the Enemies of this Nation"..They take that as serious business, and I think appropriately so every Bull dog does also....
But back to those ugly bulldogs, well I was not at Dayton School too many years and I learned that we were bulldogs. It was who and what we were about. And as we got into the higher grades, well these bulldogs were everywhere, Sports jackets, class sweaters, note pads, logo's on the walls...We were the Bulldogs, the Dayton Bulldogs..
Symbols like that are good, they inspire you, they give you a sense of belonging, a fraturity, a brother and sisterhood...And after all those years my school meets each May on a Saturday night and we are Bulldogs once again...So logo's, symbols, whatever are truly good. As were we just kids that went to Dayton would be one thing, but Bulldogs that just says it all...We were and will always be the Bulldogs....
My brothers and sisters before me were bulldogs. My younger foxy sister was a Bulldog Queen of Hearts and was a full fledged Bulldog cheerleader to the inth degree...She took this job serious as she is still a cheer leader in many ways especially when the Colts or IU are playing anything even down to tiddly winks...I think she puts on her bulldog cheering sweeter, pops herself a big bowl of corn and does not miss a play...Her basketball star left her last fall but she is doing well a true Bulldog to the end....Peg will never quit....And not to slight my slightly older better looking brother Joe, well when he wore the gold and black dog uniform, they won the County Tourney and dam near bumped off the Broncho's in the Sectional....
Then Dayton became just a primary school, but still all my kids were and still are Bulldogs, maybe not as serious as 12 year BullDogs but never the less once they were Bull dogs....maybe still are...
Now I have two grand daughters that are guess what "Bulldogs", yes but the logo has been changed, and maybe for the better.. It is now a younger freindlier looking bulldog...he has tennis shoes on that are colorful and he looks like he maybe would just like to lick your face instead of bite you...
As soon as I graduated I joined the Marines as did a lot of my classmates.. Soon after arriving in San Diego Boot camp I noticed tough looking drill instructors with sleaves rooled up and big bull dogs tatoed on their upper arms...Had they went to Dayton? I hoped so, that would make us "friends". Not so lucky, we were so far from being friends, I never even ask...But soon learned the logo of the Marine Corps is you guessed it, a huge mean looking no nonsense "Bulldog"...They even take it more serious than Dayton did, they have real Bulldogs present on the leash at ever major Marine Ceremonial event. We were taught quickly that once you are a Marine this never ends, you are a Marine till you get your discharge, not from the Marine Corps, but from life...Like my sister Peg it never stops...So I am a double Bull Dog and I guess I like that, ugly, mean or now younger and friendlier BullDoggin is where it's at.....The catch phrase for the Marines is "No better friend for our Allies, but no worse nightmare for the Enemies of this Nation"..They take that as serious business, and I think appropriately so every Bull dog does also....
Friday, February 22, 2008
Naples/Marco Beaches.....
There is nothing like the lure of the water, especially the Gulf side of Florida...It is peaceful, it is wonderful, it is addictive. Recently was pitched a high rise condo on Marco a time share enterprise...Something like 18,000 dollars to own this nice condo for one week per year....in prime season of course when snow and cold is taking its toll up north. Plus you get the pleasure of some taxes and maintenance. I passed on the deal rather quickly was just curious mainly but just using that as an example of what people will pay to be by the ocean, and warm temps during the winter months. I believe there is also over 100 championship golf courses here in Naples...A major draw for a lot of people also is the fairways and the greens maybe even equal to the water that I love so much.
Time gets away from one here as there is just way to much that can be done...For instance in my little community there are so many talented people willing to share what they know that to winter here is almost like going to college.
Computer and Camera classes, Dancing classes, Tennis, Golf and Horseshoe throwing which I missed today...I know they did not miss me and for sure did not miss my rolling horse shoes that can do major shin damage to partners not paying attention. Word is out on me pretty much, and they usually get behind the fence when I start aiming my shoes for the pin ahead. I have been so busy this year that my really first love fishing has suffered terribly...I really must attend to that one day soon or better yet many days soon...I long to post pictures of nice fishy's who have allowed me to catch them...
One last thought and credits of the picture to the right...The new Photo Shop program I purchased and am slowly learning is so worth the money. How it can take a fussy picture of surf that is too light and just basically worthless and turn it into the picture I saw when I took it I will never know...But there are other things that marvel me also like these pictures coming out of my computer going through the air on a wyfi system and landing on this website for anyone to see...I swear I am not going to even be amazed if in 5 years I am able to send a cup of coffee or even a back rub north to my frozen freinds as an attachment...So be patient but just to be safe keep your coffee pot and come on down for a visit when your pocket book allows.
Time gets away from one here as there is just way to much that can be done...For instance in my little community there are so many talented people willing to share what they know that to winter here is almost like going to college.
Computer and Camera classes, Dancing classes, Tennis, Golf and Horseshoe throwing which I missed today...I know they did not miss me and for sure did not miss my rolling horse shoes that can do major shin damage to partners not paying attention. Word is out on me pretty much, and they usually get behind the fence when I start aiming my shoes for the pin ahead. I have been so busy this year that my really first love fishing has suffered terribly...I really must attend to that one day soon or better yet many days soon...I long to post pictures of nice fishy's who have allowed me to catch them...
One last thought and credits of the picture to the right...The new Photo Shop program I purchased and am slowly learning is so worth the money. How it can take a fussy picture of surf that is too light and just basically worthless and turn it into the picture I saw when I took it I will never know...But there are other things that marvel me also like these pictures coming out of my computer going through the air on a wyfi system and landing on this website for anyone to see...I swear I am not going to even be amazed if in 5 years I am able to send a cup of coffee or even a back rub north to my frozen freinds as an attachment...So be patient but just to be safe keep your coffee pot and come on down for a visit when your pocket book allows.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Growing up Fast in Indiana
I was going to skip out on you all today but what the heck here is kind of long one even needs editing but no grades are issued here...And I may come back and do editing later...Just finished reading that book "What a Life" wow, that guy has sense of humor and terrific writing skills...Randy Kington made me laugh out loud many many times..But he also made me cry as his last two chapters might be the best love story I ever read....
OK here is my goofy story.....
GROWING UP FAST IN INDIANA 05/14/04
By Jack aka Happy Hoosier
Life in the post WW Two days was a life of growing up fast. When you are born the last of eight in 1938, and your mother was 43 and your father was 47 there was not a lot of time lying around to waste. Everything seemed kind of normal to me because that was just the way it was it seemed like it always had been. But the last few years I finally admitted only to myself of course, that I may not have been the result of intense planning. Accidents do happen we know, but to be reminded of that in your younger years was a downer. So as I grew older and understood a little more about reproduction, I devised a come back story for my siblings that, hey maybe I was the only one that "was planned". Maybe the first few were the accidents, probably were and then my theory was that after veiwing all those attempts why maybe they just came up with an idea. OK, we have had all these accidents so now let us really put some good planning into this last one. Works for me.
I had a great mother and father, my mom was about as good a cook and house keeper as you will find. And my dad was about as hard a worker and provider as one could ask for. So what's my excuse? Well not real sure I need these but just for the fun of it I will try and recall some events that could have molded my life good or bad. But my parents saying they were the "best" may still miss the mark.
I guess some of my best early year times was getting fussy along about 2 p.m. and told to "hit the featherbed" kept lying behind the wood stove. Those were some good naps and somehow I awoke a couple hours later ready to see what's happening. Happening, was really the word for it one day, when I was upstairs playing and happened to recall some very naughty words that I had heard some older kids using the day before. Those words just seem to really stick with me and get my attention. They were adult words, and maybe I should just try them out. So I went down the stairs and stood in the middle of the room where my mother was sewing and my sister may have been helping her, maybe they were making a feed sack dress for her not sure. But I summoned my courage, and I said them in a medium voice. I know my mother would have liked it better if I had not said it, but did not respond quickly. But my sister Peg though, she did not let this bullet pass. She said, "Mother, did you hear what Jack just said?" So, my mother did not say a word. She got up and walked to the bath room. She returned with a huge bar of Ivory soap. I thought I was going to eat half of that thing before the wrestling match ended. But you know, I never swore in front of my mother or father ever again.
About that same age my father was an avid reader of the "Prairie Farmer" magazine. I would set on his lap as he would read it and look at the pictures as he read to himself. I recall one time he turned a page and there was a double page add for a tire company. And the logo or whatever for that tire company was a very scarry rough looking man or a tire with a tough looking face. I did not say a word, but knew that I needed to get out of there. I slowly slid down off my fathers lap. My father did like to play pranks and he noticed I was not to slick about my manuver. He waited a while, and then called me over and pushed the double page at me and said, "he's gonna get you". Well my little ticker went into high gear and so did my feet, it scared the livin jeebies out of me. Sorry to say that everytime a new Prairie Farmer came it was let's see this kid climb the walls time. Well dad had a good time with it and I survived it but for the life of me I should have wised up that it was not a real threat, but it took awhile. Some day I am going to visit the library and dig out an old say 1941 Prairie Farmer and just face off with this guy and get past this.
My older brothers were in World War Two, Bob was in the Army, joined up and entered Europe at Normandy Beach and was awarded a Bronze and Silver Star medal as well as a Battlefield Commission in the Battle of the Bulge. He once attended an officers meeting held by Gen George Patton as he laid out the strategy for beating the Russians into downtown Berlin. And brother Larry was a navy man serving his time in the south pacific on a hospital ship. So I remember we had a banner hanging in our front window with two stars on it representing my two brothers. I started my service life early about three maybe wearing a army uniform one day and a navy uniform the next. I guess I was early homeland security maybe. But did feel I was making a contribution with my attire. I wrote letters no one could read but they still went to Europe and the South Pacific. My mother said they would be home soon but waiting half your life to see what they really looked like was a long time. And then about this time I picked up a tempory baby sister as my older sister Francis's husband was drafted into the Navy and she moved back home with her little daughter Phyllis.
Well that war did end and here they came my brother in law Ralph got home and my sister and neice started their lives in Indianapolis. Then came my two brothers home also. By then I was about 7 and the house seemed really rockin with all those folk running up and down stairs a lot. Of course they were getting jobs going to school as I was also by then. With the older ones present and full of ideas and pranks I became the lowest common denominator and thus the end of the prank chain.
One dandy was about the first week the soldier was in the house he found out that I had been wishing a long time my 2 little gold fish would have babies. So one day when I got off the school bus and came in the house they had indeed had babies. Yep, they had 10 babies but they were black and almost as big as the parents. But a brother who was worldly and knew everything and was to be trusted. I voiced my amazement of how big they were and not gold. I was assured that was a normal thing with gold fish and that they would be turning gold just any day now. I noticed too, that they had little whiskers thier parents did not have. Finally they began to die because of overcrowding and even the parents passed on, and after all the funerals I overheard him sharing the fact that he had gotten catfish out of the creek under the bridge. Wow!
Well the next one was my pop corn career. We ate a lot of pop corn at our house, and I had gotten old enough to load that old black corn popper with a scoop of lard and a cup of pop corn. And turn that crank, with the steam burning my fingers until she quit poppin and dump it in a big bowl an add some salt. Well these veterans loved popcorn, but really did not want to pop any. So they offered me a really sweet deal. A quarter was huge money in 1946 at 8 years old I was making big bucks. They could eat about 3 bowls each and so that's a buck an half a night. I was pulling down about 5 bucks a week, Huge money for a third grader. Well I had a small bank that shaped like a vault with a combination lock. So in went the quarters, night after night, week after week. One day I decided that I probably had maybe 30 bucks in that bank, and maybe with that much cash lying around not growing interest that I should move it to my little account at the small town bank of which I was a new member. So after checking no one was watching me doing the combination, I opened it up to bag up the funds. Maybe three dollars worth of quarters in that bank. I called in security, my mom, and reported the loss. She knowing her older sons much better than I, and for sure probably trusting them less than I, said "don't say anything just pop your corn tonight if they want any". So wanting to solve crime before these guys get married and move away I said after dinner, "boy some pop corn would sure be good tonight wouldn't it"? Well they took the bait and I fired up the popper and security was in the shadows watching this time. As I was attending my popper, my hero's of the war were taking a table knive and sliding into the slot of my bank as they carefully allowed the quarters to slide out and down the knive blade into their "loose corn money can". I should have known, especially when once in awhile they would even tip me an extra quarter, just to see my eyes really light up. Well, security moved in and charges were filed. A short trial was held and a couple guilty verdicts rendered, and then confessions were obtained. But, just like the CEO's of today once they have everyone's money they don't like to give it up. Of course no accounting had been recorded as I reaped these huge profits over the past few weeks. So I had no proof of what should have been there. I think an agreement finally was hammered out and I maybe I got 30 cent on the dollar and no one went to jail. But a lesson for life had been learned.
Oh, I almost forgot all that I was now learning in school. One of the first things I learned was that the English language in our house did not always match up with the rest of the world. Yep one day in the first grade the teacher held up pictures of vegetable to be identified. Well we were doing well pretty much in unison until a picture of a nice "tater" came up. They were saying potatoes which was greek to me, and I was trying hard to enlighten the class to the real name "TATERS". The teacher hearing such a slank word being used said, "class let's let little Jackie say it for us". So now not quite as sure of myself at this point, I said what we called them, in half volume, "taters". They all laughed and I maybe for the first time in life turned red and felt pretty hot. And hot I was not so I learned a lesson to let a little lag time go by before I jump into the bidding. And along about that same time in that first year we were lining up for recess on one side of the hall. Christmas was not to far away and that day the knowledgeable second graders were lining up on the other side of the hall. Something was said about Santa maybe coming soon. A second grader announced to our class that there really was not a Santa at all. Your mom and dad get that stuff and there is NO SANTA. Whoa, what the hell is going on here I thought. This bozo is a terroist and everyone needs to ignore this nonsense. But as I rode the bus home I thought gee, maybe that's true. So after thinking about it for a while I ask my mom, but I did not just ask her. I to seem knowledgable said, "mom guess what we learned at school today"? Mom said, "What"? I said, "we all learned today that there is no Santa", hoping she would laugh and reassure me so I could the other kids that there sure was a Santa. Well, you have to understand here that my mom had played this game a long time and was probably ready to get past it. So she said, "well you gotta find out sometime", or "well now you know". Not sure just which but regardless I sure was not quite ready to throw in the Santa Card. I went up stairs to think. Another light turned on. I figured out well maybe if this is a crock about Santa what about that Rabbit business, I bet that sucker is a phony too. So I went back down to test that water. I said, "mom guess what else we found out today"? She said "hard telling what"? I said, "mom we learned today that the Easter Bunny was not real also." And again you have to understand, mom had boiled a lot of eggs, she said, "well I guess now you know that too." So realitity was comming fast in those post war years.
One thing we did not learn at our school was the second grade. It was 1945 and teachers were scarce as hen's teeth, I think was the phrase. Our school finally hired a needed second grade teacher. A 70 something grey haired granny brought out of retirement. It was a blast, we had to be givin a big kiss each day as we arrived, we mostly just played and then would take time for recess to play outside. After recess we just kinda played around inside till lunch. Did lunch next thing you know it was time for a big kiss again as we left the room to get on the bus. We did not know we had wasted a year nor did our parents know either. But I remember the third grade teacher asking the principle Mr. Landis to set in on our class one morning as she asked us questions we should have know. It would have still been unknown if I would not have been a good listnener. As we left the room to go to lunch I lingered in the cloak hall as I heard the teacher say, "well Mr. Landis what do you think?". And I heard Mr. Landis reply, "well all I know is you are going to have the job of teaching this class the second grade and third grade at the same time." Amazing at what little ears will hear and understand. The rest of the class never knew and it's funny, I don't even think I shared it with my parents. Nothing could have been gained and we did learn fast and had an excellent third grade teacher.
Good discipline was a plus in those days, most of us were told by our parents that what ever punishment we ever warranted at school would be applied at home on a larger scale. It was amazing how one that had been told that, and believed it, did not get into much trouble. Our first male teacher in the Sixth grade pulls out a tennis shoe sole the first day and pounds his left palm of his hand with this thing. I guess some of us had stated to look a little challenging by then. I saw a couple come under the shoe that year and was not anything I cared to experience. And as bad as that would have been the home version would have been maybe more. It's a big problem in schools now I guess, and I don't have the answer. But it may lie in the few lines above but we will never see it again.
