My Home Town

My home town, South Pekin, population maybe 1050, or so. Right in the heart of Illinois. Although I was not born here, I still call it my home town because I grew up here.
I was born in a farm house, a few miles from a wide spot in the road called Gladden Missouri.
My father was a Saw miller, and my mother was a house wife, and mother to,(eventually) seven children, me being the oldest, and the only boy. That's all she ever was, and that's all she ever wanted to be. She was very happy in this role. It was her divine calling, and she did it very well.
At the end of WW-2, My father bought a sawmill outside of the small town of Maeystown, in southern Illinois. The sawmill burned to the ground in 1948, and we moved here. I was in the second grade.
It was a great little town to grow up in, and still is I think. There has been some change, but not a great deal. The population is about the same as it was in 1948, although two new additions have been built at both ends of the town. There are a lot of new houses in my part of town, since a tornado came through here in 2003. There have been eight tornadoes through here in the last 15yrs. In 1938, a tornado wiped out the whole town.
The big news in town right now is, we are getting a new water tower. That's a pretty big deal for us small town folk. We would like to have a new Library Building too, but I guess we don't have enough money for both, they have been here since the 1938 tornado. The Library building is a cement block building, that also houses the Police Station.
In the very beginning the Chicago & Northwestern Railroad built a huge Round House, and switching yards here, and the town just grew up around it. These were the days of the great Steam Locomotives,
and in those days everybody that lived here worked for the railroad. Almost all the houses were made from old box cars, one of which I lived in until I was 17, and joined the Navy. It wasn't much, but my Mom kept it clean,(with a little help from my sisters). There was a lot of love in that little home, and most of the time we didn't know how poor we really were. I could write a whole blog just about growing up in that house, which I may do later.
Eventually, three of my sisters married railroad men, one a Conductor, an Engineer, and a Yard Master. Only the Conductor still lives today.
In the summer we played baseball almost everyday. We would choose up sides, and sometimes we didn't have enough players to man up both sides of the field, so if you were right handed, you would be out if you hit the ball to right field, and vice versa. We would play for hours, and on the way home, hot and sweaty, we would stop at the Gas Station, that is if we had at least 11 cents, we could get a handful of peanuts for a penny, and a 12oz bottle of Hires Root Beer for a dime. We would drop the peanuts into the Root Beer, and eat the peanuts as we drank the root beer.
There were no video games, no cell phones. When we finally got a telephone, we were on a 4 party line. Only two families on the block had a television, so I had to go down the street to my best friends house to watch it, and that was only on Friday & Saturday night.

Those were the best of times, as I remember it. Of course they weren't all good. I remember the Summer of 1952, I was terribly afraid that I would come down with Polio. Of course I never did, and I am thankful even today for that. We had 4 or 5 cases here in town between 1949 and 1952.

There are still a few friend here in town that I grew up with, including my loving wife.

Wisdom

 
 Does not wisdom call? Does not understanding raise her voice?
On the heights beside the way, at the crossroads she takes her stand; 
 beside the gates in front of the town, at the entrance of the portals she cries aloud:
 “To you, O men, I call, and my cry is to the children of man.
 O simple ones, learn prudence; O fools, learn sense.
 Hear, for I will speak noble things, and from my lips will come what is right,
 for my mouth will utter truth; wickedness is an abomination to my lips.
 All the words of my mouth are righteous; there is nothing twisted or crooked in them.
 They are all straight to him who understands, and right to those who find knowledge.
 Take my instruction instead of silver, and knowledge rather than choice gold,
 for wisdom is better than jewels, and all that you may desire cannot compare with her.

