Essays & Poems

Charting my course, piloting life's waters, having fun! GB Snorkeling with the Manatee's... it's a hoot! GB

A series of occasional essays and poems:

The Dime Store

While doing some genealogical work I came across an entry for a fellow whose 1920 occupation was manager of a ten cent store. That term brought back a flood of childhood memories about the dime store that was in our neighborhood. As a kid of about ten years old I would cross Hadley Street in Whittier, California, cut through the Box Market parking lot (old man Art Box was a kindly fellow), and walk west on Whittier Blvd. to Richardson's Ten Cent Store. What a great place to shop with a few coins in your pocket! In my little guy's eyes the store was huge, filled with lots of toys, gimmicks and household goods. I could easily spend an hour in there picking out the magic trick, game or toy that I just had to have.

I of course realize that dime stores are gone just as are F. W. Woolworth's. They are from this senior citizen's childhood era.

But wait... there's a modern-day equivalent: The Dollar Store! <chuckle>

While technology changes and things move quickly nowadays, some things remain the same! Just the name changes.

Some Random Thoughts on the Day When President Gerald Ford’s Body Was Moved from Palm Springs, California, to Washington D. C.

Dear Craig and Kathy,

The pictures, video, sounds, and music spread across all channels on the television have spurred many thoughts, memories and even emotions in me today. Here are some.

The brilliant pictures of the departure ceremony in Palm Desert and the transport to the Palm Springs International Airport displayed that bright, bright desert blue sky that I love so much. The contrast of the sky with the sharp Dress Blues, gold, crimson and white of the military honor guard, the composure of Mrs. Ford at 9:00 AM in California, the line of black automobiles and the Presidential hearse, the sharp crack of the 21-gun cannon salute, Ruffles and Flourishes, the sight of the magnificent pale blue and white Presidential 747 aircraft… all colorfully, vividly etched in my memory.

Of course I thought back to August 9, 1974, when President Ford was sworn in as the 38^th President of the United States. What a momentous time for our country; those Watergate years 1972-1974 were unlike any I had ever seen in our political history. You were five and three years old then. The closest comparable event that you would remember would be the period December 1998 – February 1999 during the Clinton impeachment trial. The seriousness of the legal issues and the political drama were somehow, to me, depreciated by the events of the preceding two years while the tawdry details of the Clinton-Lewinsky affair became public. The Watergate years, though, were high legal drama with memorable characters – Charles Colson, John Ehrlichman, G. Gordon Liddy, John Dean, H. R. Haldeman, Rose Mary Woods, Leon Jaworski, Senators Howard Baker and Sam Erwin – and seemingly daily broadcasts of the Senate Judiciary Committee’s proceedings. It was heady stuff. But back to the events of August 9^th… President Ford was sworn in shortly after President Nixon boarded Marine One after resigning his office in a letter to Secretary of State Kissinger.

That day was one of spellbinding television coverage. But the overriding thoughts in my mind were “Wow, this is history. President Ford… the only one not elected to office.”

And then, just one month later even more drama… “Ford Pardons Nixon.” I honestly remember thinking at the time, unlike most others, that it was the right thing to do.

Back to recollections of today… the Military honors. It’s no secret to you that I loved my years in the military – 1961-1964 enlisted E-1 through E-3 in the Navy Reserve while in college, 1964-1970 officer O-1 through O-3 while on active duty as a Regular Navy Officer (I had augmented into the Regular Navy from the Reserves), declining early promotion to Lieutenant Commander and assignment to the Harvard Business School for MBA studies (one of two officers so selected in the Navy that year), and finally 1971 as an O-3 in the Inactive Reserve.. Those ten years were memorable and enjoyable.

Military bands, counting cadence, leading squads of men… I loved it! As a Company Commander during the sixteen-week Officer Candidate School at Newport, Rhode Island, I had to learn the Officer’s Manual of Sword. That later came in handy when I led “S” Division in Pass-In-Reviews at the Navy Auxiliary Air Station, Chase Field, Beeville, Texas. We looked pretty good! So, yes, I have an appreciative eye for the military men and women in the honor guards.

Then this evening, the 747 landed in Washington, D. C., and the Presidential party moved from Andrews AFB (a base I’ve flown out of) to the nation’s capital. Again, the 21-gun salute, Mrs. Ford’s composure, more military honors, video from the magnificent Statuary Hall in the U. S. Capital. Your mom’s and my year stationed in Washington, D. C. – our baby son – our fifth house as a family in Alexandria, Virginia. Great memories. Certainly my “Capital” memory was of smoke hanging over the city from the days-before riots of January 1969 and the federal troops standing guard on the steps of the Capital to protect it from the rioters. Whew!