I want to wrap this story up with a couple instances where God seemed to have his hand on keeping me around for further work. Freshman year in school I was able to obtain a Whizzer motor bike. They were cool just a bike frame with a small engine and gas tank would run about 30 mph. I used it to work for other farmers during the summer to get back and forth. They get 100 mpg of gasoline. They made them from about 1938 to 1952. They started to make them again in 1998 and I currently have a 1999 model just for fun. Or maybe I am trying to finish the job, I jokingly say. The job being that one day at about 15 I followed a car through our town slowly but the line was yellow so I did not pass. As we left town the path was clear so I tried. He turned left without signaling, into a cemetery and I came in full contact with his torn left fender. It layed my right leg open from the knee to the hip all the way to the bone. I slid accross a gravel drive into the cemetery and stood up. I looked at my leg I could see the leg bone. I took the two halfs and pressed them together and the blood started to roll. Everytime my heart beat it seemed a cup of it came out. I was a gonner I figured. A nurse lived across the road. She was there in a flash took one look at me and ran back to her house. Returned with a wooden soap spoon and a towel and applied it to my hip area and shut off the blood. I still thought I would die before the ambulance got me to the hospital 10 miles away but since I am still typing here obvoiusly I did not.
About 4 years later having joined the Marines I met a class mate in Oceanside Califonia the night before I was to board the train for my first leave back home. He said he was going home tomorrow also and that he was going to catch a "hop" out of LA, which was a free military plane to Chicago and he would be home 2 days sooner and not have to pay the 60 dollar train fare. Said I could go also, plenty of room on the plane. It just did not feel right, don't know why. Ten day leave and I was going to spend four days of it on trains. I thought about it and then just told him I wanted to ride the train and see the west that we had flown over coming out to California. The plane hit another military plane on take off all were killed. I found it out when I got home from a taxi driver. A couple big time blessings on the way to growing up fast.
OK here is my goofy story.....
GROWING UP FAST IN INDIANA 05/14/04
By Jack aka Happy Hoosier
Life in the post WW Two days was a life of growing up fast. When you are born the last of eight in 1938, and your mother was 43 and your father was 47 there was not a lot of time lying around to waste. Everything seemed kind of normal to me because that was just the way it was it seemed like it always had been. But the last few years I finally admitted only to myself of course, that I may not have been the result of intense planning. Accidents do happen we know, but to be reminded of that in your younger years was a downer. So as I grew older and understood a little more about reproduction, I devised a come back story for my siblings that, hey maybe I was the only one that "was planned". Maybe the first few were the accidents, probably were and then my theory was that after veiwing all those attempts why maybe they just came up with an idea. OK, we have had all these accidents so now let us really put some good planning into this last one. Works for me.
I had a great mother and father, my mom was about as good a cook and house keeper as you will find. And my dad was about as hard a worker and provider as one could ask for. So what's my excuse? Well not real sure I need these but just for the fun of it I will try and recall some events that could have molded my life good or bad. But my parents saying they were the "best" may still miss the mark.
I guess some of my best early year times was getting fussy along about 2 p.m. and told to "hit the featherbed" kept lying behind the wood stove. Those were some good naps and somehow I awoke a couple hours later ready to see what's happening. Happening, was really the word for it one day, when I was upstairs playing and happened to recall some very naughty words that I had heard some older kids using the day before. Those words just seem to really stick with me and get my attention. They were adult words, and maybe I should just try them out. So I went down the stairs and stood in the middle of the room where my mother was sewing and my sister may have been helping her, maybe they were making a feed sack dress for her not sure. But I summoned my courage, and I said them in a medium voice. I know my mother would have liked it better if I had not said it, but did not respond quickly. But my sister Peg though, she did not let this bullet pass. She said, "Mother, did you hear what Jack just said?" So, my mother did not say a word. She got up and walked to the bath room. She returned with a huge bar of Ivory soap. I thought I was going to eat half of that thing before the wrestling match ended. But you know, I never swore in front of my mother or father ever again.
About that same age my father was an avid reader of the "Prairie Farmer" magazine. I would set on his lap as he would read it and look at the pictures as he read to himself. I recall one time he turned a page and there was a double page add for a tire company. And the logo or whatever for that tire company was a very scarry rough looking man or a tire with a tough looking face. I did not say a word, but knew that I needed to get out of there. I slowly slid down off my fathers lap. My father did like to play pranks and he noticed I was not to slick about my manuver. He waited a while, and then called me over and pushed the double page at me and said, "he's gonna get you". Well my little ticker went into high gear and so did my feet, it scared the livin jeebies out of me. Sorry to say that everytime a new Prairie Farmer came it was let's see this kid climb the walls time. Well dad had a good time with it and I survived it but for the life of me I should have wised up that it was not a real threat, but it took awhile. Some day I am going to visit the library and dig out an old say 1941 Prairie Farmer and just face off with this guy and get past this.
My older brothers were in World War Two, Bob was in the Army, joined up and entered Europe at Normandy Beach and was awarded a Bronze and Silver Star medal as well as a Battlefield Commission in the Battle of the Bulge. He once attended an officers meeting held by Gen George Patton as he laid out the strategy for beating the Russians into downtown Berlin. And brother Larry was a navy man serving his time in the south pacific on a hospital ship. So I remember we had a banner hanging in our front window with two stars on it representing my two brothers. I started my service life early about three maybe wearing a army uniform one day and a navy uniform the next. I guess I was early homeland security maybe. But did feel I was making a contribution with my attire. I wrote letters no one could read but they still went to Europe and the South Pacific. My mother said they would be home soon but waiting half your life to see what they really looked like was a long time. And then about this time I picked up a tempory baby sister as my older sister Francis's husband was drafted into the Navy and she moved back home with her little daughter Phyllis.
Well that war did end and here they came my brother in law Ralph got home and my sister and neice started their lives in Indianapolis. Then came my two brothers home also. By then I was about 7 and the house seemed really rockin with all those folk running up and down stairs a lot. Of course they were getting jobs going to school as I was also by then. With the older ones present and full of ideas and pranks I became the lowest common denominator and thus the end of the prank chain.
One dandy was about the first week the soldier was in the house he found out that I had been wishing a long time my 2 little gold fish would have babies. So one day when I got off the school bus and came in the house they had indeed had babies. Yep, they had 10 babies but they were black and almost as big as the parents. But a brother who was worldly and knew everything and was to be trusted. I voiced my amazement of how big they were and not gold. I was assured that was a normal thing with gold fish and that they would be turning gold just any day now. I noticed too, that they had little whiskers thier parents did not have. Finally they began to die because of overcrowding and even the parents passed on, and after all the funerals I overheard him sharing the fact that he had gotten catfish out of the creek under the bridge. Wow!
Well the next one was my pop corn career. We ate a lot of pop corn at our house, and I had gotten old enough to load that old black corn popper with a scoop of lard and a cup of pop corn. And turn that crank, with the steam burning my fingers until she quit poppin and dump it in a big bowl an add some salt. Well these veterans loved popcorn, but really did not want to pop any. So they offered me a really sweet deal. A quarter was huge money in 1946 at 8 years old I was making big bucks. They could eat about 3 bowls each and so that's a buck an half a night. I was pulling down about 5 bucks a week, Huge money for a third grader. Well I had a small bank that shaped like a vault with a combination lock. So in went the quarters, night after night, week after week. One day I decided that I probably had maybe 30 bucks in that bank, and maybe with that much cash lying around not growing interest that I should move it to my little account at the small town bank of which I was a new member. So after checking no one was watching me doing the combination, I opened it up to bag up the funds. Maybe three dollars worth of quarters in that bank. I called in security, my mom, and reported the loss. She knowing her older sons much better than I, and for sure probably trusting them less than I, said "don't say anything just pop your corn tonight if they want any". So wanting to solve crime before these guys get married and move away I said after dinner, "boy some pop corn would sure be good tonight wouldn't it"? Well they took the bait and I fired up the popper and security was in the shadows watching this time. As I was attending my popper, my hero's of the war were taking a table knive and sliding into the slot of my bank as they carefully allowed the quarters to slide out and down the knive blade into their "loose corn money can". I should have known, especially when once in awhile they would even tip me an extra quarter, just to see my eyes really light up. Well, security moved in and charges were filed. A short trial was held and a couple guilty verdicts rendered, and then confessions were obtained. But, just like the CEO's of today once they have everyone's money they don't like to give it up. Of course no accounting had been recorded as I reaped these huge profits over the past few weeks. So I had no proof of what should have been there. I think an agreement finally was hammered out and I maybe I got 30 cent on the dollar and no one went to jail. But a lesson for life had been learned.
Oh, I almost forgot all that I was now learning in school. One of the first things I learned was that the English language in our house did not always match up with the rest of the world. Yep one day in the first grade the teacher held up pictures of vegetable to be identified. Well we were doing well pretty much in unison until a picture of a nice "tater" came up. They were saying potatoes which was greek to me, and I was trying hard to enlighten the class to the real name "TATERS". The teacher hearing such a slank word being used said, "class let's let little Jackie say it for us". So now not quite as sure of myself at this point, I said what we called them, in half volume, "taters". They all laughed and I maybe for the first time in life turned red and felt pretty hot. And hot I was not so I learned a lesson to let a little lag time go by before I jump into the bidding. And along about that same time in that first year we were lining up for recess on one side of the hall. Christmas was not to far away and that day the knowledgeable second graders were lining up on the other side of the hall. Something was said about Santa maybe coming soon. A second grader announced to our class that there really was not a Santa at all. Your mom and dad get that stuff and there is NO SANTA. Whoa, what the hell is going on here I thought. This bozo is a terroist and everyone needs to ignore this nonsense. But as I rode the bus home I thought gee, maybe that's true. So after thinking about it for a while I ask my mom, but I did not just ask her. I to seem knowledgable said, "mom guess what we learned at school today"? Mom said, "What"? I said, "we all learned today that there is no Santa", hoping she would laugh and reassure me so I could the other kids that there sure was a Santa. Well, you have to understand here that my mom had played this game a long time and was probably ready to get past it. So she said, "well you gotta find out sometime", or "well now you know". Not sure just which but regardless I sure was not quite ready to throw in the Santa Card. I went up stairs to think. Another light turned on. I figured out well maybe if this is a crock about Santa what about that Rabbit business, I bet that sucker is a phony too. So I went back down to test that water. I said, "mom guess what else we found out today"? She said "hard telling what"? I said, "mom we learned today that the Easter Bunny was not real also." And again you have to understand, mom had boiled a lot of eggs, she said, "well I guess now you know that too." So realitity was comming fast in those post war years.
One thing we did not learn at our school was the second grade. It was 1945 and teachers were scarce as hen's teeth, I think was the phrase. Our school finally hired a needed second grade teacher. A 70 something grey haired granny brought out of retirement. It was a blast, we had to be givin a big kiss each day as we arrived, we mostly just played and then would take time for recess to play outside. After recess we just kinda played around inside till lunch. Did lunch next thing you know it was time for a big kiss again as we left the room to get on the bus. We did not know we had wasted a year nor did our parents know either. But I remember the third grade teacher asking the principle Mr. Landis to set in on our class one morning as she asked us questions we should have know. It would have still been unknown if I would not have been a good listnener. As we left the room to go to lunch I lingered in the cloak hall as I heard the teacher say, "well Mr. Landis what do you think?". And I heard Mr. Landis reply, "well all I know is you are going to have the job of teaching this class the second grade and third grade at the same time." Amazing at what little ears will hear and understand. The rest of the class never knew and it's funny, I don't even think I shared it with my parents. Nothing could have been gained and we did learn fast and had an excellent third grade teacher.
Good discipline was a plus in those days, most of us were told by our parents that what ever punishment we ever warranted at school would be applied at home on a larger scale. It was amazing how one that had been told that, and believed it, did not get into much trouble. Our first male teacher in the Sixth grade pulls out a tennis shoe sole the first day and pounds his left palm of his hand with this thing. I guess some of us had stated to look a little challenging by then. I saw a couple come under the shoe that year and was not anything I cared to experience. And as bad as that would have been the home version would have been maybe more. It's a big problem in schools now I guess, and I don't have the answer. But it may lie in the few lines above but we will never see it again.
I want to wrap this story up with a couple instances where God seemed to have his hand on keeping me around for further work. Freshman year in school I was able to obtain a Whizzer motor bike. They were cool just a bike frame with a small engine and gas tank would run about 30 mph. I used it to work for other farmers during the summer to get back and forth. They get 100 mpg of gasoline. They made them from about 1938 to 1952. They started to make them again in 1998 and I currently have a 1999 model just for fun. Or maybe I am trying to finish the job, I jokingly say. The job being that one day at about 15 I followed a car through our town slowly but the line was yellow so I did not pass. As we left town the path was clear so I tried. He turned left without signaling, into a cemetery and I came in full contact with his torn left fender. It layed my right leg open from the knee to the hip all the way to the bone. I slid accross a gravel drive into the cemetery and stood up. I looked at my leg I could see the leg bone. I took the two halfs and pressed them together and the blood started to roll. Everytime my heart beat it seemed a cup of it came out. I was a gonner I figured. A nurse lived across the road. She was there in a flash took one look at me and ran back to her house. Returned with a wooden soap spoon and a towel and applied it to my hip area and shut off the blood. I still thought I would die before the ambulance got me to the hospital 10 miles away but since I am still typing here obvoiusly I did not.
About 4 years later having joined the Marines I met a class mate in Oceanside Califonia the night before I was to board the train for my first leave back home. He said he was going home tomorrow also and that he was going to catch a "hop" out of LA, which was a free military plane to Chicago and he would be home 2 days sooner and not have to pay the 60 dollar train fare. Said I could go also, plenty of room on the plane. It just did not feel right, don't know why. Ten day leave and I was going to spend four days of it on trains. I thought about it and then just told him I wanted to ride the train and see the west that we had flown over coming out to California. The plane hit another military plane on take off all were killed. I found it out when I got home from a taxi driver. A couple big time blessings on the way to growing up fast.
Monday, February 18, 2008
A Marines Marine......
Gosh its Monday, what to write about today…Well lets do this I will tell you what I intend to write about some day soon…I went to a open air church service yesterday in down town Naples…I had met a very impressive Marine and his wife at a Marine Corps League dinner a couple weeks back…I heard he would be talking at a church service and more or less invited myself to attend…he told me where it was and I had this vision of a wooden little church with 50 people and my new friend Randy Kington up there setting in his wheel chair talking to them about whatever he was going to say…I did not even take my camera so no pictures to share but I will get some later….But anyway I get there to this Park in down town Naples and people are arriving and taking every available parking place and all walking in droves toward this park…I am thinking what the heck is going on here….There is this huge amphitheater setting under a nice wooded area and people setting ever where in chairs facing the stage…1100 people they finally said were there…And there on the stage in his wheel chair was my new friend Randy in his dress blues with a half dozen pretty darn impressive medals on his chest…he was setting patiently off to the side waiting his turn….I found a seat and sat there saying you dummy, no camera but my eyes took lots of pictures and yes I should wait until I finish his book I am reading and I should wait till I have pictures of this man and his lovely wife but I am not one to wait….
And I am not going to make this long right now…I have a dinner date with Randy and Patty Kington this Tuesday evening and I will then know them better… I will have finished his book I am reading by then. Then I will write more about this couple and this Book called “what a life” how the Vietnam war affected one Marine…by Randy Kington…..
All I want to say right now is when he was introduced he rolled his wheel chair front and center and he delivered a message about the Marine Corps and his Savior Jesus Christ that was a very moving event. About how both changed his life and brought them to where they are today….I hope to by hook or by crook bring this man to speak at my church someday back in Dayton Indiana and I hope that anyone reading this today If you ever get invited to hear this message from this man, that you will drop whatever and go hear it….
So that is all for today but some day not too distant future I want to tell you about a Marine’s Marine by the name of Randy and his angel that God sent to him named Patty….Randy claims in his talk that the country has been so good to him after he took that bullet and lost control of his body from the waist down even claiming uncle sam even provided a wife…as he met her in a hospital he was in…But I know only God sends angels….we will do this justice later on have a good one today….
SEMPER FIDELIS
Jack aka Happy Hoosier…..
And I am not going to make this long right now…I have a dinner date with Randy and Patty Kington this Tuesday evening and I will then know them better… I will have finished his book I am reading by then. Then I will write more about this couple and this Book called “what a life” how the Vietnam war affected one Marine…by Randy Kington…..
