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| Richard Hickok and Perry Smith (on left); Robert Blake and Scott Wilson (on right)
On August 14, 1965, Richard Hickok and Perry Smith were hanged in Lansing, Kansas for the murders of Herb and Bonnie Clutter, and the Clutter's teenage kids, Nancy & Kenyon. On November 15, 1959, ex-con's Hickok and Smith murdered the Clutter family after breaking into their rural Kansas home. Falsely believing Herb Clutter kept a lot of cash around his farm home, Hickok and Smith fled the Clutter home after the murders with what they had hoped would be $10,000 and headed to Florida with what turned out to be only about $40 they had found in the Clutter home. Truman Capote's 1966 book documenting the horrendous crime, In Cold Blood, put the Clutter's hometown of Holcomb, Kansas on the map in an unenviable way.
A little known fact is that I have a tie to the In Cold Blood killers by marriage. On December 19, 1959, another horrendous crime took place in Osprey, Florida. Cliff and Christine Walker, along with their two young children, were murdered in their Osprey home, located not far from Sarasota. Though Smith and Hickok were captured in Las Vegas later that month, witnesses placed them in Sarasota on the day the Walker's were murdered. Last week, the bones of the In Cold Blood killers were unearthed in Kansas. Though it didn't mean much at the time, evidence found Walker home in 1959, including hair follicles and semen, can now be matched against DNA samples taken from the killers bone fragments last week. In 1967, Truman Capote's In Cold Blood book chronicling the sad tale of the Clutter murders spawned a movie by the same name. In that movie, Robert Blake portrayed Perry Smith and Scott Wilson portrayed Richard Hickok. Thankfully, THAT is my distant link to the killers. Actor Scott Wilson is married to Heavenly Wilson, one of my wife's cousins. Though Scott and Heavenly live in Hollywood, I met them in 2005 when they traveled to Missouri to film Saving Shiloh, the third in a series of movies featuring a precocious beagle named Shiloh. In that movie, Scott played Judd Travers, a grouchy, tobacco-spitting codger who didn't want Shiloh on his property. (Insiders note - no real tobacco juice was spat in the film. Scott chewed black licorice instead, which produces a very tobacco-juice realistic stream of saliva.) Throughout the years, Scott has appeared in dozens of well-known movies and TV shows, including In the Heat of the Night, Pearl Harbor, G.I. Jane, Monster, and The Last Samurai. He also played a casino owner in CSI-Las Vegas, a show my wife rarely missed. Scott is currently starring in a TV zombie show, The Walking Dead. On that AMC drama, Scott portrays Hershel, a recovering alcoholic and farmer who is one of only a few survivors of a zombie apocalypse. (My gosh, these days if the Mayans don't get you, the zombies will!) So . . . as Scott stars in The Walking Dead, the bones of Perry Smith and the real Richard Hickok that Scott portrayed in 1967 may become "the talking dead", either exonerating them from the Walker murders or solving the 53-year-old murder case. If you haven't seen the black and white classic In Cold Blood (and don't mind sleeping with the lights on for a few weeks), it is available on DVD. Not exactly a holiday classic, but it is in the news these days. And it might just reinforce why it's not a bad idea to keep a gun around the house for self-defense. Or possibly install a high-tech burglar alarm. Or a moat filled with hungry alligators.
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Sunday, December 23, 2012
Outlaws and Inlaws
Friday, December 14, 2012
Signs and Wonders and Mayans
| Orion the hunter |
I was prepared for the show. My Conservation calendar clearly stated that the Geminid meteor shower would peak on December 14. The local weatherman gave these precise instructions: Go outside and look up. On November 13, 1833, Mr. John H. Tabor of Yellville, Arkansas didn't get a heads-up like that. In The White River Chronicles of S.C. Turnbo, Mr. Tabor describes the fear an intense meteor shower imparted to him and his traveling companions, his brother Smith, and a friend, Nimrod Teaf:
Just before midnight, my brother woke up and was nearly paralyzed with fear at beholding the air filled with falling stars. When he was able to speak he woke us all up and told us to hurry and get on our clothes for the world was coming to an end.
I was almost stupefied with wonder and astonishment and hurriedly rose from my couch of bear skins and looked out at the door and saw that the whole heavens, as far as I could observe, was brilliantly illuminated with hundreds and thousands of 'stars' shooting swiftly down toward the earth. It was a grand but fearful sight.
Like my brother, I and Nimrod Teaf thought it the last of earth, and we all concluded that it was too late to pray and submitted ourselves to await the approach of destruction. I fully believed that we would have to give an account of our sins to God at once and we sit down and waited for the awful moment to appear. The night seemed a month long, and the end of the world had not come yet.
When at last to our surprise we noticed that day was breaking in the east and it looked as natural as it ever did . . . we found to our joy that mother earth was still here and the end was not in sight. I was a wicked man then but after the date of the 'falling stars' I did not live so sinful toward God.
For some people, mainly those with school zone speed limit IQ's, the future of the world currently hangs in the same precarious position in which the Tabor Brothers and Nimrod Teaf found themselves in 1833. The Mayan calendar, the current long version of which started in 3114 BC, ends on December 21, 2012.
While some people are awaiting the end of the world, others are trying to make a buck to spend just in case the world doesn't end. In the Russian city of Tomsk "Apocalypse kits" are for sale. The kit includes food, medicine and your choice of vodka or tequila. If you want to hedge your bets, I'd suggest buying a kit using a credit card with a bill due date after December 21, 2012.
For some people, the Mayan calendar prediction was tardy. Their world world ended when Twinkies, Ho Hos and Sno Balls went off the market.
Those people are known as Ding Dongs.
Gone, but not forgotten!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
A Casualty in the War on Stinkin' Thinkin'
In March of 1977, I came to a fork in the road in my life. Following the advice of Yogi Berra, I took it. Leaving the security of a (low) salaried position, I ventured into the wonderful, roller coaster world of commission sales. I immediately learned two things:
1. Overhead never has a bad month; and
2. If your outgo exceeds your income, your upkeep is your downfall.
Realizing the importance a positive attitude, I signed up for what was billed as a "PMA Rally". PMA was stood for "positive mental attitude". The all-day event featured what today would be considered a hall of fame of motivational speakers: W. Clement Stone, Paul Harvey, Art Linkletter, Cavett Robert, and Zig Ziglar, just to name a few. These men have two things in common:
1. They were disciples of the importance of maintaining a positive mental attitude; and
2. With the passing of Zig Ziglar on November 28, 2012, they are all dead.
I still have the dog-eared notes I took that day in Kansas City's cavernous Municipal Auditorium'
Born November 6, 1926, Hilary Hinton "Zig" Ziglar grew up in Yazoo City, Ms. during the Depression. He was the 10th of 12 kids. His father and a sister died within 2 days of each of other when Zig was six years old. After serving in the Navy during WWII, Zig took a job selling pots and pans door-to-door. Good old commission sales! Realizing how important his attitude was to his success, Zig became an expert on eliminating what he referred to as "stinkin' thinkin'". Per Zig, a key to success in sales (and in life) was to get a "check-up from the neck up!"
Here are a few of my favorite tips from Zig:
“Expect the best. Prepare for the worst. Capitalize on what comes.”
“There has never been a statue erected to honor a critic.”
“If you go looking for a friend, you’re going to find they’re scarce. If you go out to be a friend, you’ll find them everywhere.”
"Failure is a detour, not a dead-end street”
"Success is the maximum utilization of the ability that you have."
"You don't have to be great to start, but you have to start to be great."
“Have you ever noticed that people who are the problem never realize it? They’re in denial. They think denial is a river in Egypt!”
“People often say motivation doesn’t last. Neither does bathing—that’s why we recommend it daily.”
It's not what happens to you that determines how far you will go in life; it is how you handle what happens to you.”
“The chief cause of failure and unhappiness is trading what you want most for what you want right now”
“Confidence is going after Moby Dick in a rowboat and taking the tartar sauce with you.”
"Money won't make you happy... but everybody wants to find out for themselves."
And, perhaps the advice I found most helpful: “You will get all you want in life if you help enough other people get what they want.”
Alas, PMA rallies seem to be a thing of the past. When I googled "PMA RALLY", the first thing that popped up was a story about the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) rallying to beat Baguio College of Technology in men's basketball.
The second thing was a link to the Pennsylvania Moose Association (PMA) hosting a state rally for moose riders. Now that sounds like a group that could use a "check-up from the neck up".
Zig Ziglar (November 6, 1926 - November 28, 2012) R.I.P.
1. Overhead never has a bad month; and
2. If your outgo exceeds your income, your upkeep is your downfall.
Realizing the importance a positive attitude, I signed up for what was billed as a "PMA Rally". PMA was stood for "positive mental attitude". The all-day event featured what today would be considered a hall of fame of motivational speakers: W. Clement Stone, Paul Harvey, Art Linkletter, Cavett Robert, and Zig Ziglar, just to name a few. These men have two things in common:
1. They were disciples of the importance of maintaining a positive mental attitude; and
2. With the passing of Zig Ziglar on November 28, 2012, they are all dead.
I still have the dog-eared notes I took that day in Kansas City's cavernous Municipal Auditorium'
Born November 6, 1926, Hilary Hinton "Zig" Ziglar grew up in Yazoo City, Ms. during the Depression. He was the 10th of 12 kids. His father and a sister died within 2 days of each of other when Zig was six years old. After serving in the Navy during WWII, Zig took a job selling pots and pans door-to-door. Good old commission sales! Realizing how important his attitude was to his success, Zig became an expert on eliminating what he referred to as "stinkin' thinkin'". Per Zig, a key to success in sales (and in life) was to get a "check-up from the neck up!"
Here are a few of my favorite tips from Zig:
“Expect the best. Prepare for the worst. Capitalize on what comes.”
“There has never been a statue erected to honor a critic.”
“If you go looking for a friend, you’re going to find they’re scarce. If you go out to be a friend, you’ll find them everywhere.”
"Failure is a detour, not a dead-end street”
"Success is the maximum utilization of the ability that you have."
"You don't have to be great to start, but you have to start to be great."
“Have you ever noticed that people who are the problem never realize it? They’re in denial. They think denial is a river in Egypt!”
“People often say motivation doesn’t last. Neither does bathing—that’s why we recommend it daily.”
It's not what happens to you that determines how far you will go in life; it is how you handle what happens to you.”
“The chief cause of failure and unhappiness is trading what you want most for what you want right now”
“Confidence is going after Moby Dick in a rowboat and taking the tartar sauce with you.”
"Money won't make you happy... but everybody wants to find out for themselves."
And, perhaps the advice I found most helpful: “You will get all you want in life if you help enough other people get what they want.”