One of the sounds of today that did and always does stir up emotions and memories is the sound of a chorus singing the Navy Hymn (Eternal Father Strong to Save)

Eternal Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep;

Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,

For those in peril on the sea!

Whether you’re a Naval Academy graduate or an Officer Candidate School graduate, you were required to learn the words and sing the hymn at Sunday Chapel. And then years of Naval service, chapel, funerals and formal occasions… plus the beauty of those skillfully written lyrics. I’m sure that there are few Navymen who don’t feel similarly proud and mindful when we hear that tune and those words.

Another President Ford story is one which Jinny and I remember fondly. Your mom and I had just completed an interesting week at the Annual Convention of the National Office Products Association in Chicago, Illinois. Even before the event I’m about to describe, I should tell you about a couple of other memories of that week: Jinny had one leg in a cast having broken a small bone in her foot jogging around the track the week before in California. She hobbled around quite well, though, and managed to get up to the head table at a big luncheon where I had a small part speaking to 8,000 people. I was very proud of her. But the EVENT was later when we were in a taxi leaving McCormick Place to head to O’Hare Airport. Our taxi driver was a foreign immigrant, English definitely a second language; he drove right into the middle of President Ford’s convoy (who also was in town and also heading for the airport)!!! Boy did the red and blue flashing lights erupt, the Uzi’s emerged, and for what seemed an eternity but was really 15 or 20 seconds our driver of course panicked and then pulled out of the convoy. We must have looked harmless, or the convoy was in a hurry, or this was not unusual, but we weren’t pulled over and we made it to the airport in time… with a memory that will never leave us.

Thinking about the death and burial of Presidents before Ford, here’s my timeline:

Year	President	My Age	Comment
1945	Roosevelt	2	No conscious memory
1963	Kennedy	20	Incredibly vivid memories; everyone remembers where they were when they learned of his assassination and that eventful weekend
1964	Hoover	21	No conscious memory from 1964, but wonderful memories and learning when I visited his birthplace and Presidential Library in 2006
1969	Eisenhower	26	No conscious memory of his death, but I certainly remember “I Like Ike” from his 1952 campaign
1972	Truman	29	No conscious memory – but visiting his birthplace in 2006 reminded me of his “goodness”
1973	Johnson	30	Memories of Lady Bird that day
1994	Nixon	51	Poignant memories of a conflicted man; his Library and Burial place in Yorba Linda is worth seeing
2004	Reagan	61	The visceral “punch in the stomach” when he announced that he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in 1994; the beautiful ceremonies at his death ten years later

Text Box: 100 Things to Do Before You Die
Appear on the front-page of the newspaper
R

Text Box: Boy Scout Gary Barton – 14 years old

Text Box: V/P Nixon - 1957

Well, I’ve rambled enough.

I hope that you’ve enjoyed these memories and will think about where you were, when, and about the Presidents of your life.

Love,

Dad

Dad Was In A Band!

In the forty-four years that I knew him, my father never mentioned that he had played a musical instrument or sang in a choir at any time during his lifetime. Imagine my surprise to learn otherwise while on a multi-state genealogical research expedition!

Ralph Fred Barton (1903-1987) (pictured on the left holding the mellophone) was born on November 22, 1903, on the family farm in Hume, Bates Co., Missouri. His father, Fred Barton, was a graduate of Illinois State Normal University, had been a teacher at the Huffman School in Marshall County, Illinois, and the principal of Odell High School, Odell, Livingston Co., Illinois. Fred Barton and Nancy Anna “Anna” (Huffman) Barton, had moved some 500 miles from Saratoga Twp., Marshall Co., Illinois, to Hume in 1903, and purchased 80 acres of rich, rolling farmland. Little Ralph joined the family consisting of mother, father, and ten year-old half-brother Isaac Truman Barton and thirteen year-old half-sister Stella Joy Barton (the children of Fred and his first wife Sarah Louise Creadle Rogers who died in 1898). Like his own father, Fred was a successful farmer accumulating enough capital to finance another change of careers. In 1909 he purchased a half-interest in the Dickinson Store in Hume. Fred sold his interest in the store in the spring of 1910, sold his farmstead in Hume in June of the same year and moved fourteen miles north to Amoret, Bates County, Missouri, in October of 1910 where he established Bartons Cash Store, a general mercantileship. Bartons Cash Store is pictured below with (probably) the entire population of Amoret posed in front.

