The President of Panama and me...macheteless

How does this stuff happen to me?  It's Panama, 1994 I believe.  I'm living on the Pacific side of the Isthmus and having a great time.  Weather is beautiful year round except for the rainy season which in the end you welcome since the rest of the year is "no rainy" season.  Panama is an interesting place to live.

The first place we lived was just off post in a high rise apartment.  Lots of crime down there and our doorman was armed with a short rifle that my guess was a .22.  Didn’t make us feel that secure.  
Lawn mower guy killed Gila monster with screwdriver.
Toro Perez body guard.  I was asked to do a prayer for the closing of Fort Davis and the Army jungle School on the Atlantic side of the canal.  It was attended by General Barry McCaffrey, the CG of Southern Command and later President Bill Clinton’s drug czar.  He dealt with a lot of drug activity in SouthCom.  McCaffrey was also in chapel every Sunday he was there attending Mass nd always in the front row!  Also on attendance at the closing was Ernesto Peres Balladares, the president of Panama and former treasury secretary for Manual Noriega.  The bad guy and reason for our invasion in the 1980s.  
Panning for gold
The 55 mile drive
Christmas in shorts
.22 at gate looked like a mini machine gun.

Nightmares - just wondering

I fall Asleep. 

There's a song called, "It's a Mad Mad World."  One line in it says: "...and the dreams in which I'm dyin' are the best I ever had."

Edvard Munch's "The Scream"

Someone (thing) seems to be pursuing you and 'it' has everything at its disposal.  Try to leave and you are met at every door or gate with another entity who has some other arsenal at its disposal.  A door turns into some sort of gateway to another trap and you are sent back to where you began and try to start over again and again...you finally make it through one of the sharpened obstacles when you're met by yet another heart-rending, mind-numbing hindrance that sets you back again and again - at one point you are told that the demanding, buzzing object in front of you that seems intent on causing you unending pain is just one of the thousands of similar insects that can be sent your way to cause you more and a heightened incessant wound that seems to cause even greater loss of will - you try to kill it but it stays just out of reach - there are others around - people - things following you - watching you - ensuring that every thought is pain, every turn is pain - they chase your every step ensuring you never take the right turn - you never think the right thought - you NEVER get what you want - never freedom...

...you're looking for that breakout point...it has to be ahead...one doorway leads to a long tunnel where the sides are breathing...it's not the wind - you know the breeze when you feel it - it's 'breath' from the passageway...really - it pulls you along this never-ending tunnel.

An endless set of doors and gateways - avenues of escape all over the place but every gate it's own pain...then there appears to be a group of people who are familiar but seem stuck in the same confusion...they seemed to have gotten a little farther along the way and you've made it to them...

     no sleep now...every thought in your head now wishes you could sleep but if you do you return to that terror...awake - asleep - horror - awake - escape - watching for something to walk around the corner in your room - asleep - awake...back again...horror

     now the voice is leading me on but again in the wrong direction...

At the end - those entities surround me and seem to carry a lightened countenance about them...

And then I wake up.

My Brother "Big" John. 4% - 94%

    Since I started volunteering at Saint Jude Children's Research Hospital in Memphis, TN a while back, I've come to see how important this place is for not only the child who is a patient but for the Families of those involved.  While my duties as a Monday volunteer are somewhat Minor in the

Wristbands I give to the kids

overall scheme of things in the universe (I make sure the kids have the little red wagons and wheel chairs to get to appointments), it is a blessing to help these kids and their families along the way...it's fun to play with and give the kids a hug while they're waiting around for their many appointments and treatments.  And surprising as it may seem this is a happy, child centered hospital.  As I've spent much time at St. Jude these last few months, it is apparent that the joy experienced is because of the great hope offered.  When Danny Thomas prayed to St. Jude for help in finding his way in life, he said he would build him a shrine.  That shrine is St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, and that sacred place has given hope to millions of children around the world in very specific ways.

     Tuesday's are a little different.  I serve as a volunteer general public tour guide for Saint Jude.  I love it. You meet wonderful people, many who've supported St. Jude for years, and have the opportunity to tell them the story of the hospital and the incredible staff that ministers to the children and families.  As such, I've had to memorize many facts and figures regarding the hospital and what is done with treatments and how those treatments are so closely wedded to the work of the people in the Research Center.  I also tell people about the millions of people in "Danny's Army" (Danny Thomas founded St. Jude and is buried there with his wife), as well as the millions of dollars it takes to operate St. Jude on a daily basis.  One of the interesting stories involves a young boy in Peoria, ILL.  Danny was there one day raising money for the hospital and this young boy came up with an envelope and said, "I want to help the poor little sick children."   In the envelope was a quarter and a fifty cent piece.  Danny was so taken with the boy and his donation that the $.75 he gave that day is contained in the base of the statue of St. Jude in front of the hospital.  It's these kind of stories I share with visitors coupled with the incredible survival rates and the powerful work everyone at St. Jude and around the world continue every day.  

    

John Alan Kircher

But on a recent tour something struck me that I hadn't grasped or thought much of except it being just another statistic.  One point we talk about is that the doctors and scientists learn more about these diseases from every child they treat.  Every child's life matters!

     My youngest brother, John Alan, was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia (A.L.L.), as a young boy.  Devastating of course for him as well as the family.  He went to Saint Jude, received treatment for a year, but unfortunately did not survive. He was only 11. 

     I think about my brother Johnny every time I go to St. Jude.  I think about what he did in life, and in death, to help doctors and scientists assist future patients of these life threatening childhood diseases.  They all matter...
 

