Frankie Had Ducks

Did you hear the one about the little boy and the ducks? We lived on Monroe Street before my parents were divorced. I was about 10 years old. My dad was home for a few days from flying and we were on our way up to see Aunt Virginia and her family. If memory serves me correctly, they lived in the vicinity of Palo Alto, out in the country. Our trip from San Jose took us past many farms and orchards and thru several farming communities. This was before the freeways and urban sprawl, so these areas still existed in the central coast of California. This was in the spring sometime just prior to Easter. As we drove past some farms and farm houses, my dad brought the car to a sudden stop and put the car in reverse and backed up to the driveway of a farmhouse. A large homemade sign sat propped up by a large tree. “EASTER DUCKS AND CHICKS” the sign screamed. My dad got out of the car and went up to the farm house. Evelyn’s and my noses were pressed against the back seat window as we tried to figure out what our dad was doing. When dad returned to the car he had a cardboard box. He opened the back door of the car and put the box on the back seat. Inside the box were two tiny yellow ducklings! Easter was coming and instead of getting stuffed duckies, we got the real things!

When we arrived back home my dad began to make an area for the ducks to live. The area turned out to be our entire back yard. The little ducklings were so cute and we enjoyed playing with them. Mom cautioned us not to hold them too much or too tight or we might smother them. Did I say they were so cute? Only problem … cute doesn’t last long! Soon the cute little ducklings were DUCKS. Stupid ducks. My dad had built a plywood wall to wedge the ducks inside the back yard. Dad had gone to the feed store and purchased duck mash which had to be fed to the ducks every day. Any idea whose job it was to mix the mash with water every morning and feed it to the ducks? My dad was off flying and Evelyn was only 7. Day after day, week after week I would mix the mash and feed it to the ducks. Evelyn and I didn’t play with the ducks anymore. Soon the entire neighborhood knew that Frankie had ducks! Ducks are not quiet little birds. Ducks quack. They quack loudly. They quack loudly at dawn!

The garbage men came on Wednesday mornings. In those days we didn’t put the garbage cans at the curb, but the men came up to our gate, opened it, collected up the garbage, put the cans back and left the gate open. The ducks had figured out a way to get passed the fortress my father had built, so out the open gate they ran. They were in the bushes, in the neighbor’s yards and they were quacking. At 6 AM on Wednesday mornings, and on any other morning the gate was left open, the phone would ring. “Mrs. Pritchard, Frankie’s ducks are in my yard!” Then Mom woke me up and told me to go get the ducks out of Mrs. Lemus’ yard. Have you ever tried to catch a duck that doesn’t want to be caught? I know I have! Have you ever gone to a duck pond to feed the ducks bread? Even those ducks who will come and eat bread out of your hand will not allow you to actually touch or catch them. My ducks didn’t eat bread out of my hand, they ate mash from a bowl! It would take me what seemed like forever to catch those ducks. I would chase them this way and they would run that way. I had to finally herd them into a corner where the house and fence come together. Then I would have to be fast to catch both of them. Once I had the ducks, I took them to the back yard and put them over the fence and tried quickly to block off their escape route, which never stayed blocked. Notice I said quickly? There was a reason I did it quickly. Duck poop stinks and there was lots of duck poop in our back yard. Ask Heidi about poultry poop! You don’t just go pick it up like you do for a puppy. It didn’t take but a few weeks and the backyard my dad was so proud of was destroyed by Huey and Dewy.

One day when I came home from school, my dad was home and mom had dinner in the oven. Smelled so good! I put my stuff down and went to the back yard to do my duty … afternoon feeding of the ducks. When I got to the backyard to get the bowl, I was surprised. The barricade was gone. The bowl was gone. The yard looked half way decent. And the ducks were gone! I ran into the house as fast as my chubby legs would carry me. “Where are the ducks?” is cried. Mom and dad just looked at each other. Then dad explained that he had taken them down to the butcher and we were having roast duck for dinner. He didn’t want us to have Easter pets; he wanted a roasted duck dinner! I cried. Evelyn cried. Then my mother was crying. Needless to say, we didn’t have roast duck for dinner. Mom just took the ducks out of the oven and dumped them into the garbage. Dad apologized and promised us we could get a puppy. That satisfied me! Then we went to a restaurant for dinner. And thus ended the saga of those stupid ducks.

We named her Goldilocks. She was a cute cocker spaniel puppy. My dad had made good on his promise to get us a puppy to make up for duck ala orange. She was blonde and was as loving a puppy that ever was. Evelyn and I fell in love. Now this story should go on at least as long as the duck saga, but it doesn’t. We got Goldilocks and dad left on a flight and would be gone a week. When he got back, Goldilocks had to find a new home. He promised a puppy and came thru. Mom had the puppy for a week and couldn’t take her any more. Thus ended the stay of Goldilocks. Dad promised he would get us a parakeet.

Parakeets are not 2 keets. In our case it was 8. Our parakeets didn’t live in a gilded cage hanging on a stand in the drawing room. Our keets lived in a fortress in the back yard. My dad never did things in a small way; He decided it would be a good avocation to raise parakeets! But before he actually went out and purchased the birds, he built a bird corral in the back yard. As I recall, this cage was about 4 x 8 and tall enough for a grown man to stand in. He built a series of little bird apartments for the parakeets to nest in. Each had a little perch in the front, just below the entrance hole. He had swings for them to swing on; he had tree limbs for them to perch on; and he had designed great feeders so I (you got it – I, Frankie) could easily make sure they had plenty of food and water. It wouldn’t be too hard for the daily chore of insuring our little feathered friends had feed and water.