Tragedy struck the family on January 6, 1911, when gasoline stored in the lighting plant within the store exploded, instantly killing Isaac and one other worker and burning Fred and Anna. The force of the explosion snuffed out lingering flames as the building was saved. Fred sold the business in 1915 and moved the family fifty miles across the border to the rural township of Colony, Anderson County, Kansas, where he purchased 154 acres for $12,000 and resumed farming. It’s there that thirteen year-old Ralph entered Colony High School in 1916 and started his high school education. Did he play an instrument or sing in a choir then? We don’t know for sure. However it’s possible since he had been raised by a piano-teacher mother who enjoyed playing the piano and organ throughout her lifetime (Anna was mentioned in the newsletter of her convalescent home while in her late eighties as “playing a pump organ even though sightless in one eye and partially sighted in the other”).

A hard earthquake struck Colony in early 1919 resulting in the condemnation and demolition of Colony High School. Would Ralph continue his education? Where and how? It’s a measure of the importance that Fred and Anna accorded to continuing Ralph’s education, as well as his own maturity and brightness, that Ralph was sent some 120 miles away to the nearest large city, Carthage, Missouri, where he entered Carthage High School in September 1919 to begin his senior year. Just sixteen years old and living in another state far away from home! There is no record of whether he lived with relatives [none are known to have been in or near Carthage] or truly on his own although the latter seems likely.

Making new friends, continuing his education, and enjoying the stimulation of living in a city rather than on a farm with the attendant new experiences marked Ralph’s life in Carthage, Missouri, during the 1919-1920 school year. It was during my visit in 2006 to Carthage that I came across his fragile high school class annual wherein the above photo of Dad and his mellophone leaped off the page to me! Elsewhere, in the annual I learned that he had sang in the Glee Club, participated in the Debate Club (the May 13th, 1920, edition of The Carthage Evening Press reported that he and a teammate had lost a debate on the negative position of “Resolved: That the United States Should Immediately Declare War on Mexico”), the Hi-Y Club and the Athletic Association.

Dad must have had fond memories of his senior year at Carthage High School as I remember in 1970 while living in Whittier, California, that he flew back to Carthage, Missouri, to attend his fiftieth class reunion. Did he sing songs or pick up an instrument that evening? I don’t know and can only speculate. I do know, though, that one time in his life Dad was in a band!

Gary Barton

100 Years Ago

In the year 1905...

The average life expectancy in the U. S. was 47 years.
Only 14 percent of the homes in the U. S. had a bathtub.
Only 8 percent of the homes had a telephone.
A three-minute call from Denver to New York City cost eleven dollars.
There were only 8,000 cars in the U. S. and only 144 miles of paved roads.
The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 miles per hour.
Alabama, Mississippi, Iowa and Tennessee were each more heavily populated than California.
With a mere 1.4 million people, California was only the 21st most populous state in the Union.
The average wage in the U. S. was 22 cents per hour.
The average U. S. worker made between $200 and $400 per year.
More than 95 percent of all births in the U. S. took place at home.
Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen.
Coffee was fifteen cents a pound.
Most women only washed their hair once a month, and used borax or egg yolks for shampoo.
The population of Las Vegas, Nevada, was only 30!
There was no Mother's Day nor Father's Day.
Only 6 per cent of all Americans had graduated from high school.
Marijuana, heroin and morphine were all available over the counter at the local drug store.
There were 230 reported murders in the entire U. S.
Man couldn't fly.

In and Around Rockbridge, vol. 12, no. 3, Summer 2005

Life

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body.

The goal is to skid in broadside, tires smoking, jazz blaring, body dented, thoroughly used up and worn out, and proclaiming, "Wow - what a ride!" anonymous

Anonymous Author Discovered

April 28, 2005 - Many of us are in absolute awe of the Internet and it's companion World Wide Web. How it has changed the world in just over a decade! [ed.: for those who would like to pursue this further from a socio-political-economic view I refer you to Thomas Freidman's thought-provoking book The Lexus and The Olive Tree.]

One of the change-elements often ascribed to the Internet is that it is "bringing us together" and "shrinking the world." This was brought home to me very recently.

At the bottom of this page you'll find an essay regarding my time in the Navy, "General Quarters", which I posted nearly three years ago. In it I quoted an anonymous sailor's love for the Navy.

Imagine my wonderment when thanks to the Internet the author recently found me and stepped forward!