                                                                                                    Proverbs 8:1-11

As Old As You Feel

On July 11 of this year, I had my 70th birthday, and one thing I noticed is that there are very few if any other seventy year olds blogging here on Blogger, or anywhere else for that matter. Therefore I might be considered by some, to be a little peculiar. Some of my friends who are my age, may be saying,(Behind my back of course) "Larry should get off that computer and get a life", but as far as I'm concerned, I do have a life. I enjoy my computer, and I love the friends I have made here.
I really didn't think I would live this long considering the fact that my parents died very young with heart related problems. My father at 59, my mother at 47. Angioplasty saved my life, which did not exist a generation ago, and the word cholesterol was unheard of.
My daughter-in-law called me on my birthday, and asked if I felt any older, I said, "Not any older than I did yesterday I suppose, but I think there is the psycological effect of moving from your sixties to your seventies, as there always is when you move from one decade to the next".
My wife,(Bless her heart), who is two years younger than me, still gets embarrassed when I park in a space marked as senior citizens only, probably because she walks two miles everyday, but it doesn't bother me at all. She doesn't seem to mind though when we take our discount at the Chinese Buffet.
I've always been against putting my picture, or anyone from my family on this blog, but I thought maybe some of you might want to know what we look like,(Or maybe not). Anyway here we are, just two ordinary folks.

A Creative Trinity

A Creative Trinity

Creation

Someone once told me that the most comforting premise of the Christian world view was, for her, the assurance of a beginning. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth..." These very first words of Scripture boldly proclaim that we are not lost and wandering in a cosmic circle of time and chance, isolated from any meaning beyond fame, wealth, or consumption. There is one who stood at the foundation of the world, who with wisdom, majesty, and purpose, caused life and history to begin.

(JILL CARATTINI)

http://ls.egen.net/MessageView.aspx?sid=168026495&cid=167772560&textonly=0

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

Assisted Suicide

Washington state has first death under new suicide law

A 66-year-old woman from Sequim is the first person to die under the state's new assisted-suicide law.

                 http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2009251386_websuicide22m.html

The Loss Of Common Courtesy

This is a photo of a sign taped to the counter top, just to the left of the cash register, at the Pharmacy where I get all my prescriptions filled. 

The fact that they need this sign here makes me wonder about some people and there cell phones. I think that they wake up in the morning, put the headset on like a piece of clothing, and start talking through breakfast, and on through the day. There is another group that just loves to hear their new ring tone, and they will answer it, no matter where they are. In the restroom, in a restaurant, or during a transaction at the Pharmacy, the grocery store, or any other business.

There is another group who are always texting,(mostly younger folks), while walking down the street, waiting in the doctor's office, or sitting in a restaurant eating. Last week, I even saw a young man texting with his right thumb, while standing at a urinal in a public men's room.

I know there is more to this HIPPA or HIPAA rule than just the rudeness of using your cell phone while picking up your drugs, but the fact that they can't stop talking, or texting, for the five minutes it takes to make the transaction, is the reason they have to post the sign. 

Maybe some people should just have a cell phone implanted in their brain. Who knows, that just may be the next status symbol.

Here is a link that may shed some light on this HIPPA, (HIPAA) rule.

http://www.hipaacompliance101.com/hipaa-rules.htm

Where Has All The Farmland Gone

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful corn field, right in the middle of Illinois, with a road running right beside it, and everyday automobiles, and trucks would drive right past it, but nobody paid any attention to this beautiful corn field, except the farmer who planted it every year, and once the corn came up, even he was not seen until Autumn harvest. Year after year this cycle would continue, planting, harvest, planting, harvest.
Then one Spring the farmer didn't come to plow the field, so it just sat there, and pretty soon weeds began to come up in the field, and still passersby paid no attention, but sometime in late Spring, on a bright sunny Monday morning, all eyes were on the field, for right in the middle there were bulldozers, earth movers, and dump trucks. Right away they began to dig a huge oval shaped hole in the middle of the field. Then they began to lay out streets all around the hole, and run large drainage pipes from the streets into it. They then built large expensive homes all around the hole. Then the rains came, and the hole filled up with water, and became a lake. At the entrance they put up a real fancy sign that says, "Lake Meadows Estates"
Now, as I pass by, I always look at the "Lake", sometimes it's low, sometimes it's high, depending on the weather. Now the ducks and geese have taken to hanging out at the lake, and some stay all Winter. I often see the geese walking around on the ice, and I'm thinking, "Why doesn't somebody go down there and break the ice for those geese", but then I think, "You stupid geese, you should be in southern Mississippi, or The Yucatan with the rest of your buddies that went south", but there they are, them and the ducks. Then yesterday as I passed by I saw two ducks swimming together, and I could swear they were talking, one said, "It's a beautiful day isn't it", the other one said, "Yes it is, but aren't you a little afraid"? "Of what"? "Of people, look at all these houses around here". "Oh they can't come down here". "Why not"? "You see those signs that go all the way around the lake"? "Yeah", "Those signs say, Keep Out" "KEEP OUT, then how come we're in here"? "Cause we can't read". "Oh".