On the front and sides of the cage my dad hung tarps for me to drop at night and during rain and cold days. Remember parakeets are tropical birds, and San Jose was not a tropical climate. There also an entrance gate in which one could enter to clean the cage. Of course you know who that one was ... the humble author. The cage had to be cleaned weekly. Parakeets are birds. Birds are sort of like poultry. And we have already asked Heidi about poultry poop! One of my jobs was to line the floors of the cage and houses with newspapers to catch the poop and make the task easier. The little apartments were designed so that they could be opened and cleaned as well. It actually was an ingenious little complex for the birds. But, cleaning those cages was never a chore I looked forwards to. And I had to get those birds to the back of the cage so they didn’t get out when I opened the door. I have never figured out if my dad actually planned on breeding parakeets, and I could never tell if we had male or females, or a mix, or which was which. It not as easy as finding out the sex of a puppy!

One day we noticed an extra bird out on the cage. Only this parakeet was on the outside of the cage and not on the inside. And it was not the color of any of our birds. This one was a stray. It must have escaped from its owner and was out flying in the open .. not generally a healthy thing for a domesticated bird to do. Instead of finding food, they usually ended up as food. But this little parakeet was lucky. He found the condo and was visiting. My mother, realizing the danger this little bird was in and figuring someone would be looking for it, went out into the back yard and slowly approached bird and without much effort was able to capture it. It turned out to be very tame. Mom brought the bird into the house and put it in a bird cage we had and gave it food and water.I was given the responsibility of this little bird. With Mom’s help, we got the bird out of the cage and it stayed on my hand. I could hold the bird for a long time and it would peck at my hand. NOW this was much better than a flock of birds in a cage in the backyard! I could actually hold this one and play with it.

One day my Grandmother and Grandfather Barkley were over and I was showing them the bird. My dad, laughingly, told me to tell Grandma and Grandpa what I named the bird. I proudly told them I had named him Pecker because he pecked so much. I would be a few years later before I knew why my grandparents and my parents were laughing so hard that they had tears running down their faces.

Mom, knowing this bird was someone’s lost pet, put an ad in the paper and a few days later a lady form a few blocks away came and picked up Pecker. So we were down to 8 birds again, and had them for several months. Then one day we got rid of the birds and the bird cage in the back yard. I think whoever got the birds also got the cage.Those were the last pets we ever had for many years. Shortly after the birds departed from our lives, our lives would change forever. It was a few weeks later that we moved to Dallas. I would be in high school, back on Monroe Street after my parents' divorce before we got any more pets. Then we got two kittens, Maynard and Thelma, named after a hippie and the Prom Queen on the old Dobie Gillis television show..Thelma died some months after we got her. We think she was poisoned. But Maynard stayed around for many years. I think he was the only pet my mother ever really loved, except, of course, for Lacy. Maynard, died after many years, also poisoned. This time by our next door neighbor. I would not be surprised it he had poisoned Thelma as well. As a kid, those were the succession of my pets. Ducks named after cartoon characters who became dinner, a fairytale cocker; a flock birds not loved enough to even be named, and a hippy cat. What a menagerie!

Gardens

"We encourage you to grow all the food that you feasibly can on your own property. Berry bushes, grapevines, fruit trees—plant them if your climate is right for their growth. Grow vegetables and eat them from your own yard. Even those residing in apartments or condominiums can generally grow a little food in pots and planters. Study the best methods of providing your own foods. Make your garden as neat and attractive as well as productive. If there are children in your home, involve them in the process with assigned responsibilities." - Pres. Spencer W. Kimball, Conf. Report, Ensign, May 1976, pg 124

Did I ever tell you about the time I set what could have become a major fire on Fort Rucker? Whenever I think about it, I shiver. I can see the headlines now: Sergeant Lights, Rucker Ignites!

Fortunately, this didn’t happen in the housing areas or some other densely peopled area, but was out at the family garden plots. Another fortunate thing is that I was either on leave, or was off work for one reason or another and no one was out at the garden plots, so there were no witnesses. It was in the early spring and I had gone out to prepare my garden plots for planting. In the fall the plots over-grow with weeds and brush, then dry out over the winter. Every spring we faced the same problem with our plots, and it was easier to light the plots on fire and burn off the vegetation. Normally there are a few of us out there and we work together with our shovels and water to keep the fires contained in the garden areas. That being said, you know what is coming.

The day I decided to burn the plots was a warm day with no wind. Prefect. I could control the fire alone. I lit up one of my plots and things were going as planned, then the wind kicked up … not a breeze mind you, but a strong wind! In a matter of seconds I had a raging garden fire and it was now burning the neighbors plot as well. I only had to battle the leading edges of the fire because behind it there was nothing left to burn. It was bad enough that the fire had spread to my neighbors plot, but a particularly strong gust blew the fire across the access way into plots on the next row. Now things were getting critical as I had two fires to fight. Just beyond the new fires were “the woods”, as the kids called them. A few trees and lots of tender dry undergrowth. It would be clear burning right down to Beaver Lake, the small fishing lake a quarter mile from the plots. I don’t remember what was beyond the lake, but it couldn’t have been good!