While surfing the Internet searching for sites about the Navy retired Master Chief Ed Hughes came across my site, read this Essays Page and discovered to his surprise a poem he had written over forty years ago to meet a college English class requirement in 1958... Once I Was A Navyman.

What ensued were several exchanges by e-mail, charming telephone conversation and a promise that we should meet in person (me from California, he from North Carolina).

I'm delighted to post below the updated version of that poem with full attribution (thanks to the Internet) to it's now identified author:

Once I Was A Navyman

I like the Navy - I like standing on deck on a long voyage with the spray of

the sea in my face and the ocean winds whipping in from everywhere - the feel

of a giant steel ship beneath me - its engines driving against the sea.

I like the Navy - I like the noises of the Navy - The clang of steel, the

ringing of bells - the foghorns and the strong laughter of Navymen at work. I

like the ships of the Navy - The nervous darting destroyers, the sleek silent

submarines, the plodding heavy cruisers, the majestic battleships and the steady

solid carriers.

I like the names of Navy ships: Hornet, Ranger, Enterprise, Wasp, Princeton,

Missouri, and Constitution - Majestic names for majestic ships of the line.

I like the bounce of Navy music and the tempo of a Navy band, "Liberty

Whites", "13 Button Blues" - and the spice of a foreign port.

I like the Shipmates I sailed with - the kid from the Iowa cornfield, a pal from the East Side of New

York, the Irishmen from Boston and a drawling, friendly Texan. From all parts of the land they come -

from the farms of the Midwest, the small towns of New England, the cities, the mountains and the prairies.

All are Americans - All are comrades in arms - All are men of the sea.

I like the adventure in my heart when my ship puts out to sea - and I like

the electric thrill of sailing home again, with waving hands of welcome from

family and friends on the waiting shore. The work is hard - the going rough at

times. But there's the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the devil-may-care

philosophy of the sea. And, after a day of hard duty, there is the serenity of the dusk at sea -

with the whitecaps dancing on the ocean waves and the mystery of the ocean night.

I like the lights of the Navy in the darkness - The masthead lights, the

red-green sidelights and the stern lights - They cut through the night and look

like a mirror of stars in the blackness. There are the quiet nights and the

quiet of the Mid-Watch when the ghost of all the Sailors of the world stand with

you in the night - and there is the aroma of fresh coffee from the galley.

I like the legends of the Navy and the men who made them. I like the proud

names of Navy heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut and John Paul Jones. A man

can find much in the Navy - Comrades in Arms - Pride in his Country - A man

can find himself.

In the years to come, when a Sailor is home from the sea, he will still

recall with fondness the ocean spray on his face when the sea is angry - and there

will always be the faint aroma of fresh paint in his nostrils -and the echo of

hearty laughter of seafaring men who were once his close companions - Locked

on land, he will grow wistful for his navy days - when the seas belonged to

him - and always just over the horizon, was a new port of call.

Remembering this, he will stand a little taller and say to himself, "Once, I

was a Navyman".

E. A. Hughes, FTCM (SS), USN (Ret) Copyright, 1958, 1978 - Used with permission

2004 Pieces of America

As the year is ending and I’ve finished my last work assignment I’m reflecting upon what I’ve seen and done in 2004.

What a great year in my early retirement!

In the winter of 2003/2004 I workamped out of Midlothian, Texas (a suburb of Dallas and Fort Worth) as Internal Consultant for Music T’s www.music-ts.com , a large event vendor for high school marching band and symphonic concert recitals and contests. Waking up on Valentine’s Day 2004 to a snowy wonderland was a surprise! Certainly working the Bands of America Grand Nationals www.bands.org at the RCA Dome in Indianapolis IN was one of the highlights of the assignment. Ninety-five of the finest high school marching bands in the country all competing to be crowned the Grand National Champion! The music was superb, the synchronization and syncopation of the bands was a sight to behold as well as hear. These kids poured their hearts out in their performances! The self-described sobriquet “Band Nerd” speaks to their comradery and dedication. The joy in thousands of parents’ eyes was palpable.