If you're wondering about the 4% - 94% in the title, only 4% of children diagnosed with Johns illness; A.L.L., survived in 1962, the year St. Jude opened.  The survival rate today is 94%.  Thanks "Big John," and thanks to everyone at St. Jude, thanks to those of you who give so much as part of Danny's Army, no matter how large or small it is, and bless all the wonderful children at St. Jude.

 

"We have a Rendezvous with Destiny..." and apparently also a Rendezvous with disappointment. Gen'l Petreaus

Major General (MG) Petreaus in Iraq
as 101st Airborne Division
Commander

     This one's tough.  I have two Bronze Stars.  One from Desert Storm and the other Iraq. When people would come to my office and see my "I love me" wall, I would always point out the one Bronze Star that I thought was the best.  Why?  Because it was signed by MG David Petreaus while he was serving as the Division Commander for the 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault)  (made famous by the Band of Brothers HBO Series) in Fort Campbell and eventually for a year as Commander in Iraq.  I was on the Division Staff.

But first, THE STORY OF THE 101st AIRBORNE DIVISION and Origin of "The Rendezvous with Destiny," motto.

"YOU have a rendezvous with destiny!" with this, Maj. Gen. William C. Lee, the original commander, concluded his activation speech to the 101st Airborne Division. Screaming Eagles have found meaning and expression in these words. They kept that rendezvous with destiny through WWII to present day conflicts around the world.

We had incredible respect - and sometimes a little fear - of General Petreaus.  Physical Training was always a high priority - especially among the Infantry.  Oh, we were used to it for sure, but not by his standards.  Division staff officers had to "earn" the right to run with him in the mornings.  So the Chief of Staff would run the rest of us staff guys and work us out while the General ran with a chosen few who could keep up (not many).  What was his standard?  Minimum 7 minute mile.  Okay, I've done that a few times for a couple of miles...his standard?  10 miles!!!  Yeah, there was no way I was going to beat that time.  But we all kept trying because he was instilling in us all the notion that we can always do better if we'd just push a little harder.  He was that kind of leader.  You wanted to be like him - or at least come close.  A West Point Grad and a PhD from Princeton didn't hurt either.  So our education was also important.  It wasn't his mandate, it was simply the desire he instilled in us to - yes again - do a little better if we'd push a little harder. 

Major Rank - the Oak Leaf

     I would watch him analyze battle plans and Operations Orders for hours.  He did have one quirk I remember; he was obsessed with correct English language use and spelling (as I am).  So while the "Iron Majors," (Division staff members who put together the plans), were staring at PowerPoint slides for 16 hours a day, it all started to blur and the poor guys would spell the word "the" wrong and not catch it.  So some proof readers were assigned.
     When we finally got to Iraq, we were on the Gulf watching ships being unloaded with our supplies and the General saw some Soldiers sitting around so he went over and challenged them to some physical training - a push-up competition.  Needless to say although the Soldiers were young men in their 20s; the General beat them with no problem at all.  No General had ever done that before and they were quite taken aback.  Yet again - do a little better if we'd push a little harder. 

     He was with the Assault Command Post in March 2003 when we experienced that incredibly miserable 4 day sandstorm.  It was like being on MARS.  The sun was red, wind blew constantly, constant dust covering you.  There was so much dust we were cleaning our computer of with paint brushes - not sure who thought to bring paint brushes!  But we needed them.  It rained the 4th day - for 5 minutes - and of course rain in a dust storm means that mud is falling from the sky.  Absolutely miserable.  He could have been at Division Main, but he was up there with the 60 or so of us...sleeping on a cot just like us in tents blowing all over the place, eating only MREs (that's all we had the entire time), and sitting through briefings.  I remember him the day before the sandstorm began. The Commanding General from V Corps came over (General William Wallace).  The two of them were sitting outside on some folding chairs looking at maps.  I immediately thought of the Generals from the American Civil War pouring over maps by campfire.  And with all the technology available to us today, it was still a paper map that was essential to the next battle.

This will be over analyzed by the media and the pundits so I'm not going to belabor this.  But now that alot of the smoke has blown over on this thing, most of us who knew him and of the many 101st guys I've talked to since this came out, it's just too hard to believe.  It wasn't his nature.  It wasn't in "OUR" Nature.  I'm not a political analyst and certainly not the Judge, but as he continues on, those of us who knew him well will pray for him and his Family that they weather this storm.  They will...do a little better if we'd push a little harder.

There's a fantastic article by Rebecca Sinclair, married to Brig. Gen. Jeffrey Sinclair, who is facing the same type of charges.  She offers some insight on why this type of thing may happen. 

 http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/when-the-strains-of-war-lead-to-infidelity/2012/11/15/1d6c020e-2f49-11e2-9f50-0308e1e75445_story.html

 

I made the papers

http://www.theredstonerocket.com/content/%E2%80%98we-are-right-trenches-our-soldiers%E2%80%99

Goin' big time at the South Carolina State Fair

Gingerbread Recipe from the 1880s.
No processed sugar.

He shoots - he scores...why bake bread from recipes that are as old as the hills?  Because every second place ribbon means I clean up on a dandy $5.00 - $6.00 payday per ribbon.  But the competition had their own ideas for my demise.  These ladies have been baking breads and cakes for 70+ years.   Me - a couple - but my stuff is good and I know it.

The Competition plotting my overthrow

I took second place in 6 categories in the South Carolina State Fair Baking Competition, non-yeast recipes...how specific is that for a category?   A recipe for old time Crackers Jacks from my Grandfather in the early 1920's and a gingerbread recipe by none other than Laura Ingalls of Little House on the Prairie Fame...she published her recipes as well as her personal diary.  Also made those famous Christmas time lollipops my great uncle and aunt George and Jennie Billings made when the weather got real cold so you could set them outside in the snow...