Alas, PMA rallies seem to be a thing of the past. When I googled "PMA RALLY", the first thing that popped up was a story about the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) rallying to beat Baguio College of Technology in men's basketball.
The second thing was a link to the Pennsylvania Moose Association (PMA) hosting a state rally for moose riders. Now that sounds like a group that could use a "check-up from the neck up".
Zig Ziglar (November 6, 1926 - November 28, 2012) R.I.P.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Journey Back From (what seemed like) the Center of the Earth
| Grand Canyon - That sliver of green is Indian Gardens, where I stood as this blog begins |
I had unzipped my jacket on the way down. At the 3-mile rest house on the way back up I removed my jacket and strapped it to my backpack. No need to use the restroom. For each ounce of water I drank I sweated an equal amount thus remaining hydrated and eliminating time standing in line at the john. The time was 11:10 am.
As we left the 3 mile mark I took the lead, followed by Terry, Nurit and Joe, who was suffering from a bad cold. The steps were beginning to come harder but the adrenalin was still fueling my climb. I reached the 1 1/2 mile mark, 4.2 miles down and 3 miles back up, at noon. Terry arrived next, then Joe. Nurit was nowhere to be found. She still had 3+ hours to reach the top before her bus left without her. After waiting a few minutes, Terry, Joe and I began the last 1.5 miles without her. She and her Blackberry were on their own.
By the last leg of our hike the thrill was gone. Each step came harder, I leaned on my walking stick harder, and I paused beside the trail to rest more frequently. I was VERY glad I was wearing hiking shorts and not Levi’s. Soon a pattern developed. I would stop and rest, Terry would catch up and sit down with me, and then Joe would appear and take a picture. As we scanned the switchbacks below, Nurit was nowhere to be seen.
Drenched in sweat and exhausted, but elated, I reached the rim at 12:50. Terry arrived at 12:55 and Joe, camera in hand, arrived at 1 pm. But no Nurit. Since hiking back down to find her was not really an option and since she still had 2 1/2 hours to hike the last mile or so, we got in the car, went back to the Holiday Inn Express, and soothed our tired muscles in the hot tub.
Still wondering if she made out ok, a few days later I sent Nurit an email apologizing for not waiting for her. Here is Nurit‘s response:
Hi Doug,
I am SO happy to hear from you!
It is so kind of you to have thought about me but no apologies are necessary. You were on a roll and I did not expect you to wait for me and definitely not walk down for me.
I was exhausted and the long months of no activity finally became apparent on the way up. Knowing that I had time, I decided not to over stress myself and take my time. I walked at a slow pace, took breaks, and sung out loud when no one was around me - didn't you hear me? I reached the top at 1:30 pm. - very sore (for 3 days) yet very happy I made it all the way down and up!! It is thanks to you that I made this hike and I very much enjoyed your company. Not to mention the energy boost of your peanut bar! Thank you so much for making that hike a memorable day for me.
Best Regards,
Nurit
I didn’t hear Nurit singing, probably because I was talking to myself. Instead of singing, when faced with a large task, I always remind myself that the best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. So as Nurit was singing, I was plodding upward repeating “CHOMP - CHOMP - CHOMP” as I walked. It helped focus my brain and other hikers seemed to give me extra room as we passed.
If you plan to hike the Grand Canyon, October is a great month to go. I can’t imagine trying it when the temperature is in the triple digit range. Take plenty of water and snacks. I recommend Payday candy bars. Take a walking stick (even if your fellow hikers compare you to Moses). Many experienced hikers had TWO walking sticks which they used like ski poles.
One final fashion tip: it doesn’t matter WHAT color socks you wear. By the time you get back, they will be reddish-brown, the same color as dust on the Bright Angel Trail.
Proudly wearing my new reddish-brown t-shirt
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Hiking the Grand Canyon - What Goes Down Must Come Up
I filled my Camelback with 80 ounces of water and a weeks worth of snacks. The guide to hiking the Canyon actually said junk food is a good way to replace the salt and calories expended when hiking the canyon. By 8:15 am I was at the Bright Angel trailhead with Joe and Terry, my Australian travel companions. Terry had invited a solo hiker she had met the day before to join us. We met Nurit, a Trans-Hebrew linguist from Washington, D.C., at 8:20. Nurit had skipped breakfast and was carrying only a couple of small bottles of water and a couple of energy bars. I, on the other hand, had eaten a BIG breakfast and was carrying 10 pounds of water and snacks.
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| Nurit, Terry & Joe at the Bright Angel Trailhead |
Clad in hiking shorts, black Nike socks (My wife: You're wearing BLACK socks?), a short-sleeve t-shirt, a long-sleeve t-shirt and a thin, but insulated, windbreaker, we started down the trail. I alone was carrying a walking stick. It was 8:30 AM. Nurit had to be back to the rim no later than 3:30 pm to catch a bus back to Phoenix. She would, she announced, turn back at 10:30 AM regardless of where she was.
From the first step the view was stunning. I was euphoric. The combination of the beauty of God's handiwork in the Grand Canyon, my love of hiking, and the thrill of giving my 64-year-old legs, heart and respiratory system a stiff test had me walking on air (not literally) for the first few switchbacks. Though there are narrow spots on the trail, for the most part it is wide enough for those hiking down and those hiking up to easily pass. When it's not, the right-of-way goes in the following order:
1. Mules, no matter which way they are going; then
2. Hikers coming out of the canyon; then
3. Hikers going into the canyon.
One other advantage the mules have is that they don't have to "hold it" until they reach a rest area. This required some hiking multi-tasking, which I prioritized as follows:1. Savor the beauty; but
2. Don't trip and fall over the edge; AND
3. Try to avoid dropkicking any fresh mule turds.
Before we reached the 1 1/2 mile rest area we began to pass heavily-laden campers slogging back to the rim. Their exuberance level was much lower than mine. At 9:15, a mere 45 minutes after we started, we reached the first potential turnaround point: the 1 1/2 mile rest area. We were way ahead of schedule. All four of us used the restroom. The only drinking water available was what we carried. Elated and relieved, we continued down the trail. Since restrooms are 1 1/2 miles apart, I was thankful that the previous days exotic Indian buffet was having no negative effect on my digestive tract.
Between the 1 1/2 mile rest area and the 3 mile rest area, a string of mules passed us headed to the rim. A cowboy in front, followed by six riderless mules with empty supply bags, with another cowboy bringing up the rear. We waited beside the trail as they passed. When the cowboy in the rear came even with us, I made eye contact. "You've got the best job in the world!" I said. A slight smile came to his lips. "Some days" he replied.
As we continued our descent, Nurit kept pace despite pausing to take pictures. "Do you work out?" I asked. "Not for a few months" she answered.
We arrived at the 3 mile rest house at 9:50 am, a mere 80 minutes after we began. Since the rule of thumb is to allow twice as much time to hike up as it took to hike down, we were still well within Norit's timeframe for returning to the top by 3:30. Next stop - Indian Garden. Off we went with Norit leading the way. Invigorated, in only 35 minutes we were standing in front of a sign welcoming us to Indian Gardens - 4.6 miles and 3060 feet from the rim. Norit’s Blackberry suddenly beeped that she had mail, and then beeped again. I’m not sure who her cell service was with but the fact that it tracked her down inside the Grand Canyon is a pretty good advertisement.
Taking off my backpack, I smiled, sat down on a rock, and unwrapped a king-size Payday candy bar. Payday's are a tasty mix of peanuts and caramel that deliver a whopping 440 calories and a cardiologists nightmare of salt and sugar. "Want one?" I asked Nurit. After initially looking at it like I was holding up a dead mouse, she reluctantly accepted it. "This is good!" she said with approximately the same degree of surprise my grandson had last summer when I introduced him to fried pickles. Nurit's body would use every single one of those calories getting out of the canyon.
After a 15 minute rest, we started back to the rim. The next 4.6 miles would be the equivalent of climbing to the top of the Empire State Building.
Twice.
Plus another 20 stories or so, just for good measure.Nurit's body would burn everyone of those 440 calories (and then some) before she reached the top.
Tomorrow - Journey From (what seemed like) the Center of the Earth
Nurit, Terry and Doug at Indian Gardens
It Goes On
Three weeks ago today I hiked down into the Grand Canyon. While the fact that I am writing this blog takes away a little of the suspense about whether I made it out or not, my intention was to write a blog about my hike. I wrote a blog about my preparation and excitement and was ready to write a blog about the actual hike the phone call came with the news that my mom had passed away. Writing a hiking blog suddenly tumbled way down my list of priorities, superseded by driving 1400 miles, making funeral arrangements, and the myriad tasks necessary when a life ends. I think I delayed writing the blog even longer because of the guilt I felt about having such a good time while, known only to God, the last few grains of sand were trickling through the hourglass of my mom's life.
When he was an old man, Robert Frost said he could sum up all he had learned about life in three words: "It goes on." The longer I live, the more I appreciate the wisdom in those three simple words.
And my mom would be the first to remind me of that.
So I'll move on too.
Tomorrow.
But I'll close this blog with another astute observation by Robert Frost about a mother's love: "You don’t have to deserve your mother’s love. You have to deserve your father’s. He’s more particular…. The father is always a Republican towards his son, and his mother’s always a Democrat."
Right again, Mr. Frost.
Tomorrow: What goes down must come up.
When he was an old man, Robert Frost said he could sum up all he had learned about life in three words: "It goes on." The longer I live, the more I appreciate the wisdom in those three simple words.
And my mom would be the first to remind me of that.
So I'll move on too.
Tomorrow.
But I'll close this blog with another astute observation by Robert Frost about a mother's love: "You don’t have to deserve your mother’s love. You have to deserve your father’s. He’s more particular…. The father is always a Republican towards his son, and his mother’s always a Democrat."
Right again, Mr. Frost.
Tomorrow: What goes down must come up.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Safest Small Town in America
I recently renewed my permit to carry a concealed weapon. I've had it for 3 years now. I was inspired to get it after a group of Jefferson City businessmen got mugged just east of the Capitol. One of the would-be victims had a gun and he and the thief exchanged gunfire. Both were wounded. Both recovered. The mugger is back in prison. He had only been out of prison a few weeks when he had the bright idea to mug everyone at a BBQ.
In Bolivar, Mo., twenty-year-old Blaec Lammers was arrested Friday before he could carry out his plan to duplicate a Colorado movie shooting that killed 12 people. Bolivar is only 30 miles from Springfield where I grew up. It's the home of a Baptist college and was once recognized for having the least crime of any small town in America. Springfield residents always suspected that the reason Bolivar had such a low crime rate was because Bolivar residents came to Springfield to commit their crimes but that was only a hunch.