Then it was on to Williamsburg, Virginia, for a couple of month’s workamping at a local KOA Campground. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend time in this beautiful and historically significant setting. Colonial Williamsburg www.colonialwilliamsburg.org is one corner of an incredible triangle bounded also by Jamestown and Yorktown. These three cities saw the beginning of Britain’s North American colonization (Jamestown 1609), it’s zenith as the capital of the largest and richest colony in America (Williamsburg), and its demise 172 years later with the British defeat at Yorktown (1781). Amazingly, all three are within 30 miles of each other! No wonder it’s a requirement for all Virginia fifth-grade students to take a field trip to Colonial Williamsburg. The historically costumed reenactors, the candle-lit buildings (both original and restored), the no autos (pedestrians and horses only) ambiance, the red-brick and white clapboard architecture, the abundant lectures and recreations of historically significant and not-so-significant daily events all combine to make a unique and deeply touching experience for anyone interested in American Colonial history.

Next, the annual Memorial Day weekend Bluegrass Festival held at Granite Hill Campground www.gettysburgbluegrass.com in beautiful and solemn Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, provided a wonderful American musical interlude. The dozen or so bands put on a heck of a show over the three-day weekend. I especially enjoyed the Dry Branch Fire Squad www.drybranchfiresquad.com and The Lewis Family www.thelewisfamilymusic.com . Delightful camping, great music, a wonderful setting… what more could one ask for? Visiting the sites of the two most significant battles in our history on American soil (Yorktown and Gettysburg) just months apart was a special treat as well.

What followed in early June was another piece of purely American music history and performance art in Sedalia, Missouri, at the annual Scott Joplin Ragtime Festival www.scottjoplin.org . Scott Joplin attended college in this small Midwest town and the city is very proud of its alumnus. One of the top three or four Ragtime festivals in the country it attracts the very finest international performers. I enjoyed sitting dead center front-row of a majestic restored theatre for one of the several indoor concerts. I equally enjoyed sitting with hundreds of other enthusiastic fans under the big top set up alongside the central city square. Ragtime became immensely popular at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair and spread far and wide. It still is today!

Then later in June a whole another adventure started when I joined The Strates Shows www.strates.com in Danbury, Connecticut. Strates is the last major traveling carnival still “jumping” between “spots” (carnival lingo) on its own 61-car private train. Playing at medium and large fairs up and down the East Coast (Maryland, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, New York, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia and Florida) during the fair season (May-November), Strates set’s up, performs and then tears down and moves on every 10-14 days. It’s an amazing logistical feat considering that the large mechanical rides (called “spectaculars” in the industry) can require over two-hundred man hours each to set-up and tear down. Strates Shows and its independent concessionaires bring as many as fifty or sixty rides and dozens of games and food booths to entertain the public. Taking competitive advantage of its unique ability to move by train Strates Shows presents at a towering 120 feet the tallest Giant Wheel in the traveling carnival business. This amusement-park sized Ferris Wheel requires five huge trailers to move its various parts! Imagine setting up the Giant Wheel from your favorite amusement park every ten days and then tearing it down, moving it 200-300 miles and then setting it up again! My duties as Paymaster were to ensure a weekly payroll for the 100+ employees went off without a hitch no matter where we were. The season ended in mid-November at Strate’s winter quarters in Orlando, Florida. After a week of final office wrap-up duties, my season with the Strates family and The Strates Shows ended as well. I will always remember fondly this season as a "Carney".

And now its Thanksgiving Day weekend at the annual Sertoma Youth Ranch Thanksgiving Bluegrass Festival www.dadecity.com/sertoma in Dade City, Florida, once again enjoying the “picking and grinning” that bluegrassers know so well. A lovely wooded setting, a level spot to park my thirty-foot Class C diesel motorhome, a fun lineup of energetic musicians and those wonderful familiar tunes are making this a memorable weekend.

And then it’s on to driving clear across the country to Southern California to be home with my family for the holidays… after an eventful year!

Ya Sure, Ya Betcha

(an American Minnesota-Wisconsin colloquialism: "Yes"). Its mid-summer in central Minnesota and I'm having a wonderful time at the Scott-Carver Threshers Old Time Festival. It's men's "boy toys!" galore: tractors large and small; gas, diesel and even steam-powered!; tall and short; solid rubber tires, pneumatic tires and skeleton wheels. This urban southern-Californian appreciated the working hay-balers, broom-wrappers, threshers, potato-diggers, wagons and static antique engines. And the colors... John Deere green, Minneapolis-Moline yellow, Allis-Chalmers orange, Ford gray, Farmall red. A veritable rainbow of farm machinery! Each brand's proponents were wearing their tee-shirts and caps in their tractor-colors. Even the kids were wearing tee-shirts emblazoned with the words "Future (brand name) Tractor Driver"!