Popcorn recipe from Grandpa Swartz

The Billings Family Christmas Lollipops

It is tough to be humble

Getting Stiffed in Italy - Discovering History

Mentorella - Can you believe this view?

     I was fortunate to live - thanks to the Army - in Italy for three years. I love that place. Mind you, living there full time is a pain. For those who take the tour buses around the country it's difficult to get a feel for what it's like to "Live" in Italy. For one thing, your electricity is rationed (read - how BIG government gets involved in running your life is never good). So if you want to run the dryer you can't use the stove or watch TV because it would trip the circuit breaker. Or when you want to get a simple cup of coffee you have to spend 1/2 an hour deciphering a convoluted menu of 100 different ways to make one. Cafe "dopio" for me please. But I digress - darn squirrels. There's a committee meeting going on in my head and a large squirrel from my backyard is the chairman.

     Anyway - I have a pretty famous Uncle. His name is Athanasius Kircher. Born in the 1600s in Fulda, Germany (really great - great uncle), he was a Jesuit Priest and was very popular in his time. There's a bit of a resurgence of interest now around the world regarding Uncle Athanasius. There's even an Athanasius Kircher Society (Google it). He did alot of strange things in his day and was even regarded as an equal to Galileo - who Uncle Athanasius probably -albeit secretly for life's sake - agreed with. Well, there was this old Church that had fallen by the way and he decided he was going to restore it. Mentorella - east of Rome in the Abruzzo region.
http://www.italia.it/en/discover-italy/abruzzo.html

     ADHD alert - "How I shamed my mother at 7:45 P.M. CST" - Squirrel!!! Some of the most beautiful country you will ever see this side of heaven. I mean beautiful. Check out the picture I put in here. Can you believe it? And Saint Benedict was said to have lived in that CAVE that I am sitting in for TWO YEARS - Mentorella is pictured in the picture of Benedict to the left. This stuff is awesome! Do you ever wonder? Where did he sleep in this cave? What did he eat - spaghetti for sure and probably gnocchi - and good bread with some olive oil. Bathroom? Probably the nearby woods. And here I sit in this very much of a holy place. I mean of all people Saint Benedict?

Benedict (c.480–543) is a Christian saint, honored by the Roman Catholic Church as the patron saint of Europe and students.

In Saint Benedict's Cave
Is this Awesome or what?

He founded twelve communities for monks at Subiaco, Italy (about 40 miles to the east of Rome) before moving to Monte Cassino in the Benedict mountains of southern Italy. There is no evidence that he intended to found a Roman Catholic religious order.  The Order of St Benedict is of later origin and, moreover, not an "order" as commonly understood but merely a confederation of autonomous
congregations.
    

Benedict's main achievement is his "Rule of Saint Benedict", containing precepts for his monks. It is heavily influenced by the writings of John Cassian, and shows strong affinity with the Rule of the Master. But it also has a unique spirit of balance, moderation and reasonableness (ἐπιείκεια, epieikeia - yes I know Greek), and this persuaded most religious communities founded throughout the Middle Ages to adopt it. As a result, his Rule became one of the most influential religious rules in Western Christendom. For this reason, Benedict is often called the founder of western monasticism - guys that go out and live by themselves and do alot of praying, candle-making and gardening. It’s still possible to see the cavern, the rules to allow entrance are strict but the atmosphere inside is simply strange - what do you do in here all the time? What do you think about? Baffling but probably something I need to look in to. Another interesting fact about the cavern is that before you go in there, there is glass shrine which contains bones from the oldest friars.




The bones of Friars past, And here I am with the bones, and in the cave.
   

Marker where Athanasius' Heart is buried 

     The squirrels have departed the building! Back to getting stiffed. So I agree to do the wedding and the guy tells me he's going to pay my way down there. That's fine. I can't take money for the ceremony of course because he's military. But he met this Italian stewardess - sorry - "flight attendant," and they decide to get married. Now I'm not sure what you know of Italians but they don't like you marrying outside the Italian family let alone without a Priest. But he wasn't Catholic so she agreed to have an Army Chaplain do the ceremony - me! When I got there I stayed in a hotel close by in a very beautiful area and got to drive to Mentorella - the Church Uncle Athanasius restored many years after Benedict lived there.

Marker where Athanasius' Heart is buried behind the altar

Squirrels back!! I shamed my mother again at 8:25 P.M. CST. I got some cool pictures of the Church and also of the site where Uncle Athanasius decided to have his heart buried - yes - his heart is buried right behind me in this picture. Body is in Rome.


 Athanasius' Heart is buried behind the altar behind me

Back to getting stiffed. When I arrive in town the family is pretty cold to me - not rude but not happy about this "Marriage." and of course of me not being a Catholic Priest. Later that day I get a call that the town Priest wants to see me. What did he want? Can't be good but it comes out that he is worried that the marriage won't be valid if done by me. Wrong I say (he's old country Italian so really couldn't understand why they wouldn't want a priest doing the ceremony. I assure him it's legal in the courts and approved in God's eyes. The only thing he asked was to stand next to me during the ceremony - sure. Why not? He seemed to be satisfied. I tell you what though, I had some of the most fantastic Italian food - those people know how to make pasta! Better than Bourdain's family in Sardinia.

The wedding was outside and it was fairytale. Flowers all over, linens, town square, a couple hundred people - all related. Crazy beautiful. We start the ceremony and all went well. Although I noticed that when I was pronouncing the blessing and declaring them man and wife, I could hear the Priest also pronouncing a blessing and then crossing himself. I guess he was covering all bases with the Methodist.