Despite the fact that deranged people now seem to prefer movie theaters as their first choice for mayhem, my wife and I recently attended the grand opening of the new James Bond movie, Skyfall. We went to the early bird show on the day the movie opened. Average age of attendees at that showing was approximately 65 (which is still younger than the original James Bond). If Blaec, or some other unbalanced person like him, had chosen to open fire at that theater my guess is there would have been several people firing back at him. And a few bullets flying back at someone like that might cause them to have some second thoughts - even if he/she is wearing a bullet proof vest. While a bullet proof vest can stop the bullet from penetrating the skin, it cannot stop the force with which it arrives. I'm told it is similar to to getting hit with a baseball bat wherever the bullet strikes.
In the three years I've had my permit I've never had the occasion to use it. Thank God. The only times I've fired the gun, other than practice, was to kill a copperhead I nearly stepped on in my driveway and a large snapping turtle that was making swimming in our pond a little too exciting.
The third time came Friday night.
My neighbor, Rich, picked up a bunch of people from our rural neighborhood and we went out to eat. A major topic of discussion was the trap Rich had set on his property earlier in the day. He suspected it was an armadillo that was making his lawn look like it had just been freshly plowed. Based in internet wisdom, Rich baited the trap with overripe fruit. The good news, according to the internet, is that armadillos find that tasty. The bad news is that so do skunks.
After dinner we drove to his trap. It was empty, bait still in place. As Rich drove up our long driveway to drop off my wife and I, he spotted something in our yard - an armadillo in full plow mode. As Rich illuminated the yard with his headlights, I stepped from the car, approached the armadillo and fired. Though armadillos can run surprisingly fast, this armadillo slowly started to amble toward the woods. I fired again. He kept ambling. On the third shot, the armadillo went belly up.
As I walked back to the car, my knees shaking, my wife hollered "He's still moving!" Back I went. From close range I put the armadillo (affectionately known around our house as "possum on the half shell") out of his misery.
In the morning I went back to inspect his remains. He reposed, peacefully, on his back. His search for bugs in my yard eternally ended. As I inspected his corpse, I discovered why he hadn't used his lightning speed to run away after my first shot. There was a bullet hole about three inches from his "reproductive organ" which was dangling to one side. I suppose that can certainly take some speed out of any species retreat.
I now know where I'm going to aim if someone like Blaec ever opens fire at a movie I'm attending. Guys - where is the very last place you would want to get hit with a baseball bat? Yeah, me too.
WARNING - GRAPHIC PICTURE Note the proximity of the bullet hole to what I will refer to as "armdillo junk".
In Bolivar, Mo., twenty-year-old Blaec Lammers was arrested Friday before he could carry out his plan to duplicate a Colorado movie shooting that killed 12 people. Bolivar is only 30 miles from Springfield where I grew up. It's the home of a Baptist college and was once recognized for having the least crime of any small town in America. Springfield residents always suspected that the reason Bolivar had such a low crime rate was because Bolivar residents came to Springfield to commit their crimes but that was only a hunch.
Despite the fact that deranged people now seem to prefer movie theaters as their first choice for mayhem, my wife and I recently attended the grand opening of the new James Bond movie, Skyfall. We went to the early bird show on the day the movie opened. Average age of attendees at that showing was approximately 65 (which is still younger than the original James Bond). If Blaec, or some other unbalanced person like him, had chosen to open fire at that theater my guess is there would have been several people firing back at him. And a few bullets flying back at someone like that might cause them to have some second thoughts - even if he/she is wearing a bullet proof vest. While a bullet proof vest can stop the bullet from penetrating the skin, it cannot stop the force with which it arrives. I'm told it is similar to to getting hit with a baseball bat wherever the bullet strikes.
In the three years I've had my permit I've never had the occasion to use it. Thank God. The only times I've fired the gun, other than practice, was to kill a copperhead I nearly stepped on in my driveway and a large snapping turtle that was making swimming in our pond a little too exciting.
The third time came Friday night.
My neighbor, Rich, picked up a bunch of people from our rural neighborhood and we went out to eat. A major topic of discussion was the trap Rich had set on his property earlier in the day. He suspected it was an armadillo that was making his lawn look like it had just been freshly plowed. Based in internet wisdom, Rich baited the trap with overripe fruit. The good news, according to the internet, is that armadillos find that tasty. The bad news is that so do skunks.
After dinner we drove to his trap. It was empty, bait still in place. As Rich drove up our long driveway to drop off my wife and I, he spotted something in our yard - an armadillo in full plow mode. As Rich illuminated the yard with his headlights, I stepped from the car, approached the armadillo and fired. Though armadillos can run surprisingly fast, this armadillo slowly started to amble toward the woods. I fired again. He kept ambling. On the third shot, the armadillo went belly up.
As I walked back to the car, my knees shaking, my wife hollered "He's still moving!" Back I went. From close range I put the armadillo (affectionately known around our house as "possum on the half shell") out of his misery.
In the morning I went back to inspect his remains. He reposed, peacefully, on his back. His search for bugs in my yard eternally ended. As I inspected his corpse, I discovered why he hadn't used his lightning speed to run away after my first shot. There was a bullet hole about three inches from his "reproductive organ" which was dangling to one side. I suppose that can certainly take some speed out of any species retreat.
I now know where I'm going to aim if someone like Blaec ever opens fire at a movie I'm attending. Guys - where is the very last place you would want to get hit with a baseball bat? Yeah, me too.
WARNING - GRAPHIC PICTURE Note the proximity of the bullet hole to what I will refer to as "armdillo junk".
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men
In 2007 I sold my business and semi-retired. I had, I thought, considered all the worst case scenarios and tried to plan for them.
HA!
The saying "The best way to make God laugh is to tell him your plans" now has personal significance to me. In 1785, poet Robert Burns wrote a poem he named "To a mouse". Paraphrased, it says:
The best laid plans of mice and men
Often go awry
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.
True in 1785, true in 2012, and it will still be true in 2085, assuming the the Mayan Calendar ending next month was just an oversight on their part.
Despite the fact that things don't always go according to plan, planning is still essential. Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces on D-Day, recognized that. "In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable" he said.
Mike Tyson put it another way: "Everybody has a plan until they get hit in the face!"
Ben Franklin noted "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail." While that is generally so, no one can deny that Shakespeare had a point when he observed that "Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered." Given a choice, though, I'll take my chances with a boat that IS steered every time.
The late chef Julia Child offered this planning recommendation to would be chefs: "Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need." J.R.R. Tolkien warned that "It will not do to leave a live dragon out of your plans if you live near one." And Yogi Berra observed that "If you don't know where you are going you will end up somewhere else!"
In the song Beautiful Boy, a song written by John Lennon for his son with Yoko Ono, Sean, John included the lyrics "Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans." That song was included in his 1980 album Double Fantasy. In retrospect, he might have changed the lyrics to "Life and Death are what happen when you are busy making other plans." John was murdered on December 8, 1980. Though I'm certain it was not the way he planned it, Double Fantasy was his last album.
Ancient philosopher Lao Tzu believed that "A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving." I'd say Lao had sort of a "hang loose and enjoy your life's journey because it will end soon enough" philosophy.
And as you go on your journey, you might remember one of my favorite prayers, an old Scottish one, that asks the following Divine intervention:
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties,
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
(And from any nearby dragons too, please!)
HA!
The saying "The best way to make God laugh is to tell him your plans" now has personal significance to me. In 1785, poet Robert Burns wrote a poem he named "To a mouse". Paraphrased, it says:
The best laid plans of mice and men
Often go awry
And leave us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.
True in 1785, true in 2012, and it will still be true in 2085, assuming the the Mayan Calendar ending next month was just an oversight on their part.
Despite the fact that things don't always go according to plan, planning is still essential. Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces on D-Day, recognized that. "In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable" he said.
Mike Tyson put it another way: "Everybody has a plan until they get hit in the face!"
Ben Franklin noted "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail." While that is generally so, no one can deny that Shakespeare had a point when he observed that "Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered." Given a choice, though, I'll take my chances with a boat that IS steered every time.
The late chef Julia Child offered this planning recommendation to would be chefs: "Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need." J.R.R. Tolkien warned that "It will not do to leave a live dragon out of your plans if you live near one." And Yogi Berra observed that "If you don't know where you are going you will end up somewhere else!"
In the song Beautiful Boy, a song written by John Lennon for his son with Yoko Ono, Sean, John included the lyrics "Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans." That song was included in his 1980 album Double Fantasy. In retrospect, he might have changed the lyrics to "Life and Death are what happen when you are busy making other plans." John was murdered on December 8, 1980. Though I'm certain it was not the way he planned it, Double Fantasy was his last album.
Ancient philosopher Lao Tzu believed that "A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving." I'd say Lao had sort of a "hang loose and enjoy your life's journey because it will end soon enough" philosophy.
And as you go on your journey, you might remember one of my favorite prayers, an old Scottish one, that asks the following Divine intervention:
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties,
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
(And from any nearby dragons too, please!)
Thursday, November 8, 2012
A Story Worth Telling
 Captain John Hance Making a Return Visit
It was Halloween, 2012. Darkness had fallen, and with it, the temperature. Through the branches of ancient pines a full moon was visible, steadily ascending over the Shrine of the Ages Chapel. The south rim of the Grand Canyon was a short hike away. Surrounding me were stones, some large, some small; some polished, some weather-worn. With me was my wife, walking carefully in the dim light of the kerosene lantern to avoid twisting one of her twin titanium knees. Our guide was Captain John Hance, a Grand Canyon pioneer, one of the very first settlers to call the Grand Canyon home. Captain Hance is known for two things:
1. Promoting the Grand Canyon to tourists; and
2. Telling tall tales.
Oh, yeah . . . did I mention Captain Hance died in the flu epidemic of 1919? Or that he was the very first person buried in the Grand Canyon Pioneers Cemetery where we stood, his grave marked by a tall, thin stone?
He did, and he was.
Actually, it wasn't the real Captain John Hance - just a talented impersonator.
So he said.
As the would-be spirit of Captain Hance led us slowly, silently, in the darkness, he often set his lantern down in front of a headstone and began to speak. "Each person's life is a story and needs to be retold" he said at each stop.
And then he would tell the story of the person whose earthly remains we stood near.
"These are the graves of pioneer photographers Ellsworth and Emery Kolb" he said. "Kolb Studio clings to the edge of the Grand Canyon to this day."
"This is the grave of William Wallace Bass. He set up a stagecoach line to bring tourists to the Grand Canyon. There were two liars in this area in his day, and he was both of them!"