This is Midwest farm country. Rolling hills and plains with rich fertile land, beautiful farm houses and barns, and a slower, more balanced pace-of-life. Here the Polka is still a favorite dance and their Democratic Party is actually the Democrat-Farmer-Labor Party and they recently had an Independent governor! There is a pervasive sense of "Minnesota Nice", a term which describes Minnesotan civility.

Today I was speaking with a Minnesotan when during the conversation he replied to a question in the affirmative with "Ya sure, ya betcha." It was natural and unaffected. Later as I reflected upon his words I smiled and felt good.

Regional colloquialisms like this are sprinkled throughout the American language. They help identify an area and its residents. And these terms stick! Even years later after one has moved away to another state, they'll sneak into a conversation. Like the time years after I had moved from a stint in the deep south (Athens, Georgia) I was living again in California talking with a friend and said "I'm fixin' to go to (location)". She looked at me funny... and then I realized why. I'm a reasonably well-educated guy (BA, MBA) and I've traveled a good deal. Yet, that somewhat ungrammatical phrase had popped into our conversation. We both laughed.

So, if you ask me "Do you like the Midwest and the Polka?"... I'll probably reply "Ya sure, ya betcha".

Independence!

July 4, 2003 - It was a clear day but obscured with rising plumes of smoke throughout the city as I reported for duty at Navy Headquarters in Washington, D. C., in late January 1969. This was the end of the decade of both the Civil Rights movement and building concerns about the Vietnam War. Incredibly, there were federal troops stationed on the steps of the Capitol Building to protect it from rioters! I’ll never forget it. Think of how that would play on television today in 2003!

Here in Cody, Wyoming, on Independence Day 2003 my thoughts stray to pictures, images and music of patriotic events. I’ll admit it… I’m a patriotic guy. I have been since I was a little boy in Whittier, California, growing up in the years between World War II and the Korean War. Small town parades and patriotic holidays were wonderful events!

When my brother’s National Guard division was called-up for Korean service and he went over as a Combat Photographer armed with a camera and an M1911 Colt .45 pistol. I was proud but fearful…. how long would he be gone, when would he return, and the terrible would he return? His letters home and a couple of long-distance telephone calls (we were still on a “party line” shared with other households in Whittier) were upbeat but he seemed so far away! Dad bought the first television on our block, a 9” thick-lens Philco console TV, in 1951. Before that we like all Americans sat around a large console radio staring at it and listening to the radio!

I can remember being glued to the TV watching the Cleve Roberts news reports on Los Angeles’s pioneer station KTLA. Thankfully, my brother returned safely after a year’s duty overseas.

It was sixteen years later that I, too, went overseas to fight a war… 1967 in the waters off the coast of Vietnam on an ammunition ship. I now think about how my parents must have felt to have their second son go to war in a very different era.

But is it just wars that stir feelings and emotions of patriotism? Not really. One historic movement that I’m reminded of and getting a chance to see it's footprints is the western migration across the plains and over the Mormon and Oregon Trails to a promised land of opportunity and freedom. My great-great-great-grandfather James Rickey trudged with his young wife and three sons along Oregon Trail from Dubuque, Iowa, to Salem, Oregon, probably passing very near here at Cody. Was he a social dissident? Did he spend his time and energy protesting things? No! Grandpa Rickey was a builder… a positive-thinking person.

So, what’s the tie between sons going off to war and sons walking over 2000 miles to start anew in a great land? It’s patriotism! Unabashed, pure pride in a wonderful country of opportunity and freedom. And the zeal to enjoy it.

May it ever be so!

If

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you

But make allowance for their doubting too,

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings,

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word of your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much,

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

-Rudyard Kipling, c. 1910

You Gotta' Love the Old Folks!

While attending the National Old Time Fiddlers Contest and Festival at Weiser, Idaho, I had the opportunity to drive downtown (pop. 5200) for breakfast at the Senior Citizens Center. I'm not quite old enough, yet, to be a regular at a Senior Citizens Center but everyone was saying "you've got to try it". So, I did. I'm sure glad that I went.

The meal was terrific and a good bargain. The volunteers were cheerful and the proceeds went to the construction fund for a new, larger more-modern building.