Viet Nam (The Final Chapter)

Viet Nam (The Final Chapter)

 

It was early February 1968, and my tour was almost over. I already had my orders in hand, directing me to report to the USS Tidewater AD31, out of Norfolk Virginia. She was a Destroyer Tender, almost like shore duty, (Almost).   I still had to go back to Saigon to check out, and we were headed upriver, three or four days from the mouth of the river when we found that we, (two of us were leaving) could get a flight out of Vinh Long, one of the stops that we always made.   It was evening by the time we finished unloading the cargo, and at dusk there was a kind of an eerie hush that seemed to hang over the whole area, so we all decided not to go into town. Our plane was leaving very early the next morning anyway, so we spent that evening getting our stuff packed, and ready to go.
  It was just getting daylight the next morning when we climbed aboard the cargo plane, and buckled ourselves into two of the few seats along the two bulkheads.
  To my surprise there were many Vietnamese climbing aboard, men, women, and children. When the seats were all full, the rest, mostly women and children, seated themselves on and amongst our luggage, and the other cargo bags that were strapped down just forward of the cargo ramp, (door, which was never closed until the plane was in level flight), and as the plane ascended, those seated on the bags had to hang on for dear life to keep from sliding out the back door. I was really afraid for them, but miraculously we never lost anyone.
  At Saigon, we caught a bus that took us down to the Annapolis Hotel, the same place as when we first arrived, (It had not changed much in a year).
   That night, as soon as it was dark the whole city, it seemed, had turned into a ghost town. The usual sounds of a thriving city were gone, and we all knew something was up, and just a few minutes later we began to hear automatic weapons, and the occasional explosion. Some of us ran over to the front windows to see what was happening. The night sky was all lit up by flares going off, and tracers flying everywhere it seemed.
  I heard someone yell, “Get away from the windows, you idiots, do you want to get shot?” All of a sudden I was glad that I had a bottom bunk, ( which I crawled under) and that, there were Army MP’s guarding the building.
  After about 15min I got off the deck, and got into my bunk, but I did not sleep. It hardly let up the whole night, but just before dawn, it stopped completely. When the sun came up the city went back to normal, just like nothing had happened, but from then on, everywhere we went, we had an armed escort, even to the Chow Hall.
   That morning we started checking out. We went to the hospital first, and nothing seemed to be amiss as we had a quick physical, and received our Medical Records, but that afternoon we were escorted over to the personnel office where there was a hole blown in the wall, big enough to drive a jeep through, and the electricity was off, but the generators were running, and the typewriters were running pretty steady. (No computers in those days).
   The next night, it was the same thing all over again, only closer this time, and more intense, and again I got little or no sleep.
    In the morning we had some other places to check out of, but I don’t remember what they were. I did find out though that my original flight had been cancelled, and I was beginning to think that I might have to stay here until this thing was over. Thing being the Tet Offensive. Later known as the “1968 Tet Offensive”.
I was originally scheduled  to fly out of Bien Hoa because I was being reassigned to the East Coast, while those going to the West Coast, were flying out of Ton Son Nhut. Don’t ask me why. (Military Stuff)
   Due to fighting along the road to Bien Hoa, it was closed to ordinary traffic, so we stayed one more night at the Annapolis Hotel, only this time we heard the MP’s yelling, and there was lots of automatic weapons fire, including the .50 caliber  mounted behind sand bags at the corner of the building. Again, no sleep.
   The next morning a bus with armed guards took us up to Ton Son Nhut, where we were to fly out on the last Civilian Airlines flight out of Viet Nam.
   When I took my Sea Bag and set it on the scales, the man said, “you have too much weight, you will have to get rid of something”, so I grabbed my Sea Bag, and ran outside to the nearest fence, and started throwing stuff over the fence, like two pair of brand new Tropical Combat Boots, and other things I can’t remember. I just wanted to get away from this place as quick as possible.
   On the other side of the fence there were three white uniformed Viet Nam police catching the stuff I was throwing over the fence. I think maybe one piece actually hit the ground. When I got back inside, I took my Sea Bag over to check in, and the man said, “I’m sorry sir, but while you were gone, you were bumped off the flight by a man going home on emergency leave. You will have to wait for the next available military flight, which I believe will leave sometime tomorrow morning. I’m sorry you had to throw all that stuff away. Military flights don’t care how much weight you have.” I said, “Thanks, thanks a lot.”
   That night I slept on the floor, with my Sea Bag as a pillow. It was the best nights sleep I had in a week.
   Somewhere around 0800 the next morning I boarded a big gray Air Force C-141, a jet aircraft, at least twice the size of a civilian 707.
   The seats were regular airline seats bolted on to the deck. 32 seats, all on the starboard side, and all occupied.
    The cargo stacked to our left was tied down and  covered with opaque plastic. As we were about to take off, the captain announced, “Today we are leaving Viet Nam with 32 live bodies, and 33 Killed In Action! May They Rest In Peace!”