The fire had spread past where my hose would reach, so I couldn’t use water. I had to be fast (I was pretty fast in those days) and use my shovel. After about 15 minutes, and thankfully, a dying wind, I was able to put out the fires. Making sure there were no hot spots, I went back to assess the damage to my fence, etc. I guess the fire was moving so fast that the tree limbs we used as fence posts didn’t catch fire. I went ahead and prepared the ground with the roto-tiller I had borrowed from Brother E. H. Hayes. I could have burned my car and the roto-tiller! I would be back another day to do the actual planting. When I think how things could have gotten out of hand, I am sure relieved that I was able to stay about one step ahead of the fire. Not a good way to roast your veggies!

A few days later I went back out to the garden and planted. As I remember I planted corn, beans, cucumbers, potatoes, and tomatoes. First I planted potatoes and tomatoes. Then beans and cukes. Then came the corn. Part of growing a garden is keeping ahead of the weeds. On one Saturday it was time to weed the corn rows. Todd was about 4 and wanted to go with me to help in the garden. Todd would always be my garden helper over the years we had garden plots at Fort Rucker.

We were ready to weed and I showed Todd the difference between the weeds and the newly sprouted corn stalks. I gave him an entire row to weed. We got down on our hands and knees and pulled the weeds by hand. As the morning progressed I would ask Todd how he was doing and he would reply that he was doing good. After a half hour we had finished and I was checking my work. Todd was excited about his work and couldn’t wait for me to come and inspect. He was beaming as only a 4 year old can. I got to his row and he had cleaned it slick as a whistle … every weed and every stalk of corn. He was so proud. All I could do was laugh. The corn had only been growing for a week, and I had plenty of seed, so with Todd dropping a couple of seeds in the holes I would dig, we replanted the row.

A few weeks later it was time to harvest our potatoes. I had planted several rows, about 25% of my garden, in potatoes. We were harvesting them early as “new potatoes”. Then Jannie and I would process and can them. Again, my helper, Todd, was with me. We had brought some buckets and boxes for the potatoes. I would go down the row and dig the potatoes and Todd would gather the loose potatoes and put them in the bucket. When he finished with a plant, he lugged the bucket to the next plant and gathered all the potatoes. He did this plant after plant, row after row. I noticed that as the bucket quickly became too heavy for this 4 year old to lug, he would gather up the potatoes in his shirt and carry them to the bucket. When the bucket was full, we poured the potatoes into a box, and began all over again.

About a year later, when I was stationed in Korea, I was asked to speak at Stake Conference. My topic was “Follow the Prophet”. In my talk, I used the story of Todd, and our gardening together. The visiting General Authority, Elder Adney Y. Komatsu of The Seventy, was the concluding speaker and spoke right after me. In the opening of his remarks he referenced my talk and my experiences with Todd. He said these are the experiences President Kimball had in mind when he counseled us to grow gardens. He said President Kimball felt that growing gardens would also grow families. Now, whenever I see a beautiful garden, I can’t help but think of our garden at Fort Rucker and of my little 4 year old lugging potatoes in his shirt.

Texas Towns with Unusual Names

If you live in Texas you know that we do things bigger and better than anywhere (it ain’t braggin’ if it’s true). Texans are a proud lot and sometimes we do things a little bit different here … like naming our cities and towns. Trying to figure out how to get from here to there, you look at a map. But suppose you are going to Gruene, TX; how would you ask directions. Perhaps your destination is Mexia or even Bexar County. Pronounce them phonetically and you will be looking into a blank face looking back at you … like it’s you with the problem. So I am listing below only a few names of Texas towns. Some will be easy to pronounce, but they are, like we Texans, a bit unusual. A pronouncin’ list follows the list.

Texas Town with Unusual Names

Bee Cave
Beeville
Boenre
Burnet
Chillicothe
Cut and Shoot
Dime Box
Ding Dong
Dripping Springs
Gruene
Gun Barrel City
Mexia
Mule Shoe
Noonday
Oatmeal
Paint Rock
Palestine
Ponder
Rising Star
Uncertain

Hard to Pronounce Names (Pronouncin' List)

Boerne: The town of Boerne (pronounced Ber-ney) is a city in the Hill Country of Texas in the United States. It is the county seat of Kendall County Boerne was named in honor of Ludwig Börne, a German author and publicist, and its population was 6,178 at the 2000 census. The city is noted for the landmark U.S. Supreme Court case City of Boerne v. Flores.

Burnet: Burnet is a city in Burnet County, Texas, United States. The population was 4,735 at the 2000 census. It is the county seat of Burnet County.
Residents typically pronounce the name of the town (and county) as "BURN-it" rather than "bur-NET" as might be expected. (Its Burn –it, durn-it, learn it!)

Gurene: The town of Gruene, Texas (pronounced like the color "green", was founded in 1872 by German farmer Heinrich (Henry) D. Gruene

Mexia: Mexia (pronounced meh-HAY'-uh) is a city in Limestone County, Texas, United States. The population was 6,563 at the 2000 census. Original home of Anna Nicole Smith, for you pop culturalists!

Bexar: Bexar County is a county located in the U.S. state of Texas. As of 2000, the population was 1,392,931. Its county seat is San Antonio. It is pronounced "bear"

Palestine: Palestine (pronounced pal-a-steen) is located in east Texas.