All I want to say right now is when he was introduced he rolled his wheel chair front and center and he delivered a message about the Marine Corps and his Savior Jesus Christ that was a very moving event. About how both changed his life and brought them to where they are today….I hope to by hook or by crook bring this man to speak at my church someday back in Dayton Indiana and I hope that anyone reading this today If you ever get invited to hear this message from this man, that you will drop whatever and go hear it….
So that is all for today but some day not too distant future I want to tell you about a Marine’s Marine by the name of Randy and his angel that God sent to him named Patty….Randy claims in his talk that the country has been so good to him after he took that bullet and lost control of his body from the waist down even claiming uncle sam even provided a wife…as he met her in a hospital he was in…But I know only God sends angels….we will do this justice later on have a good one today….
SEMPER FIDELIS
Jack aka Happy Hoosier…..
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Going to Camp
By Happy Hoosier
In the winter of 1956 our High School principal must have had some concerns about the ten boys in the senior class about to graduate in the spring. He scheduled visits to talk to our class by representatives of all the armed services. Granted none of us were headed to rocket science school but I think we would have, as post high school grads, cautiously found our way into adult society.
But as luck had it; one of them was a recruiter for the U S Marines. I think that in those days all was fair in love and war, as far as enticing someone to enlist in your branch of the service. Actually this Master Sergeant did not lie to us, very much. The trick to it was to have a recruiter that really looked good in that uniform.
As he stood before the class and described how he had seen the entire world and then some, it was not too hard to visualize how that could be you up there. And to get there you just had to go to a summer camp, boot camp he called it. Anyone could do it with the proper desire to serve, he said, and after you got out of camp, why the rest was easy.
Well, I would guess about two weeks after this indoctrination; a few of us were seriously entertaining the idea of joining up. We liked what Sgt. Goldman had to say, and we reasoned that likely we would someday get drafted, maybe after we had gotten a good job, or even married. And besides that, life was only going to afford us one opportunity to wear a uniform like that! Six of the 10 of us walked into the principal's office in a few days and announced that we thought we were up to the task and had decided to join up. Mr. Landis, our great principal, was glad to hear that. He said we had made a good choice and wished us well. He even offered to give us a day out of school to go down and sign up. So we did just that, and we took the whole day off.
We graduated mid May and went on a senior trip to Washington DC, New York, and even Niagara Falls, the most traveling any of us had ever done.
We arrived home May 29 and a couple of days later we all boarded a Greyhound bus and headed to Indianapolis for a swearing-in ceremony. We went about Five miles to the next little town and four more young lads got on the bus who were also headed to Sunny San Diego Marine Camp.
This was going to be fun, all this travel, flying in a big plane with four motors for the first time and spending the summer at camp. Wow life was good. Our parents had seen us off. They seemed a little sad, and maybe a little glad to see us going to camp.
We all passed our exams in Indianapolis, were sworn in by a Captain I believe, and soon were boarding a plane to San Diego, California.
Indeed life was good, what had we done to deserve to be traveling around the county like this for free? Well, soon we would be there and probably a warm welcome awaited us to be members now of that great fraternity, the Marines. Yes, the few, the proud, the Marines, that's what we would soon be.
We had a great trip to California. It was nighttime, and we did not see anything, but still it was a great trip, because we got there. We got off the plane in LA and looked around for someone who could direct us to the Marine Base in San Diego.
As we got outside the terminal a Marine was there in a tropical beige uniform, not that nice blue one, and he did not even seem all that happy to see us like we had thought. He had a green bus, and he told us to get on the bus, and soon we would be leaving for camp. Well we figured he was just having a bad day, and soon, when we got to San Diego Marine Base, they would surely be more friendly and glad to see us come out to join them.
I had been to camp once before, a 4-H camp in southern Indiana, maybe four years earlier. It was kind of fun. We were taught some songs, did some hiking, swimming, and stuff like that. But somehow this camp seemed different right from the start.
As we arrived at the San Diego Camp, the Sergeant told us to get off the bus and line up. He seemed tired, maybe even a little grumpy. We were escorted into a big room. Maybe this would be the welcome party. Lots of tables were set up and there were big boxes.
We all stood by a big box, wondering what was inside? The boxes contained a towel and shower shoes. We were hoping for dress blues, not shower shoes! They told us to take all our clothes off, and put them into the box along with our shoes, watches and rings. They called all of these things “contraband”. We had thought it would be our civilian clothes that we would need for the weekends when we would be looking around San Diego. We addressed a label to our parents and stuck it on top of the box. We left that room in shower shoes and a towel around us.
We got new stuff, green clothes and green caps, and boots. They cut our hair, all our hair. We, all 75 of us, looked almost alike. We assembled outside, after I guess you could call it, a welcome.
Soon two sergeants walked up with smoky bear hats on and announced that they would be our mothers, fathers and GOD for the next few weeks. They introduced themselves as Senior Drill Instructor Sergeant Littlefield and Junior DI Sergeant Reed. They seemed kind of nice until we were marched to a deserted area behind some Quonset huts. There they picked out some of the tougher looking guys, one at a time, to demonstrate their superior skills and strength.
They surely got our attention, and within minutes we were convinced that indeed these guys were in charge of us! We caught on quickly and learned the words of “Yes Sir” and “No Sir” well.
One of the first things they did was to escort us to our quarters. These metal Quonset huts held 25 people, so we had three of them all side by side. There was a nice black top road in front that we lined up on in two rows. We were going to practice for a while being dismissed and entering our huts. But before we did that, a few more of us were asked some questions that we did not seem to answer properly and again were assured of our Drill Instructors superior strength and skills.
Now in pretty much full panic, and not wanting to attract attention to ourselves, we were willing to carry out orders quickly. So the senior DI said we would have, upon dismissal, only five seconds to get 25 men into each hut, and on the sixth second the junior DI and he would begin kicking any butts that still remained outside. Hey that sounded simple enough, could even be fun, just get through that door, right?
The order came, "Dismissed!"
Twenty-five campers all hit the door at exactly the same time. No one, and I mean NO ONE got through the doors! Can you imagine the pressure applied to that door opening with say six guys wedged into the doorway, ten more pushing hard behind them and nine more behind them pushing even harder, because their butts were indeed being kicked!
I had been told that the Marines built men, but had no idea how strong they could build Quonset huts! Even after the third attempt at this, the huts did not move. We were by now in full panic, just about where the DI's wanted us at this time in our training.
We still had not been inside our living quarters, but at least about half of us had gotten a glimpse of the double bunks lined up inside on each wall. Not the lucky ones either. I think the "wedgies", the group I was in on the second attempt, the ones with an arm or face or leg in the doorway, just as the wedge is formed, were the more bruised than the back nine who were getting acquainted with the DI's spit-shined shoes.
The prime real estate location, we were all learning after about the third futile attempt at this maneuver, was to be in that middle ten where one only enjoyed "compression", but avoided wedging, and shoe shining. We all I think had come to the realization that we had blown it, ruined our lives and that our goal would be to survive this, graduate, and then turn these maniacs into the proper authorities.
History teaches us that on the third day after Christ died for our sins that God intervened and a good thing happened. He rose again to live, and that believers can also be assured of this, and thus have eternal life in Heaven. Well God intervened at Camp also, and on the third day! You see we were Platoon 286 and we had drawn a couple of rough cookies for drill instructors. But on that eventful day it was announced that some reorganization was taking place at our camp. We would now be platoon 3002, the second platoon of the newly formed Third Recruit Battalion. And, this is the God part; we got new drill instructors!
Along came a Staff Sergeant L. M. Kiest and Sergeant J. Thurmond for our Junior DI. Just watching those platoon 286 DI's walk away, we all were convinced, there truly is a God!
Well life at camp from the 4th day on was not a bowl of cherries, like we had dreamed of back at High School, but these new DI's were at least civil most of the time. They could still put you in the prone position, if you needed an adjustment, but they seemed to have a goal, and after a few weeks lights started turning on for us one at a time, I believe. We started to understand what and why they may be trying to do to and for us.
We were issued a bar of Ivory soap and a big scrub brush for washing our clothes, we even soaped and scrubbed, rinsed and hung our socks and underwear out to dry.
We marched a lot of the time. Close order drill with our M-1 rifles is excellent to instill teamwork and a sense of accomplishment. One of my funny memories of marching was in the evening. Each platoon would march to the chow hall, without our rifles of course. As we approached the chow hall four abreast, it was a custom to kind of put on a show for the other platoons who had arrived earlier and were now at ease waiting to get into the chow hall.
As we got close to the hall we would do fancy maneuvers like to the rear, right and left obliges, right and left flanks, and other neat stuff. Then we would be marched directly at the other Marines outside the hall. Just before crashing into them, our DI would sometimes give us “Mark Time” instead of just “Company Halt.”
That meant we kept on marching at the same pace as we had been, but we were not going anywhere. He would watch us do this for a minute or so, making sure that every left leg was raising at exactly the same time and every foot hitting the deck at exactly the same time. Kind of like a mechanic checking out the timing on a finely tuned engine. Then if we had Sgt. Thurmond on duty that evening, he would then say, “Close it up.” And that meant that instead of an arm’s length between us we would cut that distance in half. Then he would say again, “Close it up tight." That then would have us compressed, rubbing each other as we continued our “marking time.” Continuing to march standing still going nowhere but it was impressive. Then he would say, "Tighter yet, make that man in front of you smile." We would all smile and after about 30 seconds of this he would give us the, "Company Halt" command and then, "At Ease."
We had finished our performance and would now wait for the next platoon approaching to do theirs. Each DI and each Platoon kind of had their own show so to speak, and it was interesting that after a while of watching platoons march, one could almost guess exactly the number of weeks they had been on board by the manner in which they marched and carried themselves. I believe they scheduled the platoons arrival at the chow hall starting with the ‘just got there’ recruits who could barely march. Then progressively to the platoons who were getting "salty", had been to the rifle range and back and had accomplished all the Corps had asked of them. They were now ready to graduate as full fledged Marines. In that manner each platoon waiting to go in the hall could then watch a better platoon approach and do their show each night, which challenged them to become better and more professional as each week went by.
One thing they allowed us to do in the evening after dinner was to “water the grass.” Our “grass” was sand around our huts where we lived. We carried water in our buckets each evening and completely soaked our “grass”. Each morning we got up early at 5 am. We then raked our “grass” into nice straight even rows. The wet sand did look nice. We then would take strings and pull them tight along where the “grass” met the blacktop roads. And others would come along and remove all the sand from the street side of the string. After the “grass” was raked, NO ONE could walk on the “grass”. The lines were straight. You could view the straight lines for blocks of Quonset huts, row after row. We did live in a good neighborhood; everyone learned to be very tidy.
Well camp life moved on. We had no contact with the outside world, no cokes no candy just good OLE Marine chow, and with the pace we worked at, it tasted better every day. It mattered not what was served, you ate it because you were hungry! We ate stuff we would not have touched with a ten foot pole at home. We learned to eat whatever came across the counter. I remember one night after we cleaned our trays and were back to our huts, a call came down, “Lahrman to the duty hut.”
That meant you moved out on the double running to the duty hut, and knocking and asking permission to enter. Upon getting that, in you went, to do a right face in front of the DI on duty, and announceing that, “Pvt. Lahrman was reporting as ordered, Sir!”
Sgt. Keist said, “Well, did you tell your momma to send you a box?”
“Well, yes I may have done that Sir,” I said.
“Well open it up and lets see what momma has sent us.”
So I did, still trying to maintain an attention posture. It was cookies and lots of them for me and my buddies.
He said, “Eat all you want private.”
Having just cleaned my tray at chow, three was all I could handle and they were not all that enjoyable standing there in front of several DI's. So they told me to leave that contraband there with them and they would get rid of it for me.
“Yes Sir, Thank you Sir”, I said. And I was out of there and back to my hut with no cookies to share!
About the fourth week of camp I think something “extra” had come across the counter in the chow hall. We all suffered a severe case of dysentery. It made it rather interesting as lag time between knowing and going was very short indeed! Accidents while marching had necessitated our being allowed to peel off out of formation while we were marching without any preliminary approval from the chain of command. And then try and make it to a head, (toilet) that did not have long lines. The stench that permeated the entire camp probably bled over into downtown San Diego!
In about the sixth week we needed another haircut. But first we were marched to the paymaster to be paid in cash. We then were marched to the base barbershop. Our DI's seemed friendlier than normal that day. They told us to stand in line, not talk, get your haircut and fall out in formation behind the barber shop area and that they would be back after a visit to the enlisted club to pick us up. Wow, we thought, these guys are starting to like us, they trust us, we are becoming trusted Marines!
Well as we entered into the barbershop, holy mackerel there were six candy bar machines. We had not seen a candy bar for six weeks; we had forgotten what candy even was all about or for. But some of us came to our senses quickly, and we started to purchase candy from these machines when no one was looking. We hid these bars in our dungaree pockets. We had lots of pockets; thus we had lots of candy bars. We had enough for several days, even weeks maybe. We got our hair cut and they left some hair on top, we were happy, we were trusted Marines with pockets full of candy.
We exited the barbershop and got to the formation of our peers. Well, who should be there already but our DI's, and they had a big green Marine blanket spread out on the street. As we were shaken down, each of us added our illegal ‘pogie bait’, or candy, from our pockets to the blanket. We had been good for the economy that day. We had emptied all six machines in that hallway. The last of our guys in line, the shorter guys, had not got any, and they had felt unlucky inside the shop, but then they felt very lucky outside.
Our caring DI's reminded us that we had been told that, “Marines do not eat pogie bait, it is not good for Marines to eat such stuff,” they said. “Children eat candy, we have children at home, and we will distribute this candy to those children. What do you recruits think of that,” they asked?
After a couple of very loud in unison “THANK YOU SIRS,” we were on our way to do more training to work up an appetite for some real food.
We had no contact with the outside world, no radio's, no papers, no telephones, just life at camp. Occasionally an airplane took off at the airport next door and most of us, probably truth be known, wished we were on board. One day we did hear about Elvis. We heard several DI’s talking that they had read where Elvis was thinking about enlisting in the Marines to beat the draft. They were excited, they could not wait to help mold Elvis into a Marine. But it did not happen, they had to be content with the mostly farm and small town boys they had…us.
Our ten weeks the recruiter had promised turned into, I think, 16 weeks. But we got there. One day we were issued our dress uniforms and dress shoes that we spit shined for hours. Even nicer than we had spit shined our combat boots for weeks. We were ready to graduate as full-fledged members of the Corps. And we did and moved on to combat training and then duties in the Fleet Marine Forces. It had been a good summer, a little rocky at first, but it had turned out well. Some have said it well, “We would not take a million dollars for what we experienced at Camp that summer, but we would not want to give a dime to do it again”.
That was true for many years, but of late I have started to dream of seeing these faces one more time, possibly a 50 year reunion of Platoon 3002 in the summer of 2006? And even the faces of our DI’s, even Littlefield and Reed. They were all doing their jobs. I have no ill feeling towards even them. I have visited the Marine Boot camp twice in the last 15 years. Things have changed. Recruits are no longer mal-treated as a means of training. And I truly believe that the evolution of that training has been good, that a better product is being produced. These new “warriors of the sea”, are still no better friends for our allies, and no worst nightmare for our enemies. This nation will continue to be well served by what comes out of San Diego, California and Parris Island, South Carolina Marine recruit training.
In the winter of 1956 our High School principal must have had some concerns about the ten boys in the senior class about to graduate in the spring. He scheduled visits to talk to our class by representatives of all the armed services. Granted none of us were headed to rocket science school but I think we would have, as post high school grads, cautiously found our way into adult society.
But as luck had it; one of them was a recruiter for the U S Marines. I think that in those days all was fair in love and war, as far as enticing someone to enlist in your branch of the service. Actually this Master Sergeant did not lie to us, very much. The trick to it was to have a recruiter that really looked good in that uniform.
As he stood before the class and described how he had seen the entire world and then some, it was not too hard to visualize how that could be you up there. And to get there you just had to go to a summer camp, boot camp he called it. Anyone could do it with the proper desire to serve, he said, and after you got out of camp, why the rest was easy.
