One day in Dallas . . .
Got to remembering today.
I'm 67 years old.
Now nearer to the end than to the beginning of all things "Me."
Been thinking about politics and presidents.
Had these thoughts on things presidential:
The first president I can remember is Eisenhower.
I liked him because he reminded me of my grandfather.
I was 10.
Then came Kennedy . . .
He became a sorta teen-idol figure.
I loved his look and sense of style.
Plus, he drove PT Boats in the war.
Cool.
Lyndon Johnson . . .
I alternately hated or pitied him.
Hated his micro-management of the war in Vietnam.
Pitied his obvious pain at the American troop losses
that ensued.
Nixon . . .
Couldn't get a read on him.
He wasn't called, "Tricky Dick" for naught.
(Although I did write a college paper in 1974, defending
him, for a Political Science class I took via USAFI.)
Gerald Ford . . .
A caretaker ...
a nice guy who was just "there."
Carter . . .
An embarrassment to all of us ex-patriots living in Berlin.
Thought his handling of the Iranian Hostage Crisis abysmal.
Ronald Reagan . . .
Loved how he rebuilt the military to counter Soviet threats.
(But then, I'm a bit biased on the subject.)
Don't really know how his "Trickle Down" theory of economics
worked ... whether it did what he claimed or not. All I know
is that the country seemed to thrive, economically.
George the First . . .
A solid bureaucrat.
Well versed in the world of international derring do.
Plus, he was another WWII vet, one who'd flown combat
missions and had once been shot down.
Clinton . . .
A flim-flam man who made good.
The first president of my own generation
and he managed to avoid military service
by staying in college. (At least he was smart.)
George the Second . . .
A good man, trying hard
but not always getting it right.
Another one who avoided service in Vietnam
but at least he flew jets for the Air Guard.
(And how many thousands of my fellow citizens
joined the Guard for the exact same reason?)
Barack Obama . . .
An empty suit, not near as smart as
he thinks himself to be.
Still ... duly elected ... twice!
As for 2016 ...
dunno for sure.
It could very well be Clinton v Christie.
All I know for sure is that after 67 of my years,
The Republic still stands.
Being career military ... both in and out of uniform,
I learned to keep my presidential political thoughts to myself.
(Plus, I once worked with a soldier who's last prior duty station had been
the White House. Part of his duties required him to sweep the briefing
room for bugs prior to the president's morning briefing. At the front
of the room was a large flip-chart, with a black cover stenciled with
"PRESIDENT'S EYES ONLY." On his last duty day, he peeked under the
cover at the top briefing sheet. He told us that after reading what the
man has to deal with before breakfast, daily, he'd never criticize another
sitting president again.)
I've always tried to emulate him in that.
-Fini
Friday, November 22, 2013
Saturday, November 9, 2013
09 NOV 13
Veterans Day Approaches . . .
Played around in Photoshop and came up with this
for a holiday facebook Timeline Cover photo:
Touched up another photo from Vietnam also:
-Fini
Played around in Photoshop and came up with this
for a holiday facebook Timeline Cover photo:
Touched up another photo from Vietnam also:
-Fini
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
06 NOV 13
Words . . .
We communicate with words.
The written word may have a lasting impression because of it's very nature but the spoken word, too, has a very strong impact ...
especially when delivered by a master orator.
Witness this video: "Remember How We Forgot"
Poet, Shane Koyczan and Violinist, Hannah Epperson
We communicate with words.
The written word may have a lasting impression because of it's very nature but the spoken word, too, has a very strong impact ...
especially when delivered by a master orator.
Witness this video: "Remember How We Forgot"
Poet, Shane Koyczan and Violinist, Hannah Epperson
-Fini
Friday, November 1, 2013
01 NOV 13
A War Story ...
8th RRFS, Phu Bai, RVN
In 1967, we acquired a new room mate,
one Al Gray. He was from Alaska ... more
to the point, he was from the Aleutian Island
of Unalaska, a crabbing center. His father
worked in a cannery there and began sending
cases of premium crab meat to Al every month.
What to do? Make crab salad of course!
Al wrote and asked his father to include jars of mayo
with the crab ... soon, we were making up batches of
crab salad. Bread! We needed bread. Not just any
bread but a sub-sandwich type of bread.
In my travels to and from the airport, I'd spied a local
kiosk that sold bake goods.
I visited there ... became, immediately, entranced by the
kiosk owner ... a beautiful French/Vietnamese woman
named Mai (?). She was older than me by 20 years
but still jaw-dropping beautiful (Think Nancy Kwan).
She spoke four or five languages, English being one, and was
happy for the business. I made an arrangement to buy a dozen
baguettes of bread from her once a month.