Texas Influence on Pop Culture

Harold Jenkins felt that his real name wasn't marketable, and he changed his show business name in 1957. (Harold Lloyd Jenkins would always remain his legal name, however). Looking at a road map, he spotted Conway, Arkansas and Twitty, Texas. Thus, he went with the professional name of "Conway Twitty".

Things I Love

A good way to spend a few minutes contemplating. What are some of the things you love? This is more challenging than those "cut and paste" questionnaires. Here are a few of the things I love. What are yours? These are random thoughts and do not reflect any order of importance, except, of course, number 1.

Things I Love

Holding hands with my wife
Holding my Grandchildren
Texas
A summer night when there are just a few thunderstorms off in the distance that give you a lightning show.
Road trips
Floating in the pool after dark
A new Clive Cussler book
Laughter of children
Family pictures
Bluebonnets
Walking on the beach
James Bond
Superman
Spiderman
Harry Potter movies
Jean-Luc Picard
The feeling of accomplishment when I have completed a job
A just mowed lawn
The ocean
My dogs
The Priesthood
Music
The Beach Boys
Elvis
Church History
Elton John
Billy Joel
Capitola
Spring
Autumn
Waking up in the morning realizing I didn’t wake up the entire night
Taking a nap
Antique Shops
The Old West
Texas Style Barbeque
Soldiers
Rest Stops
A good belly laugh
Fire flies
Cattle
History
Teenagers
Thunderstorms
Indiana Jones
Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Segar
Sloop John B
A spaghetti dinner at home
A summer morning
Air conditioning
Getting a compliment

THERE I WAS - AGAIN!

I could have added another saga in my THERE I WAS blog entry, but THERE I WAS ... sitting at my computer writing funny stories, and forgot the most recent one. Some of you have already heard it, while some of you were there. But for those who were not there or who have not talked to Brett, here goes.

The first weekend in May is always the weekend of the Stake Fathers and Sons campout.

It started out when Brett asked me to pick up a pop-up camper at the Fort Hood Outdoor Equipment Check-Out Center for the annual Fathers and Sons Rain Out - I mean Camp Out. (No rain this year - but it was hot so the air conditioning in the trailer will be great!) When I picked up the trailer I should have known that things could only go down hill from there. Seems the campers don't have standard trailer light plug-ins for towing. Nooooo - they have military style plugs. BUT, they have adapters! In fact, they have 3 of them. I was the 4th trailer to be checked out that day. THERE I WAS ... driving down the freeway with a trailer and no lights - avoiding cops to the best of my ability. It was bad enough driving on the freeway - but I had to get off the freeway and stop at the house to get my stuff. No cops - WHEW! Got everything loaded in my van and trailer then I had to drive on surface streets to Heather's and pick up her boys! Well, we made it out to Camp Arrowhead without even seeing one of Killeen's finest.

Brett and I had been coordinating our arrival at Arrowhead (that would be a phone call about every 5 minutes, “Hey Pop, where are you at?” “I’m about to turn onto Rancier” “Hey Pop, where are you at?” “About to turn onto Quarry Road” “Hey Pop, where are you at?” “On the other end of Quarry Road” Hey Pop, where are you at?” “Turning into Arrowhead” “Be careful of the low water crossing. There is water running, but it’s not deep”) When we pulled into the camp, Brett had our spot all ready – right next to the power pole. Scott assured us that there was power at Arrowhead because they had it at Scout Camp years ago, so we pulled into the exact area where the Scouts had camped. We unhitched the trailer and set it up. Neighbor campers watched, looked into the trailer, “air conditioning, huh?” “Yep, we are gonna be comfortable”. Then we connected power to the trailer. Nothing. “Hey you guys” someone’s child said, “you gotta hook up this cord to that outlet by the a/c unit. So we did. Still nothing. “Hey you guys” someone’s child said, “you gotta throw the pole breaker”. So we did. Still nothing. Brett and I decided there must be a main breaker somewhere, so we went to look. We found it near the gate. Turned the breaker on. Went back to the campsite. THERE I WAS … 85 degrees, 100% humidity and no electricity to run the air conditioning. Well, maybe it will cool off before we go to bed.

We got set up and the sons ran off to play in the creek and get soaking wet. They will dry. There were about 150 people at the campout. Brett, as Stake Young Men’s President, was the head honcho of the camp, so he went off to do some coordinatin’. Scott showed up with the Mayo twins around 6:30. Scott is the Ward Young Men’s President and was in charge of the campfire program. Me, I was in charge of cooking the hamburgers. We had to provide our own dinner and the Stake would provide breakfast, which will be discussed later. I started the fire when Scott arrived on site. Shawn McCourt showed up to spend time with us, eat and then had to leave. Our camp is pretty nice. We even had a lightweight aluminum picnic table to use. I set the bar-be-que pit up next to the bench on the picnic table so I could cook while sitting and chatting. Shawn, Scott and I were sitting down. I was sitting on the very end of the bench cooking hamburgers. Then Scott and Shawn got up to go do something. THERE I WAS … 300 pounds of dead weight sitting on the end of a lightweight aluminum picnic table bench arms length from a hot fire! Need I go on? You got it! The bench flew up in the air and I launched forward – nothing between me and the hamburgers. The burgers weren’t the only things that got grilled that evening. Have you ever grilled your fingers? I know I have! I lunged forward! My left hand is in the bar-be-que pit and my fingers are thru the grill. Everyone was in shock. No one knew whether to laugh or cry … well, they laughed and I cried. Shawn grabbed the ice chest and brought it to me and I stuck by hand into the icy water. I do have to say, though, I was professional thru and thru. With my left hand in the icy water, I finished cooking those burgers with my right hand. Fortunately the injuries were minor, but once again a huge blow to my pride!