Well, I would guess about two weeks after this indoctrination; a few of us were seriously entertaining the idea of joining up. We liked what Sgt. Goldman had to say, and we reasoned that likely we would someday get drafted, maybe after we had gotten a good job, or even married. And besides that, life was only going to afford us one opportunity to wear a uniform like that! Six of the 10 of us walked into the principal's office in a few days and announced that we thought we were up to the task and had decided to join up. Mr. Landis, our great principal, was glad to hear that. He said we had made a good choice and wished us well. He even offered to give us a day out of school to go down and sign up. So we did just that, and we took the whole day off.
We graduated mid May and went on a senior trip to Washington DC, New York, and even Niagara Falls, the most traveling any of us had ever done.
We arrived home May 29 and a couple of days later we all boarded a Greyhound bus and headed to Indianapolis for a swearing-in ceremony. We went about Five miles to the next little town and four more young lads got on the bus who were also headed to Sunny San Diego Marine Camp.
This was going to be fun, all this travel, flying in a big plane with four motors for the first time and spending the summer at camp. Wow life was good. Our parents had seen us off. They seemed a little sad, and maybe a little glad to see us going to camp.
We all passed our exams in Indianapolis, were sworn in by a Captain I believe, and soon were boarding a plane to San Diego, California.
Indeed life was good, what had we done to deserve to be traveling around the county like this for free? Well, soon we would be there and probably a warm welcome awaited us to be members now of that great fraternity, the Marines. Yes, the few, the proud, the Marines, that's what we would soon be.
We had a great trip to California. It was nighttime, and we did not see anything, but still it was a great trip, because we got there. We got off the plane in LA and looked around for someone who could direct us to the Marine Base in San Diego.
As we got outside the terminal a Marine was there in a tropical beige uniform, not that nice blue one, and he did not even seem all that happy to see us like we had thought. He had a green bus, and he told us to get on the bus, and soon we would be leaving for camp. Well we figured he was just having a bad day, and soon, when we got to San Diego Marine Base, they would surely be more friendly and glad to see us come out to join them.
I had been to camp once before, a 4-H camp in southern Indiana, maybe four years earlier. It was kind of fun. We were taught some songs, did some hiking, swimming, and stuff like that. But somehow this camp seemed different right from the start.
As we arrived at the San Diego Camp, the Sergeant told us to get off the bus and line up. He seemed tired, maybe even a little grumpy. We were escorted into a big room. Maybe this would be the welcome party. Lots of tables were set up and there were big boxes.
We all stood by a big box, wondering what was inside? The boxes contained a towel and shower shoes. We were hoping for dress blues, not shower shoes! They told us to take all our clothes off, and put them into the box along with our shoes, watches and rings. They called all of these things “contraband”. We had thought it would be our civilian clothes that we would need for the weekends when we would be looking around San Diego. We addressed a label to our parents and stuck it on top of the box. We left that room in shower shoes and a towel around us.
We got new stuff, green clothes and green caps, and boots. They cut our hair, all our hair. We, all 75 of us, looked almost alike. We assembled outside, after I guess you could call it, a welcome.
Soon two sergeants walked up with smoky bear hats on and announced that they would be our mothers, fathers and GOD for the next few weeks. They introduced themselves as Senior Drill Instructor Sergeant Littlefield and Junior DI Sergeant Reed. They seemed kind of nice until we were marched to a deserted area behind some Quonset huts. There they picked out some of the tougher looking guys, one at a time, to demonstrate their superior skills and strength.
They surely got our attention, and within minutes we were convinced that indeed these guys were in charge of us! We caught on quickly and learned the words of “Yes Sir” and “No Sir” well.
One of the first things they did was to escort us to our quarters. These metal Quonset huts held 25 people, so we had three of them all side by side. There was a nice black top road in front that we lined up on in two rows. We were going to practice for a while being dismissed and entering our huts. But before we did that, a few more of us were asked some questions that we did not seem to answer properly and again were assured of our Drill Instructors superior strength and skills.
Now in pretty much full panic, and not wanting to attract attention to ourselves, we were willing to carry out orders quickly. So the senior DI said we would have, upon dismissal, only five seconds to get 25 men into each hut, and on the sixth second the junior DI and he would begin kicking any butts that still remained outside. Hey that sounded simple enough, could even be fun, just get through that door, right?
The order came, "Dismissed!"
Twenty-five campers all hit the door at exactly the same time. No one, and I mean NO ONE got through the doors! Can you imagine the pressure applied to that door opening with say six guys wedged into the doorway, ten more pushing hard behind them and nine more behind them pushing even harder, because their butts were indeed being kicked!
I had been told that the Marines built men, but had no idea how strong they could build Quonset huts! Even after the third attempt at this, the huts did not move. We were by now in full panic, just about where the DI's wanted us at this time in our training.
We still had not been inside our living quarters, but at least about half of us had gotten a glimpse of the double bunks lined up inside on each wall. Not the lucky ones either. I think the "wedgies", the group I was in on the second attempt, the ones with an arm or face or leg in the doorway, just as the wedge is formed, were the more bruised than the back nine who were getting acquainted with the DI's spit-shined shoes.
The prime real estate location, we were all learning after about the third futile attempt at this maneuver, was to be in that middle ten where one only enjoyed "compression", but avoided wedging, and shoe shining. We all I think had come to the realization that we had blown it, ruined our lives and that our goal would be to survive this, graduate, and then turn these maniacs into the proper authorities.
History teaches us that on the third day after Christ died for our sins that God intervened and a good thing happened. He rose again to live, and that believers can also be assured of this, and thus have eternal life in Heaven. Well God intervened at Camp also, and on the third day! You see we were Platoon 286 and we had drawn a couple of rough cookies for drill instructors. But on that eventful day it was announced that some reorganization was taking place at our camp. We would now be platoon 3002, the second platoon of the newly formed Third Recruit Battalion. And, this is the God part; we got new drill instructors!
Along came a Staff Sergeant L. M. Kiest and Sergeant J. Thurmond for our Junior DI. Just watching those platoon 286 DI's walk away, we all were convinced, there truly is a God!
Well life at camp from the 4th day on was not a bowl of cherries, like we had dreamed of back at High School, but these new DI's were at least civil most of the time. They could still put you in the prone position, if you needed an adjustment, but they seemed to have a goal, and after a few weeks lights started turning on for us one at a time, I believe. We started to understand what and why they may be trying to do to and for us.
We were issued a bar of Ivory soap and a big scrub brush for washing our clothes, we even soaped and scrubbed, rinsed and hung our socks and underwear out to dry.
We marched a lot of the time. Close order drill with our M-1 rifles is excellent to instill teamwork and a sense of accomplishment. One of my funny memories of marching was in the evening. Each platoon would march to the chow hall, without our rifles of course. As we approached the chow hall four abreast, it was a custom to kind of put on a show for the other platoons who had arrived earlier and were now at ease waiting to get into the chow hall.
As we got close to the hall we would do fancy maneuvers like to the rear, right and left obliges, right and left flanks, and other neat stuff. Then we would be marched directly at the other Marines outside the hall. Just before crashing into them, our DI would sometimes give us “Mark Time” instead of just “Company Halt.”
That meant we kept on marching at the same pace as we had been, but we were not going anywhere. He would watch us do this for a minute or so, making sure that every left leg was raising at exactly the same time and every foot hitting the deck at exactly the same time. Kind of like a mechanic checking out the timing on a finely tuned engine. Then if we had Sgt. Thurmond on duty that evening, he would then say, “Close it up.” And that meant that instead of an arm’s length between us we would cut that distance in half. Then he would say again, “Close it up tight." That then would have us compressed, rubbing each other as we continued our “marking time.” Continuing to march standing still going nowhere but it was impressive. Then he would say, "Tighter yet, make that man in front of you smile." We would all smile and after about 30 seconds of this he would give us the, "Company Halt" command and then, "At Ease."
We had finished our performance and would now wait for the next platoon approaching to do theirs. Each DI and each Platoon kind of had their own show so to speak, and it was interesting that after a while of watching platoons march, one could almost guess exactly the number of weeks they had been on board by the manner in which they marched and carried themselves. I believe they scheduled the platoons arrival at the chow hall starting with the ‘just got there’ recruits who could barely march. Then progressively to the platoons who were getting "salty", had been to the rifle range and back and had accomplished all the Corps had asked of them. They were now ready to graduate as full fledged Marines. In that manner each platoon waiting to go in the hall could then watch a better platoon approach and do their show each night, which challenged them to become better and more professional as each week went by.
One thing they allowed us to do in the evening after dinner was to “water the grass.” Our “grass” was sand around our huts where we lived. We carried water in our buckets each evening and completely soaked our “grass”. Each morning we got up early at 5 am. We then raked our “grass” into nice straight even rows. The wet sand did look nice. We then would take strings and pull them tight along where the “grass” met the blacktop roads. And others would come along and remove all the sand from the street side of the string. After the “grass” was raked, NO ONE could walk on the “grass”. The lines were straight. You could view the straight lines for blocks of Quonset huts, row after row. We did live in a good neighborhood; everyone learned to be very tidy.
Well camp life moved on. We had no contact with the outside world, no cokes no candy just good OLE Marine chow, and with the pace we worked at, it tasted better every day. It mattered not what was served, you ate it because you were hungry! We ate stuff we would not have touched with a ten foot pole at home. We learned to eat whatever came across the counter. I remember one night after we cleaned our trays and were back to our huts, a call came down, “Lahrman to the duty hut.”
That meant you moved out on the double running to the duty hut, and knocking and asking permission to enter. Upon getting that, in you went, to do a right face in front of the DI on duty, and announceing that, “Pvt. Lahrman was reporting as ordered, Sir!”
Sgt. Keist said, “Well, did you tell your momma to send you a box?”
“Well, yes I may have done that Sir,” I said.
“Well open it up and lets see what momma has sent us.”
So I did, still trying to maintain an attention posture. It was cookies and lots of them for me and my buddies.
He said, “Eat all you want private.”
Having just cleaned my tray at chow, three was all I could handle and they were not all that enjoyable standing there in front of several DI's. So they told me to leave that contraband there with them and they would get rid of it for me.
“Yes Sir, Thank you Sir”, I said. And I was out of there and back to my hut with no cookies to share!
About the fourth week of camp I think something “extra” had come across the counter in the chow hall. We all suffered a severe case of dysentery. It made it rather interesting as lag time between knowing and going was very short indeed! Accidents while marching had necessitated our being allowed to peel off out of formation while we were marching without any preliminary approval from the chain of command. And then try and make it to a head, (toilet) that did not have long lines. The stench that permeated the entire camp probably bled over into downtown San Diego!
In about the sixth week we needed another haircut. But first we were marched to the paymaster to be paid in cash. We then were marched to the base barbershop. Our DI's seemed friendlier than normal that day. They told us to stand in line, not talk, get your haircut and fall out in formation behind the barber shop area and that they would be back after a visit to the enlisted club to pick us up. Wow, we thought, these guys are starting to like us, they trust us, we are becoming trusted Marines!
Well as we entered into the barbershop, holy mackerel there were six candy bar machines. We had not seen a candy bar for six weeks; we had forgotten what candy even was all about or for. But some of us came to our senses quickly, and we started to purchase candy from these machines when no one was looking. We hid these bars in our dungaree pockets. We had lots of pockets; thus we had lots of candy bars. We had enough for several days, even weeks maybe. We got our hair cut and they left some hair on top, we were happy, we were trusted Marines with pockets full of candy.
We exited the barbershop and got to the formation of our peers. Well, who should be there already but our DI's, and they had a big green Marine blanket spread out on the street. As we were shaken down, each of us added our illegal ‘pogie bait’, or candy, from our pockets to the blanket. We had been good for the economy that day. We had emptied all six machines in that hallway. The last of our guys in line, the shorter guys, had not got any, and they had felt unlucky inside the shop, but then they felt very lucky outside.
Our caring DI's reminded us that we had been told that, “Marines do not eat pogie bait, it is not good for Marines to eat such stuff,” they said. “Children eat candy, we have children at home, and we will distribute this candy to those children. What do you recruits think of that,” they asked?
After a couple of very loud in unison “THANK YOU SIRS,” we were on our way to do more training to work up an appetite for some real food.
We had no contact with the outside world, no radio's, no papers, no telephones, just life at camp. Occasionally an airplane took off at the airport next door and most of us, probably truth be known, wished we were on board. One day we did hear about Elvis. We heard several DI’s talking that they had read where Elvis was thinking about enlisting in the Marines to beat the draft. They were excited, they could not wait to help mold Elvis into a Marine. But it did not happen, they had to be content with the mostly farm and small town boys they had…us.
Our ten weeks the recruiter had promised turned into, I think, 16 weeks. But we got there. One day we were issued our dress uniforms and dress shoes that we spit shined for hours. Even nicer than we had spit shined our combat boots for weeks. We were ready to graduate as full-fledged members of the Corps. And we did and moved on to combat training and then duties in the Fleet Marine Forces. It had been a good summer, a little rocky at first, but it had turned out well. Some have said it well, “We would not take a million dollars for what we experienced at Camp that summer, but we would not want to give a dime to do it again”.
That was true for many years, but of late I have started to dream of seeing these faces one more time, possibly a 50 year reunion of Platoon 3002 in the summer of 2006? And even the faces of our DI’s, even Littlefield and Reed. They were all doing their jobs. I have no ill feeling towards even them. I have visited the Marine Boot camp twice in the last 15 years. Things have changed. Recruits are no longer mal-treated as a means of training. And I truly believe that the evolution of that training has been good, that a better product is being produced. These new “warriors of the sea”, are still no better friends for our allies, and no worst nightmare for our enemies. This nation will continue to be well served by what comes out of San Diego, California and Parris Island, South Carolina Marine recruit training.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Chasing Birds and Building Sand Castles
I think after 65 years of chasing, I may have solved this puzzle, of why little boys chase birds and little girls only build sand castles…
Met an interesting lady in the club house last evening, she was upset that our park did not have wireless internet throughout the park. I told her I was also, and to be sure and relay her total disgust to our park manager Conway on Monday. But we talked a bit and she said she was at the beach and she noticed that only little boys chased birds and not little girls…She said why is that? I said well I guess they just want to catch one maybe. But I thanked her for the jogging my memory and the subject matter of today’s post.
When I was about 4 or 5 I will admit I was an avid bird chaser to the inth degree even…As my father would cultivate the field on his tractor and work the soil up fresh, lots of black birds would land right behind the tillage operation to eat the fresh worms that were being revealed to them…It gave me and endless supply of subjects to chase and try and catch…I would do it until I was totally exhausted, not sure what I would have done had I ever caught a bird but I do remember, really wanting to get my hands on them .
I will never forget (now that she reminded me) of one instance when I was doing it north of the house and Dad would encourage me from the tractor seat to just,” run a little bit faster”, that I “almost had that last one”. Well he must have had a little too much time to think and the next time through the field he stopped and got off the tractor. He asked me if I really wanted to catch one of these birds and of course I said yes I do Dad…He said Ok, I have heard and I think it is probably true that if you go to the house and get a salt shaker off the table and if you can get close enough to get just even a little bit of salt on a birds tail that he will slow up and let you catch him…
You know I really believed that piece of info, and as a matter of fact I was thinking as I went to get that salt shaker, why the hell had he not told me this hot info before. So back I came armed with that salt shaker. Had I been a little smarter, I probably would have picked up on the increased laughter from the tractor seat but I was on a mission….I chased those crazy black birds and came close a few times to getting that salt on them, but never quite made it I guess as they all got away…But I did use a lot of salt there that evening, and sure dad got a lot of good laughs out of this little trick. I still believed him just thinking I needed to get a little faster.
Until one day I heard him share the story with someone else and they both laughed, I finally realized I had been dubbed…So yes, I know not why little boys chase birds to this day but they surely do and they surely do enjoy the chase…maybe it is to train them to enjoy the chases later in life, maybe that is it. And maybe the little girls being smarter, realize what is going on here, and is why they just keep making sand castles and out of the corner of their eyes watching and thinking,” boy this is going to be so easy”….Yes I think Terry Gross that I have answered your question…..Next trip to the beach I will observe and maybe pack a salt shaker…..
Ok tune back in tomorrow as I am going to post my story of Marine Boot camp. I was honored this week to join the Marine Corp League here in Naples Florida…I can not express what an honor it is to associate with men who have fought to keep us free, and know that God blessed them to return to us. When they introduced me I told them that, and also that I wanted to share my combat record with them, that it had happened here in the U.S. in 1956 in San Diego Calif., only war I was ever in, and that it was between me and the Marines and that I was happy to report that the Marines won the battle, and I became one of them.