Later - after a great party - I was given a farewell by the Lieutenant Colonel and told he'd get back with me about the trip when he got back to Vicenza. Did he ever get back with me in Vicenza? NO! The creep stiffed me! But you know what? I had a great time. I got to connect with my heritage, see great places, eat lovely food, pray, laugh, and bask in the warmth of living simply. It was worth it.

Staring at the Joker (or Supreme Court justice)

     When there's little happening in your life except the constant reminder of misery that surrounds just about everything you do, you procure a small statue that was in the house of some neighbors who decided they didn't want to pay their rent and high-tailed it out of town.  It was a free-for-all but nothing really to be had...rancid smells, dirty carpets, dog feces all over, unread college books, Wal-mart Chinese communist imported pressed board computer tables from Alabama pine, and green bread.  But there was a prize for me.  It's one of those things like the Taco Bell bobbing head dog from the commercial that those morons finally stopped running...a small statuette of our man the "Joker."  The likeness taken from the great actor who overdosed during the making of the Batman movie and they computerized him to finish the movie - I guess it is all about money after all...
     But check him out.  He was so good in the "Knight's Tale"...later the "Patriot," one of my all time favorite movies with that ill-conceived Scottish wannabe and much maligned Mel Gibson.  But if you look closely, what IS he looking at?   He apparently has other things on his mind...not me.  Something amiss up above maybe?  Or could it be the decision of ONE Supreme Court Justice that's making him wonder?

     ADHD is rearing its ugly head again - Squirrel!!!  Sometimes it seems as if life is a constant thread of  "It seemed like a good thing to do at the time," that's strung together - that would be me.  You joined the Army (the "hollow" one), in 1973 just 4 days after high school graduation and where the headquarters company was filled with guys coming back from Vietnam still hooked on the "good stuff" - so what do they do?  Put the druggies in the headquarters barracks of a MILITARY POLICE company where they continue their merry ways with the drug use and even though busted by the military still get promoted because they did their time and because they have time in grade and time in service so they get their stripes back in 2 months!  Yeah!  Truth is stranger than fiction.  Then later the First Sergeant and Company Commander go through the barracks for a "health and welfare" inspection - "read" "I want to 'legally' check out what's in those foot lockers," and see all the pot and "bong" things and everything else used for the ingestion of illegal drugs.  What does the commander say when he sees the roach clip with some pot still hanging on for dear life on my roommates foot locker?  "Let it go, he's a good Soldier."  Later that Friday, lots of beer on ice in garbage cans provided courtesy of the Company Command and First Sergeant thanking us for all the good work we did through the week.  The drug guys got their medicine later that night. Irony is bleeding here. Thankfully those days - and that Army - is long gone.

Cow BBQ in Kosovo 2001 - or  what you will feel
like waiting in line at the DMV for medical care 

     Bye Squirrel - Back to reality kids...I suppose in the end we will all have the look of the Joker - pale, pasty face, dark circles around the eyes, the pensive stare - as we await what little medical care we will never receive thanks to one Supreme Court Justice who bailed on the Constitution for who knows what reason.  Those last days on earth will not be pretty once we have people similar to those who work at the DMV and don't know us nor love us making decisions on what we will and won't get medically - heck with the doctors - let a bureaucrat make the decision for you.  Yeah Joker - it is a joke.

Wartime Latrines

It's not pretty...but for those of you who are not acquainted with how it rolls in the Army, using the bathroom - latrine - is pretty critical business.  And part of my personal awareness mission in life is to go through these crazy experiences and how we adjusted in the most trying circumstances.  Have you ever wondered how - or where for that matter - 50,000 Soldiers (to include females) go to the latrine in one day in the middle of a desert?  No buildings - no trees - just miles and miles of open desert.  Or you're in a convoy crossing the border into Iraq at 0245 in the morning and hearing shots being fired all around and not sure who is shooting or where the shots are coming from; and you've been drinking water for 5 hours because you are told to keep 'hydrated.'  And now your body is saying 'it's time.'  Do we stop the convoy?  When it does stop do you wander off into the desert to do your business?  And then, do you dare take off your chemical suit?  You can't wander off...the enemy's out there!
Or, when you do finally stop for a couple of days of stop and go movements, there are no 'job johnnies' around and someone gets this bright idea that he'll build a small latrine out of some wood he found in a house but builds it so poorly that in the first windstorm two of the sides blow off while you're sitting there.  Orrrr, when you can stand it no more during the day that you decide to wander off to a 'seemingly' private spot over a small berm (hill), and think you're doing your business in private (#2) when around the corner comes a HUMMV with your buddies hanging out the doors laughing their heads off at you.  Yeah!  That's the bomb my friend.

And what do you do with female Soldiers?  You know it's tough on them - especially when they're in the same convoy on a mad march to Baghdad.  We take care of them of course and turn our backs while they go out into the desert with another female escort - this is real desert now...no trees, palm trees, nothing but sand.  Can you imagine how that was for them?
After awhile we are finally leaving Baghdad and heading to Mosul in Northern Iraq.  There are some trees, grass and we are living at the airport in a hanger where I guess Saddam's family used to wait and fly out from (dangling participle).  Anyway - we are sleeping outside and in the back of the building on our cots.  I sleep in the back of the HUMMV and am quite comfortable.  We have our chairs and finally have the opportunity to take off our chemical suits after I don't know how many days we've been wearing them (over a month for sure)...we did not smell well.  So we get our PT uniforms on and heat some water on the hood of the HUMMV and take our first shower in Iraq.  Outside of course, in a PT uniform, lots of people just hanging around while you're lathering up a t-shirt and shorts. 