So now dinner is over and it is getting dark. The breeze is picking up and the humidity has blown away. So we figured if we open all the canvas in the trailer, we well be comfortable. Colby wants to sleep with Grandpa and Uncle Brett in the trailer, while the older boys are sleeping either in the tent, or under the stars. Colby and I went into the trailer and we fixed his sleeping bag on his bed. As I pulled the door closed behind us, a gust of wind caught the door and blew it closed, on my thumb! OUCH! And I was bleeding. ‘Gramp, I have to go potty and those bathrooms are dark”. “Here, Colby, take my flash light and go out by those trees and pee.” While he is gone, I start unzipping the canvas. Now, this is a pop-up trailer and you must extend the beds out so that there is a bed on the left side of the trailer and one on the right. The kitchen table converts to a bed, where Colby would sleep. This is a single axle trailer. The front end of the trailer is stabilized with the foot on the trailer hitch. The rear of the trailer by drop down stabilizing feet. I am going to be sleeping in the front bed. I climb in the bunk and unzip the canvas. Next I unzip the canvas above Colby’s bed and on the opposite side of the trailer. Now for Brett’s side. Brett’s main job while setting up the trailer was to put the stabilizing feet on the back of the trailer down. Have you ever climbed onto the rear bed of a pop-up camper when the stabilizing feet have not been deployed? I know I have! It is like being the heaviest one on a teeter totter. Down I go! The trailer is now at about a 45 degree angle! THERE I WAS … butt up in the air and unable to move! “Help!” I yelled. Brett, Scott, Shawn and Colby came running. Only Colby wasn’t laughing! Brett said all he could think of was the RV rolling into the lake in the movie, RV (we were near the small lake at Arrowhead). All Scott could think of was the trailer rolling into his car, which was parked right behind the trailer. Brett climbed in and pulled me up. BAM! The trailer settled back down. “You really are Tommy Boy”, Brett laughed! “I’m sorry, Pops, I couldn’t figure out how to get the legs down. I should have told you. It could have happened to anyone.” Then he started laughing again.

Finally we all go to bed. The only thing left that could top all of this was for a skunk to wander into the camp. Don’t get ahead of me, it didn’t happen and we all went to sleep.

Fast forward to the next morning. It’s 8 o’clock. Brett comes running into the camp and says “Pops, watch my boys, I have to go check on breakfast.” And he was gone. A half hour later he and a couple of men drive over to the main food area and start unloading donuts, bananas, orange juice and milk. The folks in charge of breakfast forgot all about it. Brett went to Wal-Mart in Belton and purchased every donut in the store – 12 dozen; 150 bananas, and several gallons of orange juice and milk. All the donuts, juice and milk were consumed. Brett and I split the 40 pounds of bananas that didn’t get eaten. Gotta make lots of banana bread!

Brett says he is already planning next year’s campout and is devising a plan to make sure breakfast is served. After this year’s campout, I too am devising a plan for next year. Go to Boise or Arkansas the first weekend in May!

THERE I WAS

The Side of the Mountain

It started when I was 8 and my cousins left me sitting on the side of the hill above the Capitola house. THERE I WAS … sitting half way up and half way down. Too scared to move and surrounded by bumble bees. They coaxed me to come up, and then dared me to go down. It seemed like hours, although it was probably minutes before I figured out how to get down. Great fun leaving the little fat kid on the side of a mountain.

The Other Side of the Mountain

The weekend after high school graduation some of my buddies and I decided we were going up to Big Basin. There were 5 of us who went. We had our tents, food, etc. We were going camping and hiking. If I remember right, we spent two nights there. Of course, I had all the experience from my Deadman’s Creek days with Uncle Lee. We met some girls there who were camping with the parents of one of the girls. Naturally we wanted to impress them, although we knew we would never see them again because where they were from was quite a ways from San Jose. After breakfast one morning we met the girls and were going hiking. The trail we were taking led to a waterfall and was well marked. About half way up a steep part of the trail with a deep drop off, I got too close to the edge, paying more attention to the girl I was with than where I was going, and the trail just went out from under me. THERE I WAS … sliding down the side of a mountain … feet first on my butt, trying desperately to not get hurt and to grab onto something! I grabbed but couldn’t hold on. I could hear everyone yelling at me, but I was going down fast and they were getting fainter. Finally I saw a good sized tree in looming in front of me, so I rolled over on my side and caught the tree with my feet and stopped. I probably slid a couple of hundred yards or more, and now I had to go back up. I hurt. I was bleeding from all the scrapes on my arms. My ankle hurt like a sprain, but I had to show her that I was a-okay. It took a good 15 minutes, but I made it back to the top.