Easter

  The Easter bunny, Easter eggs, and Easter baskets lack religious associations but are popular symbols of Easter. The Easter bunny made its first appearance in Germany and came to the United States with the Pennsylvania Dutch in the 1700s. Eggs, a common symbol of fertility, are associated with many spring festivals. The basket provides a nest for decorated eggs and for candies and other items given as gifts at Easter.                                                             

This painting by 15th-century Italian painter Piero della Francesca portrays Jesus Christ rising from the grave three days after his crucifixion. On Easter Sunday, Christians celebrate the miracle of the resurrection of Christ and his victory over death. Piero’s The Resurrection of Christ (1463) is in the Museo Civico in Borgo San Sepolcro, Italy.

                                         A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

I read where the Orthodox Christians used to gather in the church the Saturday before Easter to tell jokes. This was to celebrate the great joke God pulled on Satan by resurrecting Jesus. I was shocked at first by the whole idea. It seemed a little silly to me, strange, and maybe even irreverent.

  Some time later I read where the great TV comedian Steve Allen had made an observation about humer that pretty much stuck in my mind, and convinced me that maybe the Orthodox practice wasn't such a bad idea after all. Allen had thought long and hard about the structure of humor, and he observed that humor is "L-shaped".

In other words, what seems to be traveling on an expected path suddenly veers in a different, unanticipated direction. That veering, that "L" turn, is where surprise occurs and laughter begins. In this sense, humor comes as a "bolt from the blue". 

   Christ's death took an L-shaped turn that no one on earth anticipated. His resurrection was the bolt from the blue--the greatest unexpected event in history. If it were not so serious, it would be hilarious. Maybe it is both!

Mortars At Nha Be

Chapter 9 (Larry's Viet Nam Saga)