But I digress - SQUIRREL!  I'm back.  How does the latrine work up there?  Now the game begins.  Up early everyday for sure to clean up a little and shave, brush teeth.  But you wait for the  latrine.  Why?  You want it "unused."  In other words, you want to use it when it's been cleaned out.  What is it like?  Four sides with a spring door and latch (this was our first real latrine 3 months).  There's a "toilet" seat over a 55 gallon drum that's been cut in half.  And that's where you do your business?  Why wait?  Every morning about 0600 the HQ people would come by to take out the old can and put in a new one that's been cleaned out by burning the waste the night before in diesel fuel.  No gasoline because that will flare.  Diesel is slow burning but for the unfortunate supply person or the Soldier in some sort of trouble; someone has to stand there and "stir" the waste in the can - as you can see from this picture.  Are there smells that stay with you a lifetime?  You betcha!  But it's better smelling the diesel over the other stuff...can't wait for 0630 tomorrow...

But honestly - that's not the worst experience...more to follow...Getting better.

"What are they doing grandpa?" Memorial Day Musings.

I attended the Huntsville, Alabama City-wide Memorial Observance this last Monday at the Maple Hill Cemetery right smack in downtown Huntsville.  The cemetery has quite a history with over 15,000 burials and  contains the likes of Senators and Congressman both Northern and Confederate.
But best of all I think is

LTG Formica and
Mayor Tommy Battle

Congressman Mo Brooks
and the Rabbi

Konrad Dannenberg b. August 5, 1912 d. February 16, 2009, a Rocket Scientist who helped Germany bomb London during World War II, then helped America put a man on the moon, go figure...Other people at the observance included Congressman Mo Brooks of the 5th Congressional District of Alabama, Mayor of Huntsville Tommy Battle and Lieutenant General Formica, Commanding General of the Army's Space Command (and a devout Christian).
flying squirrels sighted!  So I'm sitting next to the Rabbi in my winter warm new Army Service Uniform with the tie and coat, and  the all too necessary black WOOL beret in the beautiful 90+ degree sunny heat.  Sweat is poring of us all - even in the shade.  Somebody asked me the other day if I liked Huntsville and I had to say, "Not yet!"  We arrived here in snow and cold, winds blowing, then rain almost constant with a back yard holding a foots depth of leaves from last year and then the small pond that forms back there every time it rains...then we get hit with TORNADOES! of all things about three weeks ago...Com'n!!!  Okay-I'm back from ADHD land...
Coolest though was being able to sit in front of Mike Durant, the pilot shot down over Mogadishu, Somalia in 1993 during Bill Clintons ill-fated and useless waste of American lives by trying to capture two of Warlord Mohamed Farah Aidid's senior subordinates in the Bakara Market Mogadishu, Somalia (They got those two by the way).
What an honor!  http://www.mikedurant.com/  He autographed my book and we reminisced about our time together at Fort Campbell, KY.

After I gave the invocation and the program got under way, the 500+ people were there to pay tribute to the ones who gave so much in defense of the country and our cause.  The people bore that heat better than you can imagine considering the humidity.  There was a band, speeches, and presentations.  The sound system was screwed up but LTG Formica said that is nothing to worry about - why we were there mattered (well said).  A lot of the program dealt with presenting wreaths on behalf of various military organizations.  The elderly from the 8th Air Force Association, the Marine League, the Submariners (in Alabama?), the VFW, American Legion, Saints all of them, coming forward to present their wreath and then step back a few feet to salute their fallen brothers and sisters in arms.  Moving.

Then something caught my eye.  I looked to my right and a little girl was being led up the street by a lady.  I didn't think anything of it - a little kid got restless and mommy was helping her get away from it all...until LTG Formica started his remarks.   He thanked everyone for their attendance and for being there.  He then said he wanted to recognize a very special family in the audience.  About two rows back from me sat a young lady and two elderly people.  Turns out the little girl was the daughter and granddaughter of those people.

Allison Hall - wife of Jeffrey,
talking to the media

Allison was her mother's name.  Her father???  Staff Sergeant Jeffrey Alan Hall, born 1 April 1981, DIED, 1 June 2009.  Audrey was 1 year old when her daddy died.

He died along with two other soldiers on June 1 in Nerkh, Afghanistan, of wounds suffered when an improvised explosive device detonated near their vehicle.  

Audrey Faith Hall looking at her dad's grave

Audrey is three now and talking.  She was over by her dad's headstone with her grandpa after the Observance.  She was bashful and wouldn't let me take her picture.  But in a fleeting moment I got it...She had just turned to look at the people around her dad's grave.  Right then she said, "What are they doing grandpa?"  Grandpa replied, "They are here for your daddy."  Audrey replied, (God's Honest Truth), "That's a good thing."

Staff Sergeant Hall's Monument in the
Maple Hill, Huntsville, Alabama Cemetery
St Michael,  Patron Saint of the Beloved Airborne,
watching over him

So much for the protesters...

The Bikini Girl at Fort Dix-1973

I originally joined the Army in February 1973 in the delayed entry program while still a senior at Tunkhannock High in PA.  When I graduated on 20 June I was on my way to Fort Dix with 40 other guys form the area 4 days later.  We were called the "Molly McGuires."   Of course, if anyone knew the history of these guys, they may have wanted to pick another group to name us. ADHD moment coming "SQUIRREL!!!  
The "Molly Maguires" were miners in the anthracite coal region of Pennsylvania who organized into a union during the 1860's and 1870's. These miners were chiefly, although not exclusively, Irish and the union was called the Workingmen's Benevolent Association. In general, the members of this union were also members of the Ancient Order of Hibernians, a semi-secret fraternal society, which had its origin in Ireland as a completely secret and anonymous association.