Cpl. Jack
Saddle up we will be going to camp
Met an interesting lady in the club house last evening, she was upset that our park did not have wireless internet throughout the park. I told her I was also, and to be sure and relay her total disgust to our park manager Conway on Monday. But we talked a bit and she said she was at the beach and she noticed that only little boys chased birds and not little girls…She said why is that? I said well I guess they just want to catch one maybe. But I thanked her for the jogging my memory and the subject matter of today’s post.
When I was about 4 or 5 I will admit I was an avid bird chaser to the inth degree even…As my father would cultivate the field on his tractor and work the soil up fresh, lots of black birds would land right behind the tillage operation to eat the fresh worms that were being revealed to them…It gave me and endless supply of subjects to chase and try and catch…I would do it until I was totally exhausted, not sure what I would have done had I ever caught a bird but I do remember, really wanting to get my hands on them .
I will never forget (now that she reminded me) of one instance when I was doing it north of the house and Dad would encourage me from the tractor seat to just,” run a little bit faster”, that I “almost had that last one”. Well he must have had a little too much time to think and the next time through the field he stopped and got off the tractor. He asked me if I really wanted to catch one of these birds and of course I said yes I do Dad…He said Ok, I have heard and I think it is probably true that if you go to the house and get a salt shaker off the table and if you can get close enough to get just even a little bit of salt on a birds tail that he will slow up and let you catch him…
You know I really believed that piece of info, and as a matter of fact I was thinking as I went to get that salt shaker, why the hell had he not told me this hot info before. So back I came armed with that salt shaker. Had I been a little smarter, I probably would have picked up on the increased laughter from the tractor seat but I was on a mission….I chased those crazy black birds and came close a few times to getting that salt on them, but never quite made it I guess as they all got away…But I did use a lot of salt there that evening, and sure dad got a lot of good laughs out of this little trick. I still believed him just thinking I needed to get a little faster.
Until one day I heard him share the story with someone else and they both laughed, I finally realized I had been dubbed…So yes, I know not why little boys chase birds to this day but they surely do and they surely do enjoy the chase…maybe it is to train them to enjoy the chases later in life, maybe that is it. And maybe the little girls being smarter, realize what is going on here, and is why they just keep making sand castles and out of the corner of their eyes watching and thinking,” boy this is going to be so easy”….Yes I think Terry Gross that I have answered your question…..Next trip to the beach I will observe and maybe pack a salt shaker…..
Ok tune back in tomorrow as I am going to post my story of Marine Boot camp. I was honored this week to join the Marine Corp League here in Naples Florida…I can not express what an honor it is to associate with men who have fought to keep us free, and know that God blessed them to return to us. When they introduced me I told them that, and also that I wanted to share my combat record with them, that it had happened here in the U.S. in 1956 in San Diego Calif., only war I was ever in, and that it was between me and the Marines and that I was happy to report that the Marines won the battle, and I became one of them.
Cpl. Jack
Saddle up we will be going to camp
Friday, February 15, 2008
Love is in the air #4
OK end of story today hope you enjoyed reading how me and sweetie hooked up...It happens sometimes when you are on the bottom and bingo your headed back up. God is good that way...
Love was in the Air........#4 Recountance, Recovery and Romance
On the flight north from El Salvador Bill recounts his experiences and thinks to himself what a 'gold mine' the Salvadorian people are setting on as a great prospective tourism industry. Who could beat dry 90 degree warmth in January days and 60 degree nights for great sleeping, and not bar hopping. This unrest in the country would surely kill the tourism that had been started, but the friendliness of the commoners on the "day time" streets and workers around the hotel, would surely some day again make San Salvador a good winter haven he thinks. He has a couple of the "machetes" he slipped out of the country that will surely be "memorable" to him for quite sometime to come.
Bill's arrival home is good, the kids are glad to have him home, and get rid of the older couple sitting them and get back to normal as normal goes with this household. And Bill having thanked the Lord, is very glad to be home. Bill tells the family of the really nice gal he met at the local airport, the real nice weather, the nice people and all of the excitement, except the "big lesson" trip he and 4 others took into the country side. He figures maybe in 25 years from now he could put a better spin on that story. He calls his local doctor and tells him he needs big time help getting rid of the severe case of "Montezuma’s" that has stayed with him and shows no sign of giving up. A strong prescription and maybe another week of staying not far from the house, and Bill finally kicks the bug that joined him on the train ride into the mountains. He comes across that phone number he had gotten in Chicago and calls the blonde in the black coat named Jane. He leaves a message on her answer machine and a few days later Jane returns his call. She has been on the road with her job of promoting window glass for auto's for her employer. She had been traveling the state that week calling on insurance agents and auto body shops, dropping off golf balls and info and keeping the company name fresh in their memories. Unbeknown to Bill she had visited his little town and inquired of him at a local insurance agency. She had found that he really was "not married," as she had suspected that he was probably married . Had found out he was a "working farmer" as declared; and as far as was known, a decent guy. She shared with Bill that she had as it turned out gotten a five day stay in Chicago instead of 2 because of the closure of the airport and storm. A date was made for the next weekend as she was pretty tired and needed to rest up and do her housework, but would maybe not be as tired then. The Friday night arrived and Bill showed up in his "family" car a Chevy wagon, as the '79 T-Bird he had told Jane about had not arrived yet. Jane said, "no problem, you probably need this thing anyway with your five kids". Jane looked pretty attractive to Bill as he helped her into his passenger seat and drove her south on the River Road to a favorite restaurant. He asked for a corner table overlooking the river, and with good food and conversation he and Jane recounted their meeting by chance and life as it had been for them, to that point. The night ended with a walk to the door and agreement to probably do this again sometime soon and a kiss good night.
Bill was attracted to this lady, good looking, no children to wonder about how the blending would go if blending ever needed done, and she was street smart it seemed. Her ideas and ideals seemed very compatible with his. Who knows but at least for now he was content to get to know her better. Saturday evening was approaching and Bill was thinking why didn't I ask, but then he knows it is not best to have two dates in a row, not sure why, but that is probably the law of the dating jungle, so he relaxes at home. The kids retire for the night and Bill gets an idea. He loads up his blender, 7-Up and some Kool-aid and heads the wagon to town. He knocks on Jane's door hoping she is home with blender in hand, the door opens. Bill say's, "Hi Jane, I was just in the area and thought I would stop by and see if you cared for a new treat I have learned of. It is orange Kool-aid, 7-Up and ice, if you have the ice and the time". Jane seemed a little cautious, but finally kind of laughed and said something like "what an approach", and let Bill in. Bill fired up his blender and they enjoyed the drink and another couple hours of conversation and another couple good night kisses and Bill was headed back to the farm. Bill felt good, he liked this lady even more than the night before. Time would tell, but he had a couple months here to "cultivate" this relationship before the spring farming begins.
Cultivate he did, and and after a few more dates, the words "Love" were used now and then. Time moved on, it was a good summer for Bill and Jane. An engagement took place after about 6 months of dating. When would they marry was a topic for a few days and then the two agreed that what would be better than getting married on January 12, 1980? And what would be a better time for this wedding but 3:45 in the afternoon exactly one year to the minute that they had met with Bill's winning retrieval of the knitting stopper at that local airport. Thank God he had moved fast. It had been quit a year.
Love was in the Air........#4 Recountance, Recovery and Romance
On the flight north from El Salvador Bill recounts his experiences and thinks to himself what a 'gold mine' the Salvadorian people are setting on as a great prospective tourism industry. Who could beat dry 90 degree warmth in January days and 60 degree nights for great sleeping, and not bar hopping. This unrest in the country would surely kill the tourism that had been started, but the friendliness of the commoners on the "day time" streets and workers around the hotel, would surely some day again make San Salvador a good winter haven he thinks. He has a couple of the "machetes" he slipped out of the country that will surely be "memorable" to him for quite sometime to come.
Bill's arrival home is good, the kids are glad to have him home, and get rid of the older couple sitting them and get back to normal as normal goes with this household. And Bill having thanked the Lord, is very glad to be home. Bill tells the family of the really nice gal he met at the local airport, the real nice weather, the nice people and all of the excitement, except the "big lesson" trip he and 4 others took into the country side. He figures maybe in 25 years from now he could put a better spin on that story. He calls his local doctor and tells him he needs big time help getting rid of the severe case of "Montezuma’s" that has stayed with him and shows no sign of giving up. A strong prescription and maybe another week of staying not far from the house, and Bill finally kicks the bug that joined him on the train ride into the mountains. He comes across that phone number he had gotten in Chicago and calls the blonde in the black coat named Jane. He leaves a message on her answer machine and a few days later Jane returns his call. She has been on the road with her job of promoting window glass for auto's for her employer. She had been traveling the state that week calling on insurance agents and auto body shops, dropping off golf balls and info and keeping the company name fresh in their memories. Unbeknown to Bill she had visited his little town and inquired of him at a local insurance agency. She had found that he really was "not married," as she had suspected that he was probably married . Had found out he was a "working farmer" as declared; and as far as was known, a decent guy. She shared with Bill that she had as it turned out gotten a five day stay in Chicago instead of 2 because of the closure of the airport and storm. A date was made for the next weekend as she was pretty tired and needed to rest up and do her housework, but would maybe not be as tired then. The Friday night arrived and Bill showed up in his "family" car a Chevy wagon, as the '79 T-Bird he had told Jane about had not arrived yet. Jane said, "no problem, you probably need this thing anyway with your five kids". Jane looked pretty attractive to Bill as he helped her into his passenger seat and drove her south on the River Road to a favorite restaurant. He asked for a corner table overlooking the river, and with good food and conversation he and Jane recounted their meeting by chance and life as it had been for them, to that point. The night ended with a walk to the door and agreement to probably do this again sometime soon and a kiss good night.
Bill was attracted to this lady, good looking, no children to wonder about how the blending would go if blending ever needed done, and she was street smart it seemed. Her ideas and ideals seemed very compatible with his. Who knows but at least for now he was content to get to know her better. Saturday evening was approaching and Bill was thinking why didn't I ask, but then he knows it is not best to have two dates in a row, not sure why, but that is probably the law of the dating jungle, so he relaxes at home. The kids retire for the night and Bill gets an idea. He loads up his blender, 7-Up and some Kool-aid and heads the wagon to town. He knocks on Jane's door hoping she is home with blender in hand, the door opens. Bill say's, "Hi Jane, I was just in the area and thought I would stop by and see if you cared for a new treat I have learned of. It is orange Kool-aid, 7-Up and ice, if you have the ice and the time". Jane seemed a little cautious, but finally kind of laughed and said something like "what an approach", and let Bill in. Bill fired up his blender and they enjoyed the drink and another couple hours of conversation and another couple good night kisses and Bill was headed back to the farm. Bill felt good, he liked this lady even more than the night before. Time would tell, but he had a couple months here to "cultivate" this relationship before the spring farming begins.
Cultivate he did, and and after a few more dates, the words "Love" were used now and then. Time moved on, it was a good summer for Bill and Jane. An engagement took place after about 6 months of dating. When would they marry was a topic for a few days and then the two agreed that what would be better than getting married on January 12, 1980? And what would be a better time for this wedding but 3:45 in the afternoon exactly one year to the minute that they had met with Bill's winning retrieval of the knitting stopper at that local airport. Thank God he had moved fast. It had been quit a year.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Love is in the Air #3
here is the third chapter enjoy
Adding the key word "Jane" here so it will come up in search
Love is in the Air Chapter 3 The Salvadorian Gringo Harvest
The bill comes to the table, it reads $160.00 US dollars for 8 drinks. One of Bill's new acquaintances say's "there ain't no way we are paying this bill". The bar tender is summoned and the bill is challenged. He looks at Bill and the other four men, and then glances over his shoulder at the couple bare machetes and now about 10 more Salvadorians between them and the door and says "you pay this". Bill, the oldest of this group, gets their attention and reasons that yes this is going to be an experience to learn from and remember, and then thinks to himself that it would be an experience to tell the grandkids about someday, not too proudly, but at least would be best for them not to read in the papers about. Bill reasons that they were maybe 5 miles inside lawless territory and that they could be skinned and quartered here in the next 5 minutes and never heard from again. The money is paid with no gratuity. They move toward the door. The bartender tells the Salvadorians something in Spanish and they allow the gringo's to pass through their ranks and out the door. The cab is there and away go the freshly harvested seed men back to town.
The next day the owner of the cattle ranch and processing plant tells Bill and a few other of the group, things are not looking good in his country these days. He say's civil rights lawyers from the US have messed things up pretty good for him and his family who migrated here a hundred years before. He said he now spends his time at the plant, always carrying a sidearm. And his home is now guarded by 4 towers of guards with shotguns. That afternoon as they return to town much gunfire is heard in a couple parts of the town. By the next day the revolutionaries have taken over the Red Cross building and a couple other government buildings. The guide tells the group that the police he has talked to say it will be OK and that they feel it safe to stay the full 5 days. The following day the city is more quiet and the group loads onto an old narrow gauge open air wooden passenger train with a steam engine for a trip about 30 miles into the mountains. It is 90 plus degrees and all aboard would love a cold drink. And lots of coke is on board, but it is 90 plus degrees also! The train stops to pick up some Salvadorians and someone throws a huge block of ice on the train floor. Oh boy! Bill say's, "get those cups and cokes open, we have ice", and the ice is chipped into small pieces enough for all to enjoy a really cold drink. Bill notices as he enjoys his coke that most carts are pulled by oxen and light loads are on the tops of the women's heads. He also notices and remarks how happy these people seem to be having nothing. "I bet they don't know what a migraine headache is down here", he laughs.
That night another great banquet with lots of drinks is enjoyed and goes down easily it seems and helps to at least ease the tensions of the guest. A few guest notice some diahria setting in. One guest becomes a wild man and throws a couple women into the pool. His name was Bill, but not our Bill, this was Wild Bill. The wives move away from the pools edge, but this does not stop Wild Bill, he simplly scoops them up and runs to the pool and goes in with them! Bill is glad that Jane is back in Chicago fighting snow not wild Bill.. The next morning at the breakfast buffet one could look up at the 10 stories of balconies behind the crescent shaped hotel, and see the five evening dresses and wild Bill's suit drying out on the railings. After breakfast, plans were to visit a coffee plantation, but before the buses could be loaded more people started making very often and very quick visits to the restrooms. Those 90% that had enjoyed the cold drink on the train had seen the "Revenge of Montezuma", that had been hidden in that nice cold ice, including our Bill. It was not a pretty sight. The fifth day finally rolled around and the "gastorically wounded", moved onto the buses for the ride to the airport. After a long debate between the tour guide and the military, the passports were exchanged for some of the items they had purchased for souvenirs that was declared contraband and possibly even some corporate money Bill suspects. Three of the group were carried on and then off the plane again on stretchers. As the plane lifted off a huge cheer that would have eclipsed the one in Chicago went up, probably heard back at the airport. Arrival back at O'Hare found the airport only open for a day and at least an hour of about 3 or 4 levels of circular holding patterns before landing. A year later Bill was reading Newsweek and saw a familiar face. The cattle ranch owner had been charged for walking into a bar and shooting two US civil rights lawyers to death.
To be continued with Chapter 4
Recountance, Recovery and Romance
Adding the key word "Jane" here so it will come up in search
Love is in the Air Chapter 3 The Salvadorian Gringo Harvest
The bill comes to the table, it reads $160.00 US dollars for 8 drinks. One of Bill's new acquaintances say's "there ain't no way we are paying this bill". The bar tender is summoned and the bill is challenged. He looks at Bill and the other four men, and then glances over his shoulder at the couple bare machetes and now about 10 more Salvadorians between them and the door and says "you pay this". Bill, the oldest of this group, gets their attention and reasons that yes this is going to be an experience to learn from and remember, and then thinks to himself that it would be an experience to tell the grandkids about someday, not too proudly, but at least would be best for them not to read in the papers about. Bill reasons that they were maybe 5 miles inside lawless territory and that they could be skinned and quartered here in the next 5 minutes and never heard from again. The money is paid with no gratuity. They move toward the door. The bartender tells the Salvadorians something in Spanish and they allow the gringo's to pass through their ranks and out the door. The cab is there and away go the freshly harvested seed men back to town.