But what really made the morning enjoyable was the small stage on which several seniors were jammin', many of them with "Contestant" ribbons from the contest. They were wonderful! Fiddles (of course), guitars, bass, harmonica, piano... these musicians were virtuosos... most of them over 70 years old. Possibly the highlight, though, was an older gentleman (even in that crowd) who looked easily over 90 but turned out to be "only" 86! This frail little man in his jeans, plaid shirt and crumpled fedora could fiddle! He, too, was wearing a contestant ribbon. I can't wait to see the Senior Senior Division (70+) at the contest. Besides his superb musicianship I was also struck by the beatific smile on his face. He was at that moment a happy, peaceful man. Perhaps the look that you see only on saints and the elderly. It was a moving moment for me. I asked his name afterwards. Mr. Lundeen, I'll be rooting for you!

Fiddlers play Hoedowns, Waltzes, Polkas and whatever else they want. So, there was quite a bit of dancing going on. The waltzes, polkas, and two-steps were danced smoothly and with grace by the majority of the dancers. Most of the couples appeared to me to have been couples-dancing for many, many years. It was a demonstration of dancing skills!

A week later while at the Frontier Music Festival in Kooskia, Idaho, I had the chance to see Charlie Ryan perform. He wrote and first performed the huge early rock-and-roll hit "Hot Rod Lincoln (Son, You're Gonna Drive Me to Drinking)" back in 1957. There he was, 87 years-young, and still playing the guitar and still singing! He even had trailered in the cherry red 1934 Ford Model A Coupe with the huge V12 Lincoln engine!

These Seniors still have their health, flexibility and mobility. I wonder if its the music, the dancing, or just young thinking?

TOMORROW

Tomorrow I'm going to take that trip

The one I always planned

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I'll put my money down

On that special piece of land

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I'm going to go fishing

And lie out in the sun

Tomorrow is going to be the day

The day that I have fun

Yet as the weeks fade to months

And quickly into years

And gladness turns to memories

And some of it to tears

Suddenly tomorrow is lost to yesterday

So if there is going to be a tomorrow

It had better be TODAY! (anon.)

The Red States and The Blue States

Sept. 2002 - Here I am in the middle of America... Iowa. And I can't get out of my mind the image of the US map from CNN on last election night. You'll recall that most of the states were colored red being won by Bush and many fewer but more populous states principally California and the Northeast were colored blue. Well, I'm in the middle of the red!

You know what? It's comfortable! Wandering amongst the crowd at a large Old Time Country Music Festival, I'm struck by the genuine sweetness of the conversations. These are good, clean Americans without pretense enjoying their neighbors and their music. Mostly middle-aged like me and senior citizens but with a sprinkling of families, there's a peacefulness and confidence that's palpable.

Having lived in the two most populous states, California and New York, I'm used to the hustle-and-bustle and energy of the major metropolitan areas. There's always something going on, some event to attend, some worthy cause to be involved in, some business to be conducted, some new hot-spot to check out. But far too often, no time to just talk... no time to just think... no time to reflect.

Perhaps the election of 2000 and it's evenly divided results, it's spawn of debate about the efficacy of a popular vote vs. the Electoral College, and it's discussion by commentators about the red states and the blue states reflects the wonderful evenness of our country and it's political system. Fifteen states didn't carry the country. Thirty-five states didn't carry a plurality. We didn't stray too far from the middle.

And here in the middle of America... that's alright!

Let's Go Skiing!

I learned to ski at the age of fifty-two to "keep up" with my friend Nancy May who was a life long skier. I picked Mammoth Mountain, California, during President's Day Weekend 1995. What a great mountain, what a great private instructor - Robin. Head-of-the-line privileges were neat, too.

Now, as a "blue-cruiser" I've enjoyed many of the great western ski areas - Mammoth, Breckenridge, Deer Valley, Alta, Park City, Jackson, Grand Targhee, Bachelor, Taos, Sun Valley, Boriel, even Alyeska in Alaska. Great fun!

Why do you go skiing? For the skiing! Every mountain is different, weather conditions change, the snow changes, the vistas change every hour and every day. It's exhilarating!

But, the apres ski (after skiing) is another reason as well. Skiers recognize many of the favorite watering holes and return time and time again. And, because the hospitality business, especially in a seasonal business, is tough to succeed in there are always new spots. We look forward to them, too. Men and women "looking fine" in their ski garb, faces ruddy with sun and wind, fun conversations, flirting... it's all part of apres ski.

If you haven't tried it... I recommend skiing!

Veterans Day 2001

After the events and the tragedy of September 11th so much has seemed to be turned upside-down. Our sense of security, our confidence in traveling, our confidence in business... more positively, our sense of belonging, our expressions of loyalty and patriotism, our appreciation for the heroes who daily put their lives on the line to protect and serve us.