This organization of Irish miners was dubbed the "Molly Maguires," after a group of Irish peasants who dressed up as women to antagonize their landlords. This group was infamously known as murderers and assassins and the press and police in America applied the name to the Irish miners. The label was used by both the press and the owner-operators of the mining companies to their distinct advantage. They called anyone who was pro-union a "Molly," inferring that they were criminals at best. This helped to subdue, even if only slightly, uprisings in the work place.semi-secret fraternal society, which had its origin in Ireland as a completely secret and anonymous association.  ADHD Left - squirrel is gone.  
I digress.  We get off the bus at Fort Dix and are told to stand on the painted feet in the parking lot.  Like it was yesterday - these MPs come driving by in an open jeep with their white helmets and one of them yells,  "You'll be sorry!"  "Ha! I thought,  I want to be here."  Do I?  Right...of course.

So a Drill Sergeant tells us to go into this room and sit on some bleachers.  "Who here smokes?" he says.  Most of the guys raised their hands.  "Who smokes Camels?"  A few raised their hands.  "Good then, give me a cigarette."  He then proceeds to light up.  "Go ahead and smoke," he says so they all light up.  Great, my first intro to the Army and it's almost midnight and my first look at a real "Soldier" is a Drill Sergeant who bums cigarettes.  This would not happen in today's Army.  No way no how.
That was the "hollow" Army.  And that was no joke.  The Vietnam War ended just months before and these guys coming back were a mess.  Drugs were all over the place.  Shoot - at my first assignment I was with a Military Police Company that kept guys who got busted for drugs in the Headquarters Barracks.  One Sergeant got busted for selling pot and and four months later he's a Sergeant again...BIRD!!!!!!
My first meal that night?  Hot dogs and beans - yeah, can ya believe it?   Could there ever be anything more clichéd than beans and franks in the Army?  I doubt it.  But all that to say that basic wasn't what I thought it would be.  I flew through.  Of course, I played sports year round so all the hard Soldier stuff was a breeze.
Then we had our first pass.  Five of us went to the enlisted man's club and sat down for a few brews.  I didn't drink (at that time) so I was the designated walker to be sure we all got back on time.  Not one of us was over 18 and I was still 17 but this was the Hollow Army and the thinking was that if a guy could go out and fight and maybe die for the country doggone it why can't he have a beer?  All we needed were our ID Cards and you got served.  Heck, we even had beer machines in the barracks.  At some places you could drink beer for lunch while on duty and they would issue tickets you could use to get the booze since they put a limit of 2 beers on you during duty.  Of course there were bad non-drinker guys out there who would sell their beer tickets to the highest bidder.  Every Friday afternoon was beer and soda time and the Commander or First Sergeant would buy beers and sodas and put them in iced garbage cans and that was the warm up for the evenings fun.

So here we are and the guys are building castles out of their beer cans when she appears.  Now back in those days women were looked at a little differently...not in a bad way or that it was ever right - it was the way it was.  Heck, the main magazine for the Army - Soldier's Magazine, would have a picture of a girl in some type of swimwear on the back inside issue cover of every issue.  But out this lady? comes.  She may have been 21. She was wearing a bikini, she didn't look too good to tell you the truth and I think she may have had a few before she got there...Then the magic starts...she turns on this boom box on the floor and starts gyrating...it was so bad that any teen-age lust was overcome with barrels of laughter.  I mean, come on - this was supposed to entertain us?  Not likely...not in this generation.  But hey - there she was.  The entertainment didn't last very long that I remember but it was a memorable performance...at least for five new teenagers in the Army.

Hard times for a great-grandmother - Susannah Phillips and the Wyoming Massacre

Want to know hard times? Take a read of my 4th great grandmother - daughter of Deacon John Phillips who fought with the Green Mountain Boys in Vermont in the American Revolution and a descendant of Mayflower passenger George Soule who also happened to be a signer of the Mayflower Compact!  Quite a lineage in our family!

SUSANNAH- 2nd daughter of Deacon John and Mary (Chamberlain) Phillips, born August 7, 1773, in Pownal, Bennington, Vermont (She was born in Vermont because the family moved there to avoid the Yankee-Pennimite War where Connecticut claimed the northern tier of Pennsylvania). She died August 8, 1849 and is buried in Marcy Cemetery, Duryea, (cemetery located behind the United Methodist Church) Pennsylvania with her husband.

Marcy Cemetery, Duryea, PA

     They lived in Hughstown, Pennsylvania which is where all their children were born and raised.  She married on 17 September 1789 to Samuel Miller Jr.  Miller was born in Dutchess County, NY, and of Holland decent, (She married at 16 and had 13 children), and died 9 April 1839 in Hughstown. Samuel Miller Jr., was the son of Samuel Miller, Sr.  Samuel Miller Jr. was known to be a farmer, preacher, physician and undertaker.

     Susannah often told her children how (when she was young) played with little Indian children before the Wyoming Massacre, 1778 (http://www.revwar75.com/battles/primarydocs/wiom1778.htm). One day while she was holding a stick for a little Indian boy to cut with his tomahawk, he cut her fingers.  Suddenly, some hostile Delaware Indians came upon their homes.   Her parents, hastily wrapping up her fingers and hand, hid her between the feather and straw beds. At the first opportunity, they escaped alive and uninjured.  Several families fled and hid in the mountains. They suffered severe hardships, working constantly to get sufficient food when one day were glad to capture a pig.  Susannah, about 1778, she would have been around 6-7 years old, was kept busy taking care of the babies within the group. While watching the roasting of a pig by a woman whose baby Susannah was caring for, the woman threw her a bone and said “There child, eat that if you are starving."  When the cloth was taken from her hand where the Indian boy cut it, 3 of her fingers were grown together.
 