Once a month, we'd have a crab salad party in the room and invite
anybody who'd supply the beer. My boss, CWO Slusser, attended
a couple of times. As for Mai ... I had a big crush on her and we had
many a chat together. She told me that she was married to a French
soldier and was waiting for him to return and take her back to France.
Came Tet '68.
Lost track of most all of our LN's for about a month or so.
Was restricted to the confines of the 8th for the same amount of time.
Our LN's began drifting back ... telling tales of terror and death in the
surrounding villages. A mass grave, containing 3000 bodies, was
uncovered on the outskirts of Hue City.
Finally, local kiosks began reopening.
Business slowly began returning to normal.
Mai's kiosk remained closed. She never reappeared.
I heard rumors ... stories told by the locals, that she was executed for
being too friendly with the Americans.
Could never confirm this.
Have always felt guilt at the thought that our friendship may have been
a cause of her death.
-Fini
8th RRFS, Phu Bai, RVN
In 1967, we acquired a new room mate,
one Al Gray. He was from Alaska ... more
to the point, he was from the Aleutian Island
of Unalaska, a crabbing center. His father
worked in a cannery there and began sending
cases of premium crab meat to Al every month.
What to do? Make crab salad of course!
Al wrote and asked his father to include jars of mayo
with the crab ... soon, we were making up batches of
crab salad. Bread! We needed bread. Not just any
bread but a sub-sandwich type of bread.
In my travels to and from the airport, I'd spied a local
kiosk that sold bake goods.
I visited there ... became, immediately, entranced by the
kiosk owner ... a beautiful French/Vietnamese woman
named Mai (?). She was older than me by 20 years
but still jaw-dropping beautiful (Think Nancy Kwan).
She spoke four or five languages, English being one, and was
happy for the business. I made an arrangement to buy a dozen
baguettes of bread from her once a month.
Once a month, we'd have a crab salad party in the room and invite
anybody who'd supply the beer. My boss, CWO Slusser, attended
a couple of times. As for Mai ... I had a big crush on her and we had
many a chat together. She told me that she was married to a French
soldier and was waiting for him to return and take her back to France.
Came Tet '68.
Lost track of most all of our LN's for about a month or so.
Was restricted to the confines of the 8th for the same amount of time.
Our LN's began drifting back ... telling tales of terror and death in the
surrounding villages. A mass grave, containing 3000 bodies, was
uncovered on the outskirts of Hue City.
Finally, local kiosks began reopening.
Business slowly began returning to normal.
Mai's kiosk remained closed. She never reappeared.
I heard rumors ... stories told by the locals, that she was executed for
being too friendly with the Americans.
Could never confirm this.
Have always felt guilt at the thought that our friendship may have been
a cause of her death.
-Fini
Sunday, September 22, 2013
22 SEP 13
A PCS Story
"... and miles to go"
July 1971, returning from Japan ...
I was met at Travis AFB by friend, and former 14th Field Station comrade, ex-33B Bob Broner, who lived in Oakland. He'd ETS'd about three months earlier. We'd planned this meet-up because I had to get to the Oakland Army Terminal to pick up the Pontiac I'd shipped home. Bob had offered a room for the night and to drive me down to the terminal. We passed the night and picked up the car the next day. I departed almost immediately after, intent on making Reno by nightfall. Arrived in Reno and found a motel ... ate, showered, slept. Next morning I went looking for a bank. I'd converted all my cash to an American Express Bank cashier's check and now needed to cash it in to pay for the road trip home to New Jersey. (Think it was for $400)
My 1968 Pontiac LeMans, bought from my trick chief at the 14th, Milt Chambers
Visited several banks and not one would cash my check unless I had an account with them. What to do? Walking down a street, I'd passed an army recruiting office. I went in and introduced myself, explaining my problem. After showing copies of my orders, a recruiter volunteered to take me to his bank and vouch for me. This done, I thanked him and with money in my pocket was soon on my way. ( Had gotten a parking ticket for letting the meter run out. The car still bore the plates issued in Japan. They were valid for 30 days after return to CONUS. The Parking Officer had tried to copy the Japanese glyph from my license plate that identified Fukuoka Prefecture ... to no avail. He then just wrote, "Foreign" in the ID space. The ticket itself was in the form of an envelope and the instructions informed me to place two dollars in the envelope, seal it, then drop it in any mailbox. I was tempted to ignore it all but then figured that two bucks wouldn't break me ... and I was still a long way from home. No sense in pissing off the municipality.)