The next day the owner of the cattle ranch and processing plant tells Bill and a few other of the group, things are not looking good in his country these days. He say's civil rights lawyers from the US have messed things up pretty good for him and his family who migrated here a hundred years before. He said he now spends his time at the plant, always carrying a sidearm. And his home is now guarded by 4 towers of guards with shotguns. That afternoon as they return to town much gunfire is heard in a couple parts of the town. By the next day the revolutionaries have taken over the Red Cross building and a couple other government buildings. The guide tells the group that the police he has talked to say it will be OK and that they feel it safe to stay the full 5 days. The following day the city is more quiet and the group loads onto an old narrow gauge open air wooden passenger train with a steam engine for a trip about 30 miles into the mountains. It is 90 plus degrees and all aboard would love a cold drink. And lots of coke is on board, but it is 90 plus degrees also! The train stops to pick up some Salvadorians and someone throws a huge block of ice on the train floor. Oh boy! Bill say's, "get those cups and cokes open, we have ice", and the ice is chipped into small pieces enough for all to enjoy a really cold drink. Bill notices as he enjoys his coke that most carts are pulled by oxen and light loads are on the tops of the women's heads. He also notices and remarks how happy these people seem to be having nothing. "I bet they don't know what a migraine headache is down here", he laughs.
That night another great banquet with lots of drinks is enjoyed and goes down easily it seems and helps to at least ease the tensions of the guest. A few guest notice some diahria setting in. One guest becomes a wild man and throws a couple women into the pool. His name was Bill, but not our Bill, this was Wild Bill. The wives move away from the pools edge, but this does not stop Wild Bill, he simplly scoops them up and runs to the pool and goes in with them! Bill is glad that Jane is back in Chicago fighting snow not wild Bill.. The next morning at the breakfast buffet one could look up at the 10 stories of balconies behind the crescent shaped hotel, and see the five evening dresses and wild Bill's suit drying out on the railings. After breakfast, plans were to visit a coffee plantation, but before the buses could be loaded more people started making very often and very quick visits to the restrooms. Those 90% that had enjoyed the cold drink on the train had seen the "Revenge of Montezuma", that had been hidden in that nice cold ice, including our Bill. It was not a pretty sight. The fifth day finally rolled around and the "gastorically wounded", moved onto the buses for the ride to the airport. After a long debate between the tour guide and the military, the passports were exchanged for some of the items they had purchased for souvenirs that was declared contraband and possibly even some corporate money Bill suspects. Three of the group were carried on and then off the plane again on stretchers. As the plane lifted off a huge cheer that would have eclipsed the one in Chicago went up, probably heard back at the airport. Arrival back at O'Hare found the airport only open for a day and at least an hour of about 3 or 4 levels of circular holding patterns before landing. A year later Bill was reading Newsweek and saw a familiar face. The cattle ranch owner had been charged for walking into a bar and shooting two US civil rights lawyers to death.
To be continued with Chapter 4
Recountance, Recovery and Romance
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Rained all night long.
It rained all night, love to hear it hit the roof of a motor home..Slept like a baby..I will not lay claim to making this drought breaking rain. I must tell that I had heard the forcast yesterday...Want to shy away from "shallow" here as best I can....
OK here is Chapter two of "Love is in the Air", enjoy!
Love is in the Air Chapter 2 Double Practicality
By Happy Hoosier
Bill checks into his hotel and asks the hotel clerk about where Jane's hotel would be. How much would it cost to take a cab over there Bill asks? Twenty Five dollars plus, say's the clerk, as Bill look's into the bar and see's that some of his fellow seed sales people are starting to arrive there and get a little noisy. It looks like maybe fun to save all that money and hang there and plan the attack on El Salvador that evening. Bill calls Jane's hotel and finally hears her voice on the line. "Hi Jane, how are you doing?", he asks. "Real good", Jane say's, and then proceeds to tell Bill that she has found out that since she is traveling alone, that she has been able to change her package deal from a Romantic Dinner for two for one night to a Romantic Dinner for one for both nights she will be there. Bill wanting to stay out of the brewing snow storm, impress her with his practicality, and not risk missing his flight in the morning just for a long shot on love, say's, "Oh, Jane that is great, because I found out that a cab fare is 25 bucks over to your hotel and for 50 dollars round trip, why Jane I could take you out twice after we return home". Jane seems not overwhelmed with that prospect, or his practicality, and makes no promises about even a future date. Bill tells her it was great to have met her and hopes when he gets back to be able to at least meet for a cup of coffee and is able to pry a local home town phone number from Jane.
Bill meets that evening about 4 other men who are also traveling alone, single or otherwise. The rest of the plane load were couples who are going to enjoy the trip together.
Everyone turns in at a decent time to rise early for a 8 am charter flight direct from O’Hare 5 hours due south across the Gulf of Mexico to sunny El Salvador. The next morning all are on board at 8 am, but the storm has intensified and the plane is deiced for the second time about 9:30 am, and finally is allowed to leave in a heavy snow storm and is the next to the last plane to leave O’Hare for a couple days. Cheers when up as Bill's plane lifted up out of the storm and into the sunlight and the mood stayed high for all the next 5 hours. The plane slowed for landing and all that could be seen were some pretty green mountains below, everywhere one looked, nothing but mountains. How could this plane land in all these mountains?, Bill wonders. Finally the plane dropped down on what looked like a mountain with the top half missing on the edge of this rather large city. They deplaned and walked through the 90 degree heat which was 100 degrees warmer than they had left just 5 hours before. It was nice, as they approached the customs everyone was told to surrender their passports to the military authorities who seemed to be almost everywhere with rifles and the officers with side arms. Surrendering the passports was strange, but they had no choice. They just hoped they would get them back in 5 days. The corporate officers and travel guides put a good light on things and they boarded buses to the hotel. The driver thrilled Bill all least once per block as they worked their way at high speed through town on whichever side of the street seemed to be less crowded.
That night a gala banquet with drinks got everyone off to a festive mood. The travel guide warned to never drink the water or even eat the salad washed in water. Coke and beer was the name of the game they said. After the dinner they were told to stick in the hotel and rise early for a visit to a cattle ranch the next morning. Bill was about to do that when his 4 single or otherwise acquaintances suggested that they were going to sample the night life a little and if he wanted to tag along. They hailed a cab driver who spoke only Spanish and said to him, "Bar, drinks, women music". He understood and said something like, "good spot" and with two in front with driver Pedro and three in the back, they were off. Bill and the others had been told that night that the city of San Salvador was almost as modern and large, as say Indianapolis, but 5 miles out of town you would progress backwards two hundred years as quickly as batting your eyes. Soon they were in the countryside, no more city and Bill started to feel a little uneasy, but the rest of the crew in this flying missile just figured it was going to be worth the trip. The cab stopped before a rather dim lit bar with Hollywood style swinging doors going in, and in they went, but not before pleading with the driver to not even think about leaving them there.
The bar had four large tables with about 30 Salvadorian men and maybe a half dozen very attractive women occupying three of them. Most of the men had the machetes with about a 24 inch blade attached to their belts. They all 5 sat at the spare table close to the bar and ordered a drink and before they even came, about 3 of the women left the tables with the Salvadorians and moved in amongst the five Gringo's. They brought their empty glasses with them and of course were offered drinks since being so nice as to come over to get acquainted with the seed corn Five. Bill was not really alarmed at all of this, as a couple of his younger companions looked like they had worked with weights forever and who would mess with guys like that. Twenty minutes later Bill noticed that about a half dozen of the less friendly looking Salvadorians had gotten up from a table and positioned themselves in front of the door. They were facing the table of the Americans and a couple had removed their machetes from the belts. Bill suggested that the situation had deteriorated, and after looking around the room, all Five were in agreement that maybe it was time to at least try and say good night. They called for the check!
To be continued
Salvadorian Gringo Harvest.........
OK here is Chapter two of "Love is in the Air", enjoy!
Love is in the Air Chapter 2 Double Practicality
By Happy Hoosier
Bill checks into his hotel and asks the hotel clerk about where Jane's hotel would be. How much would it cost to take a cab over there Bill asks? Twenty Five dollars plus, say's the clerk, as Bill look's into the bar and see's that some of his fellow seed sales people are starting to arrive there and get a little noisy. It looks like maybe fun to save all that money and hang there and plan the attack on El Salvador that evening. Bill calls Jane's hotel and finally hears her voice on the line. "Hi Jane, how are you doing?", he asks. "Real good", Jane say's, and then proceeds to tell Bill that she has found out that since she is traveling alone, that she has been able to change her package deal from a Romantic Dinner for two for one night to a Romantic Dinner for one for both nights she will be there. Bill wanting to stay out of the brewing snow storm, impress her with his practicality, and not risk missing his flight in the morning just for a long shot on love, say's, "Oh, Jane that is great, because I found out that a cab fare is 25 bucks over to your hotel and for 50 dollars round trip, why Jane I could take you out twice after we return home". Jane seems not overwhelmed with that prospect, or his practicality, and makes no promises about even a future date. Bill tells her it was great to have met her and hopes when he gets back to be able to at least meet for a cup of coffee and is able to pry a local home town phone number from Jane.
Bill meets that evening about 4 other men who are also traveling alone, single or otherwise. The rest of the plane load were couples who are going to enjoy the trip together.
Everyone turns in at a decent time to rise early for a 8 am charter flight direct from O’Hare 5 hours due south across the Gulf of Mexico to sunny El Salvador. The next morning all are on board at 8 am, but the storm has intensified and the plane is deiced for the second time about 9:30 am, and finally is allowed to leave in a heavy snow storm and is the next to the last plane to leave O’Hare for a couple days. Cheers when up as Bill's plane lifted up out of the storm and into the sunlight and the mood stayed high for all the next 5 hours. The plane slowed for landing and all that could be seen were some pretty green mountains below, everywhere one looked, nothing but mountains. How could this plane land in all these mountains?, Bill wonders. Finally the plane dropped down on what looked like a mountain with the top half missing on the edge of this rather large city. They deplaned and walked through the 90 degree heat which was 100 degrees warmer than they had left just 5 hours before. It was nice, as they approached the customs everyone was told to surrender their passports to the military authorities who seemed to be almost everywhere with rifles and the officers with side arms. Surrendering the passports was strange, but they had no choice. They just hoped they would get them back in 5 days. The corporate officers and travel guides put a good light on things and they boarded buses to the hotel. The driver thrilled Bill all least once per block as they worked their way at high speed through town on whichever side of the street seemed to be less crowded.
That night a gala banquet with drinks got everyone off to a festive mood. The travel guide warned to never drink the water or even eat the salad washed in water. Coke and beer was the name of the game they said. After the dinner they were told to stick in the hotel and rise early for a visit to a cattle ranch the next morning. Bill was about to do that when his 4 single or otherwise acquaintances suggested that they were going to sample the night life a little and if he wanted to tag along. They hailed a cab driver who spoke only Spanish and said to him, "Bar, drinks, women music". He understood and said something like, "good spot" and with two in front with driver Pedro and three in the back, they were off. Bill and the others had been told that night that the city of San Salvador was almost as modern and large, as say Indianapolis, but 5 miles out of town you would progress backwards two hundred years as quickly as batting your eyes. Soon they were in the countryside, no more city and Bill started to feel a little uneasy, but the rest of the crew in this flying missile just figured it was going to be worth the trip. The cab stopped before a rather dim lit bar with Hollywood style swinging doors going in, and in they went, but not before pleading with the driver to not even think about leaving them there.
The bar had four large tables with about 30 Salvadorian men and maybe a half dozen very attractive women occupying three of them. Most of the men had the machetes with about a 24 inch blade attached to their belts. They all 5 sat at the spare table close to the bar and ordered a drink and before they even came, about 3 of the women left the tables with the Salvadorians and moved in amongst the five Gringo's. They brought their empty glasses with them and of course were offered drinks since being so nice as to come over to get acquainted with the seed corn Five. Bill was not really alarmed at all of this, as a couple of his younger companions looked like they had worked with weights forever and who would mess with guys like that. Twenty minutes later Bill noticed that about a half dozen of the less friendly looking Salvadorians had gotten up from a table and positioned themselves in front of the door. They were facing the table of the Americans and a couple had removed their machetes from the belts. Bill suggested that the situation had deteriorated, and after looking around the room, all Five were in agreement that maybe it was time to at least try and say good night. They called for the check!
To be continued
Salvadorian Gringo Harvest.........
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Making it Rain
In Indiana when a farmer needs rain he mows down hay, that will usually do it the temptation to allow this hay to be cured and put up in perfect order is too much of a temptation to the rain makers....We are under water restrictions here and so I am going to make it rain for the next couple days I will wax my motor home...That should do it...
So I am taking a break, a luxury I have because I have reserve stories. And I want to get this one out there anyway. I wrote it a few years back, and it was published in a book by about a dozen writers of short stories. If you have read it go wax a vehicle, or scoop some snow...if you have not, enjoy it, as it is how I met the gal I lost last April...and also tells of some lessons I learned in El Salvadore.
It is written in third person I think they call it, not sure why I guess I wanted to protect the guilty maybe. I don't even know why I am hiding behind the pen name here of happy hoosier, maybe again to protect the guilty. So just to set you straight the charactor Jane is my sweetie of 29 years and 3 months Linda. The charactor Bill is me happy hoosier aka Jack.
LOVE IS IN THE AIR
Bill had been divorced a year or so. He had been out there visiting a few night spots when time allowed from his duties as a father. Blind dates had not yielded much more to fill the emptiness than the night spots. Oh,family life and work is the main thing anyway he thought and besides maybe he just needed a short vacation that was being offered to him by his employer. A short 5 day trip to El Salvador would be fun he thought. He signed up, never been there before, why not. Nice break from farming and seed sales and this hidden quest for a new companion, he thought. His employer Northrup King Seeds would be flying an entire plane load of seed salesman there. What could be any safer or more fun than a peaceful little country like that?.
January 12, 1979 came and the day to fly off for Bill's vacation. His brother Bob took him to the annual Purdue Ag Alumni Fish Fry before dropping him off at the Purdue University airport for a short flight to Chicago late afternoon, and then the next morning he will be on his way to sunny San Salvador, El Salvador. He sat waiting after checking his bags for the flight, maybe 15 minutes to go till the 4 o’clock flight time. A blonde "looker" comes through the door and hits the check-in counter. Bill scans her but thinks not a lot about her, but did notice that only a couple empty chairs remaining were near him. He would get a good look at the "looker" as soon as she needs a seat. The gal checks in and turns to look for a seat and then sits down only two chairs from Bill. Not bad he thinks, too bad this chick is not going to El Salvador his mind dreams. He notices her nervousness as she sets down and whips out some knitting work. A rubber stopper flies off the needle and Bill thinks quick. Retrieve this you idiot before some other bozo does, why not, no one knows him, take a chance, go for it. Three men go for the stopper but Bill has the quickness and drive needed to recover the fumble. He brings it back and hands it to the lady who smiles and say's, "thank you". "Your welcome", Bill say's, and settles back into his seat.
Only flight leaving that afternoon is to Chicago but Bill finally musters the courage to get the lady's attention and asks, "are you flying to Chicago"? The reply is "Yes", as Bill knew it would be. Silence sets in, as Bill assumes others in ear range have assumed him an idiot. The flight is called and all in the room walk out to the small prop plane. Bill just happens to get himself in line behind the "blonde looker" in the black leather coat. The plane is small, so small in fact that one must bend over at almost 90 degrees to walk down the aisle to the single seats on each side of the plane. All Bill sees now is the rear of that leather coat. Oh, heavens, he thinks as he follows the coat that rides up quite a bit with the bending over, this gal also has legs, and they are running from her shoes all the way to, well to where the coat stops the peep show.
The gal sits on the port side of the plane and luck seems to be liking Bill as he molds himself into the empty seat on the starboard side. The roar of the engines require more volume as Bill ask her, "Are you staying in Chicago"? "Well yes" she says. Silence finally breaks again when Bill says, "well I am flying to El Salvador in the morning". "Wow, that's sounds like a warmer place to be going", she says. "Yeal, they say its 90 during the day there", "Are you married", Bill asked. "No are you", she reply's?