     It is said that Susannah, as women did back then, spun her own flax and wool, and that "a beautiful piece of linen spun and woven by her is a cherished relic in the possession of one of her
great-granddaughters."  She was a strong woman, and one day, while hoeing in the garden with a man, bashed him. (What happened there!?). She died of a stroke @76.

"(Quote taken from a newspaper written about 1901).  (Most of this information is on Ancestry.com)

Saturday Morning with TAPs - a MUST read

     I'm standing in the doorway of a room in Bicentennial Chapel, Redstone Arsenal, Huntsville, Alabama.  I turn and see a little guy about four years old with wire rimmed glasses, coat swinging open and blond un-combed hair.  He's holding the hand of a Soldier walking down the hallway.  I hear him say something to the Soldier.  "My daddy was killed in the war and now he's in heaven."  Thankfully, the Soldier is quick on his feet and says, "That's a good place to be."  "Yes, it is," the boy responds.

     Where do you hear these types of things from someone so little?  At a TAPS event, Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors.  This organization sponsors events to help the Families of Soldiers killed in action, by accident, by suicide, whatever means; to cope with their loss.  Childcare is provided for the little ones who will never know their Father, Mother, Uncle, or Aunt.  Then there are programs for everyone from 4 years old to grandparents.
     I'm standing with the teen group participating in a "Good Grief" Camp.  With the teens, they start by going around the room and talking about their favorite color, food, most embarrassing moment etc. - throwing a small ball to the next person to talk.  Soldiers are there with them in the room talking about their favorite things.  It's all very light and a great ice-breaker.

  
Light-hearted suddenly turns to somber...
     "You don't have to speak," the moderator says,  you can pass to the next person."  "This is a safe place," she says.  "Nothing leaves the room unless there is concern you may hurt yourself."  The room takes a much different air.
It starts simply, "What is the name of the person you're here for?"   All answer quietly - naming their lost loved one.
 "How were they related to you?"  - Answers?  Dad, Uncle, Stepdad, sister..."

Okay those of you who have read thus far.  Sear the following in your memory and remember why we do this.

The next question to our teens:  "How did your loved one die?"
Responses?  IED - "Improvised Explosive Device" (Bomb planted by a coward), RPG - "Rocket Propelled Grenade"..."a sniper, the bullet entered through his flak vest and hit his liver"..."we didn't know where his body was for a month"..."he killed himself" - "he killed himself..."

Is there anything you'd like to ask them if you could?  "Did he die immediately or not?"  "Why did you kill yourself?"  Why?  Why did you ride the command vehicle?  Why did you kill yourself?

There are some tears - and alot of silence...What would you say?  Many had been to a Good Grief Camp before.  Next was to take magazines and cut out pictures that remind them of their loved ones...

There are some who believe it is best just to put all the sadness away.  Forget about it.  Get over it, all that.  Get on with your life.  People who think that don't understand military deaths, especially for the children.  Your loved one was sent to a far-away land to put their life in jeopardy because their country calls...and everyday they are gone you wonder if it is going to be their last - You wonder it EVERYDAY!  There's no mourning beside a hospital bed, no"prep" time in anticipation - just 365 days of wondering...waiting...

Why do we Soldiers fight?  It's a calling as much as there is one.  Some join for the college, the paycheck - true - but if they stay long enough they become transformed somehow...and it's an amazing thing to see.  Soldiers hate war.  While they risk their lives far away many Americans are oblivious to what they are doing and wonder why? our military does it...That's what those of you who have never been a part of what we do will never understand.  We don't hate the enemy in front of us, we love the Soldier beside us.  That's why we do it.

It's bitterly cold here today at Redstone.  Wind is howling.  Sun trying to  peek through but to no avail.  Just plain dreary.  But the sun is shining inside this chapel.  People are remembering the ones who died.  They're speaking their loved one's name.  They're talking about how they died.  They're remembering that these young men and women LIVED...God bless em all.

Why I will always Claim the Screaming Eagles - Another Hero Dies - MAJ Winters

MAJ Dick Winters, E Company, 506th Parachute infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division.  Major Richard Winters was the third commanding officer (CO) of Easy Company. While initially serving as a platoon leader of Easy as a 2nd Lieutenant, he gained the mutual respect and the trust of the men who later be part of one of the largest invasions known to mankind.

Colonel Sink, who was the first and only CO of the 506th Regiment, promoted Winters to the rank of 1st Lieutenant, and the 1st CO of Easy, Captain Herbert M. Sobel, made Winters the executive officer (XO) of Easy.

When the airborne troops finished jump school and were shipped to England, they prepared for the big invasion of Fortess Europe. Sobel was promoted and transferred to a jump school for civilians (chaplains, priests, doctors, etc.) called Chilton Foliat. Lieutenant Meehan from Baker Company took over as CO of Easy Company. He would remain CO until his plane was shot down during the invasion.

When D-Day came, the paratroopers dropped deep into Normandy under enemy territory. Their objectives were to secure a series of causeways, or roads, that linked to the beaches of Normandy, where the regular US Infantry would make their assault on Utah and Omaha beach. The Germans flooded the fields inland, so securing those causeways was the only option.

Easy Company's objective was to secure Causeway #2, which linked to Utah Beach.  However, during the drop, the planes, desperate to evade the incoming flak from German anti-aircraft guns, dropped troops far from the designated drop zone (DZ).  Lieutenant Meehan's plane, which also included E Company's First Sergeant, William Evans, was shot down during the invasion. Lieutenant Winters lost his weapon, which was located in his leg bag, when the bag was torn off from the tether that it was attached to.