Down in the Valley

I knew a girl in Salt Lake City whom I dated a few times in the summer when we were both in high school. She would come to California to visit her uncle. A few months after I got home from my mission, a few of us guys from the Institute decided to drive to Salt Lake City for winter break. This would be a great time to see her before I got into school full time. The fellow who organized this trip, Brent, sold cars and could get a new car from the dealership for the week and we could drive out in style. As we drew closer to the departure date, Brent found he couldn’t get the car; but that we could still go in his Camero. Another day went by and Brent found he couldn’t get off work, but that we could still use his Camero. But, now we needed a replacement guy because we had the gas money figured out for 4 of us. So a girl, Bonnie, decided to go. The morning we were supposed to leave, I got a call and they would be a little late. Finally, 8 hours late and several more phone calls, they showed up … in a 1954 Ford. This was 1967. We piled in and off we went. We drove about 6 hours, arriving in Reno at about 8 PM. We stopped and got something to eat, and off we went. We traveled about 10 miles to Sparks and the car sputtered and died. The driver fiddled around under the hood and found gas pouring out of the "whatyoucallit". In 1967 there were no 24 hour services in Reno, except for casinos. It was nearing midnight. THERE I WAS … in the middle of the night with 2 other guys and a girl, in a broken down Ford and very little money between us. We rented a motel room and slept there. The next day being Saturday (naturally), no mechanics shop was open. We found a Sears store open with an automotive shop, so we limped into there and had the fuel pump replaced. Good to go!???? A couple of hours later, the car overheated. We limped into the next town and found a gas station. The attendant, a shade tree mechanic of sorts, told us the thermostat was out and that he didn’t have the one we needed (does this sound familiar?) But we were in luck … between where we were and where we were going, there weren’t many hills (ever hear of the Rockies?) so the car won't over heat if we just removed the thermostat and made our way to SLC.

Naturally, the cars owner was somewhat apprehensive about driving several hundred miles without a thermostat, so we decided we would stop at one of those now non-existent desert gas stations, café, and junk yard. We figured we could find the part we needed in one of those old junks on the side of the hill out back. Now, we were good kids, two returned missionaries, one about to go on a mission and a girl. We had not shaved in 24 hours and we looked pretty rough. We strolled into the café and asked the owner if we could get a needed part off one of the cars out back. We were the only people in the shop. An old desert rat and the “Wild Bunch” – three guys and a girl. THERE I WAS …. looking down the barrels of a 12 gauge double barrel shotgun! “We ain’t got no parts, so get out!” We did. We got to Battle Mountain and I called the girl I was going to see. We had been on the road now for nearly 24 hours. She told me that she had called my mother and that they had the highway patrol in three states looking for us! It was after dawn when we finally made it into SLC. None of us looked forward to the trip home. A couple of days later I found out that he had gotten rid of the Ford and we were on our own. I flew home.

Down the Side of the Mountain

She wanted to take me skiing. I could end the story here and let your imagination take over. But, no … we went to Brighton Ski resort and I rented an outfit! She had an outfit, I had and outfit, and if you had an outfit, you could be a skier, too! (But that’s a different song.) She took me to the ‘bunny” hill, although I didn’t feel like a bunny! I got two practice runs and then it was to the chair lift. Yep, the Chair Lift. Ever get on one? You stand in the path of the chair and when it hits you in the butt, sit. Have you ever almost not sit on a chair lift that hits you in the butt? I know I have! Harder than getting on is getting off. You would think the lift would stop so you could get off, but NOOOOO, you have to stand up at the right place and ski off to the left. I stood up at the right place but skied off to the right. There is no place to ski off to the right. I just fell down into a culvert.” FRANK, where are you?” “I’m down here in this culvert!” “HAHAHAHAHAHA”. That was all I needed. I made it back up then had to quickly get across the landing point before the next chair got there. Ever get hit in the head by a ski chair? I know I almost have! Then we skied(?) over to the starting point. “Meet you on the bottom of the hill”, she said, and down she went. THERE I WAS … on the top of a snow covered mountain; skiers everywhere! How am I supposed to get to the bottom … on my bottom? In the end, I got down the hill on my end! I lasted on the skis for about 15 seconds and down I went, and the skis came off my feet. Fortunately they didn’t go far. I gathered them up and slid down the hill ON MY BUTT! The skiers were not happy with me, but I finally got to the bottom. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for a half hour. Want to go again?” You can see why that relationship didn’t go far!

McDonald’s – One of the Finer Things in Life

In Vietnam we did without the finer things in life … things we take for granted here. Things like flush toilets, hot and cold running water, having water whenever you want it, McDonald’s! In Tay Ninh we had running water when the engineers remembered to fill the water tank on the top of our hooch. If the tank was full, we had running water. If the engineers were late, as often they were, we didn’t. Like the shower at home, we had cold, warm and hot. If you wanted cold water, you got the water early in the morning after the night of cooling and before a day of heating. For hot water, you got your water during the day, say about 2 pm after several hours of the sun heating up the water. For a warm shower, you usually waited until at least 7 pm. Then it was warm. One evening I decided to take a shower. It as about 7 pm. The sun was still bright outside, which meant it was not as bright in our hooch. In our hooch slept 8 soldiers in bunks – 4 per side, and an aisle down the middle. I showered, shaved and returned the hooch. One of the soldiers was cleaning around his area and had moved his bunk into the aisle of the dark hooch. His bunk was the first one on the left. I came in the hooch. THERE I WAS … my little toe on my left foot smashed up against the leg of his bunk. CRACK! Had there been a mortar attack and I was running from the shower to the bunker and broke my toe, I would have gotten a Purple Heart. But NOOOOO – I got a roll of tape, instructions how to tape my toes together, and sent back to duty. I did get to wear a flip flop on my right foot instead of a combat boot, though.