The very next trip, we were headed upriver toward Saigon when we had a malfunction in one of the main diesel engines. We were only a few short miles from Nha Be, a Naval Support Activity Base, about 5 to 10 miles downriver from Saigon. So we limped on up to Nha Be on one screw, and anchored there, about 75 meters off the PBR piers.
One of the sailors from the Seal Support Team, brought a small fiberglass boat out to pick up the 1st Class Engineman and take him ashore to order the parts we needed to fix the engine, but he also had orders to take the Craft Master ashore, to meet with the Commanding Officer. We all looked at each other and nobody said anything, but I was thinking, “Hmmm, that’s interesting”. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one, considering what had happened on the last trip, but that afternoon the Craft Master, and the Engineman returned. The only thing that was said, was that we could keep the small fiberglass boat as long as we were anchored there.
The next morning two crew members were called over to the base, and came back just before lunch, but no one would say anything. It was pretty quiet about the decks the rest of that day.
Later that evening, I broke out my bottle of Jack Daniels, walked out on deck, and sat down on the forward hold cover, and began to sip on that good old sour mash.
A little while later I was joined by three or four other crew members who were all drinking beer, or something else intoxicating, and began discussing what may, or may not be going on with the Craft Master, and his meeting with the Commanding Officer. By 2200 (10pm), we were all pretty well plastered. I went below, climbed into my bunk, and fell asleep almost immediately, and slept like a baby, until about 0300 when I was jolted awake by the General Quarters Alarm. Just like I was trained to do, I jerked on my pants and boots, (without tying them), and headed up the ladder. At the top of the ladder, on the bulkhead was a bracket holding my M-60 Machine Gun, which I grabbed, and ran out onto the deck. The cook who was the ammo man, was right behind me. He picked up the can of belted ammo, and we bounded up the ladder to the bow where the M-60 mount was welded to the top of the Anchor Windlass. At the same time we were well aware of mortars falling like rain (it seemed), all around the boat. I mounted the gun, and loaded it. I wanted to make sure the safety was on, but with Jack Daniels still running my brain, and with all the excitement I couldn’t remember weather up or down was the right position for safe. So I pointed the gun toward the stars and tapped the trigger. The gun fired three times, one of which was a tracer. I flipped the lever the other way, flopped face down on the deck, laced my hands together behind my head, and waited. I thought maybe I should say a prayer, but the only one I knew was the child’s prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.” So I said that one.
I noticed that all the PBR’s were getting underway, and I heard a couple helicopters fly over. I also noticed that the mortars had moved off toward the PBR piers and the base.
It turned out that the VC had “Walked” the mortars from the middle of the river all the way across the base, and then stopped. Miraculously, not one mortar had hit the boat.
The first thing the Craft master said was, “What were you trying to do, shoot down one of our helicopters?” But I was not punished in any way.
The next morning some of the guys went over to the base to look around, but I didn’t go.
There were some casualties, but as far as I can remember, no one was killed.
To this day, I cannot remember if that safety lever was supposed to be up or down.

Store Keeper's Last Voyage

Chapter 8
The next trip, we had already been upriver, and were on our way back, I was on the helm chugging downstream at a pretty good clip, moving with the tide going out, when all of a sudden I felt the boat start to slow down, like somebody had put the breaks on, and begin to rise up like we were going over a small swell at sea. I knew what it was right away, because it had happened before. We had hit a shallow spot in the river that was not there when we came upriver. Fear started to well up in my stomach as the boat was getting slower by the second, and if we stopped, we would be what you call, “Aground”, and we would be sitting ducks for the “VC” if we could not get ourselves off the mud in pretty quick order. It would not take them long to find us, and start firing rockets at us. Their favorite weapon was a B-40 Rocket, that would go through a steel bulkhead like it was not even there, and then explode inside throwing shrapnel all over the place. It was a hand held weapon that might have been called a “Bazooka” in the old days.
The blessing was, we had been moving pretty fast with the current and the tide going out, and we just slowly slid over the top of that mud bank, and chugged on down the river. I looked over at the Craft Master, and smiled, he said, “That was a close one, if you run this thing aground, I’ll shoot you right through the middle with that M-79 grenade launcher”, and I believed him.
Right away I started thinking, “Can I get to that M-79 before he does”? I had been in the Army, and had bayonet training, so if I could get to it first, I stood a chance. Of course he still had the .38 on the radio. The answer was no, he was closer to it than I was. So I decided that if we ran aground while I was on the Helm, I would go over the side, but of course I would probably be dead either way. Early that evening, after we anchored, I looked over the side, and the current was going pretty good out to sea. I had the Mid Watch, (Midnight to four in the morning), and part of my duty was to make sure we didn’t slip anchor and float out to sea.
About 1800 (6:00 o’clock), I went up to pilot house, and over on the starboard wing of the bridge, sat the Store Keeper, drinking from a bottle of whiskey, which I had never seen him do before. He was already pretty drunk, so I questioned him about the Craft Master, but he just said, “I don’t want to talk about it”, so I went down below and had a couple drinks myself, and went to bed. I had to be on watch by quarter to 12.
When I got up, I relieved the watch, took the .45 from the 8-12 watch, and strapped that on, picked up my 12ga shotgun, and went up to the 01 deck where I could walk fore & aft, and keep an eye on everything except the cargo passage ways, which I would go down and check every hour or so, at which time I would throw a concussion grenade over the side, in case there was a swimmer in the water. As far as I know there never was. The grenade would kill anything within 50ft of the boat. I used to think, “I wonder how many fish we are killing with these things”.
The next morning I was supposed to be able to sleep until 0700 because I had late watch, but about 0630, I woke to a commotion going on in the compartment where we all slept. It seems the Store Keeper had peed the bed, and had locked himself in the compartment below decks where he kept all his paper work, and would not come out. The Craft Master was calling him all kinds of foul names saying, “If you don't come out of there right now, I'm going to have your ass”, but he wouldn’t come out. The Craft master said, “When we get back to Saigon, put him and his gear on the dock. I don't ever want to see him again“. He stomped up the ladder and out of the compartment, and a short time later we got underway.
We never saw the Store Keeper again until we docked in Saigon. He came out of his hold with all his gear, and stood on the dock facing away from the boat. About 5 minutes later the truck from Naval Support Activity came and picked him up, and as far as I know, he never looked back at the boat once.