One thing that doesn't seemed to have changed, gladly, is our American appreciation of diversity and free-expression. We are a nation living under the most wonderful political document every created, the American Constitution.. still vibrant and alive after over two-hundred years. Appended to it are a series of twenty-six Amendments which have elaborated upon or clarified our Constitution. None are more important than the ones contained in the first ten Amendments ratified on December 15, 1791 - the Bill of Rights. And in our society here in the twenty-first century the First Amendment stands preeminent...

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances

And so it is with distinctly mixed emotions that I view scenes of protestors here and abroad who seem to be proclaiming "Peace At Any Cost". Sometimes, the costs are simply too high.

As a veteran, I am moved by the poem by Father Denis Edward O'Brien, USMC:

It is the soldier, not the reporter,

Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the soldier, not the poet,

Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier, not the campus organizer,

Who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.

It is the soldier who salutes the flag.

Who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag.

Who allows the protester to burn the flag.

And so I say "Remember Carthage".

General Quarters!

There's no command over the 1MC in the Navy that get's your adrenaline flowing faster than to hear "General Quarters! General Quarters! This is not a drill!" Perhaps the Army equivalent is "Incoming!" or "Take Cover!"

In the Navy, ammunition ships (like I served on) don't steam in formation with other ships very often. They prefer to stay away from us except when we are rearming them. It's Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) if an ammo ship is steaming in formation and develops an emergency like a fire on-board, for all the other ships to scatter to all points of the compass as fast as possible. No body wants to be around an ammo ship with a fire on-board. This happened a couple of times while I was aboard. Quite interesting and quite exciting.

My GQ station was Tactical Communicator. I was on the Bridge, near the Captain... the voice of the ship in these combat and emergency situations.

Let's face it... I liked my time in the Navy. The following essay from an anonymous author sums it up for me:

"I LIKE THE NAVY"

I like the Navy. I like standing on deck on a long voyage with the sea in my face and ocean winds whipping in from everywhere, the feel of the giant steel ship beneath me, it's engine driving against the sea. I like the Navy. I like the clang of steel, the ringing of the bell, the foghorns and strong laughter of Navy men at work. I like the ships of the Navy - nervous darting destroyers, sleek cruisers, majestic aircraft carriers and steady solid ammunition ships, the workhorse of the fleet. I like the adventure in my heart when the ship puts out to sea, and I like the electric thrill of sailing home again, with the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting on shore. The work is hard, the going tough at times. But there's the companionship of robust Navy laughter, the devil-may-care philosophy of the sea. I like the bounce of Navy Music and the tempo of a Navy Band. "Liberty Whites" and the spice of a foreign port. I like shipmates I've sailed with...the kid from Iowa cornfield, a pal from New York's east side, an Irishman from Boston, the boogie boarders of California and of course, a drawling friendly Texan. From all parts of the land they came -farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England - from the cities, the mountains and the prairies. All Americans. All are comrades in arms. All are men of the sea. And after a day of hard duty, there is a serenity of the sea at dusk, as white caps dance on the ocean waves. The sea at night is mysterious. I like the lights of the Navy in darkness -the mastheads lights, and red and green sidelights and stern lights. They cut through the night and look like a mirror of stars in the darkness. There are quiet nights and the quietness of the mid-watch when the ghosts of all Sailors of the world stand with you. And there is the aroma of fresh coffee from the galley. In years to come, when the Sailor is home from the sea, he will still remember with fondness the ocean spray on his face when the sea is angry. There will still come a faint aroma of fresh paint in his nostrils, the echo of hearty laughter of the seafaring men who once were close companions. Locked on land, he will grow wistful of his Navy days, when the sea belonged to him and a new port of call was always over the horizon. Remembering this, he will stand taller and say, "ONCE I WAS A NAVY MAN".

Note: Portions reprinted. Author unknown.

Independence!

It's natural during July in America to reflect upon the anniversary of our nation's independence. It's a time for "good ol' fashioned" patriotism, barbecues, picnics, hot dogs, cold drinks, ice cream, flag-waving, parades, fire-works, speeches and bands.

It's also a time for remembrance for the 13 million veterans in the USA. Many of my brothers and sisters-in-arms share with me the poignant memories of being overseas on the Fourth of July. While the shells where flying and

you were sweating, you still found time to pause and think about "home". And if you happened to miss other major holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Passover, Hanukkah or birthdays or anniversaries, somehow that pride that swelled in your breast on July 4th was all the more special. Warriors around the world thrive on ceremony, but nobody does it better than Americans on Independence Day!

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