Clean Sweep

Because there was no running water, we had no flush commodes. We had outhouses. We had a one holer for the NCO’s and officer, and a 4 holer for the enlisted puke. Every Monday morning at the chow hall we had to take a malaria pill. Actually, we had a choice. We could take two white pills every morning, or we could take the orange horse pill on Monday. If you chose the white pills, you had to be faithful in taking them or they didn’t work. So most took the orange pill. Only problem with the orange pill was that it was like taking a big dose of ExLax. And when it hit, it hit hard! I had a standing (or sitting) appointment in the 4 holer for every Monday at 2 PM. Now, you need to know that the outhouses received the “human waste” into the bottom quarter of a 55 gallon drum. Every day our Vietnamese worker would take the drums and soak them in diesel fuel and burn it off. Wonderful aroma! It was a Monday afternoon, shortly after 2 PM, THERE I WAS … sitting in the 4 holer with my copy of Stars and Stripes, fanny hanging thru the opening. WHACK! “Sargie, move over to other seat”. She had hit me on the bum with her broom! She wanted me to move so she could take the barrel. So I moved. Privacy? Hey, this was war!

It’s Second Nature to me now

Finally the war for me was over. I returned to my lovely bride and our baby girl. A few days after I was home we went shopping. You never realize how second nature things can become; you react without thinking – you just do! Mortars ,rockets and whatever the enemy can throw at you comes in mostly at night when you are sleeping. You wake up in a bunker not knowing how you got there. You hear a hollow thud far off in the distance and you drop your cards in the middle of a card game, yell as loud as you can, “INCOMING” and dive into the bunker. Wherever and when ever you walk somewhere you are constantly scanning your surroundings for a place to dive should you hear a thud or a siren. You learn the difference between friendly and enemy fire. You jump at any loud noises. It becomes second nature. As Jannie, Heidi and I strolled from the parking lot to the store, somewhere in the distance a construction worker started his jack hammer. THERE I WAS … laid out flat on the pavement of the Sears parking lot. People were looking at me. “What’s wrong?” my bride asked. Nothing was wrong, I was home. We laughed.


Santa Claus is Coming to Town

If you ask my grandchildren if there is a Santa Claus, they will tell you yes. If you ask my grandchildren if they know who Santa Claus is, they will tell you yes. And, if you ask them if they know where Santa Claus lives they will tell you yes. You see, for the last 30 years, I have been Santa Claus. Some of my grandchildren even call me “Grandpa Claus”. Every year for 30 years I have been Santa at one function or another. With 8 kids, I had my own Elf Corps, and I also had Mrs. Claus. I would stroll thru the lunchroom at the elementary school during breakfast or lunch and the kids go wild. So much for a stuffy principal and his “no talking” lunchroom. At Ward Christmas Parties I had the same effect on the kids as I entered the Cultural Hall. I have had the wonderful privilege of being Santa in many places in Central Texas. Once, after another sterling performance at Clifton Park Elementary School, I was invited to be Santa at the faculty Christmas Party at the Fort Hood NCO Club. Once while serving in the Bishopric in Alabama a sister in the Ward saw me on my motorcycle in jeans and a t-shirt. She was taken aback because she had only ever seen me in a suit. That’s how I felt when I entered the club. These “covered from neck to foot” teachers of our babies, now were practically bare from neck to foot! I was supposed to go in and hand out the gifts for the gift exchange. The evening wore on and finally the gifts were handed out, dinner was over and many “adult beverages” consumed. As I was getting ready to leave, a teacher called out that she wanted to tell Santa what she wanted for Christmas. And before I could get up, she sat down. THERE I WAS … a kindergarten teacher sitting on my lap, her boobs in my beard. That was the last time I ever played Santa for an adult function! Much safer with a room full of kids and their parents.

And Down St. Nick Came with a Bound

For years I have been Santa for our Ward Christmas Party. As my Elf Corps got older, they became my Elf Security force. One Ward Party was a real gala for a ward party. We had gotten word that one of the Deacons was going to pull my beard sometime during the night. His opportunity came early in the evening. Santa made his appearance just before the benediction for the evening, and he was to visit with the boys and girls while the clean-up was taking place. The young man made his way toward Santa during the prayer. Just feet away from Santa, Elf Todd made an open field tackle any NFL player would be proud of. That was the end of that problem for the night. All went well for the rest of the night and then it was time for Santa to catch the sleigh back to the North Pole. Some of the elves kept all the kiddos away from Santa as he made his way out the back door and down the stairs to his waiting sleigh. These were the days before Santa acknowledged that he needed contact lenses and his beard was obstructing his vision. Elf Chad ran ahead to insure the sleigh was unlocked and ready for Santa to get in. Santa got to what he thought was the bottom of the stairs, but wasn’t! One step and THERE I WAS … spread eagle on my back! My hat was off and my beard askew. I wasn’t moving. Elf (?) Tom saw me fall and came to help. I still wasn’t doing much but groaning. Elf Tom ran up the stairs to get Mrs. Claus. She came running out, fearing the worse. When the extent of my injuries was determined to be my ankle and foot, I got into the sleigh. A quick trip home and then on to the emergency room. THERE I WAS … telling the doctor how Saint Nicholas came down with a bound! I spent the weekend with my foot propped up, in a splint. Turned out nothing was broken … except maybe my pride.