The noisy flight finds them exchanging where they live in their home town, what they do, what kind of cars they have. And of course her name, he finds is Jane and lets her know he is Bill. She figures he is really married but not sure. Bill is figuring with his luck so far this gal will be staying in the same hotel, why not? The plane lands, Bill gets up the nerve to bring up the possibility that they could maybe have dinner together, "Where are you staying he ask?" She tells him, and Bill has not a clue where that is or where his hotel is either. He thinks fast and says, "do you maybe have a phone number at your hotel that after I find out where I am etc., that maybe I could check and see what your plans are"? Jane tells him that she may have here meals included in her package. But Bill gets the phone number and bids her goodbye and promises to call in an hour or so if things work out OK after his hotel check in. He thinks, hey, the main thing here is getting checked in for my little vacation but after that, well who knows love may just be "in the air".
To be continued
So I am taking a break, a luxury I have because I have reserve stories. And I want to get this one out there anyway. I wrote it a few years back, and it was published in a book by about a dozen writers of short stories. If you have read it go wax a vehicle, or scoop some snow...if you have not, enjoy it, as it is how I met the gal I lost last April...and also tells of some lessons I learned in El Salvadore.
It is written in third person I think they call it, not sure why I guess I wanted to protect the guilty maybe. I don't even know why I am hiding behind the pen name here of happy hoosier, maybe again to protect the guilty. So just to set you straight the charactor Jane is my sweetie of 29 years and 3 months Linda. The charactor Bill is me happy hoosier aka Jack.
LOVE IS IN THE AIR
Bill had been divorced a year or so. He had been out there visiting a few night spots when time allowed from his duties as a father. Blind dates had not yielded much more to fill the emptiness than the night spots. Oh,family life and work is the main thing anyway he thought and besides maybe he just needed a short vacation that was being offered to him by his employer. A short 5 day trip to El Salvador would be fun he thought. He signed up, never been there before, why not. Nice break from farming and seed sales and this hidden quest for a new companion, he thought. His employer Northrup King Seeds would be flying an entire plane load of seed salesman there. What could be any safer or more fun than a peaceful little country like that?.
January 12, 1979 came and the day to fly off for Bill's vacation. His brother Bob took him to the annual Purdue Ag Alumni Fish Fry before dropping him off at the Purdue University airport for a short flight to Chicago late afternoon, and then the next morning he will be on his way to sunny San Salvador, El Salvador. He sat waiting after checking his bags for the flight, maybe 15 minutes to go till the 4 o’clock flight time. A blonde "looker" comes through the door and hits the check-in counter. Bill scans her but thinks not a lot about her, but did notice that only a couple empty chairs remaining were near him. He would get a good look at the "looker" as soon as she needs a seat. The gal checks in and turns to look for a seat and then sits down only two chairs from Bill. Not bad he thinks, too bad this chick is not going to El Salvador his mind dreams. He notices her nervousness as she sets down and whips out some knitting work. A rubber stopper flies off the needle and Bill thinks quick. Retrieve this you idiot before some other bozo does, why not, no one knows him, take a chance, go for it. Three men go for the stopper but Bill has the quickness and drive needed to recover the fumble. He brings it back and hands it to the lady who smiles and say's, "thank you". "Your welcome", Bill say's, and settles back into his seat.
Only flight leaving that afternoon is to Chicago but Bill finally musters the courage to get the lady's attention and asks, "are you flying to Chicago"? The reply is "Yes", as Bill knew it would be. Silence sets in, as Bill assumes others in ear range have assumed him an idiot. The flight is called and all in the room walk out to the small prop plane. Bill just happens to get himself in line behind the "blonde looker" in the black leather coat. The plane is small, so small in fact that one must bend over at almost 90 degrees to walk down the aisle to the single seats on each side of the plane. All Bill sees now is the rear of that leather coat. Oh, heavens, he thinks as he follows the coat that rides up quite a bit with the bending over, this gal also has legs, and they are running from her shoes all the way to, well to where the coat stops the peep show.
The gal sits on the port side of the plane and luck seems to be liking Bill as he molds himself into the empty seat on the starboard side. The roar of the engines require more volume as Bill ask her, "Are you staying in Chicago"? "Well yes" she says. Silence finally breaks again when Bill says, "well I am flying to El Salvador in the morning". "Wow, that's sounds like a warmer place to be going", she says. "Yeal, they say its 90 during the day there", "Are you married", Bill asked. "No are you", she reply's?
The noisy flight finds them exchanging where they live in their home town, what they do, what kind of cars they have. And of course her name, he finds is Jane and lets her know he is Bill. She figures he is really married but not sure. Bill is figuring with his luck so far this gal will be staying in the same hotel, why not? The plane lands, Bill gets up the nerve to bring up the possibility that they could maybe have dinner together, "Where are you staying he ask?" She tells him, and Bill has not a clue where that is or where his hotel is either. He thinks fast and says, "do you maybe have a phone number at your hotel that after I find out where I am etc., that maybe I could check and see what your plans are"? Jane tells him that she may have here meals included in her package. But Bill gets the phone number and bids her goodbye and promises to call in an hour or so if things work out OK after his hotel check in. He thinks, hey, the main thing here is getting checked in for my little vacation but after that, well who knows love may just be "in the air".
To be continued
Monday, February 11, 2008
9 Girls on a Blanket
Short family story today. Will post the pics that really tell the story of 9 granddaughters of my 3 brothers and I all born the same year and all photographed at high school graduation time. They made the front page of the Local Paper in May 06....Five of them are my granddaughters of which three are triplets and two singles claimed by three of my daughters.
Totally I tally 19 grand children with no great grandchildren yet. But using a formula that I worked out at 2.3 times 19 I am totally expecting to see 44 of them one day...No way will I remember all those names, but maybe they will just answer to "hey kid," "want to hear one of my stories?"
OH, by the way in case some of you are noticing the ungodly hours of some of these post, well here is the deal on that...The clock on this bloging business must be several hours off and I don't have a clue how to set it correctly so we may stay on China time...OH well they don't know what time it is in Indiana anyway. They may be on China time by now, that way we can do business with China without any problems....Don't tell Mitch or he will be changing us again....
Totally I tally 19 grand children with no great grandchildren yet. But using a formula that I worked out at 2.3 times 19 I am totally expecting to see 44 of them one day...No way will I remember all those names, but maybe they will just answer to "hey kid," "want to hear one of my stories?"
OH, by the way in case some of you are noticing the ungodly hours of some of these post, well here is the deal on that...The clock on this bloging business must be several hours off and I don't have a clue how to set it correctly so we may stay on China time...OH well they don't know what time it is in Indiana anyway. They may be on China time by now, that way we can do business with China without any problems....Don't tell Mitch or he will be changing us again....
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Parker Place
See the picture on the right of my dad in 1930 standing by his stationary engine that powered what looks like the pump for the well....Sure it was a thing of pride in 1930 not to have to grab that pump handle and take it up and down, up and down until either your arms fell off, or the water tank or buckets got full.. Farmers of old never suffered an overwieght problem and for darn good reason. They were busting there butts from daylight to dusk everyday. It's a wonder I am even typing this, but I guess when the sun went down, even at 46 my dad still had a gleam in his eye, and here I is......
But anyway the title here is "The Parker Place", and it still to this day exist, and I must when I get home take my camera there and take voo koo pictures of everthing in sight as soon the bulldozers will no doubt arrive.. It is located just south of the new Hospital that has risen along I65 in Lafayette. With the arrival of the hospital and other things like the new Journal Courier printing complex and Catipillar logistics building, I know its days are surely numbered...
But dad took me there maybe just a couple years before he died, and we walked over it and he told me many stories about the house and the corn crib that is still there and I must see if also this old shed behind him is there also, and if it is I must stand in the exact location of my mentor and have someone take that picture...
Dad farmed in those days pretty big, 240 acres with a full time hired man and a great wife, some youngins and 13 horses...He and his man would both hitch up 6 horse teams some days for tillage work and believe me in those days tillage meant tillage...It did not mean miniumum till or conservation till it meant kill as dam many weeds as you could, and you did this about 6 times before you ever even thought of planting anything. No chemicals in those days at all, it was man and his wits against everthing they faced....And weeds were huge...I distictly remember one day walking around the corn fields with him after being talked into the business end of hoe, the manual labor type hoe, and we were working pretty hard on a huge patch of canada thistle.
I said, "Dad why the hell did God ever allow these darn weeds anyway? He thought a bit, and then said, "God did not do it son, it was satin he plants them". I said, "well does he do it ever night"? Dad said, "yeal I think maybe he does"...True story will never forget it, as it is the short term memory is starting to go, not the real important stuff, like farming 101 on the south 40...
But now I get to brag, as my Dad was an early inovator also in those days...He purchased one of the first tractors..It was a Moline and it actually looked like a big gravely garden tractor as you will see....And it even had an electric starter and lights....And I love this story that was told to me maybe 12-15 years back by a Mr. Korty who was younger than, but new my dad well. He said to me once while I was selling seed corn to his sons, "Your dad was the hardest working farmer I ever knew in my life." I could tell he meant it also by his voice, and it did not do any damage to my ego, and assesment of a great father. He said, "one night we were coming home about maybe 9 or 10 and it was dark", but he said "your dad did not have a manure speader at the time and he had loaded manure on his hay wagon and was out there in the field. He had that Moline going slow with the lights on and he was back on that wagon pitching that manure off as fast as a spreader would have done it"...
I am so grateful to that also great farmer, and father of many likewise sons, that has since passed but what a picture to remember......
One other thought or fact of that day. The Halsmer family lived next door thus the location of the Halsmer airport that is since gone. But have hear many stories about how they actually built their first airplane from a model T engine I think he said, and learned to fly it all by themselves.
He said he would watch them for days they would run it across the fields and then stop before hitting the fense....until one day one of them finally said, "well here goes", and he gave it all it had and lifted off and cleared the fence...The rest is history, they all flew and were pilots in the war and commercial pilots and then had the airport that Lafayette probably wished they had embrased and taken over...Well maybe not cause then maybe I would not have met sweetie at Purdue, but maybe Halsmers who knows.... till tomorrow......
But anyway the title here is "The Parker Place", and it still to this day exist, and I must when I get home take my camera there and take voo koo pictures of everthing in sight as soon the bulldozers will no doubt arrive.. It is located just south of the new Hospital that has risen along I65 in Lafayette. With the arrival of the hospital and other things like the new Journal Courier printing complex and Catipillar logistics building, I know its days are surely numbered...
But dad took me there maybe just a couple years before he died, and we walked over it and he told me many stories about the house and the corn crib that is still there and I must see if also this old shed behind him is there also, and if it is I must stand in the exact location of my mentor and have someone take that picture...
Dad farmed in those days pretty big, 240 acres with a full time hired man and a great wife, some youngins and 13 horses...He and his man would both hitch up 6 horse teams some days for tillage work and believe me in those days tillage meant tillage...It did not mean miniumum till or conservation till it meant kill as dam many weeds as you could, and you did this about 6 times before you ever even thought of planting anything. No chemicals in those days at all, it was man and his wits against everthing they faced....And weeds were huge...I distictly remember one day walking around the corn fields with him after being talked into the business end of hoe, the manual labor type hoe, and we were working pretty hard on a huge patch of canada thistle.
I said, "Dad why the hell did God ever allow these darn weeds anyway? He thought a bit, and then said, "God did not do it son, it was satin he plants them". I said, "well does he do it ever night"? Dad said, "yeal I think maybe he does"...True story will never forget it, as it is the short term memory is starting to go, not the real important stuff, like farming 101 on the south 40...
But now I get to brag, as my Dad was an early inovator also in those days...He purchased one of the first tractors..It was a Moline and it actually looked like a big gravely garden tractor as you will see....And it even had an electric starter and lights....And I love this story that was told to me maybe 12-15 years back by a Mr. Korty who was younger than, but new my dad well. He said to me once while I was selling seed corn to his sons, "Your dad was the hardest working farmer I ever knew in my life." I could tell he meant it also by his voice, and it did not do any damage to my ego, and assesment of a great father. He said, "one night we were coming home about maybe 9 or 10 and it was dark", but he said "your dad did not have a manure speader at the time and he had loaded manure on his hay wagon and was out there in the field. He had that Moline going slow with the lights on and he was back on that wagon pitching that manure off as fast as a spreader would have done it"...
I am so grateful to that also great farmer, and father of many likewise sons, that has since passed but what a picture to remember......
One other thought or fact of that day. The Halsmer family lived next door thus the location of the Halsmer airport that is since gone. But have hear many stories about how they actually built their first airplane from a model T engine I think he said, and learned to fly it all by themselves.
He said he would watch them for days they would run it across the fields and then stop before hitting the fense....until one day one of them finally said, "well here goes", and he gave it all it had and lifted off and cleared the fence...The rest is history, they all flew and were pilots in the war and commercial pilots and then had the airport that Lafayette probably wished they had embrased and taken over...Well maybe not cause then maybe I would not have met sweetie at Purdue, but maybe Halsmers who knows.... till tomorrow......
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Never to Forget 28 years 3 months
See the picture to the right tonight. It represents 28 years and 3 months of my life with my sweetie.......I almost sold her wedding ring with some other gold rings that she wanted me to sell for her and donate all the money to one of her favored ministries. But something at the last minute said "don't do it", and I am so glad I did not. I even thought of selling mine along with it.
This idea came to me as my plane touched down in Indy coming home for Christmas. From where I am not sure, but it came in a flash, and I spent my first two days at home searching for this way to display our rings...I was looking for Gaudy, you know too big, to overpowering, the way men like to do things. Could not find gaudy anywhere, and had to settle for "just right". God I think takes care of me sometimes like that. Any way RAMZ exchange in Lafayette had this, and worked with me linking our wedding rings and hanging below a silver jet representing the one we flew together on out of the Purdue airport on Jan. 12, 1979. I, a few years back wrote a story about that meeting titled, "Love was in the Air". I will post it here all four chapters one day ahead for you to read. So in my little gold and silver rememberance tribute it has an inscription at the bottom saying the same.
I will alway cherish it, and keep it displayed as it represents a very happy era that I was blessed to have had...She arrived on the 12th of January at 3:45 in the afternoon 1979. We married one year to the minute later, and then she left me on the 12th of April last spring. But I know where she is an she is safe and happy for eternity now....
Saw a great movie today titled '27 dresses". Got in free for a blood donation at the Hollywood 20 on Airport Road...It was a fun happy movie, couple tears but mostly lots of laughs. Highly recommend it even for you really tough guys out there...You can handle it, just take a small tissue, wad it in your hand and no one will even know...Be going to the "church of what's happening now" on the isle of Capri tomorrow and hope you all will go somewhere.....Your soul needs a good meal....
Later,
Happy Hoosier
This idea came to me as my plane touched down in Indy coming home for Christmas. From where I am not sure, but it came in a flash, and I spent my first two days at home searching for this way to display our rings...I was looking for Gaudy, you know too big, to overpowering, the way men like to do things. Could not find gaudy anywhere, and had to settle for "just right". God I think takes care of me sometimes like that. Any way RAMZ exchange in Lafayette had this, and worked with me linking our wedding rings and hanging below a silver jet representing the one we flew together on out of the Purdue airport on Jan. 12, 1979. I, a few years back wrote a story about that meeting titled, "Love was in the Air". I will post it here all four chapters one day ahead for you to read. So in my little gold and silver rememberance tribute it has an inscription at the bottom saying the same.
I will alway cherish it, and keep it displayed as it represents a very happy era that I was blessed to have had...She arrived on the 12th of January at 3:45 in the afternoon 1979. We married one year to the minute later, and then she left me on the 12th of April last spring. But I know where she is an she is safe and happy for eternity now....
Saw a great movie today titled '27 dresses". Got in free for a blood donation at the Hollywood 20 on Airport Road...It was a fun happy movie, couple tears but mostly lots of laughs. Highly recommend it even for you really tough guys out there...You can handle it, just take a small tissue, wad it in your hand and no one will even know...Be going to the "church of what's happening now" on the isle of Capri tomorrow and hope you all will go somewhere.....Your soul needs a good meal....