Mixing the somber with the humorous, the spirit of Captain Hance ended our guided tour at his own grave. "I'm sure glad you visited the Grand Canyon" he said. "You may not have heard, but I dug it!" (Did I mention Captain Hance sometimes stretched the truth?) But he wasn't joking when he said, in closing, "Our time here on earth is short. It is important to retell the stories of those who have come before us. Make sure YOUR story is worth telling!"
Twenty-four hours later my wife and I had just finished eating carry-out bbq in a motel room in Page, Arizona when my wife's phone rang. It was bad news. My mom's life story had just ended, suddenly, unexpectedly. After spending a beautiful day with my dad and brother, like the gentle way she lived, she gently left this life. "I think it will be exciting to see what's next" she once said.
And now she is.
Born in Detroit, Michigan on January 14, 1930, my mom married my dad on September 19, 1947 in Vinita, Oklahoma. She was 17. He was 18. Within 3 years they had two babies, both boys. In September we helped celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary. Like all lives, hers wasn't always easy, wasn't always happy. But she was our rock. My mom left this life on November 1, 2012 in Jefferson City, Mo. Her story will continue to be told in the lives of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
It's a story worth telling.
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Thursday, November 1, 2012
Down is Optional. Up is Mandatory.
We reached the Grand Canyon shortly before sunset on day 3 of our westward exploration. Not sure what restaurants or food was available on the south rim of the Grand Canyon, we had stopped for an early dinner in Flagstaff. Joe and Terry, our Aussie travel companions, recommended an Indian restaurant they had visited before. The buffet line at the Delhi Palace was still open and well-stocked when we arrived mid-afternoon.
Grabbing a plate and a bowl, I first added a green salad and some mango pudding to my plate. Looking at me somewhat like a parent might look at a small child, the lady in line behind me dourly said, "the mango pudding is actually for dessert." That was news to me. An hour later I thought of a snappy comeback. “Life is short. I ALWAYS eat dessert first!”
As I surveyed the large variety of unfamiliar dishes, I was concerned about the effect on my digestive system of introducing spicy foods the likes of which my intestines had never experienced. My plan was to hike down the Bright Angel trail into the Grand Canyon early the next morning. Any trip to the restroom inside the Canyon involves a 1 1/2 mile hike on rugged terrain. Nevertheless, I filled my plate with various portions of chicken and beef with words like “curry” and “pandoori” preceding their name.
The mango chicken and mango pudding were my favorites and I returned to the buffet line a couple of times to restock my plate. The mango pudding was more like chunks of mango floating in a melted orange milkshake.
As we neared the Grand Canyon a large plume of smoke was visible in the distance. Uh oh. Would a forest fire affect our visit? Tuning to the Grand Canyon AM info station, we learned the smoke was from a controlled burn on the north side of the canyon. Later I learned the plan was to send 2300 acres up in smoke.
After reaching our motel, about 6 miles from the rim, any concern about the availability of food evaporated. Within a block of our room was a McDonald’s, a Wendy’s and a Pizza Hut.
Scrambling to reach the Canyon in time to witness the sunset, I dropped my wife and Joe and Terry off near the El Tovar Lodge to search for a parking place. After a 30 minute search, I found one a half-mile away. The bad news is that, by the time I hiked back to the El Tovar Lodge, the sun had already set. The good news is that I was just in time to witness a full moon rising above the Canyon wall.
Back at our room, I arranged my hiking gear in preparation for the next day’s trek down into the Canyon. I was as excited as a kid on Halloween. Sleep was evasive. After I finally drifted off, I awoke every couple of hours to check the alarm clock.
The question facing me was “how far down into the Canyon could I hike and still have sufficient energy and time to get back to the top before dark?” Time would tell, but the Park Rangers offered the following cautionary advice:
“Down is optional. Up is mandatory.”
Grabbing a plate and a bowl, I first added a green salad and some mango pudding to my plate. Looking at me somewhat like a parent might look at a small child, the lady in line behind me dourly said, "the mango pudding is actually for dessert." That was news to me. An hour later I thought of a snappy comeback. “Life is short. I ALWAYS eat dessert first!”
As I surveyed the large variety of unfamiliar dishes, I was concerned about the effect on my digestive system of introducing spicy foods the likes of which my intestines had never experienced. My plan was to hike down the Bright Angel trail into the Grand Canyon early the next morning. Any trip to the restroom inside the Canyon involves a 1 1/2 mile hike on rugged terrain. Nevertheless, I filled my plate with various portions of chicken and beef with words like “curry” and “pandoori” preceding their name.
The mango chicken and mango pudding were my favorites and I returned to the buffet line a couple of times to restock my plate. The mango pudding was more like chunks of mango floating in a melted orange milkshake.
As we neared the Grand Canyon a large plume of smoke was visible in the distance. Uh oh. Would a forest fire affect our visit? Tuning to the Grand Canyon AM info station, we learned the smoke was from a controlled burn on the north side of the canyon. Later I learned the plan was to send 2300 acres up in smoke.
After reaching our motel, about 6 miles from the rim, any concern about the availability of food evaporated. Within a block of our room was a McDonald’s, a Wendy’s and a Pizza Hut.
Scrambling to reach the Canyon in time to witness the sunset, I dropped my wife and Joe and Terry off near the El Tovar Lodge to search for a parking place. After a 30 minute search, I found one a half-mile away. The bad news is that, by the time I hiked back to the El Tovar Lodge, the sun had already set. The good news is that I was just in time to witness a full moon rising above the Canyon wall.
Back at our room, I arranged my hiking gear in preparation for the next day’s trek down into the Canyon. I was as excited as a kid on Halloween. Sleep was evasive. After I finally drifted off, I awoke every couple of hours to check the alarm clock.
The question facing me was “how far down into the Canyon could I hike and still have sufficient energy and time to get back to the top before dark?” Time would tell, but the Park Rangers offered the following cautionary advice:
“Down is optional. Up is mandatory.”
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Adventure on the Mother Road - Day 2
We left Oklahoma City soon after an early motel breakfast on day 2 of our westward journey along portions of Historic Route 66.
Destination: Albuquerque.
We had replaced our defunct GPS at a Best Buy in Oklahoma City the night before, though it had a fairly easy job. After navigating a couple of side streets to get on the highway, it instructed us to get on I-40 West and follow it for 547 miles. Not much chance for a wrong turn there.
In Missouri I'm used to driving past fields of corn and soybeans. In southern Oklahoma and northern Texas the crops were different: cotton and wind. Though the cotton fields ended not long after we crossed the Texas state line, southern Oklahoma and northern Texas were lined with slowly turning, power-generating wind turbines as far as the eye could see.
Near Amarillo a billboard tried to entice us to stop at the "Top of Texas Catholic Super Store." Since many of our best friends and neighbors are Catholic, I saw no reason to stop and shop for new ones.
The Big Texan Steak House in Amarillo still offers a free 72 ounce steak, provided you eat it in one hour. If you don't? No price was listed, but with a 16 ounce restaurant steak running around $20, the math would suggest a tab of at least $100 if you fail.
West of Amarillo we passed by a very large, very aromatic, cattle feedlot operation that threatened to overwhelm the senses. Shortly after that, Mother Nature successfully overwhelmed our senses. Topping a rise we were suddenly presented with a panoramic view of buttes and valleys, rocky outcroppings and vast open spaces against the horizon. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the cowboys of Lonesome Dove slowly driving the cattle they stole in Mexico north to Montana. Since I was driving, I tried to imagine it without closing my eyes.
As we entered Albuquerque, our new GPS roused from it's direction-free day and began spewing directions again. Our vintage motel, the voyeuristically named "Sandia Peaks Inn" (Sandia peeks in), is located on historic Route 66. "Vintage" is often a euphemism for "old", not exactly a good thing for motels. The Sandia Peaks Inn was very nice, though somewhat noisy due to its location adjacent to a very busy street. Loud stereos and thunderous mufflers periodically pierced the night as vehicles waited at the traffic light a mere 75 yards from the door to our room. The price was right though. Only $67, including tax. More than enough savings to pay for the ear plugs I inserted before turning out the light.
Next stop: Grand Canyon.
Destination: Albuquerque.
We had replaced our defunct GPS at a Best Buy in Oklahoma City the night before, though it had a fairly easy job. After navigating a couple of side streets to get on the highway, it instructed us to get on I-40 West and follow it for 547 miles. Not much chance for a wrong turn there.
In Missouri I'm used to driving past fields of corn and soybeans. In southern Oklahoma and northern Texas the crops were different: cotton and wind. Though the cotton fields ended not long after we crossed the Texas state line, southern Oklahoma and northern Texas were lined with slowly turning, power-generating wind turbines as far as the eye could see.
Near Amarillo a billboard tried to entice us to stop at the "Top of Texas Catholic Super Store." Since many of our best friends and neighbors are Catholic, I saw no reason to stop and shop for new ones.
The Big Texan Steak House in Amarillo still offers a free 72 ounce steak, provided you eat it in one hour. If you don't? No price was listed, but with a 16 ounce restaurant steak running around $20, the math would suggest a tab of at least $100 if you fail.
West of Amarillo we passed by a very large, very aromatic, cattle feedlot operation that threatened to overwhelm the senses. Shortly after that, Mother Nature successfully overwhelmed our senses. Topping a rise we were suddenly presented with a panoramic view of buttes and valleys, rocky outcroppings and vast open spaces against the horizon. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the cowboys of Lonesome Dove slowly driving the cattle they stole in Mexico north to Montana. Since I was driving, I tried to imagine it without closing my eyes.
As we entered Albuquerque, our new GPS roused from it's direction-free day and began spewing directions again. Our vintage motel, the voyeuristically named "Sandia Peaks Inn" (Sandia peeks in), is located on historic Route 66. "Vintage" is often a euphemism for "old", not exactly a good thing for motels. The Sandia Peaks Inn was very nice, though somewhat noisy due to its location adjacent to a very busy street. Loud stereos and thunderous mufflers periodically pierced the night as vehicles waited at the traffic light a mere 75 yards from the door to our room. The price was right though. Only $67, including tax. More than enough savings to pay for the ear plugs I inserted before turning out the light.
Next stop: Grand Canyon.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Adventure on the Mother Road
I awoke this morning to news of a 7.7 earthquake off the West Coast. Just now on The Weather Channel the weather forecaster advised residents along the East Coast to prepare for what could be the "biggest storm of your lifetime." I just finished a meal covered with potent green chilies in Albuquerque, N.M. at an authentic Mexican restaurant so some gastrointestinal turbulence could be in the forecast for me.