Potpourri

In our quarters at Fort Rucker, the washer and dryer were in the kitchen. One afternoon Jannie and I went to the Commissary to buy our groceries. We also purchased a beautiful striped watermelon (melon, water, striped). As usual we set the watermelon on the floor in front of the washer. With a passel of kids in and out of the house, a daddy is always in a hurry, as I was that afternoon. Recently someone asked what my favorite shoe was, and I answered that no shoes were my favorite…I loved being barefoot. And on that afternoon I was barefoot. I rushed into the kitchen and rammed my foot into the watermelon. I felt great pressure on my toe and I noticed that I had watermelon rind crammed under my toenail. Try as I would, I could not get it out. So off to the emergency room. THERE I WAS … explaining to a teary eyed corpsman how I got a piece of watermelon rind jammed up my toenail. His were tears of laughter! After a short wait, I was taken back in and the doctor, splitting a gut in laughter, removed the offending rind.

Chad and Kimber decided one day to take a day trip to Colorado River Bend State Park outside of Lampasas. On their way back they had a flat tire …. then another. Since this is about me, I won’t go into Shawn McCourt and the two cans of Fix-A-Flat. But in the attempt of the boys to mobilize and affect a rescue of Chad and Kimber in Lampasas, I took the old shop van to the Killeen Wal-Mart to get a new tire to replace the one we blew up. After not having any success, I went back to the van and started to leave, but the van was dead. Wal-Mart Automotive was closed, so I couldn’t even get a battery. Fortunately I had the Auto Club. So I called for a tow from the parking lot back to my house. About 30 minutes later the tow truck arrived. He hooked up the van for the tow back home, and I was invited to ride in the cab of the tow truck. This was not some little old tow truck; this baby was on the back of a semi! It was so cool and REALLY HIGH UP! I rode back home and while the driver was filling out his paperwork, I decided to get out of the truck. I took one step out. THERE I WAS … laying face down on the pavement! I was bleeding, hurting and embarrassed. I got up and the driver looked at me and asked, “Hey man, did you just fall out of my truck?’ What could I say? He saw me, as did everyone at the house! I said I did, signed his papers and went into the house. I was wearing shorts and my arms and legs were all skinned up and bleeding.

I think my life is full of little booby traps. Open a cupboard and half the contents fall out. Walk across a dark room barefoot and step on a Lego block. Open a freezer and a pork roast falls out and lands on your foot! Have you ever had a pork roast fall on your foot? I know I have! I used to describe the clumsiness of one of my companions by saying he could walk thru and empty room and trip! How about walking thru your family room and just breaking your foot. Have you ever walked thru a family room and broken your foot? You get your foot taped and you walk around in a wooden shoe – and after several weeks your foot is still as sore as when you broke it. So the podiatrist says he is going to have to put a titanium screw in you foot because it isn’t healing. Have you ever had your foot screwed? I know I have.

I could say THERE I WAS, but after all of this, I guess I am happier to say HERE I AM! Still alive and kicking – even if it is with a foot that has been watermelon rind impaled, pork roast impaired, and titanium screwed! Frankie Boy has it all over some kid named Tommy!

The Mormons

Last Monday and Tuesday PBS showed a 4 hour special entitled "The Mormons"

Here are my thoughts on the PBS program, The Mormons.

Once again the media gets it wrong! Not surprisingly, it wasn’t even close! I am speaking of the PBS documentary on the Mormons. Since PBS has a well defined history of not being fair and balanced, it is no surprise to me that the bulk of the Monday night fiasco was concerning polygamy and Mountain Meadows.

In the pompous and piousness of the judgmental PBS, it became apparent that to the authors of the piece that there is no spiritual background for polygamy. It does not shock me that in today’s flurry of sexual predators and deviants that PBS try to put Joseph Smith into that category. It is, after all, the pop culture of today that puts that level of deviancy into our homes everyday on television.

I am also not surprised that more emphasis would be put on Mountain Meadows than on Hauns Mill and Far West . It seemed to be okay for the mobs to thrust against the Mormons without anyone being held accountable, but when a few “mobocrats”, who happen to be LDS take matters into their own hands, then it was “sanctioned” from the top, even Brigham Young. This, despite the fact that there has never been any evidence linking anyone but the Cedar City LDSers to that crime.

And where did Warren Jeffs fit in? He isn’t a Mormon! He has his own church and religion. He doesn’t claim any affiliation with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Fitting him into this is like having a piece on the Catholics and using the Episcopalians as examples of Catholics.

I was greatly disappointed by the fact that more non-Mormons and excommunicated Mormons, and those who have just left the Church were used in the story as experts, while the use of active members and General Authorities was minimal, at best. They producers tried to present the facts, but the fact is that the facts are meaningless without the Spirit. And it was the Spirit that is sorely lacking in this piece.

In the 89th Section of The Doctrine and Covenants we are warned and forewarned, “Behold, verily, thus saith the Lord unto you: In consequence of evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days…”. Certainly there is a conspiracy in these last days against the Church by conspiring men. While they think they continue to do the world a favor by “exposing” the Mormons, they are actually playing into the hands of Satan.

The silver lining in the cloud of this piece is a quotation by Brigham Young. Basically he said that “we will convert the world, and if all men stand against us, we will do it the quicker” Whenever there is great public opposition to the Church, Missionary work increases because people are curious as to whether or not what they heard was true. This piece is so full of holes that it will be easy for the serious investigator to see thru it with the Spirit.