Prior to the main invasion, the 2nd Battalion of the 506th, which consisted of Dog, Easy, and Fox Company, set up headquarters near a secured farmhouse. Intelligence reported that 4 German 105mm artillery cannons were aimed and firing at Utah Beach, where the 4th Infantry Division was making their assault. Easy Company was ordered to eliminate those cannons, which were causing massive damage to the beach area.

90 % of Easy Company was still unaccounted for at that time. Lieutenant Winters had no choice but to do his best given the circumstances. He ordered machine guns to create an enveloping fire on the guns, while another squad, led by Lieutenant Lynn "Buck" Compton, took the left flank and tossed grenades into the trench where the first gun was. Sergeant Lipton and PFC Myron Ranney took the right flank. This base-of-fire technique would become a textbook case for assault on a fixed position, and is still taught at West Point Academy today. 

When the Germans at the first gun were eliminated, Easy Company began their main assault on the trenches. They spiked the guns with TNT and completed their objective with the aid of Dog Company, led by Lt. Ronald Speirs, who would later become the last CO of Easy Company.

Lt. Winters received the Distinguished Service Cross for taking out those artillery pieces. However, many believe that he deserved the Congressional Medal of Honor because of the importance of this assault.

The Story of Savannah - unloved - Andersonville Blues

Apparently, the line in the Waterboy is correct..."You see son, you lack the social skills...that's why no one loves you, 'cept your momma."
Apparently that is the same vibe I am getting when it comes to my little Pekinese Dog named Savannah, or as I like to call him, "Saint" Savannah.  Seems that although Savannah may lack some social skills, he is loved by me - his daddy.  And I think it ends there.

Bath day is rough

First, let's be straight, Savannah is the coolest dog ever.  Like the picture above clearly shows.  When ya gotta go - ya gotta go - and he does.  Quite frequently in places where he shouldn't go.  But look, is this not the perfect place to baptize the lawn of a brand new house?  And now - the poor little guy can't find his bone so he is sitting at the edge of the bed - AND IT'S ONLY MIDNIGHT - and barking.  He will not stop barking until someone gets up and gets him his bone.  

Blessing Day

That means in the corporate world he would be a Lion of business because when he wants something he is going to get it and won't quit till he does.  So how is that bad?

We did have him blessed by the way.  The picture of him with the blue scarf is his blessing day picture.  (Some people say the blessing didn't take).

Andersonville - 1864

So where did this bundle of joy come from?  We were living at Fort Benning, GA and decided to take a trip over to Andersonville for a parade they were having.  (ADHD Moment coming)  Andersonville is the site of the notorious Civil War prison camp the Rebels of the South built.  They built the prison camp on a wide open field, 26+ acres, no shade, meant for around 5,000 Northern Prisoners it held up to 32,000 at one time in August of 1864.  In just 14 months 14,000 Men of the Grand Army of the Republic died.  Wonder where their water came from?  A stream ran through the lower end of the camp - problem was that also served as the latrine.  32,000 men?  A running stream?  And to top it off, UPSTREAM from the water was where the rebels corralled their horses.  So guess where the horse dung is going?  Right...prisoners used to say that if you wanted to live through Andersonville you should never go near that stream.  http://www.nps.gov/ande/index.htm.  Ditto for me on that one.  There's a huge cemetery there now and the National POW Museum also.  (Back to Reality - Squirrel is gone)

After the neutering

So after the parade we're walking around and darned if there is a lady with some puppies in cages in the park where they were also selling food.  I see these two little guys in a cage on the ground and go over to check them out.  One really little one sees me and gets on his hind legs and licks my hand like he just found his new master (he did).  But we already have a pup named Noel who really is a Saint.  So what to do?  Nothing - I had to be realistic.  But the obvious forlorn in my eyes must have gotten to the blessed lady because she put the call in and believe it or not found him - we didn't know the people - just some random calling.  So where was the boy?  Americus, GA.  Whole different city but we call, get directions and that next Saturday after Breakfast at Sloppy's downtown Diner where they have the best fried potatoes ever - we go to the address given and of all places it's a gas station.  But there in the back is my boy.  He remembered me of course.  (I have that way with all the animal world).

Gender issues at the RV Park in Maryland

The tongue is always present

 We pay  the money and the lady says, "by the way, he's a pedigree Pekinese."  Shazzam!!!  My boy has papers!  I had no idea but knew there was greatness in him.  We get him in the car and he's the happiest thing ever.
He does have gender issues since we named him Savannah.  I couldn't think of anything to name him except maybe Charlemagne, Napoleon or maybe Prince William owing to his pedigreed background.  We end up naming HIM Savannah because we had just paid a visit to Savannah, Georgia and had a good time - did NOT eat at Paula Deen's although I did get a picture of the place.

In the "Zone"  

The Pekingese has a colorful past full of superstition and folklore. Legend has it that the little dog was born to a lion and a marmoset. The Chinese believed that the breed was an earthly manifestation of mythical Foo Dog that drove away evil spirits. The Foo dogs that were around during that time resembled miniature lions, which was a religious symbol of Buddhism. The breeding of these “lion dogs” was a principal concern, and the resulting dogs were treated as royalty and continually pampered. They even had their own servants. The Emperor’s dogs were sacrificed and buried with him to join him in the afterlife. The Pekingese were so treasured by the royalty that punishment for stealing one was death.  In 1860, the breed finally made its way out of the palace, although even today it retains its need to be pampered.  This feisty little dog is independent and courageous – sometimes getting in over its head. It is opinionated and stubborn. The Pekingese will readily get into power struggles with its owner. It has even been known to stop eating as a way to show authority over its owner. It can also be difficult to housebreak. The Pekingese is devoted towards its family although it may not outwardly display affection. It does not like to be disturbed while sleeping.  The Pekingese is wary of strangers and tends to bark, making it a great watchdog.  That's my boy...