Interstate 80 East ... leaving town, began passing a long line of hitchers, most of whom held signs telling where they wanted to go. At the very end of the line was a pair of guys holding a sign that read simply, "East Coast." I stopped for them. Figured I could use the company. They presented a Yin/Yang in physical appearance ... one clean shaven with blond hair that was cut in the military style, the other was bearded and wore his dark hair long, down to his shoulders. They were bound for Massachusetts. I offered them a ride as far as the Jersey Turnpike. They accepted. They related their stories ... the blond fellow was just a young guy bored with college, bumming around the country. The dark-haired one was ex-army, a Vietnam vet who was "just looking" too. Before clearing town, we stopped at a diner to grab some chow. They would not serve the Vietnam vet because he looked like one of those "God Damned hippy types." We left. Found a small grocery and bought bread, peanut butter and jelly. That's what we ate for most of the rest of the trip.
Entered Utah ... and the Bonneville Salt Flats. The highway divided, with the west-bound lanes now about a quarter mile off to the left. Had been driving for hours by this time. The two-lane blacktop, with bright white salt on both sides of the roadway, began putting me to sleep with the monotony of the white center line coming towards me. Pulled into a rest area. PB&J for dinner. My two passengers pulled sleeping bags from their backpacks and stretched out on the ground. I crawled into the back seat and fell immediately asleep. An early start the next day. Approaching Salt Lake City, the car began to bumpbumpbump. Stopped and checked it out. Was my rear tires. The tread had begun to separate from the tire body. (I'm guessing from the heat.) Found a Sears-Roebuck. Bought 4 new radial tires ... cost me $200.
Continued East.
Now began a very long stretch of the trip. The pull of home was strong. Pushed the car hard ... 90 mph or better. That Slant-Six engine was humming! (This was long before 55 was the law.) Across Wyoming, then Nebraska ... through Omaha and Des Moines ... places I'd only read about in geography books. Late afternoon and the blonde fellow reckoned that we might be able to spend the night with a cousin who lived in Rock Island, Illinois. We cut south on I-280, crossed the Mississippi and entered Rock Island from the south. Found the cousin's house. We knocked and were warmly welcomed, told to go and clean up while the family would throw together a meal for supper.
-To be continued
"... and miles to go"
July 1971, returning from Japan ...
I was met at Travis AFB by friend, and former 14th Field Station comrade, ex-33B Bob Broner, who lived in Oakland. He'd ETS'd about three months earlier. We'd planned this meet-up because I had to get to the Oakland Army Terminal to pick up the Pontiac I'd shipped home. Bob had offered a room for the night and to drive me down to the terminal. We passed the night and picked up the car the next day. I departed almost immediately after, intent on making Reno by nightfall. Arrived in Reno and found a motel ... ate, showered, slept. Next morning I went looking for a bank. I'd converted all my cash to an American Express Bank cashier's check and now needed to cash it in to pay for the road trip home to New Jersey. (Think it was for $400)
My 1968 Pontiac LeMans, bought from my trick chief at the 14th, Milt Chambers
Visited several banks and not one would cash my check unless I had an account with them. What to do? Walking down a street, I'd passed an army recruiting office. I went in and introduced myself, explaining my problem. After showing copies of my orders, a recruiter volunteered to take me to his bank and vouch for me. This done, I thanked him and with money in my pocket was soon on my way. ( Had gotten a parking ticket for letting the meter run out. The car still bore the plates issued in Japan. They were valid for 30 days after return to CONUS. The Parking Officer had tried to copy the Japanese glyph from my license plate that identified Fukuoka Prefecture ... to no avail. He then just wrote, "Foreign" in the ID space. The ticket itself was in the form of an envelope and the instructions informed me to place two dollars in the envelope, seal it, then drop it in any mailbox. I was tempted to ignore it all but then figured that two bucks wouldn't break me ... and I was still a long way from home. No sense in pissing off the municipality.)
Interstate 80 East ... leaving town, began passing a long line of hitchers, most of whom held signs telling where they wanted to go. At the very end of the line was a pair of guys holding a sign that read simply, "East Coast." I stopped for them. Figured I could use the company. They presented a Yin/Yang in physical appearance ... one clean shaven with blond hair that was cut in the military style, the other was bearded and wore his dark hair long, down to his shoulders. They were bound for Massachusetts. I offered them a ride as far as the Jersey Turnpike. They accepted. They related their stories ... the blond fellow was just a young guy bored with college, bumming around the country. The dark-haired one was ex-army, a Vietnam vet who was "just looking" too. Before clearing town, we stopped at a diner to grab some chow. They would not serve the Vietnam vet because he looked like one of those "God Damned hippy types." We left. Found a small grocery and bought bread, peanut butter and jelly. That's what we ate for most of the rest of the trip.
Entered Utah ... and the Bonneville Salt Flats. The highway divided, with the west-bound lanes now about a quarter mile off to the left. Had been driving for hours by this time. The two-lane blacktop, with bright white salt on both sides of the roadway, began putting me to sleep with the monotony of the white center line coming towards me. Pulled into a rest area. PB&J for dinner. My two passengers pulled sleeping bags from their backpacks and stretched out on the ground. I crawled into the back seat and fell immediately asleep. An early start the next day. Approaching Salt Lake City, the car began to bumpbumpbump. Stopped and checked it out. Was my rear tires. The tread had begun to separate from the tire body. (I'm guessing from the heat.) Found a Sears-Roebuck. Bought 4 new radial tires ... cost me $200.