Accompanied by our Australian relatives, Joe and Terry, we left town headed west along old Route 66 on Saturday morning. The first thing we saw as we turned west on I-44 was a string of utility trucks headed east to deal with the predicted damage when Hurricane Sandy and a potent winter storm combine to sock the east coast with what some are calling "Frankenstorm" due to its proximity to Halloween.
In Joplin, I detoured along 20th street to show Joe & Terry the slow growth along the path of the monster tornado that devastated the area on May 22, 2011. Much of what was once the heart of Joplin can still pass for pastureland. After showing them Fred & Red's, the iconic Joplin restaurant that is now closed, we headed south to 3347 1/2 Oakridge Drive. It was there on April 13, 1933 that Bonnie & Clyde and Clyde's brother and sister-in-law, Buck and Blanche Barrow, were involved in a shootout with Joplin area law enforcement personnel. Two of the officers involved were killed, The outlaws escaped. To view pictures, then and now, of the second floor apartment where the shootout took place, go to:
http://texashideout.tripod.com/joplinapartment.html
Three things happened when we crossed the Oklahoma State line: the speed limit increased, the gas price decreased and there was an $8 toll to navigate to Oklahoma City.
West of Vinita we stopped for lunch at "The Glass House", a McDonald's that spans all four lanes of Will Rogers Turnpike. There you can watch 18-wheelers passing just below your feet as you pause your journey to grab a fast food meal. Though once billed as the "World's Largest McDonald's", a sign in the parking lot now concedes the almost 30,000 square foot restaurant is "The World's Second-Largest McDonald's". The times they are a'changin'. McDonald's in China, Russia, Florida and the London Olympics now vie for the title of "World's Largest." Though its title as largest has been usurped, I think it is safe to say this is the only McDonald's in the world where customers are greeted by a larger-than-life-size statue of Will "I Never Met a Man I Didn't Like" Rogers. Will once suggested restricting the use of highways to cars that were paid for as a way to reduce congestion. Oklahoma chose to charge tolls instead.
It was after lunch that our trip along the general vicinity of historic Route 66 took a more authentic turn. Our GPS went, directionally-speaking, belly up, and we were forced to navigate the old-fashioned way - with our brains.
We made it.
But we purchased another GPS in Oklahoma City.
Thanks to my brother for agreeing to house-sit for us as we journey westward with our Aussie kinfolk. (Note to my brother: I'm sorry you did poorly in your anger management classes but I am proud of the accolades you have since earned in mixed martial arts. Those skills should come handy with our cats.)
Accompanied by our Australian relatives, Joe and Terry, we left town headed west along old Route 66 on Saturday morning. The first thing we saw as we turned west on I-44 was a string of utility trucks headed east to deal with the predicted damage when Hurricane Sandy and a potent winter storm combine to sock the east coast with what some are calling "Frankenstorm" due to its proximity to Halloween.
In Joplin, I detoured along 20th street to show Joe & Terry the slow growth along the path of the monster tornado that devastated the area on May 22, 2011. Much of what was once the heart of Joplin can still pass for pastureland. After showing them Fred & Red's, the iconic Joplin restaurant that is now closed, we headed south to 3347 1/2 Oakridge Drive. It was there on April 13, 1933 that Bonnie & Clyde and Clyde's brother and sister-in-law, Buck and Blanche Barrow, were involved in a shootout with Joplin area law enforcement personnel. Two of the officers involved were killed, The outlaws escaped. To view pictures, then and now, of the second floor apartment where the shootout took place, go to:
http://texashideout.tripod.com/joplinapartment.html
Three things happened when we crossed the Oklahoma State line: the speed limit increased, the gas price decreased and there was an $8 toll to navigate to Oklahoma City.
West of Vinita we stopped for lunch at "The Glass House", a McDonald's that spans all four lanes of Will Rogers Turnpike. There you can watch 18-wheelers passing just below your feet as you pause your journey to grab a fast food meal. Though once billed as the "World's Largest McDonald's", a sign in the parking lot now concedes the almost 30,000 square foot restaurant is "The World's Second-Largest McDonald's". The times they are a'changin'. McDonald's in China, Russia, Florida and the London Olympics now vie for the title of "World's Largest." Though its title as largest has been usurped, I think it is safe to say this is the only McDonald's in the world where customers are greeted by a larger-than-life-size statue of Will "I Never Met a Man I Didn't Like" Rogers. Will once suggested restricting the use of highways to cars that were paid for as a way to reduce congestion. Oklahoma chose to charge tolls instead.
It was after lunch that our trip along the general vicinity of historic Route 66 took a more authentic turn. Our GPS went, directionally-speaking, belly up, and we were forced to navigate the old-fashioned way - with our brains.
We made it.
But we purchased another GPS in Oklahoma City.
Thanks to my brother for agreeing to house-sit for us as we journey westward with our Aussie kinfolk. (Note to my brother: I'm sorry you did poorly in your anger management classes but I am proud of the accolades you have since earned in mixed martial arts. Those skills should come handy with our cats.)
 |
| We arrive in New Mexico after a long day on the road
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Thursday, October 25, 2012
From Falling Leaves to Kewpies
Wednesday's dawn once again lit up the bright yellow leaves just outside our hotel balcony. The ground is littered with leaves that graced the limbs above when we arrived in Branson 6 mornings ago. The temperature was near 70 degrees by 8:30 am when my wife and I arrived at a secluded parking lot 9 miles north of Branson. In 1896, construction was started on a home near where we sat that would become known as "Bonniebrook." The owner was famed artist Rose O'Neill, born in 1874, but whose artwork had already made her a millionaire at the tender age of 22. Though she would eventually own 5 homes around the world, Rose declared that the best days of her life were spent at Bonniebrook, deep in the wilderness north of Branson.
In 1909, Rose drew her first kewpie doll. In 1912, a German company produced the first kewpie doll, an item that has helped spread Rose's fame far and wide for the past century. She used her wealth to provide free room and board at Bonniebrook to aspiring artists. Thomas Hart Benton was a frequent visitor.
In 1947, three years after Rose passed away, her autistic brother "Clink" burned the house to the ground. Some say it was an accident. Some say it wasn't. We were told Clink could speak 5 languages but couldn't tie his shoes. After the fire, Clink spent the rest of his life in a mental institution in Nevada, Mo.
Rose O'Neill, her mother and father, and several brothers and sisters are buried deep in the woods at Bonniebrook, next to the bubbling creek that inspired the home's name. Rose said the sound of the water running over the rocks helped inspire her artwork, as did the "friendly monsters" she saw at night in the outlines of the trees from the her third story balcony.
Rose was known to locals as eccentric, ahead of her time, an early hippie. According to the caretaker, though Rose was well-liked, local residents considered it scandalous when she went to the movies in Branson wearing flowing Bohemian dresses and open-toed sandals, or even barefoot, her toenails painted bright red.
Rose O'Neill's name became a part of my family tree when my grandfather's sister, Geneva Reece, married Rose's nephew. Rose died in Springfield on April 6, 1944 at the home of that nephew, my grandfather's brother-in-law. That home, now owned by Drury University, has just been completely renovated. According to Susan Scott, President of the Bonniebrook Historical Society, a ribbon cutting and dedication of the Rose O'Neill house will take place on Thursday, October 25, at 6:30 pm.
Susan is spearheading an effort to have a bust of Rose enshrined in the "Hall of Famous Missourians" inside the Missouri State Capitol. She is also interested in having the Kewpie doll declared the official State doll of Missouri. That should please Columbia Hickman high school alum, who chose the Kewpie doll as their school mascot.
For more information on the only one of my relatives whose house I have to pay eight bucks to get inside, go to:
www.roseoneill.org
In 1909, Rose drew her first kewpie doll. In 1912, a German company produced the first kewpie doll, an item that has helped spread Rose's fame far and wide for the past century. She used her wealth to provide free room and board at Bonniebrook to aspiring artists. Thomas Hart Benton was a frequent visitor.
In 1947, three years after Rose passed away, her autistic brother "Clink" burned the house to the ground. Some say it was an accident. Some say it wasn't. We were told Clink could speak 5 languages but couldn't tie his shoes. After the fire, Clink spent the rest of his life in a mental institution in Nevada, Mo.
Rose O'Neill, her mother and father, and several brothers and sisters are buried deep in the woods at Bonniebrook, next to the bubbling creek that inspired the home's name. Rose said the sound of the water running over the rocks helped inspire her artwork, as did the "friendly monsters" she saw at night in the outlines of the trees from the her third story balcony.
Rose was known to locals as eccentric, ahead of her time, an early hippie. According to the caretaker, though Rose was well-liked, local residents considered it scandalous when she went to the movies in Branson wearing flowing Bohemian dresses and open-toed sandals, or even barefoot, her toenails painted bright red.
Rose O'Neill's name became a part of my family tree when my grandfather's sister, Geneva Reece, married Rose's nephew. Rose died in Springfield on April 6, 1944 at the home of that nephew, my grandfather's brother-in-law. That home, now owned by Drury University, has just been completely renovated. According to Susan Scott, President of the Bonniebrook Historical Society, a ribbon cutting and dedication of the Rose O'Neill house will take place on Thursday, October 25, at 6:30 pm.
Susan is spearheading an effort to have a bust of Rose enshrined in the "Hall of Famous Missourians" inside the Missouri State Capitol. She is also interested in having the Kewpie doll declared the official State doll of Missouri. That should please Columbia Hickman high school alum, who chose the Kewpie doll as their school mascot.
For more information on the only one of my relatives whose house I have to pay eight bucks to get inside, go to:
www.roseoneill.org
Bonniebrook today, rebuilt after 1947 fire
Rose O'Neill grave in family cemetery at Bonniebrook
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
A Hero in a Hot Tub
After spending some time hiking the shores of Table Rock Lake State Park south of Branson this morning, a trip to the outside hot tub where we are staying sounded pretty good. The temperature outside was near 80 degrees on this spectacularly beautiful late October day as my wife and I eased into the bubbling 100 degree water of the hot tub. Except for one couple lounging on chaise lounges, the area was deserted. My wife kept a wary eye out for wasps circling the water as I corralled the occasional leaves that floated on the surface.
With about 3 minutes remaining on our 15 minute hot tub bubble timer, another couple joined us and put another 15 minutes on the timer.
"Where you from?" I asked.
"Arizona" replied the man.
"Really? I saw a license plate on the parking lot Monday that said "FORMER POW". I thought it might be John McCain. That wouldn't be you, would it?" I asked.
Turns out it was.
Not John McCain, but Jim Kula, former POW, and his wife, Jane. And he was willing to share his story.