Later,
Happy Hoosier
Friday, February 8, 2008
The Bang Boards
Ok I went to Marco Island Beach and walked, I sluffed off today, so you get one of my best stories instead of producing something new...But your the winner, you get to meet my great dad.... One other order of business here...My daughter told me today that in order to leave a reply or message that you must type in your name and your email address....She said they wanted far more info but that was all she allowed them to have and it did allow her to make her reply to me....So there you have it....reply away please I need the input here....H H
The Bang Boards
By Happy Hoosier
It is an early October morning in 1943, the sun has just started to rise in the clear eastern sky. Off in the distance an ear of corn is heard hitting the tall bang boards on a wagon drawn by two draft horses, then another, and then a steady almost rhythmic muffled bang,...... bang,...... bang. Soon in a different direction the same sound comes, sometimes at a somewhat slower pace or faster pace. After a while a third farmer starts his long day of hand harvesting his welcomed bounty from a year's work, his corn crop, that will help to sustain his family for the coming winter. If you are close enough, you can also hear the calls that he makes to his horses, who are "loose reined". They move on the farmer's orders forward until he signals them to stop. This allows him to harvest two or three rows of corn, from ten feet to the rear of the wagon forward to almost even with the horses. Then he again orders them to, "Move up.” Then "Whoa", to allow him to again begin pitching the corn from near the rear of the wagon.
Two hours pass. As the farmer nears the end of the field close to his home, a small lad of five years has finished his breakfast. He then is allowed to walk through the garden and climb over the fence to join his father for part of the harvest day. He is lifted up into the wagon, which is now nearly half loaded with shiny golden ears of corn. In the wagon, he sits close to the "pitching side", where he can safely watch the golden ears of corn sail over his head where they strike the tall bang boards on the other side and then fall into the wagon.
He is there because today his father is shucking corn in the field where that spring he and his father had randomly planted pumpkin seeds in "skips", which were areas in the row where the corn had failed to come up. For a small farm boy it was a big deal when those ears all of a sudden would stop coming into the wagon. Then his dad would lift a large yellow pumpkin over the rear tailgate of the wagon, smile and say, "well, here is the first one". The farmer then told his son that he was “in charge" of the pumpkin and added, "keep it on the pitching side of the wagon“, so as not to roll around and be struck with the incoming corn. This process would be repeated maybe five to ten times over the next couple hours until the wagon was loaded with golden corn, pumpkins and a tired lad just watching all that work take place.
The wagon with the farmer now sitting up on the seat surrounded by all the corn he had harvested by hand, now heads his team toward the farm buildings. But this load would stop first at the house and unload the pumpkins and the lad, who would then watch his mother stack the pumpkins outside near her kitchen to be cleaned that day and cut up, cooked and canned in glass jars for the long winter ahead. And some of that pumpkin would go into a couple pies to be enjoyed that evening by a hard working mother, father, older brother and sister and even a hungry lad who had watched all that work turn into the fruits of the land.
FAST FORWARD 12 YEARS AND IT'S 1955
The small lad is now 17 and a Senior in High School. His father Lawrence will be 65 in about a couple months. They have now advanced in corn harvesting to a one row pull type corn picker. Still picks it on the ear and still drops it in a wagon. The big lad now, is allowed to stay home from school for two weeks each fall for the annual corn harvest. Jack, runs the corn picker for his father who is somewhat intimidated by machinery that picks corn about three or four times as fast as he did so by hand. But grateful that he no longer has to do all that hand work. He unloads the wagons into the crib while the son is loading another wagon.
But before all this can take place there are dues to be paid. This one row Woods Brothers corn picker picks the fourth row of corn. That means that 3 rows around the field and a few 3 row strips through the field still have to be harvested by hand.
The senerio would go like this. The man who had won the county corn shucking contest in 1930 and now going on 65 years of age would harvest 2 rows of the three. The 17 year old, young guy planning to enlist in the Marine Corps the next summer would take the singe row. Happy Hoosier would try very hard to be half as good as the Champion Corn Shucker. What a goal, to be half as good as your Dad. He would start to fall behind with his single row of corn harvesting. But then what is this?
He would find maybe 15 stalks of corn with no ears on them. This allowed him to catch up to the old guy doing twice the work. He would try even harder but would again fall behind. And again would find 15 or 20 stalks with the ears already harvested. My father was indeed a Champion of a farmer, and indeed a Champion in many other ways.
The Bang Boards
By Happy Hoosier
It is an early October morning in 1943, the sun has just started to rise in the clear eastern sky. Off in the distance an ear of corn is heard hitting the tall bang boards on a wagon drawn by two draft horses, then another, and then a steady almost rhythmic muffled bang,...... bang,...... bang. Soon in a different direction the same sound comes, sometimes at a somewhat slower pace or faster pace. After a while a third farmer starts his long day of hand harvesting his welcomed bounty from a year's work, his corn crop, that will help to sustain his family for the coming winter. If you are close enough, you can also hear the calls that he makes to his horses, who are "loose reined". They move on the farmer's orders forward until he signals them to stop. This allows him to harvest two or three rows of corn, from ten feet to the rear of the wagon forward to almost even with the horses. Then he again orders them to, "Move up.” Then "Whoa", to allow him to again begin pitching the corn from near the rear of the wagon.
Two hours pass. As the farmer nears the end of the field close to his home, a small lad of five years has finished his breakfast. He then is allowed to walk through the garden and climb over the fence to join his father for part of the harvest day. He is lifted up into the wagon, which is now nearly half loaded with shiny golden ears of corn. In the wagon, he sits close to the "pitching side", where he can safely watch the golden ears of corn sail over his head where they strike the tall bang boards on the other side and then fall into the wagon.
He is there because today his father is shucking corn in the field where that spring he and his father had randomly planted pumpkin seeds in "skips", which were areas in the row where the corn had failed to come up. For a small farm boy it was a big deal when those ears all of a sudden would stop coming into the wagon. Then his dad would lift a large yellow pumpkin over the rear tailgate of the wagon, smile and say, "well, here is the first one". The farmer then told his son that he was “in charge" of the pumpkin and added, "keep it on the pitching side of the wagon“, so as not to roll around and be struck with the incoming corn. This process would be repeated maybe five to ten times over the next couple hours until the wagon was loaded with golden corn, pumpkins and a tired lad just watching all that work take place.
The wagon with the farmer now sitting up on the seat surrounded by all the corn he had harvested by hand, now heads his team toward the farm buildings. But this load would stop first at the house and unload the pumpkins and the lad, who would then watch his mother stack the pumpkins outside near her kitchen to be cleaned that day and cut up, cooked and canned in glass jars for the long winter ahead. And some of that pumpkin would go into a couple pies to be enjoyed that evening by a hard working mother, father, older brother and sister and even a hungry lad who had watched all that work turn into the fruits of the land.
FAST FORWARD 12 YEARS AND IT'S 1955
The small lad is now 17 and a Senior in High School. His father Lawrence will be 65 in about a couple months. They have now advanced in corn harvesting to a one row pull type corn picker. Still picks it on the ear and still drops it in a wagon. The big lad now, is allowed to stay home from school for two weeks each fall for the annual corn harvest. Jack, runs the corn picker for his father who is somewhat intimidated by machinery that picks corn about three or four times as fast as he did so by hand. But grateful that he no longer has to do all that hand work. He unloads the wagons into the crib while the son is loading another wagon.
But before all this can take place there are dues to be paid. This one row Woods Brothers corn picker picks the fourth row of corn. That means that 3 rows around the field and a few 3 row strips through the field still have to be harvested by hand.
The senerio would go like this. The man who had won the county corn shucking contest in 1930 and now going on 65 years of age would harvest 2 rows of the three. The 17 year old, young guy planning to enlist in the Marine Corps the next summer would take the singe row. Happy Hoosier would try very hard to be half as good as the Champion Corn Shucker. What a goal, to be half as good as your Dad. He would start to fall behind with his single row of corn harvesting. But then what is this?
He would find maybe 15 stalks of corn with no ears on them. This allowed him to catch up to the old guy doing twice the work. He would try even harder but would again fall behind. And again would find 15 or 20 stalks with the ears already harvested. My father was indeed a Champion of a farmer, and indeed a Champion in many other ways.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Molly's and Mildred's
OK at the risk of being labeled to "shallow" here, I must address this topic. It has been on my mind a lot these past 6 months.
I lost Sweetie now 10 months ago almost...My older, wiser, better looking and financially eclipses me brother, lost his dear wife the year before...
My two bro's and I were having lunch to touch bases over a year ago, and he shared with us that he was getting a lot of calls from nice ladies that were offering companionship. He called it his Mildred List...He claims to be not interested in any of them, but I kind of have my doubts about that. But anyway, he said his list was "up to 18, and growing". We all got a kick out of the imaginary list that he had started, and probably numerically enhanced, that was now lying there by his telephone.
Well I can attest now that it does happen for us all that have lost our mates.
Life does need to go on, and although when death does make us part, we are so sure that we will never again be able or want to do anything but greive, the sun does show up on distant horizons. I will add a picture of a sunset on Marco Island, that says it all for me and others in this state we find ourselves in, that shows heavy clouds overhead, but out there on the horizon is a good sunset.
So back to this topic. I am 69 on the edge of maturity here, but believe it or not I have started to notice skirts, and the lack of rings, stuff like that...Maybe that's shallow, maybe its just biology...
So the Mildred classification just seemed to broad for me.(no pun intended) So I have two imaginary list one of course Mildreds over 60, and then another one I call Molly's...These gals are under 60 but over 50, as I have been reminded that I have daughters in the mid 40 range. 50 is a line you just do not cross without bad things maybe happening to you, like a mine field you just don't go there...
It has been requested by gals that I have shared this with that, "well, wiseguy, why don't you come up with names for our list of younger and older men"? So I think that is no more than fair, and a good question, depressing of course, because yes I will be on the mature list but never the less we need to work on this...
Life must and will go on. So lean into this my readership, although you will most likely not face this predictament that we widows and widowers or divorced, find our selves, but you never know, so these important matters must be addressed. Although for the life of me I just have been unable to come up with suitable names that just seem to click like Molly's and Mildred's do for me...Maybe because I notice skirts and shorts with ladies in them with smiles, and not dress slacks with competitors...So I need your help for this...
I was going to go into which sex I see or think, that gets more lonely or reaches out more for companionship, but wisdom prevailed, like that mine field we ain't gonna go there.
Which brings me to how to leave a message in the comments section of these stories.
Was asked that today and guess what? I don't know. Well yes, you click on it but then they want things I don't understand, obviously some do and have been successful. For those of you that have been able to do so please maybe advise us all in a comment. I did figure out the little envelope thing and with that if you click on it you can send that story to a friend by email...
Shallow? Yes, I admit I need help being a "deeper" person. Someone along the trail will help me I hope..
See you tomorrow.....maybe something "deeper"...
I lost Sweetie now 10 months ago almost...My older, wiser, better looking and financially eclipses me brother, lost his dear wife the year before...
My two bro's and I were having lunch to touch bases over a year ago, and he shared with us that he was getting a lot of calls from nice ladies that were offering companionship. He called it his Mildred List...He claims to be not interested in any of them, but I kind of have my doubts about that. But anyway, he said his list was "up to 18, and growing". We all got a kick out of the imaginary list that he had started, and probably numerically enhanced, that was now lying there by his telephone.
Well I can attest now that it does happen for us all that have lost our mates.
Life does need to go on, and although when death does make us part, we are so sure that we will never again be able or want to do anything but greive, the sun does show up on distant horizons. I will add a picture of a sunset on Marco Island, that says it all for me and others in this state we find ourselves in, that shows heavy clouds overhead, but out there on the horizon is a good sunset.
So back to this topic. I am 69 on the edge of maturity here, but believe it or not I have started to notice skirts, and the lack of rings, stuff like that...Maybe that's shallow, maybe its just biology...
So the Mildred classification just seemed to broad for me.(no pun intended) So I have two imaginary list one of course Mildreds over 60, and then another one I call Molly's...These gals are under 60 but over 50, as I have been reminded that I have daughters in the mid 40 range. 50 is a line you just do not cross without bad things maybe happening to you, like a mine field you just don't go there...
It has been requested by gals that I have shared this with that, "well, wiseguy, why don't you come up with names for our list of younger and older men"? So I think that is no more than fair, and a good question, depressing of course, because yes I will be on the mature list but never the less we need to work on this...
Life must and will go on. So lean into this my readership, although you will most likely not face this predictament that we widows and widowers or divorced, find our selves, but you never know, so these important matters must be addressed. Although for the life of me I just have been unable to come up with suitable names that just seem to click like Molly's and Mildred's do for me...Maybe because I notice skirts and shorts with ladies in them with smiles, and not dress slacks with competitors...So I need your help for this...
I was going to go into which sex I see or think, that gets more lonely or reaches out more for companionship, but wisdom prevailed, like that mine field we ain't gonna go there.
Which brings me to how to leave a message in the comments section of these stories.
Was asked that today and guess what? I don't know. Well yes, you click on it but then they want things I don't understand, obviously some do and have been successful. For those of you that have been able to do so please maybe advise us all in a comment. I did figure out the little envelope thing and with that if you click on it you can send that story to a friend by email...
Shallow? Yes, I admit I need help being a "deeper" person. Someone along the trail will help me I hope..
See you tomorrow.....maybe something "deeper"...
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Something Worthwhile
worth·while (wûrthhwl, -wl)
adj.
Sufficiently valuable or important to be worth one's time, effort, or interest.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Already I have delivered as promised to say something worthwhile.
The rest will be in question, but here goes. Super Tuesday was just that here about mid 80's most of the afternoon, accomplished little, but lived a lot. Got invited to dinner very last minute by one great lady Natalie, married to one great guy Dan, a fellow writer here. She called at 5 and said we eat at 5:30 but we will wait if you want to shower. I was in and out, riding hard the new, old purple 15 speed the block and a half and there at 5:20 early, as the other two couples were not there yet...Starved for social you say? Well maybe but they made up for it, I am borderline "caught up" in one evening....Dan fixed a pitcher of something pretty exciting, and all seven in attendance "enjoyed" the evening. I love impromptu, it always promises excitement and if managed enjoyment. Forgot about a cultisac on the way home on the purple rocket and said, "aw aw, more to this getting home than I imagined", but I made it...The world was right side up again at 0630. Now I know my street is the second one to the right, it was dark and foggy especially for me...............
A little something for everyone with the Super Tuesday voting...My Huck is still alive, "I like Mike" is still my slogan. His Christian status is important to me but not primary. His plateform, his ideals and ideas are closest to mine. Maybe things will work out.
Ash Wednesday today a freind reminded me. A tradition for many not mentioned in Scripture, but observed my most Christians, but to us all a reminder that from ashes we came and to ashes we will return. It's what happens in between that counts I believe. It all has a purpose as do we. We all have the opportunity to wonder, seek and know the Creator and escape the bonds of the ashes just ahead,
what a great assurance it all can be....Sweetie was right she was gone in the blink of an eye and landed that new job as greeter...I just know it. For sure hers was a life "Worthwhile."
Let's do it again tomorrow
adj.
Sufficiently valuable or important to be worth one's time, effort, or interest.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Already I have delivered as promised to say something worthwhile.
The rest will be in question, but here goes. Super Tuesday was just that here about mid 80's most of the afternoon, accomplished little, but lived a lot. Got invited to dinner very last minute by one great lady Natalie, married to one great guy Dan, a fellow writer here. She called at 5 and said we eat at 5:30 but we will wait if you want to shower. I was in and out, riding hard the new, old purple 15 speed the block and a half and there at 5:20 early, as the other two couples were not there yet...Starved for social you say? Well maybe but they made up for it, I am borderline "caught up" in one evening....Dan fixed a pitcher of something pretty exciting, and all seven in attendance "enjoyed" the evening. I love impromptu, it always promises excitement and if managed enjoyment. Forgot about a cultisac on the way home on the purple rocket and said, "aw aw, more to this getting home than I imagined", but I made it...The world was right side up again at 0630. Now I know my street is the second one to the right, it was dark and foggy especially for me...............
A little something for everyone with the Super Tuesday voting...My Huck is still alive, "I like Mike" is still my slogan. His Christian status is important to me but not primary. His plateform, his ideals and ideas are closest to mine. Maybe things will work out.
Ash Wednesday today a freind reminded me. A tradition for many not mentioned in Scripture, but observed my most Christians, but to us all a reminder that from ashes we came and to ashes we will return. It's what happens in between that counts I believe. It all has a purpose as do we. We all have the opportunity to wonder, seek and know the Creator and escape the bonds of the ashes just ahead,
what a great assurance it all can be....Sweetie was right she was gone in the blink of an eye and landed that new job as greeter...I just know it. For sure hers was a life "Worthwhile."
Let's do it again tomorrow
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