Continued East.
Now began a very long stretch of the trip. The pull of home was strong. Pushed the car hard ... 90 mph or better. That Slant-Six engine was humming! (This was long before 55 was the law.) Across Wyoming, then Nebraska ... through Omaha and Des Moines ... places I'd only read about in geography books. Late afternoon and the blonde fellow reckoned that we might be able to spend the night with a cousin who lived in Rock Island, Illinois. We cut south on I-280, crossed the Mississippi and entered Rock Island from the south. Found the cousin's house. We knocked and were warmly welcomed, told to go and clean up while the family would throw together a meal for supper.
-To be continued
Friday, September 20, 2013
20 SEP 13
Meanwhile,
back at the Property Book Office ...
I arrived at FSB in March 1973.
Since my TS clearance hadn't yet been re-approved,
I was put to work at the Site 3 Property Book Office.
There was a warrant officer as OIC (can't remember
his name), an E-6 NCOIC (can't remember his name
either) and two enlisted warehousemen/drivers.
I do remember their names ...
Ray Pike and Paul Cole.
On a summer day that year, with nothing much going on,
we three decided to paint parking lines on the asphalt in front
of the loading dock. This was to make it easier to back a truck
into the space in front of the loading doors. We also marked out
reserved parking spots for the OIC and NCOIC, loading spots
for the two trucks and an X-striped no-parking area.
I posted this picture because those yellow paint lines can
still be seen here ... some 40 years later.
Cool.
(On a slow Friday afternoon, we'd wash the trucks and then
soak up some sun, sitting in folding chairs to the right of the
loading door while we awaited the end of the duty week.
There was no overhang back then and the late afternoon sun
shone directly onto the loading dock.)
(Photo shamelessly borrowed from Thomas Kemnitz).
Things remembered ... Ray Pike was memorable for driving from
Berlin to Spain (and maybe Morocco) and back in a bright red Mini-Cooper.
(This was back when they were tiny little cars with 12" wheels.)
I remember, also, when Paul Cole acted as the roadie for my band, "Transom," when we played our one and only downtown gig at Club Sloopy ... October 1973.
Transom, on stage at Club Sloopy. (Paul Cole, seated lower left.)
Link to a recording of "Transom" performing at the Berlin Funkaustellung - September,1973:
https://soundcloud.com/snuffyny/rat-in-a-maze
-Fini
back at the Property Book Office ...
I arrived at FSB in March 1973.
Since my TS clearance hadn't yet been re-approved,
I was put to work at the Site 3 Property Book Office.
There was a warrant officer as OIC (can't remember
his name), an E-6 NCOIC (can't remember his name
either) and two enlisted warehousemen/drivers.
I do remember their names ...
Ray Pike and Paul Cole.
On a summer day that year, with nothing much going on,
we three decided to paint parking lines on the asphalt in front
of the loading dock. This was to make it easier to back a truck
into the space in front of the loading doors. We also marked out
reserved parking spots for the OIC and NCOIC, loading spots
for the two trucks and an X-striped no-parking area.
I posted this picture because those yellow paint lines can
still be seen here ... some 40 years later.
Cool.
(On a slow Friday afternoon, we'd wash the trucks and then
soak up some sun, sitting in folding chairs to the right of the
loading door while we awaited the end of the duty week.
There was no overhang back then and the late afternoon sun
shone directly onto the loading dock.)
(Photo shamelessly borrowed from Thomas Kemnitz).
Things remembered ... Ray Pike was memorable for driving from
Berlin to Spain (and maybe Morocco) and back in a bright red Mini-Cooper.
(This was back when they were tiny little cars with 12" wheels.)
I remember, also, when Paul Cole acted as the roadie for my band, "Transom," when we played our one and only downtown gig at Club Sloopy ... October 1973.
Transom, on stage at Club Sloopy. (Paul Cole, seated lower left.)
Link to a recording of "Transom" performing at the Berlin Funkaustellung - September,1973:
https://soundcloud.com/snuffyny/rat-in-a-maze
-Fini
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
11 SEP 13
SOMBER ...
A day to remember
A day to reflect
What I wrote two years ago:
http://jmawelsh.blogspot.com/2011/09/11-sep-11.html
My perceptions haven't changed.
-Fini
A day to remember
A day to reflect
What I wrote two years ago:
http://jmawelsh.blogspot.com/2011/09/11-sep-11.html
My perceptions haven't changed.
-Fini
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)