On July 29, 1972, five days after his first wedding anniversary with Jane, a missile removed the tail of the F-4 Phantom John was piloting over Vietnam. He and his co-pilot ejected and were taken prisoner by the North Vietnamese when they hit the ground. They were seperated and Jim was incarcerated at the Hỏa Lò Prison, better known as the "Hanoi Hilton". Jim said he was never physically tortured, though the accomodations might suggest otherwise. Later, he said, his captors told him his co-pilot didn't survive. Turned out he did. He was also told his wife was doing some things back home that were inappropriate for a faithful wife. Turned out she wasn't.
Jim was released on March 29, 1973, eight months of his life he would never get back. He didn't dwell on that as we talked, but on the 8 YEARS some POW's were held. Jim's fellow Arizona resident John McCain was released on March 14, 1973 after serving 5 1/2 years as a POW, including two years in solitary confinement. Jim said the torture earlier POW's, including John McCain, had experienced, had received international publicity that had embarrassed the North Vietnamese and resulted in more humane treatment for later POW's like himself.
Jim and Jane were in Branson for the first time, just like Joe & Terry, our Aussie relatives traveling with us. In 2011, Joe and Terry had visited the North Vietnamese prison where Jim had been held. As we talked, more coincidences began to unfold. Jim and Jane would be in Oklahoma City Saturday night for a wedding. We would also be in Oklahoma City Saturday night on our way to the Grand Canyon for some hiking. Jim & Jane live in Prescott, 129 miles from the Grand Canyon. On their way to Missouri, Jim & Jane stopped in the tiny Oklahoma town of Bluejacket where Jane once had relatives. My wife and I visited the Bluejacket cemetery in 2009 to locate some the graves of some of my wife's relatives who had lived and died in Bluejacket. There is no longer a store in Bluejacket so residents there shop in either Miami or Vinita. My brother was born in Miami. I was born in Vinita. I expect if we had talked longer we would have discovered they were probably distant relatives.
We invited them to visit Jefferson City. It may never happen. But then again, it just might.
If you'd like to read more about Jim's experience as a POW, here are a couple of links I found while I was writing this blog:
http://journalrecord.com/tinkertakeoff/2003/09/26/brothers-recount-pow-experience/
http://militarytimes.com/citations-medals-awards/recipient.php?recipientid=27880
As we talked, the couple who had been at the hot tub when my wife and I arrived got up to leave.
"Just thought you might want to know" said the wife. "We're from Bartlesville, Oklahoma, not too far from Bluejacket." Turns out my wife and I were in Bartlesville for a family reunion last March.
The beat goes on.
With about 3 minutes remaining on our 15 minute hot tub bubble timer, another couple joined us and put another 15 minutes on the timer.
"Where you from?" I asked.
"Arizona" replied the man.
"Really? I saw a license plate on the parking lot Monday that said "FORMER POW". I thought it might be John McCain. That wouldn't be you, would it?" I asked.
Turns out it was.
Not John McCain, but Jim Kula, former POW, and his wife, Jane. And he was willing to share his story.
On July 29, 1972, five days after his first wedding anniversary with Jane, a missile removed the tail of the F-4 Phantom John was piloting over Vietnam. He and his co-pilot ejected and were taken prisoner by the North Vietnamese when they hit the ground. They were seperated and Jim was incarcerated at the Hỏa Lò Prison, better known as the "Hanoi Hilton". Jim said he was never physically tortured, though the accomodations might suggest otherwise. Later, he said, his captors told him his co-pilot didn't survive. Turned out he did. He was also told his wife was doing some things back home that were inappropriate for a faithful wife. Turned out she wasn't.
Jim was released on March 29, 1973, eight months of his life he would never get back. He didn't dwell on that as we talked, but on the 8 YEARS some POW's were held. Jim's fellow Arizona resident John McCain was released on March 14, 1973 after serving 5 1/2 years as a POW, including two years in solitary confinement. Jim said the torture earlier POW's, including John McCain, had experienced, had received international publicity that had embarrassed the North Vietnamese and resulted in more humane treatment for later POW's like himself.
Jim and Jane were in Branson for the first time, just like Joe & Terry, our Aussie relatives traveling with us. In 2011, Joe and Terry had visited the North Vietnamese prison where Jim had been held. As we talked, more coincidences began to unfold. Jim and Jane would be in Oklahoma City Saturday night for a wedding. We would also be in Oklahoma City Saturday night on our way to the Grand Canyon for some hiking. Jim & Jane live in Prescott, 129 miles from the Grand Canyon. On their way to Missouri, Jim & Jane stopped in the tiny Oklahoma town of Bluejacket where Jane once had relatives. My wife and I visited the Bluejacket cemetery in 2009 to locate some the graves of some of my wife's relatives who had lived and died in Bluejacket. There is no longer a store in Bluejacket so residents there shop in either Miami or Vinita. My brother was born in Miami. I was born in Vinita. I expect if we had talked longer we would have discovered they were probably distant relatives.
We invited them to visit Jefferson City. It may never happen. But then again, it just might.
If you'd like to read more about Jim's experience as a POW, here are a couple of links I found while I was writing this blog:
http://journalrecord.com/tinkertakeoff/2003/09/26/brothers-recount-pow-experience/
http://militarytimes.com/citations-medals-awards/recipient.php?recipientid=27880
As we talked, the couple who had been at the hot tub when my wife and I arrived got up to leave.
"Just thought you might want to know" said the wife. "We're from Bartlesville, Oklahoma, not too far from Bluejacket." Turns out my wife and I were in Bartlesville for a family reunion last March.
The beat goes on.
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| Prisoner of War Medal awarded to Jim Kula |
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
A Branson Stairstepper Workout Mother Nature's Style
The only hiking most people are aware of on Branson's 76 Highway strip is that from their car to shopping, eating or show-hopping. But if you are so inclined, you can get a great workout just a stone's throw from Dick Clark's American Bandstand Theater.
The entrance to the Lakeside Forest Wilderness area is 100 yards south of 76 Highway on Fall Creek Road. If you are looking for Mother Nature's version of a stair-stepper workout you can find it there.
For those interested in just a "walk in the woods", there is 1.3 mile ridgetop trail described as "moderately easy". If you are game for a more difficult workout, you can find that on the 2.0 mile roundtrip hike (it seems MUCH longer) that descends a bluff overlooking Lake Taneycomo and then proceeds along a narrow ridge to several caves halfway down the bluff. That's the trail we chose.
After a pleasant, level walk of several hundred yards through a typical Ozark forest, the trail suddenly begins a sharper descent toward Lake Taneycomo. Then the bottom falls out and hikers are confronted with a 315 step staircase hewn into the side of the mountain. A plaque with the heading "THE FOLLOWING WORDS ETCHED IN STONE, AUGUST 10, 1938" is mounted there beside the trail. It reads:
"LET THOSE WHO TREAD HERE NOT THINK THAT THESE STEPS WERE MADE NOT OF MORTAR ALONE BUT OF SWEAT AND BLOOD AND AGONY."
BEGAN AUGUST 5, 1937 - FINISHED AUGUST 10, 1938
Seems like there is one to many "NOT's" in there, but what the builders lacked in grammar, they made up for in the sheer determination it took to complete the stunning rock staircase that descends from breathtaking beauty to a (literally) breathtaking climb. By the time you reach the top again, you will have just a taste of the sweat (a lot), blood (a little, thanks to a stray strand of barbed wire), and the agony (tempered by the ecstasy of the scenic beauty) that the builders spoke of.
Joe, Terry and I made the descent while my wife, with three knee surgeries in her not-too-distant past, walked the level ridgetop trail and then waited for us at a picnic table with her trusty Kindle.
By the time we returned from our 90 minute excursion with a climb of 315 steps (each way) behind us, I was drenched in sweat. Maybe that's why the insects chose to attack Joe instead of me. Walking in front, Joe suddenly began waving his arms above his head. "I think the mossies (mosquitoes) are getting me!" he said. Must run in the family. Joe is my wife's cousin and mosquitoes consistently choose her blood over mine when they are hungry.
Personally, I don't think they were "mossies". I think they were an annoying, but harmless, breed of insect known in the Ozarks as "DPG's" (dog pecker gnats).
If you go, take a bottle of water, wear shoes not prone to slipping, and take along some insect repellent to discourage the mossies & dpg's. Also the ticks and chiggers. It is the Ozarks, you know. There is no entry charge to the Lakeside Forest Wilderness Area.
The entrance to the Lakeside Forest Wilderness area is 100 yards south of 76 Highway on Fall Creek Road. If you are looking for Mother Nature's version of a stair-stepper workout you can find it there.
For those interested in just a "walk in the woods", there is 1.3 mile ridgetop trail described as "moderately easy". If you are game for a more difficult workout, you can find that on the 2.0 mile roundtrip hike (it seems MUCH longer) that descends a bluff overlooking Lake Taneycomo and then proceeds along a narrow ridge to several caves halfway down the bluff. That's the trail we chose.
After a pleasant, level walk of several hundred yards through a typical Ozark forest, the trail suddenly begins a sharper descent toward Lake Taneycomo. Then the bottom falls out and hikers are confronted with a 315 step staircase hewn into the side of the mountain. A plaque with the heading "THE FOLLOWING WORDS ETCHED IN STONE, AUGUST 10, 1938" is mounted there beside the trail. It reads:
"LET THOSE WHO TREAD HERE NOT THINK THAT THESE STEPS WERE MADE NOT OF MORTAR ALONE BUT OF SWEAT AND BLOOD AND AGONY."
BEGAN AUGUST 5, 1937 - FINISHED AUGUST 10, 1938
Seems like there is one to many "NOT's" in there, but what the builders lacked in grammar, they made up for in the sheer determination it took to complete the stunning rock staircase that descends from breathtaking beauty to a (literally) breathtaking climb. By the time you reach the top again, you will have just a taste of the sweat (a lot), blood (a little, thanks to a stray strand of barbed wire), and the agony (tempered by the ecstasy of the scenic beauty) that the builders spoke of.
Joe, Terry and I made the descent while my wife, with three knee surgeries in her not-too-distant past, walked the level ridgetop trail and then waited for us at a picnic table with her trusty Kindle.
By the time we returned from our 90 minute excursion with a climb of 315 steps (each way) behind us, I was drenched in sweat. Maybe that's why the insects chose to attack Joe instead of me. Walking in front, Joe suddenly began waving his arms above his head. "I think the mossies (mosquitoes) are getting me!" he said. Must run in the family. Joe is my wife's cousin and mosquitoes consistently choose her blood over mine when they are hungry.
Personally, I don't think they were "mossies". I think they were an annoying, but harmless, breed of insect known in the Ozarks as "DPG's" (dog pecker gnats).