(To be continued)

MAD "MAX"

Chapter 7 (VietNam)

One thing was made clear right from the start. No crewmember below the rank of E-5, was allowed to have any alcoholic beverage before we were off loaded, and moored for the night, (except for rare occasions that I will mention later), but the higher ranking Petty Officers, could drink anytime they wanted. We lower ranking men also stood all of the watches.
There was a rule that, whoever took the last ice cube in the tray, had to refill the tray.
One evening at our first stop upriver, we had just finished offloading the cargo, and I was hot and tired, so I went to the refrigerator for ice, to make a drink. There were about ten ice trays in there, and every tray had one ice cube in it, and of course I had to refill all the ice trays, and no one else had any ice for the next couple hours or so. From then on I drank my “Jack Daniels” with plain water.

Every trip upriver, as soon as we crossed the “South China Sea” and sailed into the mouth of what I believe to be the largest tributary of the “Mekong”, the Craft Master would go back to his stateroom, bring back his fifth of “Old Crow”, and his .38 revolver, he would place both on the radio, just in front of where he sat. I never knew when he brought it into the pilot house, but he also kept an M-79 grenade launcher standing in the corner behind him. Then he would begin drinking straight from the bottle.
Once in awhile when I was on the “Helm” (Steering), he would hand me the bottle saying, “Here, have some driving medicine”. In those days I was not bashful about taking a drink, so I would take a shot, hand the bottle back, and all was “cool”, but one day as I was on lookout, and the Store Keeper was on Helm, I heard, “Here have some driving medicine”. As I looked in, I saw the Craft Master holding the bottle out to him, and the Store Keeper said “No thanks, if anything happens, I want to be sober”. This made the Craft Master very angry, he grabbed the .38, pointed it at the Store Keeper’s head, extended the bottle saying, “I said, have some driving medicine”. The Store Keeper took the bottle, turned it up, and took a big swallow, and handed it back, as a cold chill ran up my spine. As we chugged on up the river, everything returned to normal, (Almost).
It seems this was not the first time he had pointed the gun at the Store Keeper.
One night as we were tied up at the pier in Saigon, one of the other crew members coming back from liberty at about midnight, saw the Craft Master outside on the main deck, holding the gun on the Store Keeper, making him do pushups. When the crew member started down the gangway, he shoved the gun under his jacket and said, “get up and go hit your rack, (go to bed), what are you doing out here this time of night anyway”. The crew member said that he asked the Store Keeper what that was all about, but he would not say anything, he just went to bed without saying a word.
To this day, I have no idea what he had against the Store Keeper. We did talk about blowing the whistle on the Craft Master, but we figured no one would believe us, and we were sure that the Store Keeper was afraid to say anything.
I was beginning to think the Craft Master had gone mad. The very next trip I was sure of it.

(TO BE CONTINUED)