Monday, October 22, 2012
Choosing a Chariot to Carry You Home
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| Gary Presley and son Eric, front and center (better known as Herkimer and Cecil)
As I type these words I am sitting on a hotel balcony in Branson, Mo., courtesy of Joe and Terry, my globetrotting, timeshare-owning Australian kin. The setting sun is coloring two thin rows of clouds a brilliant pink as it dips below the treeline in the west. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Pink sky at night? Don't know about that sailor, but there are definitely no complaints from me as the sun disappears on this almost achingly beautiful fall day.
As I walked around the parking lot earlier today it seems every State and Canada has sent a delegation to Branson this weekend. And that's not counting our car which could and should sport an "AUSSIES ON BOARD" bumper sticker. Three cars from Ontario joined cars from New Hampshire, Virginia, Florida, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Texas, Illinois, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Tennessee, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Indiana, Louisiana, Michigan, Ohio and Kansas. A car from Arizona bore a license plate that said "FORMER POW". If John McCain is missing I think I may know where he is. Heck, there was even a sprinkling of cars with Missouri plates on the lot.
On Friday night we introduced Joe & Terry to Branson's own Herkimer and Cecil at Presley's Country Jubilee. Paul Harvey referred to the Presley's as "Founders of Branson's entertainment phenomenon." Gary Presley graduated from Springfield's Hillcrest High School a year ahead of me. His wife Patty was my age and had the misfortune to sit in front of me in algebra.
A crowd of predominantly senior citizens packed Presley's Theater on Friday. Bumper-to-bumper traffic filled the streets in all directions as we navigated the short distance from our hotel to the theater. Once inside I purchased some glazed almonds and pecans for Joe & Terry to sample and we headed to our seats. They had traveled 9500 miles to see the show. I figured the least I could do was spring for some nuts. As we waited, busloads of senior citizens from as far away as the east coast filed in and filled the seats in front of us. One of the first songs the Presley's performed Saturday evening was "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot (comin' for to carry me home)." Later, as Gary played "Wipe Out" on his electric guitar, an old guy on the third row had a medical emergency and was taken from the theater. As he left I wondered if the chariot really HAD come for him.
After the show I introduced cousins Joe and Terry to Gary Presley. In 1967, my Dad sold Gary a Volkswagon to drive back and forth from his day job in Springfield to his night job entertaining ever-growing crowds in the then-brand new Presley Theater on Highway 76, the first theater on what is now "the Branson Strip". Whenever I see Gary he always asks about my dad and mentions the VW he purchased brand new from him for a whopping $2000 in 1967. This time a big smile came to his face as he mentioned that VW. "I just bought another red 1967 VW just like your dad sold me!" he said.
Good for him!
That "other chariot" will get here soon enough for the Classes of '65 and '66. 
1967 VW Beetle
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Sunday, October 14, 2012
A Bit of Heaven Beneath a Sport Bra
A warm October wind scattered leaves across the Hy-Vee parking lot as I walked briskly in search of caffeine this morning. I slowed as I neared the automatic doors to let a twenty-something female enter ahead of me. I was immediately reminded what an amazing material spandex is as I followed her through the door and into the line at Starbucks.
As I glanced over her shoulder to see what type of coffee was brewing, I made an intriguing discovery. (Note: I am a firm believer that Yogi Berra was right when he said “You can observe a lot just by watching.“) Tattooed between her shoulders was "Proverbs 2?: 5-6. It wasn't actually 2?. Part of the tattoo was obscured by the “X” of her sport bra strap. As I waited for the first person first in line to finish her very detailed instructions of exactly what she wanted in her “skinny latte”, two questions crossed my mind:
1. Isn’t “skinny latte” an oxymoron? and
2. I wonder what scripture was important enough for this woman to have it tattooed on her back?
Finally my curiosity got the better of me. “Excuse me, I was just wondering what verse in Proverbs you have tattooed on your back.” Smiling, she moved her bra strap to one side so I could see: Proverbs 27: 5-6.
“Faithful are the wounds of a friend. Bitter are the kisses of an enemy” she quoted. An unusual but insightful tattoo choice. I was hoping she might share the story that motivated her to have it tattooed on her back-side, but just then she got her order. With a beverage in each hand she turned, smiled, and left the building.
I am a fan of the book of Proverbs. Even more so now. Divided into 31 chapters, it’s possible to easily glean some nuggets of wisdom by reading one chapter each morning while drinking a skinny latte or whatever else kick starts your brain.
Some of my favorite verses from the book of Proverbs are:
26:17 - Getting involved in an argument that is none of your business is like going down the street and grabbing a dog by the ears.
26:20 - Without wood, a fire goes out; without gossip, quarreling stops.
4:23 - Be careful how you think. Your life is shaped by your thoughts.
11:25 - Be generous and you will be prosperous. Help others and you will be helped.
But if I was going to choose one verse to have tattooed on my backside, it would be Proverbs 14:4:
“An empty stable stays clean, but much increase comes by the strength of an ox.” (Loose interpretation according to me: You can accomplish more if you are willing to deal with a lot of BS. Or OS.) I have found that bit of wisdom especially pertinent in my life.
Proverbs 4:7 in the Good News Bible says “Getting wisdom is the most important thing you can do.”
Even if it’s partially concealed under a bra strap.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Boldly Going (and eating) Where No Man Has Gone Before
Neil Armstrong, first man to walk on the moon, died on August 25, 2012. Mr. Armstrong, who was known as "a test pilot's test pilot", took the ride of his life as Commander of Apollo 11 which touched down on the moon on July 20, 1969. I remember where I was. Do you?
As the nation mourned the loss of this hero, a man who had cheated death many times, his family made the following statement:
"For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink."
Will do.
Felix Baumgartner
Another daredevil, Felix Baumgartner, was thwarted by high winds on Tuesday in his attempt to take "one small step for a man, one humongous leap for the same man." Felix had planned to be lifted 120,000 feet above New Mexico by a helium balloon and then jump out of it. On October 14, 1947 Chuck Yeager became the first person to break the sound barrier. He was in an experimental Bell X-1 aircraft at the time. Mr. Baumgartner’s plan is to also break the speed of sound, just without a plane. Medical experts say one risk of Felix's jump is the potential for ebullism. If this happens, Mr. Baumgartner's blood will first turn to gas and then begin to boil. If that unfortunate event should occur, perhaps his family will request that "the next time you boil water, think of Felix and give him a wink."
In the area of risky behavior, Edward Archbold was known as "a bit of a show-off", "the life of the party", and "up for anything." Perhaps that's why he decided to compete in a Florida cockroach eating contest last Friday. I believe that would fall under the "up for anything" category. The good news is that Edward won. The bad news is that he died shortly after. Police are investigating whether it was the cockroaches that got him or the superworm eating contest in which he competed BEFORE the cockroach eating contest that got him. Babe Ruth was once rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain after he consumed 8 hot dogs and an apple between innings of a game. "I think it was the apple that did it" Babe said later.
An attorney for Ben Siegel Reptiles, the business that sponsored the contest, issued the following statement: "The consumption of insects is widely accepted throughout the world, and the insects presented as part of the contest were taken from an inventory of insects that are safely and domestically raised . . ." Ben Siegel Reptile's Facebook page offered the following condolence: "All of here at Ben Seigel Reptiles are sad that we will not get to know Eddie better, for in the short time we knew him, he was very well liked by all." I think it would have been a nice touch if they had added "The next time you eat a cockroach (or superworm), think of Eddie and give him a wink." Personally, it seems ironic to me that Eddie possibly became worm food by eating worms for food.
You'd never do anything foolish like eat a cockroach, you say? Even a “domestically raised cockroach? Yeah, me too, But that was before my wife called my attention to a news report that Stir Fry 88, a place we have occasionally dined, and Famous Cajun Grill (been there, too), both in the Columbia Mall food court, were just shut down. Mexico, Mo. resident Summer Harding complained to the Columbia Health Dept that her daughter found a cockroach in the Strawberry Chicken she ordered from Stir Fry 88. Mistakes happen. She obviously received Cashew Cockroach instead of Strawberry Chicken.
Which sounds like a dish Eddie Archbold would have loved.
The Late Eddie Archbold Wearing a
strangely prophetic t-shirt.
As the nation mourned the loss of this hero, a man who had cheated death many times, his family made the following statement:
"For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink."
Will do.
Felix Baumgartner
In the area of risky behavior, Edward Archbold was known as "a bit of a show-off", "the life of the party", and "up for anything." Perhaps that's why he decided to compete in a Florida cockroach eating contest last Friday. I believe that would fall under the "up for anything" category. The good news is that Edward won. The bad news is that he died shortly after. Police are investigating whether it was the cockroaches that got him or the superworm eating contest in which he competed BEFORE the cockroach eating contest that got him. Babe Ruth was once rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain after he consumed 8 hot dogs and an apple between innings of a game. "I think it was the apple that did it" Babe said later.
An attorney for Ben Siegel Reptiles, the business that sponsored the contest, issued the following statement: "The consumption of insects is widely accepted throughout the world, and the insects presented as part of the contest were taken from an inventory of insects that are safely and domestically raised . . ." Ben Siegel Reptile's Facebook page offered the following condolence: "All of here at Ben Seigel Reptiles are sad that we will not get to know Eddie better, for in the short time we knew him, he was very well liked by all." I think it would have been a nice touch if they had added "The next time you eat a cockroach (or superworm), think of Eddie and give him a wink." Personally, it seems ironic to me that Eddie possibly became worm food by eating worms for food.
You'd never do anything foolish like eat a cockroach, you say? Even a “domestically raised cockroach? Yeah, me too, But that was before my wife called my attention to a news report that Stir Fry 88, a place we have occasionally dined, and Famous Cajun Grill (been there, too), both in the Columbia Mall food court, were just shut down. Mexico, Mo. resident Summer Harding complained to the Columbia Health Dept that her daughter found a cockroach in the Strawberry Chicken she ordered from Stir Fry 88. Mistakes happen. She obviously received Cashew Cockroach instead of Strawberry Chicken.
Which sounds like a dish Eddie Archbold would have loved.
The Late Eddie Archbold Wearing a
strangely prophetic t-shirt.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Winter Storm Names - Khan You Dig it?
The Weather Channel has announced a plan to give parity to winter storms by naming them just like the National Weather Service does for hurricanes and tropical storms. They have chosen to name the storms mainly after mythic Greek gods, though if we make it to "K" (God forbid!), the name selected is Khan, as in Genghis Khan. Mr. Khan was a Mongolian conqueror and emperor of the Mongol empire. It is estimated that 16 million men throughout Asia carry a Y-chromosome indicating they are descended from him. When Mr. Khan wasn't fighting, it seems he spent most of his leisure time doing the horizontal mambo.
Well, I have a suggestion. Instead of mythical characters, why not name the storms after all-too-real winter medical conditions? I will forever associate our 2011 Groundhog Day blizzard with the bronchitis I got as a souvenir from the 20-inch snowfall I spent hours trying to remove from our driveway.
Here is The Weather Channel list of names followed by my suggestions:
A - Athena - Greek goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, justice, math and all things wonderful.
B - Brutus - Roman Senator and assassin of Julius Caesar
C - Caesar
D - Draco (Athenian legislator)
E - Euclid - Greek mathematician, father of geometry
F - Freyr - Norse god associated with fair weather
G - Gandolf - character in a 1896 fantasy novel
H - Helen (Helen of Troy, daughter of Zeus)
I - Iago (Enemy of Othello in Shakespearean play)
J - Jove (English name for Jupiter, Roman god of light and sky)
K - Khan (Mongolian conqueror who originated phrase “Who’s your daddy?”)
L - Luna (divine embodiment of the moon in Roman mythology)
M - Magnus - European name for Charlemagne the Great, Carolus Magnus
N - Nemo (means “nobody” in Latin; means big bucks in animated movies about an abducted fish)
O - Orko, thunder god in Basque mythology
P - Plato, Greek philosopher and mathematician
Q - Q, as in the Broadway Express subway line in New York City
R - Rocky, a single mountain in the Rockies.
S - Saturn, Roman god of time and namesake of planet Saturn
T - Triton, messenger of the deep sea, son of Poseidon
U - Ukko - Finnish god of the sky and weather
V - Virgil, Ancient Roman poet
W - Walda, German name meaning “ruler”
X - Xerxes - 4th king of the Persian Achaemenid Empire, Xerxes the Great
Y - Yogi, people who do yoga.
Z - Zeus - Mythical Greek supreme ruler of Mount Olympus
Note - Four of these names are found on the menu at Arris Pizza.
Now for my suggestions - not quite as high-falutin’, but I don’t think anyone will need an explanation, like they might with Ukko and Walda. All are associated with winter ailments and much more identifiable to the average person than Freyr or Euclid.
A - Achy
B - Bronchitis
C - Cough
D - Dizzy
E - Emergency Room
F - Fever
G - Guisendheidt
H - Headache
I - Infection
J - Joint pain
K - Kleenex
L - Laryngitis
M - Mucous
N - Nauseous
O - Oops (usually associated with winter storm “Trots“)
P - Pneumonia
Q - Queasy
R - Rash
S - Snot
T - Trots (see “oops”)
U - Urgent Care
V - Vomit
W - Whooping cough
X - X-ray
Y - Yuck
Z - Zombie
Many thanks to my wife for her assistance with this blog. Although the temperature has not yet dipped below freezing, she has experienced 22 of the 26 items on my list just since Labor Day. Don’t worry trots, oops, vomit and rash - I’m sure she’ll get around to you before we move the clocks forward next Spring.
Maybe even before we move them back this fall.
| Genghis Khan |
Here is The Weather Channel list of names followed by my suggestions:
A - Athena - Greek goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, justice, math and all things wonderful.
B - Brutus - Roman Senator and assassin of Julius Caesar
C - Caesar
D - Draco (Athenian legislator)
E - Euclid - Greek mathematician, father of geometry
F - Freyr - Norse god associated with fair weather
G - Gandolf - character in a 1896 fantasy novel
H - Helen (Helen of Troy, daughter of Zeus)
I - Iago (Enemy of Othello in Shakespearean play)
J - Jove (English name for Jupiter, Roman god of light and sky)
K - Khan (Mongolian conqueror who originated phrase “Who’s your daddy?”)
L - Luna (divine embodiment of the moon in Roman mythology)
M - Magnus - European name for Charlemagne the Great, Carolus Magnus
N - Nemo (means “nobody” in Latin; means big bucks in animated movies about an abducted fish)
O - Orko, thunder god in Basque mythology
P - Plato, Greek philosopher and mathematician
Q - Q, as in the Broadway Express subway line in New York City
R - Rocky, a single mountain in the Rockies.
S - Saturn, Roman god of time and namesake of planet Saturn
T - Triton, messenger of the deep sea, son of Poseidon
U - Ukko - Finnish god of the sky and weather
V - Virgil, Ancient Roman poet
W - Walda, German name meaning “ruler”
X - Xerxes - 4th king of the Persian Achaemenid Empire, Xerxes the Great
Y - Yogi, people who do yoga.
Z - Zeus - Mythical Greek supreme ruler of Mount Olympus
Note - Four of these names are found on the menu at Arris Pizza.
Now for my suggestions - not quite as high-falutin’, but I don’t think anyone will need an explanation, like they might with Ukko and Walda. All are associated with winter ailments and much more identifiable to the average person than Freyr or Euclid.
A - Achy
B - Bronchitis
C - Cough
D - Dizzy
E - Emergency Room
F - Fever
G - Guisendheidt
H - Headache
I - Infection
J - Joint pain
K - Kleenex
L - Laryngitis
M - Mucous
N - Nauseous
O - Oops (usually associated with winter storm “Trots“)
P - Pneumonia
Q - Queasy
R - Rash
S - Snot
T - Trots (see “oops”)
U - Urgent Care
V - Vomit
W - Whooping cough
X - X-ray
Y - Yuck
Z - Zombie
Many thanks to my wife for her assistance with this blog. Although the temperature has not yet dipped below freezing, she has experienced 22 of the 26 items on my list just since Labor Day. Don’t worry trots, oops, vomit and rash - I’m sure she’ll get around to you before we move the clocks forward next Spring.
Maybe even before we move them back this fall.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Current Forck Farm Report: Bone Dry and Broke Down
Could be.
Shortly before 1 pm on Tuesday I picked up my grandson and we headed for the bottom land near Cole Junction where the Forck farm is located. When we arrived, giant pieces of machinery were parked around a grain bin and a tractor shed but not a soul was to be found. My grandson and I entertained ourselves observing the machinery as I showed him the corn that had already been harvested and the soybeans still awaiting harvest.
Finally, I gave PeeWee a call. The news was not good. No combine ride was on the docket because they were "broke down". Before long PeeWee's son, Kelly, arrived with a welder, an acetylene torch, and the largest wrench I've ever seen. Wasting no time, the welder fired up his torch and Kelly stood by with a giant wrench. After watching for awhile, I decided Gavin and I had best let Kelly and the welder work undisturbed so we left. It's been a rough year for farmers, what with drought and breakdown. A ride in the combine could wait for another day. After all, Gavin is only 4. A career decision can wait a few more days. We went to the next important item on our to-do list: get an ice cream cone.
And then to the third: make a jack-o-lantern.
Thanks for the offer, PeeWee. We will take a rain check on the combine ride. Farming is a tough business. John F. Kennedy once said “The farmer is the only man in our economy who buys everything at retail, sells everything at wholesale, and pays the freight both ways." My own personal experience is that farmers, not necessarily by choice, must have a strong work ethic. Edgar Watson Howe noted that "Even if a farmer intends to loaf, he gets up in time to get an early start." And Bill Bryson once said "There are only three things that can kill a farmer: lightning, rolling over in a tractor, and old age." That list may seem abbreviated until you consider that, what with all the challenges associated with farming, farmers sometimes get old at a pretty early age.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Trains and Planes and Automobile Haulers
It was picture day at Dandelions preschool where my four-year-old grandson attends. I had the honor of accompanying him for his individual and class photo. Arriving early, I was treated to a tour of his classroom and playground and introduced to his teacher, Miss Brittany. I also got to attend story time, where I joined Gavin's energetic classmates in a semi-circle on the floor in front of Miss Brittany.
"You can sit on a chair if you prefer" said Miss Brittany. I could tell she had her doubts I could ever get back up once I was seated on the floor. No problem there. I joined the wiggling mass on the floor.
The book of the day was Tough Chicks. Sounds like a gang book but never fear - it took place in an agricultural setting. It starred three baby chicks who got in trouble with the farmer for their mischievousness, but redeemed themselves by steering an out-of-control tractor away from the hen house and harmlessly into a mud hole. Been there, done that.
After the pictures, Gavin and I were free to write our own adventure story for the day. I'll call it Grandpa and Gavin's Excellent Adventure. First stop: Rotary International's Centennial Park on the site of what was once a bridge over the Missouri River - an excellent place for train watchers like my grandson.
"You can sit on a chair if you prefer" said Miss Brittany. I could tell she had her doubts I could ever get back up once I was seated on the floor. No problem there. I joined the wiggling mass on the floor.
The book of the day was Tough Chicks. Sounds like a gang book but never fear - it took place in an agricultural setting. It starred three baby chicks who got in trouble with the farmer for their mischievousness, but redeemed themselves by steering an out-of-control tractor away from the hen house and harmlessly into a mud hole. Been there, done that.
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| Pre-class picture Dandelion Students |
Centennial Park and Mo River Bridge Remnants
Trainwatchers Paradise
Then it was off to the Noren Access on the north side of the Missouri River where a keelboat or two of Lewis & Clark reenactors were due to arrive and camp for a day or two. Although the camp had been set up and the advance team was waiting, the keelboats were still enroute from Boonville. Up the ramp to the pedestrian bridge we went for a great view of the Capitol and the drought-diminished Missouri River.
After building up an appetite climbing the ramps to the bridge, Gavin and I headed to Nick's Family Restaurant at the airport for lunch and some plane-spotting. As we dined on fried chicken we watched a few small planes arrive and depart. Later we walked around the airport parking lot, eyes peeled for aircraft descending. Not much aerial activity, but we did stumble onto something you don't see every day featuring another form of commercial transportation. The driver of an 18-wheel car hauler had parked and was preparing to load 8 vehicles onto his trailer. As we watched from a nearby curb, trailer ramps were adjusted, cars were carefully steered to the four spots aloft and securely fastened, and the top level was ready for transport. Before loading the lower level the driver sent his assistant over to talk to us.
"Would your little boy like to honk the horn on the truck?" That was a big 10-4. Up a couple of large steps on the side of the truck to the driver's seat Gavin climbed.
"Pull that lever" the driver instructed. Gavin followed the instructions and a loud burst of sound from the airhorn followed. After one more honk for good measure, Gavin and I retreated to the curb and watched the driver load four cars on the lower level before we buckled up and headed out, waving to the driver as we left.
"Grandpa" said Gavin. "Do you know what I want to do when I grow up."
"No, what?" I asked.
"I want to drive one of those big trucks that hauls cars" he said.
No need for his mom and dad to thank me.
Helping grandson's with career choices is just one of the many things grandpa's do.
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